Eyes narrowing, Burchard wondered if this knight was trying to trick him. “No, they’re all dead.”
Sir Peter shook his head. “You’re wrong. They’re not all dead. Most, but not all.”
Burchard bit his lip, holding back a response.
Sir Peter shrugged and then shook his head, as if remembering why he was there. “Have you ever tried using speed to your advantage? I noticed that Page Ruschmann is larger than you are. It seemed at times like he almost got the upper hand because he has more weight behind him. When you are fully grown and trained you will have the strength to not have to rely on speed when going against a larger opponent. Until then…it is a great tool.”
Burchard blinked as he resurfaced from his thoughts, realizing at that moment how right Sir Peter had been. Speed was his best tool. Hastily, he brought up his sword to parry his foe’s strike. Sidestepping to the left provided the opportunity he needed to get underneath the other man’s guard. Smiling wolfishly, Burchard feinted before sweeping his sword into the rebel’s side. The feint worked, and his sword connected with the chain mail. The attacker stumbled backward, gasping. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Burchard stepped in close again with short, quick strikes. Each one hit the desired target. Instead of parrying or blocking the attacks, the man stumbled backward, face going white. When his broadsword fell to the ground, Burchard leapt forward, sword pointed at the man’s throat.
“Yield!” he shouted.
The man closed his eyes and nodded. “I yield.”
Burchard grinned and then realized his mistake. I have a prisoner…now what? Burchard glanced around the area and then let out a loud whistle, hoping Chip was nearby and would come to his call. Sometimes the mare would deliberately ignore him, as though proving that she was as terrible as her reputation claimed. Twigs snapped, and he heard a soft whinny. Chip trotted over to Burchard.
“Good girl,” he murmured, stroking her neck with one hand while keeping his focus on his prisoner. Searching one handed through his bags was not efficient, but he was afraid to take his eyes off the rebel for fear he would run away. Finally, he came across a coil of rope. Yanking it out of the saddlebag, he gave Chip one more pat before returning his full attention on his prisoner.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” Burchard ordered in what he hoped was an authoritative voice.
His prisoner complied, and Burchard used the rope to tie the rebel’s hands before leading him to one of the smaller but still formidable oak trees. He wrapped the rope around the oak’s trunk before securing the end of the rope to the rebel. Satisfied that the rebel wouldn’t be going anywhere unless he had help to escape, Burchard returned to Chip’s side. With one more glance at his prisoner, Burchard mounted up and clucked to Chip. They trotted off into the forest.
3
Burchard rode into a small clearing with an old rock-lined firepit in the center. Etrian knights milled around or talked quietly in small clusters. The medic who had ridden out with the fifty knights to rescue Sir Daniel was busy attending to several wounded lying on blankets under a makeshift tent. Burchard dismounted and found a place to tie Chip away from the other horses. When he turned around to find someone to tell about his prisoner, he bumped into none other than Ruschmann.
“I was worried you died,” Ruschmann murmured, hugging Burchard awkwardly.
Burchard pulled back, surprised by the hug and that his friend thought he would die that easily. “It will take more than a single rebel to finish me off. I did capture one though. Maybe my father will want to interrogate him. How is Sir Daniel?”
Ruschmann shook his head. “It doesn’t look good. The medic is trying to stabilize him so we can transport him back to Alderth Castle and better healing supplies.”
“Did we lose anyone, or just injuries?” Burchard asked, worried.
“Just a few minor to moderate injuries, aside from Sir Daniel.” Ruschmann opened his mouth to say something else when Sir Martin Forsyth, one of General Wolfensberger’s commanders, walked over to them. Burchard’s face fell at the sight of Sir Forsyth. He knew that no matter how much he had hoped his father would not know he had disobeyed a direct order, that hope was now gone. Sir Forsyth would surely report his presence to the General.
“Squire Ruschmann and Squire Burchard,” Sir Forsyth spoke formally. Burchard gulped and thought this could not be good if he wanted to talk to both of them. “We will move out shortly to head back to Alderth Castle. However, the medic, Lord Hampton, is concerned about the surgical suite being ready when we arrive. He feels it is possible to save Sir Daniel, but only if no additional time is wasted upon our arrival at the castle. Which means I need the two of you to depart with haste to Alderth Castle and alert them. Captain Thomas will know what is required; just tell him it is the left leg.”
Burchard glanced over at Ruschmann and elbowed him hard before his friend could speak and say something stupid. “Yes, sir.” Burchard saluted Sir Forsyth and turned sharply on his heel before running to Chip, fervently hoping that Ruschmann was right behind him and not getting both of them in trouble with Sir Forsyth.
Just as Burchard swung his leg into the saddle, he heard the jingle of another horse. Ruschmann rode up beside him.
“C’mon, let’s go,” Burchard said. Without waiting for a response, he kicked Chip into a canter, afraid to gallop through this part of the forest, but also afraid of not giving Captain Thomas a much-needed heads-up. Thoughts churning, Burchard allowed Chip to navigate through the trees. When they reached the road, he kissed and gave Chip her head, and they quickly sped up into a gallop. Ruschmann was next to them, Cricket eagerly running with Chip stride for stride.
I’m going to be in so much trouble, Burchard thought, realizing he was running straight to Alderth Castle and his father. The orders Sir Forsyth had given made it impossible to avoid facing the General.
Sooner than Burchard thought possible, they galloped through the open gates of Alderth Castle. He heard a shout from above them on the wall. As they entered the courtyard, both horses slowed without being asked. Swinging his leg over the saddle, Burchard jumped off Chip, and Ruschmann quickly followed suit. Leaving their horses standing in the courtyard, Burchard sent a swift prayer that Chip would not harm anyone before he returned from delivering his message.
Leaping up the steps two at a time, he reached for the castle door. Just then, the huge, dark wooden doors with thick metal straps burst open, knocking Burchard backward. He tumbled head over heels down the stairs. Each step he hit, he tried to slow his momentum, but his fingers, slick with sweat from the ride, slid uselessly against the stone stairs. He tried to protect his head as much as possible, but by the time he reached the last couple of steps, his body was so bruised he could no longer protect himself. His head hit the last step hard, and everything went black.
Burchard opened his eyes and stood up. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked around and realized that he was no longer at Alderth Castle. He was somewhere else. Am I dead? he wondered. Laughter bubbled up inside of him at the thought that he had always been worried about dying in battle, and yet here he was, dead from being hit by a door.
Assuming he was indeed dead, Burchard decided it wouldn’t hurt to explore. Looking down, he couldn’t see his feet at all. Thick white fog covered the ground, thinning out some as it reached his knees. Shuffling his feet around, he felt as though he was on hard, compacted dirt, much like the courtyard of Alderth Castle. Turning his attention to his surroundings, he was surprised to see tree-like shapes rising out of the fog, but not quite discernable. Soft light coming from somewhere cast wherever he was into an eerie black-and-white landscape, void of all colors.
Putting one foot in front of the other, he cautiously walked forward, heading toward the trees. At first, it felt like he was walking through thick liquid, resisting his forward movement. But as he continued moving determinedly, the resistance eased up until it was gone altogether.
How odd, he thought. He also noticed there was no sound in this place. Or nothing was making any audible sounds. Can I make a sound?
He opened his mouth, preparing to shout, when a misty white shape appeared in front of him.
I wouldn’t do that if I were you, it said, startling Burchard as he realized the voice was in his head. The figure was not actually speaking through its mouth. Burchard tried to work his jaw to reply, but the misty creature shook its head, stopping him. Think what you want to say. Don’t say it aloud…or you might wake it up.
Eyes narrowing in annoyance, Burchard blew out his breath and attempted to project what he wanted to say into his thoughts. What will wake up?
The misty figure shook uncontrollably and started to disappear.
Wait! Burchard shouted in his thoughts, fear coursing through him that whatever this misty being was would leave him alone to deal with some creature of nightmares.
The misty form became solid again, its features clearer this time. Much to Burchard’s shock, its face was not human, but wolf. He closed his eyes and then reopened them. The misty wolf thing was still there in front of him, cocking its head from side to side.
Who are you? he thought in a voice he forced to be calm.
Who are you? the misty wolf responded.
Debating how to reply, Burchard decided perhaps if he offered his name first the misty wolf would reciprocate. I am Burchard Wo—
