Read The Long War 01 - The Black Guard for Free Online

begun to remove Sir Leon’s body. ‘Lux… I will hear of it if that man is treated poorly,’ said Torian.
    The man bowed. ‘Absolutely, milord, I’ll see to the pyre myself.’
    The watchmen left the stables, holding the body of Sir Leon respectfully. The man holding the head did so at arm’s length and was making an effort to not look at Sir Leon’s blank face.
    Brother Torian turned back to Randall. ‘Well then, squire, this is what you need to know of your new master. I am a cleric of the quest from Ro Arnon and I am here looking for a Black Guard named Bromvy of Canarn.’
    Randall tried to stand upright. ‘Yes, my lord… I understand. What has the man done?’
    Torian looked quizzically at his new squire. ‘Do you not know the meaning of the words Black Guard , boy?’
    ‘I do not, sir.’ Randall shook his head.
    ‘Well, it seems that your education should begin immediately.’ He passed Randall the sword of Great Claw. ‘Here, take your new sword and let’s be off. We have much to do.’
    Randall paused and simply looked at the offered blade. ‘My lord, I’m a commoner, not permitted to carry a longsword.’
    Brother Torian raised his chin and puffed out his chest. ‘You are now the squire of a Purple cleric and, if I say you can wear a sword, then you can wear a sword. Come now, belt it on and don’t dawdle.’ The cleric began to walk towards the stable entrance. ‘Oh, and you’d probably better take Sir Leon’s horse in addition to his sword,’ he said before disappearing into the street.
    * * *
    Randall’s first few days as squire to Brother Torian were strange. The cleric was an undemanding master, compared to Sir Leon. He talked a great deal, often unconcerned whether Randall was listening or not, and the young squire’s head was a blur of clerical procedures and service to the One God.
    Torian was from the Falls of Arnon and had never been to the capital before. He wore his armour throughout the day and largely ignored the fear he inspired in the general populace, most of whom he dismissed as simply common folk.
    Randall learned quickly how to unbuckle the armour and greaves with Torian in a seated position. They were of high quality and needed little maintenance beyond a daily polish of the burnished steel. Torian appeared ill at ease with being waited on, but tried to smile as Randall ran around after him, automatically fetching his food and cleaning his clothes.
    They stayed in a quiet tavern near the chapter house of the knights of the Red. It was an unremarkable area of the town, with little crime. The tavern was a low stone building with few comforts, though the rooms were clean and the staff respectful. Randall was permitted to sleep in a bed rather than on the rough bedroll he had been used to, and was even allowed time to himself each day. Torian disliked having Randall with him when he went into the poor quarter to make enquiries, saying that a squire would be a burden when the cleric needed to be focused.
    Randall used this time to practise with his new sword and to read the books that Torian carried with him. The squire began to learn about the One God and even learned something of the other lands of men. He’d met Ranen and Karesians before, but had always thought them strange and difficult to understand. The books Brother Torian carried spoke of them as children of other gods, inferior to the One, but worthy of respect as enemies.
    They rose early each day and Torian exercised for several hours, running on the spot and swinging his longsword with practised skill. Without his armour, the cleric was a muscular man, covered in scars and puncture wounds from crossbow bolts and longbow arrows. He deflected any talk of his wounds and Randall guessed that true fighting men didn’t generally discuss their past battles. Sir Leon’s tall tales began to make more sense and it occurred to Randall that the old knight had deliberately told different versions of the same story because