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“Intriguing,” Avalana commented. “How do you fit into the story?”

Loric was at a loss, “W-well, I was journeying to Moonriver to place my sword in Lord Garrick’s service, as I have already said.”

“Are you not a Knight of Taeglin, Loric?” Avalana questioned, frowning. “Your family does preside over the peasant folk there, does it not?”

“No, of course not,” he assured her. “In fact, Taeglin has no knights, princess.” Loric quietly added, “Lord Garrick decreed that all cities and towns in Belgandost must adhere to rule by an elected magistrate until the new king ascends....”

“Are you the Magistrate of Taeglin?” Avalana inquired. When Loric shook his head, she asked, “Your father, then?”

“Borag son of Gorn holds that title,” Loric replied. Visions of his father walking the Giant’s Molar with Borag, while Barag tormented him in absence of governance, reminded Loric once more of the armor and weapons he had found beneath the barn, the items he had been wearing before his accident. As he came to realize the source of Avalana’s confusion, he sought to rectify the situation, saying, “I am not a knight, milady.” He paused as he recalled his theft. He could not tell the princess he had stolen from his father.

The lady spared him the need to lie as she remarked, “Your knightly trappings suggest that you are the local butcher. I wonder by what right you trade sword blows if you are but a commoner. Surely, peasant folk have no need to wear armor and bear swords. Truly? You are in fact a commoner, then?”

“I am sorry to disappoint
Your Highness!”
Loric sneered. “I am common, which gives me sense enough to know that trading sword blows with bandits has nothing to do with right or might. It was fight or die for me. I did not stop to ask the louts for permission to swing back at them. For that matter, no members of nobility were about to grant me leave either, so I hope that is okay with you, princess.” Loric waved his hand to emphasize his mock bow toward Avalana, as he inquired, “May I wear armor against attack and fight to survive, Highness?”

“I should never have told you that I am a princess,” Avalana said in near-sob that made Loric regret his harsh tone.

“No,” he responded against good will and good judgment, “you should never have judged me, least of all for my common birth.” Loric wanted to tell Avalana the truth about his heritage, just to humble her courtly view of his peasant-hood, but the fact that it mattered to her burned him to his bones. Anger burst from his nostrils in a huff. That was intended to lead into his response that his father had been a knight, and that was part of the reason for his journey to Moonriver, to learn the truth about why he had left his seat of lordship.

Avalana tittered in response to Loric’s anger before he could say any of that, and the moment escaped him. The princess said, “You may be the only person daring enough to speak your mind to me, Loric. Well, there is one other.” Her pleasant expression collapsed. She wrung her hands and offered, “I apologize for my offense and the misunderstanding between us,
Ami.”

She continued, “You
do
have the right to defend yourself from harm, which I do grant you permission to do. Nevertheless, you baffle me.” Her lips parted a tongue’s thickness and she motioned a suppressed shake of her head. “You dress and fight like a knight. You even argue like one. Yet, you deny that heritage as though it is a curse upon your shoulders.”

Loric opened his lips to seize his moment.

Avalana stared him to silence with haughty eyes and petulant mouth. “Never mind the

matter of nobility or lack. I was wrong to judge you for fighting, as you had to do. My view was tainted by my perception that you were a knight. Too many men of that rank delight in killing, but I see that you wish to be other than butcher for the sake of butchery.”

“I wanted to keep my horse, my weapons, my life, princess. I must raise my weapon again to help raise a king,” he added.

Avalana frowned, but the corners of her mouth rose by moments. “There is hope for Lord Garrick if his father chose negotiation with Aldric’s father, as you say he did. Let us hope so, at least.” Her eyes stared into a future Loric could not see.

It was beautiful and blue there, Loric knew. “Why do you dislike knights?”

Avalana closed her eyes and shook off the question, as though it pained her to consider it.

“They mistake sport for duty and forget to whom they owe those honors and titles they wear like placards upon their pedestals.”

“I disagree.”

“Do you?” Avalana whispered, incredulous.

“My father once told me that a good knight never forgets his king-”

“I do not speak of the king, Loric!”

“Yes,” he readily agreed, “but you speak before I finish the most important point my father made to me.
Son,
he told me,
a knight’s first duty is to his people. Never let anyone tell you
different than I have done.”

Avalana’s smile danced the tightrope between pleasure and shame, but ended in a bright smile. “Your father is wise; and you would make a fine knight.”

Loric felt warmth transfer from his chest to his face. “Thank you, milady. Well, I think so, anyway.”

“I do not think I would fear knights and lords as much as I do if more of them were like you,
Ami.”
The lady hesitated, before she shared, “I have reason to believe that my father has brought me to Beledon with a distinct purpose in mind, and.... well, I do not delight in his plan for me. I only wish you were a knight.” Avalana’s jaw was loose within her closed mouth.

Loric’s voice squeaked to trumpet his excitement, as he questioned, “You do?”

“Loric, I think you are the nicest person I have met on this side of the Shimmering Sea.”

Loric noticed the reddening of the lady’s cheeks as she continued, “With you seeming a noble knight, as bold as they come.... I rather wish there was a small chance....” Avalana shook her head and waved her errant thoughts away, saying, “Forget it. It matters not. We are who we are, and propriety of titles ever binds us....”

Avalana’s voice trailed off. Loric felt no rush to resume conversation with the lady. He had to digest her unfinished statements, first, whereupon he lamented his lowly station, his thievery and his lack of proper proofs to show his higher standing in Beledon. Loric closed his mind to that line of thinking. Filling the gaps in his memory was of greater relevance to him than chasing fancies of a princess above his station. “Please, milady. Finish your story,” he prompted her hoarsely.

Avalana renewed her tale with a nod of agreement, saying, “We forded the River Starlight, where we struck the Old King’s Way. We followed the road northward through a charming little village called Taeglin.”

“My home,” Loric chuckled, amused. He asked in jest, “Were you impressed by its

magnificent architecture, milady?”

“Actually,” Avalana offered sincerely, “I was attracted to its lack of large stone constructs.

Nature has its own beauty that we cannot match and should not strive to replace.” As an afterthought, she added, “Besides, manmade wonders abound in Crenullaisz. It is good to get away from the world of stone; even if I miss the comforts there afforded me by my father’s servants.”

Avalana’s remarks quieted Loric. During the ensuing silence, he noticed that the rain had slowed to a sprinkle. The encased flame on the table flickered in unison with the
patter
of raindrops. Outside, water slowed from pouring off the angled canvas roof in a rush to just trickling.

Loric broke the silence, encouraging Avalana, “Please, tell the rest of your story, princess, and I will try my best to let you finish.”

Avalana smiled and continued, “It was a smooth journey along the Old King’s Way, until we came to the Moonbeam Stream. Lord Aldric approached the stream with caution, for he said that during times of war, such as the one presently plaguing these lands, thieving bands and wild tribes thrive. He sent his scouts ahead of our party to ensure that such like would not waylay us.

His men returned with a report of an ill-favored group of men, who dispersed from the Moonbeam when hailed. Lord Aldric gave his soldiers approval to ride them down.” Avalana ended on a sorrowful note.

Loric tried to help Avalana view the situation the way Lord Aldric might have seen it. “I am sure his lordship’s intentions were in the best interests of your safe passage to Moonriver,” he suggested.

“I know,” Avalana answered resignedly, “but it seems terrible to waste human life, even if lives of mere highwaymen.” She gazed through Loric, as she confided, “My father thinks he shields me from such things, but I have heard stories of honest men turning to banditry for their means when war ruins their livelihoods. I cannot help but wonder: did Lords Garrick and Aldric help make these men before they destroyed them?”

“No!” Loric blurted in his ignorance. It was a terrible question, with a terrible truth for its answer. “I mean, surely that was not their intention.”

“Yet the deed is still terrible, intended or no, agreed?” Avalana pressed.

Loric sighed. He had no response for that query. He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied.

Then he conceded, “Yes. I suppose you are right indeed, fair Avalana.”

“War always hurts the innocent,” Avalana murmured, as one who knew.

Loric did not respond. Instead, he waited to turn the conversation back to the story at hand.

Then he asked, “How did I come to be here with you?”

“Aldric told me that his men scattered the highwaymen, slaying or capturing all but two of them. Soldiers brought you back when the hunt was over, reporting that you were not one of the brigands, as they had first supposed you were. They described you as, .
...fleeing from outlaws,
fighting them as he fled
. They spoke highly of your skill in battle, saying that you fought off the last one, only to have a tree branch knock you from your saddle.”

Loric touched the bump on his brow, his memories rushing back to him in blurry reel.
Razor
and his men detaining him.... his sword rending the leader’s reaching arm.... the wild chase
across the Moonbeam.... a series of struggles with pursuing horsemen.... a crate in the road....

panic.... blackness.

“That explains this bump,” Loric stated in reference to his swollen forehead. He caressed the bandage on his knotted skull, at last understanding how he had earned it. In his mind, he thought,
Sunset and my father’s sword saved my life,
and he knew that was the truth.

Loric reined in his straying attention, thereafter devoting it to Avalana, who had resumed speaking. “The soldiers said you fell hard and took a nasty tumble,” she said with sympathy and compassion, which two qualities Loric had already found to be intricate parts of the lady’s being.

Avalana let off a light laugh that contradicted Loric’s judgment of her, for it seemed so terribly out of place. She mused, “A funny thing happened, though. The soldiers said your horse stopped within two strides of losing you.” She turned wide, blinking eyes upon Loric and continued, “But when they tried to draw near to you, he fought them hoof and tooth, and when they took his reins in hand, he battled his way clear of them and fled into Riverwood. He must be quite the free spirit, that steed of yours.”

As if in answer to the lady’s words, a loud whinny arose from without. Men were shouting and there was a great deal of commotion to accompany the horse’s trumpeting. During the confusion, one mighty voice echoed above the others, saying, “Someone get control of that crazed animal before it frightens the other beasts and starts a stampede!”

The command and authority in that voice compelled Loric to rise and reach for his clothes.

Avalana did not notice her patient, who was already wobbling, but upright as he clumsily dressed. The princess raced to the tent entrance, where she peered out into the gloom to see what was happening. Loric felt dizzy when he straightened to full height, but the sensation was not as nauseating as he had expected it would be. He stood there, unmoving, waiting for that first sickening wave to pass. Once his vertigo spun to a stop and his balance returned to him, he began his slow stagger to the open tent flap.

Loric had only covered half the distance to Avalana’s side when he heard heavy footfalls coming toward the canvas shelter. Stomping boots halted outside, from whence Loric heard the man with the commanding voice ask in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Princess Avalana, how is your charge doing?”

The lady answered, “He is much better, lord. I believe he will be ready to travel soon.”

“Good,” answered the man. “Has he risen? Because-”

Another loud whinny drowned out the man’s words, mid-sentence. Loric was now only a

few paces from the open tent flap. A hand tugged the coarse cloth open wide, allowing the young traveler from Taeglin to squint into the foggy gray morning. As Loric’s eyes adjusted to the early light, he saw hundreds of tents set up in orderly rows all about the clearing.

Then Loric saw the man who was speaking with the lady. He was tall, broad-shouldered and clad in a bright suit of steel plate. The man wore a forest green surcoat with a brown cloak clasped about his neck. His stern face was young and noble. An angular jaw and sharp nose added to his high bearing, as did his piercing green eyes. Loric was drawn to those lights, which were bright and aware. The man’s hair, some of which hung into his face, was light brown as was his neatly trimmed beard. His hair spoke more truly of his age than did any other feature about him, for in a few insignificant places it was frosting to icy gray.

The man motioned in the direction of the whinnies, snorts and shouts and continued, “As I was saying, I think he could be of assistance to my men.” The man caught sight of Loric. “Ah, there you are. You do appear to be in a better state than you were in when last I looked in on you, Stranger.”

“Thanks to the healing hands of Princess Avalana, I feel much better, lord,” Loric replied.

Avalana turned on him, with a furious scowl darkening her otherwise lovely countenance.