Birds chirped about a clearing, where a thick canopy reached from all directions, the rays above piercing the forest and resting its warmth upon the orphan encampment. About the surrounding trees, the familiar sounds of wildlife bustled from all directions, and amidst the living jungle, spying through the thick foliage, a pair of bloodshot eyes peered through the thick greenery toward the smoldering fires that the wounded were comforted by. Ordered about like ants, the leather-armored boys rushed to tend their fallen brothers. Behind the swarm sat their weary guests, a patrol of knights adorning rose-like etchings upon their silver-clad armor. Among their lot sat a single red-armored knight, Sir Laurence Garcia, his feathered helmet resting beside him.

  Garcia’s eyes scanned a torn scroll adjacent to an open bag flooded with scrolls resting beside him. "I thought she looked familiar."

  The patrol's commander, Sir Henric Andreyas, looked over Garcia's shoulder, his eyes resting upon the hand-drawn visage of a well-built woman with a strange growth upon her cheek.

  "This is her," Garcia continued. "I know it."

  "The woman among the Roosters?" Andreyas asked.

  "Yes," Garcia replied.

  "So..." Andreyas said, "are you planning on slaughtering all of them to get to her?"

  "I am under orders," Garcia said.

  Andreyas scanned the flow of boys until the sight of a hooded woman appeared from afar. "Don't do anything..." His eyes followed her as she rushed toward the elder Master who had authority over the Roosters. Her face was etched with urgency and worry. "Something is incorrect." Andreyas rose, his eyes shifting toward his fellow silver-clad knights. "Stay here." A silent command for his men to watch Garcia.

  The clank of Sir Andreyas's armor parted the crowd, with a single boy gawking at him, frozen in curiosity. Andreyas stopped in stride, staring at the boy.

  "Hi..." Cole said.

  "Hello, young man. Can I help you?" Andreyas asked.

  Cole’s mouth began to widen as he stood in awe of the giant before him. "I'm going to join the village... I should go," Cole said, creating an exit for himself.

  "Very well. You do good, boy," the knight said.

  Cole perked. "Thank you," he replied, running off to join a forming caravan.

  Continuing his stride, the knight found himself before the silent, hooded woman and the elder Master.

  "Hello," Andreyas said.

  "Ah, yes. I've been meaning to greet you," Master Rutger said. "You are?"

  "Sir Henric Andreyas. I am the patrol captain." His eyes shifted to Marcy.

  "Is there anything we should be worried about?" Andreyas asked, his words lingering. "We are strong warriors."

  "Of course you are," Rutger replied. "There have been scouts of those Wildmen who assaulted the village."

  "They did not assault the village," Andreyas said. "They assaulted us."

  "Curious," Rutger pondered. "What occurred about the village?"

  "We were upon its outskirts, coursing through the many small places of civilization about the forest," Andreyas said. "We heard their strange growls escaping the green. They ambushed us, trying to drag my men into the shroud."

  "Your knights made well," Rutger said, gazing at the wounded. "None seem to be among the injured."

  "As I said, we are warriors," Andreyas replied. "Are we to prepare for a coming battle?"

  "I am afraid so..." Rutger said. "We must tend to the wounded and prepare what defenses we can."

  Andreyas looked about the outskirts of the orphans' village. "There are no walls..."

  "There was never a need for them," Rutger said. "I fear it was a mistake to never have so."

  "I will see to my men and get you hands to prepare," Andreyas said. "Is there a command tent in the area we can strategize from?"

  Rutger lifted his head. "Always." He pointed his arm toward a large table near a burning fire, resting under a heavy quilt bearing many tears. "It's as good as any."

  "Of course..." Andreyas replied.

  "Excuse me, Sir Andreyas, there are many wounded who must be moved before any defenses can be erected," Rutger walked past.

  He placed his hands upon his armored chest and gave a stiff bow to Rutger, then tilted his bowed form toward Marcy, locking eyes with her.

  Sir Garcia lifted his head from his seated position as the familiar clank of Doter knight armor signaled Andreyas's return.

  "It's her," Andreyas said.

  "Well, shall I?" Garcia asked.

  "In the name of the Phoenix, I command you toward restraint," Andreyas lashed his retort.

  "Don't condescend to me," Garcia replied. "I serve the Phoenix through the orders given." Lifting the wanted scroll, he placed it upon Andreyas's chest.

  Unfurling it, Andreyas read its contents: "Unnamed Assassin. Wanted for the murder of over two dozen individuals across Whitlow and Doter. Wanted Dead."

  "She is no mere crook," Garcia continued.

  "Be it as it may, this is not the greatest worry," Andreyas said. "Those beasts that attacked us, a scouting party was found near this very encampment."

  "I am not shocked. This whole place is a green desolation," Garcia shrugged. "We will do what we must, but I will not leave without justice dealt."

  "Very well, brother..." Andreyas agreed. Turning away from the hunter, he locked eyes with his lead musketeer, a well-fashioned dark-skinned man named Santi.

  "Yes, sir?" Santi asked.

  "We prepare for attack." Andreyas voice carried loud enough for all his men to return a silent attention. "We need our musketeers to aid in defensive engineering, and our knights to head back to our encampment, gather our belongings, and bring them all back to me. Go now, with haste!"

  His men spared not a moment, breaking into ordered groups and following their officers. The musketeers trailed behind Santi, fashioned caps and adorned leathers set at the waist side, these men were ready to work. Breaking them into two groups as the sound of heavy wheels signaled the caravan's retreat, Santi found Master Falix ordering the boys about.

  "You have a plan for a defensive structure?" Santi asked.

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  "There's always a plan, yet will it survive till the morrow?" Falix said, his head scanning the surrounding green. "Our stronger boys are shoveling ditches. Can you sharpen and drive pikes?"

  Santi nodded. "Not a thing unbuilt by Doter hands."

  The laughter of boys permeated the day's heat, the sound of shovels and piles of soil gathering large enough to form a long mound wall. The musketeers patted the dirt mound as others heaved axes into fresh wood, taking aid from the forest's plentiful tree bank, fashioning the logs into sharpened pikes to protrude outward toward the ditch. The sensation of being watched crept up Santi's back. Turning his head, he locked eyes with a young boy carrying Doternite features.

  "What are you doing out here?" Santi asked.

  "Me?" the boy replied. "I'm William. My father, he was a bastard knight. He died among the green."

  "I'm sorry. Do you take up his mission?" Santi asked. "Do you have bride and riches to present toward the Queen?"

  "I have his blade," William said. "Are you a knight?"

  "I am afraid not, Sir William," he coyed, fixing the pike in place within the dirt mound. "I am but a humble musketeer."

  "My father could will the blade aflame," William said. "He told me all Doter born may achieve this. Can you tell me if one of your knights is willing to teach?"

  "That is quite the request," Santi said. "I am to receive orders, not give them."

  "I see... Well, maybe I just might get the chance," William said.

  "William, go about your work." The voice of Master Falix found them. "No time for a break now."

  "Yes, Master. Sorry, Master," William said.

  Turning away, his eyes glared upward from the ditch he was digging, meeting Anders as he passed with a bank of arrows in tow.

  "Sorry, Master..." Anders teased while grimacing a playful face.

  "I’ve finished my task. I'll help Anders with the arrows," William said, pulling himself out of the ditch.

  "I don't need help," Anders pestered, finding his sweaty grip upon the arrows loosening.

  As several bundles of six foot long reed-arrows wrapped with tight tethers fell from the large bundle he carried under his arm, William knelt before him, grasping the falling bundles before they could touch soil.

  "See..." William said, standing to his feet. "You clearly need my aid. Where are we headed?"

  Anders raised his brow. "...Just follow me." The two boys walked beside each other, William looking forward with a creeping smile. "What are you up to, William?"

  "Me?" William tilted his head. "Nothing, just helping my fellow Rooster with his tasks."

  "I need not your mischief, if word’s correct, the Wildmen will be here. I will not be caught off guard," Anders said.

  William opened his mouth to reply. As he did, his eyes scanned the surroundings, capturing the sight of a red-armored knight scanning documents under the shade of a tree. "You know what? You're correct, Anders, you need me not." William shoved the arrows into his brother's possession, the force testing Anders's balance.

  "What is your malfunction?" Anders said, his eyes glued upon William as he hurried himself away. “What a fool...”

  "Hello," William approached. "You're a knight, a real one, right?"

  The knight glared toward this intruder, tucking the parchment away. "And who are you?"

  "I am a Doternite, like you," William answered. "My father was a bastard—"

  "And now he's left you to follow in his stead," the knight interrupted. "Why do you bother me?"

  "Well," William summoned the courage, "I was wishing you could teach me the ways of a knight, or at least how to set my own blade aflame? It was something my father could do..."

  "Really?" A sly smirk grew across Garcia's face. "Shouldn't you be aiding your brothers?"

  "This is something that is important to me," William took a step forward.

  "I see... Tell me, William, are you willing to barter information?" Garcia asked.

  "Barter?" William replied.

  "I need to know something," he said. "Tell me of that woman with the scarred face. She has the same ailment stricken upon you." His eyes glared upon the growth around William's brow.

  Turning away, William fought the embarrassment. "What do you want to know?"

  "Is she armed?" he asked.

  "Why?" William hesitated.

  "Boy, answer me... I will give you the bounty of Doter," Garcia bargained.

  "She has two knives," he replied.

  "I see..." Garcia pondered. "Do you want to know a secret about her?"

  Their eyes locked. William could feel an internal struggle; an aura of distrust protruded from Garcia. Before he could answer, a terrible shriek escaped the surrounding green. Turning their heads, the two witnessed Anders standing stone-like, with bow extended in his right hand and his left bent with his fingers loosed. "I saw it." Breaking from his spell, he reached for another arrow and loosed the contents of his quiver into the green.

  With shields high, boys released a crow toward the Wildman's agonized cries. Spotting the thrashing form in the brush, they ensnared the flailing beast in nets and hauled its ravenous, wounded bulk into the light. Wooden spears of stone-faced boys met the creature's neck, beckoning its compliance. The beast held still as they examined its figure: a tar-caked body crusted with dead leaves, dirt, dung, and a strange black tar-like substance. Its eyes bulged from a taut mask of the same tarry crust.

  The Roosters surged into the brush, shields raised, swords drawn. Spear-bearers followed as shield-bearers locked shoulders, hoisting twelve-foot lances atop the wall and thrusting into the green. Wildmen's frightful cries erupted from the camp's southern edge as spears struck their stealthy prey. The thrashing of brush signaled a thwarted plan and an unexpected retreat.

  Rutger heard it all through milky eyes that caught only blurred shapes. "No sound behind us..." He pivoted to the far edge. "Fernando, rally the flank!"

  Cocking his head back, Fernando spotted strange shadows maneuvering between buildings. "They're here! Roost—"

  An arrow hit. Fernando felt a strong force rip through his armor, piercing his shoulder. As his body fell upon the muddy ground's cold embrace, the sound of battle cries and the silent roar of rudimentary arrows erupted all around him.

  "Fernando!" Anders cried. A storm of arrows screamed past in a lethal curtain. Heart pounding, he tore open the bundle of slender six-foot reed shafts, fingers dancing with practiced grace as he seized one and settled its feather-light nock against the string. The bow creaked under the mounting draw, muscles coiling like springs, his sharp gaze pierced the chaos: a tar-smeared Wildman barreling forth, jagged daggers gleaming in each clenched fist. He loosed the reed arrow; the bow's unleashed surge sent it coursing through air, arcing with lethal elegance as it buried itself in the Wildman's chest. The would-be attacker unleashed a wailing cry as the arrow punched through to claim the berserker charging at his back.

  "Got another bow?" Marcy said, ducking beside him.

  "Plenty." Anders threw her his, turning behind him to urge his fellow archer boys to gather. "Kill them all! We got our prisoner!"

  With a hefty block of firewood borne in both hands, Falix charged forth. "Shield boys, with me!" he urged, smashing the log's protruding portions into the nearest Wildman. "We are the wall!"

  "And we hold here!" Edwardo's voice erupted beside him, shield punctured with arrows.

  "You've been busy," Falix said.

  "Always, Master!" Edwardo cried as a charge of bestial men broke from between the buildings, ripping through from their windows' interiors and smashing doors. "Those bastards sacked our cabins!"

  As more shields joined the wall, Falix witnessed the raiding Wildmen breaking away with goods in their hands. "Focus on the fight ahead!" he commanded.

  To their left, the sharp sound of musket fire tore through the green, the scent of smoke permeating the battlefield. "No time to reload, prepare a charge!" Santi ordered.

  "No need," Commander Andreyas said. "Leave these foul creatures to me!"

  William witnessed from behind his shield as Andreyas clenched his fists, and the familiar illumination of fire sparked from within his palm and engulfed him in complete flame. With no blade in hand, he charged forth, alone. His very visage sent shrieks of terror through the marauding ranks, routing their attackers.

  "How can he do that..." As William pondered the thought, a guttural wail brought forth a smashing pressure upon his shield. A Wildman's weapon tore splinters from his shield, throwing him to the ground.

  His eye witnessed the strange, thin beast-man lift its axe-like weapon upward, eyes blazing with a yellow hue as they widened to an inhuman extent. Williams’ ears caught the sound of its guttural voice muttering a ritualistic chant as the axe came down upon him. Seeing the face of his father, William's raw instinct kicked in. He lifted his broken shield, feeling the axe tear through what remained and taste his flesh. With a cry of pain, William clenched his father's sword, and its steel brought a vengeful retort, ripping through the tar-like substance with ease and tearing through strange necrotic flesh. The beast flailed in anger, pain coursing through its hideous form. William felt the retort of its savage weaponry test his leather armor, and a blow met his scalp, dazing the boy and relinquishing the blade within his hand. Another met his flesh; tearing armor, a numbness fell over William, the world a blur, that terrible guttural voice filtering through his senses and assaulting his ears.

  “I can’t…” William muttered between the strikes of his vicious assault, reaching for his blade, he found only dust.

  As all began to fall back, an arrow-ridden boy rushed forth, through his blurred vision, William saw the visage of Fernando tackle the beast.

  Its savage weapon flew through the battlefield as their bodies smashed upon the bloodied ground. Fernando forced his hand into the open wound of the creature, grasping its contents and ripping its innards for the witnessing beasts. Raising a bloodied boulder above the assailant, its guttural cries mixed with the breaking of bone as he forced the stone down upon its skull.

  "Well done," a voice called. Turning his head, the cruel smile of Garcia met Fernando. "Just the one kill? Too bad..." He tilted his head toward a retreating band of Wildmen. "I think we may have won."

  "My brothers," Fernando said, looking toward William's panting body lying upon the ground. Kneeling beside him, William met Fernando with a smile.

  William grasped at his mutilated arm. "You know what must be done. This cannot go unpunished..."

  "When did you start talking like a Rooster?" Fernando coyed.

  The sound of footsteps stole his attention. Rutger stood before him with a bloodied blade in hand. "There is little time. Gather the wounded and the dead... We must strike."