From his spot at the top of the tower, Edwin had a great view of Blychester and its surrounding area.
Below him, an endless stream of traffic crossed back and forth on the bridge that joined the Dunvarrian side of the Merrow River, where the Castle was located, to the Anlettian side, where the city was located. As early as yesterday, the traffic consisted of laborers, carts of building materials, and other supplies needed for rebuilding the walls. Now the traffic was of men armed and armored, and carts carrying arrows, stones to drop on the heads of enemies, and food supplies to be hoarded.
Fifteen thousand call the port city home, and three thousand make up the strength of the city's militia. Under the law, each man holding a certain amount of land or wealth within the city had to maintain a kit of military equipment and register with the city militia in case of need. Cities to the south, far away from the precarious and often dangerous nature of the Dunvarrian border, were lax in enforcing these laws.
Not in Blychester. The men of the city knew better than most the need to maintain their arms. Raids were a constant threat; in fact, many in the militia had combat experience. Edwin knew there was real incentive in the city to defend their homes. A sack of the city was almost a sure thing if the Dunvarrians won a siege. Their families would be taken, friends killed, and if these were not enough to persuade them to take up arms, then the loss of their property was.
Somewhere in the city, Duke John was organizing the siege preparations. Edwin was impressed by the speed at which the city had been transformed. Over the course of yesterday, all scraps of food had been counted and stockpiled, groups of militias were drilling constantly, and many women and children had begun the evacuation towards the south to stay with friends and family.
Thousands had left the city, yet despite the place being emptier than ever, Edwin felt it was the liveliest he had ever seen it.
A creaking sound from his rear caused Edwin to spin on his heels. He quickly spotted the source of the noise: the hatch door leading down into the tower below swung open. A man slowly climbed the attached ladder. Because of the way the ladder was placed, his back was towards Edwin.
He pulled himself up with a grunt and wiped some dust from his pants.
Edwin took a step forward; the noise startled the man, causing him to turn around quickly.
"Fucking shit!" He half-yelled, half-screamed, "By God, kid, you nearly gave me a heart attack."
Edwin jumped from his response; somehow, the shout had scared him.
The man was nothing special; he was of average height, average build, and a patchy, thin brown beard covered his chin, failing to hide his double chin. He had no muscle to show off, though he did have thick legs, probably built by having to carry the extra weight of the beer belly emerging from the man's tunic.
"Hello," Edwin greeted, "I didn't mean to startle you, not many people come up here, or at least they wouldn't if not for the Dunvarrian army."
The man's eyes grew wide, as if he suddenly realized something Edwin was not privy to.
He didn't respond for a moment. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
Edwin noticed the way he said 'you', it was as if the word was a slur to him. It wasn't the first time someone had greeted him in that way since he came to Blychester. Hugh had many friends amongst the garrison, despite his personality. When he had come to Blychester, they had made an effort to treat him coldly. Lady Talbot also had many followers who seemed to disappear at Edwins's presence here, though he believed they were only doing it to get into the good graces of the Duchess.
"Sightseeing," Edwin answered, ignoring the venom in the man's words, "Sightseeing and thinking."
"Thinking?" the man asked, interested.
Last night, a ghost had plagued his dreams, one he thought he had banished from his mind a long time ago.
Mathias, the name was anathema to Edwin's mind, just thinking of it made him scowl.
"Or don't tell me, I didn't want to know anyway." The man said defensively
Tired from the lack of sleep, Edwin had nearly forgotten about the man standing right in front of him. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I zoned out for a moment." Edwin apologized.
The man leaned against the crenellation of the tower; he was much more relaxed than he had been a moment ago.
"Whatever has been on your mind must really have you down. I'm all ears if you want to talk about it." The man offered.
Edwin had not been expecting the man's offer but decided to accept it nonetheless: "You're a knight, yes?"
"How did you know?"
"The patch on your tunic," Edwin referred to the slightly crooked patch of a great roaring brown bear sewn above his heart. "Commoners don't wear family patches."
The man smiled. Edwin realized he had pleased him by acknowledging his rank. "He must not be thought of highly," Edwin thought.
"You are observant. I am a knight, or at least a poor excuse for one," he said self-depreciatively.
"Have you killed a man before?" Edwin hoped his question wasn't going too far.
Edwin waited for the man to answer; the minute dragged on torturously, and the knight was struggling to decide if he should answer that.
Right when Edwin decided he had made a mistake in asking, the man opened his mouth, "I have killed before, I suspect before I die, I'll kill more still." The man spoke; his voice was stoic. Edwin thought he could hear a sense of sorrow hidden beneath the surface.
"How do you cope with taking another life?" Edwin asked, it was a question he had never thought to bring up to anyone.
"Drinking," The man half laughed, "lots of alcohol, that is how I get over it. What type of question is that kid? Ha, don't tell me you killed a man."
With a beer belly the size of his, Edwin could have guessed that would be his answer. He frowned; nothing useful had been learned from the knight.
The man scrutinized Edwin's face, "Don't tell me," He started, shock filling his voice, "You've killed before?" The knight couldn't believe he was even asking the question.
Edwin nodded, "A poacher, his name was Mathias." Saying his name out loud was hard.
"A poacher, but you can't be any older than ten." The knight was exasperated.
"Seven," Edwin realized something, "actually, I'm eight now."
Being the duke's page had kept Edwin constantly busy; he hadn't had a chance to realize his birthday had flown past. Not that it mattered, birthdays were rarely celebrated. When they were, it was for important milestones: five and ten, fifteen when you're considered an adult, thirty for making it that far, and every ten years after.
Edwin returned to his spot, looking out over the Dunvarrian North, where he had been before the knight had come to the tower.
Behind Edwin, he could hear the knight take a few steps forward until he was close behind. Hesitantly, the man leaned over the Crenellation next to Edwin.
"You don't forget," He uttered,
Edwin looked at him, "What?"
He produced a flask from a pocket in his pants, and the lip spun off with a satisfying pop. A thick odor wafted into Edwin's nose. Whatever the man was drinking, it was strong, not the diluted wine he was used to smelling.
"You never forget the first," He took a long swig of the drink, "Mine was an old man, my old man."
'My' Edwin hung onto the word.
"Aye, my first kill was my father," He clarified, "It was self-defense, he came after my ma with a butcher's knife, he was drunk and angry at something. I saved my mother that day; my reward was to be chased from my home by my own family. My uncle took me in as his squire. I was twelve at the time."
He took another deep swig. Edwin was surprised at the amount of liquid the container could hold. "My dad still comes to my dreams; it isn't bad after a while. You have no choice but to get used to it, no such thing as an innocent knight."
"I see," Edwin wished he didn't understand.
The man offered over the flask; Edwin began to shake his head, but stopped himself halfway. Edwin grabbed the flask and downed a large mouthful of the liquid.
He had never tasted something so disgusting, and a no small amount of effort was put into keeping himself from throwing up.
The knight laughed at the sight, "That's the spirit, lad." Suddenly, the knight's face grew serious. "I'll leave you with a piece of wisdom my uncle told me. Maybe it will do you better than it did me. "Your life may bring you to do terrible things; make sure it was worth it in the end," or something like that, the old bastard croaked twenty years ago, hard to remember his words perfectly."
Edwin took in the words as if a wise old monk had said them and not a drunken, aging knight, "Thank you,"
The sun had risen high in the sky. His duties for later in the day had yet to be completed, so Edwin pushed off from his spot and started for the hatch door.
Before he reached to pull the door open, Edwin remembered something. He turned to the knight. "I would be rude if I didn't ask for your name, sir."
The knight paused for a moment; Edwin could tell he was debating whether he should share his name, which Edwin found odd.
"John," he began, "John De Lynford."