The Parsley Knight

By Dan Ackerman

Newly knighted and green as anything, Ainsley looks forward to his first quest, not just for the independence it will bring but for the coin as well. He's not sure what he'll find on his journey but he didn't anticipate friendly witches, baby dragons, or a curious crow that brings him trinkets.

Not sure if the crow is an ill omen, Ainsley tries to keep his distance but can't resist tossing the bird a few crumbs. The crow returns the favor one day when Ainsley is in danger, revealing his true nature as Rue, a semi-exiled member of the dazzling and dangerous fairy court.

After an attack, Rue brings him to Otherworld to recover and as Ainsley regains his health, their attraction grows. Being home is no easy feat and Rue is dragged back into court life as Ainsley longs for home. The men have to make a choice between two worlds when neither of those worlds feels exactly like home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Supposed Crimes, LLC
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781952150777

Dan Ackerman

Dan Ackerman is a section editor at leading technology news site CNET. He regularly appears as a technology correspondent on major news outlets including CNN, the BBC and CBS where he is CBS This Morning’s in-house technology expert. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

Book preview

The Parsley Knight

Dan Ackerman

Smashwords Edition

Supposed Crimes LLC

Matthews, North Carolina

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2022 Dan Ackerman

Published in the United States

ISBN: 978-1-952150-77-7

Cover Art by Vincent Pesce

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For David

The Parsley Knight

Last night Ainsley had gone to bed a squire and today he would go to bed a knight. The Easter celebration had seen himself and ten other squires promoted to knighthood by King Jannes. There had been wine and dancing and a lot more wine. Not to mention the beer. He hadn’t meant to drink so much, but the others had all been in such high spirits.

King Jannes and Queen Aurelia had watched them from their table high on the dais, the most beautiful things Ainsley had ever set his eyes on. His mouth had gone dry just kneeling before his king; he had thought he wouldn’t make it through the ceremony, that he would faint before Jannes could even touch the blade to his shoulder.

He hadn’t, though. So far, he hadn’t done anything to shame himself, his family, or Sir Richard, the knight for whom he had squired.

He stumbled his way back to the tent, away from the ladies who had tried to be polite to him. He had come close to being sick all over them and he had managed to stagger away and do it in a bush instead.

Not far enough that no one had seen.

Tall John, still a squire, had pulled him out of the bushes, patted him on the back, and pointed him towards his tent with the suggestion to sleep it off.

It had been wise advice, but Ainsley still woke in the morning with a headache and foul taste in his mouth.

He washed in the river with the other new knights, all of them just as bad off, some of them even worse.

How the hell we supposed to start a quest like this? George groaned.

You get on your horse, pick a direction, and ride, Sir Richard advised from the shore, already bathed and dressed, looking as hale and hearty as ever. You make a living.

A first quest was not a requirement for a knight, but it was an expectation for most of them. Some knights, well-heeled ones who could go back to their family’s castles, would head home and take up their lives there, readying themselves to inherit their father’s titles or aid their older brothers in managing the manor.

Others would set out for glory, or at least work.

Ainsley came from a line of respectable, but lesser, noblemen. He would have to work to keep his armor in good repair and his horse fed.

And he did need to keep Hadley fed. She had served him well, her build well-suited to his slim form, and more than that, she was his only horse.

She nuzzled against his hand when he greeted her that morning.

It took him longer than usual to get her groomed and tacked, each glint of sunlight off any shiny bit of metal an affront to his eyes.

He had a light breakfast, all his stomach could handle, said his goodbyes to the other knights, and headed south, towards the border.

The border always saw conflict and conflicts always had people in need of knights.

He slept beneath the stars that night, exhausted and still aching.

He spent the next night under the stars as well, but that night he was not so tired that being alone beneath the stars didn’t unnerve him.

Last night he had been too tired to think about being alone, but tonight all he could hear were crickets and rustling branches. The world without a companion became enormous and overwhelming. He had squired for Sir Richard since he had turned fifteen and he’d been a page since the age of seven.

Some of the other new knights had set out in pairs, but Ainsley had wanted to strike out on his own. He had friends among his peers, but they’d had different aspirations than he. They had wanted glory or had harbored fantasies of finding some sweet-hearted maiden to bring home as a wife. Ainsley worried more about gold crowns than glory and he had never been interested in maidens, no matter how sweet.

If he’d been a bolder man, he might have invited Alfred to travel with him. He and Alfred had nearly gotten along too well. A few close calls had found them both agreeing to stay away from each other, for the sake of their reputations and their families.

The decision had been smart. Safe. Alfred’s idea, mostly. No one had ever called Ainsley wise.

Once alone, though, he wished he’d set out with someone.

Especially when a crow called out from the tree above him.

In the morning, he woke to the cawing of a crow and he wondered if it was the same bird that had kept him awake for most of the night.

He glanced up and spied the creature sitting on a low branch, its beady eyes glimmering in the light. It watched him as he ate, and he tried to ignore it. Feed a thing like that once and soon there would be a flock of them scavenging around.

He left the bird behind without a second thought.

He slept that night in an inn to get himself and Hadley out of the rain. Spring had not yet moved far enough towards summer for him to tolerate a rainy night beneath a tree. He’d shiver himself half to death and his purse had not yet grown so light he had to suffer that thoroughly.

He listened closely for any sign of trouble, any bit of rumor that might set him in the right direction to make a bit of coin.

The closest thing he got to a lead was rumors of a witch a few villages over.

He pointed Hadley in that direction anyway; the path toward that village still took him towards the border.

The villagers confirmed that they had a witch in their midst, the cause of ill livestock. The lord of the manor offered him a few coins and a wedge of cheese to venture out into the dense wood beyond the village and take care of the crone.

Ainsley agreed and set out.

He had never encountered a witch before, though he’d heard rumors about all kinds of witches. Practitioners of low magic, untrustworthy things that could, in a pinch, be useful if there were no mages to offer an arcane spell, or if the mages charged too much for their work.

Mages, with all the prestige their profession offered, could charge more. The king himself was a mage.

Witches, though…witchcraft was barely tolerated and that meant you could buy witch spells for a third, a quarter, of the price.

Ainsley, so far, had been lucky enough to never need a spell, from a witch or a mage. He’d never been gravely ill or wounded, he’d never gotten in over his head with any enemies or gotten a girl with child when he shouldn’t have. He’d never had anyone to impress with magical trinkets or been able to afford enchantments for his weapons or armor.

For a knight in the most magical kingdom on the continent, Ainsley knew hardly anything about magic, high, low, or natural.

He hoped it was that inexperience that dried out his mouth as he followed the villagers’ directions out to the crone’s hut.

He gripped Hadley’s reins too tightly and his knuckles started to ache.

The trees thickened until Hadley could barely make her way through.

It started to grow dark, but too early, and too quickly.

The caw of a crow nearly scared him out of his skin.

He looked up to see a crow perched on a low branch to his left. Much closer than any common crow would get. It ruffled its wings and he glimpsed a flash of white beneath one wing. It squawked at him again.

He urged Hadley on, wanting to be away from what he feared was the crone’s familiar.

After what felt like hours of slow, painful wandering he spotted a light in the distance, a flickering yellow glow.

Hadley trudged on, seemingly unconcerned by the oppressive darkness or the crow that called after him and hopped from branch to branch a few feet behind him.

Eventually, he came upon a clearing with a small thatched hut and a tidy garden. A cauldron bubbled above a firepit and a woman stood above the cauldron, stirring it slowly, constantly.

She glanced his way when he entered the clearing. Lost?

No.

Didn’t think so. She continued to stir.

Ainsley dismounted, threw Hadley’s reins over a branch, and took a few steps forward.

The crone didn’t move from in front of her cauldron. Villagers sent you I figure. What is it this time, sick goats or rotten crops?

Cows.

She nodded and continued to stir.

He wished she would stop stirring. You bewitched them.

No.

He drew his sword.

She didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

A young girl, maybe ten, came out of the hut and looked him over. In her arms, she carried bundles of herbs.

The crone waved the girl over and began to throw in the bundles. She gave the girl a pat on the head. And a crock, lovey, to put it in.

He tightened his grip on his hilt.

From behind him, a crow cawed.

The girl returned inside, giving Ainsley another sideways glance.

Ain’t me that witched ‘em, the crone assured.

Is there another witch in these woods, then?

She nodded then jabbed one knobby finger towards something he hadn’t noticed before, something that would have stopped him from entering the clearing.

From a gnarled tree beside her hut hung a body, cut into pieces. The limbs and head had all been severed from the torso of what must have been a lovely maiden, judging by what remained of her slender form.

Were it Thomas Brown’s cows? the crone asked.

Ainsley didn’t know.

That’s the one what broke her heart.

He couldn’t stop staring at the body dangling from the tree, watching the pieces sway in the breeze.

The crow fluttered over to inspect the face of the corpse and he had to look away before it started to peck at her eyes.

First his livestock, she said. Then his wife, then his wee ones, the crone said. Wouldn’t be her first time doing it either.

The cows are still sick.

The crone nodded towards the cauldron. We’ll get the cows fixed or they’ll keep sending knights after us, I bet.

The girl returned with a large clay crock in her arms, set it by the fire, then returned inside again.

You stay the night, lordling, and you bring the brew back to the village when it's done. Tell them the bad witch is dead, huh? Best thing for all us, I think.

The crow left the corpse-riddled tree and landed on the thatched roof.

Ainsley thought he saw something glimmering on its beak but couldn’t be sure and didn’t look long enough to check. Bile rose in the back of his throat.

He glanced back towards Hadley, who had started to nose around in the witch’s garden. He dropped his sword and rushed over to shoo her away from the plants, not sure what manner of wicked poisons the old crone grew.

Naught but parsley over there. Good for stews or warding off too much drink, but harmless, the crone called.

Hadley snorted at him as if she had known all along that was what she’d been sniffling.

He held on to her reins more tightly and went to retrieve his sword. He sheathed it before he dropped it again.

We’ve got a goat, you can put her in with her if she’s got a good temperament, the crone offered and nodded towards a small pen that housed a spotted goat.

Not know what else to do at this point, he walked the mare over and untacked her.

You hungry? the crone asked.

He didn’t answer until she fixed him with a stare. Yes.

Come over here.

He approached slowly, his hand on his hilt.

Keep stirring. Slow but don’t stop. And don’t lean in too close, you don’t want to breathe too much in.

Ainsley took the spoon and began to stir.

The crone went inside and didn’t come back out for hours, not until his shoulders had grown sore and he’d had to switch arms several times.

The girl came out, handed him a bowl of stewed barley and roots, and took over stirring. She had to lean back and arch herself unnaturally to keep her face out of the way of the steam that rose from the cauldron.

He sniffed at the food, detected nothing foul, and took a cautious bite. It tasted safe. Better than that, it tasted good. He busied himself eating and the girl continued stirring, still twisted away to keep the steam out of her face.

He watched her for several minutes before his better nature took over. He shoveled down the meal, then told her, Go on, I can do it.

She eyed him, her mouth downturned, but stepped back from the cauldron. She watched him stir for a while. You really came to kill us?

I came to kill whoever bewitched the cows.

The girl looked towards the tree. So you won’t kill me or Nan?

No.

You swear it?

On my honor as a knight, he vowed, not sure if he could ever lift his sword against a child, witch or not.

What’s a knight? she asked.

I’m a knight, he answered, not sure what else to say at first. A knight is…someone who swears to defend the realm and its people, who serves the king and…

And goes about killing old ladies, the crone answered from behind him.

I haven’t killed anyone, Ainsley protested.

I’m surprised you can even pick up your sword.

He didn’t take the bait. All his life he’d been teased by the other squires for being small, slender, and more like something out of a ballad than someone suited to combat and questing. He’d made up for it by working harder than they ever had. He could keep pace on foot, horseback, or in water with most any knight, he could shoot a longbow, and he’d bested all the other squires he’d trained against at least once in single combat.

With practice weapons, of course. He’d yet to see real conflict. Sir Richard had avoided it. To a fault, some of the other knights had said. Richard had ignored them and told Ainsley that he’d know if he wasn’t fit for battle the very first time he saw one and there was nothing he could do to change it.

He stirred until the crone and the girl both had eaten and his arms began to burn from the effort. He threw a few furtive glances in the old woman’s direction, but she either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

Uneasy and unwilling to risk her displeasure, he stirred for hours. He thought his arms would drop off his body before the brew finished.

By the time the witch shooed him away, his clothes had soaked through with sweat and his hair stuck to his scalp.

The crone came over a peered into the cauldron, then flapped her arms at him. Enough of that.

He withdrew, his arms hanging like lead weights.

She filled the crock, placed on the lid, and sealed it with wax. When he stepped towards it, she warned, Too hot to touch now. And you don’t want to be out in the woods at night.

He glanced towards the trees as if he would see wolves sitting at the edge of the clearing.

Room by the hearth if you don’t fancy a night out here, the old woman offered.

I… He looked around once more and could almost feel the darkness of the surrounding forest staring back at him. Thank you.

He retrieved his sleeping roll and followed the crone inside.

After he removed his armor and settled himself in by the hearth and the initial discomfort of the situation faded, he found himself glad for the warmth of the fire and a roof above his head. Though she was crooked and ugly, the crone didn’t appear much more crooked or ugly than most old women. Despite the grisly omen of a dismembered corpse hanging out front, she had offered him no harm and didn’t appear to have any intention to hurt him, unless she thought to wait until he fell asleep.

She wouldn’t have to wait long if that was the case.

As soon as he shut his eyes, he fell asleep.

The pale light of dawn found him alive and well.

The child pointed him in the direction of the wash bin. He scrubbed himself of the previous day’s sweat and dirt, though he couldn’t wash away the herbaceous scent that hours stirring the witch’s brew had imbued into his skin and clothing.

Nan says to take the head when you go.

Those words, said in such a small, sweet voice, cut Ainsley to his core. He struggled back into his armor, his arms still stiff and sore, and went to retrieve the head and the crock.

Cutting the head down from the tree proved more of a task than he had anticipated and delayed his departure by some time. In the end, he had to scale the tree and slice through the rope with his knife.

The crow, Hadley, and the young girl watched him.

Once he had the head secured to Hadley’s saddle, he hauled himself up onto the horse and the crone had the kindness to hand him the crock.

He cradled it carefully into his lap.

Make sure to tell em ain’t no more bad witches in the woods, the old woman said. Mix the brew in with the cows’ water.

I’ll tell them, you have my word, Ainsley vowed.

He steered Hadley out of the clearing, passing through the same uncommonly dark area as he had on the way in, though a glance upward showed that little more than heavy foliage above his head caused it. Last night, it had seemed such an ominous sign of things to come.

The villagers stared at him as he rode up to speak with the lord of the manor. He delivered the witch’s head, explained the uneasy parley he’d had with the old crone, and accepted the two silver shields, as well as the promised wedge of cheese, from the lord.

On his way out, he learned that the villagers had long since discounted him as dead. He purchased a loaf of bread and returned to his southward journey.

After three days of being followed by the crow and several hours of it watching him struggle to light a fire and occasionally cawing what felt like jibes, Ainsley gave up on ignoring the creature and tried to shoo it away.

It cawed indignantly and fluttered up to a higher branch.

Go on, leave me alone. Get out of here.

It ignored him, then went on to preen as he continued to struggle with the fire.

Rain had soaked them all the night before and made the wood too damp to burn. Ainsley resigned himself to a cold, dark night.

The moon, at least, sat fat and full in the sky.

The crow hopped down onto a lower branch and squawked at him.

Go away.

It didn’t, of course. It disappeared sometimes, but always returned and Ainsley had started to wonder if the damned bird spelled out ill-luck in his future.

It flapped down from its perch and pecked at the handful of sticks he’d gathered.

Too wet.

The small flame he’d managed had smoked horribly and set his eyes smarting.

The crow flapped around the pile of branches some more, then returned to the tree. It appeared to have settled in for the night because it didn’t heckle him any further.

Hadley settled in on her side and didn’t seem to mind when Ainsley nestled up to her to ward off the night’s chill.

He’d be glad when summer finally showed its face.

The following morning, he found the crow still roosted in the tree above him.

When he took out his last hunk of bread and bit of cheese, the little beast stirred. It came down and hopped closer and closer. It carried a small, shiny bit of rock in its beak.

Go.

The crow tapped at his hand with its beak.

What?

It tapped his hand again and when he extended his hand to the creature, it deposited the rock into his palm.

Oh. Uh. Thank you.

It cawed viciously at him and snatched a chunk of bread out of the end of the loaf.

Hey!

The crow scarfed the bread and rustled its wings.

Ainsley stared down at the rock in his palm. You know, rocks aren’t money.

The crow eyed him, more intelligence than seemly glinting in its beady eyes.

Ainsley sighed and held out another piece of bread to the bird. Might as well take it, it’s stale anyway. He hoped to come across another village or tavern soon. He needed to restock his supplies.

And find another human being to talk to.

It had been one thing to chat with Hadley; she had been his steadfast companion for some years now and horses were respectable creatures.

This crow, though…it must have been an unnatural thing, following him around and croaking at him as it did. It would be best to get rid of it, but here he was talking to the thing and feeding it his last bits of bread.

The crow took the bread from his fingers and gobbled it down.

A few days later, when Ainsley came across a small town, the thing settled itself onto Hadley’s rump and remained there, keenly watching as Ainsley made his way to a baker’s stall and made his purchases.

He caught wind of a few rumors, including one about fires plaguing a town a day’s ride away. He gathered as many details as he could and got the directions to the village. When he headed back on the road, he noticed that the crow had left its perch on Hadley.

Good.

Maybe the thing had found someone else to bother.

As he rode on, he found himself glancing over his shoulder, making sure that the thing hadn’t returned.

When he made camp that night, a loud, rough caw from right behind him scared him enough to jump and yelp.

He swiveled to find the crow settled beside his pack.

Go away.

The crow remained, though.

It hopped closer to him when he took out his evening meal. It cawed a few times.

When Ainsley flapped a hand to shoo it away, it pecked him hard on the wrist. He cried out and yanked back his hand.

I’ll get a priest to deal with you, I swear, next time I see a church.

The crow lifted something from the ground and deposited it into his lap.

He plucked it from his legs.

A penny.

The damned thing had found a penny.

He looked over and found it waiting expectantly. He swore it looked almost haughty.

The beast was too clever by far, but he handed over a bit of his food anyway.

The thing accepted it.

The town plagued by fires showed signs of it everywhere. Burnt patches of grass, charred buildings, and people with bright red burns on their skin.

He asked around about the burns and got a lot of scowls and curses in return, but a few people informed him that a wyrm lived in a cave by the nearby river and would come to town.

To what end, no one knew, especially because they’d never had any such trouble until a few weeks past, but the monster would scorch anything in its path.

They laughed when he asked for directions but pointed him towards the monster’s cave.

Hadley plodded along without complaint for some time, but as they progressed further up the river, she began to snort and shy.

Eventually, he gave up coaxing her along, given the number of blackened patches of grass and trees with charred rings around their trunk. He dismounted, patted her on the shoulder, and continued along.

The crow took wing and Ainsley expected that it knew better than he did what sort of beast lay ahead of them. Animals always had a better sense about things like that, especially when it came to fire.

Instead of leaving, however, the thing settled on his shoulder.

Somehow it chilled him more than if the bird had gone. What sort of ill fate awaited him that the creature wanted to witness? Perhaps it wanted to peck at his face the same as it had pecked the face of that dead witch.

The eyes of the corpse had been missing, though if it was the work of this particular crow or some other scavenger, Ainsley didn’t know for sure.

Given that the bird now perched on his shoulder, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

The further he went, the greater the extent of the fire damage. Soot covered every inch of the entrance to the cave, the rock face blackened.

No ominous glow came from within the cave, no growls or puffs of smoke. No sounds filled the surrounding area, not a bird call or the buzz of a single insect, nothing but the quiet, gentle bubble of the river.

Ainsley kept his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it should the wyrm show its face.

He made it to the mouth of the cave without a single incident, aside from sliding a little in the mud and dunking his right leg up to the knee in the cold water of the river.

The crow on his shoulder pecked at his helmet and Ainsley could only assume the wicked beast had done so in retaliation for disturbing it.

It took him several minutes to gather the courage to enter the cave. As he moved further back, the cave grew warmer, contrary to what he knew about caves altogether. The air grew hotter and drier and had him sweating in his armor.

The crow ruffled itself several times.

At the back of the cave, Ainsley found two things. One was a dried-up husk of a beast about the width of a man and perhaps nine or ten feet long. The other was the same sort of beast, he guessed, but no larger than a grass snake. The little thing had coiled inside beside the husk, nestled between a clutch of unhatched eggs.

From what he could see of the larger, dead beast, they were the same sort of creature – smooth, burnished scales the color of copper, legless, and with a ridge of jagged, sharper scales along the back. The little creature had a broad, flat head with a blunt snout. The larger one had no head that Ainsley could spot.

It would be quick work to take care of a sleeping monster, especially one so small. And young, Ainsley suspected.

He stepped forward, drew his sword, and prepared to swing. A quick blow would take off its head.

In the end, though, Ainsley did nothing more than prod the thing with the flat of his sword.

Dragons, no matter their breed, were intelligent creatures and usually not troublesome, despite their reputation.

Some of the things could even transform into human shapes, at least, according to lore and Sir Richard’s favorite barkeep.

Imagine if this wyrm were that type of dragon? Would cutting off its head be the same as taking the head from a human babe?

When he prodded it, it stirred, first sluggish then coiling even tighter upon itself. Its scales went from burnished to glowing, aflame like coals. It reared back its head and hissed, producing a few puffs of smoke.

Ainsley and the wrym stared at each other for some time, neither moving, both somewhere between uncertain and anxious.

The crow shuffled over to Ainsley’s other shoulder and seemed to be peering at the little creature. It pecked at Ainsley once.

I don’t know what to do.

The crow pecked him again, though what it intended to communicate Ainsley couldn’t fathom.

He immediately chided himself for talking to the crow again. He had long since stopped doubting that the thing had more intelligence than the average crow, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a wicked creature, some witch’s familiar or unholy demon. It acted too unnaturally.

Another hiss brought Ainsley back to the situation at hand.

He couldn’t leave the creature here to grow and cause more damage to the surrounding wilderness and towns.

Nor could he slay the beast, not when it was so small and helpless. This sort of slaying would have no more honor than plunging his blade into a wolf pup.

He sheathed his sword and went back outside to think. He retrieved Hadley from where he had left her and coaxed her towards the cave. He set up camp for the night and built a small fire, actively avoiding thinking about his problem.

The crow watched passively for a while. Once he had shed his amour, it flapped over to him and pecked at his hand.

He recoiled.

The crow pecked at him again, gentle but insistent.

What? Ainsley demanded.

It nodded its head towards a bush a few yards away.

Ainsley followed its gaze and saw a rabbit. He glanced back at the crow, not able to believe any of this, but tossed his worries aside. Fresh meat had not been easy to come across lately and he hastened to string his bow before the rabbit hopped away.

Within half an hour, he had the thing skinned and spitted, cooking over the campfire. The crow pecked happily at the guts, but Ainsley didn’t doubt it would nose around for a share of the meat, too.

Maybe the crow wasn’t as wicked as Ainsley had originally thought. What cause did it have to help him like this?

True, it had gotten food, too, but Ainsley didn’t think that a creature meant to predict his ruin would do anything to keep him fed.

The rabbit hadn’t been roasting for more than ten minutes before Hadley began to snort and stomp and Ainsley detected a crackling slither coming from the direction of the cave.

He looked over to spy the wrym snaking towards them, its scales shining but not glowing.

It came right up to the fire, slithering inside of the flames and reaching up for the rabbit.

The crow squawked and the wyrm shrank back, letting out a small hiss and puff of smoke.

The crow squawked louder and the wyrm coiled up, settled into the flames.

It stayed put, even when the rabbit finished cooking and Ainsley took it from the spit.

The thing did watch him pitifully, though, as he ate.

He took a sliver of meat from the rabbit and tossed it towards the wyrm.

It darted out from the fire and gobbled up the meat as if it hadn’t eaten in days.

Maybe it hadn’t. The dead one must have been its mother and maybe wyrms were the type of creatures who cared for their offspring.

Maybe this little thing had been struggling all on its own, no mother or siblings.

The crow handed over some of the organs to the wyrm and Ainsley continued to dole out bits of meat to both animals.

He should have been saving some of this for tomorrow, but he had some stores remaining. Maybe the crow would point him in the direction of another meal again soon.

Once the meal concluded, the wyrm returned to the flames.

Ainsley guessed it had fallen asleep.

The crow fell asleep, too,

Hadley eventually settled better, though she continued to cast distrustful looks towards the wyrm all night.

Ainsley didn’t sleep much either.

He had no idea what to do with the wrym. Surely it couldn’t stay with the cave. He had no desire to take care of it either. Having the crow following him around was bad enough. He didn’t know anything about wyrms or caring for baby ones.

Morning came and he found that the fire had died during the night. He found the wyrm tucked up against his chest, pleasantly warm to the touch. He ran a finger along the ragged scales down its back and it nestled up against his hand.

It curled around his wrist and up his arm and refused to let go.

The crow cackled at him.

Shut up.

The crow preened.

The wyrm remained on his arm, so he couldn’t put on his armor, and Hadley refused to let him mount her with the wyrm on his person.

He sighed, took Hadley by reins, and began to walk into town.

People shied away from him when they noticed the wyrm and a few even threw things at him. He nearly lost control of his horse.

The wrym didn’t loosen its grip on him even once until a blast from the blacksmith’s furnace caught its attention.

It loosened from his arm and stretched towards the furnace.

No idea what else to do, Ainsley wandered in and held his arm as close to the fire as he could. The creature unraveled from his arm and slid into the fire, nestling happily among the coals.

The blacksmith wandered over. What’re you doing to my fire?

Uh…the wyrm… Ainsley pointed. It wouldn’t get off my arm until we came by your fire.

It was on your arm? The blacksmith peered at him.

Ainsley held up his arm to show his arm, free of injury, though slightly sweaty from the heat of the wrym.

What was it doing on your arm?

I fed it. It got…sort of attached.

You fed it?

Ainsley nodded.

You can’t leave it there, the smith told him.

I’m not going to reach in there and get it out.

The blacksmith harrumphed.

I think it’s just a baby. I think it's been coming into town looking for food.

The smith grunted and rubbed his head.

Maybe if you feed it… Ainsley suggested. I think it will stay put for a while, long enough for someone to write to the university so they can come fetch it.

Mmm.

You don’t mind?

Figure not, the blacksmith said.

I’m sorry. I thought I would do more but… Ainsley rubbed his neck. Well, it’s so small, I couldn’t kill it.

Mmm. The blacksmith grunted and turned away from the wyrm. George! Run up and fetch Master John. We need to send a letter.

Ainsley took his leave.

Hadley nuzzled his shoulder once he exited.

No worries, old girl, just you and me again.

The crow cawed.

You, me, and possibly a demon, Ainsley amended.

The crow preened.

Ainsley settled in beside the campfire, rummaging through his pack for the handful of oats he knew he had in there. They’d probably settled to the bottom. Things he wanted to find tended to do that.

The crow alternated between watching him and preening.

It had been preening a lot lately.

Maybe mating season grew near and he would lose its company.

He thought of it as a shame. He’d grown used to the bird.

Once he found the oats, he threw them into the pot to cook and set about cleaning his armor.

He paid no mind to the sound coming from the road. It wasn’t so late yet that seeing other travelers would be suspicious. He came across plenty of others. Sometimes they had pointed him in a helpful direction. Other times they traded greetings and continued on their own ways.

For a few days, he had traveled in the same direction as a merchant. They had parted ways in a town with a werewolf.

The merchant had made his trades and Ainsley, instead of skinning the werewolf, had helped her gather enough wolfsbane to keep her transformation at bay.

So far, none of his quests had gone how he’d meant for them to go, but none had ended with blood spilled, on either end. That satisfied him and so did the handful of coins he’d earned.

The other travelers grew closer and he snuck a backward glance at them. Three men dressed in leathers and bearing swords on their hips.

Foot soldiers, maybe, or town guards out roving.

As they grew closer, Ainsley prepared to hail them. Night had almost fallen and he’d already set up a fire. He wouldn’t mind company that could talk, either.

Except they approached before he greeted them. They approached with their hands on their swords.

Ainsley had the foresight to stand and reach for his before they were fully upon him.

We can do it easy if you like, one of the men said.

Ainsley drew his sword. I don’t want trouble.

Then hand over everything.

I’m a knight, gentlemen. I trained with the best, I’ve been questing these months…Pick a wiser fight.

Knight or not, three to one is odds I’ll take, said another of the men.

Ainsley adjusted his grip and his stance. His training would hold against them, he knew. Three men in leather, who lacked training and conditioning, would stand little chance against a knight even without his armor.

Two swung at the same time and he easily sidestepped their attacks. One of the men left his entire left side exposed and Ainsley swung.

What would have left a bruise with a practice blade proved much different with sharpened steel. His sword bit into the man’s neck, deep into the flesh and thunked against bone.

Ainsley recoiled as blood erupted from the man’s neck, splashing and spurting all over Ainsley, into his eyes and mouth.

Never had he seen so much blood, not human blood, and not even during a hunt had he gotten soaked.

The world darkened and faded and Ainsley’s whole body revolted. His stomach churned and he stared, frozen, as one of the man’s companions turned towards him, sword raised.

It would have been his end except that, as Hadley screamed, a strange, dark figure drove a long knife through the second attacker, then whirled and impaled the throat of the third.

Ainsley staggered, then fell, overwhelmed by the stench and the blood, and the very real knowledge that he killed a man.

A flesh and blood man.

The dark figure dropped its knife and came to crouch beside where Ainsley had collapsed, retching on all fours.

A hand settled on his back. Oh, poor thing, came a soft, husky voice, a voice like the whisper of wind through autumn leaves.

Ainsley heaved again, heaved until his stomach was empty, then heaved even more. His ribs ached and his throat burned.

The figure remained by his side. You’re alright.

Finally, emptied, Ainsley stared at the blood, the bodies, and began to shake. He couldn’t make sense of any of it and he began to keen.

He had no control over the sounds and wails that escaped him. He could do nothing to rein in his sobs, horrible wrenching sobs that