Burchard couldn’t believe that his brother was behaving like a proper squire and was not out for his blood. Since it was only his second day back, Burchard had been hoping to not have to push himself to his limits. Sweat trickled down his back and neck. He gazed at Reggie, assessing what his next move was and taking note of any weaknesses. The sweat was rolling down his brother’s face. Burchard grinned wolfishly at his brother before beginning his combination. Low right, feint high left backhand, swap to left hand, and finish with a sweeping undercut from the left. For this move, he added slightly more speed than they’d been practicing with. His brother was blinking rapidly, trying to clear the sweat out of his eyes, and didn’t realize Burchard had feinted. Instead, he fell right into the trap, and the end of Burchard’s sword caressed his brother’s exposed throat.
“I yield,” Reggie said softly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Thank you. This was fun.”
Eyebrows raised, Burchard, hesitated a second before replying. “It was.”
“I’m…I’m sorry for before. It’s just…Father pushes us both so hard. Sometimes it’s hard to let go of old feelings,” Reggie explained, catching Burchard off guard again.
He had not expected his brother to be civil or to ever offer him an explanation about his past behavior. Burchard couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He sheathed his sword, then glanced at his brother. “Good luck. Against the rebels, I mean.”
Reggie gave him a slight smile and a two-fingered salute. “Thanks, brother.”
Burchard watched as Reggie walked toward the barracks. Then, Sir Peter walked over. “That went well.”
Burchard glanced at his knight master. “Not what I expected.”
“Maybe the encounter with Ossa made him realize the error of his ways,” Sir Peter pointed out.
“Perhaps. But after six years of being treated like I’m worthless to him, I struggle to believe that one moment in his life has made such an impact,” Burchard responded.
“How do you feel?” Sir Peter asked, his eyes roving over the squire as though looking for any outward sign that the sparring had pushed him too hard, too soon.
Burchard shrugged. “Like I had the perfect amount of exercise and that if I continued it would not go well.”
Sir Peter smiled. “Good, I’m glad you are in tune enough with your body and the training to be able to judge what is enough or too much. Walk with me.” Sir Peter started walking away before Burchard realized his knight master had asked him to come along. “When the pages come, I hope you will practice with them and help them if they are making mistakes. It is a good opportunity for you to work with others close to your age. One day, when you’re knights, it’s likely you’ll be fighting side by side.”
Burchard gave Sir Peter a confused look. “You don’t want me to befriend all of them, do you?”
Sir Peter chuckled. “No that is not what I am saying. I just wanted to encourage you to work with them. Be friendly. People remember how you treat them, Burchard.”
Burchard snorted. “I’m not going to bite them.”
“Make sure they know that,” Sir Peter said gently.
19
Burchard walked into the dining hall, which, like the rest of Alderth Castle, was strangely silent. The pages were supposed to arrive soon, which would help fill the void some. He’d never been at the castle when it was empty and never realized how much he enjoyed the buzz of knights and infantry going about their tasks. Shaking his head, he made a beeline for the table in the back that had a small assortment of food laid out: a basket of rolls, a platter with slices of cold meat, and a pot of stew. There was also a stack of plates and cups full of utensils. With the General and the officers gone, he knew that the meals would be far more relaxed. Or at least he hoped they would be. He didn’t know Sir Foxbright or if he would demand the castle staff revert to formal meals upon his arrival.
Burchard was just finishing his last bite of stew when there was a commotion at the doors to the dining hall. They finally pushed open and a group of pages stumbled in and then landed in a heap. An amused smile tugged at his lips. Eager bunch. Burchard picked up his plate and set it on the second table along the wall for dirty dishes. Then, he made his way down toward the pages. By the time he got there, they were bunched together in a group. Some gazed at him with awe, others with indifference.
“There’s food waiting on the table in the back,” Burchard said, motioning behind him.
The pages surged forward around him, some almost running in their eagerness to reach the food. The last page in the group paused before him.
“Burchard,” he said with a slight smile.
Burchard gazed at the page in surprise. I forgot about my brother. Frustration bubbled up in him. He bit his lip in an effort to keep it from his voice, since it was not directed at his brother, but at himself. “Theodore.”
“You forgot,” Theodore Wolfensberger said, green eyes locked with blue.
Burchard blew out his breath slowly. “I’m sorry, I did forget.”
Theodore shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. You have important duties as a squire that I’m sure keep you busy.”
Burchard grimaced at the reminder. “It’s not an excuse. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. For now, let’s get you some hot food.”
He slung his arm over Theodore’s shoulder, and together they walked in companionable silence to the table with food. Burchard had never been very close with his younger brother. Theodore was only training to become a knight because their father had insisted. He would have preferred to help manage the family castle than learn about weapons. Still, he had spent two years with him at the Trinity Page School. He shouldn’t have forgotten.
More pages found their way into the dining hall until at last Sir Foxbright came in. Burchard hid his surprise, raising his hand as though to cover a sneeze, when the knight shut the door behind him. Burchard had been expecting more instructors to come since all the pages were here. He knew it wasn’t his place to question, so he would not voice his concern aloud, but one knight to manage forty pages for who knew how long seemed unfair.
Father can command thousands of knights without needing officers. How hard can it be to manage forty pages? he reminded himself. I guess I should see what techniques Sir Foxbright uses to keep the pages in line.
Although he wasn’t hungry, Burchard’s curiosity about Sir Foxbright got the better of him. He went to the back of the line of pages and selected a roll, then found himself a seat.
A small boy—page, he corrected himself—sat in the seat to his left. The boy had deep red hair that stuck out every which way. Given his size, Burchard assumed the page was a first-year. To his right was another small page with curly black hair, although he wasn’t quite as tiny as the redhead. Across the table from him were some clearly older pages who looked about twelve, Theodore’s age. Burchard nibbled on his roll and tried to look relaxed. He wasn’t sure how many of the pages remembered him since he’d only been a squire for about four months. Burchard had only been close to Ruschmann when he was a page. None of the others bothered to get to know him.
Not that I did anything to encourage them to get to know me, he thought.
A tug on his left shirt sleeve had him gazing into the light-brown eyes of the redheaded page. “Hello,” he said.
“Hi!” said the page excitedly. “You’re Burchard Wolfensberger, right?”
Burchard felt his lips starting to curve upward in a smile. “Yes, I am. Who are you?”
The page stuck his hand out, banging his shoulder into Burchard’s. “I’m Armand. Pleased to meet you.”
Burchard took the offered hand. “Burchard. Nice to meet you too. How do you know who I am?”
