“But if it’s gold you would rather have—”

“My name is Dain, and I want a place in your hold as my reward.” “Nay!” Sir Roye shouted before Lord Odfrey could answer. The knight glared at Dain, his yellow eyes afire. “There can be no pagan in a faithful hold. Morde a day, he would bring ill luck to us all—” Arrows came whistling through the trees into their midst, a whole volley of them. One skimmed over Dain’s shoulder, making him flinch and dive for cover.  Several struck Sir Roye’s back, bouncing off his armor harmlessly. One hit Lord Odfrey in the face.

There was a spurt of blood, and the chevard reeled back in his saddle. Quicker than thought, Dain jumped and caught him before he could topple off his horse.  The charger whipped its armored head around and bit Dain in his side.  The pain made him shout aloud. Doubling his fist, he struck the horse across its tender muzzle. The horse released him, and Dain sucked in a shaky breath against the agony flooding his side. He could feel blood oozing along his skin beneath his tunic, but he dared not look.

He was still holding the chevard up, and the man in his armor weighed so much Dain thought he would sink into the ground beneath him. Sir Roye shouted something and rode around to Lord Odfrey’s other side. Leaning over, Sir Roye gripped Lord Odfrey’s arm and pulled him upright.

“M’lord!” he was shouting urgently. “M’lord!”

Lord Odfrey groaned. He was still pressing his hand to his face, the arrow’s shaft and fletching protruding from his fingers. Blood ran everywhere, soaking into his surcoat and trickling down his armor.

From the trees around them, a harrowing cry rose and drums beat like thunder.

Dain climbed onto Lord Odfrey’s horse and straddled it in front of the saddle.  He was practically sitting on the horse’s thick neck, but he grabbed the reins and said, “Hold on to me, lord.”

The chevard was breathing hard, making a faint groaning sound beneath each ragged breath. He swayed and turned toward Sir Roye. “Pull it out,” he gasped harshly.

Sir Roye’s gaze swiveled from him to the dwarves, visible now as they came swarming from three sides. The other knight, whose name Dain did not know, lifted a horn to his lips and blew on it loudly. In the distance another horn answered.

“Pull it out!” Lord Odfrey ordered. “Damne, do as I command.” Sir Roye’s fierce narrow face knotted in consternation, but he reached across and gripped the shaft of the arrow. “If it’s in your eye, I’ll kill you,” he said.

Lord Odfrey shuddered and struck Dain in the back with his fist.  Dain looked at Sir Roye and saw the older man’s love for the chevard warring in his eyes with what he knew had to be done. “Pull it out,” Dain said.  Sir Roye scowled and gave a quick, hard tug. The arrow came out with a great gout of blood that spurted across the back of Dain’s head and shoulders. Lord Odfrey cried out and slumped against Dain, who struggled to sit erect and support his weight.

“They’re on us!” the other knight shouted, drawing his sword.  Another volley of arrows flew at them. Dain wheeled the charger around, using the reins as he had seen the other men do. The horse backed its ears and fought him, half-rearing, but the arrows skimmed by without striking Dain. He heard some of them hit Lord Odfrey’s armored back and fall to the ground.  Shouting hoarse war cries of their own, Sir Roye and the other knight closed ranks and charged the rush of dwarves, although they were hopelessly outnumbered. Lord Odfrey’s horse was still fighting Dain, trying to swing itself around toward the battle.

While he was struggling with it, Dain felt Lord Odfrey lift himself. His visor clanged down, and the man shakily drew his sword, nearly cutting Dain’s thigh in doing so.

“Boy,” he said, his voice thin and muffled inside his helmet, “have you any magic to stanch this wound?”

Dwarves surrounded the two knights on all sides, and more of them came rushing now toward Dain and Lord Odfrey. Dain was afraid. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would break his ribs. He believed that Lord Odfrey was going to swoon and fall off the horse at any moment. They had to get out of here.  “Boy,” Lord Odfrey said again.

Dain shook his head. “Nay, lord. None.”

Lord Odfrey gripped his shoulder with such force Dain thought his bones might crack, then said, “Drop the reins on his neck. Let him fight for us. We’ll stand here. We will not run.”

The chevard’s courage shamed Dain. He dropped the reins as commanded, and at once the brawny charger blew through its nostrils and wheeled around to meet the oncoming dwarves. He reared and struck out with his forefeet, bringing two of the dwarves down.

As the horse landed, he leaped forward. Dain was nearly unseated, but Lord Odfrey leaned forward with the horse, using its impetus as he swung his sword.  A dwarf staggered back, his head half-severed from his neck.

Cruel fingers gripped Dain’s left knee and tugged hard, trying to pull him off.  He twisted around and stabbed the dwarf’s forearm with his dagger. Screaming, the dwarf released him and stumbled back. But two others took his place. Lord Odfrey lifted his sword over Dain’s head and swung down, eliminating them both.  Dain heard the chevard grunt with the effort, but his courage and refusal to give up infected Dain with the same fiery spirit. Together they fought, circling as the dwarves tried to surround them. After a while, Sir Roye fought his way back to Lord Odfrey’s side, protecting him with great ferocity.  Then a horn blew, and from Dain’s left came twenty or more Mandrian knights riding through the trees like vengeance itself. They plowed into the dwarf war party and attacked them from their flank, driving them back while some of the knights forced their way to Lord Odfrey’s side, shielding him from further harm.  A few minutes later, minutes that seemed to last an eternity to Dain, sudden quiet descended upon the forest. The dead and dying lay sprawled everywhere, their blood soaking into the ground. Silence held the forest, broken only by the harsh breathing of the survivors, who lifted their visors and showed strained, sweat-soaked faces to each other.

Sir Roye glared fiercely around, then sheathed his sword. He reached out and gripped Lord Odfrey’s sword arm. “M’lord,” he said, his voice hoarse with fatigue and worry. “It’s over. M’lord, let me take your sword.” Lord Odfrey sat there in silence as though he did not comprehend, but at last he let Sir Roye pull his bloody sword from his hand.

“Home,” he said in a strained whisper.

Sir Roye nodded to Dain, who gathered up the charger’s reins. “Go easy with him, boy.”

Dain nodded, coaxing the weary charger into a walk.

Sir Roye rode close on his right. Another knight crowded close on the left.  “Know you the way?” Sir Roye asked. “I’m fair turned about in these infernal trees.”

“I know the way,” Dain said.

Conscious of the importance of his task, he picked a path over the dead Bnen, his enemies no longer. Deep weariness sagged through him. but he resisted it, refusing to give way to the long shudders that shook him. He had never been in battle before. The smell of death hung thick over the woods, tainting them now.  He was glad the Mandrian knights did not joke and laugh as they rode home behind his lead. They talked softly among themselves, but did not make merry. He noticed that several seemed to be praying, making the circle of their faith as they did so. He respected them for that.

Good-bye, Thia, he thought. Sleep well in your resting place. I go to a new life among men. You would not like it. You would tell me to beware, for men are never to be trusted. But I trust this man. His heart is good, and he has honor in him.  Lord Odfrey moaned quietly and slumped against Dain’s back. Sir Roye gripped his arm, steadying him to keep him from falling, and thus did they ride forth from the Dark Forest, crossing the bridge that spanned the river whose name Dain did not know. The bridge guards stared at them, openmouthed and red-faced with admiration, and closed the gates behind them.

When they reached the opposite bank, the road stretched ahead, leading to a slight rise of ground. There rose the tall stone walls of Thirst Hold, a gray fortress with banners flying against the sky.

Seeing it, Dain shivered slightly. His fear and distrust returned and he knew fresh temptation to return to the forest and make a solitary life for himself.  He could journey to the north, to see Nether. He could explore the world.  Yet the world seemed too big just now. He was cold and hungry, and he hurt all over. Surely Lord Odfrey would give him a place here, where he would have shelter and food in exchange for whatever work he would do. He’d sensed agreement in the man’s mind before the last attack. For now, that was assurance enough.

The massive gates to the hold stood open by the time the riders reached them.  They rode through, someone else taking the lead now. There was a cramped tunnel of stone to pass along, then Dain emerged into a spacious, muddy keep surrounded by walls and buildings of stone. Everything he saw amazed him. He could barely take in half of it.

And people . . . there were people everywhere, thronging the courtyard and milling around past another passageway that led into yet a larger yard. Towers rose above the roofs of the tallest buildings. A few of the windows even glinted with glass. He had never seen so much stone, or so much fodder stacked in yellowing heaps next to barns, or so many chickens running and squawking underfoot, or so many barrels and kegs of food. From the looks of things, the inhabitants of several villages had crowded themselves within the walls of the hold.

How they did clamor, shrieking and calling out questions, cheering and waving their caps when the word went forth that the raiders were dead.  They yelled and stamped their feet and hooted and jumped for joy, pressing closer until some of the knights shoved them back.

“Make way!” Sir Roye shouted impatiently. “Make way for the chevard!” The cheers did not fade. The common folk seemed not to notice that Lord Odfrey was wounded. They milled and scrambled out of the way heedlessly, until at last Dain and Sir Roye rode through their midst and broke free into a third courtyard, this one paved with large, smooth flagstones. The horses’ hooves clattered, echoing off the buildings that towered above.  Broad steps led to a central building, one longer than it was tall and flanked by a tower on either side. Servants swarmed down the steps and came hurrying to meet Dain’s horse.

“Fetch Sulein at once,” Sir Roye ordered. “His lordship is badly hurt.”

“Is he dead?” a voice asked, only to be shushed.

A pair of boys gripped the war charger’s bridle, and one of them pulled the reins from Dain’s hands. “Who’s that?” he asked, staring at Dain.  No one answered him.

Eager hands reached up and lowered Lord Odfrey gently from his horse. With his armor on, he was no easy weight. Six men struggled to carry him up the steps and into the building. Dain could hear dogs barking inside and the commotion of voices.

Weary to his very bones, Dain slid off the horse and walked around it to Sir Roye, who was also dismounting.

The knight bowed his head and straightened slowly as though his joints ached. He pulled off his helmet and pushed back his mail coif to reveal short-cropped gray hair darkened with sweat. His yellow eyes held worry.  “Where now should I go?” Dain asked him. “Can I have the food Lord Odfrey offered me earlier?”

“Food?” Sir Roye repeated. He turned his head around and focused on Dain as though he’d forgotten the boy existed. He scowled. “Food?”