Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (3 page)

Leopold made a show of opening the door for Klaus
and gestured for him to climb in. Klaus hesitated and his usually
emotionless face creased with the discomfort of having his lord
open a door for him.

“Come now, Klaus. The good Archbishop would not have
us thumping up these meandering paths on the backs of beasts when
we could ride in comfort. Wipe your boots and climb in.”

The steward managed to awaken from his stupor and
scurried over. “My Duke, perhaps I could call another carriage from
the keep if the horses are not to your liking.”

“When there is a perfectly good one here? Nonsense.
Why bother your stable hands?”

Klaus’s huge boots had managed to collect enough
dirt and manure to nurture a small garden, and when he scraped them
off at the base of the door, more fell inside the carriage than
without.

“It is just that… the rope-carriage… is reserved for
the Archbishop’s personal use. No one is permitted—”

Leopold held up his hand to silence the man.

“I understand completely. But, do not fret. I will
be sure not to lend it out to any unsavory characters,” Leopold
said.

He resisted the urge to help the slow-moving Klaus
squeeze through the narrow doorway with a shove. When the big man
finally fell into a seat with his back to the mountain, Leopold
stepped in and slammed the door shut behind him. He reached his arm
through the half-door’s opening and slapped his hand against the
outside of the carriage like he would the rump of a horse.

“Do not stand there gaping, man. Get those oxen
spinning their wheel. The bishop awaits!”

The steward puckered up his face and replied in a
small voice. “The
Arch
bishop, Duke Leopold.”

Leopold narrowed his eyes at the man. “The
aged
Archbishop. In fact he is getting so old he may no
longer be with us by the time I get to the top of this mountain.
You, on the other hand are much younger, and if fortunate, will be
on this earth much longer than your bishop. I wonder who your next
lord will be?”

The steward took a step back and bowed his head. He
turned and shouted at the wheel house. “Hitch up the oxen! Send
runners to the top. The Archbishop’s cart is coming up!”

Leopold leaned into his upholstered seatback, out of
the sun’s heat, and tried to ignore the stench of disturbed manure
wafting up from Klaus’s boots.

Noll Melchthal found himself alone in the Altdorf
keep, and he did not like it.

He sat on the lowest step leading up to the throne
platform and kept his eyes locked on the stone floor, for every
time he looked around the cavernous room he could not help but be
overwhelmed by its man-made grandeur. Four tall men could stand
atop one another’s shoulders and still be unable to touch the
timber supports of the floor above. The cold, flagstone floor,
white with the recent dust created by mason chisels, stretched far
into the distance.

He stared across that gray sea with an unfocused
gaze. The cracks between the blocks of stone faded away the nearer
they came to the dark alcove of the main doors, and once again,
Noll could not keep his thoughts from settling on Seraina.

He had sent messengers to Habsburg Castle proposing
a trade. Landenberg, Vogt of Unterwalden, for Seraina and the
ferryman, if he yet lived. His messenger had returned two days ago
with the news that Duke Leopold had refused to see him, and rumor
had it that the Duke had departed for Salzburg.

Noll was crestfallen. If Leopold had taken his
prisoners to Salzburg, they could at this very moment be in the
hands of the Archbishop’s confessors. A vision of Seraina defiantly
holding back her screams as Leopold’s torturers worked their dark
trade forced Noll’s stomach into the back of his throat. He
clenched his eyes in vain and ground the heels of his hands hard
against his temples.

Crippled by the strength of his own imagination, he
could not bring himself to look up when the great doors grated on
their hinges. He waited for the sound of boots on stone, the
inevitable approach of someone who needed him to make yet another
decision. But the footsteps never came. Whoever it was, must have
recognized this was not a good time to seek Noll’s counsel, and had
left him alone with his grief.

Noll let out a breath, thankful. But as he breathed
in, he sensed a presence. There was a life besides his own in the
cold stone room. And it smelled of pine.

The realization that he was not alone saved him from
jumping when a warm hand touched his shoulder.

“Noll,” Seraina said.

He raised his head, and although he did not jump,
his heart almost burst in his chest when he saw Seraina standing
before him. Her green eyes flashed, filling the keep with more life
than if it had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people. For
the briefest moment, he thought it was the cruelty of his
imagination at work once again, but when she smiled and pulled him
to his feet, he knew it was no trick.

“Seraina!” He pulled her into his arms and laughter
flowed from her lips. The sound settled over him like a hot bath.
He closed his eyes, and breathed in great mouthfuls of the pine and
sunshine from her auburn hair, hardly daring to believe she was
there.

“I thought you lost,” he said, and pulled her in
even tighter. He would have been content to stay that way, but
Seraina gently eased out of the embrace.

“Gissler is dead,” she said. “Thomas found me.”

Noll nodded, and let her escape from his grip.

Then he remembered Leopold had been together with
Gissler when they had taken Seraina. Perhaps that was why his
messenger could not make contact with the Duke. Perhaps he too was
dead.

He could not keep the excitement out of his words.
“And Leopold? What of the boy tyrant?”

Seraina shook her head. “He escaped. The Red Lion
lives. The Habsburg threat is still very real.”

He should not have let his hope go unchecked.
Leopold would not give up his place in the world so easily. “But
the ferryman is still alive as well. Your face tells me as
much.”

“I would have come sooner, but Thomas was badly
injured. I have been by his side these many days past,” Seraina
said.

“He is here then?”

“No. Thomas is still too weak to move. I left him in
good company, but I cannot stay long.”

“Why come at all then?”

He could not keep the hard edge from creeping into
his words, as it always did when he spoke of the ferryman. Was it
the man himself who he disliked so much? Or was it the way Seraina
spoke his name? Noll closed his eyes and shook his head. This was
madness. His people were now at war with the Holy Roman Empire. A
war he had started. And he was fawning over a girl like some
fresh-faced boy yearning for manhood.

“I had to see you Noll.” Seraina paused before
continuing. “I had another vision.”

Noll studied her face. She tried to smile, but it
was an awkward attempt. “I would wager the omens were not good,” he
said.

Seraina turned away. Her nose crinkled as her eyes
swept the room from the flagstone floor to the heavy timbers
supporting the next level of rooms high overhead.

“There is something wrong,” she said. “Something I
do not understand.”

“There is plenty wrong,” Noll said. “For starters, I
have an army of only five hundred men. Farmers and woodcutters,
with only one sword for every ten men. The defenses of this
fortress are only half complete and all my master builders have
gone back home to their families. The Austrians could march in here
with a thousand real soldiers and take this pile of stones before
nightfall. And now, I have word that he has gone to Salzburg, where
he will surely demand that the other princes rally to his cause.
What about this situation is
not
wrong?”

The lines of worry that had creased Seraina’s face
only a moment before, faded. She stepped in closer to Noll and
pulled one of his waving hands out of the air and covered it with
her own. As always, all concern for her own troubles vanished when
confronted with someone else in need.

“There is still so much to be thankful for,” she
said. She let go of him and spun away, her dress swirling with the
sudden motion, and began pacing. Her steps were light and silent.
“We have all this,” she said sweeping one arm around the room.
“Whereas, only a short time ago, we had nothing. You have awoken
our people, but even more than that, you have shown them what is
possible. Surely, that is worth more than a few soldiers?”

“But have I woken enough of our people? There is
still no word from Berne or the guilds of Zurich. Nor has Lucerne
offered any support for the Eidgenossen.”

“Do not worry about them. More will come. I have
seen it, remember? There are many yet who wish to awaken and climb
out from under Habsburg rule.”

Noll shook his head. “I hope you are right, Seraina.
I truly do. But I also know it is impossible to awaken a man who
only pretends to sleep.”

Seraina laughed. “This is a fine turn,” she said.
“It is usually you accusing me of talking in riddles. We become
more alike everyday.” She took Noll’s arm. “It is damp and lifeless
in here. Come, my mushroom-man, let us put some sun on that
frowning face.”

She led him to the balcony overlooking the courtyard
and they stepped out into the fresh air. Noll squinted into the
afternoon light, and a soft breeze tousled his hair. He immediately
felt better. Seraina was right, Noll thought. Shutting himself away
in that cave, trapped alone with only his self-doubts for company,
had dampened his spirits.

“Now tell me. What preparations have you made and
what can I do to help?” Seraina asked.

Noll pointed to the gatehouse. “I have directed most
of the work, so far, on finishing the gatehouse and the outer
walls. But as it stands now, there are still a dozen breaches.”

“How long before Leopold comes?”

“That is the only good news in all of this. The
first snows will be here in another six weeks, so he has missed his
opportunity for this year. He could possibly attack in spring, but
the passes will still be too soft for an army. And besides, Leopold
is too practical. He will wait for us to bring in the first crops
so he has food for his men.”

“Midsummer then?”

Noll nodded. “Those are my thoughts.”

Seraina’s face brightened. “So we have time. Time to
find more allies and prepare. You see, things are not as bad as you
feared.”

Noll rolled his eyes. “Perhaps. But I will feel much
better when I have Pomponio.”

Seraina frowned. “What is a
pom-pony-o
?”

“Not what, who. Giovanni Pomponio. He is a Venetian,
and a master swordsman. I have contracted him to come and train the
men.”

The way Seraina’s eyes narrowed told Noll she was
not keen to the idea.

“How much is this mercenary charging you for his
services?”

“Not just him. He says he will bring a dozen of his
best men as well. And it is Habsburg gold anyway, for we found a
small chest in Leopold’s room.”

“How much?”

Noll hesitated. “All of it,” he said.

Seraina shook her head and stepped away from the
balcony railing. “Noll, you could have bought swords for your men
with that money. And really, do you think it wise to bring in
outsiders?” she asked.

Noll felt his jaw tighten. He grabbed Seraina by the
arm.

“What good is a sword in the first place if a man
does not know how to use it? Ten months from now, an army of
battle-hardened killers will be at our doorstep. We need to
surround ourselves with men like these, learn from them, if we are
to survive. And the sooner the better.”

He let go of her arm. “I am sorry,” he said. “I
forget myself at times.”

“It is all right, Noll," Seraina said. “I
understand. Outsiders make me nervous, that is all. But, you may be
right.”

Seraina had once told Noll that it was his fire that
made him who he was. She could no more blame a cat for eating a
wounded bird. And that so long as his laughter came just as often
as his bursts of anger, he was living the life the Weave had
intended for him.

But it had been some time since Noll had last
laughed.

Right or not, it was done. The Venetians would be
here tomorrow, or the day after. It did not matter how much gold it
cost, Noll was not going to ask any man to fight beside him if he
was not prepared.

“Will you stay here for the night?” Noll asked.

Seraina stared out over the courtyard. Her green
eyes were fixed on a section of the outer wall. She seemed to not
have heard him.

“Seraina?”

She blinked, and turned toward Noll. “Yes? No, I
cannot stay here. I must head back to Thomas tonight.”

Noll nodded. “Of course,” he said. “How far do you
go? I can get you a horse…”

“An hour north of White Elk Glade. It is easier to
go on foot.”

Noll felt the previous worries over Seraina’s safety
begin anew. “Stay off the roads, then. Habsburg patrols have begun
to blockade the northern ways. It will not be long before they
close them down completely.”

“I have little use for roads,” Seraina said. “You
should know that by now.”

The blackness cleared, one dark layer at a time, and
Thomas forced his eyes open. His chest heaved and air rushed into
his lungs, which sent his heart thrumming like the wings of a
hummingbird.

“Easy now. The Weave welcomes you back, but no need
to rush into her embrace.”

The voice’s owner, an old man, appeared above him
and, for a moment, Thomas thought he dreamed again of the trapper
that had taken him in after the death of his parents. But this
man’s long, powder-white beard and wizened eyes did not belong to
the trapper of his memories. The man placed the palm of one
leathery hand against Thomas’s chest and within seconds the
palpitations slowed.