Chapter 1

Wolfram had always seen himself as a simple lad. Not simple of mind, despite what his sisters said, but simple of purpose. A childhood of hunting, riding, and playing at sports felt like it had all been in preparation for the one thing he'd dreamt of for as long as he could remember. He wanted to be one of the knights who ruled over the king's lands and rode into battle against his enemies. It was in the castle at the top of this hill that he would learn to be such a knight.

The damp earthen path crunched beneath his boots, freshly scattered grit giving the horses purchase as they plodded up a track that snaked from the village at the foot of the hill to the castle far above. It was more a cliff than a hill, Wolfram thought. Cracks and lines that might once have marked the work of an ancient quarry rose up the stone face, culminating in a sheer, plaster-flecked wall from whence the castle drew its name. The plaster had been the colour of lavender many years ago, but the expensive pigment had been washed out with the rain and bleached by the sun until only the faintest hint of its original hue remained. It must have been a striking spectacle once, for the locals still called it the Lavender Castle to this day. It sounded romantic to Wolfram. He still wasn't quite sure what romance was, but people said he would find out soon. Everyone at home told him he'd inherited his father's good looks. Fair-haired, tall, and strong for his age, he would be a striking young fellow in a few years' time.

A skinny man wearing a leather shirt waited for them halfway up the path. He looked underdressed for the damp weather, but he didn't appear to mind it. Tall and lanky, there were dark circles under his eyes that seemed to match the weary tangle of his brown hair. He would've looked like a vagabond if not for the intense wiriness of his physique and the sword at his belt. He acknowledged Wolfram's group with an upwards nod and waited for them to reach him. Their party was five strong, two merchants and three adolescent boys accompanied by a pair of horses drawing a wagon.

"Gil," the skinny man said, directing his nod to one of the merchants.

"Dunstan," the merchant replied. "These are the lads, and we've got the delivery back there."

"Is it the full delivery this time?"

Wolfram couldn't see Gil Merchant's expression, but the man put his hands on his hips and adopted a confrontational posture. "Can your master afford it?"

"Don't give me a headache. He'll want to see it all even if he only buys half."

"Five casks of wine, two of mead, ten of beer."

Dunstan nodded. "That'll do. Come on up with me."

They resumed their trek up the path, but Dunstan stood to one side, waiting for the others to go first. As Wolfram passed by, their eyes met. He held the man's gaze and smiled amicably.

Dunstan glared at him. "What are you looking at?"

"Only yourself, Sir Dunstan."

"I'm no sir."

"So none of us will be squiring for you?" Wolfram indicated the other two boys walking with him. "Who'll be our masters?"

Dunstan fell into step at the back of the group. "Baron Erik's your lord, and I'm his dog, which makes you three my pups."

"But who'll we be squiring for?"

"For the Lord God and His blessed precept of silence," Dunstan said sardonically. "Mind your mouth and walk."

Wolfram frowned, but he did as he was told. It was his understanding that squires served individual knights, acting as their personal servants and apprentices until they were of age to be knighted themselves. He didn't know much about Baron Erik, only that he ruled over this part of the county from his lavender castle, and that he had agreed to take Wolfram into his household to squire for one of his knights.

Dunstan began falling behind. Once he was out of earshot, Wolfram turned to one of the other boys, a young nobleman named Robin of Dun Meadow, and said: "Do you reckon the baron must have many knights living in his castle?"

"I shouldn't think so," Robin replied. "Why would he?"

Wolfram paused to piece together his thoughts. This was why his sisters called him stupid; he sometimes said and did things without thinking. To avoid appearing foolish, he had to stop and rack his brains before he could answer the sorts of questions people like Robin knew off the top of their heads. It gave people the impression that he was slow. Perhaps he was, but he didn't think that made him stupid.

"We're going to be squiring for his knights," Wolfram said after a moment. "Wouldn't we have been sent to their estates if they're not garrisoned at the castle?"

Robin shrugged. "Maybe the lord wants to see us for himself. Give us away like chickens at market. Only the best man gets the best squire."

Wolfram grinned, enjoying the hint of challenge in Robin's voice. "That'll be me."

"No it won't. You talk too much like a peasant."

"I'm not."

"You still talk like one."

"There's noble blood in my family," Wolfram said, "on my father's side."

"He's not a lord though, is he?"

"No," Wolfram conceded. "My mother's a merchant and my father's–" He stopped to think once again. "He's the village alderman."

Robin didn't miss the hesitation. He seemed sharp, like the boys who studied with the monks and could debate them in class. Wolfram had never been able to match wits with those sorts.

"What kind of alderman?"

Another long pause followed before Wolfram answered haltingly: "He, sort of, takes care of things when he's not minding our horses."

"Is he the alderman of a guild?"

"No. I don't think so."

Robin laughed. "You don't know what an alderman is, do you?"

"That's what people in the village call him."

"Then they don't know either. People who haven't been schooled don't know anything."

"I've been schooled," Wolfram insisted. Compared to most of the children he'd grown up with, he was an educated young man. He could read, albeit slowly, and pen his letters if he needed to. He understood basic mathematics and the importance of managing money. But none of those things were his strong points, and he sensed Robin knew this.

"You'll get sent off to live with some old knight on a farm," Robin said. "Have to pour his wine and wipe his bum. I'll be here at the castle training with the real knights."

Wolfram didn't have a comeback to that, so he just smiled at the other boy. He'd show Robin of Dun Meadow what it took to be a knight. As soon as Baron Erik and his men saw what he was capable of, they'd realise it too. Uncultured, slow to put his thoughts together, and lacking in noble airs though he might be, Wolfram had never suffered a poverty of confidence.

By the time they reached the top of the hill, Wolfram and Dunstan were the only ones who weren't short of breath. The skinny man-at-arms caught up to the head of the group and led them on to the castle gate. The sheer rock face was overlooked by the western wall of the castle, but the gate stood on its south side. Thick fir trees closed in from all other directions, forming a natural screen that, combined with the steep slopes, made it almost impossible to approach the castle from anywhere except the main path. Wolfram had heard that the Lavender Castle had never been captured in battle, and now he understood why. He wouldn't have fancied his chances scaling the winding path while soldiers pelted him with arrows and rocks from the lavender wall.

The path made a single loop through the fir trees before reaching the castle. The gates were wide open and seemingly unguarded. The merchants trundled their cart through and bade farewell to the boys, leaving them in Dunstan's care. Wolfram stared around at the castle buildings, fascinated by the size of the courtyard inside the bailey. He'd visited a castle before, but that had been in Tannersfield, the town from which their county took its name. The people there had all been nobles, merchants, and clerics, not fighting men who protected the kingdom.

"Welcome to Elkinshire Castle," Dunstan said, with the air of a man picking something old and annoying out of his teeth. "Or the Lavender Castle, as they all call it. Wait here and don't bother anyone. I'll see if the family's up." He left the boys standing by the gate and strode off toward the keep. It was a squat structure built into the corner of the north and west walls. Two storeys high, four small turrets rose from the corners of an otherwise flat stone walkway that encircled the vaulted roof. Next to the keep was a long, low building where the merchants had taken their cart, presumably a kitchen. A stable block occupied the corner opposite, while half a dozen smaller buildings spread their way around the edges of the bailey. Just like the scarred stone face of the hill, Elkinshire Castle looked weathered. Weeds and tufts of grass sprouted around the buildings where the earth hadn't been tramped bare, while little gardens of wildflowers fought for prominence amongst the cracks in the walls.

"It's not very busy," the third boy, whose name Wolfram hadn't caught, said in a gloomy tone. He looked tired and miserable.

"Of course it's not," Robin said. "Why would anyone from the village come up here? This place is for the lord and his men."

"And their servants," Wolfram said, pointing to a pair of women who had come out of the kitchen to meet the merchants. One of them was plump and wore a wimple while the other looked like a young assistant. Neither of them paid the boys any mind.

"It'll be busier when the lord holds court," Robin said matter-of-factly.

Wolfram frowned for the second time that day. It seemed odd that the castle was so quiet. Where were the garrisoned knights he'd been expecting? The men-at-arms? Besides the people by the kitchen, he could only see a couple of men minding the stable and a single servant drawing water from a wellhouse cistern. He tugged at the clasp of his cloak, his excitement giving way to trepidation. Perhaps Robin was right. Maybe he was going to be sent off to serve some decrepit old knight who would order him around like a parlour maid and never teach him the art of fighting.

He wasn't given long to ponder before Dunstan came out of the keep and waved them over. They crossed the courtyard and went through the heavy oak doors. Dunstan held aside a curtain intended to keep out the draught as he ushered them into the great hall. Like the halls of all great houses, it dominated most of the ground floor. A handful of small windows would have let in light on warmer days, but they were all shuttered, leaving only the central hearth and some candles to paint the room in shadowy orange. Wolfram scraped his muddy boots off on the stone lip of the door and shuffled through a carpet of fresh straw that had been scattered near the entrance. The rest of the floor was bare stone lined with paths of woven mats, which were much less vulnerable to naked flame than the straw most people covered their floors with. The mats led down the aisle between three long tables that ran the length of the room, culminating at the high table where the lord and his family sat.

The hall was busier than the courtyard had been. Even though it was well past sunrise, several people still seemed to be breaking their fast. Three men in their twenties who might have been soldiers talked quietly over wooden cups and trenchers of cheese, while a man in priest's robes sat with a wax tablet at the table across from them. Half a dozen servants chatted loudly as they sorted laundry at the end of the priest's table.

Wolfram and the others followed Dunstan up the aisle and approached the high table. Three people sat there, a man and two women, all of different ages. The man could only have been Baron Erik, for he was old and stout, wearing a tunic of dark green silk and a fur stole about his neck. His grey-and-black hair was shaggy like Dunstan's, but someone had tried to comb oil into it to temper his rough look. To his left sat a woman who might have been thirty or forty. Unlike the other two, she was fair-haired and wore a kind smile which quietly broadened when she turned to look at Lord Erik. The final member of the noble family looked a little older than Wolfram's thirteen years, but not by much. He stared at her for longer than was polite, a squirming feeling rising in his belly as he took note of her smooth, pale hands, the silky darkness of her hair, and the expression of playful superiority she wore. Wolfram hadn't met many girls who made him feel that way, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. He averted his gaze, tugging at the clasp of his cloak again. It was much warmer in the hall than it had been outside.

With a scraping of his chair, Lord Erik rose to his feet. The woman on his left followed suit, and after a few low words from the baron, his dark-haired daughter rose as well. Lord Erik tucked his fingers into his belt and looked the three boys up and down.

"You're my new squires, then?"

Wolfram immediately bowed. "Yes, my lord."

"Yes, Lord," Robin echoed, making a hasty bow of his own. Wolfram suppressed a smile. He'd won the first round.

"I am Erik of Elkinshire." He motioned to the smiling woman on his left. "This is my ward, the lady Julia, and my daughter, the lady Ingrid."

Wolfram forced himself not to look for so long this time as he bowed to both women in turn.

Erik continued: "You'll lodge here in the keep, over there in the parlour so you don't bother the older men. Dunstan here will take care of you. You'll be doing most of your training with him, so show the man respect. Understood?"

"Yes, Lord," the boys chorused.

"Good. Right, I've made you welcome to my house, now be off with you. Do as your elders say and we'll make fine men of you during your time here."

Dunstan stepped forward to usher the boys away, but before Erik could sit back down Wolfram blurted out: "If I may, my lord?"

"You may not," Dunstan growled, stinging Wolfram's ear with a clip from the back of his hand.

"We can indulge him one question, Dunstan," Lady Julia said. Her voice was soft and quiet, almost timid, but when she turned her gaze on Lord Erik, the baron's expression softened. He grunted and motioned for Wolfram to continue.

"What is it?"

Wolfram ignored his stinging ear and said: "When are we to meet the knights we'll be squiring for?"

An uncomfortable look crossed Erik's face. "Don't worry yourself about that. The time will come when you're ready. For now, you must do as Dunstan says."

Wolfram was about to speak again when Dunstan stepped on his foot. He caught the wiry man's eye, and the look of warning he found there froze the question that had been hovering on his tongue. He was not to pry any further, not if he didn't want to suffer worse than a clip about the head next time.

Resisting the urge to look at Lady Ingrid once more, Wolfram turned and followed Dunstan away from the high table. It didn't make sense to him. He'd spent the last five years of his life learning the skills of a page from his father. Those skills should have earned him a place as a knight's servant, yet now it seemed like he was going to be an errand boy for Lord Erik's men. He rubbed his ear, willing away the lingering pain of Dunstan's blow. There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but his tongue had already gotten him into enough trouble for one day. He didn't want to ruin his chances by letting Robin one-up him.

They were shown to a parlour off the side of the great hall. It looked well lived-in. Woollen blankets, some of them folded, others still crumpled atop straw mattresses, had been strewn near the room's hearth. A large round table near the door was scattered with crumbs of food that seemed to be slowly working their way into the scratch marks decorating its surface.

"This is where you sleep," Dunstan said. He kicked a pile of folded blankets, then a rickety wooden box in the corner. "Grab one of those if you need it. Put anything you're not wearing in there. There'll be a few other lads in here with you. You're new, so they'll give you trouble. If you can't settle it out yourselves then I'll settle it for you, and you don't want that." He stared at each of them in turn. Robin and the miserable-looking boy shied away, so Wolfram made sure to hold Dunstan's gaze. The man-at-arms cracked a mirthless smile.

"You're going to be a right little bastard, aren't you?"

Again Wolfram forced himself to hold his tongue. He just stared back, showing Dunstan that he wasn't afraid. The wiry man stepped forward. His leather belt creaked as he gripped it. Wolfram tensed, willing himself not to back away.

A patter of footsteps dispelled the tension before it could escalate any further. The young kitchen girl Wolfram had seen outside hurried in through a curtained door on the other side of the parlour. She was as unkempt as Dunstan, her dark hair tangled like a bird's nest, and it only took a few seconds of her eyes flitting about the room before she made herself scarce through the door to the great hall.

"That's the passage to the kitchen down there," Dunstan said, gesturing to the doorway the girl had come from. "Don't bother the servants when they come through. Have any of you eaten?"

The boys shook their heads. Dunstan beckoned them to follow him to the kitchen. Robin caught Wolfram's arm before he went.

"Do you think these other boys are squires, too?" Robin whispered, looking at the blankets scattered about the parlour.

Wolfram shrugged. "I suppose they must be."

"Why does Lord Erik have so many squires and no knights?"

"It's funny, isn't it?" Wolfram said, his budding rivalry with the other boy momentarily forgotten.

"I don't like it."

"Me neither. But we'd better do what we're told, or we'll get a beating." The words cowed Robin's curiosity, but it wasn't a beating Wolfram was afraid of. It wasn't the end of the world to get smacked about the head. He was more worried about what would become of him if he wasn't allowed to train under a knight, to say nothing of the uncomfortable feeling he'd experienced when he looked at Lady Ingrid.