# Chapter 7: The Weight of Absence

  The gates of Gundelfingen Keep opened with a groan of iron and wood. Sir Herold Tarly Glint rode through on Ironfoot, his cloak stained with mud, his face tired from the road. The journey back from Swabia had been swift but tense. Every shadow on the horizon felt like danger. The copies of ledgers and troop records were hidden inside his tunic, sealed close against his chest.

  He dismounted in the bailey. Stableboys hurried forward. Soldiers saluted. Herold handed Ironfoot’s reins to a boy and walked toward the great hall.

  A young sergeant stepped into his path.

  Sergeant:

  My lord. Welcome back. The Duke… he’s not here.

  Herold stopped.

  Sir Herold:

  Where is he?

  Sergeant:

  Gone to Hamburg, sir. Three days ago. Meeting their Duke. Something about alliances and the Emperor’s succession. He left word that any urgent news from you was to be sent by raven at once.

  Herold breathed out slowly.

  Sir Herold:

  No raven will carry this. I will wait for his return. Tell the stewards to prepare my quarters.

  Sergeant:

  Yes, my lord.

  Herold turned toward the training yard. The Sword Cavalry was drilling. Lances struck shields. Roland’s voice echoed across the field.

  Roland:

  Faster! If you move like that in battle, the Wettins will cut you down before you blink!

  Roland noticed him and broke into a rare grin.

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  Roland:

  Well, I’ll be damned. The Blade of Nobility returns. Where have you been, Sir?

  Sir Herold:

  East. Gathering what the Duke needed.

  Damian dropped his practice shield and hurried over.

  Damian:

  My lord. You’re back.

  Sir Herold:

  I am. And you’ve grown since I left.

  Roland:

  He’s grown louder too. Been running the yard while you were gone. I’m near dead from it.

  Sir Herold studied Roland’s face. The gray in his beard had spread.

  Sir Herold:

  You look tired. What troubles you?

  Roland lowered his voice.

  Roland:

  I’m worn thin. Drills, patrols, new recruits. You’re away chasing secrets, and I’m here keeping the men ready. Sometimes it feels like I carry the whole yard alone.

  Herold stepped closer.

  Sir Herold:

  You are right. I have been gone too long. And you have carried more than your share.

  He placed a hand on Roland’s shoulder.

  Sir Herold:

  You are a good man, Roland. Loyal and steady. The best master-at-arms in Bavaria. I do not say it enough. But I know it.

  Roland looked away, embarrassed.

  Roland:

  Someone has to keep these fools alive.

  Damian shifted beside them.

  Damian:

  My lord… what happened out there? You seem different.

  Sir Herold:

  Not now. Bring me wine and meat. I have not eaten properly in days.

  Damian nodded and ran toward the eatery.

  Inside, the air was warm and thick with smoke. Cooks moved quickly between fires.

  Damian:

  Grape wine and steak. Best cut. For Sir Herold.

  Older Maid: Anna, fetch the wine. And the steak from the back spit.

  A young girl with black hair moved quietly to obey. Damian watched her.

  Damian:

  Who is she?

  Older Maid:

  Anna. Started a few weeks ago. On Sir Herold’s recommendation, so I hear.

  Damian’s expression changed.

  Damian:

  I see.

  He carried the tray back to Herold’s office.

  Damian set the wine and steak on the table.

  Damian:

  Wine. Steak.

  Sir Herold noticed the tone.

  Sir Herold:

  Something on your mind?

  Damian hesitated.

  Damian:

  Nothing, my lord. Just wondering if you were… enjoying yourself while away. Anna seems grateful for your recommendation.

  Herold stared at him for a moment. Then he stood.

  Sir Herold:

  Outside. Now.

  They walked to the yard. Evening shadows stretched long across the ground.

  Sir Herold:

  A squire’s duty is loyalty and obedience. And silence when not invited to speak. You forget yourself.

  Damian:

  I meant no disrespect—

  Sir Herold:

  You will run the field ten times. Full armor. No rest.

  Damian swallowed.

  Damian:

  Yes, my lord.

  Sir Herold:

  And from tomorrow, you care for Roland’s horse as well. Every day.

  Damian bowed stiffly.

  Damian:

  As you command.

  He began running, armor clanking with each step.

  Herold watched him in silence. He thinks to himself.

  Sir Herold:

  You will understand one day. The world does not forgive weakness lad.

  He returned to his chamber. The wine remained untouched. The steak grew cold.

  Outside, the first stars appeared over Gundelfingen.

  War was coming. And Herold knew he could no longer afford softness.

  :To be Continued