Men filled the open area. Soldiers and knights sat on the dry sections of cobblestone or stood in puddles. He worked his way in, trying not to hit anyone with either his shield or his sword. Renwick felt conspicuous. Men with missing teeth and scarred faces glared at him as he picked his way through the crowd. He felt a heat building on his skin, his face flushing with embarrassment as he realized how ridiculous he must look. Renwick knew he did not belong there and so did they.
“Renwick! Over here, lad!” He heard a familiar voice and saw Sir Elgar waving from the center of the square. Never before had he been happy to see him.
“Make room!” Elgar bellowed, and kicked Sir Gilbert and Sir Murthas until they shifted over. Renwick quickly sat down, trying to become invisible.
“Here, lad.” Elgar took the shield from him. “Carry it like this.” He pulled his arm out roughly and slipped the long strap over his shoulder. “A lot easier that way.”
“Thanks,” he said, making sure his sword lay flat behind him and was not in anyone’s way. Suddenly he felt a jolt as Elgar struck him hard in the chest with his fist like a hammer. Renwick rocked back and looked up, stunned.
“Good armor!” The knight grinned at him and nodded.
A moment later Murthas drew his dagger and hit him hard with the pommel. The sound rang and again Renwick rocked back, shocked, but unharmed. “Excellent.”
“Stop!” Renwick shouted, looking at them fearfully.
The two laughed.
“Tradition, boy,” Elgar told him. “It is good luck to have new armor tested by friends before enemies. Just praise Novron we’re sitting down!”
“Aye!” Sir Gilbert said. “When I got my first helm, Sir Biffard rang it so hard I passed out, but I woke up in the care of Lady Bethany, so I can attest to the good luck of a sound beating on new armor!”
The knights all laughed again.
“Who is this pup?” the man seated across from Renwick asked. His blond hair came nearly to his shoulders, his blue eyes as bright as sapphires. He wore ornate armor inlaid with gold designs of ivy and roses. Over his shoulders he wore a purple velvet cape, held by a solid-gold broach.
“This is Renwick, Your Highness,” Murthas replied. “I don’t know if he has any other name. He was a page in the palace until recently. Now he is aide-de-camp to Sir Breckton.”
“Ah!” the man said. “The fearless rider!”
“Indeed, Your Highness—the same.”
“You’ve done a great service for us, Renwick. I shall be pleased to fight beside you.”
“Ah—thank you—ah—”
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” he chuckled, and the rest followed him.
“This is Prince Rudolf of Alburn, son of King Armand,” Murthas told him.
“Oh!” Renwick said. “I am honored, Your Highness.”
“And well you should be,” Murthas said. “There are precious few princes willing to fight beside their knights these days, much less sit with us before the battle.”
“Ha!” Rudolf laughed. “Don’t flatter me, Murthas. I’m here only to get away from the smothering chatter of women and children. There’s a stuffiness to the castle these days. She has them filling the corridors, packed like sausage. You can’t piss without a child or woman passing by. And they don’t appreciate fine liquor!”
The prince drew forth a crystal decanter of amber liquid, which he sloshed about merrily. He took the first swallow, smacked his lips loudly, then passed it to Sir Elgar on his right. “From the empress’s private stash,” the prince told them in an exaggerated whisper. “But I hear she doesn’t drink and I’m certain she will not begrudge her knights a bit of warmth on this day.”
Elgar took a mouthful and handed Renwick the bottle, which he held but did not drink from.
“Ha-ha!” Elgar said, looking at him. “The lad is afraid of getting drunk before his first fight! Drink up, lad, I guarantee that won’t be a problem. You could down two such bottles and the fire in your belly would burn up that liquor before it ever reached your head.”
Renwick tipped the bottle, swallowed, and felt the liquor burn its way down his throat.
“That-a-boy!” Elgar cheered. “We’ll make a man of you today, that’s for sure!”
He passed the bottle on to Murthas as overhead huge black clouds swirled and the sky grew dark until it appeared as if dusk had fallen at midday. What light remained cast an eerie green radiance. Lightning continued to flash and thunder cracked. Yet sitting shoulder to shoulder among the stable of men, smelling their sweat, listening to their carefree laughter and the sounds of their belches, curses, and dirty jokes, Renwick felt safe. The liquor warmed him, relaxed him. He placed his hand on the grip of his new sword and squeezed. He thought they could win this battle. He felt that they would win, and he would stand among the victors.
“Hide the bottle!” the prince shouted, and Sir Gilbert guiltily stowed it under his shield with a comical look on his face just as Sir Breckton arrived and walked into the center of the circle.