Welcome to the Round Table of Bretonnia!

The sudden change in the knight’s demeanor surprised Otto, who quickly stammered out an answer. “Dey stole loot from wagons and dey took prisoners. De girl, Lady Giselle or something like dat, she vas among der prisoners.”

“Was she Bretonnian?”

“Ja, ja. She was Bretonnian. We met her in port at Bordeaux. She was on her vay to visit some sick person or something. Hopefully, she is ransom, but I not sure with these bandits.”

“I must go! Which way did they take this lady?” Sir Simon’s tone was suddenly commanding, which startled Otto Spiegel. He was not used to being spoken to in such a manner, certainly not by a Bretonnian. Many of the remaining members of the caravan who were not busy collecting dead or trying to scrounge for the remains of their goods had come to listen to the conversation and gawk at the knight who had proved to be their savior. Most of the merchants had never seen a Bretonnian questing knight before and were slightly disappointed by the look of Sir Simon du Montforte.

“Calm down friend knight. Calm down. Der no way you could reach her now. Dey probably disappear back into the woods or some hideout in a cave. And though you strong, I do not think dat you would be able to take dem all by yourself.”

“I did not ask for your advice mercenary. I simply asked where they went. Tell me and I will leave you to your job.” Sir Simon was clearly impatient. The knowledge of a lady being captured by those brutes, especially a lady from Bretonnia, was disgusting. He had to save her. It was his duty, both to the Lady and to the quest for the Grail, to do so. Clearly, the Grail and Lady had drawn him here to right this evil and protect a fair Bretonnian maiden. The fact that Otto had not told him where to go yet only made him annoyed at the general insolence of men from the Empire.

“I know not friend knight.  Last I saw lady was trying to flee caravan. Den fighting drew me in and I not saw her again. I sorry but you cannot go after her. Dat is problem with you Bretonnians, always rushing into danger.” Otto snorted and spit on the ground, then turned to yell a sharp rebuke at one of his men who was about to loot the corpse of a dead merchant.

“I believe I know in which direction they took the lady and the other prisoners sir knight. Perhaps I might be of some assistance.” Sir Simon turned in his saddle as a older man wearing a wide-brimmed hat emerged from a huddled group of survivors. He carried an ornately decorated walking staff in one hand and a thick brown cloak covered most of his body. In comparison to Otto Spiegel’s brutal translation of Bretonni, this man’s voice was eloquent and melodic, as if he had been schooled in the tongue for many years. The pommel stone in Sir Simon’s sword began to glow a fiery red as the man approached the horse.

“The stone glows. You are a wizard?”

The man with the hat, suddenly taken aback by the knight’s quick judgement, seemed surprised. “Per... per... perhaps I am sir knight. What is it to you? And how did you know, though it seems foolish to ask. The stone in your sword hilt detects magic I imagine?”

Sir Simon smiled, but neither confirmed nor denied the allegation. In truth the stone did detect magical presences within a certain distance, but that was not it’s true value. It was a powerful artifact capable of absorbing large amount of magical power directed at Sir Simon in battle. It had been the pommel stone of the sword that had saved him when a Beastman shaman had tried to turn his insides out in a forest glade during his first batle. The stone had been an heirloom of the family since the earliest days of its existence and had been bequeathed from a wandering Elf to the family of Montforte in return for some long forgotten favor. It had been Sir Simon’s great-grandfather, Reginald du Montforte, who had placed the stone in the hilt of his personal questing sword, using its abilities to protect him as he traveled across the Old World in search of the Grail. When he had finally drunk of the magic cup, he bequeathed both the weapon to his son, and so the tradition had passed. Alas, Simon's father Guillame had never been able to take the blade to the quest, so Simon himself had assumed ownership of the beautifully crafted sword. He gripped its hilt now as he stared down at the Empire wizard, speaking warily. “I am merely surprised to see an Empire spell-caster so far within our fair land of Bretonnia. Especially a wizard who will not cast magic in aid of those in danger around him.”

Otto snarled and looked at the wizard with an air of abject disgust. “You could have helped us you swine. A few spells from you and dese fools would not have stood chance.” 

The wizard, who had clearly not planned on being discovered, struggled to find a suitable reply. “I did not want to attract unnecessary attention. Perhaps they might have had a spell-caster amongst them. It would have been destructive. People would have been hurt by the magic...”

“People were hurt already you stupid fool. I lose good men and you could have save dem from their fate.” Otto was having no part in the man’s wretched excuses for why he did not participate in the defense of the caravan. Otto knew a coward when he saw one and he had the distinct feeling that this hidden wizard was as cowardly as they came.

“Though I am so sorry to interrupt,” Sir Simon growled suddenly, “I must know in which direction the bandit leader fled with the lady and other prisoners. I must save them. It is a duty of my quest!”

“They fled south, towards the woods. They probably have a hideout there. A number of the men were wounded so their trail should not be hard for you to follow brave sir knight. I can only wish you the greatest of luck and speed.” The wizard was clearly eager to leave the caravan now that its guards lay dead and its goods ransacked. 

“Thank you. I can ride on now. Will you be alright Captain Spiegel? The local noble should send his men at arms to you shortly to act as an escort until you reach the next village.”

Otto nodded. “You go alone friend knight? Is not safe. You no fight all dese men by yourself. De one without eye, he was a real tough bastard.”

Sir Simon shook his head. “I do not go alone, I go with the Lady and that is all I need.” The wizard rolled his eyes at the remark and Sir Simon chose not to notice the insolent gesture. “I will return with the prisoners to the nearest town as soon as I can. May you have better luck on the rest of your travels gentlemen. Learn to take more guarded routes.” Turning his horse towards the south, Simon prepared to head off towards the ominous woods wherein lurked Jean One Eye and his bandits. 

“Wait friend knight!” Simon turned in his saddle to see Otto and some of his men mounting their horses. “We come with you ja? This bastard, he kill my men and tarnish my reputation as best wagon guard in Old World. I want split him like fruit.”