Opportunity

Eldrige leans back into his seat, looking at Argon thoughtfully. "You've shown potential, Argon, and Garrick's words hold weight. You are a prime candidate for a knighthood. But the title of a knight... it is not given so easily. A knight must not only possess strength and skill, but also loyalty and worth to me."

He pauses, taking a moment to let his words sink in before continuing. "To the southwest of my territory, there is a small village that has fallen into chaos. Drought has wracked the region, destroying their crops and killing their livestock. The villagers... they are desperate. Hungry. Scared."

Argon's brow furrows as he listens. He had heard whispers of such problems on the outskirts of the Baron's territories, but he had not realized the severity of the situation.

"The desperation has turned them against each other," Eldrige goes on, his voice heavy. "Theft, looting, violence... it's tearing the village apart. As a test of your loyalty and your worth, Argon, I am entrusting this task to you."

Argon straightens a spark of determination in his eyes. "You and your slave, along with a handful of men I will provide, will journey to this village. Your task is to restore order and secure what resources remain by any means necessary. It won't be an easy task, Argon, but it is a necessary one."

"I understand, my lord," Argon replies, giving a firm nod. "We will do our utmost to bring order back to the village and aid its people."

Eldrige smiles, seemingly pleased with Argon's response. "Good. I expect nothing less from someone ranking amoung my top five knights."

Eldrige picks up a parchment scroll and hands it to Argon. "In four days' time, we will reach Horntide. However, you will not be accompanying us the whole way there. Your destination lies on a different path," he explains, his fingers tracing along a rough sketch of a map on the parchment.

"Your journey will lead you to the town of Norenway," the Baron continues, his finger pointing to a marked location on the map. It appears to be a moderately sized town to the southwest of Horntide.

"I will send a company of men to join you in Norenway once we reach Horntide. I expect you to take charge and guide them in restoring order in the village. You will be their commander, Argon," Eldrige says, his tone grave but filled with anticipation.

"The route to Norenway is not complex," Eldrige details, "I'll inform you of when to leave us. After a few hours of travel, you will reach Norenway."

Eldrige rolls the parchment up and hands it to Argon. "Use this map as a guide. Do not stray from the path, and be wary. There are many dangers in these lands. There is much work to be done and little time to waste."

Argon nods, taking the parchment and tucking it securely into his satchel. "I understand, my lord," he replies, "I will not fail you."

With that, Argon returns behind the carriage, Brolan at his side, their new mission at the forefront of their mind. The journey to Norenway awaits, and with it, the first true test of Argon's potential as a knight.

"Did you get all that, Brolan?" Argon asks, his voice barely audible over the sound of horses' hooves crunching on the hard ground.

Brolan gives him a sidelong glance, then nods. "The gist of it, yes," he says, his voice nonchalant. He had always been good at picking up on things quickly, a trait that Argon has found invaluable on more than one occasion. "We're splitting off to handle a village issue. Should be... interesting, to say the least."

His voice carries a tinge of uncertainty, a hint of trepidation that Argon can understand. It's a big responsibility, and they are both aware of the stakes. But there's also a quiet confidence in his words, a subtle affirmation that despite the uncertainty, he's ready to face whatever comes their way.

Argon nods, content with Brolan's understanding. Their journey, while monotonous and tiring, was nearing a turning point, and soon they would be tested in ways they never had before. The anticipation was a subtle undercurrent to their conversation, a shared understanding of the trials that lay ahead.

As the sunlight wanes, the group makes a halt at the side of the wide, muddy trail. Argon and Brolan slide off their horses, their muscles sore from the long hours of riding. There's no formal camp to set up, just a few hastily pulled-together bedrolls and a small, flickering fire to ward off the cool night air.

The men in the retinue, including Garrick, begin to divest themselves of their armour, revealing the padded leather and tunics underneath. Each man takes his turn at the fire, warming his hands and cooking a meagre meal from the rations in their saddlebags.

The night is filled with the soft sounds of the wild, interrupted occasionally by the gruff banter of the men, the clatter of pots and pans, and the muted snorts of the horses. Argon and Brolan also shed their armour and take out their food, each sitting down against a tree trunk, fatigue weighing heavy on their shoulders.

Garrick finds a spot a short distance away from the group, his back against the sturdy trunk of a large tree. He takes a swig from a small flask, probably filled with some strong drink, and gives a long, satisfied sigh.

Eventually, Argon and Brolan finish their meals and settle down to sleep, their cloaks pulled tight around them for warmth. The chatter gradually dies down as, one by one, the men in the group surrender to sleep, leaving only the occasional hoot of an owl or the distant howl of a wolf to disturb the tranquillity of the night.

For the next two days, the routine is the same. Dawn always arrives with a gentle touch, a few hesitant rays of light peeking over the distant hills. It's the chorus of chirping birds that wakes Argon and Brolan each morning. They pack up their belongings and roll up their bedding with mechanical efficiency, the quietness of the early morning inhibiting any conversation.

Breakfast is a quick and tasteless affair of hard biscuits and dried meat, eaten hastily as they prepare their horses for the day's ride. Then, once more, the caravan sets off, the hooves of their mounts kicking up clods of dirt and dried leaves. The monotonous rhythm of the travel, combined with the lack of any strong drink like rice wine, makes the journey dull and tiring.

The dense woodland canopy provides them with a degree of respite from the harsh sunlight, but there is no escaping the boredom and restlessness that seizes them during these long stretches of riding. Conversations amongst the group are sparse, mostly limited to brief exchanges of direction or the occasional gruff remark about the road's condition.

The evening camps are equally mundane, filled with the same routine activities - preparing meals, mending torn clothes or patching up worn-out boots, and eventually settling down to sleep. They are soon familiar with the rhythm of travel, the consistent pattern of ride, rest, eat, sleep.

Throughout all of this, Argon can't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The dullness of the journey contrasts sharply with the looming task they are set to undertake. The monotony is interrupted only by his occasional conversations with the Baron or the silent practice of the sword moves he learned from Garrick.

Brolan, on the other hand, seems more or less content, falling into the rhythm of the journey with a serene calmness. He occasionally hums a low tune under his breath as he rides, seemingly unbothered by the mundane nature of their travel.

On the fourth day, as the sun begins to set, Argon knows they are close to the point where they will split off from the main group and head towards the village, the Baron's instructions still fresh in his mind. The thought of the upcoming task gives him a sense of excitement, a much-needed break from the monotony of the journey so far.