Bruno

The sounds of fighting start me out of my sleep. I try getting to my feet before I remember my chains, and they jerk me back to the floor. At least there's no danger that someone will hear their clanging now, given all the shouting and the drumming of hooves coming from the outside.

The tent is not as dark as before, but it's not the light of dawn that filters through the thick fabric. It's red and unsteady. A fire? Has anyone set a nearby tent ablaze?

I pull at my chains. I've tried different ways to get rid of them during the day, but perhaps now that I don't need to be quiet, I could use some brute force. I dig my heels into the earthy floor and pull at the chains again, first growling with effort, then almost roaring with desperation.

The smell of smoke reaches my nostrils. I pause and look around, panting. My tent is not on fire yet, but how long will it be until it is? Should I try and call for help? But I don't know what's going on outside. I don't know who'll come.

I grab the pole to which my chains are fastened and try to pull it out of the ground. Given the chaos outside, if one tent collapses, nobody will pay attention. Yet the pole sits too deep, and the weight of the tent presses on it from above, making my task impossible. I pause, panting, sweating in the air that is getting warm and stuffy.

Suddenly, the flap of the tent flies aside. A man bursts in, distinguishable only by the glimmer of light on his breastplate and the long sword in his hand. He pauses, looking around until his eyes find me.

"Bruno?" His voice sounds familiar.

"Grumio?"

"Damn it, brother." He runs to me and feels my restraints with his hands. Then he straightens up and raises his sword. "Pull the chain as far as it goes."

I do as I'm told. Before I can tell him to be careful, the sword smashes into the chain, then does so again. More blows follow, dangerously close to my clenched fists. The metal screeches and sparks fly . At last, a link on the chain snaps, and I'm finally free. I roll away and get to my feet, and then Grumio grabs me by the shoulders, pushing me to the exit.

"Come on, hurry up!"

Outside, we stop as I take in the view of the camp full of shouting, running, fighting people. Riders pass by, but most of the soldiers fight on foot, some of them still wearing only their undergarments. As I have guessed, some of the tents are on fire, and the camp is so well illuminated it looks more like a particularly bloody sunset rather than the night that it is.

"Where's Dwennon's tent?" I say.

Before he can answer, I see it. It's the tallest fire of all, visible even behind the rows of lower tents that separate us. It sends tongues of flames and sparks high into the sky. I stare at it for what feels like minutes, although it's probably a second or two. Then, I begin to run towards it.

I don't get far before Grumio catches my arm and brings me to a halt. Then, he pulls me closer to the wall of another tent, into the shadows.

"What're you doing?" he hisses, his fingers digging painfully into my forearm.

I shake his hand off, but he grasps me again.

"Dwennon is dead," he whispers fiercely. "That was the signal, his tent going on fire." Without letting me go, he moves so that he could see my face. "But you're not looking for Dwennon, right?"

"I must go." I try to free myself but he doesn't let go.

"Damn it, Bruno. If I knew he would gain such a grip on you, I'd have killed him myself on that first morning." He shakes his head. "Either way, he's dead, too, and you --" He leans closer, looking me in the eye. "You need to leave."

"What?"

"Run while you can, brother." He lets go of me and cups my cheek with one hand. "You're in danger. Run away. In this mess, nobody will notice."

"But --"

Before I can finish, a group of a few horsemen ride over to us. It's hard to tell if they're Dwennon's people or not, but their horses are tall and their armor is rich and shiny. The first of them stops in front of us and looks down through his vizor. Then he claps his hands in metal gloves, and exclaims, "Looks like we have found our runaway!"

He raises his visor, and it's Oliver's eyes that gleam at me, and his familiar wide grin that greets me, although in this light it looks more like the bared teeth of a wolf.

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