A messenger arrived six days later, a regal rider dressed in dark clothes atop a chestnut horse; it was a Dark Courier, a messenger bearing news of the highest urgency at the utmost speed. Henry had been mending the front gate in the hot midday sun when the Courier pulled up, his mount whinnying in protest as they stopped abruptly before the squire.

  "Henry Davon, squire to Sir Gallant?" The messenger asked, his voice monotone and emotionless.

  "Aye, that's me," Henry replied, standing up. "What is it?"

  "Sir Paulus has sent a missive for you from Caerthwyn. He also says he will arrive in a few days' time." The messenger retrieved a scroll from his belt pouch and handed it to Henry. "I've been advised to tell you to read the message within the manor." With that, the messenger wheeled his horse around and rode off, leaving a cloud of dust in Henry's face.

  Perplexed, Henry put down the hammer in his hand and retreated into the courtyard, where he sat upon the manor's front steps and unfurled the scroll. Sir Paulus had sent this from Caerthwyn, the administrative center of the Regency that was at least a days' ride away, meaning he had concluded the council at the capital Valmorra and had already searched for Sir Gallant; what could possibly warrant a message delivered by a Dark Courier? As his eyes slowly scanned the message, the world around him seemed to slowly fall silent.

  Sir Gallant is missing, presumed fallen from the battle with Bazelius. The Knight's Bureau has officially declared him dead. I will arrive soon with additional tidings. Sir Paulus.

  The letter dropped from Henry's shaking hands; his throat and chest tightened, his heart skipped a beat. He stared at the ink on the parchment, willing it to change, to transform to alternate words as if everything that happened was a bad dream. But the text remained, and he could do nothing but stare ahead blankly.

  Henry didn't remember how long he sat on the steps, until a gentle shake snapped him out of his stupor. Sir Paulus stood before him, concern written on his face. Beside him was a young, blonde-haired man around Henry's age, maybe a year or two older, dressed in a vibrant red gambeson and toting a sheathed longsword on his belt.

  It was morning, the sun still creeping over the horizon, meaning he had likely sat on the steps for at least overnight.

  "Henry? Are you well?" Sir Paulus asked, frowning. "The messenger confirmed you received the letter two days ago. Have you been out here all this time?"

  Henry nodded wordlessly. His eye traveled down to the scroll, still sprawled out on the ground in front of him.

  "Let's get you inside, lad," Paulus said gently, giving a look to his companion. "Arthur, hitch the horses in the stables and meet us inside."

  "On it." Arthur, the young man who arrived with Paulus, took their horses' reins and led them away, quickly dodging out of Henry's view.

  "He's gone?" Henry looked up at Paulus. "He's really gone?"

  Paulus tightened his lips. "I'm afraid we have to assume as much, lad."

  "Did you find him?" Henry could feel desperation welling up within him. "What did you find of him?"

  "I only found traces of him, that is all." Paulus shook his head. "The scene was one of carnage. He and Bazelius were locked in fierce combat, judging from the splintered trees and split rocks. However, I couldn't find any bodies. Not his, not Godwin's, not Bazelius'."

  "Then how would you know?!" Henry cried. "How can you just assume he's dead without finding his body?!"

  "Calm yourself, Henry," Paulus said, his voice low and rough. "You are right, I assumed he was dead without finding his body. But the council in Valmorra gave me little time to search for him, and the Bureau needed an answer." He bowed his head. "Sir Gallant knew the risks, as do we all."

  "He was your oldest comrade! Your best friend!" Henry shouted. He couldn't hold it back anymore; tears were streaming from his eyes, and his breath came in short gasps that threatened to overwhelm him. Reason had given way to anger, and though he knew Sir Paulus was in no way responsible for it, his emotions demanded an outlet, and the great knight was set in his crosshairs. "How could you just abandon him like that? How can you-"

  Paulus wrapped his arms around the squire, holding him gently as Henry sobbed uncontrollably. They remained in this embrace for a few moments, as Henry struggled to control his sorrow.

  It was only when he was enveloped in Paulus' hug that he noticed how filthy and disheveled the knight's clothes and armor were. Dried specks of mud and patches of dried sweat and grime were plastered everywhere on Paulus' brilliant clothing and once-shining armor; as Henry struggled to regain his breath, the gravity of how long and hard Paulus had searched for Gallant on the field dawned on him.

  Now that the tears flowed freely, reason slowly crept back into the squire's mind; as the gasping slowly died down, he stepped back, appalled.

  "I-Forgive me, my lord. I-I didn't mean-"

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  "It's alright, Henry." Paulus looked at Henry; through his swollen eyes, Henry could see the knight's weary eyes brim with tears as well. "It's alright. I know."

  The knight gingerly steered Henry towards the manor, carefully picking up the scroll from the ground. Together, the squire and knight entered the cold, dark manor.

  Paulus seated Henry at the great table in the dining hall, then briefly retreated to the kitchen before re-emerging with a platter of bread, dried meats, and fruit. Arthur joined them soon after as well, and the trio picked at the food before them as Henry slowly regained his senses.

  "I'm... I'm so sorry, my lord," Henry said, rubbing his eyes. "It's unfit for a knight of your status to wait on me as such."

  "Nonsense," Paulus snorted, munching on a load of rye bread. "Within these walls, you're my godson. Gallant kept giving me a hard time for being too soft on you, remember?" He tossed a stick of salami at Henry. "Now eat, and that's an order."

  A few moments passed without a word as the trio ate; Henry could feel the gnawing pain of hunger slowly return to his stomach, now that the shock had finally worn off. He gratefully chewed on the salami and bread before him, his taste buds initially screaming with pain from two days' fasting before reacting to the flavors in his mouth with gusto.

  After they had eaten their fill and drank a few skins of ale, Paulus finally turned to Henry, another scroll in his hands.

  "Now that you've regained your strength, I shall give you the news that I'm sure you're dying to hear," he announced.

  He handed the scroll to Henry; in the vibrant sunlight filtering through the hall's stained glass windows, Henry could see the crest of House Gallant emblazoned on the scroll's seal.

  "As part of his last will and testament, Sir Gallant has willed that his lands pass on to his current surviving squire in the event of his death. However, given that the Regency has decreed that only knights may hold lands and titles, I shall assume stewardship of his lands until the squire has successfully attained knighthood." Paulus winked at Henry. "Be that as it may, my own lands, as well as my obligation to the latest call-to-arms, means that I am unable to properly oversee his holdings in your stead. As such, I name you the proper heir and steward of these lands, by the power vested in me by Sir Lance Gallant."

  Henry felt his head spin and his chest leap. "Sir?"

  "Oh, come now, boy, can't you keep up?" Paulus gave him a playful clap on his shoulder. "Congratulations, Henry. You're the youngest landowner and only squire to hold lands in this Regency. The Knight-Regent sends his regards as well."

  His heart pounded in his chest as Henry looked down at the scroll, the faded and dusty seal staring back at him; the aged parchment crinkled slightly in his hands as he clutched it closer to his chest. "I... I don't know what to say, sir."

  "I do," Arthur said. He had been silent up till now, watching the scene before him unfold whilst he had leaned back in his seat and perched his legs up on the table. "'Thank you,' 'Heaven forbid,' 'I'll pass it on to Arthur instead.' A few suggestions, is all."

  "Forgive me, Henry," Paulus sighed, taking another swig of ale. "This young man here with me is Arthur Braddock. I'll explain his presence here momentarily."

  "Arthur Braddock?" Henry cocked his brow. "Of House Braddock?"

  House Braddock was a renowned knight lineage, with many legendary knights throughout the Regency's history having hailed from the venerated house. A Braddock was second only to the Knight-Regent in terms of household fame across the land.

  "Aye." Arthur still hadn't moved from his position; his eyes were closed, and his hands folded on his chest. Had he not spoken, Henry would have thought he were sleeping. "The very same. You may bask in my family name a little more, if you'd like. I enjoy the adulation."

  "Save your witty quips for the trollops in town," Paulus grunted. "Henry here is Sir Gallant's squire and heir, not to mention his youngest aspirant he recommended for the Trials."

  Arthur finally opened his eyes; his gaze slowly crept to Henry, like a cat lazily eyeing a mouse from its bed. "Ah, forgive me, where are my manners?" He swept his legs off from the table and stood, before giving a mocking curtsy and bow. "My congratulations, Lord Squire. I'll be sure to note this historic moment in the Regency's annals."

  Henry suppressed the strong urge to spit a retort back at him, instead maintaining his silence; as Arthur drew his head back from the mocking bow, Henry could see a glint in his eye. The lazy look from before was now a focused stare, though still masked underneath an air of indolence.

  "Enough, you fool," Paulus said, shooting him a weary look. "Had your father not insisted, I'd have recommended you for house jester with all your wit."

  "You wound me, Sir Paulus," Arthur said, his face contorted in mock sorrow. "Am I not your most faithful apprentice?"

  "My most draining, for sure. Now enough of your foolishness. I'm about to explain your role in Henry's Trials."

  "My Trials?" Henry turned to Sir Paulus. "They're still valid?"

  "Of course, but with stipulations." Paulus ran a hand atop his head, stroking his nonexistent hair. "Normally, I would oversee your Trials with Sir Gallant's passing, but the council has recalled all available knights to active duty. I am needed elsewhere, and this is why I had to report Sir Gallant as dead so soon."

  His words stung Henry, but the squire nodded.

  "Therefore, the Bureau has authorized all ongoing Trials to be overseen by knight-apprentices instead. Which is where Arthur here comes in."

  Arthur bowed deeply again, a move that irked Henry on a primal level.

  "Arthur is on his sixth Trial, the Trial of Teaching. His trial will coincide with your Trials as well, until you reach the sixth Trial yourself. From there, he will have successfully completed his trial, and will move on to his final test before knighthood."

  "Ah, Teaching, The longest and most painful Trial that awaits," Arthur bemoaned. He sauntered over to Henry, circling him as he eyed him up and down. "Come to think of it, I wonder what I can teach you. Seeing as Sir Gallant has trained you so well, of course."

  Henry could resist it no longer. "And for how long have you trained under Sir Paulus?"

  "Two summers, three technically. But-"

  "Is your sword as quick as your tongue? Or is your wit the only fast thing about you?" Henry walked over to the weapons rack by the door, drawing a wooden training sword. "Because I am starting to agree with Sir Paulus' judgement as well."

  A smirk slowly spread across Arthur's face. "Is that a challenge, young squire?"

  Henry drew another wooden sword from the rack, tossing it to Arthur. "If you're willing."

  Arthur caught the weapon in a smooth motion, looking over to Paulus. The knight nodded, stepping back to give the pair room.

  His outburst against Sir Paulus was unwarranted, but he neither knew nor cared for Arthur. Henry walked over and stood directly across from him, assuming a guard stance.

  Arthur's smile didn't waver. "Alright. I'll play your little game." He assumed a strange stance: one hand behind his back, his blade extended before him. "Even better, you can have the first move. If you're willing."