by ich du
'Need change of heart.' Jakob said, mimicking Kurt's words. 'You that change, perhaps. I see you stand up to Bayen, I like you. The gods like you too, so I come with you.'
'The gods like me?' Kurt inquired. 'What makes you say that, considering the life I've had?'
'You still alive, yes?' asked Jakob with a sombre expression.
'Yes.' Kurt admitted with a shrug. 'So?'
'Family die, you live, that a good sign the gods like you.' explained the northman with an emphatic nod of his head. 'You see family die, that bad sign, but I see you live, that good sign.'
'I think I understand, though I don't think I agree.' Kurt replied. 'I would rather die than see Ursula taken from me the same way my family were.'
Jakob grunted in a non-committal fashion and they rode on for the rest of the morning in silence. Just before noon, they saw the glittering waters of the Urskoy in the distance. Turning southwards, they followed the river for a few more miles and started coming across the first signs of civilisation since they had given Erengrad a wide berth a month earlier. The dark buildings of scattered farms stood out in stark contrast to the white blanket of snow, and low stone walls began to appear across their route.
'Farms mean town soon, Maersko, I think.' announced Jakob as they steered their horses on to a muddy track that curved away towards the river. Sure enough, by mid afternoon a cluster of low buildings could be seen on the banks of the river and the town of Maersko spread along the river's banks. It was not a large settlement, perhaps a hundred buildings at most, but it did obviously have a bridge or ferry.
'We should get more supplies,' Kurt said as they entered the outskirts of the town. 'Perhaps we could even stay the night, it would be good to have a proper bed for at least a single night.'
'Yes, warm bed, hot food, that would be good,' agreed Jakob with a grin. 'Find alehouse for beer!'
'Let's not get too carried away,' cautioned Kurt. 'We still can't relax, the Osterknacht could be only a few days behind us for all we know.'
'But beer?' asked Jakob, with concern on his face.
'Yes,' laughed Kurt, 'we can have a beer or two but no more than that, we may need our wits about us.'
THEY RODE TO the centre of Maersko, which was dominated by a large open place around a long stone bridge across the river. The buildings were all single-storey, built of roughly cut stones and roofed with slate - thatch was a rare commodity in Kislev. The people in the streets were dressed in heavy winter furs, and shuffled through the chill with suspicious looks at the pair. They found an inn close to the bridge with stables at the back. With Jakob's rudimentary skills with the language, picked up when he travelled south from Norsca, they were able to secure a room for the night, tankards of thick frothy ale, and bowls of steaming stew. The innkeeper, a pot-bellied, balding man with a long bristling beard, came over and spoke briefly to Jakob as the pair sat down to eat.
'What did he want?' Kurt asked as the man left, casting a glance at the man's back as he returned to the bar.
'Strange thing, he say,' Jakob told the knight. 'He say that we staying in wrong place, that other knights staying at inn on other side of river.'
'Other knights?' gasped Kurt, before lowering his voice. 'The Osterknacht are already here?'
'There are three, I asked him,' confirmed Jakob. 'What we do?'
'Well, we have to leave!' exclaimed Kurt, darting a look around the smoky room as if expecting hidden spies to be looking at them right there and then.
'Not only choice.' countered Jakob, his eyes narrowing. 'Osterknacht think this town safe, they have men here. We kill men, we escape and Osterknacht not know.'
'Kill them?' hissed Kurt. 'Don't be stupid! I've deserted but I'm not about to turn into a murderer. No, we turn back, go back the way we came and find another way across further south.'
'More south, more people, more danger.' argued Jakob with a frown. 'More knights too, maybe. Knights will learn that we here, or have gone, like we learn they are here. They will know where we go and more knights come this way soon.'
'I'll not spill the blood of a fellow knight.' Kurt said vehemently.
'You not knight any more.' Jakob pointed out, pushing away his empty bowl.
'Not by law, but the ideals I swore to, I still believe in.' Kurt replied. 'We leave before dawn, any earlier will cause comment.' he added before looking away and steadfastly ignoring Jakob to indicate the conversation was over.
THE HORSES' HOOVES sounded loudly on the stones of the bridge as Kurt and Jakob rode over the river in the still, predawn hours. Kurt was nervous, his concern about the presence of the other knights heightened by the silence and gloom that enveloped the town. A mist drifted up from the banks of the sluggishly moving Urskoy, shrouding the far end of the bridge. Glancing at Jakob, Kurt saw that the northman was also tense, his head craned forward as his eyes strained to penetrate the shadowy mist ahead. The monotonous clop-clop-clop of the horses also grated on Kurt's nerves, each tread sounding like a booming alarm call.
They passed off the bridge into the far half of the town, and once amongst the darker blocks of the buildings and streets Kurt relaxed a little, feeling less exposed than when he was on the bridge. The mud and snow muffled the tread of the horses and they moved through the twisting fog like mounted ghosts.
It was only when they had moved out of the town itself that the pair felt safer, and picked up speed to put distance between them and their pursuers. As the sun started to burn off the morning mist, they galloped along the road that meandered westwards over a range of low hills. A few miles out of town, they came across a large building beside the road. It consisted of a central two-storey building from which two wings came forward towards the road, creating a courtyard. The wing to their left was a row of stables, the other seemed to be some kind of storage sheds. Spying a well, Jakob suggested they pause for a few minutes for the horses to have a drink and to take some breakfast themselves - they had slipped quietly out of the inn before the cooking fires had been lit.
Jakob was busying himself at the well as Kurt strolled across the yard of the building, which was laid out in a u-shape facing the road. He was pleased to stretch his legs. For weeks now he had been sat in the saddle, and spending last night on a straw-stuffed mattress had only served to accentuate the woes of his bones and muscles rather than alleviate them. The door creaked open and a yawning figure walked out, head bowed and stretching his arms wide. Kurt froze. The man was dressed in full plate armour, and when he looked up, Kurt saw that it was Bayen.
'Come on, move your lazy bones, I want to be back with the others before nightfall!' Bayen shouted back into the open door, before turning towards Kurt, almost stumbling to the ground in surprise. The two of them stood there for several heartbeats just staring at each other.
'Vermin!' bellowed Bayen, ripping his sword free and sprinting across the yard.
Kurt's blade was still hung on his horse, and he dropped into a crouching stance as Bayen closed in. The other knight gripped his sword two-handed and swung it in an overhand chop towards Kurt's shoulder. Leaning to the left, Kurt reached out, his hands shot up and grabbed Bayen's wrists, forcing the blow aside. Twisting like an eel, Bayen broke free and stepped back, but Kurt gave him no time to prepare for another strike, barrelling into the man, shouldering him in the stomach and hurling the pair of them to the ground. They scrabbled and rolled around on the frozen mud, fighting for a grip on the sword, as Bayen spat curses into Kurt's face.
Ramming his elbow into Bayen's chin, Kurt stunned the knight and brought his knee down on his arm, pinning it to the ground. He smashed a gauntleted hand into Bayen's nose, and then made a grab for the sword. It skittered out of both of their grasps and slid through the snow. Bayen was bleeding from two cuts to his face now, his lips twisted in a mask of fury. With a grunt, he got his foot underneath Kurt and pushed him off, rolling to the side. Kurt slipped in the snow, and the pair of them lunged towards the sword at the same time.
Kurt's hand closed around
the grip of the weapon and he swung it low and to his right, its tip ringing off Bayen's breastplate. Panic entered the eyes of the count's cousin, and he back-pedalled away from Kurt, eyes flicking left and right seeking an escape. Anger welled up inside Kurt as he advanced grimly, the sword held ready before him.
With an incoherent yell, Bayen threw himself at Kurt, who reacted without thought, putting his weight on his forward foot and driving forward with all his strength. The sword plunged through the stomach of Bayen and he took two faltering steps before falling to his knees, pulling the sword from Kurt's numbed grasp. The knight's eyes looked up at Kurt in accusation and disbelief before he slumped sideways into the snow, which was turning red as blood spilled from the fatal wound.
Pulling the sword free and averting his gaze from Bayen's staring eyes, Kurt stepped away, shocked by the encounter. It had been over in a matter of moments, though it seemed hours ago that he had first seen the knight walk out of the building. With that thought came the realisation that the other two knights were probably there as well. He looked up at the dark windows, seeking any sign of alarm or movement, but there was none. Not sure what to do, he ran from the courtyard and called softly for Jakob. The Norscan was by the well feeding Heldred, and looked up at Kurt's subdued shout.
'The knights are here!' Kurt gasped breathlessly. 'We have to get out of here!'
'Wait, wait!' Jakob hissed, grabbing Kurt's arm and pulling him back as he tried to mount Heldred. 'Too late to run.'
'What?' Kurt demanded.
'Other knights will find body, will chase us down.' explained Jakob hurriedly. 'Can you fight two knights?'
'No, of course I can't, I'm not that good.' answered Kurt. 'That's why we must get out of here!'
'Hunt will get worse, you wanted for murder now on top of deserter.' Jakob continued.
'He attacked me!' said Kurt, exasperated.
'Not matter.' Jakob waved away Kurt's argument. 'Other knights must die. We hide the bodies, then run. Be far away before found, if they found at all.'
'I can't just kill them in cold blood.' argued Kurt.
'Must, for sake of Ursula.' Jakob responded, which made Kurt visibly flinch. 'Now we must speed, but cannot hide and run fast. We must kill them.'
Kurt hesitated, confused and dazed by the turn of events. He wasn't sure what to do, his own thoughts were in turmoil.
'Come, we do it now!' snapped Jakob, sensing Kurt's uncertainty and grabbing his arm.
They ran around back to the courtyard where Bayen's body was quickly cooling in the snow. Ignoring it, Jakob pointed to the door and they both went in. It was dark inside the coaching inn, the lanterns not yet lit, and Jakob prowled around the room, listening at the three adjoining doors. With a gesture, he indicated one particular room.
At that moment, the sound of footsteps sounded from a corridor leading off to their left and a short, skinny man, dressed only in his trousers, walked into view. Jakob sprung towards him and clamped a hand around his mouth, whispering urgently into the man's ear.
'What are you saying?' hissed Kurt.
'Told him the knights were deserters, we here to kill them.' Jakob answered quietly, letting go of the man who looked wide-eyed at Kurt. He turned to Jakob and spoke some more, pointing back the way he came.
At that moment, someone else came into view from where the man was pointing. It was Vikkson, rubbing his head in a half-daze. He too was dressed in his armour, his sword at his side.
'Leitzig!' the knight gasped when he saw the pair, and turned to run. Kurt was faster, tackling the man to the ground with a crash of armour. Vikkson rammed his elbow back into Kurt's chin, stunning him for a moment. The master sergeant got to one knee before Jakob jumped forward, his hand clamping around the knight's neck. With his free hand, he plunged his dagger up into Vikkson's chin, spilling blood down the front of his armour. He let the body slump to the ground and stood up, eyes narrowed dangerously. The owner of the coaching inn gave a yell and bolted for the front door. Jakob took a step after him, but Kurt held out an arm and stopped the Norscan.
'Leave him be,' Kurt said, panting heavily. 'There's still one more knight here.'
'Where?' asked Jakob.
Kurt walked down the corridor from which Vikkson had emerged, and listened at the first door. Shaking his head, he moved to the next one and held up his hand when he heard signs of movement. Drawing his sword, he flung open the door. The room had four beds, one of which was still made, obviously unused. A shuttered window blocked out almost all the light, and dust motes swirled in the draft. Standing in the centre of the room, still strapping on his armour, was the other knight. He was no older than Kurt, and his bright blue eyes gaped at Kurt as he entered. The man's attention became fixed on the point of Kurt's bloody sword.
'What have you done with the others?' the knight asked with an accusing stare, letting his breastplate drop to the ground. He started trembling, and his eyes darted around the room, looking for some avenue of escape.
'They're dead.' Kurt replied, glaring straight back at the other man.
'Murdering filth!' the knight spat, leaping forward. Kurt smashed the pommel of his sword into the knight's chin, hurling him onto one of the beds. The man stood back up, eyeing Kurt cautiously.
'Why are you doing this, Kurt?' he asked, meeting his gaze.
'You have to finish it,' said Jakob, walking in behind Kurt. 'If you don't, might never see Ursula again.'
'Turn around and kneel down,' Kurt told the knight quietly, pointing to the floor. Shaking, the man did as he was told.
'Don't do this,' the man begged, before bowing his head, a quiet prayer spilling from his lips. Steeling himself, Jakob's words still ringing in his ears, Kurt gripped his sword tighter and swung it down...
The man dead, Kurt looked away, the sword dropping to the floor from his numb grasp.
'We could take their horses,' Jakob suggested, not giving the corpse a second glance. 'Perhaps they have money.'
'I'm not going to loot the dead,' Kurt replied softly. 'Set the horses free, and dump the men and all their possessions in the river.'
'But is a waste,' complained Jakob, but he fell silent as Kurt rounded on him.
'Just do as I say,' Kurt hissed slowly.
With a shrug, Jakob grabbed the dead knight under the shoulders and dragged him out of the door. The young man's head flopped down onto his chest, his dead eyes staring up at Kurt. He heard the Norscan grunting and groaning as he manhandled the body down the corridor. Closing the door, Kurt was alone in the room, his sword lying in the pool of blood on the floor. There he sat on the fresh bed in the darkness, his head in his hands, and wept for what he had done.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Revelations
Badenhof, Winter early 1709
AS THE NEWS spread of Ursula's trial, it had a strange effect on the town. A calm that seemed unnatural after the months of rioting and violence descended on Badenhof. There was still much hostility in the air, and if anything the antagonism towards Ursula became even greater, as though those who had sought to blame others had finally bowed to popular opinion and now found Ursula the guilty party.
Marius fretted and did little to hide the fact that being entangled in the legal proceedings of the town's court left him no time to pursue his real foe. As he told Ursula and Ruprecht the morning the whole sorry affair was due to start, this was probably the entire reason for the whole farcical episode. All three were sat in the Sigmarite shrine in whose grounds Ursula had lived. The pews had been formed into a horseshoe shape around the altar and more desks and chairs had been brought in to give it the semblance of a courtroom. This had been just one of the many niggling details that had plagued Marius for the last few days - as a priest and witch hunter he could not preside over a secular trial, and so had been forced to invoke his religious authority and try Ursula by Sigmarite law. Along with Marius, her judges were to be Brother Theobald and Magistrate Fenster. Fenster had insisted that Ursula be tried for her
lesser crimes at the same time as she was answering to the charges of heresy and witchcraft.
'While I'm running around signing records and talking to ushers, the real evildoers in the town are being given free rein.' the witch hunter moaned. 'There are lists of witnesses and character witnesses to be reviewed apparently. And all the time priests and beggars, watchmen and merchants, the magistrate himself, the guildmaster's agents, the burgomeister's spokesman, are all tugging at my coat tails for my time.'
'But it does tell us something,' Ruprecht said.
'And what's that?' snapped van Diesl. 'That petty towns and their petty bureaucracies are no substitute for the genuine justice we deal in?'
'No,' replied Ruprecht with a scowl at the pessimistic witch hunter. 'Whoever our conspirators are, they must have good connections. From what we know of the other towns, the men involved were civic and trade leaders. It seems that's the case here as well.'
'Yes, you're right.' sighed Marius, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'I've had no time to think these last few days. It's just what they want, too! That gives us a few suspects at least, which is more than we had a week ago.'
Footsteps echoing along the shrine hushed them into silence. It was Magistrate Fenster, stalking towards them, bent over with his head swaying from side to side like a carrion scavenger.
'It is most perturbing that a judge of this trial should be in consultation with the defendant and a possible witness before proceedings begin.' rasped the old magistrate.
'Until I'm sworn in at the start of the trial, I am free to do as I wish.' Marius said in reply, standing up. 'What time is the farce supposed to begin?'
'A farce is it?' said Fenster with a sour look. 'Your interference and cavalier overturning of my earlier judgement in this matter was the farce. Just who do you think you are, arriving in our town like this and disturbing our peace?'
'Disturbing your peace?' Ruprecht laughed bitterly. 'There was almost a daily riot here, and all the while you great leaders of men sat in the town hall and wrung your hands and waited for us to arrive.'