The road to Varnel's Hold wound through the mist-choked woods like a serpent, its twisting path veiled in a sense of foreboding. The Silver Company rode in silence, the rhythmic clatter of hooves the only sound that accompanied them.
Dikun Silver led the procession, his gaze unwavering as the distant silhouette of the keep came into view. Lord Varnel's stronghold stood like a stubborn sentinel, its weathered stone walls bearing the scars of forgotten sieges. Yet even from a distance, something felt wrong. The banners that should have flown proudly were absent. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys, but no sentries could be seen along the battlements.
"No guards," Elira murmured from Dikun's side. Her bow rested across her back, though her fingers lingered near the quiver of arrows. "Either they're hiding or they've abandoned their posts."
"We'll find out soon enough," Dikun said.
---
A Test of Loyalty
Before they could ride further, Dikun pulled his horse to a halt. Gareth, ever vigilant, followed suit. The young spearman's sharp eyes scanned the treeline for signs of movement, though none came.
"Gareth," Dikun began, his voice steady. "Step forward."
The lad obeyed without hesitation, though confusion flickered across his face. The other men watched in silence, sensing the weight of the moment.
"You have grown since the day you joined us," Dikun said. "No longer a boy with a spear, but a soldier of the Silver Company. And more than that—someone I can trust."
Gareth swallowed hard, his hands clenched at his sides. "I owe everything to the Company. To you, Sir Dikun."
Dikun dismounted, his boots pressing firmly into the damp earth. "Then I ask you now — will you stand not only as a warrior, but as my squire?"
A hushed silence fell over the company. Even Rudric, who rarely showed emotion, gave a satisfied nod.
"A squire," Gareth repeated, the word barely above a whisper.
"To learn the ways of a knight," Dikun said, stepping closer. "To stand by my side in battle, to carry my banner, and one day… to earn your own name and title. The path will not be easy, Gareth. But it will be yours."
For a heartbeat, the young spearman said nothing. Then, with resolute certainty, he dropped to one knee.
"I swear it, Sir Dikun Silver. By steel and honor, I will serve you as your squire."
A rare smile touched Dikun's lips. "Rise, Squire Gareth. The road ahead awaits."
The Silver Company erupted into cheers, the bond of brotherhood renewed.
---
Varnel's Hold
The gates of Varnel's Hold stood ajar, the heavy iron doors hanging crookedly from their hinges. As the Silver Company passed through the ruined entrance, the acrid scent of smoke clung to the air. Burned carts and shattered barrels littered the courtyard.
But it wasn't just the destruction that unsettled Dikun. It was the stillness. No servants scurried about. No soldiers patrolled the ramparts. Only the hollow groan of the wind remained.
"Whatever happened here," Rudric muttered, "it wasn't days ago. This was recent."
Dikun dismounted, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Search the hold. Elira, take a group to the upper towers. Rudric, secure the gates."
"And me, sir?" Gareth asked, his voice steady.
"With me," Dikun replied. "A knight's squire does not wait in safety. He faces what comes."
---
A Lord's Fate
The main hall of the keep bore the marks of battle. Tables lay overturned, tapestries torn, and the embers of a once-roaring hearth smoldered dimly. Dried blood painted the stone floor, the remnants of a desperate struggle.
At the foot of the dais, where the lord's seat once stood, a body slumped in twisted repose. The silver-trimmed cloak, now stained crimson, bore the sigil of House Varnel.
"Lord Varnel," Gareth whispered.
Dikun knelt, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of the lord's discarded sword. The man had fought, that much was clear. But no outside army had breached these walls.
"An execution," Dikun said grimly. "Not a battle. Whoever did this wanted him dead — not the hold itself."
A rustle from the shadows shattered the silence. Gareth's spear was in his hands in an instant, but Dikun raised a hand.
"Come out."
From behind a broken pillar, a frail figure emerged. A boy — no older than twelve — his tear-streaked face pale with fear. His trembling hands clutched a tattered cloth, though no weapon could be seen.
"They took them," the boy sobbed. "The black banners. They took them all."
Dikun's gaze sharpened. "Black banners?"
The boy nodded, his voice faltering. "They came in the night. Mercenaries. They wore no crest — only black. Lord Varnel tried to fight, but they…" He choked on the words. "They killed him. And the others."
"And the people?" Dikun pressed.
"Taken," the boy whispered. "South. Toward the borderlands."
Dikun rose, his expression grim. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. Whoever these black-bannered mercenaries were, they had not merely killed Varnel. They had stolen something. Perhaps prisoners. Perhaps something far worse.
"Elira," Dikun called as she entered the hall, her bow still in hand. "We ride south. We find them. And we end this."
Gareth stepped forward, his newfound role as squire evident in the resolve that burned in his eyes.
"By your side, Sir Dikun."
The Silver Company departed once more. But this time, the shadows ahead would not be so easily scattered.
---
Next Chapter: Riders of the Black Banner
Dikun and the Silver Company pursue the mysterious mercenaries.
Gareth faces his first true test as a squire.
The truth behind Lord Varnel's death begins to unravel.