He scrambled on the floor to get up and over to his bed. If he wanted to go with Ruschmann and the knights on the rescue mission, he had to grab his gear and find a horse, fast.
Finally at his bed, Burchard reached underneath and snagged his scabbard with his sword and his chain mail. While not the ideal place to store those items, it was the best he could come up with given the amount of space he was allowed. He set the sword on the bed and stood up, sliding the chain mail over his head, grunting as its weight settled over his shoulders. He picked up the scabbard and buckled it onto his waist.
Back outside, he took off at a run for the stable. His father had said he couldn’t go because he didn’t have a horse. While his usual horse was indeed injured, spare horses were always in the stable. Although Burchard preferred to use his personal mount, he decided he would rather support his friend than worry about which horse he was riding.
Captain Thomas stepped out of a stall toward the end of the barn and saw Burchard. He smiled. “I thought I might see you in here tonight. Coming to get one of the spare horses?”
Burchard shrugged and went to the stall opposite of where Captain Thomas had been, where a brown horse with a white face was standing. “I’m going to take Chip.”
Captain Thomas quirked an eyebrow out him. “You are choosing to ride Chip? Voluntarily?”
Burchard chuckled. “Why does everyone think she’s so awful?” He stroked her white nose gently before making a beeline for the tack room. He picked up his saddle and Chip’s bridle and headed back toward her.
“She has bucked off every rider who has ever been on her,” Captain Thomas explained.
Burchard smiled politely and set his saddle down on top of a hay bale outside of Chip’s stall. “She tried that…it didn’t work. Trust me, we understand each other.”
Opening the stall door, Burchard entered quietly with several brushes in his hand. Chip pinned her ears back at first. Burchard shook his finger at her before stepping to her shoulder and beginning the grooming process. As he expertly worked the curry comb into her fur, Chip sighed, and he could feel her muscles relaxing under the attention. Next came the stiff body brush to get all the loose hair off. Once grooming was complete, he pulled a sugar cube from his pocket and offered it to her. She eagerly consumed the sugar cube, leaving Burchard’s hands a slobbery mess.
Rolling his eyes, Burchard hastily wiped his hands on his pants, then reached over the stall door to retrieve his saddle. Once again, he took slow, deliberate steps toward her. Instead of pinning her ears back, she just flicked them toward him. Burchard murmured soothing words to her while he got the cinch tight and then retrieved the bridle.
Once tacked up, Burchard led Chip into the aisleway before swinging up into the saddle. “I’ll see you later.” He gave Captain Thomas a slight wave before clucking to Chip and heading out of the stable at a brisk walk. Running through his list of supplies in his mind and hoping he packed everything he would need, Burchard almost rode right into another knight. Chip tossed her head and snapped her teeth when he steered her to the side just in time.
Relief coursed through him as he realized if they had been a minute or two later, he would have missed the group departing. The knights were starting to stream out of the gates. Waiting for his turn to head out, Burchard glanced around at the assembled knights. He noticed that unlike most of the assignments he went out on where they were ordered to be equipped a certain way, this time the knights were wearing an assortment of gear. Some decided to don full plate armor, while others just wore chain mail like Burchard. All told there were about fifty knights headed out to rescue Sir Daniel and his squad. Burchard spotted Ruschmann at the front of the group but decided to hang back to ensure his father, who was standing on the wall above the gate, wouldn’t notice that he was with them.
Once they cleared the castle gate, the group surged into a gallop. Another advantage of being at the back of the group was that Chip wouldn’t accidentally kick anyone. She had made a habit of attempting to kick or bite anyone, human or horse, stupid enough to be within striking range when Burchard was riding. I suppose it’s better than getting bucked off.
As he settled into the steady rhythm of Chip’s gallop, Burchard glanced back. His father stood on the wall, watching.
Shaking his head, Burchard returned his attention to following the knight in front of him. The group slowed to a brisk walk and veered off into the forest. Sounds of a battle were audible now that they were close enough. Burchard wrapped one hand around the hilt of his sword, checking to ensure it would easily slide out of the scabbard when the time was right.
“You came,” murmured Ruschmann, startling him.
Burchard hadn’t heard Ruschmann’s horse, Cricket, approach. He gave his friend a sharp look. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
Ruschmann pushed the hair out of his face with a grimace. “I remember what you said happened last time you disobeyed the General’s orders to stay within the castle. You were whipped. I didn’t think you would risk being punished to help me, not when he favors such extreme punishments.”
Blue eyes locked with brown ones. “I will never abandon you. Regardless of what my father says or does.” Blowing out a breath, Burchard continued, “These knights, do you really think they care about us? We’re only squires. We’re expendable. I know you haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time at Alderth Castle, but I have. I hear what they say.”
“Surely your father doesn’t think you’re expendable too?” Ruschmann replied in disbelief.
Burchard laughed harshly. “I have an older brother and a younger brother, and they both obey orders without question. So yes, I would say the son who won’t blindly obey is likely considered expendable.”
Ruschmann pursed his lips in thought but stayed silent. Burchard was about to speak when a dark shadow darted out of the trees straight for the two of them.
“Move!” he hissed. Sliding his sword out of its scabbard, Burchard dug his heels into Chip, causing her to rear. The move had the desired effect. The dark shadow stopped in the small patch of moonlight, revealing a wild-eyed, blood-spattered man with messy white hair, a broadsword, and leather armor with metal bands around his arms. Growling, Burchard jumped off Chip and swung his sword at the man, who was clearly not Etrian. Expecting the man to just drop, Burchard was surprised when his strike was parried instead.
Adjusting his feet, Burchard shuffled backward a step and swung his sword in a high strike a second time. Sparks flew as the swords connected. The rebel grinned at Burchard, showing a mouth with missing teeth. Burchard took a deep breath and instantly regretted doing so as the smell of rotting teeth and dead animals wafted from the assailant. Wrinkling his nose, he ducked a wayward swing before pivoting and striking again. This time his sword connected with the man’s left arm, slicing open the unprotected bicep just above the metal band.
Unable to stop himself, Burchard winced in sympathy, knowing firsthand how much that cut had to hurt. Shaking himself, he tried to focus on his task, eliminating this non-Etrian. He settled into the rhythm of blocks, strikes, and parries, marveling at how even after being wounded, the attacker just kept going, oblivious to the pain. Somewhere behind him in the forest, Burchard could hear the ringing of swords from the other knights engaging the enemy. Both Burchard and his attacker paused to catch their breath for a fleeting moment. At that moment, Burchard had one thought. I hope Chip and Ru are OK.
Burchard shifted his stance, running different movements through his mind, trying to determine the best way to end this fight. He knew it was only a matter of time before he began to tire, and this much-larger opponent would gain the upper hand. Suddenly, he had an idea. As the rebel took two running steps toward Burchard, Burchard tucked into a forward roll and popped up on his feet behind his opponent. The rebel was caught off guard, and his forward momentum carried him to the tree that had been at Burchard’s back. Smiling, Burchard leapt forward and drove his sword into the man’s neck.
Yanking his sword out, Burchard spun, thinking he heard something. Nothing. There’s nothing here but me and the rebel’s body. A shudder ran through him as his thoughts returned to the body. He leaned over just in time as he retched up what little bit of dinner he had consumed earlier.
“Ugh,” he muttered to himself as he tried to wipe off his mouth, annoyed that his stomach betrayed him. He had seen action before. But have I killed anyone? The thought dangled, taunting him. Even worse, he didn’t know the answer.
Hands shaking slightly, Burchard bent over and grabbed a handful of leaves to clean the blood off his sword as best he could. Ears straining, he thought he could hear the distant sound of swords clashing. With one more glance around him, hand on his sword hilt, Burchard cautiously headed toward the sounds of fighting. He had no idea where Ruschmann had gone either. He had thought when his friend found him that they would end up staying together, but after he leapt off Chip, he had not been able to keep track of where Ruschmann went.
Burchard walked for what felt like hours. It could be just a few minutes, he chided himself. The forest in this area looked mostly the same, full of large, ancient oak trees. Most of the small animals seemed to have disappeared with the proximity of the fighting, not that he blamed them. It must seem crazy to some to want to run into a battle or conflict instead of away from it. Yet this has always been my dream. All he had to guide him was the sounds of the fighting. Wondering if his imagination was getting the better of him, Burchard stumbled sideways when something ran into him from the side. His knees hit a hard rock hidden by the thick layer of leaves. Groaning, Burchard rolled to the side just in time to avoid being skewered. As he rolled to and fro, Burchard dropped his sword. Growling in frustration, he finally found the leverage he needed to get off the ground and out of the way. Sweeping his sword off the ground, he blocked the next strike just in time. A hair later and he’d have been dead.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, threatening to drip into his eyes. Burchard stepped to the left and began a combination move of his own. Knowing he didn’t have the strength to match the clearly well-trained foe in front of him, he decided to use what he did have: speed. His thoughts drifted back to the first conversation he’d had with Sir Peter.
Burchard had just finished his practice round with Ruschmann and looked up. A knight was standing at the rail, watching him with interest.
“Can I help you?” Burchard asked uncertainly. Usually, knights didn’t pay any attention to third-year pages.
The knight chuckled and, to Burchard’s surprise, offered his hand. Burchard shook the knight’s hand, still uncertain about what was happening.
“You have potential, you know,” Sir Peter said quietly.
“Potential, sir?” asked Burchard.
Sir Peter chuckled. “Sorry…I am Sir Peter Windemere. Yes, you have potential. Have you ever heard of a sword master?”
“Of course!” Burchard said, grinning and wondering why anyone aspiring to be a knight wouldn’t know what a sword master was.
“Have you ever met one?” Sir Peter inquired.
