Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (30 page)

Noll felt rough hands on him.

“Noll, look!” Thomas said, facing him in the
direction of the main army where at least five hundred more cavalry
were readying to charge, and a long line of other knights were
pushing their way up to the front through the ranks of
infantry.

“No, there. On the slopes above.”

Noll looked to where he pointed. A treeless slope.
But a slope that was alive and in motion.

A score of giant logs, some of them covered in oil
and burning, bounced their way down picking up speed as they went.
Leaving a trail of burning oil on the green mountainside, they
smashed into the horses and men gathered at its base. The scene
instantly turned from what was already a frenzy into a full-blown
panic. Horses’ legs were swept out from under them and broken, some
men were crushed, others burst into flames by simply being too
close. Then, behind the logs and trees came rocks; large, jagged
pieces taller than a man but round enough to roll faster than a
horse can run.

Thomas stared at Noll, looking as surprised as Noll
had ever seen him. “Did you…,” he began.

Noll shook his head. “That is not my doing.”

In the distance an alphorn sounded. Then another
far, far away. Seconds later, more horns blared, but closer this
time. Much closer.

Noll laughed and clapped Thomas on the back. “But
those! Those are our doing!”

There was no longer any fighting around the men. The
survivors of the Austrian cavalry that they had charged were racing
back to the main army. Noll was not sure that was such a wise
choice of destinations. For there were a great many screams coming
from the main force as over a thousand horses tried to avoid the
falling rocks and logs. Spooked, they threw their riders and
trampled anyone in their path.

Thomas was watching the same turmoil.

“Now is the time,” Thomas said. “We have to turn
them on themselves.” He placed cupped hands to his mouth. “Form
up!”

“Form up!” Noll repeated.

“Square, face forward!” Thomas said.

They began to march toward the head of the largest
army Noll had ever seen. Movement on the hillside caught his eye. A
score of men were making their way down following the same route
the logs had taken, shooting longbows and crossbows as they
came.

No, not a score, Noll corrected himself.
Twenty-seven men. Twenty-eight if you counted Erich. He grinned and
could not help elbowing Thomas to make sure he saw them.

“Your outlaw friend has chosen a side, it seems,”
Thomas said.

“I never said Erich was my friend,” Noll said. “But
I must admit, I have never been so happy to see anyone.”

Horns blew again, but this time one after the other
in quick succession.

“Stauffacher is in place,” Noll said.

Thomas nodded.

“Square, forward full!”

***

It was raining, yet Leopold’s world was in flames.
He stared at the demons coming down the mountainside on paths of
fire. The acrid stench of burning soldiers and horse flesh clogged
his nostrils. An arrow flew past his ear, but he did not
notice.

“The Schwyzers are charging us my lord,” Klaus said,
drawing his sword. “We must move back into the ranks!”

Leopold’s eyes remained focused on the mountainside
and he seemed not to have heard Klaus.

“My Lord! We must leave. Now.”

“What? No… that will not do… The men will think
something is amiss,” Leopold said. No sooner were the words out of
his mouth than an arrow thudded into his horse’s flank. She took it
stoically, with only a short whinny, but then the pain came and she
bucked madly until Leopold was thrown from her back.

“Leo!”

Klaus jumped down from his mount, but kept the reins
wrapped around his hand so the horse could not bolt in the
confusion. Men and horses were everywhere, and everyone seemed to
be trying to go in the same direction. However, the road was too
narrow, and neither the impenetrable forest on the one side, nor
the steep hill on the other offered any alternative.

Leopold sat up, but his vision was blurred and he
felt nauseous. He blinked and a bald-headed man kicked him in the
face.

“Are you who I think you are?” the man said, his
words echoed but Leopold was surprised at how they were so clearly
audible with the shouts and screams of all those around him.

The man scrunched up his ferret-shaped face and his
small eyes doubled in size. “Well, blackball me to—”

His blood was suddenly airborne and sprayed over
Leopold’s face, making the Duke squeeze his eyes shut. When he
opened them, the man’s body was on the ground; his neck cut
half-way through from the rear.

Klaus reached down and grabbed Leopold by the scruff
of his chainmail and hoisted him to his feet. Two more men
brandishing swords appeared out of the fog. Klaus yanked Leopold
behind him and pushed his horse’s reins into his hands.

“Get on that horse, my lord, now.”

Leopold heard the words but he could not move. He
was not injured, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot. While
Klaus fought for their lives, he found himself turning to look up
the mountainside once again at the paths of fire. They were gone
now, but they had been there only moments before. He was sure of
it.

The demons had hid them, so none would know the
truth. But I know….

Klaus ran one of the men through and jumped back to
narrowly evade the other man’s slash.

“Get on that horse!” Klaus yelled.

What horse?

Leopold again felt a tug on his chainmail, but this
one was quick and from behind. The next thing he knew he was across
a saddle on his stomach.

“I have him,” Franco Roemer called out to Klaus.
“Large groups of rebels are attacking all down the line!”

The mountains… they come from the mountains… and
they are not rebels….

Klaus batted his opponent’s sword aside and split
the man in half with a two-handed overhand stroke.

“Get him out of here, Captain. I will follow as best
I can.”

Klaus managed to retrieve his horse’s reins that
Leopold had dropped and swung himself up into the saddle. Franco
did not wait. He kicked his horse into a gallop and they weaved in
and out of the press of men and animals crowding the road. Leopold
thought his insides were going to explode, but as soon as they came
to an open space, Franco stopped the horse and had Leopold sit
behind him.

Klaus caught up with them. “Are you hurt, my
lord?”

Is he talking to me?

“He seems fine,” Franco said. “A little shaken,
perhaps. But we can worry about that after.”

On one particularly crowded section of road, fifty
mounted knights struggled to regain control of their destriers in
the midst of a group of infantry. War horses did not fight together
with infantry, so any man not riding a horse, was an enemy in their
minds. The snorting animals, trained to lash out with their hind
legs, were kicking and trampling anyone that came too close and
there seemed little their handlers could do to control them.

Franco tried to go to the left of the road, but
there was a deep creek, and the ground around it was too soft. He
opted instead for the sloped, but firmer, area to the right. They
had to duck under tree branches and scramble along scree, but they
were able to bypass the troubled section.

“Hold on, Duke,” Franco said as he made his horse
jump over a large boulder, dripping and dark with moisture, to get
back on the road. No sooner were they on level ground, surrounded
by their own infantry, than a horn sounded.

Leopold jumped.

A split second later, on the slope above, hundreds
of howling demons brandishing giant axes erupted from the
mist-shrouded trees.

Leopold screamed and covered his eyes.

The Schwyzers attacked at several points along the
Austrian line, almost half of which was still marching along the
shores of Lake Aegeri. Their panicked cavalry proved useless in
such cramped fighting conditions, and some say the horses killed as
many Austrians as the Schwyzers did. But, if truth be told, it was
the lake itself that was responsible for the deaths of more men
than anything. Encumbered with their expensive armor, thousands of
Austrian nobles died that day trying to fight in water, or flee
through it.

Count Henri of Hunenberg and the captain of the
thirty cavalry troops Leopold had sent along with Henri and his
knights, sat atop their horses and eyed the village in the field
below. It consisted of a dozen thatched-roof huts and a common
building. The one street was empty; all doors were closed. The
villagers had seen them coming a long time ago. Just as Henri had
wanted it. But the captain, a career soldier of the Holy Roman
Empire, was beginning to suspect that perhaps Henri was not quite
up to the task Leopold had charged him with.

“Shall we attack, my lord?” the captain asked.

“No. Not until we have word from Duke Leopold.”

“We received his orders, and his blessing I might
add, when we marched from Habsburg,” the captain said.

“And I have ordered you to await confirmation from
the Duke. If that is not to your liking,
captain
, then I
suggest you find another Count to take orders from.”

The man fidgeted in his saddle, making the leather
squeak. “No, sir. Was just wondering is all.”

Well, you will not have to wonder for very long,
Henri thought, for in the distance he could see his messenger
returning. Henri shielded his eyes to get a better look.

Something was wrong.

The man was bent low in the saddle, and his cloak
billowed out behind him as he came at them full speed. His horse
was foaming at the mouth when he pulled up before them.

“What is it?” Henri asked.

“The Duke’s army, it is… it has been routed, my
lord.”

The captain let out a loud exhalation. “Come on,
man. Talk sense. Routed by whom?”

The messenger looked at Henri. “It is true, my lord.
The Schwyzers ambushed them on the shores of the lake. Thousands
are dead, the rest are in full retreat.”

“Who told you this?” Henri asked.

“I saw it with these eyes, my lord. The Duke’s
entire army scattered, running for their lives. I heard from one
survivor, the Schwyzers are executing any man taken prisoner. Who
could have predicted this?”

“What of the Duke?” the captain asked.

The messenger shook his head. “I saw no sign of him.
They may have captured him. Surely the godless peasants would not
execute a prince!”

Henri thought of Thomas and what he knew of the man.
“You are wrong on both accounts. They are not godless, and yes,
they are quite capable of executing a member of the royal
family.”

The captain turned to Henri. “This is dire news, but
we should push on with our objective.”

Count Henri stared at the man. “Take your men and
return to your homes.”

The captain looked at the defenseless village below.
Henri could see him imagining the possible treasures that could be
uncovered inside the simple buildings.

“I have been ordered by Duke Leopold to take this
village,” the captain said.

Henri shook his head.

“It seems Leopold no longer has any claim to these
lands. But, as of this moment, that village is under the protection
of the House of Hunenberg. You set one foot in there, and you will
hang. The day is over, captain. This war is over. And if you set
one foot in that village, your life is over.”

Henri turned his horse and headed home.

Thomas knelt beside the Rubin boys. One held the
other’s lifeless head in his lap, while silent tears streamed down
his freckled cheeks.

Marti. That was the boy’s name.
Had it
really been that difficult to tell them apart?

Thomas put a hand on Sepp’s shoulder and said a
prayer for Marti. As he stood, he saw Ruedi leading two horses
toward him.

“Cap’n, they found Leopold.”

“Where?”

“A short distance to the west. I hear the men he is
with is giving our boys a hard time.”

Leopold. Thomas suddenly wished Seraina were there
to help him decide what to do with the ‘boy tyrant’, as Noll so
often called him.

“Lead the way,” Thomas said, taking one set of reins
from the crossbowman.

When Thomas and Ruedi arrived, twenty Schwyzers had
formed a large circle around the three men. Leopold, his fine
clothes and armor splattered with dirt and blood, sat on the ground
at Franco Roemer’s feet. The captain of the Sturmritter did not
look as shiny as the last time Thomas had seen him. Gone was his
polished armor and peacock-plumed helmet. He wore simple cotton
breeches and a sweat-ringed shirt that may have been white at one
time. Now, it looked like it had been pulled from a pig bath.
Beside him stood the hulking form of Klaus, his long sword held
before him, daring anyone to come within its reach. His armor
seemed intact, save for his helmet, which he had either lost in
battle or discarded.

“Open a path,” Thomas said. He drew his short sword
and mace as he walked into the circle. “Throw down your weapons and
surrender Leopold.” He pointed his sword at Franco.

When Leopold saw Thomas, he screamed. His eyes
bulged and he dug his heels into the soft ground to propel himself
away backwards, but Franco held him in place with his knee planted
firmly in the Duke’s back.

“Stay where you are,” Klaus growled at Thomas. His
voice sounded like he was badly in need of a drink of water. Or,
perhaps, he always sounded that way. Thomas was not sure he had
ever heard the man speak.

Thomas kept walking, and soon discovered Klaus was
not the type of man to warn someone twice. With a loud cry he
charged at Thomas. His sword carved a murderous arc straight down
at the Hospitaller’s head. Thomas swayed his upper body to the side
just enough for the sword to miss making any contact. Then he swung
his mace hard against the side of the large man’s knee. Klaus
groaned, his leg buckled, and Thomas stepped in to slide his short
sword straight through the man’s throat. He pulled it out as
quickly as it went in.