Armand gave him a broad smile. “Oh, everyone knows who you are. Especially after your last year as a page when you bested Sir Luther Fernwood during your final fourth-year sword test.”
Burchard grimaced. He’d been trying to forget that test.
Sir Fernwood had entered the sparring circle confident and cocky. Burchard was the second-to-last fourth-year, and Sir Fernwood had already had gone against two other pages who quickly crumbled under his aggressive sword work. But Burchard had been watching Sir Fernwood, and he had been ready. The knight had some tells. He’d rock back on his right foot just before he would do an upper strike, and he would roll his left shoulder before pivoting. Burchard knew that he had to prove to his instructors he deserved to be promoted to a squire, so he couldn’t just quickly defeat Sir Fernwood. He had to ensure they had time to evaluate his skill set.
Which meant that for his test he played a game of cat and mouse with Sir Fernwood. Letting the knight get in a strike here or there, making it seem as though Sir Fernwood was better at sword work and that Burchard’s moves were more out of luck than skill. He could feel sweat trickling down his back and threatening to loosen his grip on his sword. When Burchard had felt certain that the demonstration had gone on long enough, he struck hard and fast. Sir Fernwood was caught off guard and barely had time to block Burchard’s rapid set of high and low strikes. He then swapped his sword to his left hand and performed a sweeping uppercut, switched back to his right, feinted to the left, and pivoted. Sir Fernwood, sword waving wildly through the air but not accomplishing anything, failed at blocking Burchard’s sword as it swept up and caressed his neck.
Burchard felt light tug on his sleeve. “Are you OK?” Armand asked with concern.
Burchard squeezed his eyes shut then opened them. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just…remembering.” A shudder went through him as he recalled the rage in his father’s eyes when he had looked up at him after Sir Foxbright had declared he had passed his test. He had known the General would react this way if Burchard used the sword skills he had and defeated Sir Fernwood. The General considered defeating an individual who is a higher training level or rank than one’s own as being disrespectful, regardless of how difficult such a feat would be. Just as he had reacted when he had seen Burchard defeat Reggie the day he was leaving to become a page.
“Are you sure? You keep getting the strangest look on your face,” Armand queried.
Burchard frowned. “Yes, I’m sure. Just a bad memory is all.”
“How would passing your fourth-year test be a bad memory?” Armand asked.
Burchard gaped at him, wondering how the page had known what he was thinking about. “If you knew about my relationship with my father you would understand,” he muttered, then clamped his lips shut before he said anything else—anything that would earn him a whipping if his father heard about it.
“If he wasn’t proud of you for that test, then he must not know how amazing you are,” Armand declared.
“You were there?” Burchard asked suspiciously.
Armand laughed. “Of course I was there, silly! My father is Sir Foxbright. He wanted me to see how the year-end tests went so that I would know what to expect for the next four years. Seriously though, the way you executed your test was absolutely brilliant. How did you know what to expect?”
Burchard shrugged. “I have learned to observe my opponents if possible. If you study someone long enough you can discover any tells or weaknesses and then use them to your advantage.”
“Can you teach me?” Armand asked eagerly.
Burchard looked away. This page doesn’t even know me, and he wants me to teach him. I should say no, but…I can’t forget what Sir Peter said. “If we have time, yes, I can teach you. Since all the knights are gone, other than Sir Foxbright, it will be more difficult for you to learn. But I am sure I can teach you something. Maybe we can talk Sir Foxbright into sparring with Ruschmann.”
Armand was practically bouncing in his seat. “I am sure Father will agree. Let me go ask him.”
Before Burchard could open his mouth to protest, Armand had leapt out of his seat, practically toppling it over in his haste, and raced down to where Sir Foxbright was eating at the head of the table. He watched as the knight gave his son his full attention and was even smiling as Armand explained what he wanted. The last thing they did was hug before Armand came bouncing back toward his chair. Burchard realized then that some fathers did actually love their children. He just wasn’t one of the lucky ones.
Beaming, Armand slid into his seat. “He said yes. But he wants to give everyone a few days to settle in and get into our new routine before adding a new skill to learn.” The page then turned his attention to his bowl of stew and dug in. Burchard let out his breath in relief and took a large bite of his roll.
Focusing on the roll, Burchard jumped when there was a familiar tug on his sleeve. He glanced at Armand’s bowl and saw it was completely spotless.
“Hungry?” Burchard teased.
Armand smiled. “I think I’m always hungry.”
“There’s still some stew if you want more,” Burchard replied
Armand shrugged. “I’m fine for now. I might grab a roll to take with me, just in case. Have you met everyone?”
Burchard raised an eyebrow. “I know the castle staff.”
Armand tilted his head to the side. “I meant the pages. Have you met the pages yet?”
“No, you lot just arrived. When was I supposed to meet them?” Burchard responded, trying to keep his voice light.
“Right, sorry.” Armand said, smile falling.
From Burchard’s right side came a whiny voice. “You haven’t stopped talking long enough for Burchard to talk to anyone.”
Burchard peered at the page with curly brown hair for a moment, then back at Armand. “He does have a valid point.”
Armand shrugged. “Everyone says I talk too much. But if you stay silent all the time, then you don’t learn anything new. You never know when valuable information will come along. It certainly won’t if you just stand in the corner brooding.”
The curly-haired page huffed out his breath. “I do not stand in the corner and brood.”
Burchard covered his mouth with his hand to hide his chuckle. “What’s your name?”
The curly-haired page looked up at him, hazel eyes bright. “Frederick, but everyone calls me Freddy.”
“Nice to meet you, Freddy,” Burchard stated. He heard the scraping of chairs along the table as pages started to stand up to clear their plates. “I think that’s my cue to leave so you two can follow whatever orders Sir Foxbright needs to give you.”
Armand gave him a frown.
“I’m not leaving the castle.” Not that I have anywhere to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow for training.” With that, Burchard shoved the rest of his roll in his mouth, dusted off the crumbs from his pants, and departed.
20
Burchard lay in his bed, wide awake. His hand trailed idly over Fang’s back, mulling over his conversation with Armand and the other page, Freddy. At some point, he must have fallen asleep.
