In his naivete, Dunstan casts his lot in with a band
of scurrilous cutthroats, believing them to be adventurers
sharing his noble pursuits.

Our hero learns the true nature of his erstwhile
companions, and his pockets are the poorer for it.

Dunstan parts company from the band, narrowly escaping
apprehension by the Warders. In the confusion,
he ‘liberates’ a horse, and sets off for Huddlefoot,
there to spend the night in the stables.

Our would-be knight acquires a would-be squire,
and strikes a bargain with Evan to travel with his
caravan to Rheyton and Nehron. This arranged, he
takes care of the incriminating horse, spinning a tall
tale of being on official business. This done, they
await departure . . .
 

The caravan consisted of a score of mules, several
carts, a half-dozen packers, and a like number of
outriders. There were then, counting Trader Evan,
Dunstan, and Mellerd, fifteen souls in the party
which crossed the Aarn River a week later and
entered into the walled town of Rheyton. At that
place they stayed only a day while various matters of
importance to the expedition were transacted.
Dunstan found the town too much like his former
home to be attractive, but to Mellerd it was a place of
wonders. Despite warnings, he wandered off and
became lost but found his way back before too many
hours. Mellerd was full of exciting experiences, nearly
bursting to relate them, but his master would have
none of it, so he eventually went off to tend their
horses and sulk in silence. They departed when the
gates were opened at dawn, and the boy managed to
unburden himself upon the unwilling ears of Dunstan
during the better part of the day until threats of the
rod again stopped his tales, although by then he was
close to talked-out anyway.

The composition of the train had changed at
Rheyton. Gone were the clumsy carts; the roads to
the frontier and beyond being little more than rough
tracks. In their place more pack animals were added,
with a corresponding increase in men to manage
them. A number of tough mercenaries were also
introduced, led by a hard-bitten captain. They were
mostly small, wiery men from the distant western
plains, although their chief and one or two others
were evidently Thallites like himself, and four were
broad and burly northerners — men from Kimbry
or Nehron. All were well armed, although Dunstan
carefully noted that there were important differences.
The westerners were attired in mail coif topped by a
broad-brimmed leather hat; body armor consisted of
a jack similar to his own, except with the addition of
metal epaulettes, metal arm bands, and greaves.
They bore no shields, for the bow was their weapon,
and its play required both hands. In addition to their
bows these warriors had very long sabers and the
usual daggers in their wide belts. All were exceedingly
drab, dressing in brown or faded green where cloth
was to be viewed.

Their comrades from the north were quite
different. Their headgear was more elaborate,
consisting of a steel helmet with a heavy nasal and
surmounted with a spine of metal spikes. Horn plated
brigandines protected them from wrist to waist,
where a broad girdle bound a kilt of bearskin about
their waists. Studded gambades protected their lower
extremities, a circular shield (like ‘Dunstan’s) or one
of trapezoidal form (borne by the two from Kimbry)
graced the left arm, and the forearm and hand on the 
right were protected by steel gauntlets. Great capes of
bearskin or like savage carnivora’s served to both
adorn and protect their backs. Their arms were
massive flails and battleaxes, suited well to their
strength. Brightly hued devices were painted upon
their shields, but the northerners knew no heraldric
laws, rather beasts or weird symbols were limned at
the owner’s fancy.

The Thallites were clad from head to toe in
chainmail, and the captain had in addition suitable
reinforcements of plate mail at shoulder, elbow, knee
and leg. Visored helms topped the mail, and the
typical oval shield with cut-out section on the upper
right edge was carried. The three men bore lances,
swords, and poniards. Their gambesons were of
varying colors, and their shields were covered by cloth
of red, the color of their helmet plumes and surcoats.
Dunstan wondered if beneath the coverings were
painted the devices of any of the noble houses of
Thalland — flower or insect of the two great divisions
— but he dared not inquire.

The stolid guards who had been with the train
when the pair first joined were excluded from the
mercenary band but seemed to care not a whit and
went about their routines as usual. Of course, the
plainsmen now served as outriders, but that made no
difference to them, having the preferred positions in
the caravan’s center, both less dangerous and less
strenuous. But while these men-at-arms avoided the
new guards, Dunstan sought them out, for here were
real warriors — particularly the Thallite captain and
his pair of lieutenants.

At the first opportunity Dunstan spurred his
mount to the head of the column of plodding mules
where the mercenary leaders rode. The young man
bade them greeting, but Captain Rufus, as he was
called, took one look at him with his odd assortment
of arms, and dismissed the would-be knight with a
contemptuous wave. Such treatment was unbearable!

“Know you that an honorable gentleman cannot be
so treated! You shall give me satisfaction, sirrah!”
And Dunstan rode closer to the man in order to make
good his challenge with a blow. Before he could
approach, one of the lieutenants grabbed his right
arm.

“Don’t be stupid, boy. The Captain could kill you
without even working up a sweat in the process.
We’re mercenaries and have no time for noble
combats on the field of honor — we kill for a living
and fight naught for sport.”

Rage made Dunstan unafraid, and he continued to
try to get at the man who had besmirched his honor:
“Am I to accept insults, then, like some baseborn
clod? Never! Come, free me so we can set to!”

Rufus now spoke: “Calm yourself, sir. Where was
the dishonor? Cannot I, in the course of performing
my duty, avoid distractions — such as this,” he added
with a wry smile, for the commotion had brought the
train to a halt, and the members of the party were
hurrying ahead to learn the reason. The veteran
glanced around and then turned back to Dunstan:
“Let us settle the matter now. If I gave thee offense in
any way, prithee accept my pardon.”

“You go too far for this callow babe, Sir Ruf—”
interjected the warrior at Dunstan’s arm, but the
captain cut him short.

“Leave off, Baldwin. As long as I am your captain I
shall decide what is meet,” then turning to Dunstan:
“Be mollified, but leave us alone, for you cause
trouble. You are an outsider, and there is no place for
you in our company.”

There was nothing else left for Dunstan but to
wheel about and return. Hot anger had been replaced
by cold realization — he had come close to facing
death, for the man who had given the insult was
undoubtedly a knight of the land as well as a
seasoned warrior. He would not forgive the slight, nor
the shabby treatment, but he would press the matter
no further. To add to the shame of the affair, Trader
Evan warned him to avoid bothering the leader or the
men of the hired company: “No doubt, master, you
can do well enough with that sword of yours, but
these men are of a different caliber. Their duty is to
insure the safety of my goods, and I’ll have no man
hinder them in this.” The deepest wound, however,
was the knowledge that Rufus had pitied him, getting
Dunstan off the hook so to speak, by an easy word.

Surprisingly, although the young man carefully
avoided the mercenaries, one of them sought him out
and befriended him. This was Vardobothet, a Kimbri
little older than Dunstan. The entire company jested
about the outsider’s embarrassment, save the leader
and the dour northerners. The latter found little
mirth in the humiliation of any warrior, and
Vardobothet expressed this belief to the gratitude of
Dunstan. During the succeeding days of travel the
two became fast friends. The mercenary treated
Dunstan as an equal in war and deferred to him
otherwise as a gentleman. Such a combination was
irresistible to the errant who returned this treatment
with respect at least equal to that shown to him. In
the evenings Vardobothet told of his early adventures
in the mountains beyond the Kimbry Vale and his
few battle experiences since joining Rufus’ band, but
only at Dunstan’s urging. The Kimbri would have
rather listened to the stories of Dunstan’s raking in
Endstad. While Mellerd continued to serve his
master faithfully he liked the young mercenary from
the first, and within a few days he virtually worshiped
him, for the kindness and understanding of the black
haired northerner towards the waif were entirely new
to the boy’s experience. Besides, he would hover near
when the two young men talked, hanging on every
word, so a part was a sort of hero-worship which
extended towards Dunstan even, though to a lesser
degree.

So the journey continued thus for many days, the
beasts plodding along at no great speed due to their
heavy loads, but what was the value of speed
compared with more freight? The land was sparsely
settled, but much to Evan’s relief they reached the
border keep of Blackmoor unmolested by robbers.
The trader railed at the tallage levied upon his
caravan by the marcher lord, but there was no help
for it. Dunstan suspected he was secretly so pleased at
the ease with which the passage was made that he
would have paid twice the duty. As they departed
from the village of Blackmoor, the grim walls of the
guardian castle frowned down upon their left, a
reminder that the land was held by force of arms. The
soldiers Dunstan saw were as grim as their fortress,
and the young man mused that the peace here was
due mainly to strong warriors. From the looks cast at
them by the Nehron peasants who inhabited the
settlement and the surrounding farms, this border
noble bore down heavily upon his unwilling subjects.
A twist in the lane soon removed the castle from
sight, and the whole matter passed from
consideration.

A few leagues journey brought them to the
beginning of the great evergreen forests, and they
entered into the heart of a foreign land. Each day’s
travel brought them closer to the town of Weal, which
Evan said was naught but a rude hamlet grown fat on
the trade which he and others of his ilk pursued at
such great cost. Here the goods packed upon the
mules would be exchanged for pelts — after long
bargaining — and then the caravan would return
from whence it came, bearing a new, more precious
cargo. Dunstan was at a loss as to what he would do
when they reached Weal, for his estimation of his
ability to find honorable employment with a noble
marcher had been shaken first by his treatment at the
hands of Rufus and his henchmen and then by the
mere sight of the men-at-arms from Blackmoor
Castle. This sudden loss of faith in himself was most
traumatic. Was he nothing more than a boy with a
motley collection of cast off arms trying to play at 
being a warrior? No! His former experiences in
Endstad, as a Captain of the city watch and in
personal duels, spoke against such thinking. Why,
then, was he plagued with such doubts? Certainly,
the company of a band of mercenaries was
undesirable anyway. And he had liked nothing about
the castle and dwellings of Blackmoor. Dunstan
chided himself for becoming disheartened by such
trifling setbacks. When the caravan turned back he
would linger a few days at the trading center, and
when assured that Evan’s train was a safe distance
ahead quietly return that way also. By avoiding the
border fortress he could head westwards towards
Kimbry. If by some chance the Overking’s Warders
ever managed to track him as far as Weal, they would
lose the scent there, for beyond that place Nehron
became a wilderness of forest and hills. Warders
would never venture to search for him among the
hostile barbarians dwelling there, of this he was
certain.

On the positive side, the land of the Kimbri was
bound to be more appealing than Nehronland was, so
service there would likewise be more attractive.
Resolved, Dunstan began to imagine his esquirehood
under a magnificent noble, but the reverie was cut
short by the sudden appearance of the westerner
serving as the advance of the caravan. Reining his
horse abruptly to a halt nearby, Dunstan overheard
him report to Evan that the path ahead was closed by
a road block, closely held by a strong party of
Nehronlanders clad for war.

Immediately the train became a hive of activity.
Rufus came from somewhere, and in a moment the
mercenary company was formed and ready. The
packers drove their mules together, preparing for any
difficulty by lashing the beasts together and then
grasping metal shod staves to defend their charges.
During this flurry, Evan’s guardsmen had armed
themselves fully but stayed near the center of the
gathering, so to be ready wherever their charges were
threatened. The Trader glanced over these
preparations and then bravely rode with the
mercenaries to learn what purpose the Nehronlanders
had.

Dunstan had not stood by idly watching these
warlike preparations. Without hesitation he had
called Mellerd to him, and the lad was quick to help
him don the coat of cuir bouille, helmet, shield and
lance. As he turned his mount towards the front, he
was surprised to see that the boy had drawn a heavybladed
knife from somewhere in his pack and
thought to join his master: “Stay here, you fool!”
Dunstan shouted, “if I am regarded as a fledgling,
what use will you serve ahead?” Mellerd paused a
moment, but when Dunstan set spurs to the stallion
the boy followed close behind. Dunstan gave no more
thought to the matter, dismissing his servant as a
hopeless churl bound on self-destruction.

Their arrival went unnoticed, for Evan and Rufus,
backed by the latter’s two lieutenants, were close to
the obstruction and beginning a parley with the men
behind it. A large tree had been felled so as to
completely bar the road where it passed between two
very steep hills. The dense growth of trees on either
hand made by-passing the track next to impossible,
and any such attempt was totally discouraged by the
savage warriors visible around the block.

Dunstan stayed well to the rear of the mercenary
company, but even at that distance he could see and
hear everything that was going on. As he watched
what went on ahead Vardobothet joined them and
the trio observed a heavily armed man and several
retainers emerge from behind the fallen tree.

“Why do you hinder the passage of my train?”
demanded the trader, “I have done business with you
Nehronlanders these many years, and you grow richer
every day because of it!”

The spokesman grinned broadly at these words, his
bearded face beneath his iron helmet all the more
fierce for it: “True, you traders know no nation,
profitting from all alike . . . know then that this the
road is blocked here due to certain — ah, events —
taking place to the south. I have orders to halt you in
order to receive payment of a slight tax before you
pass on to Weal.”

“What is all this talk of tax?” Evan fairly shouted,
“and what is taking place behind that we should be
stopped?”

When the Nehronlander smugly related that the
bands had risen around Blackmoor and thrown off
the yolk of the Overking’s border lord, the trader
demanded and received a few moments to talk the
matter over with his men: “It’ll make no difference,
for one way or another you’ll give over what we need.”
With that the warrior returned to his men, and Evan
and his party moved back towards the caravan.

The trader’s expression was stoney as he motioned
the mercenary captain to him for conference: “This
bodes no good, no good at all for us. That fellow
means to have the better part of my goods, if not all of
them, and that’s certain. Tell me, good Rufus, what
you make of his talk about an uprising on the
border?”

The mercenary considered for a time before
answering: “It is hard to say for certain how much
truth is in the man’s words. If there was a major
operation against Blackmoor I believe that I’d have
seen signs of it on the way, yet I noticed nothing.
Again, the castle is far too strong to be taken without
a long siege; even supposing these Nehron could
manage that, relief would reach Blackmoor in plenty
of time and put the attackers to rout.” Evan grunted
his agreement with these words. Rufus now spoke
with conviction: “I judge the man a liar, master
Evan. He seeks only to rob you under the guise of
these other fancies. Why else would he waylay us here
instead of simply awaiting the train at Weal?”

“My thoughts exactly, sir, but I am right glad that
you’ve confirmed them. There is still a problem, and
that is whether to try to force our way past these 
knaves or retreat and seek help from the Lord 
Marcher -- what say you?"

"I counted most carefully, and there were but a 
score of rogues behind the barricade.  They are well 
accoutered, but they are no match for the stout 
fellows who serve me.  What you do, master Evan, is 
your decision, but I tell you that my men can scatter 
those bandits like chaff before the wind." 

"Done!" the trader answered.  "I would SAVE TIME 
as well as fine goods.  When I go forward, prepare you 
your warriors to fall upon the enemy.  I'll tell their 
leader that we'll bring the mules ahead in order to 
meet his demands.  Perhaps he'll then bring his men 
from behind their cover, thinking all is safe, and you 
can strike.  If they stay behind their screen, give me a 
moment to START back to the caravan, and as you 
pretend to follow turn and charge."  Rufus agreed that 
the plan was sound, and Evan went forth alone to 
carry out his part. 

The Kimbri saw the members of his company who 
haled from this land sadly shaking their heads at 
what had transpired.  Vardobothet then turned to 
Dunstan and Mellerd: "Stick close by me once the 
fray is joined, young sir.  You, Mellerd, should have 
no part in this, but as I know what is in your head 
you'll follow anyway.  Just stay behind your master, 
and stay low in your saddle," and then he said to his 
Friends in a low voice: "The Nehrons of our company 
know something they are not saying -- and they like 
this naught.  I fear that there will be bloody work 
here, and Captain Rufus may not have so easy a TIME 
as he supposes.  Watch me, and if I give a signal, 
break from the melee and fly.  These trees could be 
hiding a thousand warriors."  Dunstan and Mellerd 
silently agreed, although the former dismissed 
summarily any idea connected with flight.  Battle was 
his new calling and retreat a disgrace to even a would-be 
knight. 

They watched the trader earnestly talking with the 
Nehronlander again, gesturing towards the pack 
animals to emphasize what he was proposing.  He 
turned and slowly rode southwards again, with a half-dozen 
men emerging from the woods and following a 
few paces behind.  So far things were going quite well, 
although more than 2/3 of the enemy were still 
behind the road block, those in the open were already 
dead men.  A WARNING shout went up from the trees, 
but it was too late.  There was a twanging of bows, and 
the 6 warriors fell feathered by twice that number of 
arrows.  Rufus led his men into the midst of the 
Nehronlanders, spears lowered or flails swinging, 
with a straggle of bowmen behind.  Despite his 
Friend's admonition, Dunstan held back a moment 
spell-bound by the sight.  The mercs were in 
among the trees beside the barricade Now, and Rufus 
had already broken free to the road beyond and was 
smiting all about him with his sword.  The woodland 
allowed scant archery, so most of the westerners had 
put by their bows in order to ply their sabres, but 2 
|or| 3 stayed on the caravan's side of the barrier, 
firing over it at half-hidden targets.  All transpired in 
an instant.  Dunstan looked round for an opponent 
and spied a giant of a warrior stealing through the 
trees towards the rear of the horsemen. 

"At them, Mellerd!" he cried, and couching his 
lance firmly beneath his arm, Dunstan charged the 
huge figure. The thunder of his stallion's hooves 
brought the man's head about with a jerk, but ere he 
could do more than look surprised the broad iron POINT 
took him full in the chest.  Luckily the young 
man's feet were well-braced in the stirrups, for 
otherwise the force of the impact -- even at less than 
full gallop -- would have knocked him ass over tea 
kettle.  As it was, he reeled back, partially lifting the 
impaled warrior as the horse continued ahead.  The 
lance then struck a tree and splintered in Dunstan's 
hand.  Dazed, the newfound champion stared 
unbelieving, 1st at the grisly trophy pinned to the 
tree trunk, then a tthe useless stick of ash remaining 
in his hand.  Mellerd came up beside him and shouted 
something, but Dunstan couldn't understand it.  He 
began to roar with laughter, and throwing aside the 
lance butt yanked his sword from the balderic at his 
left and started to urge his mount towards the melee 
ahead.  Before reaching the press, however, chilling 
screams and howls like wild animals rent the air 
around them.  Out of the fringe of pines poured at 
least a hundred ragining men, and Dunstan's battle-rage 
left him in a trice. 

Now the knot of conquering horsemen became a 
small island in a sea of warriors bent upon their 
destruction, and saddles were emptied right and left. 
There was no sign of Vardobothet and no hope of 
saving him in that circle of fremen.  Dunstan reared 
his horse around in frantic haste, grabbed the bridle 
of Mellerd's palfry, and headed back towards the 
caravan.  There were more Nehron fighting men 
emerging from the trees beside the road.  Fighting 
had already broken out in the midst of the mules, and 
before his eyes Dunstan saw Evan fall beneath a 
great, double-bitted axe.  As the 2 riders dashed 
past 1 of the enemy jumped at them, trying to grab 
the reins.  Without conscious effort the sword in 
Dunstan's hand rose and fell, the Nehronlander 
shrieked, and fell back dead.  The train was past. 
There was still a great din behind them, and more 
howls from the woods proved that more of the enemy 
were arriving still!  The horse responded gallantly to 
the spurs, and the reins of Mellerd's steed were jerked 
from his grasp.  Turning, he saw that the smaller 
horse was still running close behind, for it had little 
weight to carry.  The boy was clinging to the beast in 
terror, hands locked around great clumps of its 
mane. 

"You must keep pace!" he shouted back to his 
servant and then paid no more attention to him.  In 
cases like this it was every man for himself.