Burchard slid several feet on his butt. Snarling, he once again got up. “You’re cheating.”
Ossa shrugged and leapt with his sword raised. Burchard brought his sword up to block it. The strike was so hard that he could feel his teeth rattling. I cannot give up. Pushing back against Ossa’s sword, he was able to disengage the blades and skip to the left. He ducked under a careless swing Ossa made and came up behind him. The strike hit its mark, and the clang rang throughout the yard. Unfortunately, Ossa’s dark armor did its job, and other than making noise, the strike didn’t injure Ossa in any way.
Strike, parry, block, repeat. Back and forth they went. It didn’t matter what maneuvers Burchard tried, Ossa was always there and ready. Burchard could feel his body tiring and knew Ossa was watching for the moment when he could deliver the killing blow.
Suddenly, the ground shuddered, and a blast of white light from somewhere out in the field was visible through the gate.
Ossa hesitated, turning toward the gate. “Umbra,” Ossa murmured.
Burchard wasn’t sure what was happening in the field, but Ossa gave him the opening he needed. He swung his sword two-handed for extra power and was a hairsbreadth away from slicing through Ossa’s head when the knight disappeared.
“No!” howled Burchard in frustration. He spun around, sword ready. The pages were no longer in a good formation. A couple of them were sitting or slumped on the ground. Most had cuts on their faces or arms.
“Armand!” he gasped, looking around for his friend. “Do you know where Armand is?” he asked the pages. He went to each one to check them over and ask them the same question. But no one knew where he was.
Burchard checked the spot where they’d been fighting before Ossa appeared. There was a concerning pool of blood there, but no sign of his friend anywhere.
A dark voice filled his mind. If you want your little friend back, come over the bridge alone.
Sir Foxbright came down the stairs. “Where’s Armand?” he said. Burchard realized the knight had heard him calling.
“I don’t know, but I will find him,” Burchard promised.
“You don’t need to risk yourself for my son. We know that Ossa wants to kill you. It would be stupid to hand yourself over like this,” the knight said sadly.
Burchard shook his head. “He is my friend. I cannot abandon him.”
Sir Foxbright didn’t reply. Instead, he bowed his head, perhaps realizing that unless he restrained Burchard, the squire was going to go find Armand.
Wiping his hands on his pants to try to dry the sweat from them, Burchard took a firm grip on his sword and strode briskly out the gate, hoping no one would be stupid enough to follow him. He knew it had to be a trap, but he didn’t care. There was no other reason Ossa would have taken Armand, especially not after Ossa had told him that he was the target.
Burchard crossed the bridge and halted a few feet away from it. No one was out there, which he thought was weird. Did the army of the dead just vanish? Or is it hiding somewhere? He shook his head. Armand is my concern now. The minutes ticked by, and he thought Ossa was not going to show after all.
The air in front of him rippled with darkness. Then Ossa appeared, his hand gripping Armand’s shoulder. From the page’s expression, Burchard knew the hold had to be excruciating, yet the page didn’t make a sound.
“I thought you weren’t going to show,” Burchard said gruffly, trying to mask his feelings.
Ossa just stared at him, eyes of endless black somehow glowing. Burchard was about to say something again when Ossa finally spoke. “If you come with me, then Armand can walk back into the castle now.”
“That’s all this is? A trade?” Burchard demanded.
“Yes, a trade. You for your little friend,” Ossa said, digging his fingers deeper into Armand’s shoulder. The page yelped.
“Don’t do it, Burchard!” Armand pleaded.
“I don’t have a choice.” Burchard met Armand’s eyes with his own. He hoped the page would understand that he would not willingly sacrifice one of his friends if he could turn himself over instead.
“There’s always a choice,” Armand said in barely a whisper.
“Ossa, I will accept your trade. Now let Armand go,” Burchard said firmly.
Ossa grinned with all his sharp teeth visible. “I was hoping you’d agree.”
Burchard stepped forward and Ossa released his grip on Armand’s shoulder. Armand passed Burchard, and Burchard whispered, “Run as fast as you can.”
Armand didn’t hesitate and took off at a run. Burchard watched for a moment before turning to face Ossa. “You have what you want.”
Ossa laughed. “Not quite, but close. Now come here.” Ossa beckoned Burchard to walk toward him. Burchard felt a tug on his bellybutton, almost the same as when he’d been at Camp Tooth and his brother had been calling to him. He tried to fight it, but he could not keep his feet from moving forward.
“What did you do?” he hissed.
“An insurance policy. So that you can’t run. You didn’t think I’d let the page return unless I was certain you couldn’t just run after him? I have been around for thousands of years, boy. I know all the tricks,” Ossa said in a cold voice.
Burchard was almost within Ossa’s range. A tremor of terror went through him. He wasn’t sure if he could get free once he got to Ossa. Trying to mask his terror, he replied, “You can’t know them all, or you’d have killed me at Camp Tooth.”
To Burchard’s satisfaction, Ossa replied, “I told you three days ago, there is a prophecy. I cannot just kill you outright—or, I should say, I couldn’t. Now, though…I believe it is safe for me to kill you.”
Ossa closed his fist and Burchard found himself being yanked into him. Ossa pinned Burchard’s arms to his side and stepped behind the squire, running his nose over Burchard’s throat. Burchard could feel the sharp teeth graze his neck, and then his sword belt slid off. He heard a soft thud as he assumed Ossa tossed it out of his reach.
There was a loud screech followed by the sound of huge flapping wings. Burchard found himself wanting to duck for cover, but his body would not respond. He could hear the wings again, and then the creature came into view as the fog momentarily parted. A huge great horned owl, razor-sharp talons outstretched, flew by.
Ossa let out a shriek of rage, and black blood sprayed off the top of his head. Droplets landed on Burchard’s face and arms. He dug his heels in and tried to take a step backward. It didn’t work. The giant owl banked and came back. This time, Ossa pushed Burchard out of his way and prepared to attack. Sword raised, he slashed upward as the owl passed over the top of him. White feathers scattered across the ground.
The ground vibrated with a familiar thrumming sound. Almost like hoofbeats. An arrow sailed through the air and narrowly missed the top of Ossa’s head. It landed with a thud at Burchard’s feet. At that moment, he realized that he no longer felt the tug on his bellybutton; the spell that had prevented him from moving must have broken. Keeping his attention on Ossa, Burchard slowly kneeled and broke the arrowhead off the shaft. Using his hand to hide his new weapon, he straightened, waiting.
The fog vanished, and Burchard’s eyes went wide as he saw what had to be at least fifty centaurs charging straight at them, followed by what seemed to be a squad of Etrian knights and a handful of riders in colorful robes. Who on earth is that? At the head of the group was Damos, the air around him crackling with threads of his green-and-gold magic. The centaurs were armed with an assortment of weapons, including swords, axes, and spears.
Ossa raised his hand and a dark, billowing cloud shot toward the centaurs. Burchard was sure Damos was going to die. He was pleasantly surprised when a green-and-gold oval, almost like a shield, erupted from Damos. The light and dark magic collided and sent a shockwave blasting throughout Alderth Castle, the road, and the forest. Burchard’s feet were knocked out from under him, and he almost lost his grip on the arrowhead.
