1 the claws of chaos

by ich du

  'I heard you called him coward,' whispered Jakob from behind Kurt, his voice tinged with a northern accent. Kurt turned to the retainer, his face impassive. Jakob's eyes flitted keenly between Viksson and Bayen. His narrow face gave him a rodent-like appearance, and he wore long drooping moustaches in the manner of the northern tribes, something that had fallen out of fashion in the Empire several centuries ago. The man's thin fingers fidgeted on the banner staff, and he seemed on edge. Kurt also noted fresh bruising on the servant's knuckles.

  'No, but I should have done,' Kurt answered after a moment. 'He insulted my lady, I seek judgement to clear her sullied name.'

  'That's what I said, I said it was your lady's honour,' Jakob answered earnestly. 'They didn't take kindly to me saying, some trouble started, nothing much to mind.'

  'Thank you anyway.' Kurt said, turning back to look at Bayen. Their gaze met and the smile faded from the blond knight's lips and was replaced by a curling sneer.

  At that moment, the main doors to Kurt's left opened and there was a metallic ringing as the assembled knights and squires saluted, banging their fists against their chestplates.

  Through the door walked Lord Lothar, Commander of the Osterknacht, flanked by the Lords Militant, Trevigar and Steinlend. He was dressed in a flowing robe trimmed with black fur, and about his neck on a thick golden chain hung the badge of his office, a shield emblazoned with two rearing dragons. He was old but sturdy, his face lined with the years but his body showing that there was much strength and vigour left in his old frame. Nearly sixty, Lothar had served as the commander for twenty years, well respected by the knights and the count's advisors, he was possibly the most powerful man in the Ostermark. To Kurt's eyes he looked displeased, and as well he might, he considered ruefully. He was here in the city on important military or state matters, and now he had to come down here to officiate a petty squabble between two of his junior knights.

  Striding to the centre of the room, midway between all of the assembled knights, Lord Lothar looked at Kurt, then at Bayen.

  'We are in grim times,' he said, voice booming, used to bellowing commands to his men over the din of battle. 'This very week I have arrived from the southern borders to hear news of a new enemy threatening the Ostermark. I come here to build an army, and what do I find? My own household riven with domestic discord. My men-at-arms growing fat and lazy. My knights, my proud and noble Osterknacht, fighting amongst themselves like old maids.'

  He paused and his eyes scanned the circumference of the hall, spending no more time on Kurt and Bayen than any other individual there. It was dear that Lord Lothar's displeasure stretched far wider than Kurt's run-in with Bayen.

  'In just a few short days we will be marching from this keep to do battle with a dreaded foe, and yet I must put aside my plans, my orders of march, my provisioning rosters and my mustering records. I must delay my next consultation with our count and his wise counsellors. And why must I do this?' Lord Lothar's expression was like a thundercloud and his next words were shouted at a volume as deafening as a storm. 'I must do this because my knights can no longer discipline themselves! Heed my words well, this campaign we are about to embark on is vital to the defence of our homes. The man who falls out of line, the man who fails to bear his burden of duty, the man who does not do his utmost in the coming war will fall beneath my blade, and good riddance to him.'

  Once more he paused, and this time he looked directly at Kurt.

  'You have asked for a judgement, is that correct?' the commander asked.

  'I have asked for a trial by arms, my lord commander,' acknowledged Kurt with a nod. 'I challenge that the honour of my betrothed has been besmirched by Hans Bayen, and I demand full apology if my cause be proven right.'

  'Very well,' Lord Lothar responded before turning to Bayen. 'And you too accept this judgement?'

  'Aye, my lord commander, I do,' Bayen replied confidently. 'If I am proved in the right, then Kurt Leitzig shall quit the order with full dishonour and be banished from the city and regions of Bechafen.'

  'Very well,' Lord Lothar said again. 'Then by the right invested in me as Commander of the Osterknacht, I hereby pledge that the following trial by arms be conducted according to the laws and traditions of our order. The trial shall be with blunted weapons and to submission. The victor's cause is proven aright, and the submitter will face the full penalty of his false case. Proceed.'

  As Lord Lothar strode back towards the doors, a great noise shook the chamber as the assembled squires began to bang the hafts of their banners on the stone floor. The crashing echoed around Kurt, but was muffled as he placed his helmet over his head. Jakob leaned forward and handed him a long hand-and-a-half sword, its edges very obviously filed down and dull. He glanced at the monogram on the pommel and realised it had once belonged to Lord Gerhardt. Glancing at Jakob, his inquiring look was answered by a sly wink.

  'Thought it appropriate,' Jakob confessed with a mutter. 'Hope I did no wrong by it.'

  'You did well,' Kurt assured the manservant, looking back at Bayen, who was now stepping across the floor of the hall, his shield on his left arm, a single edge cavalry sword in his right hand.

  Kurt started towards Bayen, swinging the blade back and forth a little to get its weight and balance. It was a good blade, and Kurt thought it a cruel irony that it had been reduced to a mere training weapon now. Perhaps the memory of Lord Gerhardt was fading quicker than Kurt realised. That memory had served him well on occasion, but if the old knight's patronage was now falling out of favour it could mean nothing more than greater difficulties for Kurt in the future. Putting aside these thoughts, Kurt concentrated on Bayen.

  The count's cousin moved quickly and with calm assurance. He almost strutted towards Kurt, glancing left and right at his supporters. He stopped ten feet away and raised his sword to his visor in salute. Kurt copied the action before dropping the blade down and assuming a fighting stance, his weight on his back foot, sword held forward. Bayen turned slightly to present his shield arm towards Kurt and took a couple of quick steps forward and to his opponent's right.

  Kurt began to move to his left, and the two of them circled each other warily. Bayen may have been arrogant, but he was a good fighter and knew better than to underestimate any opponent. His eyes were locked on Kurt's, dark within the visor of his helm. Kurt was also concentrating fully on his opponent, watching the weaving tip of his blade, seeking some weak point in his defence.

  Without warning, Bayen stepped back to his right and lunged forward with a harsh shout, his sword tip thrust towards Kurt's abdomen. With a pace back, Kurt parried the quick blow to the left, rolling his wrists and bringing his own sword around and up towards Bayen's groin. With a clang, the other knight's shield intercepted the attack, deflecting Kurt's sword upwards. Bayen thrust again beneath Kurt's raised sword, forcing him to jump to the left and bring the pommel of his sword down onto Bayen's outstretched arm. The two separated after the exchange of blows, putting a few yards between each other. The thunderous banging of the banner poles by the squires continued to echo around the hall, and Kurt could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, his body surging with energy. He could see that Bayen was breathing heavily too, and pushed himself forward towards the blond knight, sword held low and to the right, swinging it across at head height.

  Again, Bayen's shield blocked the strike but the force of the blow knocked him back a step, allowing Kurt to reverse the direction of the sweeping attack and come in from his left. The other knight's sword crashed against his own, pushing the blade down towards the floor. Bayen threw himself forward, his shield slamming into Kurt and pushing him backwards. Kurt back-stepped quickly to retain his balance, but Bayen launched a series of blistering attacks with his sword, aiming first at his head, then his midriff and then a downward cut towards Kurt's chest, each blow parried aside by Kurt's bastard sword.

  Having weathered Bayen's offensive, Kurt strove to retake the initiative. He feinted a blow to Bayen's le
gs, before releasing one hand from the sword and punching him full in the face. However, Bayen was fast to recover and by the time Kurt had got both hands back on the sword for a powerful downward stroke, the count's cousin had his shield raised to ward away the attack.

  Kurt realised his best hope of winning was to wear Bayen down - the heavy blows from his bastard sword kept the blond knight off balance and unable to counter-attack, although every time he prepared to swing, Kurt was leaving himself open for a swift thrust by Bayen. The two of them duelled in this manner for several more minutes until the sweat was pouring off Kurt inside his armour, stinging his eyes and clogging his nose. Both of them were gasping for breath and their blows became slower and heavier. It was then that a cunning ploy occurred to Kurt. Bayen was the sort who was so centred on himself it was not likely he had paid much attention to Kurt during practice sessions. He was unlikely to know that Kurt could fight equally well with his left or right hand, and that could prove an advantage.

  Dodging to his right, Kurt manoeuvred Bayen so that the other knight was standing to Kurt's left hand side. Bayen, fooled by the trick, attacked against what he thought was Kurt's weaker side. Kurt swapped his grip on the hilt of his broadsword and reversed the direction of his parry, forcing Bayen's sword across his body and overbalancing him. Kurt once more let go of his sword, this time with his right hand, grabbed Bayen's shield and smashed it back into his helmeted face. A split second after, Kurt's sword crashed against the back of Bayen's right knee, buckling his leg and sending him toppling to the ground. Kurt followed up relentlessly, kicking away the other knight's shield and ramming the point of his sword into the gap between breastplate and helm. Pulling the blow at the last moment, the tip of the sword hovered over Bayen's neck. Even blunted, it could crush his windpipe with ease.

  'Yield?' snarled Kurt, stamping down on Bayen's sword arm, pinning it to the flagstones.

  'I yield...' hissed Bayen, letting go of his sword, which clattered beside Kurt's foot.

  'I look forward to your apology,' Kurt replied, smiling grimly inside his helmet.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Suspicion

  Badenhof, Late winter 1708

  URSULA LOOKED BACK at her footprints in the snow and wrapped her woollen cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Already they were beginning to fill up with fresh snow as the heavy fall continued. For three weeks blizzards and winds had enveloped the town, confirming earlier fears that the winter would be harsh. Hooking her basket further up her arm, she forged through the blustery wind, determined to buy fresh bread today after putting off her visit to the bakers for several days, eking out the few stale scraps from her last visit.

  The town was blanketed in snow, a stark whiteness against the black timbers that made up many of the buildings. Smoke drifted along the Sigmarstrasse as it billowed from every home, combining with the snow to cut down the distance she could see to just a few feet. The walls of houses and shops were dim shadows on the edge of her vision, as were the occasional dark silhouettes of the few other souls who braved the bitter weather.

  Every sound was muffled too, adding to the feeling of isolation that Ursula felt. The town had closed in on itself, cut off from even the nearby farms by blocked roads. The few merchants still with fresh stock had hiked their prices beyond the means of someone as poor as her, and bread was all she could afford to eat except for the broth she made from the mouldering vegetables she had, supplemented occasionally by the meagre strips of gristly meat that Brother Theobald brought to her at the start of each week. Her stomach growled with hunger as she walked through the heavy snow, her legs dragging, and she unconsciously rubbed a hand across her empty belly.

  The poor food and bitter weather meant that disease was already beginning to take a grip on Badenhof. Frequently she had seen people with pinched, sallow faces, and many youngsters were said to be suffering from 'horse cough' - a virulent, but so far not deadly infection that attacked the lungs and throat. Ursula had stayed in good health, mainly due to her isolation, but others were afflicted with scabrous rashes and prominent boils.

  If the weather persisted then soon it would be pickled vegetables and what was left of the salted meat, and with that would come more poxes. She had seen it before, when she was just a girl and the red famine had plagued southern Ostermark. She had seen the desperation in the villagers' eyes, and they had taken to eating horses, dogs and even the rats that had gorged themselves on what little grain had remained. Half of the village had died from disease and starvation, people had been killed by their neighbours, and the survivors had deserted the town.

  She was scared. In fact, when she sat on her rough pallet at night and listened to the howling wind outside the loft she lived in, she was terrified and lonely. She fretted about Kurt's absence, and longed for him to return, but it was not likely. More than that, she had felt the townsfolk becoming even more distant from her than normal. Though she had lived there for two years, she was still considered a stranger. When belts had to be tightened, she knew the charity of Brother Theobald would wear thin and there would be no hospitality offered by any of the town's other inhabitants.

  As she approached the main square, she could make out more figures around her. Approaching through the blizzard, she saw a milling crowd at the foot of the steps leading up to the town hall. There was angry murmuring, and she was roughly shouldered aside and shoved as she tried to pick her way through. Recognising Herr Fleischkemp, the baker, she pushed through the crowd towards him.

  'What,s all the commotion?' she asked him, tugging on the sleeve of his heavy, snow-covered coat. He had obviously been stood there for quite a while.

  'Body's been found, up near the Stein grain store,' he replied shortly, giving her a glance from under his deep red hood.

  'A body?' Ursula asked incredulously. 'Who found it? Who's died?'

  'That's the damnedest thing,' the baker said, turning fully to her. 'It was Michel Stein himself, and he died two months ago!'

  'What?' gasped Ursula.

  'Yes, you heard me right,' said Fleischkemp. 'Somebody checked the graveyard, body was dug up right out of the ground.'

  Ursula shuddered and stepped away, glancing over the others. Looking around, she saw that the macabre news was spreading fast, and more people were hurrying in to the square despite the foul weather. There was movement near the town hall doors and someone trod on her foot as the crowd surged forward before two of the guild watchmen appeared and shoved the mob back with the shafts of their halberds.

  Ludwig Kirche, guildmaster of Badenhof, emerged from the door. Tall and skinny, he looked a lot heavier swathed in a sheepskin cloak, his pointed nose poking out from under the brim of a black hat.

  'Get back!' he snapped, making shooing gestures with his right hand, each finger adorned by a gold ring. 'Get back and give me space!'

  Pulling himself up to his full height, he towered a head above everyone else in the square, He glowered at the crowd, casting his gaze to the left and right, and a hush fell.

  'Go back to your homes,' he snarled. 'Go back to your warm hearths, out of this foul weather. You have no business haranguing us here.' 'What are you doing about the strange goings-on?' a voice called from near the back of the crowd. 'Ain't safe to walk the streets!'

  'The food stores are running low. What will we have to eat come the end of the week?' another voice chipped in.

  'What's happened to the boy, Timold?' came a woman's voice.

  Ursula darted a quizzical glance at Herr Fleischkemp. The baker bent down to whisper in her ear.

  'Three children have gone missing in the last two weeks.' he told her quietly. 'All three from around the Bergmund.'

  'The Bergmund, that's where the Stein houses are.' Ursula replied, getting a nod from Fleischkemp in confirmation. 'Do you think there is some kind of connection?'

  'Not for us to say, is it?' the baker replied pointedly, looking back at Herr Kirche, who was conferring with one of the guards.

&nbs
p; 'Investigations are still inconclusive.' the guildmaster declared after a moment.

  'Still inconclusive?' barked a short, thickset man just behind Ursula. 'No surprise there, when you've stripped the watch down to a couple of retired militia men.'

  'We will review the present strength of the watch at our guild meeting in two days' time.' growled Kirche. 'Stop this scaremongering and get on with your lives.'

  'Where's Burgomeister Koln?' the man demanded. 'We want to see the man we voted for, not the guilds' spokesman!'

  'Burgomeister Koln is currently indisposed with a head cold, brought on by the inclement climate.' Kirche replied smoothly, obviously using a well-rehearsed phrase. 'I will convey your concerns to him shortly, and when he is well enough he will call an open meeting of the town councillors.'

  With no further word, and ignoring the angry shouts hurled at his back, Kirche disappeared back in to the town hall.

  'I don't envy him.' muttered Fleischkemp as the crowd began to disperse. Ursula fell in step beside him as they began to trudge through the snow back towards his shop, which was a short way off the main square.

  'How so?' Ursula countered. 'He's the richest man in Badenhof, and if some of the gossip is to be believed, the most powerful too. It seems that he has control of the council as well as the guilds.'

  'Yes, and a winter like this one could destroy him.' explained the baker, pulling his hood tighter around his cheeks and rubbing his hands together. 'He made most of his money and power by bringing the guilds together, but to do that he poured in his own family's funds to provide assurances and backing for many of the smaller merchants and artisans.'

  'So?' Ursula asked. 'Prices are rising rapidly, surely he is getting his share of the profits?'