Fernando lay flat atop a cot while his gaze swept the canopy overhead, snagging on a ripple of white fur. A scout monkey perched high; stared down at the chaos below as boys shouted orders, curses, and laughter. Light flashed off polished armor in the corner of his vision and caught the red knight’s breastplate. Ee jabbed a finger at the white-armored commander.

  Fernando examined them, anything to distract from the fire pulsing through his shoulder. A splintered arrow shaft jutted from the flesh like a crooked pillar while blood seeped around it in slow, dark threads.

  “What happened to you?” Frankfer’s voice cut through the noise as boots thudded closer.

  Fernando forced a crooked grin. “Me? I was part of the fight.” He nodded toward Frankfer’s clean leathers. “How about you?”

  “We saw to the caravan’s escort.” Edwardo stepped into view with his shield hanging from one arm. Its surface bristled with snapped arrow shafts. He jerked his chin toward Frankfer. “I was here early enough to be of some use, unlike others.”

  Frankfer’s jaw tightened. “You always rush ahead like a fool.”

  “You always rush ahead.” Edwardo’s voice rose in mockery.

  The clank of heavy plate silenced them as the white and red armored knights strode, helms tucked under their arms and faces grim. Fernando craned his neck from the pile of cloaks serving as his bed and winced as the arrow shifted.

  “Where are they going?” he asked.

  Frankfer tracked the pair with narrowed eyes. “Command tent. I’m curious of their business.”

  Edwardo’s grin flashed quick and bright. “Nothing I cannot find out.”

  “Don’t,” Frankfer said.

  Edwardo was already moving and tossed a wink over his shoulder as he trotted off.

  Frankfer exhaled through his teeth. “I hate him.” Brow creasing at the sweat beading on his friend’s forehead, he studied Fernando. “You holding up?”

  Fernando’s laugh came out strained. “I am well. Thanks for asking.”

  Frankfer snorted. “I’ll search the medical tent for herbs.”

  “Go, keep Edwardo out of trouble,” Fernando said.

  Frankfer rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if I end up in the stocks because of him, I’m punching you, wound or no wound.”

  Shoving through the bustle of the camp while boys darted past with buckets, bandages, and hauled crates, Frankfer scanned for that wild mop of hair near the command tent. As he neared, Edwardo’s splintered shield leaned against a tree beside William, who lounged in the shade, tending his wounded arm.

  “Edwardo. Where is he?” Frankfer demanded, meeting William’s calm gaze.

  William rose, his free hand nursing his splintered hand. “Good to see you too, brother.”

  “Sorry.” Frankfer rubbed the back of his neck. “He is up to no good.”

  “Spying, in the command tent. He bragged before crawling away.” William’s mouth twitched. “Have you met that new woman, Marcy?”

  Frankfer frowned. “Barely. Why?”

  “I will tell you soon…” He broke off. There, behind an arrow-riddled crate, a bushy head ducked low. Edwardo. “This way.” William said.

  “Wait,” Frankfer said, following William. “You should be nursing your wound,” He whispered, getting no reply.

  Edwardo glanced back, pressed a finger to his lips, and motioned them down. Frankfer dropped to a knee beside him while William settled low. All three leaned forward and peered through a ragged tear in the tent’s quilt. Inside, the low, urgent voices of masters and knights spilled out through the torn tear.

  “Where within the wood are these savages?” the red knight, Garcia, asked.

  “Not far enough. One day’s march from here,” Master Falix said. “But there is the sickness of the mind that plagues their darkened wood.”

  “Go on?” the white knight urged.

  “It should not have any effect on a trained Doter Knight, but the boys would be susceptible,” Rutger added. “It is a strange taint of unknown origin.”

  “Sire!” A voice entered the tent. Standing before them, a youthful Knight with short, trimmed hair shadowed the tent. “We have returned from our encampment, it is completely broken down, all goods retireved.”

  “Excellent, if only you were here earlier. Take rest, I will see to you soon.” Andreyas said, coaxing a bow from the Knight before returning to his band.

  “We have a larger, central” Garcia said. “We could pull greater forces from there.

  “That sounds like a grand strategy.” Andreyas replied, “I’d like you to see to it.”

  With a shocked face, Garcia took a step forward. “What? I have my orders to complete.”

  “And you will do so afterwards,” Andreyas answered, a lingering accent of distrust in the air.

  Garcia’s examining eyes shot toward Marcy, who remained seated in the corner with her eyes on the floor. “We can send a messenger bird in my stead.” He protested.

  “Whatever business you have in our EverGreen,” Falix interjected, “it matters not with such a looming threat. What forces do you have?”

  “Ten patrols of twenty men each,” Andreyas answered. “Fifty knights, three times that in musketeers.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “You’ve come here quite armed.” Rutger thought aloud. “What is it your forces seek?”

  Before Andreyas could answer, Garcia spoke. “Traitors, bandits, murderers, child killers. Among our lot are my fellow brothers, clad in the honorable hue of blood. Under order, I’m here to hunt wanted heads that have sought refuge. We are not a casual force. What savage beasts there are will face our blade, and we will crush them. Then we will continue with our business.”

  His words shadowed the tent in an ominous aura.

  “Quite the detailed explanation,” Andreyas replied. “Go now, Garcia. See that our men arrive with haste.”

  “You must be jesting,” Garcia muttered.

  “Go,” Andreyas continued.

  Garcia released a light sigh. The clank of his armor faded from the tent.

  “If this disease is ethereal,” Andreyas shifted the conversation, “do you know of a way to combat it?”

  “We do,” Falix answered, “but it is not a good tactic. It is in the air. It is about the soil as well. It is a sickness that assaults the mind and threatens the will. The only way to fight it, how we kept it at bay, was through song and cheer.”

  “What?” Andreyas asked.

  “I know,” Falix said, “but that which affects the mind can only be fought through counter-influences of the mind. We will have to march with drummer boys and choir.”

  “We are not a people without art,” Andreyas said. We will assault with our Doternite forces, then you may begin your chanting march.”

  “What an easy plan,” Falix said with a shrug.

  “I fear this will be but a first strike. I assume your dear knights have a home to return to?” Rutger asked.

  “I am afraid so,” Andreyas said.

  “Then we shall have to make it a crippling strike,” Rutger replied.

  Under the shade of the canopy, Fernando lay restless. Finding the discomfort of immobilization harder to bear than the pain of his wound. Approaching feet broke his frustration. “Who goes there?”

  “It’s us!” Edwardo said.

  Surrounding him, Edwardo, William, and Frankfer all carried looks of concern.

  “They prepare battle plans,” Frankfer said. “It appears we are going to war.”

  “Of course.” Fernando lay his head back as a blank look dawned upon him. “We may have to exterminate them.”

  “What? How? You fools are stupid,” Edwardo fussed.

  “He’s right,” William said. “They never attacked us like this before.”

  “I thought you weren’t one of us?” Edwardo continued.

  “Not now,” Frankfer interjected. “Worry not, Fernando. Your time for battle will come.”

  “What do you think is in the deep wood?” Edwardo asked.

  “Besides sickness?” William added. “We will all be falling to madness before the march ends.”

  “I trust the masters.” Frankfer locked eyes with Fernando. “We heard they were going to use these Doter knights for the first wave. We will march in choir.”

  “Choir?” Fernando asked.

  “Eavesdropping?” The voice of Garcia drew their attention. “I thought I eyed a moving shadow beyond the cloth.”

  “You.” William stepped forth. “I fought beside him during the battle. He is a true warrior.”

  “Do you often cower before idols?” Edwardo teased. “Who are you, knight?”

  “I am a hunter of bandits,” he swiftly replied. “There is a murderer among your ranks, dear Roosters.”

  The boys remained silent.

  “We’ve all killed,” Edwardo said. “You could be talking about any one of us.”

  “I am speaking about that assassin, Marcy,” Garcia said. “She has killed many innocents, children, orphans.”

  “Who are you really?” Fernando grunted through the pain as he lifted himself. “Do you know where you are, dear knight?”

  “What is this?” Garcia asked.

  “Fernando.” William tried to interject.

  “This is the EverGreen. You kill, or you die. What is your game?” Fernando locked eyes with the red armored knight.

  “Justice. A foreign concept, I am sure. When the time comes, it would be best to hand her over. There is much resource that can be gained here. I work not for bandits or outlaws, but for the Crown; justice itself.” Garcia explained.

  “What a fool,” Edwardo muttered.

  “You need to rest,” Frankfer said to Fernando, ignoring the Knight.

  Garcia lifted his head, presenting his back to them, before trotting away.

  “I am not sure we can trust this Marcy,” William said.

  “Quiet,” Fernando commanded. “I fear we do not have the luxury to choose our allies, we are at war… many may die.”

  “Do you think they are nearby? I mean, maybe they did not completely retreat?” Edwardo asked.

  “I don’t know. I fear more than just our home is at risk,” Frankfer said.

  THE CARAVAN

  Along the far-off path toward the still-smoking village, heavy wheels of filled carts rolled across the uneven ground while neighs of horses and the thumping of many hooves echoed through the untamed green. At the head of the caravan slouched two boys who rested upon lazy horses.

  “You think the Wildmen will return?” Marcus asked, sipping the rim of his boar skin water pouch.

  “Of course!” Lucas said. “Are you afraid? Don’t be, I will protect you”

  “No,” Marcus replied. They are a strange bunch, worthy? I think not.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you upon the battlefield, hiding in the village; were we?” Lucas teased.

  “You fool, I was there. We were all there,” Marcus said. “If you are so brave, why do you stay atop your steed? You should meet them with your own hands.”

  “You can kill more atop a steed,” Lucas replied. “Watch them quiver under the horse’s hooves.”

  A bird-like call emerged from the surrounding green.

  “Hear that?” Marcus asked. “That’s a foreign bird.”

  “I don’t recognize that call,” Lucas said. “It may not be a bird.”

  “It sounds like a wild parrot, but off somehow.” Marcus pondered.

  “Sounds like…” Lucas words lingered as he thought aloud, “something trying to be a parot.”

  “What do you mean?” William asked.

  The sound came again, from the opposite direction.

  “Like a man.” Lucas said.

  From the shade of the eaves, many eyes glared forth as thin, sickly bodies swarmed the path from both sides. Lucas’ steed reared at the startling invasion, sending Lucas to the ground. Cold mud yielded beneath him as Lucas rolled clear of the pounding hooves behind him. His palms clenched mud as he forced himself up, yet before his feet could take, strange hands seized him, ripping Lucas away into the overgrowth where darkness swallowed his fading screams.

  Marcus leapt from his horse, readying two hardened, spiked knuckles formed from snapping-turtle shells. A tar-covered Wildman rushed forth. The boy’s gloved hand shot forward like a propelled rocket, smashed past the jaw of a charging attacker, shattered fragile bone, and snapped back as the next beast dodged its falling companion, only to meet a rapid jab. The stun lasted long enough for a crushing right hook, forcing a cry from the beast, as its masked face splintered inward.

  “Lucas!” With no answer, Marcus scanned the caravan. Boys fought desperately against the surrounding onslaught. His gaze locked onto a frightful youngster. “Cole!” he called. Rushing forth, Marcus reached the frozen figure standing stone-like amid the erupting chaos.

  “Behind you!” Cole replied.

  Spinning at the warning, Marcus faced three barehanded Wildmen closing in, grasping fingers slipping from mud and sweat slicking his skin. He unleashed a barrage of hate, fists crunching bone, punishing his assailants with savage ferocity. His feet danced through the muddied ground, carrying him gracefully around his enemies as they threw themselves forward. With a duck and a twist, he’d smash his fist in the back of their skull, his turtle-shelled gloves draped in crimson.

  “Hide!” Marcus yelled to Cole and beckoned the boy toward a nearby carriage.

  A brown haired boy lifted his blade from the back of an assaulting Wildman. “We can’t hold on much longer!” He yelled. A spear raced through the air, jabbing his side and forcing a cry of pain from the boy as he fell.

  “Ian!” Another boy called, racing to his fallen brother, only to meet the hands of many Wildmen who drugged him screaming into the black.

  Cole ducked beneath a wagon and braced against the muddied ground, tucking himself behind its giant wheel. Warfare blared from every direction. His eyes fixed on Marcus, battling the swarm. Screeching attackers charged barehanded at first, then armed with knives and claw-like gloves. They reached for Marcus but met the power of his long arms whipping through the air like musket shots, tearing through strangely fragile flesh and bone.

  Yet the endless tide brought a twist of fate. Amid precise strikes, a spearhead gleamed from the right and pierced his shoulder. Cole recoiled as Marcus dropped, clutching the bloodied wound. Hand clamped over his mouth, Cole stifled whimpers while tears welled in terrified eyes. In that silence, strange guttural clicking pulled his attention to the carriage’s far end. Bloodshot eyes met his as a tar-covered hand shot underneath and dragged him out, pulling him past the path into the EverGreen’s consuming darkness.