“Has anyone seen the blacksmith?” Perceval yelled.

No one heard him of course though. The camp was a busy beehive, everyone seemingly doing 3 tasks at once. There were stable boys tying up noisy horses, soldiers practicing on dummies filled with straw, rows upon rows of men supping. The men jested with one another, eating turkey legs and mutton, and becoming red in the face from all the wine, making them all the more louder.  No one seemed to hear Perceval through all the comotion.

Normally a war party would be more organized. Then men would not be allowed to drink, the horses would be armored, and all the soldiers would be ready to go to battle at a moments notice. Most of the men now were wearing little if any armor at all. Some wore some chainmail or maybe a breastplate here or there. A few swords could be seen hanging from some belts but most were unarmed, and all were drunk, it was practically a celebration after all.

A fortnight ago the king’s army had finally cornered the Red Caps. The Red Caps had been causing trouble for the King for almost 12 moons now. They started as a band of bandits, full of the most evil people you could imagine, but over the past year, had grown much larger.  After a year of waring, it seemed the end of the Red Caps was near. Now they had been corned against a cliff wall a league away, outnumbered 10 to 1.

The kings appointed general, general Tullius, was so sure of their success that he had sent out no lookouts. “Let them come.” he said “It will be their own death.”

So for the past 2 days the men had been eating, drinking, and celebrating. General Tullius had said the fight was to take place in 3 days time.

They had made camp on top of a high hill, the Hill of the First, as it was called. It was a perfect autumn day. The leaves were gentle colors of yellow, brown, and crimson. The air had a chill to it, not very cold, but just enough to tell you winter is coming. The hill sloped of in a gently incline at all sides. Battlements set up around the edge of the hill made is incredibly easy to hold. 10 men on this hill could easily hold off 100. In fact the only weakness to the hill was the Whispering Wood to the east. The Whispering Wood was a foggy, dark, and eerie place, and was largely believed to be haunted. But the Red Caps were in the west, on the completely other side. As far as General Tullius was concerned, if the Red Caps came here, it would be their own death sentence.

“Has anyone seen the smith?” Perceval yelled out again.

Perceval had just joined the war party a week ago, his armor was ill fit and rusted. His shield was missing chunks of wood, and his sword was dull as a butter knife. As a green boy at the age of 10 and 5 years he did not get much pickings from the good equipment. Perceval was at a loss. It seemed no one cared that he had a dull sword, or did not know where the smith was. Most men seemed to be acting as if he was invisible. Perceval squinted his eyes and peered intently at the crowd of men, searching desperately for a face he knew.

“Lemmings!” Perceval called.

Lemmings was almost as young as Perceval being 10 and 7 years, but had been fighting since he was 10 and 2, and already had been in 4 battles. He always looked as if fresh from a battle. His long brown hair always windswept and his clothes always tattered.

“What is it ya have a wanting for now Greenie?’ Lemmings said sarcastically.

“Have you seen the smith?”

“Might be I have as a matter o’ fact, what is it you be needin’ with him?”

“My sword is duller than a stone, I shan’t be able to stab anyone with this.”

“Well I doubt you’ll have much luck finding him,” Lemmings offered, “he’s off to The Whispering Wood looking for what he calls, good lumber. Apparently Whispering Wood lumber is the best around, burns the hottest. Codswallop in my opinion, but you’re welcome to look. “

So that’s why, grudgingly, Perceval made his way into the gloomy, dark, Whispering Wood. Perceval soon realized the woods were everything that people had said. It seemed that only a few steps in the light was almost gone. It looked dusk but he knew for sure it was only just after high noon. The trees above made a canopy, the tops of which were 50 feet in the air. Only gaps of light here and there were allowed through. The fog set in almost immediately as well. A hundred yards in Perceval could scarce see five feet in front of him. It was quiet too, all sound seemed to have vanished except for the faint whisper of a wind, rattling through the leaves of the trees. But there was a path, small as it may be, so Perceval went on his way, part out of necessity, and part to prove to himself that he can, a soldier must be brave after all.

He never saw the cliff. It seemed to come out of nowhere. He tried to stop, but his feet were on the very edge, hanging over. Flailing his arms trying to hold his balance, he fell. He tumbled bump after bump, rock after rock, tree branch after tree branch. Til at last he came to a halt at the bottom. Perceval hurt all over, but he didn’t think anything was broken. He turned onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet with his hands. He was stiff all over but there was nothing to be done for that now. There was no going back the way he came. He set off south, or what he assumed was south, in search of a way back, walking along the cliff edge.

He must have walked for some hour or so before he heard the whispers. They started low, but continued to grow the more he walked. Now being lost in these woods, a new soldier, and with only a dull sword to defend himself, Perceval was anxious, his legs felt weak and his breath was shaky at best. But he did his best to walk on. He walked another hour before he saw the moving bushes, or so he thought they were. Shapes, huddled close to the ground moving slowly. With as little noise as possible, Perceval crept forward. He laid his leather boots as softly as he could upon the newly fallen leaves. They crunched under his boots and for a moment he feared he was heard, but the shapes kept pushing on. Perceval advanced until he could make out the shapes. They were actually men, all wearing red caps. Perceval’s heart was pounding, how did they get here? All of the Red Caps were supposed to be on the other side of the hill, pushed against a cliff.

It dawned upon Perceval that the camp was in great danger. None of their men would be ready for a surprise attack, and there had to be at least 100 men here, and Perceval could not even see the back of the line.

“We’ll have em all killed before they even have time to wonder how we got here.” a quiet voice said.

“Might be we’ll win after all.” replied another

“While we’re poking them in the back here, the rest is coming right up that hill of theirs. They’ll be so surrounded they shan’t know which way to swing their sword.”

Perceval may have been a green boy, and his armour may have been ill fit, and his sword dull, but he always believed he had courage. And whether it was courage or folly that made his legs move is unsure, but he was running. He sprinted ahead of the Red Caps, running as fast as he could. Branches lashed out at his face, as if the trees were trying to hold him back. A shout went up behind him, his pursuers were on his heels. He heard an arrow whistle past his head, another struck a tree just to the left of him. Suddenly Perceval burts through a clearing, right into the war camp.

The commotion was still persisting, the men still rowdy. Perceval stood there panting, his lungs burning. He spotted a war horn on a soldier currently passed out in a pile of hay. He grabbed it and with all the breath left in his lungs he blew a loud, long blast. The party quieted and turned his way. General Tullius emerged from his tent

“What bloody soldier blew that horn?” he demanded.

“Greenie, just over there sir.” Lemmings offered.

General Tullius turned to face him, livid with anger. Perceval opened his mouth to tell them, to warn them of what was coming, but it seemed he had forgotten how to speak. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried again but still could not speak. General Tullius only gaped at him, in shock. Perceval fell forward, the arrow in his throat his last warning to a army about to fight a battle that he would never see.