The young colt was as prepared as he could be. At least, that’s what he had been telling himself every step deeper into the dungeon. Bertram was let into the crew by only the good word of his master— a young knight not quite old enough to train a squire, but emboldened by the opportunity. Never-mind that Bertram was from a poorer family, one that shouldn’t receive the honor of Knighthood anyway— but the coin from his father’s death in battle was enough to earn Bertram the title, as small as it was.

It was an opportunity he couldn’t waste, for if he did, he wouldn’t get something like this again— and his dear mother wouldn’t be able to handle the streets of the city like a young, wiry yearling like him could. So he strapped his master’s equipment to his back, and carried as much rations as he could handle. The bags made him slow, and more than a little shaky-legged, but he refused to show his master and his associates that he couldn’t handle it. If he couldn’t hold a few bags, how could he hold a sword? Don armor? It’d make him a laughing stock—

Bertram only knew he had messed up when his master whinnied in distress. Following so close behind him, the colt was shoved backwards once the stone floor erupted beneath them— a horde of sentient mushrooms pushing through the ground with a ferocity unlike any tree shooting through the soil. It pushed and shoved the squadron, growing so rapidly that it crushed one of the knights between itself and the wall. Bertram himself tripped back into a pit made by the fungi, writhing as he tried to wrench himself free of the magical trap. The bags were strapped on tight, and only made his efforts to escape more exhausting.

Hooves hardly making a dent in the spongy flesh of the mushroom, the young squire was nearly spent when a metal clang rang through the cavern. His master’s sword had slipped out from its sheath, falling to the ground, and despite not yet being trained to wield a blade, Bertram clenched it between his teeth— and swung. His master’s blade was made of the finest steel found within a thousand miles of the city, and it proved its value, slicing clean through the mushroom in one sweep despite the yearling’s untrained technique, and quaking muscles.

Bertram clambered out of the pit, swinging down the path as he went, doing his best to free the trapped knights before they suffocated beneath the cursed growths. He didn’t stop until every single stalk was broken into pieces no larger than his haunches, and most of the stallions were recovered— with a few, including the knight he was appointed under, only being recovered long after they had drowned in the dirt and gravel shaken up by this horrific trap. Bertram was lucky, for without his quick thinking, they could’ve all been struck down— and now, his master’s sword became his.