"Courage is found in unlikely places."
― J.R.R. Tolkien
The cheering crowd filled the square in front of the Temple of the Twain in Bransat. From the back Kensie struggled to get a view of the Temple portico.
The crowd jostled around Kensie. Most of the people ignored him. The few people who noticed him spat in his face.
As a roar of approval went up, Kensie managed a glimpse of the front of the Temple.
His father, Count Wyeth, was embracing Bredin Kase and proclaiming the boy as his adopted son and heir. Bredin's surcoat bore the arms and insignia of the Barony of Bransat.
Kensie watched in horror as his beloved stallion Blood came forward and presented itself to Bredin. The stallion knelt in front of Bredin, inviting the boy to mount. As Bredin mounted, Blood's liver chestnut coat changed to blinding white…
Shaking and soaked with sweat, Kensie woke from the nightmare. Wrapping himself in a housecoat, he peered through the curtains of his bed. The room was black. The fireplace had burned down to ashes; not even the slightest glow came from it.
Putting his feet over the edge of the bed, Kensie found his slippers. He got up and started towards the window.
Kensie stumbled across the room. His manservant woke on his cot at the foot of Kensie's bed. "Can I help you, Milord?" Geoffrey asked sleepily.
"No, Geoffrey. Go back to sleep." Kensie replied. Kensie knew that the manservant despised him and believed Kensie to be a coward. He knew that Geoffrey had told tales to the villagers during evenings at the Boarshead. The grain of truth in Geoffrey's stories – that Kensie had initially broken and fled at the final battle against the Tedrels – lent credence to the mountain of calumnies Geoffrey laid on his master. The fact that Kensie had recovered and eventually returned to the battle was scorned as a fabrication on Kensie's part.
Kensie could have dismissed Geoffrey for his disloyalty, but to what end? Everyone thought the same and his next manservant would believe Kensie no more than Geoffrey did. At least Geoffrey knew his duties and Kensie's habits. A new manservant would take several moons to train properly.
Kensie reached the window and peered between the curtains. He could see the stars. From their position, it was at least four candlemarks until dawn.
Unable to sleep yet tired from the lack, Kensie sank into an armchair in front of the fireplace. Leaning forward, he blew lightly on the ashes, exposing still-burning embers. He put a handful of shavings on the spot. The shavings caught fire. Carefully, Kensie added kindling and wood to the fire until it burned brightly.
Kensie leaned back. He curled his legs under him and stared into the fire. The same nightmare had tormented him the last three nights, ever since that Bredin brat had been Chosen by a Companion.
It was nonsense, of course. Even if his father disowned him, Grayson was the 'spare'. And Naril would inherit if something happened to Grayson. Assuming, of course, that the child his mother was now carrying was not male, which would put it ahead of Naril. His father and mother had celebrated their reunion at the end of the war enthusiastically. Lady Lora was now several moons pregnant with another Poldara.
The nightmare was nothing but the fear that had haunted Kensie since the day of the battle, when even his own father seemed to think him a coward. Every man and woman seemed against him and he was everywhere despised.
It had taken a direct order from his father to make Hwyl Fian and Chase Tanner resume instructing him in arms and riding. Both men believed Kensie a coward and did not hide their belief.
Hwyl drove Kensie ferociously with every weapon in the yard; no lapse went unpunished by a stinging blow from a practice sword or a staff. Hwyl demanded perfection, putting Kensie through exercises far more difficult than what he required of others. The armsmaster stopped just short of brutality and never praised Kensie. When the regular exercises and drills were insufficient, Hwyl would throw a pail or a stool at him; he made Kensie fight with nothing but a broom or a pitchfork. When Kensie could not defend himself with whatever he was given, Hwyl would scream at him "Anything can be a weapon. You just have to think of it that way." Nothing Kensie could do was good enough, even when Kensie had lately begun to out-point the armsmaster in the no-hold-barred training.
In the riding ring, Chase Tanner would not let him ride Blood, saying that Kensie had to learn to deal with difficult horses, not an animal that performed flawlessly and compensated for his errors. Kensie secretly suspected that Chase Tanner made Kensie ride other horses because Chase could not find any fault when Kensie rode his stallion. Chase gave Kensie only the most obstreperous, flighty and hard-mouthed horses for his lessons.
Kensie bit his lip and endured the harsh 'instruction' from the armsmaster and the master of horse without complaint. He was sure the slightest protest would be an excuse for contemptuous sarcasm from either man. As it was, even a flushed face or clenched jaw on Kensie's part was a cause for them to belittle him further. The only positive thing was that the instructors' relentless critiques inspired Kensie to drive himself harder; Kensie knew both his arms work and riding had improved. In particular with riding, Kensie now found he could handle the horses far better than ever before, anticipating their evasions, calming their fears and gaining their trust so they worked willingly under him.
Kensie still took lessons with Master Raab. For lack of other entertainment, Kensie now spent much more time in his studies. Since nothing flatters an instructor more than a devoted student, Kensie was now Juran Raab's favorite. He had recaptured his tutor's attention, which had turned towards Grayson when people started thinking that Kensie would be disinherited.
Since his apparent disgrace, Kensie's former friends had mostly abandoned him and refused to associate with him. Some, like Wallis Mittal, had told him to his face that they despised him as a coward. There were a few, like Ludo Dirks and Evar Rider, who still associated with Kensie, but they were such obvious sycophants that Kensie could barely conceal his contempt for their flattery; Kensie accepted their company for lack of any other.
Blood was Kensie's lifeline. Of all the creatures in the world, only the stallion seemed to care for him. When mounted on Blood, Kensie thrilled to the willing response of the horse. Unusually for a highborn, Kensie groomed his horse himself. The stallion basked in the attention Kensie lavished on him; it followed Kensie without a lead or halter and rumbled with pleasure at its master's caresses.
Kensie thought he would go mad if he lost the stallion; the notion that Blood would abandon him was the worst part of his nightmare.
If only someone had noticed me when I returned to the battle. Kensie thought to himself as he stared into the fire. Kensie sighed. He had thought and wished this countless times every day since he had ridden up from the battlefield.
Kensie dreaded the coming day. It was Sovran and he would be expected to escort his mother and siblings to the Temple of the Twain for the traditional Remembrance Observance, where those who had died in the past year were eulogized. With the losses in the final battle of the Tedrel Wars that spring, the ceremony would be of special importance to the village.
Many of those who would be present blamed Kensie for those losses. The ceremony would renew and refresh their spite. Many would flaunt their contempt for Kensie and shower him with curses.
It would be no better if the family were in Poldara City, of course. Kensie's name was loathed throughout the County. At least in Bransat the crowds would be smaller than if the family had returned to the County Seat.
Kensie wished his father was not still in Haven. The respect for his father – whose courage no one doubted – would mute the mutterings of the crowd. But Count Wyeth was still in Haven, leaving Kensie as the ranking male member of the household. Kensie would be expected to lead the family to the ceremony both as his father's surrogate and in Kensie's personal capacity as Baron of Bransat.
The hearth cat, Stripe, jumped up on the chair and placed herself in Kensie's lap. Kensie stroked her and scratched behind her ears until she started purring. Still staring at the fire, Kensie finally drifted back to sleep.
Geoffrey's light tap on the shoulder woke Kensie, who blinked, yawned and looked around the room, which was illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the window.
"Milord, your mother wishes you to attend her at breakfast." The manservant said.
Stiffly, Kensie unfolded himself from the chair. He lifted Stripe from his lap and gently put her on the floor. The cat grumped then walked away in search of her own breakfast. Kensie stood up and rolled his head to loosen his neck. "Thank you, Geoffrey. Do I have time for a bath or is she already waiting?"
"Sylvie said your mother would breakfast in the Lilac Room in half a candlemark. You should have time to bathe, Milord." Geoffrey's smile – or rather, leer – suggested that he expected Kensie would rather have used the time to bed Sylvie. Geoffrey naturally knew all about Kensie's dalliance with his mother's maidservant. Geoffrey was as discreet about the matter as any servant to a master he did not respect, which is to say, not at all. The only reason that Kensie knew that the story had not reached his mother's ears was that Sylvie would have been dismissed and Kensie himself been thoroughly upbraided by Lady Lora.
Kensie bathed and shaved quickly, then allowed Geoffrey to assist him into the morning suit that had been laid out. With a quick brush of his hair, Kensie headed to join his mother.
Through the breakfast, Kensie listened quietly as his mother dictated plans for attending the Commemoration. Occasionally, he made polite agreement with her to show he was listening.
Only when she touched on how they would get there did Kensie demur.
"I will travel in the phaeton with Grayson and Naril," Lady Lora said, "you will ride your warhorse at the side of the carriage."
Kensie looked at her in alarm. "Wouldn't it be better if we took the coach-and-four?" He asked. "That would be more proper estate."
"Nonsense, Kensie. The phaeton is appropriate. We must show ourselves in a respectful manner, without great estate. This is a commemoration of others, not a family rite." Lady Lora was firm.
"There is only room in the phaeton for three, not all of us." Kensie said, not believing his mother would want him to ride his warhorse into the village.
"Your father always rides his destrier beside the family on these occasions." Lady Lora said. "In his absence, you are his surrogate and must do so in his place."
"The people of the village – of the entire county – think I am a coward. They will be angry and offended." Kensie protested. He saw Grayson roll his eyes; his brother evidently agreed with the general opinion.
"If you hide in the coach, that will only confirm their belief." The Countess pointed out. "You must show yourself and do what is proper."
Kensie sighed. "Very well." He acquiesced to his mother. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Grayson smiling slyly at his discomfiture.
The family and retainers left Bransat Manor in bright autumn sunshine. The snow of three days before had completely melted. The day was warm and the light breeze carried the scent of the decaying leaves and wood smoke.
As Kensie entered the village riding beside his mother's phaeton, the hatred in the villagers' stares was palpable. Kensie sat rigidly in Blood's saddle, looking straight ahead, trying to ignore the looks.
Whether it was respect for his mother or simply the solemnity of the occasion, no one said anything while the family made its way to the Temple of the Twain. When they arrived, Kensie dismounted and handed Blood's reins to his groom. Turning, he found himself facing Wallis Mittel, who sneered at Kensie before ostentatiously spitting on the ground.
Kensie accepted his mother's hand as she stepped down from the phaeton. Holding her arm, he walked with her down the aisle of the Temple until they reached the family's stall. Lady Lora entered, followed by Naril and Grayson. Kensie took his seat and stared at the altar, not wanting to look around and meet the eyes of the others in attendance.
The service began. To Kensie, it dragged interminably as the invocation and ovations were given. Kensie stood, knelt, prayed and sat along with the rest of the congregation, though his mind wandered anywhere but on the commemoration.
At last, the part of the service Kensie dreaded most arrived: The offering. The Priest and Priestess came to the family stall. As nominal head of the family, Kensie stood and took his place between them. The audience began muttering behind him; the words were unclear, but the hostile tone was unmistakeable.
As Kensie approached the altar steps, one of two cries of "Shame" were heard from the back of the temple. The Priest turned to face the congregation and quelled the noise with a disapproving frown.
Kensie knelt as required on the first step. His right hand trembled as he placed the traditional white rose at the foot of the altar itself. Rising, he bowed to the Priest on his right, placing a single crown in the Priest's hand, then repeated the gesture to the Priestess. The gold pieces were symbolic of the actual, much larger, gift from his father.
Kensie genuflected once more before the altar, finishing his part in the ritual. He turned and walked back to the family stall. Hundreds of faces glared at him as he made his way back.
Baron Faro Mittel was next to come forward to make his offering. In years when the Count and his family were in Poldara City rather than Bransat, Baron Mittel had precedence in the village observance. The Baron performed the ritual in his turn. As he returned to his place, he stared down the aisle, refusing to acknowledge the Poldara family as he would normally have done. Lady Lora gasped audibly at the snub.
Other ranking individuals among the nobility came forward to perform the ritual; every one of them snubbed the Poldara family. Reeve Dane and Magistrate Rains, representing the people of Bransat, did make signs of obeisance to the family, but they were cursory at best. When the guild masters came forward in their turn, only Enro Kase offered obeisance.
Kensie and Lady Lora bent their heads to all of the donators, whether they acknowledged the family or not, and pretended not to notice the snubs.
Once the offerings were complete, the Priest and Priestess made a final prayer for the souls of the dead. The ceremony concluded, they led the recessional down the aisle. As precedence dictated, Kensie, Lady Lora and the family followed immediately after them.
Most of the congregation pointedly ignored the family, a few glared at Kensie, half a dozen said "shame" or "you have no right to be here" in low voiced whispers.
Kensie clenched his jaw and looked straight ahead.
At the door of the Temple, the Priest and Priestess stepped to each side and faced each other so that the procession could pass between them. Kensie and Lady Lora bowed to the two as they went out the door into the sunlight.
The moment Kensie appeared, a growl came up from the crowd assembled before the Temple. The cries of 'shame' and 'coward' were now shouted and many waved fists in Kensie's direction. Someone in the midst of the crowd shouted "You dishonor our dead!" and a roar of agreement went up.
Lady Lora glanced around fearfully, now truly worried by the angry snetiment. Kensie put his arms around her and escorted her to the phaeton. As he handed her up, Perry Cork cried out "Look, the boy is protecting his mother. She's got his child inside her." He pointed at Lady Lora's obvious pregnancy.
Lady Lora and Kensie looked around in outrage. Quickly, Kensie bundled her into the phaeton, then put Naril and Grayson as well. He closed the door behind them.
Turning back, Kensie glared at Perry Cork, who smirked back at him. Without taking his eyes off the miller's son, Kensie barked out "Master Tanner! Escort my mother, brother and sister to safety. Get them back to the manor."
Chase Tanner bristled at the order. "Who are you…"
Kensie interrupted. "In my father's name, I order you to do this. Protect the family!"
The horsemaster glanced at the crowd. The ugly mood was plain. Nodding at the driver, he mounted Eagle and led the way through.
Once the phaeton was clear of the crowd and had disappeared down the street, Kensie advanced on Perry Cork, who grinned and said "Oh, is little Lord Coward angwy?"
Kensie looked around at the crowd and at the crowd of nobles who had stopped at the Temple door to watch. Taking a deep breath, Kensie raised his voice to carry over the crowd "I don't give a horse-turd what you think of me, but you will apologise for what you said about my mother."
Perry looked around in turn. Seeing the crowd smiling at him he looked back at Kensie. "Oh, has momma's boy been hiding in her bed…"
He never finished the remark as Kensie punched him in the face. Perry raised his hands to defend himself, but not before Kensie landed a second punch.
The crowd cleared back, giving the two room as they flailed at each other. Kensie, though untrained in fist-fighting, had years of weapons training to develop his reflexes and co-ordination. On his side, Perry was much more heavily built and outweighed Kensie by half. Perry also had the experience of many brawls with other boys.
Perry swung with his right and Kensie ducked under his flailing arm only to be struck by Perry's left. Kensie staggered back, then went for Perry again. He threw another punch at Perry's head, which the latter blocked before landing a gut-punch solidly in Kensie's stomach.
Kensie's breath whooshed out and Perry landed a punch on his face. Kensie went down on his hands and knees, gasping for breath as blood poured from his nose. Perry kicked Kensie in the side and the young lord rolled away.
Blood, seeing his master knocked down, screamed and fought against his groom, intent on attacking Perry. Hearing the stallion's scream, Kensie staggered to his feet and grabbed the reins. "No, Blood, stay! Do nothing!" Kensie stroked Blood's neck and steadied him, though the stallion still rumbled his discontent. "Stay!" Kensie commanded once more. The stud subsided further, though its lowered ears indicated its unhappiness.
"Is the little Lord Coward going to mount his horsie and ride away?" Perry taunted.
Kensie wiped the blood from his face and faced Perry once more. Kensie reached for his belt. Unbuckling it, he dropped his sword and dagger to the ground. He charged at Perry once more, swinging wildly.
Perry was ready. He ducked under Kensie's swing and threw his own punch at his opponent, catching him solidly on the jaw and knocking him unconscious.
Kensie dropped to the cobbles and lay unmoving. As Perry swung his foot back to kick the prostrate boy, Father Luca grabbed his arm. "Enough! You've won the fight you wanted. Leave it."
"He started it, Priest!" Perry retorted and swung at Father Luca.
Father Luca, vastly more trained in unarmed combat than either boy, spun Perry around and threw him to the ground beside Kensie. "I said 'enough!'" The priest growled, pinning Perry with his foot.
Perry scowled up at the priest and nodded in submission.
Father Luca pulled Perry to his feet and pointed down the street. "Go!" He ordered. Perry looked at Kensie, spat on his face and walked away. A group of Perry's friends, including Asen, went with him, congratulating the miller's son on his victory.
Once sure that Perry was on his way, Father Luca bent down beside Kensie, who was just starting to wake. When Kensie tried to scramble to his feet, Father Luca restrained him, making him stay down. Bending Kensie's head up, Father Luca checked his eyes. The pupils were equal; probably no concussion, Father Luca thought. He took Kensie's arm to help him to his feet.
Kensie gently pulled the priest's arm off and stood on his own. He wiped his arm across his mouth once more. "Thank you for your assistance, Father. You are most kind." Kensie's voice was steady and sincere.
Kensie glanced around. The faces in the crowd were still hostile, but there was now a grudging respect.
Kensie pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and wiped his face. "I seem to have made a mess of myself. Is there anywhere I can clean up?" A few people chuckled.