The first in a short series about Wyldon and Owen, called "A Knight and His Squire." Their relationship has always fascinated me, even though it wasn't expounded on in the books. They seem like a very unlikely knight-squire pairing, and yet they obviously get along. This first part is a sneak peek into that sliver of time between Kel's visit to Wyldon in Squire, and Owen's subsequent visit to Kel.
A Knight and His Squire: Like a Dog
When Keladry stopped him in the hall to convey her message, Sir Myles of Olau was not entirely surprised. He was an intelligent man, whatever the Court gossip was about his love of drink, and his sharp eyes often caught things that other people missed. Thanking the squire with a clap on the shoulder, Myles ambled towards Lord Wyldon's rooms with a lot on his mind.
"You requested my presence, I believe," he said when he reached the open door, letting an edge of sarcasm creep into the politeness of his voice.
Lord Wyldon looked up from his packing, a brief smile twisting his mouth. "Sir Myles. Come in, please. I have a request to make of you."
Myles entered, taking the offered seat as his eyes flicked subtly around the room. For the first time since he had known the training master, it was entirely disorganized. The desk was piled with boxes and odds and ends, papers were stuffed haphazardly into files, and more boxes were scattered across the room, half-full with the contents of Wyldon's office. The younger knight snorted at Myles' scrutiny.
"Look away, spymaster – within the hour it will be entirely empty." Lord Wyldon scooped an open leather knife-case from the other remaining chair and placed it on the desk before sitting. "I will get straight to the point. Mindelan was here, and suggested I take Owen of Jesslaw as my squire. I would be lying if I told you I was eager to take up the lad's training, but – forgive me – I have a feeling he would be of better use to me in field than to you in your office."
Sir Myles suppressed a smile. The stoic Lord Wyldon rarely apologized for his own frankness, but the two men had a unique relationship. Wyldon had, after all, been Myles' squire long ago, in a time when the scholar-teacher had been a well-known warrior in his own right.
"I had half an idea that might be the reason for your summons," Myles replied, settling back. "You sound less than thrilled at the idea, but I assure you Owen is a hard worker, and does his duty. Squiring to a desk knight is not his idea of four years well-spent, but he does not complain or shirk his responsibilities. You will not regret having him as your squire."
Wyldon's eyebrows rose in surprise. "If he's such a godsend, why are you so eager to thrust him on me?"
Sir Myles regarded the other man briefly before replying. "Because he reminds me of you, Wyldon. He's a good deal more excitable, and a cheerier lad you will not find anywhere, but he has the same foolhardy love of the Code as you do."
"I believe we agreed to disagree on that account," Wyldon reminded him stiffly.
"So we did." The spymaster examined his ink-stained tunic with a sigh. "He does not belong in an office. That lad was born for open roads and long, hard rides. I took him for my squire out of pity, and I have not regretted it – but I know he will benefit from being squire to a fighting knight. He won't grow into his full potential under me, I assure you."
"Very well." Wyldon stood, and picked up the leather case again. "If you would send him to me after you discuss the matter with him, I'll begin his training right away."
Seeing that Wyldon was not in the mood for condolences or farewells, Myles simply nodded and departed for his own suite.
In his office he found the object of his search. Owen of Jesslaw was a chubby fellow, with a round face topped by a thatch of wildly curly brown hair. His pug nose was furrowed in concentration as he bent over his knight-master's desk, working out a difficult piece of code. For all his energy and ambition, Owen was a good lad, and had taken quite well to the bits of spy-work that Myles had seen fit to give him. Standing for a moment in the doorway, the shaggy knight looked his squire over with a pang of regret. He would be sorry to lose the boy, for all his discomfort and disappointment in being the squire of a desk knight.
Enough dawdling, Myles told himself firmly, and strode into the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt you in the middle of your task, but I'm afraid you're going to have to set it aside," he told Owen.
The boy scratched his nose, leaving a smear of ink behind. "Beg pardon, sir?"
Myles rested his hand briefly on Owen's curls, and smiled kindly. "You're to report to Lord Wyldon as soon as you're presentable, my lad. If I'm not much mistaken, I believe you'll enjoy what he has to tell you."
Five minutes later, nervously smoothing the slightly wrinkled tunic he had hastily replaced with the smudged one, Owen stood at the door of Lord Wyldon's office and rapped smartly. The cool, even "Come" was all too familiar, and one he would not dream of disobeying. Before he could think twice, Owen stepped through the door and into the room.
Lord Wyldon stood beside his desk, rifling through one of the drawers. Owen tried hard not to stare. The room, from his perspective, was in shambles. But then the knight closed the drawer again with a snap and turned to face him, making Owen jerk into upright attention. Lord Wyldon's mouth pressed into a thin line.
Oh no, I'll catch it now, the boy thought frantically. Did I forget to tuck in my shirt? Are my hose twisted? Kel always has to straighten them out when we report –
"Pay attention, Squire," Wyldon barked, startling him from his panic. "This is important." Then, softening a little, "As Myles may have told you, I am resigning from my post as training master. No, don't say a word," he ordered as Owen opened his mouth. "It is final. I will be requesting a position on the northern front at the end of the summer. More to your own concerns, Sir Myles and I have agreed that you will be accompanying me as my squire."
Owen gulped, hardly believing his ears. "Your squire, s-sir?"
Hard brown eyes looked him over. "Yes, Jesslaw. That's what I said. Of course you are free to decline –"
"No, sir!" Owen interrupted, knowing he was crossing a line and not caring. "I would be honored, sir, I am honored, sir!"
Was that a flicker of amusement he saw in those flinty eyes? "Indeed." Lord Wyldon produced a slip of paper and handed it to him. "Report to the Palace tailors and give them this request for your new clothes. Then meet me in the stables after supper, and we shall see about providing you with your other necessities. You will receive a permanent horse when we reach Cavall. I will work you like a dog, Jesslaw, make no mistake about that, but you'll be a knight worthy of the Crown by the time I'm done with you." Lord Wyldon looked his new squire over once more and nodded sharply. "Very well. See to it, squire."
Owen bowed as low as he could manage. "Yes sir, right away my lord!" he babbled, and raced from the room. Wait until he told Kel about this!