Sir Peter slid into the seat on the left, leaving the one on the right for Burchard. Burchard pulled out the seat, bowed to his father, and then sat down quietly. He was not surprised when his father began speaking to Sir Peter, ignoring him completely. As they launched into a discussion of the day’s events, Burchard found himself listening while trying to be patient for when the food would arrive.
“I’ve heard a few rumors that Walter Pell and the Firebirds have resurfaced,” Sir Peter said conversationally to the General, piquing Burchard’s interest.
The General waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Windemere. I was there the day their encampment was attacked ten years ago, and it was confirmed that Walter Pell and the last of his Firebirds died that day. I was second in command for that campaign, and we had a mage with us to ensure our victory.”
Burchard raised his eyebrow. Mages can’t ensure your victory! What is my father talking about? Sir Peter caught his eye in a warning to stay silent.
Sir Peter replied in a sad voice, “Yes, but at what cost to Etria? I heard about that battle, and it was a devastating loss. I hope you are right that Walter Pell is dead, because if he is involved in any way with the Stinyian rebels, then we have our work cut out for us.”
The General’s eyes blazed with annoyance. “As I said, Walter Pell is dead. Mind you remember who is the general at Alderth Castle and who is just a knight.”
At that precise moment, servants started to bring out platters of food and set them on the table, helping to break the tension. Because of his favored position near the general, Burchard was able to get one of the first cuts of the venison and other dishes.
He was about to take a bite of a particularly juicy piece of venison when his father decided to direct his attention to him. “Tell me more about the bandits you encountered today, squire.”
Burchard set down his fork and gazed solemnly at his father. “General, I did not notice anything particularly remarkable about the bandits. They seemed most interested in acquiring my horse and stealing anything I had of value. Is there some specific attribute you want to know about?”
The General tugged at his lip in thought before responding. “No, there is not a specific attribute. There have been an increased number of bandit attacks lately, but it still appears as though they are random. If I can acquire evidence indicating that the bandits are becoming an organized unit or that it is instead a group of rebels with a leader…then I have permission from King Roland to do what I can to eradicate the problem. However, with the very real threat of Stinyian rebels trying to gain a foothold at our northern border, I cannot afford to waste my men on a wild goose chase.”
Burchard opened his mouth to reply, but Sir Peter caught his eye and shook his head. Blowing out his breath, Burchard took the unspoken advice of his knight master and did not say what was on his mind. Instead, he picked up the piece of bread on his plate and began to eat it. His father’s comment was a reminder of how everyone in Alderth Castle was already on alert to move out at a moment’s notice due to the threat Stinyian rebels presented. Meaning he must eat every chance he had; otherwise, he could be caught hungry out in the field.
As the General’s attention returned to Sir Peter, Burchard turned to see who was on his other side. Much to his surprise it was Lady Gladys, daughter to Colonel Lincoln Frost. The colonel was a few seats down.
Burchard put a smile on his face and bowed from his seat. “M’lady, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Lady Gladys rolled her eyes and slapped at his arm lightly. “Why are you being formal?” Burchard tipped his head toward the General, watching as she caught his meaning. “Squire Burchard, how was your day?” she asked in her most ladylike voice.
Burchard started to smirk but caught himself. Is this another one of his tests? To see if I can screw things up? Leaning in toward Lady Gladys, he replied, “I delivered a letter to a farmer and my horse got hurt, so I had to walk back.” Taking a deep breath, the smell of the venison tantalizing him again, he slowly cut his slice into smaller, more manageable bites, not sure what else to say to Lady Gladys. Thankfully Lady Gladys was willing to keep up the pretense of proper etiquette and followed his lead, eating her venison.
Burchard had been stunned last week when the colonel showed up with his daughter in tow. He hadn’t been the only one who shared his thoughts on the matter. General Wolfensberger was not pleased to have a fourteen-year-old noble girl within Alderth Castle and did not hesitate to voice his feelings vehemently to Colonel Frost in the courtyard for everyone to hear.
Colonel Frost did not seem to share the General’s concerns enough to alter his plan of having his daughter reside at the castle, which Burchard had to admit he found intriguing. What about Lady Gladys makes her father unafraid about being surrounded by knights? Although the castle staff comprised adults as well as boys and girls ten years old and up, females of noble birth were held to certain expectations, and being the only noblewoman in a castle with over one thousand knights could be risky business.
Since her arrival, Burchard had tried to go out of his way to ensure that Lady Gladys was treated well by the knights within the castle, the same way that his older sister Anne would do when a daughter of a nobleman visited Wolfensberger Castle.
“Is your horse OK?” Concern lowered Lady Gladys’s voice an octave.
Burchard shrugged. “He’ll survive. Captain Thomas, one of the medics, cleaned up the wound and—”
Suddenly, the dining hall doors burst open, and a filthy young man with matted black hair plastered to his face, dark-brown skin, and mud-splattered leather armor stumbled into the room. A well-worn scabbard swung at his side, holding his sword.
Burchard leapt out of his seat, recognizing fellow squire Ruschmann Blackwell immediately and forgetting any obligations he might have to Lady Gladys. “Ru!” he shouted as he ran toward his friend as fast as he could, shoving anyone blocking his path out of the way. He skidded to a halt in front of Ruschmann and grabbed his friend by the arms, ignoring the slippery feeling of the mud under his hands.
Burchard felt his pulse quickening as he took in Ruschmann’s appearance and what it meant. “What happened? Where’s Sir Daniel?”
Gasping for air, Ruschmann shook his head. Someone reached out and offered a mug of something. Burchard grasped it and held it to his friend’s lips.
After what felt like hours but was only moments, Ruschmann pushed away the mug. “Sir Daniel sent me here to come get help. We were on our way here when a group of Stinyian rebels attacked us.”
Burchard could feel a body brushing against his back. He bristled at the close contact, then chided himself; whoever it was just wanted to help Ruschmann.
The General spoke, causing Burchard to jump slightly. He hadn’t realized it was his father behind him. “How many rebels?”
Ruschmann closed his eyes for a moment. Burchard watched his friend, unsure if he had been injured too or was just tired. When his eyes opened, Ruschmann gazed over Burchard’s shoulder to the General. “There were twenty, or at least there were when I left. We were outnumbered but our squad seemed to have more training than the Stinyians. I’m not sure how long Sir Daniel’s men are going to last, though. They were in rough shape when he ordered me to leave. We need to hurry.”
Burchard kept his attention on his friend, his gaze wandering over Ruschmann, searching for hints of an injury. Other than dirt and a few smears of blood, Ruschmann appeared unscathed.
Hesitating for a moment before speaking, Burchard offered his hand to Ruschmann. “Come with me. I can take you to see the medic.” Behind him, he could hear his father giving orders to those around him and people leaving the dining hall to gather their weapons.
Much to his surprise, Burchard’s friend shook his head. “I need to go with them. I cannot abandon Sir Daniel.”
Burchard started to protest, but Ruschmann squeezed his arm. “You would feel the same way if it was Sir Peter. Besides, this is not my blood.”
Taking a deep breath, Burchard nodded. “Then I will come with you.”
“No, you will not,” said a firm voice behind him.
Burchard’s shoulders slumped. He pivoted so he could face his father. Afraid to meet his eyes, he focused on his father’s shoulder.
“You do not have a horse; therefore, you cannot go,” the General grudgingly explained.
Burchard bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying something that would get him locked in the stocks again.
The third day he had been at Alderth Castle, his father had questioned what he was doing when he dropped his saddlebags in front of the barracks to save himself from having to pack them from the barn. The General had told him to pick them up, and Burchard had refused to obey the direct order in front of two squads of knights. The General had then dragged him by the arm across the courtyard and put him in the stocks for the whole day.
Instead of responding, he bowed and departed the dining hall. He knew there was a good chance he would get in trouble for leaving without a formal dismissal, but he decided it would be safer than staying and speaking his mind. The last thing Burchard wanted to do was compromise his best friend’s ability to save his knight master by being the cause of a delay.
Outside of the dining hall, Burchard glanced around the dimly lit stone hallway before slipping out one of the castle side doors and into the courtyard. He jogged over to the dark barracks that he had been assigned to. Hurrying toward his belongings in the darkness, Burchard was almost to his bed when he stumbled on his own feet and fell to his knees.
