are approaching on the main road,” the scout said, pulling his lathered horse next to them.
“Tell him yourself. What do you see my friend?” asked Landon, poking his head through the canvas flap on the covered wagon.
“How are you feeling sir?” asked Lanz.
“I’m well. The wound is itching a bit, but other than that I feel fine.”
“That is good, sir, means it’s healing.”
“What of the riders?” Landon asked again.
“I believe they are Finarthian Knights.”
“Good. Have Cyn and Allindrian ride next to me when the knights arrive,” Landon ordered.
“Yes, sir,” responded the scout as he rode off.
It wasn’t long before Jonas and Fil made out the long lances sparkling in the midday sun as the knights rode towards them.
“Do we have anything to fear from them, sir?” asked Fil cautiously.
“Oh no, I am well known in these parts and I am a friend of the king. I imagine they will escort us to Finarth,” replied Landon reassuringly.
Jonas gazed in awe at the knights as they drew near. There were probably fifty of them, all riding magnificent war horses. They wore sparkling plate armor embossed with the king’s standard, a fist within a shining sun. Their billowing blue capes were lined with gold thread and their helms were of the finest quality. Every knight carried a long lance with a wicked silver point. Jonas noticed that they also had shields and swords strapped to the sides of their horses. Their horses also wore protective plates covering their noses and their muscular chests. A blanket of chain mail draped the warhorses to protect their flanks and tough leather saddles were perched like a king’s throne on their backs. That’s what Jonas thought anyway, looking at the magnificent riders. He had never seen anything like them. They slowed as they neared Landon’s caravan.
“Halt the wagon, son,” Landon said.
Jonas pulled back on the reins and they stopped about forty paces from the knights. The knights slowly rode forward, their lances held high as the dust from the road finally settled. The lead knight lifted his visor, handed his lance off to another warrior, and rode forward. He looked like all the rest except that he wore a purple cape while the others were blue.
As the man neared, Jonas could make out his features. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and he wore a dark mustache and beard that made his ice blue eyes stand out. He smiled seeing Landon but it did nothing to erase the hard weathered features of his face.
“Third lance, Lathrin, how are you? How long has it been?” Landon asked smiling broadly.
“Too long, my friend. It is good to see you,” greeted the knight. The dark haired knight noticed Landon’s leg, his smile changing to a look of concern. “What happened to you, Landon, you are injured?”
“Yes, we were attacked by boargs on the road.” Landon’s expression became more serious.
“Boargs? You must be mistaken. I have not heard of boarg attacks for many years. Where did this happen?” asked Lathrin.
“On the road from Tarsis, no more than three days ride from Finarth’s gate. We have some more troubling news that cannot wait. I must see the king.”
“Of course, we will talk more of this when we get you to a healer and a nice comfortable bed. I will escort you personally.” Lathrin, seeing Allindrian, smiled warmly. “Blade Singer,” he said, nodding his head in greeting. “It is an honor to see you again.” Allindrian returned the greeting with a subtle tilt of her head and a gentle smile.
The captain returned his gaze to Landon, continuing to address the injured merchant. “Now, let’s get you to a warm bath and a nice soft bed. I’m sure you deserve both.”
They rode for half a day before the city came into view. Fil and Jonas were very excited after seeing the splendid knights and they harassed the tired merchant with endless questions.
“Sir, why did you call that knight, third lance?” asked Fil.
“The Finarthian Knights are organized independently from the Finarthian Legion. The knight’s leaders are signified by a ranking title and a particular color,” Landon explained.
“So the number of lances in their title signifies their rank,” Jonas reasoned.
“Yes. Lathrin is a third lance, which means he is in charge of two modrigs, called a ludus,” Landon continued. “And that rank is marked by a purple cape.”
“A modrig? Ludus? What are they?” Jonas asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.
Landon laughed softly. “Son, let me explain before you sling more questions.”