The journey to Brynstead was far from a grand procession. There were no banners, no cheering crowds, and no gilded carriages. Only the clatter of hooves and the hum of conversation followed Dikun Silver and the Silver Company as they made their way across the uneven dirt roads.
Dikun rode at the front, the weight of his newly earned title sitting heavily upon his shoulders. Sir Dikun Silver. The words rang hollow in his mind. A knight he may be, but the burdens of leadership had only just begun. The title was not the end of his journey — it was merely another battlefield.
Rudric rode alongside him, his massive frame clad in mismatched armor, the dents and scratches proudly worn like badges of honor. "So, this village of yours," Rudric grunted. "What do we know about it?"
Dikun glanced at the crumpled parchment Lord Berrick's steward had given him. "Brynstead. Population of about a hundred. A few fields, a mill, and a smithy. Nothing grand."
"Sounds peaceful," Elira remarked from behind, her sharp eyes scanning the tree line for signs of trouble. "Though that never lasts long."
"Especially with rumors of bandits to the south," Bran added, his voice low. "The nobles might call it a minor concern, but villages like Brynstead are easy prey."
Dikun's jaw tightened. "Then we'll ensure they're no longer easy prey."
---
A Village in Ashes
By midday, the fields of Brynstead came into view. The golden wheat swayed gently in the breeze, a picture of rural tranquility — until they drew closer.
The charred remains of a farmhouse stood as a grim reminder of recent violence. Smoke still lingered from the blackened timbers. Villagers worked in solemn silence, repairing what they could. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt wood.
Dikun dismounted, his boots crunching against the dry soil. Eyes turned toward him — some curious, others weary. A knight was a rare sight in villages like this, and his arrival was met with uncertainty rather than celebration.
A wiry man in a dirt-streaked tunic approached, his gaze cautious. His hands were calloused, the hands of a man accustomed to toil.
"You're the knight they sent?" the man asked.
"I am," Dikun replied firmly. "Sir Dikun Silver. And you are?"
"Eldric, the village reeve. I keep what order I can." He gestured to the ruined farmhouse. "Though order's hard to come by these days."
"What happened here?"
"Bandits," Eldric spat, the bitterness evident in his voice. "Three days past. They took what they could carry and burned the rest. We tried to fight, but we're farmers, not soldiers."
Dikun's gaze hardened. "No more. From this day forward, Brynstead will be defended. You have my word."
---
Settling the Silver Company
The Silver Company wasted no time. While the villagers hesitated to trust their new lord, the sight of armed warriors patrolling the fields brought a semblance of reassurance.
Dikun established his command from the village's modest longhouse — a simple wooden structure that served as both dwelling and meeting hall. Maps and reports were spread across a rough-hewn table, their edges curling from age.
"First order of business," Dikun said, addressing his closest companions. "We reinforce the village. A palisade will be built around the perimeter — sturdy enough to deter any future raids."
Rudric grinned. "You've got the muscle for that. But what about the people? Fear can build walls faster than timber."
"Then we give them purpose," Dikun said. "We train them. Not as soldiers, but as defenders. Every man and woman willing to fight will learn to do so."
"And the bandits?" Elira asked.
"We track them. They'll strike again if they think we're weak." Dikun's voice was cold, resolute. "But they'll find no easy prey in Brynstead."
---
A Knight's Lesson
The days passed swiftly. The Silver Company divided their efforts — some oversaw the construction of the palisade, while others drilled the villagers in the use of spears and bows. Dikun himself took part, wielding a practice sword as he sparred with the most capable among them.
"Again!" Dikun barked, stepping back as Tomas, a lanky young farmer, stumbled to his feet. Sweat dripped from the boy's brow, but his grip on the wooden sword remained firm.
"You hesitate," Dikun said, circling his opponent. "Fear is natural. But hesitation will get you killed. Strike with intent — no half measures."
Tomas nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. The next exchange was fiercer. Though the boy's strikes were clumsy, his resolve grew with each failed attempt.
"You'll get there," Dikun said, offering a rare nod of approval. "In time."
---
A Warning in the Dark
But peace was fragile.
On the fifth night, as the fires of the village dimmed and the stars gleamed overhead, a lone rider approached the village gates. His horse was lathered in sweat, its sides heaving. The man himself was bloodied, his tunic torn.
"Bandits," he rasped. "To the south. A dozen riders, maybe more. They sacked Harrow's Hollow. Burned it to the ground."
The words sent a chill through the gathered villagers. Fear gripped them, but Dikun stood unmoved.
"Rudric," Dikun commanded, "ready the company. We ride at dawn."
"And the villagers?" Elira asked, her voice low.
Dikun's gaze swept over the faces of those who watched him. "They'll stand ready. The next time the bandits come, they will find not frightened farmers — but a village that will fight."
The Silver Company would ride for vengeance. And when the battle came, the name Dikun Silver would echo across the land.
---
Next Chapter: Riders of the Hollow
Dikun leads the Silver Company to intercept the bandits.
The villagers prepare their defenses.
Dikun faces the brutal reality of commanding both soldiers and civilians.
A fierce battle looms, testing the strength of the newly formed Silver Company.