Burchard rolled his eyes. He had to admit that the drill was incredibly boring, but training was still training. Mastery of those three blocks and strikes had been useful more than once when he was in the field. He stepped sideways and chopped down at Ruschmann’s sword. They slid farther and farther out of the line, but as he felt himself relax more, he admitted how right Ruschmann had been; the basic drills were boring. They did serve as a good warm-up, but beyond that, for two squires with combat experience, they were not terribly helpful.
The wooden practice swords crossed, and Burchard adjusted his grip. Sir Foxbright had not interrupted their practice, but Burchard was sorely tempted to ditch the wooden swords altogether.
At the front of the group, an ahem, and then Sir Foxbright’s voice reached them. “Pages, go take a water break. Squires, please come here.”
Burchard groaned. “See what you did. Now we’re going to get in trouble.”
Ruschmann ignored him completely as they stopped in front of the knight, both squires offering him a formal bow.
“Would you mind doing a demonstration?” Sir Foxbright asked.
Ruschmann smirked at Burchard before answering. “What kind of demonstration?”
“Sword work with your real swords. It doesn’t have to be long. I just want them to see how steel is different than wood. I’m also having the castle staff set up a table with a variety of swords and other weapons, wooden and real, for them to examine after your demonstration,” Sir Foxbright explained.
“Sure, we would be happy to do the demonstration,” Ruschmann said brightly. Sir Foxbright turned and walked over to the pages, presumably to explain about the demonstration. Once the knight’s back was turned, Ruschmann elbowed Burchard in the middle.
A growl escaped Burchard’s lips. “What was that for?”
“You’re just standing here like a statue,” Ruschmann retorted.
Lip curling, Burchard glowered at him. “I wasn’t aware that we both had to respond. You do know I would have said I disagreed if that were the case.” He stepped away from Ruschmann, nostrils flaring, and took a deep breath. I need to chill out. He’s just teasing me. He glanced over to where the pages were. Sir Foxbright had found some old benches that looked like they had seen better days, but all forty pages were seated. Some were observing the two squires, others chatted quietly among themselves.
Burchard continued to take deep breaths, willing himself to calm so that he could focus on the demonstration. He slowly made his way to the center of the training ring and unsheathed his sword, holding it in his right hand. He did a few experimental swings to readjust to the comfortable weight of his weapon.
“Ready when you are,” he said softly to Ruschmann.
Ruschmann nodded and they crossed swords. “One. Two. Three.”
Burchard darted to the side, trying to come up behind Ruschmann, but Ruschmann was anticipating the move and pivoted, parrying the strike. Each strike and parry was executed quickly. Burchard wondered if the pages could follow what they were doing or not. He hesitated, and Ruschmann took the opening, running his sword tip along Burchard’s ribs.
“What?” Ruschmann asked, taking a step back.
“Are we going too fast? Can they see what we’re doing?” Burchard queried, before slicing the air with a high strike.
“I think Sir Foxbright would tell us if it was too fast. But I can slow down a hair if you want,” Ruschmann replied, then stepped to the left as he swung in a low strike.
Burchard swept his sword down to block, then he swapped his sword to his left hand. When he used his left, he didn’t have the same amount of speed as with the right, but he was just as accurate. He watched as Ruschmann adjusted his position before stepping forward and slashing for Burchard’s middle. Burchard blocked the middle strike, twisted his hand, and the swords slid against each other. He braced, adding more pressure. Ruschmann stepped to the right, disengaged his sword, and swung low at Burchard’s legs. Burchard jumped over the sword and, grinning, swapped hands again. Ruschmann’s momentum with the low strike carried him forward past Burchard, and Burchard brought the flat of his sword down, slapping Ruschmann’s back. Ruschmann let go of his sword and fell flat on the ground.
Burchard chuckled, removing his sword from his friend’s back. “Wasn’t that a little overkill?” he said, offering Ruschmann a hand to get up.
Ruschmann shrugged. “Eh, they’re just pages. They don’t need to know how to get out of that particular attack yet.”
Together they walked over to the benches. Sir Foxbright smiled with approval.
“Thank you. The two of you are welcome to join us or do your own thing for the rest of the day. After the weapon review, the pages will have lunch, and then we will review battle strategies from the Forest War of 557.”
“I need to think about it,” Burchard replied.
“I’m in,” Ruschmann said. “Thanks for the invite.”
Burchard was about to respond again when his stomach gurgled loud enough that even some of the pages pointed at him and snickered. “I’ll see you in the dining hall.”
In one quick motion, he sheathed his sword and headed at a brisk walk in the direction of the dining hall, not bothering to see if Ruschmann was following or not.
22
Burchard was in the stable, tacking up Chip. The lessons in battle strategy with Sir Foxbright had been fascinating, but after two days of being cooped up in the castle, he was restless. Today, instead of accepting the invitation to join the battle strategy lesson, he was going for a ride. A small part of him was hoping he’d run into Jade again and that she’d kiss him. He had finally decided that he was interested in being more than friends with her, if that was what she wanted. The other part was really hoping she wouldn’t be there and he could enjoy the solitude he was craving, just him, Chip, and Fang in the forest. For that reason, he had packed his bow. He wasn’t sure if he’d get even remotely close enough to a deer to shoot it with Fang accompanying him, but he knew the cook would appreciate the fresh meat. Alderth Castle was well stocked in provisions that would easily last them for months, but the meat stores were mostly salted. Which was better than nothing, he supposed.
With one last tug on the strap holding the saddle onto Chip, Burchard gathered his reins and led the mare out of the barn. He swung into the saddle, checked his bags one last time, then clucked to her. They went through the gate at an ambling walk, and once they were clear of the castle, she sped up into a smooth canter down the road. Fang shot out of the forest and met them on the road, tongue lolling out of her mouth.
“Good afternoon, Fang,” Burchard said to the wolf. She gave a little yip and matched Chip’s pace. Burchard felt the tension melting away as they cantered down the road. When they were about two miles away from the castle, he slowed Chip down. He knew if he wanted to try to get a deer that he would have to have some distance from the castle and the road.
“Let’s go hunting, Fang,” he murmured. Fang woofed in acknowledgement. Quietly as possible, the three of them slipped into the forest. Fang kept her nose to the ground, ranging ahead and to the side of Burchard and Chip. Burchard kept his eyes peeled for any sign of a deer.
When Burchard saw indications that a deer could be nearby, he halted Chip and dismounted. He retrieved his bow and quiver, strung the bow, and then slung the quiver across his back. He snagged an arrow and set it before moving forward. Chip would stay where he left her. He couldn’t see Fang, but he was fairly sure she was nearby, stalking the deer. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the deer. A large ten-point buck that had to weigh over three hundred pounds.
I have to not miss, he reminded himself. Not that he was in the habit of missing, but a moving target that was also a living, breathing, and thinking creature was different than shooting into a target back at the castle.
Burchard found a spot where he was mostly hidden by the tree and he could get a decent angle on the buck to shoot straight into the heart. Or that was the plan. He set the arrow and drew the bowstring back. Just as he loosed, the buck sprang forward, and the arrow thudded into the tree behind it. Burchard was fumbling to grab a second arrow when a streak of black shot out of the trees across from him and seemed to fly through the air. Fang! The wolf’s wide-open mouth clamped down on the buck’s throat. Burchard watched in horror, afraid that the struggling buck would surely injure Fang with one of its sharp hooves or antlers.
With a whistling breath, the buck fell to the ground with a thud. Fang kept her jaws locked around it until Burchard came over.
“It’s dead,” he announced to Fang, although he was fairly certain the wolf knew the deer was dead long before he had.
Burchard let out a sharp whistle to call Chip before he returned his attention to the buck. It was even bigger than he’d thought. I suppose I will be walking back. I don’t think Chip can carry me and a buck this big. He set down his bow and pulled out his long knife. Fang was watching him, her mouth dripping blood. The buck’s neck was in shreds from her teeth. He did a quick inspection of the rest of the buck and found it seemed to be in good shape. Then, he began the task of field dressing—removing the organs. By the time he finished, Chip had appeared. She seemed tense but willing to cooperate. Burchard cleaned off his knife and sheathed it, then opened one of his packs. He had brought a piece of canvas and some rope in case he did successfully catch a deer.
