A Ride in the Night
“Shhhhh” whispered Simon to Bertram as they approached the stables, the southernmost building in the cluster around his father’s keep, the Castle of the Star. Behind the building lay a large field, used by the younger noble population for horsemanship training, and the knights for mock mounted combats. At the spring festival, the field, with the addition of bleachers for the commoners and covered viewing platforms for the nobles, served as the tourney field, for both the knight’s jousting tournament, and the weapons combat competitions of the common soldiers.
“What are you on about now Simon?” You know the stableboy is off in Clara’s room, we saw him slip in half an hour ago. There’s no one out here to hear us, except the horses, and I don’t think they are going to tell!”
Bertram Melicter shook his head in mock disgust at his friend Simon, his partner in mischief for the past five years. From the time he met Simon, when the boy of seven had been fostered out to Duke Melicter of Gloriana, he and Bertram had been inseparable. Three years later, when Simon returned home to the Castle of the Star, Bertram had come with him, as fosterling to Prince Gideon, Simon’s father.
With both boys at age twelve now, they had begun to move from the freedoms of boyhood to the more regimented training which would enable them to take their places in amongst the ruling elite of Prendor. Daily sessions in the Salle with Weaponsmaster Harold had begun some months ago, and most recently the light riding sessions of their youth which had given them basic equestrian skills, had been replaced by rigorous training in the basics of mounted warfare. The small riding ponies of yesterday had been replaced by older, light warhorses no longer of much use in combat, but highly trained and experienced at carrying men into battle.
While Simon was a passable rider, Bertram was a natural horseman. In the past year he had grown much faster than Simon, and begun to fill out. But Bertram’s greatest advantage in handling these new larger horses was not his size, but his seeming natural empathy for horses. Though the new horses were highly trained, they were also much smarter than the ponies, and could easily read their rider’s skill and confidence. Bertram was utterly confident when mounted, and the warhorses responded like the veterans they were to his confident, forceful commands.
Simon, on the other hand, was still a bit intimidated by the larger beasts, and they knew it. It gnawed at him that what Bertram could do with a nudge of his knee, or the slightest pressure on the reins, he had to do with a forceful smack or a sharp pull. The fact that Bertam took twice as long to learn the proper conjugation of the irregular Old Common verbs did make up at all for his own slow development as a horseman. After all, the Spring Tournament showcased mounted jousting, not verbal!
So, when Bertram had told him that his mother’s maid Clara was “hosting” the stableboy each Monday night, leaving the stables unattended at night, he immediately agreed to Bertram’s plan to steal out the next Monday night when the moon was bright to let Bertram work his equine magic with Blacksteel, his father’s charger, and the largest horse he had ever seen which was not pulling a wagon.
Stealing into the stables, Bertram wasted no time. He approached Blacksteel’s stall in the center of the North wall, and confidently began to prepare him to be mounted. Soon, blanket, saddle, and bridle were taken care of, with the help of a bale of hay placed just right to allow them to reach onto the horse’s back, which was above Simon’s head.
As Bertram prepared to mount the ebony stallion, Simon suddenly blurted out, “stand aside, I will ride him, after all, he is my father’s mount, and I have been up on him with father many times, so I know him and how to handle him.”
Bertram looked took his foot out of the stirrup, turning to look at Simon cockeyed. “Don’t be daft, Simon. Blacksteel is much too big for you, and you’ve not learned the ways to handle war mounts. Look at you…you’ve practically wet yourself in fear at getting up on his back…he knows that, and there’s no way he’ll let you ride him.”
“You think I’m a baby? You’re only two months older than I am! I can and will ride him.”
“No!”, said Bertram sharply, “you’ll just hurt yourself!”.
Simon, growing angry, pulled his trump card to silence his friend. “Bertram Melicter, you are commanded to assist us. I am a prince, and you are but a Duke’s son. Now help me up!”
His friend’s jaw just dropped and his lip quivered slightly as his eyes squinted at his longtime best friend. “You COMMAND me? COMMAND???” he continued in disbelieve and outrage. “Well then, yes, mi’lord, by all means, just step right on my back so you won’t have to get too near to that smelly hay.” As he spoke, he fell onto his hands and knees alongside Blacksteel, who turned his head to snuffle at Bertram’s hair.
Simon pursed his lips, not having intended to so alienate his buddy. But, since Bert was already on his knees, he stepped up on to his back, and lofted himself over the horse’s back and onto the saddle. I should have made the stirrup’s shorter, my legs aren’t as long as Bertram’s, he thought to himself. No chance of fixing that now, not with Bert continuing on with his torrent of “mi’lord this” and “milord that”.
Blacksteel stopped snuffling at Bertram’s hair and raised his head even with Simon’s, and stared balefully into his eyes. Simon, blinked, sat himself up straight, stretched his legs longer so he could just slip his toes into the stirrups, and gave a tug on Blacksteel's reins to urge him forward…to no result, the horse just continued to stare at him. Quickly becoming angry at being shown up in front of Bertram, proving his friend’s point, he gave the huge horse a sharp kick on each side. The horses eyes went wide when he did this, and he gave an outraged neigh of protest, before rearing up on his hind legs to shake off this impertinent boy who thought to ride him, the master’s mount, and the lord of the stable.
Simon shrieked in terror as he hung on for his life. Bertram quickly stood up and tried to grab the reins away from Simon to bring the horse to heel, but he could not reach them. “Bert, hellllllllpppppp!” cried out Simon fearfully.
“Hold on, Simon, dammit, we haven’t learned the commands for bringing the horse down after rearing him. Grab the saddle and release the reins, I’m going to have to pull him down!”, shouted out a very concerned Bertram.
“Okay” screamed Simon as he simultaneously released the reins while grabbing onto the horn of the saddle.
Bertram quickly jumped in alongside the rearing stallion, and grabbed the now dangling reins. While Bert was still a boy, he still weighed a considerable amount, and when he pulled down on the reins with all his mount, he gave a considerable shock to the bit in Blacksteel’s mount. Instinctually, the warmount did what he was trained to do with those on the ground who had grabbed his reins while he was bearing a rider, and came down on Bertram’s skull with a sickening thud of his right front hoof.
Seeing this, he half-lunged for his friend, loosing his grip on the saddle while simultaneously losing his precarious toehold in the stirrups. Downward he fell, awkwardly landing with one leg twisted under the other, and striking his own head on the ground as he slipped into darkness.
-- by Kelly
“What are you on about now Simon?” You know the stableboy is off in Clara’s room, we saw him slip in half an hour ago. There’s no one out here to hear us, except the horses, and I don’t think they are going to tell!”
Bertram Melicter shook his head in mock disgust at his friend Simon, his partner in mischief for the past five years. From the time he met Simon, when the boy of seven had been fostered out to Duke Melicter of Gloriana, he and Bertram had been inseparable. Three years later, when Simon returned home to the Castle of the Star, Bertram had come with him, as fosterling to Prince Gideon, Simon’s father.
With both boys at age twelve now, they had begun to move from the freedoms of boyhood to the more regimented training which would enable them to take their places in amongst the ruling elite of Prendor. Daily sessions in the Salle with Weaponsmaster Harold had begun some months ago, and most recently the light riding sessions of their youth which had given them basic equestrian skills, had been replaced by rigorous training in the basics of mounted warfare. The small riding ponies of yesterday had been replaced by older, light warhorses no longer of much use in combat, but highly trained and experienced at carrying men into battle.
While Simon was a passable rider, Bertram was a natural horseman. In the past year he had grown much faster than Simon, and begun to fill out. But Bertram’s greatest advantage in handling these new larger horses was not his size, but his seeming natural empathy for horses. Though the new horses were highly trained, they were also much smarter than the ponies, and could easily read their rider’s skill and confidence. Bertram was utterly confident when mounted, and the warhorses responded like the veterans they were to his confident, forceful commands.
Simon, on the other hand, was still a bit intimidated by the larger beasts, and they knew it. It gnawed at him that what Bertram could do with a nudge of his knee, or the slightest pressure on the reins, he had to do with a forceful smack or a sharp pull. The fact that Bertam took twice as long to learn the proper conjugation of the irregular Old Common verbs did make up at all for his own slow development as a horseman. After all, the Spring Tournament showcased mounted jousting, not verbal!
So, when Bertram had told him that his mother’s maid Clara was “hosting” the stableboy each Monday night, leaving the stables unattended at night, he immediately agreed to Bertram’s plan to steal out the next Monday night when the moon was bright to let Bertram work his equine magic with Blacksteel, his father’s charger, and the largest horse he had ever seen which was not pulling a wagon.
Stealing into the stables, Bertram wasted no time. He approached Blacksteel’s stall in the center of the North wall, and confidently began to prepare him to be mounted. Soon, blanket, saddle, and bridle were taken care of, with the help of a bale of hay placed just right to allow them to reach onto the horse’s back, which was above Simon’s head.
As Bertram prepared to mount the ebony stallion, Simon suddenly blurted out, “stand aside, I will ride him, after all, he is my father’s mount, and I have been up on him with father many times, so I know him and how to handle him.”
Bertram looked took his foot out of the stirrup, turning to look at Simon cockeyed. “Don’t be daft, Simon. Blacksteel is much too big for you, and you’ve not learned the ways to handle war mounts. Look at you…you’ve practically wet yourself in fear at getting up on his back…he knows that, and there’s no way he’ll let you ride him.”
“You think I’m a baby? You’re only two months older than I am! I can and will ride him.”
“No!”, said Bertram sharply, “you’ll just hurt yourself!”.
Simon, growing angry, pulled his trump card to silence his friend. “Bertram Melicter, you are commanded to assist us. I am a prince, and you are but a Duke’s son. Now help me up!”
His friend’s jaw just dropped and his lip quivered slightly as his eyes squinted at his longtime best friend. “You COMMAND me? COMMAND???” he continued in disbelieve and outrage. “Well then, yes, mi’lord, by all means, just step right on my back so you won’t have to get too near to that smelly hay.” As he spoke, he fell onto his hands and knees alongside Blacksteel, who turned his head to snuffle at Bertram’s hair.
Simon pursed his lips, not having intended to so alienate his buddy. But, since Bert was already on his knees, he stepped up on to his back, and lofted himself over the horse’s back and onto the saddle. I should have made the stirrup’s shorter, my legs aren’t as long as Bertram’s, he thought to himself. No chance of fixing that now, not with Bert continuing on with his torrent of “mi’lord this” and “milord that”.
Blacksteel stopped snuffling at Bertram’s hair and raised his head even with Simon’s, and stared balefully into his eyes. Simon, blinked, sat himself up straight, stretched his legs longer so he could just slip his toes into the stirrups, and gave a tug on Blacksteel's reins to urge him forward…to no result, the horse just continued to stare at him. Quickly becoming angry at being shown up in front of Bertram, proving his friend’s point, he gave the huge horse a sharp kick on each side. The horses eyes went wide when he did this, and he gave an outraged neigh of protest, before rearing up on his hind legs to shake off this impertinent boy who thought to ride him, the master’s mount, and the lord of the stable.
Simon shrieked in terror as he hung on for his life. Bertram quickly stood up and tried to grab the reins away from Simon to bring the horse to heel, but he could not reach them. “Bert, hellllllllpppppp!” cried out Simon fearfully.
“Hold on, Simon, dammit, we haven’t learned the commands for bringing the horse down after rearing him. Grab the saddle and release the reins, I’m going to have to pull him down!”, shouted out a very concerned Bertram.
“Okay” screamed Simon as he simultaneously released the reins while grabbing onto the horn of the saddle.
Bertram quickly jumped in alongside the rearing stallion, and grabbed the now dangling reins. While Bert was still a boy, he still weighed a considerable amount, and when he pulled down on the reins with all his mount, he gave a considerable shock to the bit in Blacksteel’s mount. Instinctually, the warmount did what he was trained to do with those on the ground who had grabbed his reins while he was bearing a rider, and came down on Bertram’s skull with a sickening thud of his right front hoof.
Seeing this, he half-lunged for his friend, loosing his grip on the saddle while simultaneously losing his precarious toehold in the stirrups. Downward he fell, awkwardly landing with one leg twisted under the other, and striking his own head on the ground as he slipped into darkness.
-- by Kelly
posted by Abram | 8:46 AM
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