Free The Return of Sir Percival by S. Alexander O'Keefe

a master smith—the battle dress of a knight.
    Finn knew enough of metalworking to know that Lord Aeron’s armor had once gleamed like the blade of the deadly sword the knight was diligently cleaning. That finish was no more. From the helm covering Lord Aeron’s head to the greaves protecting his legs and shins, the metal had been scorched a darker, colder hue by a smith with far less skill than its original maker.
    The rest of Morgana’s sellswords were on the far side of the square, drinking a round of beer served by the local tavern keeper. Like the rest of the people in the village, the tavern keeper was grateful for their timely intervention. Finn knew Lord Aeron had paid for the rounds, which was odd. There was no need to waste the coin. The innkeeper wouldn’t dare to complain.
    Odder still was Lord Aeron’s rule that no one could take anything from nor inflict any harm upon the villagers. The rule rankled some of the newcomers. As far as they were concerned, looting and raping was a part of the wages they were due after a skirmish or a battle like this one. The two men who’d been foolish enough to break this rule a month earlier had lost their heads to Lord Aeron’s sword. After that, there were no further transgressions. Finn hadn’t found the rule to be much of a burden. The witch paid them well for their services.
    The now-dead band of brigands responsible for raiding villages within the borders Morgana claimed as her domain had greatly outnumbered Lord Aeron’s force. Before the battle, Finn could tell that some of the newer men feared for the outcome. Finn had not shared their trepidation. He had served under Lord Aeron’s command for more than a year and knew what was about to be unleashed upon Einarr, the Norse raider leading the brigands attacking the village.
    Lord Aeron, along with Finn and the more experienced men, had served as the hammer in the attack, slamming into the flank of the raiders. The rest of the men had served as the anvil upon which the brigands had been broken. As always, Lord Aeron had led the charge and attacked the opposing force like an invincible demon king, one that grew stronger with the taking of each life. In moments, even the stoutest of the brigands had been frantically trying to escape the terrible fury of the gleaming sword wielded by the blackened knight wading through their ranks.
    The survivors had raced down the narrow lane that ran through the village, seeking safety in the forest beyond, only to have their way blocked by the rest of Lord Aeron’s men. No prisoners had been taken. Morgana had forbid it. A message was being sent.
    Finn waited until Lord Aeron had finished cleaning and resheathing his sword before approaching him. Although he had served under the man for more than a year, he’d never seen his face. No one had. The reclusive knight lived and trained alone in the castle’s most remote tower, and whenever he emerged, his face was either hidden within the cowl of his black cloak, or obscured, as now, by his steel helmet. All Finn could discern beneath the helm were a pair of piercing blue eyes, pale skin, and a strong jaw.
    Lord Aeron stood as Finn approached, but his gaze was on a little blond girl watching him from the shadow of a darkened doorway. He placed something on the wall behind him before he turned to Finn.
    â€œYour orders, sir?” Finn asked from a respectful distance.
    â€œIs Einarr’s body displayed on the border as I requested?” Lord Aeron asked in a flat, emotionless voice, without turning in his direction.
    â€œYes, sir, I put it there myself. Hengst’s men will recognize it … even without the head,” Finn said.
    Lord Aeron nodded. “Good, then we ride for the castle. With luck, we will be there before dark.”
    â€œYes, my lord.” Finn bowed and then turned to give the signal to the rest of the men, still drinking outside the tavern. They quickly