11
The next morning, under the direction of Damos, the squires left their horses at the camp at Leosor Hollows and walked to the rebel camp, which was less than a mile away. Damos had felt like the horses would make it more difficult to create a believable distraction of two lost squires wandering into the rebel camp by mistake. Burchard glanced over at Ruschmann. To his dismay, they had been liberally covered in mud and leaves. His shredded coat was back on as it added to the desired look of needing help. Taking a breath, Burchard threw his arm over Ruschmann, and they took stumbling steps toward the camp. It was slow going but would buy Damos enough time to get into position where the penned centaurs were.
“Ho there!” came a shout.
Ruschmann waved his arm at the rebel who had shouted at them, and they continued to approach.
“State your business!” a gruff voice called.
“We’re lost and need supplies!” called Ruschmann. The two squires staggered abruptly to the side before falling in a heap.
Burchard had to keep himself from elbowing Ruschmann to get him off. He knew this was all part of the ruse and buying time for Damos, but their stumble had put Ruschmann in a rather awkward position on top of Burchard. Burchard’s view of the path into the camp was blocked by Ruschmann’s head, but he could hear the guard’s feet on the hardpacked dirt. A booted foot bumped Burchard’s foot. He had to bite his tongue to keep from kicking it.
“Lost, eh?” the guard asked.
Ruschmann disentangled himself from Burchard and tilted his head back to look at the guard. “Yes, and in need of food and water, if you would be so kind,” Ruschmann said in a shaky voice.
“Get up, and I will see what I can do for you,” the guard said before moving away from them.
To Burchard’s relief, Ruschmann stood up and offered him a hand. Together, they followed the guard. It took Burchard a few steps to remember he was still supposed to be in character, a lost and hungry squire. He fervently hoped no one in the camp was watching. Damos had been unclear how much time he needed to undo the spell. Which meant Burchard and Ruschmann had to sell the lost squire act for as long as possible.
Gazing out of the corner of his eye, Burchard was not pleased with what he saw. The camp that was supposed to house a mere twenty rebels had several neatly organized rows of small tents, like those the Etrian knights are issued. There was a large tent at the center, though not quite as large as the one General Wolfensberger preferred when out in the field on a campaign. Burchard shared a worried glance with Ruschmann. While knowledge of this camp was definitely something they would be including in their report, his concern was deepening for how well the plan to rescue the centaurs was going to go. Facing twenty unorganized rebels was one thing. Facing multiple squads led by a commander? Even a gladius whatever Damos had called him was not going to be enough.
The flap of the large tent opened, and Burchard’s jaw dropped open in shock. A short man with bright white hair and a full beard wearing plate mail walked briskly toward them. A growl escaped from his lips. Ruschmann reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Burchard couldn’t tell if that meant his friend also knew who was walking toward them or if he was just trying to comfort him.
“I have been told that the pair of you are lost and in need of some food and water,” the armored man said in a voice that rang across the camp. “I am Lieutenant Commander Walter Pell, leader of the Firebirds. Please come into my tent for some refreshments, and you can tell me how you came to be lost.” The lieutenant commander turned on his heel and went back into the tent.
Burchard bit his tongue to keep himself from gasping. Just the other day my father said Walter Pell was confirmed dead! How is he here? After his father had mentioned Walter Pell, Burchard had asked Sir Peter about him and was told that the lieutenant commander had been one of the more well-known Stinyian knights because of his ruthlessness on the battlefield. The two squires followed, still trying to maintain the pretense of being lost, and swayed and wobbled in a meandering line into the tent. As soon as they were in, the flap closed behind them. The temperature in the room dropped. Burchard could see his breath in the air and he noticed frost creeping up the sides of the tent. He let his hand drop casually to his sword hilt and knew Ruschmann was doing the same.
“Now, please tell me what you’re really doing here, Squire Burchard Wolfensberger,” the commander ordered.
Keeping his face as blank as possible, Burchard replied, “We are lost.”
“If you lie again, you won’t like the consequences,” the commander warned.
“We were given an assignment to scout the area northeast of Alderth Castle and happened across your camp. Since General Wolfensberger requires a detailed report, we decided that we should find out who is in this camp. Squire Ruschmann came up with the idea to say we were lost.” Burchard shrugged. Everything he said was true to an extent. “But…General Wolfensberger said that you’re dead. How are you here?”
“I see.” The lieutenant commander paused, ignoring the question about how he was alive. “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the centaurs I captured?”
Burchard allowed his eyes to widen in surprise. “Centaurs are just a fairy tale,” he replied softly, shivering, half tempted to add, So are you. His hands were stiffening with the cold.
The lieutenant commander laughed. “They are far from a fairy tale. I have no idea what nonsense they are telling you in your Etrian school for pages, but clearly your education is severely lacking. Would you like to see them?”
Feigning eagerness, Burchard smiled. “Yes! Do they come in the colors of normal horses?”
“Come and you shall soon find out,” the lieutenant commander said.
This time, Burchard noticed the small motions that Walter Pell was making with his fingers as the air warmed back up to regular temperature and the frost disappeared. He chided himself. The camp had to have at least one mage if the centaurs were being held in a pen contained by magic.
Walking stride for stride, Burchard and Ruschmann followed Walter Pell through the camp and toward a large pen with a heavy-duty wood fence. As they reached the pen, Burchard realized it was empty. The lieutenant commander howled in rage and spun toward them, sword drawn.
Not wasting another moment, Burchard deftly yanked his sword out with Ruschmann a few seconds behind. Walter Pell let out a shrill whistle, then charged them. Burchard leapt forward, meeting the knight’s sword with a loud clang that rang throughout the camp. If people didn’t hear the whistle, they definitely heard the swords. Sure enough, he could hear the pounding of booted feet as the rebels came running.
To Burchard’s relief, Ruschmann stayed at his back, keeping an eye on the approaching men while Burchard engaged the lieutenant commander. As Burchard twirled and spun with Walter Pell, Ruschmann stuck to his position. Burchard was grateful for the hours they’d spent training together, allowing them to be so in sync with each other. He knew the moment Ruschmann stepped away from his back and engaged the rebels without having to look. If I can take Walter Pell out of the equation, then maybe we will stand a chance.
Burchard stepped to the left and rolled, sending him underneath the lieutenant’s swing. He popped up behind him and did a sweeping cut across Walter Pell’s back. Just as his sword touched the chain mail, Burchard was thrown backward in a blast of magic. He landed flat on his back, dazed.
Blinking rapidly to try to clear his vision, Burchard brought his sword up just in time to block a blow that would have cut his head off. As he thrust up with his sword, his attacker was thrown off balance, clearly not having expected to meet resistance. Burchard rolled his eyes and stood all the way up. He glanced to the side, uncertain of where Walter had gone, before returning his focus to the brown-bearded man in front of him. The rebel’s sword swung wide; Burchard easily parried it and launched into an attack of his own. The rebel was slow to react and gasped in surprise as Burchard thrust his sword through the rebel’s unprotected middle.
Burchard gave his sword a deft yank and spun, parrying the next blade coming for him. He could hear the clash of swords and knew Ruschmann must still be fighting. But Burchard was worried. Two squires can’t hold off one hundred veteran knights. Is this what Damos intended? To sacrifice us in exchange for rescuing his friends?
Mouth in a grim line, Burchard continued to block and parry, getting in as many strikes as possible, but knowing he was only holding off the inevitable. Sweat dripped down his face. For a moment, he wished Walter Pell would chill the air again so he could cool off.
“Watch out!” shouted Ruschmann from somewhere behind Burchard.
Burchard spun, looking for whatever might be coming his way, and, to his dismay, saw a wall of rebels charging him. He set his feet. I will make sure I take as many with me as possible, he told himself firmly.
A split second before the first sword reached him, Burchard watched with growing apprehension as all of the rebels were struck by lightning till it was only himself, Ruschmann, and Walter Pell left standing. Burchard shot Ruschmann a questioning look, wondering if his friend could see something he couldn’t. Ruschmann shook his head.
A big gust of wind blasted through the whole camp. It was so strong that it drove the three of them to their knees. Burchard tried to keep a hold of his sword, wrapping both hands around it to keep the wind from carrying it away. The wind stopped as suddenly as it came.
Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.
The sound of hooves on the hard packed dirt rang out. Damos walked over to Walter Pell, followed by five other centaurs. Damos drew his sword and with one motion sliced clean through the lieutenant’s head.
Burchard’s face blanched and he fell forward, bracing himself on his hands as he retched up whatever was in his stomach from their last meal. He stayed there, hoping his stomach would settle, as his eyes were drawn to Walter Pell’s head and body, which began to rapidly age and then decompose until all that was left was a pile of black ash. When he looked up, he found Damos glancing between him and the pile of ash with a curious look.
“What?” Burchard growled, wishing he had some water to rinse the bitter taste of bile from his mouth.
