Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (18 page)

The anger behind his words wiped the smiles from
both men’s faces and made them sit up straight.

“Why would you want to do that?” Thomas asked.

“He deserves it. He killed my friend.”

“What was your friend’s name?”

“Pirmin,” Matthias said.

Even though he knew what the boy was going to say,
it still took a few seconds before Thomas spoke.

“Leopold has killed a lot of people’s friends,”
Thomas said. “But you are too young to be thinking of killing
men.”

“Yeah, I thought you would say something like that.
Come on Vex.”

As the boy turned away, Thomas said, “Can you
ride?”

Matthias turned back and his distrusting eyes fixed
on Thomas. “No,” he said. “Well, I sat on an ox a few times.”

“You will have to learn, then. I need a runner.
Someone to deliver messages for me. Until you are able to ride, you
will have to do it on foot. Can you run?”

His face lit up, the distrust in his eyes fell away,
and he looked just like any normal eight-year old should. He
pointed at Noll. “Almost as fast as him!”

“That will have to do,” Thomas said. He looked
around and saw Ruedi standing not far away oiling his crossbow.
“See that man over there with the forked beard? Go ask him to teach
you how to ride. But ask nice. If you do not, he may shoot
you.”

The boy nodded and hooked one arm around Vex’s neck.
“Come on, boy.”

“And one more thing, Matthias. A good soldier never
lies to his captain. A poor one often does. You choose which one
you want to be.”

Thomas could see the boy thinking as he led the dog
away. That was a good thing. He had been forced to grow up too
fast, but then again, so had Thomas.

The next man stepped up and placed his hand on
Thomas’s makeshift desk.

“Touching,” he said. He was missing the top half of
most of his fingers. In his late twenties, the man had thick arms
but long, sleek legs that looked like they could carry him for days
without any rest. His eyes were hard and restless.

Thomas recognized him immediately. He was the
brigand leader of the band that had tried to ambush him and his men
near the Gotthard those many months ago. The memory of that time
was so far away from his life now, it seemed to belong to another
man. He glanced at Anton. He too was eying the man curiously.

“Hello Erich,” Noll said, his tone flat.

The man’s eyes jumped from Thomas to Noll. He nodded
and gave Noll an imaginary tip of the hat with his stumpy right
hand. “Nice to see you Noll.”

“Better here than on the road,” Noll said. “What
brings you to Altdorf?”

“The lack of soldiers,” Erich said.

“Must be quite the experience for you. Being able to
walk into a town without a Habsburg man trying to take your
head.”

Erich shrugged. “It might be something a man could
get used to. But I do not need to tell you that.”

“What do you want, Erich?”

He stared at Noll and his chest rose and fell. “A
place for me and my men in your army.”

Noll leaned back on his log. “How many men are we
talking about?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You realize what we are doing here? You know this
is not just some warm place to spend the winter?”

Erich nodded slowly. “Like I said. A man could get
used to being able to walk free in this town.”

Thomas put his quill down and spoke up. “I am afraid
we cannot accept your offer.”

Noll looked at Thomas like he had just bitten the
head off a chicken. “Uh, Thomas… maybe we should discuss this?
Sure, Erich is an outlaw, but who can fault someone for that? He
just offered us twenty-seven men.”

“Twenty-eight, including me. And this.” Erich pulled
a leather-bound manuscript out of a sack at his feet and dropped it
on top of Thomas’s pile of parchment.

Thomas struggled to keep the surprise from his eyes,
but as soon as he saw the title, he recognized the book. It was
Duke Leopold’s
Malleus Maleficarum. The Hammer of
Witches.

“Where did you get this?”

“Found it a while back in a cage wagon in the
Kussnacht. Along with the corpse of a man both you and I know only
too well.”

He held up his shortened fingers and ran his palm
over their blunt ends. He directed his next words to Anton. “You
did a fine job firing these. Healed up real nice. I suppose I
should thank you for that.”

Anton shrugged. “I have done better work. But I
usually reserve that for people who do not try to kill me
first.”

Erich looked back to Thomas. “What do you say? I
have some skilled men in my band.”

“And that is one of the reasons I must say no.”

Noll held his head with both hands. “Thomas, I can
vouch for this man. As far as I know, he has never preyed on our
people. His targets have always been rich merchants or travelers
from far away lands.”

“And me and my men,” Thomas said. “I am sorry, but I
cannot take the chance. His kind are easily bought and I will not
expose our army to that risk.”

Thomas pushed Leopold’s manuscript back toward
Erich. “I commend you for the change you are trying to make. And
even though I suspect your intentions may be true, I regret I
cannot allow you a place amongst my men.”

Erich looked down at the book, his face pinched.
These were obviously not the words he had expected to hear. “You
let that waif join, but refuse skilled men?” He pointed and sneered
at the manuscript. “Keep it. Put it toward the cause. You are going
to need all the help you can get.”

He spun on his heel. “Out of my way,” he said as he
pushed through the men behind him.

Noll said something to Thomas as Erich walked away,
but Thomas heard nothing. His eyes, as well as his thoughts, were
fixated on the book in front of him. He ran his fingers over the
fine leather cover.

Malleus Maleficarum.

Leopold’s choice of Latin made Thomas’s hand curl
into a fist and an image of Seraina being forced into a cage wagon
flashed before his eyes.
Maleficarum
was the feminine form
of witch, so the title presupposed that all witches were women.
Otherwise, he should have used
maleficorum
, which could mean
either a male witch or a female witch. Was it a simple Latin
mistake on Leopold’s part? From what he knew of the man, Thomas
doubted it.

Thomas was still staring at Leopold’s manuscript
when the next man in line dropped a scabbarded sword on top of it.
Scowling, Thomas looked up and saw nothing but forearms. He knew
the man before he even saw his face or heard his rough, guttural
voice.

“Add me to your list, you distrusting bastard, and
make whatever mark you want next to it.”

Thomas shielded his eyes against the midday sun. He
was afraid this would happen.

“Hello Urs. I see you got yourself a new blade.”

“That one is yours. I made it with your awkward form
in mind.”

Thomas raised his eyebrow at that and picked up the
short sword. He freed it from its scabbard with one quick motion.
The sun glinted off it so fiercely Thomas had to squint. It was a
straight, double-bladed weapon that reminded Thomas of an ancient
Roman gladius. But the cross-section of its blade was shaped like a
diamond. It was thick near the simple curved crosspiece, but it
tapered to a deadly point.

“An in-fighter’s weapon,” Urs said. “The four-sided
design makes it stronger than anything I have come up with yet. It
separates chainmail like a straw mat and will punch a hole through
plate if given the proper encouragement.”

Thomas took hold of the honey-colored wooden grip
and sighted down the finely honed blade. Urs was not one to
exaggerate. If he said it could pierce plate armor, Thomas believed
him.

“This is an interesting piece,” Thomas said.

“I call it a
baselard
. Seeing as that is
where I made it.”

A blade from Basel. Urs had never been one for fancy
names or frills in the weapons he designed. He was far too
practical.

Thomas slowly guided the sword back into its
scabbard. As good as it was to see his old friend, this was the
last place he wanted him to be.

“This is not your fight,” Thomas said. “But Max and
Ruedi could use your help getting Ruedi’s sister and family out of
Altdorf. You should seek them out.”

Urs shook his head. “Blood and ashes, Thomas. Who do
you think told me you were putting together a rebel army in the
first place? And they said I was to tell you to put their names on
one of your lists, as well. Seems Ruedi’s sister is refusing to
leave her farm. They would have come themselves, but they know what
kind of a bastard you can become once training starts, so they
decided to spend their last free afternoon drinking.”

He tapped his foot and pointed at the pile of
parchment in front of Thomas. “And I mean to join them, just as
soon as I see your quill finish scratching. So get on with it,
would you?”

It had snowed in the early hours of the morning. A
light skiff covered the still frozen ground, but with hundreds of
men churning it up, Thomas knew it would be a field of mud before
the end of the day.

He watched the men come through the gates in groups
of five or ten with their training swords in hand; fathers, sons,
brothers, friends, and more than a few wives and mothers leading
the way with packs of provisions to see the men through the day.
One minute the courtyard was empty, the next filled to overflowing.
Was it his imagination, or were many of them newcomers, men not yet
on any of his lists?

They took up places on the ground, forming a
semi-circle around the center of the yard, in front of Thomas and
Noll. Behind the two men stood Ruedi, Max, Urs, and Anton.

The murmurs of the group began to grow louder, until
Thomas stepped forward and held up his hand. He waited patiently
for silence. He looked out over the crowd and felt curious eyes on
him and his men. He saw many grin and sit back, exchanging nods
with their neighbors. They expected a show, like the Venetians had
put on.

And they will get one. But no one will be smiling at
the end of this day.

Thomas scanned all those seated, looking for one man
in particular. He found him almost instantly, for he was not hard
to pick out: Gruber, Hans Gruber. The young giant from the Fall
Festival that Pirmin had wrestled in the Schwingen finals. He had
become a hero that day by defeating Pirmin with a skilfully
executed hip throw.

Thomas called him up. The men around Gruber slapped
the man on his broad back as he stood and made his way to the
front.

“Today will be devoted to bare-handed training,”
Thomas said.

Gruber removed his vest and rolled his massive
shoulders. Thomas met the man, well aware that he must look like a
sapling growing next to a giant cedar.

“What do you want me to do, Thomas?”

“You will fight one of my men,” Thomas said.

Gruber nodded. “All right.”

The first row of spectators had overheard, and
Thomas could feel them vibrate with anticipation. He looked to his
men, and nodded to Max. The gray-bearded man took a drink of water,
removed his sword belt, and began to walk toward Gruber.

Thomas caught Gruber’s eye, and as he backed away
from the man, he said, “What you do here today will save
lives.”

Gruber’s brows knit together as he began to puzzle
out Thomas’s words, but he did not get very far, for without
warning, a loud scream erupted from Max and he charged the bigger
man. Gruber’s eyes went wide and he backpedaled, but Max lunged
forward and struck him in the soft hollow beneath his sternum.
Gruber tried to cover up but Max shuffled forward, yelling and
hitting him in the face and body.

Gruber realized he was having difficulty breathing
and his body tensed as he struggled for air. Panic overtook him.
Max smashed his nose with the palm of his hand and wrapped the
other in his hair. He bent the big man in half and delivered a
series of forearm strikes to the back of his head, shouting with
every blow. By the time Max brought his knee up into the young
man’s face, knocking him to the ground, many in the crowd had
averted their gaze or closed their eyes to shut out the bloody
spectacle.

Gruber hit the ground and a sickly wheeze came from
his mouth as his body struggled to get air. Max jumped on top of
him and straddled his chest. He rained down more blows until
Gruber’s thick, flailing arms gave up trying to protect his head
and fell limp to the ground.

“Enough,” Thomas said.

Max pushed himself off the still form of Gruber and
wiped the blood off his hands onto his breeches. He turned his back
on the young man and walked slowly over to stand with the
others.

Sutter and another man hurried over to where Gruber
lay curled up in a ball.

Sutter put one hand on the young man’s shoulder and
his head snapped up to look at Thomas. “There was no need to hurt
this boy,” he said.

“There was every need!” Thomas shouted, and all eyes
fell on him.

“Look at him,” Thomas said, pointing to Gruber. The
man lay on his side, shaking. Soft whimpers came from somewhere
beneath the huge arms still covering his head.

“He froze. His body shut down. To be
paralyzed
with fear
is not just a saying. It is God’s way of sparing us
pain when we are about to die. When a lion begins eating you alive,
there comes a point when you no longer feel the agony of crunching
bones. Your breathing slows, your muscles no longer respond to your
commands, and pain is nonexistent. God is merciful. When we are
convinced we are about to die, God shuts down our minds and our
bodies, so that our passage from this life can be eased.”

Thomas drew his new short sword and pointed it at
the crowd.