“You and you.” Burchard pointed to two fourth-year pages. The first one was the tallest of all the pages and was even taller than Burchard; the second fourth-year had pale, almost white hair and was average height. He chose two more pairs of third- and fourth-year pages before calling his last set. “Theodore and Armand.” A gasp went through the pages. Burchard knew they were all wondering why a first-year had been called.
“Now, space yourselves out. You get the whole ring, so don’t bunch together. I expect you to use more room than you’re used to. The task is to spar. Use what you know. If all you are comfortable with is sticking to the high, middle, and low strikes and blocks, then that is perfectly OK. However, do not turn it into a drill,” Burchard explained. He took a spot on the edge of the practice ring. “You may begin.”
The four pairs hesitated. He could see each pairing making light, almost comical strikes at each other, as though they were afraid. Rolling his eyes, he realized he had to speak again. “You need to strike like you mean it. If the page in front of you were a Stinyian rebel, what do you think would happen if you were striking without any power?”
Armand replied, “We would get skewered.”
“Yes, or at least the likelihood of being injured would be much greater. For this part of training today, I need you to make sure you are practicing as though you are going against a rebel. Make sure your strikes and blocks are strong and full of intent,” Burchard said. He waited for the eight pages to nod in understanding. “OK. Let’s try this again. Begin!”
This time, he could hear the wooden practice swords connect. He wasn’t sure if the pages had been afraid to hurt each other last time or if they hadn’t really understood the purpose of this exercise. The pairs he had chosen to begin were what he considered the top quarter from the drill today and from the other times he’d spent observing them since their arrival. Which meant once it was clear they understood the assignment, he did not have to adjust their stances or hand holds; he was able to just watch.
Burchard was a little surprised that the only pair doing any additional maneuvers beyond high, middle, and low was Theodore and Armand. He moved closer to them. Armand lunged forward and brought his sword down in a sweeping middle strike. Theodore spun out of the way and then parried with a low backhanded strike aiming for Armand’s legs. Armand blocked but put pressure on Theodore’s sword, forcing him to back up several steps. Theodore gave up the steps begrudgingly and then twisted his wrist and popped Armand’s sword out of his hand.
Burchard clapped. “Brilliant!”
Theodore turned to him. “You’re just saying that because I’m your brother.”
Burchard shook his head. “No, I’m not. You were able to come up with a solution to get out of a situation where Armand had the upper hand. I can tell you’ve been watching some of the knights practice. Because that is not a move that you would have been taught as a page.”
Theodore eyed his older brother. “Actually, I learned that from watching you. I wasn’t sure it would work, but you had said earlier that we could use any strikes or blocks that we wanted to. I figured I could at least give it a try.”
Burchard nodded. “Well, it worked. And Armand, great job putting pressure on Theodore and forcing him to give ground. Often when you put pressure on an opponent, it forces them to make bad choices and gives you an advantage.”
Just then the bell rang indicating lunchtime. Already? He hadn’t realized so much time had passed. “OK, everyone. We will pick up after lunch with another set of groups. Since Sir Foxbright is busy, I think we will just continue weapons practice since I don’t think I’d be very successful at teaching you battle strategy.”
The pages stacked the practice swords in a pile and filed into the dining hall.
Burchard and Ruschmann hung back a little. “I think that went well,” Ruschmann said.
“I guess so,” Burchard replied uncertainly.
Ruschmann smiled. “You have a way about you. I know you were focused on instructing, but the pages just soak up everything you say. Even when the four pairs were sparring, the pages on the bench were watching. Even Sir Foxbright has trouble keeping their attention this long.”
“If you say so,” Burchard said with a shrug and then led the way into the dining hall.
25
Burchard and Ruschmann stood on the wall and peered out into the gray mist surrounding Alderth Castle. This was the third morning since he’d met with Jade and had the encounter with Ossa. Neither Jade nor Ossa had shown up yet. Burchard wasn’t sure whether to be worried or relieved.
Burchard blew out his breath and turned around to gaze upon the people in the castle yard. Forty pages, led by Sir Lucius Foxbright, were beginning their morning weapons training. Forcing himself to hide his feelings as the eager young Armand Foxbright caught sight of him and waved, Burchard raised his hand in acknowledgement before facing Ruschmann.
“I guess for now we might as well continue our morning routines like Sir Foxbright is doing. I know Sir Foxbright sent the General a message, which I’m sure he received and is ignoring. I don’t know if Sir Foxbright would tell us if he had gotten a reply, though, unless it was specifically saying reinforcements were on the way,” Burchard said before muttering under his breath, “If he’d even deem us worthy of rescue.”
Fang whined, leaning into his leg. “You’re right. Let’s go find a morning snack, and then go practice some sword work.”
Burchard, Ruschmann, and Fang headed toward the kitchen. With the number of residents in the castle now barely at one hundred, the decision had been made to only use the main kitchen and that everyone would eat meals together in the castle’s dining hall.
Burchard pushed open the outer door slowly. He’d already found out the hard way that sometimes one of the kitchen staff was behind the door. It had taken over an hour to clean all of the stew that had splattered. Lesson learned.
Fortunately, no one was behind the door.
“Burchard!” called Lady Gladys from somewhere in the kitchen. Burchard found himself blushing.
Ruschmann elbowed him. “Are you sure you’re just friends?”
“Yes!” growled Burchard.
Lady Gladys wiped flour from her hands as she strode toward them. “Let me guess,” she said, peering from one to the other. “Morning snack?”
Cook laughed and thrust plates into their hands. “I told you, Gladys, they’re boys. They are always hungry.” Cook disappeared again and came back, eyebrow raised. “Are you just going to stand their gawking or are you going to sit and eat?”
“Excuse our manners, Cook. Thank you,” Burchard said with a bow before sliding onto the bench of the nearest table. It happened to have an assortment of chopped vegetables on it with barely enough space for the two of them.
“Fang, I did not forget you,” Cook said with a smile before placing a metal bowl full of raw fish in front of her. The black wolf gave Cook a quick lick of thanks. Burchard glanced between the two of them in surprise.
“You’re friends?” he inquired.
“Of course we’re friends,” Cook said, running a familiar hand along Fang’s back before heading back into the depths of the kitchen.
“Does my…” Burchard said quietly.
“No, your father doesn’t know. But there are many things he is not aware of in the castle,” Gladys said tartly.
“Oh, really?” Burchard said in surprise. He knew Gladys had become friends with Fang, but he hadn’t realized the wolf was making friends with other people in the castle. His father had been very adamant that Fang did her own hunting outside of the castle. Every other day, Burchard, sometimes with Ruschmann, would take her outside and allow her to hunt. Maybe this was why she wouldn’t always eat more than a squirrel—because she wasn’t as hungry as he thought she was.
Gladys gave him a smile and went back to the counter where she was preparing rolls to go into the oven for lunch.
