Without needing further urging, Ruschmann turned and bolted for the castle gate. Burchard quickly followed, whistling for Fang. Fang reached them just as they were squeezing their way through the small opening in the fortified gate, which some of the pages helped cover once they were inside.
Burchard ran right into Sir Foxbright, who put a hand out to steady him. “Easy, squire.”
Burchard peered at Sir Foxbright, then at the pages behind him. “What happened to the manticore?” He had been expecting them to be decimated by the creature, but instead the pages all seemed to be accounted for.
Armand shoved his way forward. “It was an illusion. It disappeared as soon as it landed in the group of pages, which I believe is when you went into the darkness outside.”
Sir Foxbright examined the two squires. “What were you fighting out there? We could see you fighting, but it was difficult to make out what your enemy was.”
“Dead people,” Ruschmann said flatly.
Sir Foxbright raised his eyebrow. “Dead people?” He opened his mouth to say something else, then snapped it shut. “Do you mean…risen dead?”
Burchard nodded. “Yes. They didn’t bleed, they carried no weapons, and they made strange, jerky movements.”
Sir Foxbright shut his eyes. “‘His coming will be heralded by an army of the dead…’” His voice trailed off.
“That is what an army of the dead is like?” Ruschmann said in disbelief.
“What did you think it would look like?” Armand asked.
“Enough,” Sir Foxbright said, raising a hand to stop Burchard from replying to the page. “We need to prepare. We do not have much time before they come to the gates. The castle staff has been working on heating any tar or oil they could find. There are large pots of it around the wall. One of the pages can do a little bit of magic and is able to keep them hot. He is working his way around the wall and will continue to do so. He can also deliver messages if needed. I think we have about six pots total. The pages who can shoot a bow and hit a target consistently have also been put on the wall. There are about ten of them. The rest are currently here,” he said gesturing to the pages behind him. “I was hoping you could lead them, Burchard. Ruschmann will be with the castle staff, and I’ll be stationed on top of the wall.”
“Me, lead?” Burchard sputtered, balking at the suggestion of formally leading anyone.
Sir Foxbright chuckled. “What do you think you’ve been doing the past few days practicing with the pages?”
Burchard’s mouth gaped open. “Practice.”
Sir Foxbright shook his head. “Not entirely. I have known since you first set foot at Trinity that you could be a leader.”
“Like my father?” Burchard asked hesitantly, not sure he wanted to lead if it meant being like his father.
“Yes and no. I am sure if you want it, you could be a general too. But I meant that you could be a truly great leader. A man that people wouldn’t hesitate to follow, no matter the circumstances. Anyone can earn the title of general, but it takes a true leader to earn the respect of your fellow knights—respect not based on fear,” Sir Foxbright said with such certainty that Burchard wondered what the knight saw when he looked at him.
Ruschmann couldn’t seem to decide who to look at. Burchard watched as his friend’s eyes darted between him and the knight. “What about the previous plan?”
Sir Foxbright shook his head. “I was not anticipating this many enemies. The new plan is better.”
The gate began rattling as the dead reached it and pounded on it.
“How smart did you say the army of the dead is?” Burchard asked as he fell back toward the group of pages.
“It depends on how much control Ossa is using on them,” Sir Foxbright replied. “Good luck, and I would recommend praying.” The knight turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to the wall, readying the long bow that had been strapped to his back as he went.
Burchard looked a Ruschmann. “See you later.” The squires hugged, then Ruschmann took off at a jog for where the castle staff was waiting. Burchard gazed at the thirty pages now under his command, including Armand.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “If we can keep the dead from spilling all the way through the gate, then we might have a chance.” A tiny chance, he added in his mind, but he wouldn’t tell the pages that. Not as they gave him hopeful looks as though he, a first-year squire, would be the solution to defeating the army of the dead.
“For Etria!” he shouted, raising his sword high in the air.
“For Etria!” the pages and everyone else in the castle echoed.
Boom! Boom! The fortified gate fell away, the pieces of wood used to brace it blasted across the courtyard by something Burchard couldn’t see. He glanced down at Fang. “Do what you need to do, Fang.” She nuzzled his hand, then leapt away into the shadows.
Four abreast, the dead came through the missing gate. Arrows were sticking out of several. To his chagrin, Burchard realized the arrows were not doing much damage. That is not my concern.
“Charge!” he shouted and ran forward, the pages hesitating behind him, then rushing ahead. He didn’t mind their hesitation. It gave him time to slam into the dead and hopefully give the pages a chance to pick off the ones he missed.
Slashing his sword right and left, Burchard was able to hamper the progress of the army of the dead entering through the gate. But he was not pushing them back beyond the gate, merely preventing them from overwhelming the pages. He could hear screaming on the wall above them and concern flashed through him as he realized that perhaps Ossa was taking more control, as Sir Foxbright had indicated could happen. If they were somehow able to climb the wall, then the meager numbers up there would be overcome quickly.
Not my problem, he thought, trying to convince himself to stick to the plan. If I help Sir Foxbright, then I will have to abandon the gate.
As though Fang could read his thoughts, he heard a loud howl from atop the wall. Body parts began raining down on the pages behind him, followed by yelps and mutters of “Eww, gross!” Burchard couldn’t help but grin.
Encouraged by Fang’s commitment to helping the pages, Burchard sped up his strikes and parries. Instead of striving for good technique, he wanted to annihilate as many as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Armand just a hair behind him to the right. Not wanting to be distracted by the page, he kept his focus. He barely nicked one of the dead that twisted and skipped to the right, just in the perfect spot for Armand’s sword to skewer it. Burchard flashed a grin to his friend before taking a large step forward. Armand mimicked him, taking advantage of the gap that was in front of them to drive the dead back to the gate.
A couple more dead tried to come through the broken gate, but Burchard and Armand quickly finished them off. It was hard to discern what was beyond the gate. A lot of the bridge was obscured by fog again. The pages behind him cheered, but Burchard glanced over his shoulder to look at them. Some had smudges of dirt or the dead dust, but otherwise they seemed remarkably in one piece.
One of the pages let out a scream of terror. Burchard whirled, sword up, but was too late. Ossa, who had appeared behind Burchard, had sliced Armand’s right arm. Blood splattered on the page and on Burchard. Cursing at himself and Ossa, Burchard glared at him. Not wanting to know what awful words Ossa would spew this time, Burchard flung himself at Ossa, sweeping his sword to the left. Ossa blocked easily and then parried with a strike of his own.
Burchard grimaced at the force behind that strike. Dead emerged through the gate again. With Burchard focused solely on Ossa, it would be up to the pages to handle them. High strike, followed by a middle strike, then Burchard pivoted and did a backhand aiming for Ossa’s armpit, since that move had worked well at Camp Tooth.
Ossa laughed. “You remember the weakness of my minions, I see. Too bad for you it is not my weakness. I don’t have a weakness.”
Burchard growled. “Everyone has a weakness.”
Ossa’s dark pits of eyes flashed bright red, and a blast of power shot out of his sword. Burchard rolled and barely missed getting struck by the magic. He jumped to his feet and whirled, starting a combination move, when Ossa sent another blast of power at him. This time it knocked him backward.
