Chapter 2. Running knights.

   Some seventy miles to the South, John Martin hurried along the dusty road, a hooded person at his side. While breathing on his hands, he wrote a letter in his mind.

   “Dear sister,
   I asked my teacher whether Dragons are truly above everything. Above animals dying because of humans. Above humans dying because of animals. Above the misery brought by us. I meant it. Sure, they once watched over the gentry, but why didn’t they help with treating plague, why didn't they feed the poor? Did they only see us as insects? I still remember my teacher's answer: "Dragons can’t be above humans. While vastly superior in might, that doesn't mean they are a superior race, though they view themselves as such. We both have souls God treats equally. With God's grace, we have no reason to fear the Devil, thus we shouldn't cower in fear before Dragons. About your second question, while it is true that Dragons might help the people in many ways, they cannot intervene too much, because this would feed jealousy from our neighbours and eventually bring war to our doorstep. Our only difference is raw power. Just like between us and oxes or bulls. But all living things stand equal before God."
   Applied to my situation, I use the same basis for my relationship with Anna. She was born with a silver spoon, but we freely interacted. We scuffled as others mocked us for seeing beyond wealth. We played with tailors' children, potters', merchants', governor’s while our parents spoked to tailors and potters and merchants and governors on equal footing. And when we grew, many of our playmates remained genuine friends and acquaintances. We were the reason Duke March’s son slapped his mom when she called Bob pigsty boy. We held no limits, no bias, no misjudgment.
   Five days ago, Anna found out she wasn’t the Bridges’ “natural” daughter, but the bastard child of the late Archmage Charles. Did that change anything in our friendship? Well, not for me, but a childhood friend now called her “lady”, another one stopped seeing her, a third who previously only fooled around dropped on his knees and proposed. Offer declined.
   She seemed unfazed to me, even after a team of jurists came in to collect the inheritance tax and announce that she happened to be the only heir. None of Charles’ sons were eligible and his other relatives were either dead or exiled. The same night our Duke knighted Anna a second time. First baron, now countess. A late dinner followed. Then Tom, Charles’ old butler, informed her of an important matter. This matter is the reason why I left the city of Desmond to tend to an uncle’s cow, the reason why my chariot transported a week's worth of food supplies, the reason why, just in case, I took most of my savings with me.
   I know that this letter will never reach you. That I'll never write it. I still wish I could explain that cutting all ties with you was the only way to keep your family out of trouble. If I do not do this, your son Leonard will never live in peace. Forgive me, dear sister, but I swore to dad. If he cannot make it, it is up to me to protect you, I’ll do so until my last bre…”
   “John Martin!”
   He looked up. Someone emerged from the mist behind him. John told the hooded firegure next to get behind him. That someone was a tall man who looked harmless enough. His boots were dusty and travelled with a mutt with an ear and a half. He was but ten feet away.
   However, he stood between John, his companion and the birdge, judging from the crystalline sound behind him. And soon, John picked up the noise of more people approaching. The frost on the dirt and grass off-road made it hard for them to walk silently. John took off his hat and took one step forward.
   “Who am I speaking with?
   -A John just like you, John Baker. And this fella at my feet is King.
   John moved a few fingers inside his long sleeve. A name appeared in his mind.
   -No. You are Yves Lenoir. And this fella at your feet is a Familiar.
   The tall figure recoiled, startled.
   -Listen, Yves. We were expecting someone, but not you. There can be two reasons why you are here instead of Anna’s messenger. And you can’t lie your way out since the messenger stands beside me. One of two things. A, you still want to marry Anna – then the only way for you to have a shot is to join us. B, you used your good memory to figure out a spot where Anna's likely to send a messenger my way, yet in a moment of weakness you gave the location to the Inquisition.
   Yves! This case is bigger than two nobles who might, or might not, contact heretics to challenge the Church and whoever calls himself duke, who isn't a March or a Clayton. It makes no difference on the long run. The people from the North who are coming here as we speak, will smash anyone if the kingdom is in disarray. You probably know of archmage Charles’ will. Bad news are, I published the bloody thing. Now, in the big cities, everyone knows about the threat of invasion. Don’t pretend you do not.
   John stepped closer, only to notice that Yves had already taken a dagger from his boot. John looked him straight into the eyes.
   -I come without weapons since my cause is just. Even on the run, even with no title, in my heart I’m still a knight. Now let me engage in heretical divination and tell you your future, just this once. I’ll walk past you, my companion will follow. You are free to join, free to not. And your men will say they lost us in the mist. These eight souls you brought along can’t be from the Inquisition, you had to gather them on a short notice. I wouldn’t think of another option, if I were you, since all nine of you know they'll end up victims of an accident by the riverside. Scratches, bruises, maybe broken bones. I’m too meek to target organs and too tired to pry swords from people's hands. I'm not threatening you, rather the opposite. At the end of the day, we are both travelers. We already paid the toll when we crossed the border. We are both within the boundaries of the law enacted by king William, let it stay that way.
   Hey, Yves. It’s too dark with too thick of a mist to spot anyone. You can’t possibly have enough men to check on every bridge in the vicinity. And you can’t remember all the bridges Anna talked to you about, when she saw you as a friend.”
   John was now alongside Yves, the buckle of his belt touching the metal of his broadsword. Both his hand were on his sides, pulled away to show he was unarmed. John's companion followed, empty hands risen.
   Yves gulped, but no one from either side of the bridge could see it. His dagger still drawn, he made one step back, before appearing in doubt, then he stepped up again and put it against John’s neck. Neithed moved. John simply stared Yes right in the eyes. A minute passed. Yves inhaled.
   “Men! I've got the wrong John. This is John Cobbler. His wife is pregnant, he's taking her to the doctor in town. There’s a John and a Martin in every damn village.”
   Yves exhaled.
   “Men! Withdraw.”
   Yves stepped aside. John walked with a steady pace, his companion followed. On the other side of the river, four figures lowered their blades. Past one hundred steps, John sped up to a stroll. When the duo made it so far that even the river's flow was as low as a whisper, he ran up to a tree and leaned on it.
   His companion asked how he was feeling.
   “I'm fine, Ann.”
   At the moment and for the whole next hour, John’s hands and body were shaking.