At once Kentworth sought out permission from the king to go after the enemy and retrieve his fellow squire. First, however, the king insisted he be knighted, one, for the immense bravery he showed in the battle, and two, to make his quest easier. The squire was indeed underage by about five years to become a knight, but the king ignored that. Some of the other squires who had fought as or nearly as bravely as he where also knighted, and prepared to go with Kentworth, after they had received their new distinction. A unit of about twelve men-at-arms, and six longbowmen prepared to go with the knights as well. So in all, the assembly was around 22, all on horseback.


A good deal of the castle and surrounding villagers gathered to bid them farewell. The king and queen, as well as several of their chief knights were present.


All the men, but Kentworth above all, set out with a mindset of determination. The knights had the night before inspected the maps to the territory people of Fraudsworth, and had brought some of the
parchments along, as well as supplied for a month. (They had brought five pack horses with them.)


After two days of nearly nothing, the men came upon a relatively small city, apparently primarily for traders. They stopped there for a some more supplies, and asked around about whether anybody had seen the riders holding the squire prisoner. But everyone they asked, seemed to shun the topic, and either change the subject, or scuffle away. They didn't really gather the useful information they were seeking.


After these not so large accomplishments, when the sun was low in the sky and the number of people on the streets much decreased, Kentworth and one of his fellow knights, Maniskeel, noticed a rather odd, yet vaguely familiar spectacle. About eight riders were hurrying away, with a young man on an extra horse. The fellow didn't seem to be willing to go with them. And, his hands seemed to be bound. Kentworth caught a glimpse of the side of his face. Brently!


Kentworth sprang forward with is horse, Maniskeel following, and, once the rest finally figured out what was going on, they others came as well. But, much to Kentworth's despair, the gates were being closed. “No!!” The men at the gates seemed slightly even more determined at that, and pushed on the huge doors all the harder. But Kentworth, Maniskeel, and two of the longbowmen did manage to get through in time. An intense chase ensued. The diminishing light didn't help matters. Most of the time the pursued were just dim, dark specks of light. That is, when they were to be seen at all. But finally, the only way to know for certain the location of their foes was by sound. The darkness had totally blotted them out. But, a rather major issue arose. The horses were growing tired. But, Kentworth reasoned, those they were chasing were on horses too. They must surely grow weary as well. Finally, staining with all his might, the only sound that Kentworth could hear was that of his own party's horses. Had they gotten farther ahead of them? Had they hidden alongside the road? Well, one thing was for certain: they couldn't ride all night. The four men were forced to stop and spend the night along the road.

Sometime in the night, Kentworth and Maniskeel alike were awoken by loud, hoarse whispers fairly nearby. Cautiously, swords in hand, the two crept over to where the sounds were coming from. There before them were two men around a fire, talking. They had their backs to the knights. Where are the others? Kentworth thought. Before, however, he could expound upon the subject, he noticed that they were surrounded. The two circled back-to-back, blades pointing outward, but found that it was hopeless. It was three to one. They lowered their weapons, and allowed themselves to be bound. All the while, Kentworth was hoping, somehow, that the two longbowmen would bring aid.



Soon enough, they caught sight of Brently. It was obvious that he was malnourished, and had been mistreated severely, as nothing more than dirt. Oh, did this anger Kentworth. To see a comrade in such a condition! It in itself was torture. But there was nothing to be done for the time-being.


The Fraudsworthians, Kentworth soon discovered, weren't exactly what most would call hospitable, to their prisoners. A couple or, if lucky, three gulps of water a day, with a measly handful of meal from a sack. Hands constantly bound. Restricted talking. They were permitted to ride atop their own steeds, which was a blessing... despite being tied to the saddle.


One day, riding across a fifteen mile or so long stretch of plain, a dusty cloud low to the ground appeared approaching from the east. The king! We're saved!! However, the mob of riders wasn't of Kentworth's own nationality. More Fraudsworthians. Blast! Now we'll never escape! The mob appeared to consist of around twenty men. They were armed, yet some wounded. They appeared to have been riding, perhaps under chase, for several days. But no one was visible behind them.


The leader appeared to be one more than of that group. An officer, of some sort. A general? Anyway, the knights' captives showed the man considerable respect, and lowered there heads when scolded by him.


“Vee don't tek capteefs! Vy deedant you keel zem?!”


“Eh, vel, seer, vee, eh...”


“Oh, neffer mind! Now zat vee haff zem, vee might as vel use zem! Conteenue onvard to Fraudsworth. Ze keeng might haff use for zem as slevz!!” and gave a menacing laugh at the prospect. Maniskeel apparently had had difficulty understanding the dialogue, and gave a questioning glance and Kentworth, but as he hadn't “permission” to speak, he ceased when shrieked at. “Shet opp!” He grumbled inwardly. How would they ever get back home if slaves to the king of Fraudsworth?!


Despite desperate attempts to find a chance to escape before reaching their destination, none arose before entering the huge, towering castle. Kentwroth, Maniskeel, and Brently were now prisoners and slaves to a ruthless, powerful enemy king.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first few weeks in the Castle of Fraudsworth wasn't so bad. Kentworth somehow got assigned to tend the pigs and chickens. However, his “master”, gaining more slaves, and discerning Kentworth to have the capability of more advanced service, moved him to the stables. This the young man liked immensely. And he was able to see his comrades once in a while. At least them and he were receiving better rations now. But they were still treated like dirt. They were forced to endure week upon week of spitting, and cursing. Their spurs, properly distinguishing them and the knights they were, had of coursed been taken away as soon as they had been captured. However, they did get into the routine, and got used to the new environment. Each day the three worked diligently at their chores, but more and more longing for home, and friendly, familiar faces.

Surprisingly, with the arrival of a tournament one week, a familiar face did come. It was Sir Deavenwood, one of the king's knights! He was apparently searching for them. When their eyes met, their eyes lit and their hearts leaped for joy. The man motioned to not make a seen, and continued riding by in the post-battle parade of the knights and spectator nobles. Hope once again returned to the trio, and they couldn't help but smile.


During the tournament, Sir Deavanwood did quite well. He was a fairly young knight, but his large, tall frame added to his exceeding skill as a knight, made him a most formidable foe. The tournament lasted for two days, and near the end of the second, he was among the top rated combatants. The final test for the prize was decided by a match, every man for himself, of the as of then top knights. It wasn't a very long conflict. But, in the end, the last two knights still engaged in combat were Sir Deavanwood, and a Knight of Fraudsworth. That particular battle lasted longer than the entire rest had. Finally, Sir Deavanwood prevailed, the other knight on his knees, blade several feet away.


“And now, good knight, what shall you choose as prize, for you bravery and skill?” inquired the king's herald. The knight referred to replied,


“Eh, how about a few slaves? I could use a few more...” The herald looked a little perplexed, but said,


“V-very well; your choice. Bring forth our top three slaves!”


“No; I would pick my own, if you please.”


“Uh, very well, then. Belay that!”


So, the slaves of the castle were all herded into the square, for his inspection. Several of them were suggested to the knight, but he waived them all. After making the appearance of great indecision, he gradually and casually picked out Kentworth, Maniskeel, and Brently.


“And supply horses for them! I prefer to move on the swift, yes?”


The three horses were supplied, and the four started toward the outer gate. But when they had nearly reached it, their countenances plummeted. Before them, a wall of around twenty men-at-arms and pikemen formed in front of the portcullis. A knight stood at the front. One that looked very familiar.


“Vee know vy you are here, knight! I myself brought those three slevz here from your keeng's castle.” at that another familiar looking knight stepper from the crowd.


“You did not! I did! I dragged zem here, all za vey from zat dog of a keeng's castle!!”


“Oh deed you now? And how do you plan to proove zat?” And so a quarrel aroused, ensuing in a confused and divided group of men. This provided the opportunity for the four on horseback to slip by unnoticed. Almost unnoticed.


“Zere getteeng avay!!”


Within moments, several mounted soldiers were chasing after Kentworth and his small band. Their horses were small and compact, meant for speed. They were gaining ground quickly.


At the top of the hill before them, Kentworth's group met another, all hooded and armed, some of which quickly handed Kentworth, Maniskeel, and Brently swords. Oh, how wonderful it felt to hold a good blade once again! But the trio hadn't time to relish it. They were forced to wheel around to face their assailants, and spring forward to as to not be caught on the standstill. The two groups collided head-on. A few immediately flew to the ground. Some of the Fraudsworthians didn't really know why they were fighting. So they weren't giving their all, and thus they weren't terribly formidable opponents. Kentworth and his comrades put up an immense fight. Some of their assailants fled sheepishly back to the castle in terror. The rest including the two knights, continued determinedly, but indeed with a slight look of fear in their eyes. Kentworth was engaged in combat with one of the two knights. When given the opportunity, he swung his blade at the man, who in turn ducked away and brandished his own weapon hard upon Kentworth's unprotected right shoulder. He winced and clutched his upper arm, but shifted his blade to his left hand, with which he used it nearly as skillfully, much to the surprise of his opponent. A high swing, a low slice, and a gut-bound thrust were all parried by the younger knight, who distributed his own torrent of weaponry. Finally, the older knight of Fraudsworth, weakened by several cuts and slices, fell to the ground as a result of an inescapable downward blow upon his shield. Kentworth dismounted and held the man against the road with his blade; he surrendered honorably.


Looking around, Kentworth saw that his side of the battle wasn't prevailing. Remounting his steed, he wheeled around to Brently's aid. The unsuspecting man-at-arms on one side toppled off his mount with a blow to the shoulder, and the palace guard on the other panicked with a knight on either side of him, and fled back to the castle. This left the other knight and three other men-at-arms to deal with, which proved relatively easy, with the odds lopsided to their advantage.


The end result of the whole affair was two surrendered knights, and four wounded men-at-arms on the ground. Sir Deavanwood ordered they be brought to their feet and taken to the castle gate. Once this was accomplished, he proclaimed, “People of Fraudsworth! Hear me! Here be two of your chief knights, wounded and bleeding. Take them now, off our hands, and henceforth leave our own people be! Hear me! Further acts of war on your part shall be fatal!!” He and his comrades wheeled about and cantered away, north, on towards home.