ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1) Read online

  “The monastery? What cause do I have to go there?”

  He did not know much about the large order of monks living near the Mythen mountains, only that they raised horses and were especially respected as breeders of war mounts for the German Empire. They did not deal in mules or oxen, so the locals never had much to say about them.

  “Quite a place they have there. Must be a hundred monks. They built a town within their cathedral grounds. Got farriers, blacksmiths, sheep, some cows, and an awful lot of nice pasture land.”

  “And you tell me this because you have decided to join their ranks, I suppose.”

  “Not if the Lord Jesus himself begged me to. But, I think I will consider visiting them again sometime before our next feast day.”

  Thomas followed his eyes and they stopped on a nearby table laden with roasted lamb shoulders, dried sausages, stacks of freshly baked trenchers, and a small keg of wine. He stared at Pirmin. The big man was grinning.

  “Pirmin…what have you done?” Thomas was aghast.

  “You know me. When I come to a feast I feel the need to contribute.”

  “You stole from followers of Saint Benedict! They live in austerity—how could you do that?”

  “Bah! Those monks are better off than Templars. They had mountains of foodstuffs in their cellars. They will hardly miss the morsels we took.”

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed. There was more to this story, yet. “Who are we?”

  “Well, you could say I asked Noll and his men to help me out on this one.” Pirmin shrugged. “There was a lot to carry.”

  Thomas stood, sloshing half the contents of his mug onto the ground. “Are you touched? Raiding a monastery with a known outlaw could get you the noose. And if you avoid that, there is the small thing of blasphemy!”

  Pirmin stared at the wet spot on the ground left by Thomas’s mead. “That was Sutter’s brew, not the monks’. Who are you to call me touched?”

  “You have gone too far this time. Einsiedeln is under protection of the Habsburgs.”

  “And that is exactly why we raided it,” Pirmin said. “How much do you know of the troubles Schwyz and the monks have been having?”

  Thomas held his tongue and glowered at the big man sitting on his stump; he hardly needed to look down to be at eye level.

  “They have been fighting over pasture land for years. Until ten months ago, when Habsburg soldiers started slaughtering any animal grazing within a day’s march of Einsiedeln that did not bear the monks’ brand.” He waved his hand toward the nearby tables heavy with meat. “More than a few of these haunches never belonged to those cursed monks in the first place.”

  Pirmin had no love for monks, Thomas knew that. He suspected it was because monks always administered the beatings when they were children. And Pirmin, being the type of headstrong boy he was, received far more lashes than any other boy in the Acre hospice.

  “Did you kill anyone?”

  Pirmin’s eyes went wide. “Of course not. We redistributed some foodstuffs, as Noll likes to call it. Nothing more. We left them with their lives and valuables, I swear. Oh, except for a few kegs of ale and cider that, as we speak, are on their way to Noll’s camp for his men.”

  “They will petition the Duke, and the Habsburgs will have no choice but to retaliate. You realize this?”

  Pirmin’s grin widened. “Now Thomi, do not go all mother on me. It is a little meat, some wine, nothing more. Come—let us go fill that mug of yours.”

  The celebrations carried on into the night and hours later Thomas found himself helping Sutter pile empty barrel kegs onto the back of a wagon. On the other side of the road, laughter erupted from a group of revelers, and when Thomas looked up he saw Pirmin amongst the crowd. He bent low, almost in half, so a woman could whisper in his ear. As she stood on her tiptoes and placed her slender fingers on Pirmin’s shoulder, Thomas realized it was Seraina.

  He watched them for a moment, wondering what it was Pirmin was saying to make her smile and laugh so. He felt the scar on his face tighten as he forced a smile of his own. Pirmin was a force of nature when it came to women. Thomas had never known one to be immune to his charms. Why should Seraina be any different?

  “Vreni made up a bed for you at the inn, if you want it,” Sutter said.

  It took Thomas a moment before he understood what the innkeeper was talking about. “No, but tell her thank you. I need to go back home tonight,” Thomas said.

  Sutter shrugged. “Suits me. It would just be another mouth eating my bread in the morning anyway.”

  The two men finished loading the wagon and Sutter dropped the end board into place. Thomas turned to see Pirmin and Seraina walking towards him, her hand lost in the huge crook of his arm.

  “Ah, Thomi! Good. You have not slunk off into the night as of yet.”

  “As of yet,” Thomas said.

  “Seraina is insisting on going back to her cabin tonight, and while I offered to escort her to the end of the world if need be, she refused. Wanted me to ask you to take her. Imagine that, ferryman.”

  “Pirmin,” Seraina said and hit his arm with her open hand. “That is not what I said.”

  “Oh I think it was.”

  “I told you I had no need of an escort,” she said.

  “And then you asked if Thomas was going back to the ferry tonight, and when I said ‘I am sure he is’—”

  Seraina cut Pirmin off. “I merely thought, since we were both going in the same direction, some company would be nice,” She cast Thomas a sheepish, sidelong glance. “If you do not mind, that is.”

  Thomas shook his head and said, “No, of course not.”

  “I believe what he means to say is the thought of it horrifies him,” Pirmin said grinning from ear to ear.

  Chapter 15

  THOMAS SADDLED UP Anid and they rode out of Schwyz an hour past midnight. The stars hid beneath fast-moving clouds, but enough moonlight reflected through the billowing forms that they did not need a lantern.

  Thomas could tell Seraina was an inexperienced rider, but once mounted behind him, she settled into Anid’s rhythm like she had been born a horse nomad of the desert steppes. Anid walked as though she was not even there.

  But Thomas knew Seraina was there. Her hands rested lightly on his hips, and every so often when she leaned forward to say something, she would press against his back and he would feel the warmth of her breath on his neck.

  For most of the trip they spoke of herbs and healing remedies. Quizzing each other on the different names of frequently used concoctions and compresses. They compared the medicine of the Greeks and Arabs to that of the druids, marveling at the similarities and laughed at some of history’s more ridiculous treatments.

  As the night wore on and they closed in on Thomas’s cabin, their conversation slowed until it died off altogether, leaving only the creaks of Anid’s saddle carrying on the night air. They rode in a silence that neither of them seemed to find uncomfortable and Thomas found himself wishing he lived further from town.

  “Why do you dislike Noll so much?” Seraina said after clearing her throat.

  Thomas stiffened.

  “I do not dislike the man. I only worry what will happen to those closest to him,” he said. “The fairer question might be, why is it that you have so much faith in him?” He felt her hands tighten on his hips. She was silent for some time before she spoke.

  “I do not expect you to understand, but Noll is special. Every so often in history a person comes along with the potential to make a great difference in the lives of his people. The old religion would call him a Catalyst.”

  “And how exactly is Noll so different?”

  “The Catalyst is a thread of the Great Weave, like every one of us. But most people’s lives have very little effect on the Weave. Whether we live or die makes little difference. A few will mourn our passing, perhaps some will be relieved, but life goes on. The Catalyst, however, is the rarest of threads. If pulled in the right manner, it is
capable of completely unraveling the Great Weave, and reworking it into something entirely different.”

  “Your talk hovers on the edge of blasphemy, Seraina. No man can change the world as you speak of it.”

  Seraina sighed. “I apologize. I did not wish to put you in such a foul mood on one of the last nights of summer. Let us talk of something else.” She leaned in close as she spoke, and Thomas felt his anger towards Noll dissipate with the warmth of her pressed against his back.

  Then he felt Seraina tense and she pulled away from him, snatching away that wonderful heat. Anid threw back his head and skitted one step sideways.

  “What is it? What do you see, boy?” Thomas leaned over the horse’s head and spoke softly. He had long ago learned to trust his mount’s senses over his own.

  Seraina leapt to the ground and stood next to Anid’s head. She stroked his velvet nostrils and said something in a language Thomas did not understand. When Seraina looked up at Thomas she had tears in her eyes.

  “I am so sorry Thomas. Please. Stay here with me.”

  The sky had begun to lighten, or so Thomas had thought. The smell of smoke brought back his sense of reason. Dawn was yet another hour away.

  His cabin was over the next rise, and when he looked in that direction he saw a flickering orange and red glow playing along the underbellies of the clouds overhead.

  The ferry.

  He pulled up on Anid’s reins and commanded him backwards with his knees, away from Seraina. The stallion snorted in protest but complied immediately. Thomas was dimly aware of Seraina calling out his name as he forced Anid into a gallop. They pounded up the hill and when they reached the crest, Anid whinnied and reared up on two legs, startled by the sudden bright lights coming from his home below.

  Everything was engulfed in flames. The cabin, the ferry, even the wharf. Thomas’s hand went to his knife handle and he spun Anid in a circle, scouring the lit up countryside for some sign of who had done this.

  He saw nothing but sparks whirling in the cool night air, and everywhere, reddish grey clouds. They hung over the lake and blocked out the forest bordering the road.

  He was alone.

  Chapter 16

  “IT IS A FOOL’S HOPE. The fortress will never be completed before the first snows.”

  “Be careful who you call a fool, Landenberg.”

  Leopold glanced around him, wondering where that other Fool had gotten to. Leopold had arrived in Altdorf an hour before, and as he stood on top of the main gate surveying the masons and their teams of oxen and peasant labor milling about the main keep, he despised the fact that Landenberg was right.

  While the living quarters in the main keep were almost finished, the outer walls were nothing more than a hole encircling the grounds. Extending the wall below the ground level was necessary both to prevent its buckling from frost heaves and to deter sappers from tunneling under in the event of a siege. The main gate was finished. However, what good was a gate with no walls?

  “How is the tollgate on the road coming?”

  “Good. Or fair I should say. We have no portcullis for it as of yet. The iron workers had a fire in the forge and it has put them behind by weeks,” Landenberg said.

  Leopold squinted his eyes against the mid-day sun. He leaned over the edge of the gatehouse they stood upon. He could make out the top of the massive iron gate suspended with heavy ropes waiting to be dropped at a moment’s notice.

  “Yet there is one here,” Leopold said.

  Landenberg nodded. “You said to focus all work on the fortress.”

  Leopold closed his eyes. Unfortunately, Landenberg was still there when he opened them.

  “Look around you. Why would we need a portcullis when we have no walls?”

  The tollgate stood between Altdorf and the Gotthard Pass, and was located on a section of road that squeezed between two massive granite faces. It had a guard tower flanking either side, and could hold back an army if need be. That is, if it had a portcullis.

  Leopold fixed Landenberg with a cold stare, and willed understanding into the dim man. Just when he thought he might have to resort to drawing a picture in the dirt with a stick, Landenberg’s eyes lit up and a sheepish look crossed his face.

  “We should remove this portcullis and fix it to the tollgate. Then we could begin collecting tolls immediately,” Landenberg said.

  Just then, the Habsburg Fool’s green hair appeared at the top of the stairs, quiet as a snake.

  “What a splendid idea! Is that not a splendid idea, my Duke? I wish I had thought of that one,” the Fool said. He held his chin and muttered to himself as he stomped up and down the first three stairs several times. The chimes on his pointed shoes sounding more like church bells as they echoed off the stone walls of the narrow staircase.

  Leopold clamped his teeth and did his best to ignore the little man. He turned to Landenberg. “Get the iron out of this gate today. Now, did you summon the local judge as I told you?”

  “He waits in the hall, my lord.”

  “Good. Come with me. I would have both you and the judge there to listen. Then if there is some confusion, perhaps you can assist each other in understanding my wishes.”

  ***

  “This is most unexpected my lord. To be summoned before the Duke of Styria and Further Austria is an honor an old country judge like myself rarely sees.”

  “The honor is mine, Judge…” Leopold glanced at Landenberg.

  “This is Judge Furst, my Duke. The Crown appointed Magistrate for both Uri and Schwyz,” Landenberg said.

  Furst bowed and his hands unconsciously smoothed the front of his black magistrate’s robe. Faded and frayed around the hemlines, it matched the old man perfectly Leopold thought. He also could not help noticing the man’s robe bore none of the red or yellow markings found on the clothing of Judges of other Habsburg territories.

  Leopold moved to sit down on a chair behind an ornate desk, the only pieces of furniture in the recently constructed room, when Landenberg suddenly jerked and let out a howling sneeze, showering the desk with a fine mist. There was an awkward moment while the sound reverberated off the walls of the large, but bare, room.

  “Cursed dust everywhere. These stonemasons must have lungs full of the stuff. Probably piss white mud,” Landenberg said.

  Leopold backed away from the desk, wondering how he had become so desperate to need men such as these.

  “Let us walk to the balcony, gentlemen. A little fresh air will do us all some good.”

  They passed through an open doorway that led to a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Although the stonework was mostly complete, no doors or window shutters were yet in place. Apparently, the same ironworkers responsible for the portcullis delay were also behind in the production of hinges and latches. There were only two locations that the doors were fully operational: Leopold’s bedchambers, and the prisons, which the men could now see from the balcony. The prisons were located across the courtyard from the keep, in a low rectangular building that extended two floors below ground.

  “Vogt Landenberg has told me of the fine work you do for the Crown,” Leopold said, resting his hands on the stone railing and looking over some workers in the courtyard.

  “Thank you, my lord. I am flattered the Vogt of Unterwalden should concern himself with the governance of Uri and Schwyz at all.”

  Furst obviously resented Landenberg’s presence in his district. And Leopold could not blame him.

  “I have asked the Vogt to assist us with a troubling matter that has come to light.”

  “Oh? What might that be, my lord?”

  Leopold could see by Landenberg’s face that he was just as puzzled, but he managed to keep quiet.

  “Recently, the Abbot of Einsiedeln sent me a most urgent, and if truth be told, disconcerting message concerning some of your Schwyz countrymen.”

  Furst looked up. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. A wise man fears his own words more than those of his betters.
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  “It seems a band of men led by Arnold Melchthal raided the monastery. They stole a great deal of their larder, and desecrated their place of worship. The Abbot said many of the brothers feared for their very lives.”

  Furst began to roll his eyes but quickly caught himself, remembering whom he addressed.

  “Did you know of this attack?” Leopold asked.

  “I heard a rumor, my lord. But no arrests have been made. I hear Melchthal is very difficult to find.”

  “Bleeding ghost he is, that one,” Landenberg said. “But when I catch him, the Devil will not even find use for what I leave of him.”

  “Bold talk,” Leopold said. “For one who has chased the man for what, three years?”

  Landenberg’s face grew as red as the fist emblazoned on his breastplate. “He cannot run forever.”

  “Since Melchthal is so difficult to find, perhaps you would have better fortune hunting one of his men. The Abbot described a huge man, fair in hair color and complexion, who was instrumental in the attack. He thought the man may even be Melchthal’s lieutenant. He wielded a long-handled ax.”

  At the mention of the ax, Furst’s eyes betrayed his thoughts.

  “You know of this man,” Leopold said.

  Furst paused for a moment before answering. “I know of a big man like that. He does some work for Sutter on occasion.”

  Leopold gave Landenberg a questioning look.

  “Sutter. The innkeeper in Schwyz. Has a fine daughter,” Landenberg said.

  Leopold nodded. “Very well. Take a few men and visit the inn. Find the big man and arrest him and anyone he is associating with. But not the innkeeper. Travelers and merchants need inns.”

  Landenberg bowed his head but not before Leopold saw his face light up like a candle in a prison cell.

  He turned to Furst. “Judge, there will be some small changes to your sentencing system. From this day forward, all who are found guilty of even the smallest crimes will be sentenced to work on the fortress. They will be housed in the dungeons and divided equally among the masons. Is that understood?”