Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (19 page)

“The first time you meet a fully armored knight in
battle, a man trained from birth to kill, you will wish he were
just a lion. Your lungs will stop working, and you will freeze.
Your muscles will betray you, your mouth will go dry, your sense of
smell will play tricks.
But
, if you can manage to stay alive
for a few seconds, and remember to breathe, God will know you want
to live and he will give you back your body.”

As he spoke he bent down and helped Sutter lift
Gruber to his feet. The young man’s face was swollen and bloodied,
but he stood without difficulty. He dabbed at his red-rimmed eyes
quickly with the back of his sleeve and looked at his feet as he
straightened his clothing.

“There is no shame in being paralyzed with fear, for
we all have felt it at one time or another. But we must learn to
recognize it when it happens, and realize it is merely God’s
test.”

“Today, you will fight your friends and brothers as
if your life depended on it. Your goal is to paralyze the man
across from you, and if I see any man holding back,” Thomas pointed
at Max, Ruedi, Urs, and Anton, “his next opponent will be one of my
men. We will devote a portion of every day to this exercise until
every single one of you has experienced this fear and pushed his
way through it.”

Thomas re-sheathed his sword. The crowd was silent.
Men averted their eyes from Thomas’s stare and glanced at each
other nervously.

“Today,” Thomas said. “I will teach you how to
breathe. Tomorrow you will begin training with naked steel. Take
your wooden swords home tonight and burn them. You will not be
using them again.”

***

Seraina stepped over the raised threshold into the
keep’s kitchen where a score of women and a few younger children
were working hard to keep everyone fed.

“Seraina!” Mera called out to her from across a
large cauldron of soup, its vapors rising up and mixing with the
steam from many other pots to contribute to the mugginess of the
warm room. She ran over and grabbed Seraina’s hands. Her face was
flushed.

“Where does the tally stand now?”

Seraina had been helping Mera and the other women in
the kitchen most of the week, but she was so excited she found it
impossible to stay indoors for more than an hour at a time. She
kept making trips outside to check on how the training was going
and to see how many new faces she could spot. She pestered Thomas
constantly with questions about his lists.

“Another hundred and fifty have come from Schwyz so
far this week,” Seraina said. She could not keep her voice from
rising. “Thomas says they are past seven hundred men now!”

Mera bounced once and gave Seraina a quick hug.
“Noll was right to ask help from Thomas. People trust him and after
he stood up to the Habsburgs last fall, there is no one in the
valleys who does not know his name. Many more will come. I am sure
this is just the beginning.”

Despite her earlier doubts, Seraina had to admit
that Noll had made the right decision to hand control of the army
over to Thomas. Seraina was proud of Noll, for it must have been a
hard thing for him to relinquish control like that. But that is
what Catalysts did. They made the difficult choices, the ones no
one else had the courage, or insight, to make. They were, after
all, the agents of change.

Seraina smiled and allowed herself to get caught up
in Mera’s enthusiasm. Seven hundred men did not make an army, but
it was a start. A very good start.

Abbot Ludovicus sat in the library of the Einsiedeln
monastery. The large space was cold, for it had no hearth and the
stone walls did little to keep the winter chill outside. He did not
particularly like working in the library. But its three arched
windows, with glass of such good quality they were almost clear
enough to see through, provided the best light of any room in the
monastery.

Beside the Abbot, on the same table, three monks
labored silently copying texts. Two of the men’s fingers were
stained completely black. But one of the three, a younger man whose
eyesight had not yet deteriorated, held a half dozen delicate
brushes in one multicolored fist. He hunched over his work
protectively, like someone trying to start a fire on a windy day.
He dipped his brush in a vial of red ink and with almost
imperceptible movements, added color to one of a hundred
regal-looking characters squeezed into the margins surrounding a
page of flowing script. Watching the illustrator at work stiffened
Ludovicus’s neck and he returned his focus to the ledgers in front
of him. Horse revenues were the highest he had ever seen this year,
but ale sales were low. Suspiciously low. He would have to talk to
the brothers about that.

The timber door squealed on its hinges and a monk
entered the room. He stood beside the Abbot and waited to be
acknowledged. Ludovicus finished adding the numbers he was working
on and then did another calculation before he set down his
quill.

“Yes?”

The monk cleared his throat. “There is a Schwyzer at
the gate demanding to see you.”

“Demanding?” Ludovicus turned back to his ledger and
picked up his writing feather. “Send him away. I do not have
time.”

The monk hesitated. “It is the Hospitaller. The one
who brought in the black.”

This got the Abbot’s attention and he placed the
quill back down. With a groan he pushed himself to a standing
position, being careful not to jostle the table.

“Tell him I will see him,” he said. “Once I have
finished lunch.”

The Hospitaller was sitting on the snow-covered
ground outside the main gate when Ludovicus emerged an hour later.
He did not stand when the Abbot approached.

“Nice to see you again, my son. Thomas, was it
not?”

“I want to buy him back,” Thomas said.

“Who would you like to buy back?”

“My horse.”

“Ah, yes of course. Forgive me. My mind gets addled
easily these days. Now, which horse was yours again?”

“You know well enough. His name is Anid.”

The Abbot nodded after a moment. “Yes, I remember
now. The Egyptian with the infidel name. We call him simply ‘the
black’ these days. But I am afraid he is not for sale.”

Thomas lifted a bag he held on his lap. “This will
change your mind.”

Ludovicus grinned and shook his head, the flesh
below his chin swaying with the movement. “Perhaps. If it is filled
with gold florins.”

He could tell it was not filled with gold simply by
the ease with which Thomas lifted it. Thomas lowered the bag back
into his lap and undid the length of rope securing it shut. He
reached in his hand and pulled a manuscript halfway out.

Ludovicus laughed. “I know to someone like you a
book must seem a true treasure. But I have an entire library filled
with those.”

“Not like this one,” Thomas said. He pulled the bag
down some more. “Read the title.”

Ludovicus stepped closer and put his hands on his
knees to lend some support as he bent over. He began reading
aloud.

“Malleus Malefic…” his words died out and his eyes
widened.
By the Devil’s breath, it was Duke Leopold’s missing
manuscript!
And it was no forgery. He would recognize Bernard’s
bold script anywhere.

“Let me see that,” Ludovicus said reaching for the
book.

Thomas pulled it away and closed the sack around it
once again. “You bring Anid out and we will talk.”

Ludovicus smiled. That book was worth ten infidel
stallions. The Schwyzer was about to receive another lesson in the
fine art of commerce, although the Abbot doubted it would make him
any wiser. For, like most peasants, the ferryman most likely lacked
the capacity to truly learn anything.

They exchanged sack for reins simultaneously,
watching one another like stray cats who had accidentally wandered
too close. Ludovicus clutched the bag with Leopold’s tome in it to
his chest, while he watched Thomas step up to the horse and whisper
something in his ear. As he patted the stallion’s neck with one
hand his gaze got caught on the animal’s saddle.

“That is not my saddle,” Thomas said.

“Our agreement was for a certain horse. I recall no
mention of a particular saddle.”

A knife appeared in the Hospitaller’s hand and
Ludovicus took an instinctual step back.

“This one is too long for an Egyptian’s back,”
Thomas said. He carefully sliced through the leather straps holding
the saddle in place and let it and the under-blanket slide to the
ground. “You can keep it.”

“Very well,” Ludovicus said.
This deal kept
getting better by the moment.
“I must say, I will be sorry to
see him go. He is a magnificent animal. Does the heathen name you
gave him hold any special meaning?”

Thomas raked his fingers through the black’s mane to
pull out a tangle. He grabbed a handful of hair and swung himself
up onto Anid’s back in one easy motion. He looked down at the
Abbot.

“It means ‘stubborn’.”

“How fitting,” Ludovicus said.

Abbot Ludovicus eased open one of the library doors
with care. He did not particularly care about disturbing the monks
working within, but he did want to avoid having them pester him
with questions about how he managed to acquire Leopold’s
manuscript.

He slid into the room with the bag containing the
book clutched beneath one armpit. He wound his way through shelves
lined with books and scrolls until he came to a pedestal desk
situated in the farthest corner of the library. His hands shaking,
he reached into the bag.

What to do, what to do? Sell it back to Leopold
outright? That could indeed prove lucrative,
if
Leopold ever
paid him. No, it would be safer to approach the Duke and mention he
knew someone who had a knack for acquiring lost objects… for a
price of course. Playing the third party in this scenario would be
much safer. Even being the Abbot of Einsiedeln would not count for
much if Leopold got it in his mind that Ludovicus was in possession
of something he wanted.

Ludovicus withdrew the manuscript and placed it on
the stand before him. Biting his lip, he undid the buckles and
flipped open
The Hammer of Witches.

“No…” He shook his head in disbelief.

The interior parchment had been torn out and
replaced with wads of sack cloth.

He scattered the worthless rags to the floor as he
dug through them looking for even one page of text. But there was
none. He reached the end cover and threw the last bit of stuffing
against the wall in a silent fit of rage. He grasped the podium
with both hands and ground his teeth together to keep from crying
out. He stood like that until his temples throbbed and his jaw
muscles ached.

Finally, he opened his cramped fingers and released
the podium. He eased the cover of the manuscript shut and
refastened its buckles. After a quick look around to make sure no
one was near, he climbed a step-stool and shoved the book into the
middle of a great wall of manuscripts and scrolls dusty with
neglect.

Then he left the library, and this time, he slammed
the doors on his way out.

***

As Seraina walked across the courtyard in the
darkness to the forge building, snow fell on her in swirling, dry
flakes. She had put away her dress for the season, and now wore
breeches, lined with rabbit fur, and tucked into high-cut boots
that hugged her calves like a second skin. She wore a similar
looking fur-lined vest over her white shirt and draped over
everything was her simple, greenish-brown cloak. Even though her
hood was up, snow worked its way under and melted on her eyelashes,
making her squint. She could have easily wiped the moisture away,
but her mind was on other things.

The Weave was quiet. Seraina had not even heard a
whispering from the wind, never mind a full vision, since she and
Thomas had brought back the ancient swords.

Had she made a mistake? Perhaps the swords of her
ancestors were not meant to be used for Noll’s cause. But the Weave
had led her directly to them. It had been so easy and felt so right
at the time. Now, she had her doubts.

As she approached Thomas’s lean-to she noticed the
heavy end-flap was opened part way and a thin tendril of smoke
escaped into the night sky. Thomas did not usually have a fire
inside, for the forge furnace was always burning and provided more
than enough heat through the common wall. But tonight it would be
especially warm.

Thinking of the comfortable shelter, with Thomas
waiting inside, drove Seraina’s self-doubts to the back of her
mind. Since returning from their journey together, she had spent
most nights there with Thomas. During the day, they went about
their respective activities: he training Noll’s army, she applying
salves and setting bones. Thomas broke the men down and Seraina
stood them back up.

It had bothered Seraina at first, seeing her people
hurt so often, but when she realized that Thomas felt just as
badly, and was only doing everything he could to prepare them, she
grew to accept their delicate balancing act. And when she spent
each night in Thomas’s arms, it felt so perfect, she was sure they
were both doing exactly what the Weave had intended.

Seraina had never spent so much time in one man’s
bed. Sometimes, when she found herself longing for nightfall and
wishing the hours of the day away, she wondered if she was falling
in love. It was possible, she thought. But she could not be sure,
for that was one path she had never traveled.

Seraina removed her cloak and shook off the snow
before pushing the flap aside and crawling into the lean-to. Thomas
sat at the far end feeding a small fire. He glanced up and smiled
nervously for a second, before reaching down and pulling a piece of
parchment off a stack beside him. He tossed it into the flames.