***
The two children had almost entered the temporary camp before Sir Unhert spotted them. He leapt to his feet and called Lady Orla, as Ekra-Hurr pulled his hood tighter and eased under the cover of a riverside tree.
The children were perhaps eight and six and dressed in muddied clothes. They both had fair hair with bulbous noses and ruddy cheeks. The eldest child was a girl and she looked with awe at the tall Sir Unhert and began to speak to him.
Unhert looked bewildered and turned to Minrik and Orla, who approached. “Captain, they are speaking some bizarre dialect.”
“There was I thinking that all Nurolia spoke Imperial,” Minrik said. “Perhaps only the civilised parts eh, peasant?”
The girl smiled warily at him. Her younger companion clutched a bundle to his chest.
Orla tried to smile at the two children. “Let us try to be amiable, Sir Minrik. We don’t want to draw any unwelcome attention to our passage. Last thing we need is a running battle with the Goldorian Inquisition.”
“As you wish,” Minrik said.
The miserable knight sighed and turned to the children. Rolling his eyes he spoke slowly and very loudly. “Hel-lo, I am a kn-ight fr-om ov-er the blue sea. Can you un-der-stand me litt-le peasant?”
The girl smiled nervously and replied once more in her own language.
Minrik went a light purple and reached for the bundle the small boy carried. The child immediately burst into tears and began to wail. Orla scowled at Minrik and turned to Unhert, who shrugged. It was then she noticed that on the far bank of the river there was an audience of perhaps twenty farmers, stood impassively observing them. They carried a range of heavy farming tools.
The knights exchanged concerned glances.
“They are speaking to you in Old Goldorian. The girl has asked ‘where are you from?’ and introduced her and her brother,” Jem said.
The three knights looked at him in surprise. Orla paused for a second to contemplate then asked, “Can you speak their tongue then?”
Jem arose awkwardly from the riverbank, his hands bound behind his back.
“Quite obviously I do, Lady Orla. If I were to use my Wild-magic then I could ensure you could also understand, but clearly that is not an option. However, I fear if you allow your Eerian specialist in tact and diplomacy to harass these children further you may find two dozen angry farmers trying to toast the sheen off your exquisite armour.”
“The day a dozen peasants even breathe on my armour will be the day my soul ascends to Torik!” Minrik said. “Captain, you cannot be seriously thinking of allowing the Wild-mage to talk to these urchins? He’ll have the entire of Goldoria on our party before nightfall.”
“Oh cease thine wining prattle, Minrik,” Hunor said. “I hardly think it’s in anyone’s interests to have the Godsarm stoking the fires with both our arses tied to a stake.”
Minrik began to retort when Orla raised her gauntlet for silence. She indicated for Jem to continue.
“They speak the native tongue that was here before your Empire occupied the country,” Jem said. “The educated castes speak Imperial but as I’m sure you have ascertained we are somewhat in the wilderness here.”
Jem knelt to address the wary children at the same level, smiling at the girl.
“May the light of Mortis warm you through the dark days! What may we do for you little one?”
“My name is Jelian, sir. My father tasked us with giving you our luncheon bread. As a boon, so we don’t…”
Jem shook his head and interrupted her.
“Give the gift to the lady knight. It will be well received and thank your father as a true son of Mortis. We shall not be taking Lord’s shelter with you this day, much to my regret.”
Jelian smiled then asked, “What are those creatures? I have not seen their like.”
“They are griffons, Jelian. Half eagle and half lion. They are ridden by the knights that accompany me from the faraway lands of Eeria.”
“They are not talked of in the Great Book of Trall nor the sermons,” Jelian said warily.
“Would that Mortis share all his knowledge with us then we would be cups brimming over. No man may feast on every seed, it is written.”
The girl seemed content with this answer.
“Are you sorcerers?” the little brother asked. “Uncle Baba says Papa should go to the Godsarm.”
Jelian hissed in annoyance and cuffed her brother across the head.
“No. We are travellers from a distant land crossing on a holy mission bestowed by the Archbishop of the Delta.”
“And your hands?” Jelian asked.
“I am in penance with the knights. I took something that once belonged to them and thus I must earn their trust once more.”
“And may I ask your name, kind sir?”
“I am Jemiris Halderskin, son of Urios the Clockmaker of Parok,” Jem said without hesitation. “Go in peace now for the prayer time is almost upon us.”
The girl bowed to the knights before taking her brother’s hand and skipping off down the bank of the stream. The knights stared after her and then turned to question Jem.
“Why on earth send a child with a loaf of bread? Are the serfs here so disrespectful of rank?” Minrik asked.
“The lower caste of Goldoria holds children in great respect,” Jem said. “They regard them as the purest of souls. Indeed the honesty of children is most refreshing in this duplicitous world.”
“Well dishonesty would be your favourite topic, Wild-mage,” Minrik said. “Pray what did the peasants think would be achieved by offering us a loaf of bread? I’d expect a nice fat cow to roast at the very least.”
“The serfs hold to an ancient tradition. If and when they meet a knight or one of a higher caste, such as a priest, they are obliged to take them into their home and offer them all their possessions freely. They call it the ‘Lord’s shelter’. They’ve technically avoided the need to offer it by sending the children to talk to us in their stead.”
“Cheeky peasants!” Minrik said with a splutter of disgust. “Not that one of noble Eerian stock would sully his armour on the muck from their hovel, but to evade their obligations in such a manner.”
“Sir Minrik, that’s more than enough,” Orla said. “You have my gratitude, Wild-mage. Your familiarity with the local dialect has saved us drawing more attention to our mission than is necessary. It will weigh in your favour.
“And Sir Minrik, you would do well to remember that the courtesy of the Knights of the Air extends to all less fortunate than they, not simply our own peasants. Gifts no matter how small should be accepted with gratitude and respect. It is the mark of the noble soul. Am I clear?”
The colour of Minrik’s face was like chalk as he stood to attention. “Yes, Captain. Of course you also have my gratitude, mage.”
Jem smiled thinly and returned to Emelia and Hunor, who was suppressing his laughter in anticipation of a punch to the face from Sir Minrik.
“You wouldn’t think he was so good with kids, would you, love?” Hunor said.
Jem shot him a withering glance then sat back down at the side of the stream, watching the farmers shuffle away to their prayers.