Chapter 2: The Least Decorated Knight

The king called for his bravest knights.

Sir Vikram had a sprained ankle. Sir Dev was at his cousin's wedding in the next kingdom. Sir Rohan, the bravest of all, took one look at the smoking outline of the balcony and discovered an urgent need to inspect the southern border.

That left Sir Arjun.

Sir Arjun had been a knight for exactly eleven days. He had no medals, no famous victories, and no horse of his own. His armour had belonged to his uncle, who had been considerably shorter, so his ankles showed when he walked.

"You," said the king, without much hope. "Can you rescue my daughter?"

Arjun thought about it honestly, because that was the kind of person he was.

"I don't know, Your Majesty," he said. "But I'm the one who's here, so I think I should try."

The king blinked. It was, he realised, the first sensible thing anyone had said all morning.

By noon Arjun was riding out of the city gate on a borrowed horse named Biscuit, with a dented shield, a sword that needed sharpening, a bag of samosas from the palace kitchen, and a map of the Burning Peak drawn by someone who had clearly never been there. Half of it was labelled "PROBABLY MOUNTAINS".

Behind him, the whole city lined the walls to watch him go. Nobody cheered. They were all too busy trying to remember his name.