Burchard started with his sword held loosely in his right hand, body open and relaxed. After about an hour, he could feel himself getting stiff from the lack of movement. He was certain that Ruschmann couldn’t be faring much better with his perch in the oak tree. They were also starting to lose light as the sun sank lower in the sky. Soon it would be too dark to see much at all. He was debating suggesting that they swap so Ruschmann could at least move around a little when he heard the clang of metal and snapping branches.
Instantly on the alert, Burchard slid back into position with the tree at his back. He could hear the horses starting to shift, the gear still on them making whispering sounds with the movement. There was a loud crashing sound and suddenly he could make out the glint of metal weapons. The shadows forming around the trees made it a challenge to count how many men were coming their way, or what exactly was happening. He was afraid to slip closer to see better, worried that if he was noticed, the advantage of surprise he had would vanish.
Burchard didn’t have to wait long before a man in leather armor swinging a large axe was running straight for him. Burchard couldn’t decide if the man knew where he was or was just running eagerly because the Etrian horses seemed unprotected.
Rolling his shoulders, Burchard positioned himself to attack from the side. As the rebel ran past him, Burchard swept his sword down, across the rebel’s back. The rebel let out a howl as the sword sliced cleanly through the leather. Not wasting any time, Burchard lunged forward, bringing his sword up in a block just as the rebel pivoted and chopped at his head with the axe. Sparks flew as the blades met. Burchard shuffled sideways, disengaging their weapons, and swung his sword in a low arc, aiming for the knees. The rebel made the mistake of trying to jump over the sword and instead tripped, causing the blade to slice deeply into his unprotected hamstring.
Burchard yanked his sword away from the rebel as he collapsed and twisted just in time to miss being cleaved in half. While he had been busy with the first rebel, another one had tried to sneak up behind him. Regaining his balance, Burchard assessed this new rebel. After a couple of swings, he noticed the man tended to favor his left leg, as though something was wrong with his right. With that tidbit of information solidly in his mind, Burchard began his attack—a combination of high and low strikes focusing on the left side, forcing the rebel to rely on his weaker right leg. When Burchard initiated the second combination, the rebel stumbled, and Burchard’s uppercut, which was supposed to have landed on the chest, went cleanly through the rebel’s neck. The severed head went flying through the air.
Burchard gasped in horror and felt bile rising in his throat. Before he knew what was happening, he was bending over and retching, narrowly missing his own booted feet. Taking deep breaths, nostrils flaring, he fought his body’s instinct to continue heaving. The last thing he needed was to be caught off guard because he beheaded someone.
Just as Burchard lifted his head, a rebel toppled over sideways at his feet with two arrows through his chest. Burchard gave a halfhearted salute in the direction of Ruschmann’s tree, then focused his attention on the rebels running toward him.
Where are the Etrians? he wondered. Colonel Frost had fifty-seven men with him. His thoughts were cut off when not one but two rebels with swords came spinning toward him. They executed some fancy twists and turns. Burchard smirked. He was familiar with that tactic of trying to confuse the opponent with fancy footwork. It was one Reggie favored.
Burchard launched himself toward them, yanking out his long knife, focused on the rebel on the right. At the last moment he twisted and did a mid-strike with his sword in his right hand followed with a high strike with his knife in the left. He then spun and jabbed with the knife at the rebel on the left. The rebels scrambled to keep up with his moves, and the knife connected both times, poking large holes in their leather armor, sending out spurts of blood in its wake.
Burchard glanced up at Ruschmann in the tree before returning his attention to the two rebels. He made a quick jab to the left with his sword and then one to the right with his knife. Both rebels fell. Three more came toward him, but they fell with arrows in their necks. He realized that Ruschmann was likely to run out of arrows soon. Hopefully, his friend would have the good sense to come join him on the ground.
Where are the Etrians and Colonel Frost? he wondered again, before chiding himself to stay focused on his task—killing as many rebels as possible to prevent his own death or the loss of the horses.
One axman running toward him showed evidence of having been in a fight, with smears of blood on his armor and a slice across his forehead. The rebel axman grinned, and Burchard grinned back. Quicker than the eye could see, Burchard entered a combination with a swipe to the right and a sweeping uppercut to the neck, followed by a short chopping motion. The rebel blocked the first and second steps of the maneuver but was not quick enough to prevent the third strike from slicing deeply into his shoulder and getting caught on his collarbone. Blood sprayed, and the rebel slumped to the side, groaning. Burchard stepped over him, knowing the rebel would not be a problem anymore.
Then, he glanced up at Ruschmann and saw his friend descending the tree with an empty quiver. Rebels kept coming in small groups of two or three, but it was a long time before they finally saw some Etrians. Two Etrians appeared and sprinted to the squires.
Burchard raised his eyebrow and peered over at Ruschmann. It seemed odd to him that the Etrian knights would want to rely so heavily on the squires they had earlier made it clear they detested. But the rebels were hot on the heels of the Etrians and gaining speed from running down the hill, not leaving much time for thought.
The Etrian knight lurched forward as he came within reach of Burchard, who caught him just in time, preventing the knight from skewering himself on his own sword. He tugged on the knight, dragging him over to a tree.
“Are you OK?” Burchard asked.
“Not really,” came a mumbled reply.
Burchard glanced at the knight sharply and realized it was Colonel Frost. “Colonel?” He let his eyes go back to the rebels heading their way.
Colonel Frost took a raspy breath. “I don’t know if the others are coming or not. There were many more rebels than expected. We were overrun. Sir Richard Stone is right behind me and will have to take you back to where the others are to look for survivors,” the colonel continued. “Then, we must run.”
Burchard closed his eyes briefly. Why would the colonel be willing to give up so easily? What has scared him? He made sure that the colonel had a water canteen before walking back over to Ruschmann, sword at the ready. Sir Stone reached them at the same time.
Moments later, the axmen reached them too. The rebels were no match for three of them working together. Which begs the question, what happened with the group? What else went wrong? Burchard didn’t feel comfortable posing that question to Sir Stone.
When it became clear no more rebels were coming, Burchard and Ruschmann faced Sir Stone.
“We need to go after the other knights to see if there are any survivors. It is likely less than half of our men,” said Sir Stone.
“That’s it?” gasped Ruschmann.
Sir Stone nodded grimly. “Unfortunately, yes, that’s it.”
Burchard stared up the path from where the rebels had come. “Do you think more will come?”
Sir Stone shrugged. “I don’t know. None of this mission has made much sense. We should see what Colonel Frost wants us to do.”
The two squires nodded and followed Sir Stone over to the colonel. Burchard suppressed a shudder as he realized his face and arms were covered in rebel blood.
“Sir,” Sir Stone said with a curt bow to the colonel. “What are our orders?”
Colonel Frost coughed and took a sip of water. “If you are confident the rebels are defeated, then you can go look for the remaining Etrian knights. Make sure you take some extra horses.”
Sir Stone nodded. “Do you want one of us to stay with you?”
Colonel Frost shook his head. “No, I’ll manage. If you’re really worried about me, you can get me the crossbow from my horse.”
Burchard turned and quickly retrieved the crossbow and satchel of bolts, returning before Sir Stone had even finished talking to the colonel. “Here you go, sir.”
Colonel Frost took the crossbow and settled it on his lap.
Awhile later, both squires and Sir Stone were riding through the forest and past the outcrop of rocks to where the main skirmish had taken place. Once they passed the line of sight from where they had been stationed with the horses, they could see bodies of Etrians and rebels. It was obvious the Etrians had done the best they could in the situation. Around each knight were piles of rebels. But clearly it had not been enough to overcome the rebel force.
Sir Stone dismounted and began inspecting the Etrians, making sure that each fallen one was indeed dead. Eventually, they made it to another small clearing that was backed by some large boulders about the height of a man. Burchard could hear moaning. There was a hiss of metal as three swords slid out of their scabbards. The two squires allowed the knight to take the lead and stayed mounted.
When Sir Stone came back over, his face was grim. “We have ten survivors.”
“That’s it?” exclaimed Ruschmann.
“I don’t think we have enough horses. I need both of you to go bring more,” Sir Stone ordered.
