The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (3 page)

“If not fore that.” Hegel spit on their panting horse.

“Shouldn’t a bothered with the cart,” said Manfried.

“You wanna carry them extra blankets? All a them turnips? No thank you. Cart’s only thing good bout a horse. Can pull a cart.”
Hegel could never articulate exactly why, but he had always distrusted quadrupeds. Too many legs, he figured.

“Yeah, and what do you think we’s gonna be eatin when we run out a turnips?”

“True words, true words.”

The Brothers shared a laugh, then Manfried turned serious again. “So we got the vantage if we use it, cause we’s ahead and
they’s behind. What say we run this cart a bit ahead, lash the horse to a tree and cut back through the wood? Get the pounce
on’em.”

“Nah, not sharp enough. Up through them trees I spied where the trail starts switchin up the face. We wait up there. High
ground, brother, only boon we’s gonna get.”

“Catch as catch can, I suppose. Think I’ll carve us some spears.” Manfried hopped from the cart and walked beside them, peering
through the thickets for suitable boughs. The treacherous path advised against speed, allowing Manfried to easily keep pace.
After heaping several long branches in the cart, he resumed his seat and set to task.

Gunter stopped the jury where the path began arcing back and forth up the mountainside, only transient hunters and their more
sensible game preventing the trail from being swallowed entirely by the wilds. Even with the prodigious trees to shield them
from an avalanche the reduced visibility allowed their quarry any number of ambush spots. The dogs sat as far from
the horses as their tethers allowed, and he dismounted to water them.

The dusk hour would give the jury just enough time and light to reach the pass. With a heavy sigh Gunter freed the hounds
from their leashes and watched them dash excitedly up the trail. He had hoped to overtake the murderers before they reached
the switchbacks, but the jury had ridden slowly through the forest lest the Grossbarts had broken from the trail. While they
might have plunged down the opposite slope rather than lying in wait along the way, Gunter doubted it. They were ruthless,
and the only advantage save numbers the townsfolk possessed was a few more hours of sleep the night before.

“Quick as you can,” Gunter called, “but leave a few horse-lengths twixt you and the man ahead.”

The thick forest had yielded to scree and hardy pines that seemingly grew directly from the rock. The setting sun shone on
the trail that within the week would be salted with snow, and each man carried a heavy fear along with his weapon. Gunter
led, his nephew Kurt close behind, then Egon the carpenter, with the farmers Bertram, Hans, and Helmut following after. The
dogs bayed as they charged ahead, Gunter following them with his eyes for three bends in the road before they ascended out
of view.

The steepest point of the trail lay near the top, before the incline evened out at the pass. At the last switchback Manfried
waited with a large pile of rocks and his spears, a wizened tree and a small boulder providing cover. Brown grass coated the
mountainside wherever the scree and rock shelves did not, and on the path halfway down to the next bend Hegel finished his
work with the shovel and prybar. He had forced up rocks and dug the hard dirt beneath to provide as many horse-breaking holes
as time afforded, and now scurried to conceal them with the dead grass. The hounds rushing up the trail below him were too
winded to bark but Hegel sensed their presence all the same.

Hegel despised dogs more than all other four-legged beasts combined and hefted his shovel. Seeing their prey, the hounds fell
upon him. The shovel caught the lead animal in the brow and sent it rolling to the side but before he could swing again the
other two leaped. One snapped past his flailing arms and landed behind him, the last latching on to his ankle. Unbalanced,
he drove the shovelhead into the neck of the dog on his leg, cracking its spine. The mortal blow did not detach the cur, however,
its teeth embedded in his flesh.

Manfried chewed his lip, eyes darting between his brother and the horsemen he saw riding up the switchbacks below. Hegel spun
as the dog behind him jumped, parrying it with the haft of his tool but losing his balance; he fell. At seeing Hegel stumble
on the dead dog fastened to his leg Manfried slid down the side of the slope. The beast Hegel had first laid out regained
its feet as Manfried jumped down to the trail, prybar in hand.

Manfried heard the riders but the horizontal Hegel heard only the growling of the dog attacking his face. Hegel jerked back
so it merely tore at his ear and scalp, and as a testament to his utter hatred of the creature, he clamped both arms around
its torso and bit into the mangy fur of its throat. The confused hound yelped and struggled to get away but he pulled it closer,
chewing through its coat and into the meat. Gagging on muddy, stinking dog, he opened his mouth wider and got his teeth around
the veins.

In his descent Manfried had wrapped a swath of blanket around his lower left arm, and easily coaxed his wounded foe into biting.
He cooed to the beast until it lunged at his waving appendage, and no sooner did it bite than he brained it with his prybar.
Tucking the weapon into his belt, he hefted the hound’s shuddering corpse and rushed to the edge of the trail. Recognizing
Gunter on the trail below, he hurled the dead dog at him and dashed back up the trail to his roost.

“Move your legs, brother!” Manfried wheezed.

Hegel had broken the jaw of the murdered cur on his ankle, and the throat-bitten hound rapidly bled out on the ground beside
it. Hearing hooves, he limped as quickly as he could after his brother. Having chosen their ambush location for its sheer
walls and steep ascent, Hegel had no hope of reaching the switchback Manfried rounded before the horsemen caught him. He threw
himself behind a boulder just as Gunter appeared around the bend below.

Gunter’s favorite bitch had nearly knocked him from his horse, and had his steed been fresh it surely would have bolted in
fear. His tunic slick with dog blood and his shoulder bruising, he kicked the horse and called to his men, “We’re on them,
lads!”

Seeing the next piece of trail empty save for another of his fallen hounds and several boulders, Gunter pushed his mount harder
up the incline. The sure footed stallion avoided the holes Hegel had excavated and clipped past the crouched Grossbart, reaching
the next bend. From the edge of his eye Gunter caught sight of Hegel but before he could double back the murderers made their
move.

Following his uncle, Kurt noticed Hegel just as the shovel dug into his hip bone and sent him toppling. The startled horse
reared back, stepped into a hole and, snapping its fetlock, fell onto Kurt before he could blink. The horse pinned him, crushing
his legs as it frantically rolled and kicked. Hegel saw another rider rounding the bend below and scampered around the fallen,
crazed horse to relieve the trapped rider of his crossbow, which had skittered out of reach. Not that Kurt noticed, having
had the wind knocked from him, his legs broken, and a horse mashing his lower half into pulp against the stony path.

The crossbow Gunter aimed at Hegel fell clattering on the stones when a rock hurled by the hidden Manfried collided with his
temple. Blood running into his eye, Gunter quickly dismounted the nervous horse and put it between himself and his unseen
attacker. He snatched up the crossbow as another stone hit his horse hard enough to make it lunge up the trail, and Gunter
dropped the reins lest he be dragged after. Loading another quarrel, Gunter squinted his good eye and made out Manfried through
the deepening dusk.

Egon stopped his horse at the curve, shocked to see Kurt’s horse thrashing on top of the boy, a dark figure creeping over
him. Unsure how to proceed and armed with only an ax, he dismounted and tied his horse to a stunted tree. Bertram rode past
the confused carpenter, driving his horse as close to a gallop as the steep trail allowed. Unlike the others, he had served
on several such juries and had no doubts as to an appropriate action: he saw a Grossbart, and he would ride that Grossbart
down.

Hegel hefted Kurt’s crossbow, miraculously intact but unloaded. Bertram bore toward him and Hegel waited, muscles tensed.
When horse and rider had almost reached him he dived backward between the flailing legs of Kurt’s felled horse and rolled
across the trail. Bertram spurred his horse to leap over its crippled kin, but the confused beast instead angled to pass beside
it. The narrow edge of the trail gave way under hoof, man and horse giving the illusion of riding straight down the mountainside
before they began tumbling over each other to the trail below.

Manfried knew Gunter had the drop on him but took the risk and burst from behind the scraggly bush, intercepting the spooked
horse and poking its nose with a spear. It reared and bolted back down the trail. The horse between them, both men launched
their missiles. Both hit their marks with surprising accuracy—Manfried toppled as the bolt connected with his head, and the
confused horse went berserk as the thrown rock smashed into its bouncing scrotum. Gunter tried to evade the wild horse but
as it skidded around the switchback it knocked him over the edge.

Hegel grinned as Bertram rode off the sheer side with a final shout, then his smile turned south as hard hoofbeats charged
down behind him. He drew himself into a ball, Gunter’s unmanned horse on top of him. Unlike Bertram’s steed, this horse leaped
over the thrashing beast blocking the trail and rushed toward the other three men. In landing, its rear hoof crushed Kurt’s
chest, bloody foam erupting from his mouth and nose.

Hans and Helmut watched dumbstruck as first Bertram’s and then Gunter’s horses undid their riders, the latter beast tearing
past them as it fled down the trail. They wisely tied their horses to the same tree as Egon’s, and the three men warily advanced
on Hegel. Seeing they lacked bows, Hegel maneuvered around Kurt’s horse and searched the dead man for bolts. A feather protruded
from under the animal’s side, and rubbing his bloody hands together, he knelt beside Kurt and tried to extract the buried
quiver.

“You breathin, brother?” Hegel called, looking over his shoulder to ensure the three men were not sneaking too quickly upon
him.

“Strong as faith!” Manfried shouted, finally cutting the arrowhead free from the bolt skewering his right ear. His cheek and
scalp were raw from the shaft, the quarrel having stopped only at the feather. With the head gone he pulled the missile out
of the bloody mess of an ear and got to his feet.

Gunter groaned, pulling himself back up to the trail with his only good arm. The left had snapped on a rock as he rolled down
the sheer slope, but he had snatched a branch with his right before momentum sent him hurtling all the way to the foothills.
Prior to his horse running him from the road he had watched Manfried take a bolt to the face and could not understand how
the man still drew breath.

“Surrender your arms!” Hans barked at Hegel’s back.

“You’ve nowhere to run,” Helmut seconded with considerably less certainty in his voice.

“Neither do you,” Hegel snarled, jamming his feet on the crosspiece of his weapon and yanking the string back. Notching a
liberated bolt into the arbalest, Hegel spun to his feet. The three men were only a few steps away, but all halted at the
fearsome sight of Hegel, blood dripping from his mouth and beard. Each assumed that the Grossbart had feasted upon Kurt, and
Egon whimpered.

The men faced each other, and Egon surreptitiously began walking backward. Hans and Helmut shared a glance that Hegel recognized
at once, but before either could move he shot Hans in the groin. Helmut rushed him with an ax but Hegel hurled the crossbow
at the man’s legs and tripped him. Withdrawing his prybar and charging down the trail, Hegel stopped short as Helmut got to
one knee and brandished the ax. He shakily got to his feet, Hegel taking another cautious step forward.

“My ax has blood on it, how bout yours?” Manfried asked from just behind Hegel. He sidestepped the fallen horse and hefted
the weapon Gertie had ambushed him with the night before. Standing beside his brother, each Grossbart looked more sinister
and dangerous than he did alone.

“Don’t stand to reason, try and kill us both.” Hegel nodded at Hans, who twitched on the ground, gasping and clutching the
bolt in his crotch. “Want what he got? Said he did, seems to have changed his mind.”

“Got no need to truck with you,” Manfried said, and both Grossbarts stepped forward. “Got no qualms for killin you, neither.”

Already frightened, and remembering the devastation he had witnessed at the farmhouse that morning, Helmut relaxed his grip
on the ax. Hans moaned beside him and Helmut tightened again, thinking better than to trust Grossbarts. A shadow moved behind
the Brothers, and Helmut grinned despite himself.

Hegel felt the danger in his bones and spun around just as the returned Gunter clumsily brought his sword across. The killing
blow instead slashed open Hegel’s lip and cheek, and the Grossbart furiously lashed out with his prybar. Hegel caught Gunter
in his broken arm, sending the man wailing to his knees.

Manfried and Helmut never unlocked their eyes and both attacked. Helmut swung down and Manfried swung sideways yet their ax
heads met each other instead of meat. Pain reverberated through Helmut’s hand and elbows yet the stout serf held his weapon,
whereas Manfried’s went skittering over the rocks and the Grossbart dropped to one knee from the force of the collision.

Helmut swung again but Manfried pounced, driving his shoulder into the man before the blade fell. They rolled over each other
down the trail, the ax handle between them. Sliding to a halt, the farmer overpowered Manfried and pressed the wooden haft
down against his neck. Manfried groped at his belt for a knife but Helmut got a knee on the Grossbart’s elbow and pinned him
down. The wooden handle dug into Manfried’s throat, ripping his beard and swelling his eyes, his windpipe near collapse.