The fresh red drip… drip… dripped down, leaving a bright trail for the young squire to follow in his mentor's footsteps. Upon reaching the end of it, he realized the fight had come to an end, and that the blood was that of the enemies. Sir Van Amstel leaned against a tree, though not out of any necessity. He simply waited for his apprentice to arrive. Something twitched beside the knight, which, after making his way closer, Yorick found to be the body of a little girl. Before he could kneel down to start a prayer, the man stopped him, and, unsheathing his sword, drove it into the child's chest. When he pulled it out, the blood quickly turned pitch black, swirling around the blade as if in a frenzied dance.
"You'll meet quota soon, won't you, Sir?"
He said it eagerly, but expected no quick response. He was not given so much as a glance, yet knew there was no need to repeat himself. His words had been heard, and he would soon get acknowledgement that did not break the man's vow of silence. A knight and his squire are to be one. He reflected on those words many times before, but had never understood the connection he was meant to have. The warriors he trained under before had been nothing like this. They reprimanded him, right from the start, and while it was undemanding to take the yelling, the blaming, and the name-calling, it was all too taxing to take the lashings. But things had been different this time around. The nature of his relationship with Sir Van Amstel was much more tranquil. Yorick found his recurring nightmares had all but disappeared, and with sleep coming easier to him, his irritable nature grew restful. He had not felt so at ease since his childhood. Though the memories from those days were long lost now, the sentiments lingered on. The journey to knighthood had ruined such things, but there had never been another path for him.
Yorick watched his mentor, waiting for some sort of signal. A small breeze blew through, carrying something of salt as it went. There was something familiar in it, but the boy paid it no mind. The knight, however, looked up from his victim, closing his eyes to reminisce. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, and so, looking back at his squire, he gave a firm nod. Then he raised a closed first beside his head, flicking his wrist forward. Carefully, the two took their places on either side of the body. The boy draped a white cloth over the girl's eyes while the knight folded her hands over her chest. Clasping their hands together, Yorick whispered a quick prayer. Under the delicate fingers of the girl, a dagger appeared, the tip pointing towards her feet. Together, then, they joined in prayer.
A circle of black appeared around them, the grass wilting immediately. Whispers echoing their words rushed through the trees as shades of green rapidly turned to yellow, then brown. Shards curled and shrunk into themselves, sinking into the deep black soil that once fed them life. The knights and squire withdrew their hands. The ground beneath them decayed as the circle closed in on them, and, upon reaching the girl's body, the ancient molder dragged her beneath the crust to The Oleg. There, in the seventh realm, she would find peace. These 'Retrievals,' Yorick had learned, were the mission of this knight, and with each one, his respect for this way of life grew, as did his desire to pledge himself to the Lord of The Oleg: Zas.
The knights he had trained under before had been pledged to Giw. His father had done so, and he was to do so as well. But he had no desire to kill the enemies of their state. To lie in wait for the next war, and give his life to a cause he felt nothing for… what kind of life is that? He knew his father would not approve of choosing a different god, but if he were to live his life as a knight, should he not live it honorably? And would it not be deceiving both the gods and the people to pick a faction with which he felt nothing? Surely, he thought, the gods would know, and, if the gods were displeased, that would bring something much worse than disownment.
"Will we start our journey home in the morning?"
Sir Van Amstel's lips pressed themselves together, quite tightly, and something of stone filled his eyes. He waited for something more from the boy, which, Yorick realized, was a needed correction in speech.
"Not home, right… I mean… the church?"
The look vanished, leaving a softer expression. He gave a nod in response, then stood, holding a hand out to pull his squire up. The boy gladly took the offer, rising from the finished task. They continued deeper into the wood.
"Will you be at the ceremony? The one for my Arrival?"
A firm nod was his response. The boy smiled at that, glad the knight would be there to see him choose his patronage.
"What about after that?"
He patted the hilt of his sword with one hand while the other beckoned to the land around them. After a moment, however, he shook his head.
"You won't continue this?"
The knight looked back, hesitating before giving a small nod.
"Will you retire?"
A longer hesitation followed. He then shook his head. Something akin to retiring? the boy pondered.
"Will I not be able to continue traveling with you?"
Sir Van Amstel stopped at that, turning to face Yorick fully. It was not accepted in his way, the boy knew, to continue any sort of apprenticeship after an Arrival. There is no purpose in attempting to learn where there is nothing to teach, and purpose is a precious tool in the life of mortals.
"Would we not be brothers if my pledge was to Zas?"