Across a green meadow, heavy feet challenged the gusting wind and its whistle. A herd of horseback riders broke through the greenery and rushed toward the open meadow, its wide canopy letting rays pierce the usual shroud of thick forest. Four young boys raced toward a single tree in the meadow’s center. There, fellow young riders gathered under the branches, a small fire sending smoke twisting among the leaves.

  “How goes, brother?” A long-haired boy stepped toward the approaching horses.

  “Anders.” One rider called his name as he pulled the reins. His steed neighed and kicked up dust, slowing to a halt. “Quiet patrol.” The other three riders dismounted beside him.

  The two tall boys hugged. “Quiet here too,” Anders said, but a thicker smoke caught his eye. “What’s that?”

  The resting boys turned toward the black cloud crawling across the sky. “That’s a fire.” A voice rose from the riders.

  “More bandits.” Anders lifted his nose and met the arriving rider’s gaze. Conviction passed between them. “Stay close, Frankfer.” He reached for his steed’s reins.

  His horse neighed, signaling the riders to mount and form two lines. They thundered behind Frankfer and Anders, who led the columns.

  “Can’t believe these vermin don’t learn their lesson.” Lucas, a dark skinned boy, pouted from the rear of the column.

  The horses broke through hidden paths carved in the thick brush, weaving between entangled trees, their private highway to settlements in the Evergreen. The smoke’s stench grew, forcing coughs from several riders. They veered onto a dirt road, pacing toward an assault position.

  The caravan halted and formed up, scanning the surrounding green for spies. In front, Frankfer peered through a rusted telescope.

  “What do you see?” Anders leaned toward him.

  “Not so close.” Frankfer kept his eye fixed. “Blasted wildmen.”

  “Wildmen?” A voice called from behind. Mutters spread among the warriors.

  “Damned beasts are getting bold,” Lucas said.

  “Quiet,” Anders demanded. “What else?”

  “I’m seeing...” Frankfer said. “The shine of armor, there are knights down there.”

  “Doter Knights,” Anders said. “How curious… Let’s join the fight. I’ll lead the flank, you drive through.” Anders swung his foot over his horse and dismounted. Half the boys followed, leading their horses into the brush.

  Atop the tallest steed, a short boy dropped down. “Wildmen. I did not expect this.” He pulled two forearm-length blades from his saddle. “Hope I gut one.”

  “Don’t rush.” Anders pulled a shield and short sword from his horse. “Knights might clear the field first.”

  “Then no delays.” The short boy used his blades to cut through the green. “Gamble a meal if I make it there before you can.”

  A boy with dirty-blond hair flowing over his shoulders rode up to Frankfer. “Marcus...” Frankfer said.

  “Frank, what’s the plan?” Marcus asked. The remaining riders gathered, forming two new lines: one behind Frankfer, the other behind Marcus.

  “Same as always,” Frankfer answered. “Just because it’s savages doesn’t change the plan. Two-horse charge down the middle, then break into a line.”

  “Hate horse combat.” Marcus pouted and pulled his reins. “The battle?”

  Frankfer glared through the spyglass, watching the battle unfold while awaiting the flank’s signal. Metallic shields squared against the Wildmen’s savagery. Dozens surrounded a knight patrol, swarming like ants as the knights retreated into the village. “Outnumbered, this may not be easy.”

  “Good.” A voice escaped the band of riders.

  “Nice to see we’re in fine spirits.” Marcus said, “Let’s finish this before supper…”

  Their ears caught a roar escaping the village as Doter forces unleashed black-powder alchemy. Flashes from single-shot rifles pierced the air.

  “Look at that,” Marcus said.

  “Let’s go.” Frankfer pulled his reins.

  Horses pattered two by two along the path. Whispers hushed to silence, leaving only hooves and forest life echoing. The young warriors steeled their minds as each trot led them closer to danger. “Roosters!” Frankfer shouted.

  On the battlefield, cries mixed with gasps and clashing swords, the visage of red staining the walls of burning buildings. Doter Knights formed in the village corridors, between aflamed huts. Behind their shields, musketeers in dark leather jackets embroidered with rose patterns, flared white ruffled shirts, and feathered hats riddled with dust and soot, reloaded weaponry in two five-man rows, one behind the other.

  “Make ready!” The lead musketeer, his hat marked by a red feather, cried.

  The five knights, their white-rose armor stained with soot, knelt. The first musketeer line aimed and fired. Smoke erupted with great retort. They knelt as the second line volleyed. Down the corridor, Wildmen contorted and fell, rounds tearing through their horde-like wave. Animalistic cries echoed off the walls, assaulting villagers who covered their ears as they sheltered behind the musketeers.

  While the corridor held the main Doter patrol, a single knight guarded the opposite end. He faced a horde of thin, mud-caked men, faces hidden behind leaf-and-branch masks mimicking beasts. They screeched chants and rushed a tall figure in rose-red armor, a feathered cape draping his form, his eyes shadowed under a bird-like helmet with a beak nose guard.

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  Armed with a flame-visaged shield and his bare fist, he lifted his hand and commanded the flames consuming the surrounding rooftop. The dancing embers ripped away and formed a yellow wall of fire. The charging beasts screeched and halted, heat repelling their advance.

  From beyond the vision of the flame wielding knight, footsteps pattered away, cries clashing with blades and a youthful rooster crows echoed off the blood drenched walls.

  Silence swept in. The knight clenched his fists, drawing the flame wall like a river around his arm, setting his cape ablaze. At the corridor’s rear, leather-armored boys plunged blades into retreating wildmen. One locked eyes with the knight, a tall boy with broad shoulders, no sword or shield, just gloved fists bloodied by wildmen.

  “You’re on fire.” Marcus’s jaw hung slack.

  The flames dimmed as the knight stepped forward. “No time for talk, boy.” He turned toward the corridor’s opposite end, where the horde thinned and retreated. “Who are you?”

  “Your rescuers,” Marcus said.

  Near the village outskirts, Frankfer charged atop his steed, shield in one hand, thin lance in the other. With a crow, his men followed in line, stabbing and stomping ichor-covered Wildmen, their skin hidden under tar, mud, and twig.

  Marcus returned to his horse with his fellow riders, making his way towards his brothers, cutting off retreating forces. The Wildmen howled and rushed the cavalry with dagger-like blades and clawed hands. They swept the land and leapt like wolves onto horses.

  A single bestial man slid through the shadows of a burning village, and as the Roosters passed, the Wildman lunged at Marcus. He pressed his lance forward, the beast’s eyes widened in shock. With a cry, Marcus felt resistance as the lance pierced his assailant. The Wildman thrashed, snapping the lance and nearly unseating the young rider. Marcus clung to the reins as they exited the confines of the village, holding himself up. In a single moment, he took in the carnage around him. To his right, a riderless horse charged past. Behind, boys wrestled on the ground, blood staining grass; the bodies of his fellow Roosters lay still under garish assaults.

  “Roosters!” Marcus cried, turning his horse. The cavalry followed a band of retreating Wildmen towards the outskirts of the village, where a thick green brush met the clearing.

  From the brush, youthful crows signaled the footmen’s charge. Pale-faced Anders led with sword and shield. The carnage urged them forward as brothers’ cries as the bestial Wildmen were taken off guard. Anders approached a downed, moaning enemy thrashing like a wounded animal. He weaved around its reaches, then thrust his blade. It froze and huffed, choking its last breaths. Gazing about the outskirts, Anders noticed the swift silencing of their enemies.

  No standing Wildmen remained in the ruined village. Anders lifted his to release a cheer of victory, but a prickling on his neck turned him. On guard, the sound of impact met the wood of his shield. Wounded cries surrounded him as an unseen attack commenced with a volley of raining rocks.

  “I can’t see them!” A brother cried from behind his shield.

  “Ready yourselves.” Anders moved shield-first to the nearest downed brother. Locking eyes with Marcus atop his horse, he gestured for recovery. Marcus rushed the field, stones lashing. His steed braved the pain as the shards of stone pierced the soft parts of its leather armor, letting him extend an arm. The wounded brother reached forth and grasped it, kicking off the ground as Marcus yanked him upward. “Go!” Anders cried, advancing to the next injured Rooster.

  Rocks ceased thumping. A bloodthirsty screech tangled into nightmarish harmony from the brush, the air stilled as feet thundered towards the forming shield line. Anders hid himself behind his shield, “together!” he yelled.

  Marcus’s eyes widened at the flood. He pulled reins, his wounded brother moaning. Witnessing the shield wall flow backwards as their feet uprooted soil, surrendering to the pressured assault. Marcus urged his horse toward the village, yelling to the cavalry, “Throw spears, don’t close on the horde!” He waved for their larger force as he moved toward the center of the village.

  Lucas grinned atop his steed, racing forth at breakneck speed. “I like challenges.” Shouting toward his fellow cavalry. “Follow—peck them dead!” One hand on reins, lance in the other, Lucas cried aloud “Die, swine!” He brushed the horde and thrust his spear, feeling flesh give. Their Cavalry followed like a river, thrusting against the enemy flank; then breaking for another strike. Blood on his lance tip brought dark joy. “So pretty.” In the distance, a shine of brightness turned his head; his eyes blurred as a spark-like flame approached.

  Anders pressed shoulders with brothers, shields together, bodies bracing against animalistic thrashing. Mouth clicks and inhuman savagery pierced ears.

  “Together!” Anders shouted, voice cutting through the chaos.

  Defiant cries joined. “Hoo, haa, hee!” They pressed as their cavalry multiplied, continuing to assault their exposed sides, forcing the river of bodies to break away. The suffering cries from behind their shields encouraged Anders and his fellow shield to hold. “Hoo, haa, hee!” Heads tucked, shields locked, life-burning strength surged. They threw against the descending wave.

  Bestial cries and boys’ shouts scattered the tide, forcing many back into the green. Among their cavalry, five steeds rushed the flank into retreating Wildmen. Anders peered at the charge led by that female newcomer. She vaulted from her steed at full speed, tucked and rolled, then jumped upward. Her feminine yet sturdy battle cry raged as she unveiled twin daggers, carving through the flood. Wrathful roosters rallied toward her: Fernando, Edwardo, William, and others joined the fray. Their blades glistened with crimson, punishing the savages for their wickedness.

  Battle cries dimmed. Wildmen vanished into EverGreen trenches. Marcy scanned the field, bodies of boys and savages upon soft grass. “Sorry we were slow.” She approached Anders, clear leader of the shield boys.

  “Thanks.” He replied. “I think I remember you.”

  “You finish the course at the encampment?” She asked.

  “I crossed the elder tree’s branch at home,” Anders said.

  “Guess I’m your new instructor,” She replied.

  “What a greeting,” Anders said.

  From her eye’s corner, armor shimmered, Marcy threw her hood up. “I’m sure you boys can take it from here.” She mounted her horse. “I’ll head to the encampment. Find me there.” She told Anders. “Send word to others who’ve crossed the elder branches. They’ve been chosen.”

  Williams furrowed his brow, “She seemed too anxious to enter combat, now this?”

  Edwardo smirked, “it’s probably a girl thing.”

  “Is she as good as she claims?” Anders asked. “Swift to combat, swift to retreat...”

  “She’s good,” Fernando said. “She crossed the elder trees’ branches but an hour ago.”

  “So you claim,” Lucas said, dismounting his steed. “I must have gotten at least five Wildmen. Should get back to Marcus; I’m sure he will need help tending the wounded.

  “Gross work, not my ilk,” Edwardo said.

  “You hate all work. These are your brothers. Go…” Fernando said with a tone of authority.

  Edwardo kicked the ground, muttering to himself as he and William walked off.

  “We should go too,” Anders said. “This is most unusual… All of it.”

  Lucas shrugged, guiding his horse. “I need to clean my own damn wounds anyways…”

  Anders and Fernando stood among tired brothers, their feet carrying them back towards the village, its once-burning flames dimming.

  “You’re right.” Fernando said.

  “What do you mean?” Anders asked.

  “There is much, unprecedented happenings…” Fernando replied, “that woman… she’s hiding something.”

  Anders shrugged, “Well… I suppose there is unveiling to be done. I’ve never had to harm a woman before.”

  “She would take many of us with her…” Fernando confessed, “But I don’t think it will come to that. I sense tithings about her.”

  “Good Tithings?” Anders asked.

  “She is skilled, and Master Rutger has taken charm.” Fernando replied, “Even Falix seems to show honor towards her.”

  “I suppose that does mean something,” Anders said.

  “That would mean much,” Lucas chimed in. “I witnessed a woman retreating under a cloak, at only the mention of the Knights. I bet it’s bad.”

  “Master will find out,” Fernando said. “He always does...”