Sir Hanush of Leipa turned his thick neck toward Captain Bernard, his heavy eyebrows knitted in grim concentration.
“Bernard,” Hanush commanded, his voice rumbling like grinding millstones.
“Get down to the lower gate.
Take those two bastards off the cart and throw them into the pits.
Tell the torturer to heat the iron tongs.
If their tongues are stiff, I want them loosened until they sing.
I want to know where they’ve pitched their camp, who is supplying them with arms , and who commands them.
I want to know everything.”
Captain Bernard snapped a crisp, soldierly salute, his knuckles white against his belt.
“Yes, my Lord.” Without another word, the captain turned on his heel, his heavy iron-shod boots clattering against the stone floors as he exited the Great Hall.
Hanush picked up his pewter cup, took a long, deep swig of spiced wine, and leaned back against the edge of the heavy oak table.
His dark eyes locked onto Henry .
“Look at the lad, Radzig,” Hanush said, gesturing toward Henry with his cup.
“Half your scalawags are sitting outside my moat wailing about cabbage soup and cold feet, and your blacksmith’s boy rides in with a cart, two bound bandits, and supplies stripped from under the enemy’s nose.”
Hanush chuckled, a deep, resonant sound.
“As the boy rightly said—a sword may not change the course of a war, but a man might.
If you intend to leave him shoveling manure in the lower bailey, Radzig, speak up now.
Because if you won’t use him, I’ll drape the Leipa crest over his shoulders and put him in the Rattay town watch before sundown.”
A low murmur passed through the room.
Even Capon looked surprised to hear his uncle talk up a peasant like that.
But Hanush wasn’t being generous—he just knew the difference between a farm boy who knew how to die for his lord and a lad who knew how to stay alive.
Hanush watched Henry with a quiet, measuring look, a subtle smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Besides,” hanush murmured softly, “that was a fine sword his father made.
I think Henry can fetch it back for you .
”
The Vicar, sitting near the end of the board, frowned slightly and set down his goblet.
“My Lord…
he is a peasant.
One cannot simply make a squire or a retainerman out of a common peasant.”
“And why not?” Hanush shot back instantly, turning a piercing glare on the clergyman.
“Someone made a priest out of a pig, didn’t they?”
“He isn’t a peasant, Father,” Radzig corrected smoothly, his tone cool and decisive.
“He is a blacksmith.
And not merely a blacksmith—he is a boy who escaped a garrisoned castle right under the eyes of a lord’s guards, slew scavengers, killed Cumans, recovered looted provisions from Skalitz, and buried his parents deep inside enemy territory.”
Radzig stepped closer to Henry, his cloak sweeping the floor.
“These are not skills one simply reads out of a book or learns in a day.
This kind of survival requires luck, steel, and genuine talent.
And recent events have left me in dire need of men with his precise capabilities.”
Radzig paused, standing straight as he looked directly into Henry’s eyes.
“So, I will ask you plainly, Henry…
would you like to enter my official service?”
Henry’s breath caught in his chest for a fraction of a second before his shoulders squared.
He looked back at his liege lord with absolute seriousness.
“I would be honored, my Lord,” Henry said clearly.(Here henry is just a squire so Radzig is his lord until he is a squire)
“Then kneel.”
Henry sank down onto his right knee against the cold, gray flagstones.
He raised both hands, pressing his open palms together before his chest.
Sir Radzig did not draw steel.
Instead, he stepped forward, his leather-and-plate boots clicking softly, and reached out.
Radzig’s large, scarred hands—calloused from decades of reins and sword grips—closed firmly over Henry’s folded fingers, enveloping them in a warm, unyielding grasp.
Henry looked up into the Hetman’s dark eyes and spoke the words with firm, measured precision:
“Before Almighty God and His Holy Mother, I, Henry, son of Martin, swear faith and honest service to Sir Radzig Kobyla as his squire and man-at-arms.
To ride where your banner calls, to carry your steel against the enemies of the realm, and to stand true beside you until my service is fulfilled and our debt to Skalitz is answered.”
Radzig tightened his hold until his hands trembled slightly.
The gesture lasted only a second, but to Henry, it felt less like a lord sealing an oath and more like a father holding on for dear life.
“And I, Radzig Kobyla, Burgrave of Skalitz and Hetman of the King, accept your service,” Radzig proclaimed, his voice resonant in the vaulted chamber.
“My roof shall be your shelter, my bread your sustenance, and my justice your shield.
Rise, Henry.
Rise as a squire of House Kobyla.”
Henry rose to his feet, his spine straight.
Radzig reached to his belt, unclasping a stout leather pouch that clinked heavily with silver groschen, along with a polished brass cloak-pin stamped with the crossed pickaxes of Skalitz. Read the latest chapters at g.com.
He pressed the pouch into Henry’s palm and pinned the badge over the green wool of Henry’s chest.
“You’ve had a long road from Neuhof,” Radzig said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.
“Go down to the valley, see to your folk, and rest.
Tomorrow at prime, when the parish bells ring dawn, report to Captain Bernard at the upper combat arena.
He will test your steel, and he will not be gentle.”
“I’ll be there, my Lord,” Henry answered with a steady bow.
Radzig nodded, placing a heavy hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“We won’t regret this.
I have a strong feeling I won’t regret taking you on, lad.
Just…
do not disappoint me.”
“Well!
Fortune is certainly smiling on you today, lad,” Hanush boomed, slapping his thigh.
“Make the absolute most of it!”
Radzig turned back to Hanush, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Now that I think on it, Sir Hanush…
the boy still needs proper training and real martial experience.
Even if he can ambush pillagers in the dark, he lacks formal discipline.
And if I am not mistaken, your Bailiff has been asking for additional hands.”
“That’s true enough,” Hanush admitted, nodding slowly.
“The Bailiff is forever complaining about your Skalitz refugees causing trouble and stirring up brawls in the lower town.
Having one of their own wearing the yellow-and-red guard wappen might keep the peace far better than my own men knocking heads.”
“It would indeed,” Radzig agreed.
“And in any event, walking a beat and dealing with town line-matters will prove a valuable experience for him.”
Hanush smirked, pointing a finger at Radzig.
“Let’s be entirely clear, Radzig—he’s your retainer, so you’re the one paying his wages.” He then raised his voice, calling toward the doorway where Captain Bernard had just returned after dispatching the guards to the dungeons.
“Bernard!”
Captain Bernard halted at the threshold, snapping to attention.
“My Lord?”
“See to the boy’s training,” Hanush ordered flatly.
“The lad already knows how to kill and fight on instinct.
Now I want you to teach him how not to die when a real knight swings at him.
And don’t go easy on him!” Hanush added with a sharp grin.
“If the boy can slaughter Cumans in the woods, he ought to survive whatever bruising you hand him in the yard.”
“Yes, Sir,” Bernard grunted.
He turned his eyes on Henry, looking him up and down like a butcher measuring a scrawny calf.
“We’ll see what he’s made of soon enough.”
“And mind you, Bernard,” Hanush warned with a bark of laughter, “don’t spare him a single stroke!”
Bernard’s mustache twitched into a grim, dark smile.
“You can rely on it, my Lord.”
As Henry descended the heavy stone stairs into the inner courtyard of Pirkstein Castle, the crisp noon air bit at his cheeks.
The commotion in the upper hall had not yet quieted, but down in the courtyard, the atmosphere was thick with the hushed whispers of castle guards, grooms, and servants going about their duties.
Standing near the stables, Jaroslav and Janek were inspecting the horses Henry had brought in with the cart.
Hearing boots crunch on the gravel, Jaroslav turned around, raising an eyebrow as he looked toward Henry.
“Henry…
is what I heard true?” Jaroslav asked, wiping his grease-stained hands on his apron.
“That Lord Radzig has officially accepted you into his service as his squire?” He gave a slight, wry smirk.
“I didn’t think his lordship would elevate anyone so fast.
Though I suppose a tale like this won’t stay quiet for long—by tomorrow sunrise, every soul in Rattay will be talking about it.”
“Yes,” Janek chimed in, leaning against a wooden fence post.
“Is it true, lad?”
Henry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the sudden weight of their stares.
“Yes,” he admitted quietly.
“Sir Radzig has taken me into his service.
Though…
I suppose his lordship is simply short-handed after losing Skalitz.” He tried to offer an excuse for Radzig’s swift decision, not wanting to sound boastful.
“I am to start my combat training tomorrow under Captain Bernard.”
“Back when we wanted to become soldiers, it was a far simpler matter, lad,” Jaroslav said, stepping closer to inspect Henry’s gear.
“I can see you’ve already managed to secure a solid set of armor and a fine blade.
But as for a warhorse…” Jaroslav gestured toward the two mares tethered near the cart.
A squire needs a mount that won’t bolt when steel clashes or arrows fly.
You’ll need to purchase a proper warhorse sooner or later.”
Janek chimed in, his tone carrying the seasoned advice of someone who knew the harsh realities of military life.
“Exactly right.
True warhorses are precious—and bloody expensive.
They need to be carefully tended by proper stablemasters, fed grain, and trained for battle.
Keep your coin tight, Henry.”
“Thank you both for the advice,” Henry said respectfully.
“I will keep that in mind.”
Henry informed the grooms that he would leave the cart in the lower courtyard for the night so the castle purveyors could sort, log, and store the recovered grain and provisions.
As Henry turned to head toward the main castle gates, Janek called out to stop him.
“By the way, Henry!
From what I overheard among the stewards, Sir Radzig is planning to distribute a portion of that food rations to the Skalitz refugees camped outside the walls today.
”
Henry smiled faintly, feeling a spark of relief for his displaced countrymen.
“Thank you, Janek.
That is good to know.”
“Henry!
Over here!”
Henry turned to see Fritz waving his arm frantically from near a cluster of makeshift wooden lean-tos.
Standing beside him were Matthew, Matthias, and Johanka.
As Henry walked toward them, Johanka stepped forward immediately.
Before he could speak, she grabbed his forearm tight, her eyes gleaming with raw emotion.
“Thank you, Henry,” Johanka whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
“Thank you for bringing in that food.
Because of what you brought from Rovna, the children in the camp were able to eat until their stomachs were full today .
For the first time since we fled…”
“It’s no problem at all, Johanka,” Henry said softly, placing a hand over hers.
“That food was always meant for the people of Skalitz.
And I just heard from one of the castle servants that Sir Radzig is going to distribute more rations to the refugees today.”
Matthew let out a long, shuddering breath, rubbing his hand over his face.
“Thank God…
I might actually get to eat a proper meal today.”
Henry looked at his old friends—the same boys he used to throw dung at Deutsch’s house with, now huddled in dirt-stained rags, hungry and uncertain of their future.
A thought crossed Henry’s mind: I am going to need people I can trust.
Friends who owe me nothing and know who I am.
“Rather than waiting for whatever small portion Sir Radzig’s stewards hand out today,” Henry said, looking between Matthew, Fritz, and Matthias, “come down to Miller Peshek’s mill tonight.
Just down by the river below Rattay.”
Fritz raised an eyebrow.
“The mill?”
“Theresa is there,” Henry explained.
“And you won’t need to worry about cooking—I brought supplies.
We’ll have good food tonight, and proper wine.”
“Wine?” Fritz’s eyes lit up instantly, a grin breaking across his dusty face.
“Henry!
What’s the occasion?
Did you rob a merchant on the road?”
Henry chuckled, shaking his head.
“Come to the mill tonight and I’ll tell you everything there.”
“Alright, Henry,” Matthew nodded, his spirits visibly lifted.
“We’ll see you at the mill come evening.”
After saying his goodbyes, Henry turned back toward the main gates of Rattay, stepping through the heavy stone portcullis into the town proper.
As his boots clattered against the cobblestones, Henry took a slow, deliberate breath, letting his eyes sweep across the settlement.
Rattay was bustling with life, far noisier and denser than Skalitz had ever been.
Merchants shouted over display stalls, townswomen carried wooden buckets of water from the fountain, and armed guards in red-and-yellow wappen strolled the thoroughfares with pikes leaning against their shoulders.
Henry walked slowly toward the central town square, curious to see how the real city compared to his memories.
The layout was far larger than Skalitz, the stone buildings towering higher and the streets pressing in closer than anything he had known back home.
The town was packed tight.
Near the butcher’s stall, a Rattay local shoved a Skalitz woman out of the way with a spit of phlegm, while two city guards stood nearby, arms crossed, pretending not to notice.
Skalitz people were everywhere, huddled in doorways, eyeing the bread stalls with sunken eyes.
Standing in the center of the square, Henry squared his shoulders.
Tomorrow, his training under Captain Bernard would begin.