Sorceress of the Second Sphere

8. The Chevalier Des Serres - Peyton

The Knight of Terriers had always found walking between the rows of tents erected by the army of Bleufontaine a rewarding experience. Peyton enjoyed studying the soldiers and what motivated them in a time of waiting.

Walking passed some men throwing dice on a turned-over barrel, they instantly looked up and gave a quick salute in respect. A desire rushed over him, to sit with them and take part in the gambling, yet he knew it was not what was expected of him.

Hearing the dice rattle on the wood gave him a rush, that only battle appeared to come close to replicating, he knew he could beat these men with ease, but as a Knight of the Isovine empire, fraternising with the common soldier would have been greatly frowned upon.

He was the son of a knight errant, and only his exploits, even at such a young age, had allowed him to gain respect among his peers. Yet, as hard as it was to gain their respect, one false move could rapidly obliterate it.

Some looked upon the young man as a mercenary, a knight with little money and no lands, yet he was still a knight, hoping to bring honour to a name that had never seen any for over four hundred winters. When he selected men from the prisons and gallows to create a fighting unit that would be influential in the war, he knew it would be looked upon with great disdain, and any chance of gaining honour from his choices would be negligible. Yet, what honour would he gain if he did not have these men by his side?

The choice, however, was not without reward. His fighting unit was the most fearsome and experienced in the second army. Other men quivered at the sight of them, and through Peyton's respect and discipline that he had instilled in these forgotten people, they were looked upon with awe.

With every reward, there was an element of risk. He and his men were expendable. They were not liked, they were not wanted, therefore they would be the vanguard in nearly every battle. They were the first to assault in a siege, the first to fight, and the first to die. Peyton was risking their lives, every day, in the hope that he and his men, could one day become more than what they are.

As he watched the men that played with their dice, he envied them, that they had each other and their camaraderie.

Was that why he inadvertently and foolishly saved this Ruvian Chevalier, to create some sort of bizarre relationship between himself and his prisoner that he longed for from his peers?

Continuing his walk toward his tent, Peyton knew his thoughts were betraying him. He was tired, hungry, and frustrated, and perhaps he just needed time to rest and think of things of no consequence.

With each step forward in the squelching and sinking mud, it brought him closer to the reality of the situation. He could not think of things of no consequence, honour was something he desired but could never embrace and soon he would be stuck in a civil war that would tear this army apart.

Peyton trusted Ethelston with his life, but he also knew the Duke of Ravenscourt was foolhardy and rash. What if he was mistaken by this woman Loldirr? What if her heritage was incorrect, or that Ethelston was inadvertanly drawn toward her feminine features? Ethelston worshipped the female form, but even he wouldn't risk the entire Isovine Empire over some beautiful lady.

Or would he?

"Milord, the prisoner is inside," Jeffords spoke forcibly snapping Peyton's focus back to reality.

With all the thoughts fighting inside of his mind, Peyton hadn't realised that he had stepped to the opening of his home deep within the scores of tents.

Peyton briefly nodded before quickly entering his spacious tent. The Chevalier had been bound to the pole that kept the tent upright and his stoic features did not once glance upon his new captor.