“OK. Ready?”
At Ruschmann’s nod, Burchard counted to three, then boosted his friend into the saddle. Ruschmann swayed precariously before he found his balance.
Burchard stepped away. His limbs felt all noodly, and he wasn’t sure if he’d manage getting into his own saddle without help at this point.
Fang pressed against his leg and gave his hand a lick. “Thanks, Fang,” he said softly, running a gentle hand over her head.
Sir Peter handed Burchard Chip’s reins. Burchard took them and dragged himself into the saddle before his legs could protest. He glanced over at Ruschmann, who gave him a wan smile. Reggie found his horse somewhere and was mounted next to Sir Daniel.
“Is everyone ready?” Sir Daniel asked. Without waiting for confirmation, the knight clucked, and they headed out at a brisk walk. Burchard was about to protest the slow speed when he realized that with all five of them injured to some extent, and Ruschmann unable to bear weight on his right foot, a brisk walk was the smartest pace. It would just take most of the day to get back to Alderth Castle.
Somehow Reggie ended up riding next to Burchard. Burchard peered at his brother through his lashes, not sure what his brother wanted.
“What are we going to tell Father?” Reggie said, startling Burchard out of his thoughts.
“The truth,” Burchard said matter-of-factly.
Reggie chuckled without mirth. “You of all people should know that Father would not believe me if I told him I was being controlled by Ossa, a commander of a dark god, and that the whole squad was killed because of it.”
“He’s more likely to believe you than me,” Burchard pointed out.
“I think all five of us can agree that what happened at Camp Tooth is a major concern. But how do we convince the General that he needs to turn his attention to something other than the Stinyian rebels?” Reggie continued.
Sir Daniel slowed his horse down so he was on Burchard’s other side. “Your father is not a stupid man. He should take the loss of a squad of knights as a serious threat. Perhaps telling him that the rebels have joined forces with a dark mage will be sufficient. I hope for our sake that Ossa is not connected to the Stinyian rebels.” He paused. “Burchard, you were trapped in the garden with him. Did he say anything to you that could indicate what his purpose is?”
Burchard tugged at his lip with his finger, trying to remember what Ossa had said. “He said he wanted to kill me. That the attack was targeting me specifically. I still don’t get why a god or his commander would care about me. I’m just a first-year squire.”
Sir Daniel fiddled with his reins. “I agree. It doesn’t make much sense. Perhaps there is more to it, or…” He hesitated, clearly considering his next words. “Or it is just a way to draw the General into a direct confrontation. It is no secret he is the most skilled general within the Etrian ranks and has the ear of King Roland. Taking him out of play would have a huge impact on the war against the Stinyian rebels.”
Burchard nodded. Sir Daniel was right. His father was a valuable piece of Etria’s defenses, and his demise would be a big blow to the king. That must be what Ossa was planning.
Chip stopped moving, and Burchard felt himself tipping sideways. Hastily gripping the saddle to hold himself in place, he realized they had reached Alderth Castle. I must have fallen asleep. Rubbing his eyes with his hand, he saw that Fang was sticking close to Chip. Clearly the wolf and horse had come to some agreement.
Sir Peter walked over to Burchard. His horse was being led away by one of the grooms. “You need to get patched up properly. Then some food and rest.”
“What about the General?” Burchard said softly, trying to wake up more.
Sir Peter shook his head. “He can wait. Sir Daniel will give him a brief report, and the rest of us will meet with him tomorrow. Captain Thomas will get Fang settled with some meat.”
Burchard kept silent and focused on dismounting and staying on two feet. He wobbled back and forth a bit, using the stirrup for balance before he felt steady enough to step away from Chip. A groom came up to them and took Chip’s reins, leading her into the stable.
“Let’s go,” Sir Peter said. With a light hand on Burchard’s elbow, he guided the squire toward their barracks. Burchard was too tired to protest that they were going the wrong way.
When they got to his bunk, Captain Thomas, the medic, was there waiting. Sir Peter directed Burchard to sit in the chair. A small stool was brought over with a bowl of steaming stew. He could see the pieces of meat and vegetables floating in the thick brown sauce. A chunk of crusty bread rested next to it.
Captain Thomas smiled at him. “I’ll patch up your arm while you eat, and then you can get some rest.”
Burchard merely nodded in agreement and took a big bite of stew, sighing in satisfaction at the perfectly spiced venison. Focusing on his food, he was only vaguely aware of his wound being washed, stitched, and then wrapped in a clean bandage. The slice to his ear was cleaned and left unwrapped, not deep enough to warrant stitches.
“All finished. Perfect timing, too, since you’re on your last bite.” The medic began putting away his supplies. “I would recommend taking it easy with your arm for a few days to give yourself a chance to heal. No sword practice or hand-to-hand combat for three days, but you can ride or run without need for caution,” Captain Thomas instructed.
Burchard nodded and set his bowl on top of the dresser. “I will follow your instructions.” He was about to say more, but he could not stifle his yawn. Once the first one escaped, he kept yawning.
Captain Thomas gave his arm a squeeze. “Just go to sleep. I’ll find you tomorrow and remind you.” The captain headed toward the barracks door, leaving Burchard in the silent building. Taking a deep breath, he undressed, and then slid under the covers on his bed. He was asleep before his head touched the pillow.
A soft, warm piece of fabric was touching his cheek. Burchard’s eyes fluttered open and he was peering straight into the golden eyes of Fang, her tongue lolling from her mouth. Tongue, not fabric, he corrected himself.
“Good morning,” he murmured to the wolf, wondering how she managed to sneak into the barracks. Then, he realized he couldn’t move. She was lying on top of him, and the bed was very narrow. He also was surprised at how much she weighed. Stretched out as she was, she happened to be almost as tall as he was. Sliding his arm out from under Fang and the covers, he ran his fingers through her coarse black fur.
Burchard heard a thud and some uneven steps at the end of the bunk, and then Ruschmann appeared in the pale light streaming through the shutters. He had a set of wooden crutches and was hopping around to avoid putting weight on the one foot. Ruschmann peered at Fang in concern.
“Scared?” Burchard teased.
“Aren’t you a little bit? She could just end you right there in your bed, and you’d be helpless,” Ruschmann countered.
Burchard attempted to shrug but wasn’t sure if his friend could even see the movement with Fang on top of him. “Pretty sure if she wanted me dead, I’d be dead. How’s your foot?”
“Better than it was when we got here last night. Captain Thomas wants the healer to see it today. He did what he could last night but felt it wasn’t a broken bone, just bruised muscles, and that sleeping would not slow down the healing process,” Ruschmann explained.
Burchard tried to sit up, but Fang was not moving. “Fang, I need you to move. I can’t just stay in bed all day.”
The wolf licked his face from chin to forehead before hopping off the bed. Then, he was able to sit up and slide his feet out from under the covers. His arm was stiff, but thankfully the pain had reduced to just a dull throb. He glanced at Ruschmann, noting he was dressed.
“Breakfast in the hall and then a meeting with the General?” Burchard guessed.
