The Iron Teeth

Interlude: The Light of Faith 1

Sir Masnin of Westspring Hill rode into town and wondered what difference a handful of peasants made. The town of Breststock did not seem to suffer for the lack of them.

The market square was filled with busy merchants' stalls, and the locals were going about their business without any apparent concern for the alleged disappearances, or the party of seven armed strangers who now walked amongst them.

Lowborn wives examined goods from wooden stalls, as laborers moved and unloaded wagons across the wide cobbled streets. The town's buildings showed the wealth of the area with painted wooden doors and shutters; most were wide open to let in the day's sun. They were obviously far from the frontline of the war here.

He'd expected a very different sort of welcome and wasn't sure what bothered him more, the idea that he'd volunteered for a wild hob chase, or that they would find what they had come looking for.

The only people the knight had spotted so far who showed any signs of fear were the condemned criminals on display and awaiting sentencing in their cramped cages. Their thin frames and fearful eyes marked them as petty thieves or debtors. It was always possible they were deserters from the army though.

The young knight quickly dismissed the criminals from his mind; he was unwilling to dwell too much on fear or poverty. He turned his attention back to the town, imitating the older knights that led his group.

For the last several days, he had been working to make a good impression with the senior knights and their leader, the paladin Sire Iolan. He was not just a holy warrior of the Order of Helio-Lustria but also a captain who held land and a title in the order's name.

Masnin of Westspring had eagerly answered the paladin's call for noble men to join him on a mission for his order. He was the third son of a minor knight with no lands of his own, and that meant he would have to make his own way in the world.

Most young men in his position would have ridden off to war and joined the king's army, but he had no intention of joining the legions of men who had died seeking their fortune in the wars. Despite all the promises, Masnin hadn't noticed very many soldiers or knights returning home with titles or plunder. He hadn't noticed very many of them returning at all.

The best way to avoid that, and the shame of poverty, was for him to join an order, but there were only two ways to do that. You could be sponsored at a young age and raised by the order, or a knight with a few brave feats to his name could be invited. Well, that or use connections his humble upbringing didn't give him. He would have to make do by displaying the dignity and skill of a true knight.

"If you keep grimacing like that you'll pull a muscle, and then your face will stay like that forever," said a voice from beside him.

Masnin turned to the speaker, a man one or two years older than himself with newer armor than his own and a foolish grin on his face.

"What?" asked Masnin, caught off guard.

"That silly look on your face," Sir Rusk said. "I've seen it happen before. For the rest of your life you'll be cursed to walk around looking like you're constipated. "

"I don't have a look on my face," he replied, annoyed.

"If you say so," the smiling Sir Rusk shrugged in reply.

Masnin tried to relax his face, not because he thought the other knight was right, but to hide his annoyance. Sir Rusk of the Toppling Hills had been his bane for the entire journey.

It seemed like all attempts to distinguish himself ended with him being overshadowed or ridiculed by the blond knight. Not only was he the perfect picture of a paladin with his new armor and broad shoulders, but he came from a wealthy and well connected family.