“Then—”

A halloo from the forest caught Dain’s attention as Thum and two dwarf children emerged from the trees. The boys were leading two shaggy ponies, and Thum limped ahead of them. He looked gaunt and pale, but his hazel-green eyes were bright with eagerness.

The darsteed turned its attention on the ponies, who abruptly balked, refusing to come closer. One of them began backing up, nearly dragging the bandy-legged child who held grimly to its rope shouting dwarf curses at it.  “I pray to Thod these brutes don’t run off again,” Thum said, puffing heavily as he limped up to Dain. “Good morn, sire. I ask your pardon for not being ready, but they bolted the moment they saw our monster. Would you please thank these young sprouts for helping me get them back?”

Dain smiled at the children. “Don’t try to force the ponies closer,” he said in rapid dwarf. “They’re too frightened. It will take them time to grow used to the darsteed.”

The larger of the two lads clamped his arm over the neck of his pony and stared at Dain with open curiosity. “It wants to eat them.”

“Aye.”

“You won’t let it?”

“Nay, that I swear.”

“On dwarf honor or Netheran honor?”

Hearing the child’s mistrust, Dain walked over to him. “On dwarf honor, by ash and salt, I do swear.” He spat in his hand and held it out.  Looking impressed, the boy spat on his own hand and gripped Dain’s hard. “I accept your oath, King Faldain.”

“Good. Now tie the ponies securely over there where they can get used to the darsteed’s scent but not feel too threatened. Have you boys any duties to perform this morning?”

The boys looked at each other. Square-headed with wide-set eyes, they were clearly related. One nodded, but the other shook his head and dug his elbow sharply into his brother’s ribs.

“Speak truly now,” Dain said sternly.

The sulky one answered him: “I wanted to help with the blood oaths to Vannor, but, nay, we’re assigned to light Element candles for the weddings. Pah!” “Will you witness a ceremony here? A Mandrian ceremony?” Dain asked. “ ‘Twill not take long.”

“Oh, aye!” they chorused.

“Good.” He pointed. “Stand over there.”

“Sire?” Alexeika said quietly. She’d shifted the coarse linsey sack off her shoulder to the ground. “The sun is climbing. I thought you meant to take the road by now.”

“I did,” Dain replied, squinting at the angle of sunlight and selecting a spot to stand. “But this has importance too.”

“I have our provisions packed in the saddlebags,” Thum said. “All we need is to fill waterskins and—” “Aye, Thum. Over here to me.”

Thum obediently limped up. His dark red hair had grown shaggy of late, and his beard needed trimming as well. He’d managed to procure a new cloak for himself, but it was too short for his lanky height. The knees of his leggings were patched and stained, and he was clearly starting to outgrow them. Dain had never seen him look so ragged, but his friend was still the capable, industrious, hardworking loyal companion he’d always been. Still a thinker more than a warrior, but with a brave heart all the same.

Dain glanced at Alexeika. “Would you come here? Nay, leave the bundle where it is.”

Looking as puzzled and impatient as Thum, she obeyed.

Dain pointed at Thum. “Help him to kneel without hurting that leg.”

A look of stunned comprehension flashed across Thum’s face, and he turned white.  Although his mouth fell open, and his throat apple jerked up and down, he said nothing.

Though delighted by his reaction, Dain remained outwardly stern. While Thum shakily knelt, Dain drew Truthseeker and held it aloft in the sunlight.  Alexeika’s blue-gray eyes were alight now with approval. Glancing at where the new sword lay in its wrappings, she smiled.

“Thum du Maltie,” Dain said, speaking Mandrian, and wishing he could have done this before the entire company of Thirst knights, before an entire army, with heralds and trumpets to make fanfare, “I do now call forth the announcement that you are a courageous and worthy man, valiant and true.” Kneeling before him, Thum gulped again. His eyes were shining like stars.  “You have shown prowess with arms, faithfulness to your oaths and duties, and courage in the face of danger. I, Faldain, Chevard of Thirst and rightful, though uncrowned, King of Nether, do hereby knight you.” As he spoke, he touched Thum on either shoulder with the flat of Truthseeker’s blade. Thum bowed his head, praying beneath his breath. When he finished, Dain extended the hilt of Truthseeker to him, and Thum kissed it reverently. No longer did he seem afraid of the weapon, as once he’d been. He’d seen enough in Gant to make him understand the difference between rightful magic and wrong.  “Arise, Sir Thum,” Dain said, beaming at him, “and count yourself a warrior.” A grin flashed across Thum’s face, but it vanished just as quickly. He remained kneeling. “I, Sir Thum du Maltie, do hereby give my oath of fealty to Faldain of Nether,” he said in an unsteady voice. “I vow to devote myself and my arm to seeing your majesty rightfully crowned.”

Proud gratitude swelled Dain’s heart. He held out his hand as Thum struggled to rise, and their clasp was hard with all the feelings they could not openly express.

Then Thum took a step back, blinking as though he could still not believe all that had happened.

Dain sheathed Truthseeker and reached into his pocket to pull forth a set of spurs, silver and well-wrought. “It is customary for a new knight to receive gifts, either from his father or friends. Here is my gift, as one former foster of Thirst to another.”

Thum took the spurs with obvious delight. “Dain, I—I mean, your grace, I—” “And as your chevard,” Dain continued, striding over to the sack that Alexeika had carried, “I am obligated to outfit you properly.”

He pulled out a hauberk of shining new mail and held it up so the sunlight glinted off the metal links.

Thum limped forward. “Great Thod above,” he said in astonishment. “How did you get such a fine—” “It should have been fitted to you, but perhaps in the future you can acquire custom-made armor. In the meantime,” Dain told him, “never again will you be expected to join combat without proper protection. I would not have seen you wounded so grievously for the world, my friend.”

Thum took the hauberk and held it up against his chest. Alexeika came over and helped him check the length of the sleeves against his arms. “A bit short, but ‘twill do,” she announced, smiling. “My congratulations on this honor done you, Sir Thum. ‘Tis well-deserved.”

“Thank you,” he said, looking stunned. “But I—I didn’t even help with the escape from Gant. More like I was a burden—” “A true friend is never a burden,” Dain said fiercely. “Never. You were worthy of being knighted long ere we were taken to Gant.”

Thum kept stroking the hauberk, and even laughed. “Now I suppose this is something else for me to polish.”

“Aye, you’ve no squire to do for you,” Dain said merrily. “For that matter, nor do I. We shall have to do our polishing together, provided we can persuade Alexeika to share her honing oil.”

Alexeika blushed.

“Well,” Thum said, grinning as he went back to examining his gifts. “Well!” “It is a Netheran custom,” Dain said now, “for the king to bestow his notice on a knight in particular favor. I wear no crown, Sir Thum, but I would keep that custom.”

Thum stared at him, and Dain picked up the sword he’d bought. Leaving it wrapped, he handed it to Thum.

“Nay,” Thum said, sounding overwhelmed. “What is this?” He draped his hauberk over his arm, unwrapped the sword, and held it by its carved scabbard with hands that trembled visibly.

“Draw it,” Dain said quietly. “See if its balance fits you. The dwarf who made the weapon can adjust it if necessary, or fit you to another.” Thum bowed his head, busily blinking back the moisture that shimmered in his eyes. Collecting himself, he fitted his hand around the hilt and slowly drew the blade, which flashed in the sunlight as only virgin steel can.  “ ‘Tis plain,” Dain said, “but worthy of your rank. Better than that dull piece you used to wear on your belt.”

Without being told, Alexeika unbuckled his belt and threaded it through the scabbard straps, then knelt and fitted the spurs onto his boots.  “Put on your hauberk, Sir Thum,” Dain said.

Thum’s eyes were shining. “I have done nothing to deserve such high honor. No valiant act have I performed, no shining bravery have I shown.” “Nonsense,” Dain said gruffly. “You have been my most loyal friend. You have served me well, better than I deserved. ‘Tis I who must ask your pardon yet again for having taken you into battle as a squire, with no armor and no—” “My pardon is given freely,” Thum told him. “Think of it never again. I would fight for you again without armor or sword, if necessary. I just regret that I could not serve you while we were in Gant.”

Dain’s brows shot up. “Not serve me? And who took the arrow meant for me? Put on your hauberk, sir, and get ready to ride. Your feet may drag the ground on yon pony, but by Thod, you’ll go forth mounted and spurred. As for your shield, you will have to provide that for yourself someday.”

Thum’s laughter rang out.

A female dwarf came hurrying up, a look of exasperation on her face, and began to scold the boys, who’d been watching solemnly all this time.  Dain had forgotten about them, but now he turned and hurried over to intervene.

“They are here by my request,” he said to her in dwarf. “I bade them wait.” “They have sacred duties this day,” she said impatiently. “This is no time for them to fall idle.”

“But they are witnesses to the knighting of this man,” he explained. “Let them bide here a few minutes more. I shall not keep them long.”