"Is there any way we can assist you?"
Sir Globar turned to give the boys a stern glance."Actually, there is, however, it doesn't involve taking part in the battle."
"Oi! Say what?"
The flabbergasted look on Syras's face reflected how Weimar felt on the inside. Here he was squiring for Aislundia's most renown knight and now he was being sidelines from an important battle that determined the fate of a small town.
How could he do this to us?
"I understand you both feel the need to prove your mettle in battle, but I am afraid that will have to wait until another time. By Magnus's sword, I felt the same way when I squired for Sir Strabor, but you don't have the training or the discipline to take on the Bleeding Mummies."
Syras wasn't easily placated.
"B-but you saw us take those ruffians back at our village with nothing but wooden swords. I am sure we could hold our own."
"He's right," Weimar chimed in. "My melee team and I managed to survive that onslaught."
The look on the Aislundian knight's face darkened. "Notice how you just stated how you and your 'melee team' survived. Also, I emphasize the word 'survive' as well. You and your team barely held your own against the outlaws until me and the other knights came to your aid. If you lacked each other as you do now, you'd have been buried six feet under by now. That doesn't mean you lack any fighting prowess whatsoever. You both just need time to hone your skills with a shield and sword. "
"If I may object to that last statement-" Syras opened his mouth, but their superior cut him off.
"Nay, I will not heed anything more that comes out of your mouth. As your superior, I order my squire and my stable hand to remain behind until further notice. I will not be delayed by further defiance from either of you. Now, stay with the mayor and be on your best behavior until I return!"
Raising his glistening sword, which Weimar had found out the knight had christened as Talon, Sir Globar followed the mayor's guards outside the building toward the waning twilight air. Sulking, the two teenagers sat across from the mayor and his elite guards on a large ornate wormwood couch, complete with wyverns carved on the handles of the seats. Mayor Haathon was the first to break the silence that felt like it went on for ages.
"What's with the long faces, boys? You will be safe with me here as the battle rages on outside. Want some Celestan Cider? It came in fresh from Florenta this morning."
Syras groaned and rolled his dark eyes. "Precisely why we are in our current mood."
The Mayor, brushing a strand of his burgundy hair, clapped his hands and ordered an aide to light up the fire by the pit at the side of the wall. Once that was completed, he turned to face the village boys once again.
"Ah! Here now, lads. Spending time with the mayor of Fjore can't be all that bad, can it? You should be thrilled that instead of risking your lives and limbs in the tangle outside with those wild ones, you get to hear of my grand exploits. Many would pay a dozen coins for this opportunity you boys are receiving. Now where shall I begin? Me hunting the Qati'i Ibex? My achievements during my days in the Aislundian military when the Goblin Wars or the battles with the Glacial Priestess-Duchess of the Artika or the Night Druid Chieftain of the Hallows. Those were my glory days."
Weimar was nearly lulled to sleep by the corrupt mayor's monologue about his past accomplishments and one quick glance at his buddy confirmed that Syras had felt the same way about the charlatan. They were going to have take care of the rambling man if they valued their sanity. It wasn't long until Syras rose from his seat.
"Excuse me, good mayor. May I pour you some Celdean wine? You got some I take it, aye?"
The unsuspecting mayor smiled widely, showing several decaying teeth. "Why, of course, my dear boy. I do indeed have a prestigious drink like Celdean wine. All the coins I have needs to be spent productively after all. You can find it in the cellar. Julius, escort him to the cellars."
As a guard bearing a shield with a smiling sun over a navy blue background led the village boy to fetch the wine, Weimar wondered what his friend had planned to get them out of their situation. Whatever it was, he had hoped it would be efficient enough for them to sneak off.
"Anyway, let me tell you about the time the Great Fenrir of Fenris encountered my entourage."
Boy, he does love to hear himself talk. How does anyone working with him bear it?
"Do you have any questions for me, young boss?"
"Oh!" Weimar was jolted out of the endless wanderings of his mind. "Aye, I do. You married, betrothed, or have any young ones?"
"Ah! An excellent question. " The brunet-haired mayor shrugged his shoulders as he lay back, his left hand tugging the end of his mustache. "As of late, I possess no spouse nor offspring, but that may change in the immediate future as I am much renowned among the females-Ah, there you both are. What took you so long to bring my wine? It is of no matter now, I'll have a sip now."
The young Weimar glanced to his left to see Syras and his guardsman escort return with a cask that had Celdean Wine written in large pink ornate letters on its side. Syras had used his dagger to slice open the lid and let the beverage slip into the nearest glass on the counter.
"Ho! Watch it, mate! You will ruin the mayor's counter!" Julius warned the young man.
"Julius, give the lad a break. He is doing me a service that not many boys of his age are capable of. If you ask me me, kids these days need to learn manners. Ah, thank you, my boy."
As soon as Haathon took the glass from Syras, he took a sip and sat back on the couch, joined by Julius. The dark-haired lad sat back beside Weimar and gave him a smug look, a look Weimar only knew too well.
"What did you do?"
The dark-haired boy sniggered. "Oh, you will see in a second. Just watch closely."
Oh boy, I wonder what hare-brained scheme he cooked up. I hope it is nothing too over the top like that last time he made the schoolmaster eat snails.
"Julius, this wine is quite phenomenal. You should try some."
The guardsmen raised his massive hands. "I cannot, my lord."
Mayor Haathon frowned as he offered his security officer a glass. "And why is that? You take orders from me and I did not forbid you from taking a sip now, did I?"
Julius finally gave in and took the glass. "I suppose one sip shouldn't alter my mind now, wouldn't it?"
As the two men drank, Weimar leaned in and whispered to Syras. "What in Magnus's name have you done now?"
"Just watch and you will see. Learn to observe, mate. That is why we were given eyes in the first place."
The squire rolled his eyes. "Whatever, I hope it gets us in trouble with the mayor of Fjore."
For a few moments, nothing visibly hairy occurred until the mayor shot up suddenly, a hand on his stomach. Weimar, Syras, and Julius did as well.
"My lord, is something wrong?" Julius asked until his eyes grew wide.
Uuuuuurt!
"Good Karl!" Syras groaned. "You both cut the cheese there."
Weimar made a face as the mayor and his guard both passed gas. The smell made the manure of his farm's stables as well as the den of the Kaswais, the large flightless birds used for their meat or their feathers, smell like Solvaang pastries. That was saying something as the young squire couldn't stand the smell of the stables.
"Julius, I don't feel so good!" The mayor's face was flushed. "I need to find the John!"
"We can concur on that point!"
The two men darted out of the room, clasping their rear ends like they were on fire. Syras then grabbed his friend's hands and dragged him out of the main room and toward the door. The guards were attending to the mayor and their superior to notice the lack of the boys' presence. Taking one last look at the hunting trophies on the wall above the hearth, a Finnan elk and a Kamari dragon among them, Weimar and Syras burst through the marble door and out into the evening air, damp with storm clouds and the telltale moisture of precipitation.
"What did you do, Syras?" Weimar gazed quizzically at his buddy. "I have been dying to know."
Glancing to and fro, the other teen leaned over and whispered. "You ever heard of the Plum Plumber?"
Weimar's jaw dropped as they made their way through the narrow soiled streets. "No way! How did you get your hand on a charm as expensive as that?"
"You remember the day we went to the melee tournament? I noticed a traveling peddler who dealt in 'forbidden magic' as he referred to it as such and noticed his attention was located elsewher-Oi! You hear that?"
Weimar heard as well. The shouts, screams, and clangs of metal weapons on each other signified that a battle was commencing. The two peeked out from the side of a small cottage and noticed Fjore's security engaged in a brawl against the invading tribesmen near the mill. Both sides had horsemen and archers, but they could be discerned by their choice of attire. The tribesmen wore bronze helms that covered their eyes as well as armor jerkins, most similar to Norwichans or Voranjinns while the town's police force had basic helms, chainmail armor, leather jerkins, and other basic regalia of a levied militia.
"You know, this isn't something that is out of our hands," Syras whispered. "I have a couple daggers, but we can nab a real sword from a corpse we stumble upon."
Before the squire could utter a reply, the sounds of footsteps met their ears. The boys turned around and were met with a distressing sight. Two barbarians,clad in leather jerkins and bronze helms, returned their gaze.
"What do we have here?" The female Bleeding Mummy sneered, her dichromatic eyes searching the boys. "Two young ripes fresh to be cut up. Well, Puck, which one do you claim?" She raised her axe.
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Uh oh, things aren't looking good for our heroes. Above is the reference for how Young Weimar looks in the present as a squire.
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