“What if Ru and I look for proof? An object or something?” Burchard suggested.
Sir Peter shook his head. “No, it’s too risky. What if you are captured again?”
“Do we just sit idly by while Reggie prances around then?” Burchard growled. Ruschmann placed a comforting hand on Burchard’s leg.
“Yes, we must just watch and wait. If an opportunity arises, then we will take it. Let’s eat and go to sleep,” Sir Daniel said.
A while later, belly full of dried beef and fresh bread, Burchard was wrapped in his fur-lined bedroll. He fell asleep before he could say good night to Ruschmann.
Burchard opened his eyes and blinked. He was in the strange misty place. Eos padded up to him. To his surprise, she bared her teeth at him.
You must leave Camp Tooth immediately. No good will come of you being here again, Eos snarled in his mind.
I have orders that I must follow, Burchard said resolutely.
Disobey them if you must, but you must go back to Alderth Castle. Do not return to Camp Tooth. The wolf snapped her teeth, narrowly missing his fingers, as though that would emphasize her demand.
Before he could reply to Eos again, she disappeared. Burchard found himself standing alone. A shiver ran down his spine, and he took a tentative step forward. When nothing happened, he took a few more steps, gaining confidence as he went. Nothing appeared out of the fog to stop him.
Up ahead, he could see what seemed to be a large person emerging out of the fog. Burchard quickened his pace, wanting to speak to this new person. The fog dropped, revealing a knight in darkened, almost-black armor with its back toward him. Long gray hair cascaded down the knight’s back, making Burchard momentarily wonder if the knight was a woman.
Slowly, the knight turned around, revealing a face covered in black tattoos of a skull. But it was the eyes that terrified Burchard, for there were none, just bottomless black pits.
Burchard tried turning to run, but his limbs were frozen in place. Terror coursed through him. He knew that this was what he had faced the other day in Camp Tooth and what his brother was now sharing a meal with, likely why Eos had been warning him.
“Burchard!” A rough hand shook his arm, the voice soft but urgent. “Burchard!”
Burchard forced his eyes open and jumped, knocking his forehead into Ruschmann’s. Growling and rubbing his forehead with his hand, he sat up and started to speak, but Ruschmann shook his head and held his finger to his mouth. Mind still reeling from the dream and unsure if this was another dream or real, he decided to follow Ruschmann’s instructions and stayed silent.
Then he heard it—the muffled sound of clanking metal. Swords, his mind supplied. He could also hear faint howling that seemed to be coming closer. Eyebrows raised in alarm, Burchard looked to Ruschmann, and his friend nodded. Cautiously, Burchard untangled himself from his bedroll and buckled his scabbard on. The noises seemed to be far enough away that Burchard thought they were safe where they were, but inside the tent, they couldn’t see anything.
With a nod, Ruschmann, sword ready, pulled the tent flap open. The camp was shrouded in darkness; the fire had gone out, and the trees were blocking the moon. Burchard could not tell where Sir Peter and Sir Daniel were, but he hoped they were unharmed. The two squires edged out of the tent.
When they got far enough away from the tent, the familiar shapes of their two knight masters became visible. They were near the other tent with their swords at the ready too.
For a moment, it felt as if the darkness around them was pressing heavily on Burchard, almost as though it were trying to go through him. When the pressure let up, they were surrounded by knights in plate armor. It was hard to make out much else about them in the darkness. He also wasn’t sure how many there were.
Unfortunately for Burchard and his companions, the knights did not seem to be as affected by the darkness as they were. One moment the four Etrians were surrounded; the next, blades were flashing through the air. Burchard brought his sword up just in time to block a strike from his left, forcing him to step away from Ruschmann. The knight struck but left enough of an opening for Burchard to parry. Step by step, Burchard gained ground on the knight, driving him away from the camp.
Until he realized that this had been a ploy to get him away from the others. When they reached the tree line on the back side of the camp, two more knights appeared from within the woods. All three of them glowed eerily, as though they had magic of some sort. The glowing permitted Burchard to see the tattoos on their faces. Not a full skull like in his dream but instead a half-mask, from forehead to the tip of the nose. As one, they charged him.
Burchard pivoted to the right at the last moment and swept his sword in an undercut. It slid off the knight’s armor. Using the momentum of the sword to carry him, Burchard spun, swinging his sword in an arc toward the exposed gap in the armor at the armpit. Luck was with him, and he could feel as the sword sliced into flesh. Blood dripped down the knight’s armor.
Distracted by the bleeding knight in front of him, Burchard almost didn’t block the next strike that came from one of the other knights in time. He blocked and blocked, trying to get a measure of them and whether they were just trying to power through his defenses or if they were coordinating. It seemed like they were attempting to coordinate, and a few of their strikes did successfully connect. Burchard winced as one sliced through his heavy coat and nicked his arm. Running his mind through different training exercises Sir Peter had drilled him on, he came up with a plan.
He took a few steps back, then ran straight for the two knights and the gap between them. They momentarily froze as he squeezed through the gap. He pulled out a long knife, drove it into the armpit of the knight on his left, and twisted. The knight collapsed, and Burchard yanked his knife out, leaping out of the way, as the knight on his right let out an unearthly shriek before jabbing his sword toward Burchard’s stomach. Burchard stepped to the side and swept his sword up into the opening the knight had unwittingly made. His sword struck hard against the plate armor. He spun to the left and parried, then stumbled as he heard what he thought was a wolf howl that sounded very, very close.
The knight grinned at Burchard, showing unnaturally sharp, pointy teeth, before launching itself at him. The knight’s sword sliced through Burchard’s left shoulder. As Burchard grunted in pain, the wolf howled again, and Burchard tripped over his own feet, falling to the ground with a groan. His left shoulder stung.
Get up, he commanded himself. The others are fighting too. Behind him, within the camp, he could hear the clang of swords. He hoped the others were faring better than he seemed to be. He rolled to the side as the knight’s sword came slashing down. Scrambling to his feet, Burchard blocked the next strike, trying to regain his footing. The swords hissed as the blades slid along each other. The knight came at him with a low strike. When the knight grinned at him, Burchard swung to parry and reversed his sword, sweeping it up in an arc toward his head.
The sword skimmed his ear. Gasping as pain seared through it, Burchard fell to his knees as his vision swam before him. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, he adjusted his grip on his sword, the soft leather a welcoming touch.
Crunch, crack.
Burchard turned slowly, vision starting to go dark again as a knight spun toward him, sword raised. A growl and a blur rocketed through the trees at Burchard’s left side, launching into the air and straight into the tattooed knight.
Burchard adjusted himself, trying to shake off the pain and vertigo, knowing that he would perish either to the black dog or the knight if he didn’t.
The knight stumbled under the impact of the dog and corrected himself clumsily. The dog leapt in the air and somehow was able to latch its jaws onto the man’s armpit. Balancing on its hind legs, the dog shook its head, driving those teeth farther into the flesh. Not wanting to lose his chance and praying he wouldn’t faint, Burchard levered himself up with his sword, then took a few steps toward the knight, swinging his sword to the right. Much to his surprise, the knight parried one-handed. The other two had been completely disabled when he had sliced that vulnerable area; he wondered what made this one different.
Sparks flew as the swords met again. The big black dog was growling and circling them, occasionally darting in to snap at the knight, but surprisingly leaving Burchard alone.
Burchard danced back and to the side before sweeping up with an undercut to disarm the knight. Just as he was about to complete the move, everything went black. He stumbled to the ground, groaning. Unable to make his eyes open, Burchard waited for the inevitable killing blow to be delivered by the knight. Instead, he heard a terrible scream followed by a yelp from the dog, and then silence.
“Burchard?” Sir Peter’s voice called from far away. Burchard moved his fingers first before cracking his eyes open slightly. Sir Peter’s concerned face filled his vision. “You’re alive!”
Groaning, Burchard rolled to his side, wanting to get up. The dampness from the dead leaves soaked through his tunic.
“Slowly,” his knight master warned.
Grunting but following the advice, Burchard slowly sat up and opened his eyes all the way.
