The town called Scatt is a last chance opportunity to redeem myself, Garty muses. He assesses the terrain and its possibilities with a new vigour and confidence.
Knight Commander Garty Musdo stiffens his robust thighs atop his glistening copper hued horse, Brill, and surveys the scene around him. He savours a deep breath of the strikingly fresh air.
Grass is longer and greener now that wintertime wanes and the early springtime weather approaches, bringing with it infrequent and refreshing light showers that soften the earth and encourage new growth in every corner of his universe.
He sighs as he dares to consider his journey thus far.
Four years and nine months ago he began this mission, searching on behalf of the King of Kallai, a wonderful country. Alas, it is still without a queen or heir to the throne.
The king is becoming impatient. The obsessed and deeply depressed king decided to call for a final escalated investigation to find his daughter.
“You must find her, for the Kingdom demands it!”
A velvet purse containing two hundred gold coins and five hundred silver coins was presented to Garty for his expenses as he bowed in respect to the King and the sword touched his shoulders lightly.
Garty knew that his emotions sometimes ran ahead of his mind, so is determined to mind his thoughts and to keep them rational.
Garty often conversed with his beloved Brill, who is his most faithful and best friend and has been his only friend over the years of this commission.
“I am sure we will find a clue about the truth of the missing princess in this town, Brill. It is now or never methinks…”
This was the 19th town he had stayed in and investigated thoroughly, thus resulting in only a smidgen of genuine information.
If the princess should not be found, the throne was imminently in danger of being taken over by the King’s half-brother, Axemanix, who had been a deadly foe for years against every honourable knight or dame and especially those closest to the king. He was intent on squandering money, living in utmost luxury and treating its citizens with the hardest labour and sternest of rules that he could imagine.
Garty shrugs his broad shoulders and flicks his slightly unkempt fair hair, squints with his sea blue eyes into the distance. His ebony and gold uniform is now well worn, tottering on bedraggled. His brass chain mail vest had snapped in places, leaving only a small necklet for protection of his throat, and his mail hood was stolen a few years ago, hence he felt less secure in fighting off the marauders who hid themselves in bushes or on the forks of shady trees, and attacked at will. His soft undergarments had frayed and some precious pieces of under clothing had been washed downstream when he stayed sleeping in a woodland camp site six months ago, in autumn, just prior to winter setting in.