General Wolfensberger pressed his lips together till they formed a thin white line. Burchard could see the anger blazing in his eyes. I better hurry up with my report before he blows up.
Burchard coughed and continued. “We helped them rescue their friends, who were held in a large rebel camp that had over one hundred rebels led by Walter Pell.”
A loud snarl emerged from the General’s lips, causing everyone in the room to jump. “Walter Pell? That’s not possible. He was confirmed dead ten years ago. I was there.”
But did you see the body with your own eyes? Burchard wondered. With eyes lowered, he replied, “Very certain. He also knew who I was.”
The General eyed the two squires with an expression Burchard could not interpret. “Lieutenant Commander Walter Pell just let you walk out of the camp with his captives?” he said in disbelief.
Once again, Ruschmann stepped in. “When we left, everyone in the camp, except for us and the centaurs we rescued, was dead. The centaur leader was a mage.” Burchard was grateful for his friend trying to ease the tension. “They gave us a medallion in thanks.”
Burchard dug around in his pocket with his fingers for a few moments before he found the medallion and offered it to his father. He had forgotten about it but was thankful Ruschmann had remembered because it was proof that they weren’t making everything up. He watched as the General turned the medallion over in his hands and examined it, his face unreadable.
“You still haven’t told me anything that would explain why you have been gone for five days,” General Wolfensberger said as he offered the medallion back to Burchard.
“After we left Leosor Hollows, we headed straight for Camp Tooth. We knew at that point we would have to spend the night there or on the road but decided that would be acceptable given we had encountered rebels. I also wanted to make sure Captain Volrain knew about the rebels at Leosor Hollows. We made it to Camp Tooth just as the sun was setting and they were closing the gates for the day. But that’s where things got strange.”
Sir Peter blurted out, “Strange how?”
“When we entered Camp Tooth, all the knights drew swords on us. A knight in dark armor came forward and…he claimed he ate Captain Volrain. We were told that after we took a nap, we would meet with him,” Burchard said, his voice shaking slightly.
“Did I hear you correctly? You were told that Captain Volrain was eaten?” Sir Peter said incredulously.
Ruschmann nodded fervently. “Yes! Our plan was to find out more when we had this discussion with him, but we never had the chance.”
“Then how did you escape?” Sir Peter spoke quickly, then gave the General an apologetic glance.
Thankfully, Burchard thought that the General did not seem to mind the interruption.
“While I was asleep, the magic wolf Eos told me she was going to help us escape. When I woke up, there was a magic tunnel or something to Ruschmann’s cell, and then out of his cell going somewhere. We took it,” Burchard explained, giving Sir Peter a worried frown, unwilling to meet his father’s eyes.
General Wolfensberger began pacing. Burchard couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad sign, only that his father seemed just as unbalanced as he had been by the events that occurred at Camp Tooth. “Both of you believe that Camp Tooth is being held by some unidentified enemy who are cannibals?”
Burchard nodded in confirmation. “Yes, that is what we believe.”
“I will need some time to decide what course of action I should take. But, the two of you need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. I want you there with whoever I send to investigate Camp Tooth,” the General said decisively.
Sir Peter bowed. “We will take our leave so I can make sure they get as much time as possible to eat and rest before they depart again.”
The General waved his hand in dismissal, his attention now on some papers on the desk. Burchard didn’t need any more encouragement to know he should leave before his father changed his mind.
13
Sir Peter sat in an uncomfortable-looking wood chair in the barracks with an intense look, facing Burchard, who was sitting on his bed.
“Tell me again what the knight in dark armor looked like at Camp Tooth,” Sir Peter ordered.
Burchard wanted to roll his eyes. This was the third time he’d told his knight master and he wasn’t sure what the man hoped to accomplish by him continuously retelling the tale. Instead, like the dutiful squire he was supposed to be, he recounted everything he could remember about the time he was at Camp Tooth.
“Just as I suspected,” Sir Peter said, and got up to rummage through his chest of drawers. He came back with a folded piece of paper. “Read this.” He shoved the paper into Burchard’s hand.
Burchard took it and carefully unfolded the worn paper.
The few survivors were raving about a knight in darkened armor with a tattooed face and knights eating people. I examined some of the bodies and it definitely looked as though they had been eaten by something. I cannot determine whether it was human or animal teeth that did the damage to the flesh.
Unfortunately, none of these cannibal knights was captured or killed. All I have to go on is a couple of firsthand accounts. Honestly, I am not sure what to think. There have been other attacks, in small villages and isolated farmsteads, that had the same body parts strewn about. No one is going to believe me if I tell them what I suspect is happening. That he has returned.
Burchard chewed on his lip, not sure what to make of the journal entry or whatever it was. He was about to hand it back when he noticed the small sketch of a knight with tattoos on his face at the bottom of the page. He dropped the letter with a shudder.
Sir Peter picked it up. “You recognize the sketch, as I hoped you would.”
Burchard looked at him incredulously. “You want it to be that knight who eats people?”
Sir Peter clicked his tongue. “I would rather face an enemy we know than one we don’t. Wouldn’t you?”
“Well, when you put it that way…yes. But all we know is that it’s likely the same person mentioned on your piece of paper. How does that help us?” Burchard asked.
“Why is it that you are patient when you are around your father and not with me? Never mind, don’t answer that,” Sir Peter said. “I know more about this tattooed knight than what is in this old journal entry. But it is the only sketch that I have found. Which is why I showed it to you. To see if you recognized it.”
“I still don’t see where this is going. How does us knowing who this cannibal knight is help with anything?” Burchard demanded. The cannibal knight has been around for a while. So what?
Sir Peter opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and took a deep breath instead. “You read where it said, ‘That he has returned.’ It’s that ‘he’ I am concerned about. I have been working with the General for longer than you’ve been alive. I understand if I want him to believe me when I say that the cannibal knights are unnatural, I better have a way of backing up my statement.”
“Who do you think ‘he’ is referring to?” Burchard inquired.
“An old god of death and decay. There are legends about him and the commanders of his armies of the dead—legends that are better left buried,” Sir Peter answered with a shudder.
