The sun had long since gone down by the time I finally left the castellan's pavilion.
My hand still ached from writing.
I'd spent nearly an hour scratching out a letter to Mr. Goffin, asking if he'd look after my family while I was away. Castellan Hartson had insisted on reading it before it was sealed. Not to change my words, he'd been quick to say, only to make certain I'd explained everything clearly.
I'd also listed everything I'd hoped he might buy.
A pair of milk cows.
Repairs to the stable.
Boots for everyone.
Money to hire men for the heavier work.
Seed.
Tools.
Then I'd added a little more.
There was always something that needed fixing.
Something that wore out.
Something that broke.
And there were taxes.
Never forget the taxes.
The castellan had smiled when he'd seen that line.
"You truly have been listening."
"I've seen what happens when folk don't pay them," I'd answered.
He'd laughed.
Then quietly added another fifty gold to the amount.
"For the things neither of us have thought of."
Now I trudged through the Duke's section of the camp, the noble pavilions standing in neat rows behind orderly pickets and watchfires.
Beyond them lay the levy camp.
Rougher.
Louder.
Home.
I was halfway between the two when the night shattered.
"Alarm!"
The cry carried across the camp.
Then another.
"To arms!"
Someone farther off screamed.
"Assassin!"
My head snapped toward the sound.
For a heartbeat...
Everything seemed frozen.
Then the entire camp erupted.
Men stumbled from tents, still pulling on boots and sword belts.
Torches flared to life one after another, throwing strange, dancing shadows across the canvas rows.
Somebody shouted.
"Murder!"
The word sent a cold knot into my stomach.
I couldn't tell where it had happened.
Only that it was close.
Very close.
I broke into a run toward my squad's tents.
As I reached the first one, I hammered both fists against the canvas.
"Wake up!"
I struck it again.
"Wake up!"
"Enemy in camp!"
That seemed the safest thing to shout.
I didn't know if there really was an assassin.
But I knew one thing.
Whatever was happening...
...it wasn't over yet.
A horn sounded from the southern edge of the camp.
A heartbeat later another answered from the west.
The alarm was spreading.
Those sections of the camp would already be awake.
I reached our tent just as Brenn stirred inside.
Rather than charge into the darkness, I grabbed my spear from the rack beside the entrance and took up a position to one side of the flap.
If someone rushed the tent...
...they wouldn't see me until they were already inside.
Behind me I heard confused voices.
"What is it?"
"What's happening?"
"Get your boots on!"
Steel rasped against leather as men reached for weapons.
Then I saw movement.
A figure emerged from the darkness at a run.
He wore a hooded cloak that swallowed what little light the torches offered. Only the faint gleam of a drawn sword caught my eye.
He slowed when he saw me.
"Out of my way, boy."
His voice was low.
Urgent.
"I must report to the captain."
For just a moment...
I almost believed him.
Then I heard the accent.
It wasn't ours.
Not from the frontier.
Not from anywhere I'd ever heard.
Every instinct Sir Regimax had spent the past week beating into me screamed.
Something's wrong.
I lowered my spear.
"No."
"You wait here."
The man's posture changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
His shoulders relaxed.
His weight shifted onto the balls of his feet.
Sir Regimax's voice echoed in my mind.
"Watch the feet."
"The feet tell the truth."
The stranger lunged.
The sword flashed toward my throat.
I barely got the spear haft up in time.
Steel cracked against ash wood with enough force to numb both my hands.
He was fast.
Far faster than anyone I'd sparred with before.
He pressed immediately, sliding his blade down the shaft toward my fingers.
I shoved forward with all my weight instead of trying to match his strength.
The sudden movement broke his balance for half a heartbeat.
Enough.
I drove the butt of the spear low into his shin.
Not hard enough to break it.
Just enough to steal his footing.
His leg folded awkwardly.
He stumbled.
I swept the shaft across his knees.
The man crashed sideways into the dirt with a muffled curse.
The hood slipped back for the briefest instant, I caught a glimpse of pale skin and a neatly trimmed beard.
He looked...
Human.
"Enemy!"
I bellowed at the top of my lungs.
"Enemy!"
Behind me the tent flap burst open.
Brenn came through first with spear in hand.
The assassin looked up once...
Measured the odds...
Then rolled backward with astonishing speed.
A knife appeared in his free hand almost as if by magic.
He hurled it.
Not at me.
At the torch beside the tent.
The flame exploded into sparks as the knife struck.
Darkness swallowed the space between us.
"Down!" Brenn roared.
By the time the torch was relit...
The cloaked man was gone.
Only deep footprints disappearing between the tents remained.
Brenn looked at them for a long moment.
Then he slowly turned toward me.
"Did he say anything?"
I nodded.
"He said he had to report to the captain."
Brenn's expression hardened.
"There isn't a captain's tent this direction."
The old sergeant looked into the darkness where the man had vanished.
"He wasn't looking for a captain."
He frowned.
"...He was looking for someone else."
A long moment passed.
"...or an escape."
***
Midnight found me standing at attention before Captain Harl.
The command pavilion had become unusually crowded.
The Duke was there.
Count Edmund stood beside him.
Mage Hodger occupied one corner, quill already scratching across parchment.
Sir Regimax leaned against one of the support poles, arms folded across his chest.
The captain looked as though he hadn't slept in days.
He studied me for a long moment before speaking.
"Repeat everything."
His voice was calm.
"Leave nothing out."
"Even the parts that don't seem important."
"Yes, sir."
I swallowed.
"He came out of the darkness carrying a sword."
"He wore a dark cloak."
"I couldn't see much of his face."
"He told me..."
I frowned, trying to remember the exact words.
"'Out of my way, boy. I must report to the captain.'"
The captain nodded.
"And?"
"It wasn't..."
I searched for the words.
"...right."
"What wasn't?"
"The way he spoke."
The captain exchanged a glance with Sir Regimax.
"Explain."
I scratched the back of my neck.
"We had a trader come through the village a few times every year."
"He was from Dunhill."
"I remember because everyone always asked him about the kingdom over the border."
"He sounded..."
I hesitated.
"...more like that fellow than anyone I've heard in our camp."
"But..."
"It wasn't the same."
"Just..."
"Close."
Silence.
The captain looked toward Sir Regimax.
The knight gave the slightest nod.
"Dunhill?"
the Duke asked quietly.
Sir Regimax shrugged.
"Perhaps."
"Or somewhere nearby."
"The boy is describing a foreign accent."
Hodger looked up from his notes.
"Interesting."
The captain returned his attention to me.
"When he attacked..."
"Did he shout?"
"No, sir."
"Curse?"
"No, sir."
"Breathe heavily?"
I blinked.
"I..."
I thought back.
"No."
The captain nodded slowly.
"He expected to kill you quickly."
The words struck me like a hammer.
"Me?"
For the first time that night...
Every man in the pavilion looked at me.
No one answered.
The silence told me far more than words could.
Finally the Duke broke it.
"Captain."
The officer turned.
"I think Sergeant Harlan's suggestion was correct."
"The boy will no longer sleep in the levy tents."
My stomach dropped.
"But my squad—"
"They remain your squad," the Duke said gently.
"But tonight someone entered my camp looking for a young recruit who matches your description. That is the second incident today involving a boy who could easily be mistaken for you."
His expression hardened.
"I will not give them a second opportunity."
Sir Regimax pushed himself away from the tent pole.
"I'll take responsibility for him."
The Duke inclined his head.
"You already have."