At Witches' End

by Annette Oppenlander

  “Watch for the banner,” Werner said, his voice clipped and sharp as the early morning air. “When it is waved you return here for new commands.” He paused and now seemed to speak to each man alone. “Our runners confirmed that Schwarzburg plans an attack. He has asked the citizens of Heiligenstadt to assist him. We will answer him once and for all.”

  The men mumbled agreement. Some of them patted their swords and knives, chainmail softly clinking.

  A sense of doom settled over me. I worried about Bero. They couldn’t be serious to send him out there. But Bero appeared to have every intention of doing just that.

  “I’ve got to talk to you,” I tried again.

  “Not now,” Bero whispered. I followed his gaze. To the east, above the walls, the faintest of grays announced dawn.

  The time had come.

  Chapter 21

  Despite my experience with the last battle, I was unprepared for what followed. The bailey exploded with arrows, some flaming, some long and many the short crossbow missiles that penetrated armor. They whirred and whined like hornets with lethal stingers. They rained out of the sky by the hundreds, mowing down whatever stood or sat in their way.

  The bellows of dying cows reverberated from the walls, mixed with the war cry of men and the pain-filled voices of the injured. A servant was caught on the outer wall of the three-story living quarters, refreshing torches at the wrong moment. His chest pierced by an arrow, he appeared impaled to the rock. Blood spread across his linen shift, sputtered from his mouth.

  I looked away. The man was dead.

  Around me the horses were getting restless from the smoke of burning arrows and the acrid stench of singed cow hides. I ducked away from the hooves just as the men climbed their saddles. Bero’s hazelnut hair underneath the helmet bobbed up and down before he disappeared in the charging horde.

  Along the wall Hanstein’s archers unleashed a flood of projectiles. Judging by the cries and grunts they’d found their targets. I smiled. It was a miserable smile, filled with frustration and hate.

  I squeezed against the wall, trying to decide what to do next. More arrows arrived, covering every bit of the open area. There was no safe spot unless you were inside the courtyard or better yet, inside the building. I’d waited too long.

  But I couldn’t just hide. I was Werner’s squire, even if after two years it was more or less a farce, even if I hadn’t spent a day doing the things squires did to prepare for knighthood. By rights, I should’ve gone with them.

  Just the thought turned my stomach to mush, creating instant nausea. I didn’t belong here. Even a ten-year-old peasant knew more than I did. So what if I knew trigonometry and pulled all-nighters playing games with Jimmy. Big deal.

  A huge roar made me crumple to the ground, a shrill whistling sound followed by a heavy thump. Then another explosion, more screeching. Near the walls of the main house where the servant hung skewered, the earth exploded, dirt, grass and rocks flying like shrapnel.

  Schwarzburg had brought some kind of cannon. That’s what Alexander had witnessed stuck on the muddy trail of Bornhagen.

  After a few minutes the booms and whistles repeated. This time, the projectiles hit the main building, where Hanstein’s families and help slept, where they met, cooked and loved. Where we partied and enjoyed life. Though the shots squarely hit the stone walls, the damage was minimal as if someone had merely scratched a hammer across. I thanked the medieval architects, building eight-foot thick walls that were somehow elastic.

  More screams erupted outside the wall. I thought of Bero and if he’d be killed and felt nothing but terror. You’re a coward. Compared to Werner and his men, Bero and Enders, you, Max Nerds Anderson, are a lousy coward.

  Fighting the paralyzing stupor in my legs I straightened. At least I’d die upright and proud instead of a wimp. Taking a deep breath I scampered along the inner bulwark, down a rope ladder through the ditch to the outer bulwark until I found the steps leading to the gangway on top.

  “What can I do?” I shouted at the first archer, who kept reloading his crossbow with rhythmic efficiency.

  “Need more arrows,” the man barked without taking his eyes off his bow and the activities beyond.

  I nodded and ducked below to get refills from the stocked trunks on the ground. Delivering them, I anxiously peered across the parapet. Below us, the earth boiled with horses and riders, men on foot, cutting and slicing, grunting and crying. How could anyone know who was who? Other than their crests, the men looked alike. The early morning sun danced off their raised swords and lances, reflected back from their armor and chainmail in dazzling terror.

  In the distance I caught a glimpse of Werner, his blond curls bright in the early light. Strangely, it was a beautiful day with hardly a cloud in the sky. Another boom rang out. The ground shook.

  The projectile hit a window on the third floor of the main house and crashed inside. In modern warfare a single explosive would have leveled the entire mountain top. Thankfully they weren’t quite that advanced. Yet, the horrifying screams of men, the neighing of spooked and injured horses was nothing short of bloodcurdling.

  Cold fingers gripped my insides. They were trying to hit the roof.

  If they broke through, they’d send flaming arrows next and burn down Hanstein. The oak beams, wooden floors and furniture would create an inferno and melt the castle from the inside out. I risked a glance across the wall, my neck wobbly with the thought of an arrow finding my head. Men bunched together in two clumps a hundred yards away. I detected something black in their midst. I hadn’t even known they used cannons in the Middle Ages.

  Don’t think. Keep working. A few feet away, an archer was hit in the throat. He gurgled, tumbled backwards into the grass below and lay still. As I rushed to the man’s spot and grabbed the stash of arrows a commotion broke out near the gate.

  Was Schwarzburg trying to force his way in? I crawled closer, handing the archers along the way fresh munitions. Another boom shook the ground. The projectile smashed against the eaves three stories high. They’d almost dialed it in.

  Beneath me, men streamed into the bailey. I recognized Konrad and some of Werner’s men, the soldiers from Heiligenstadt and there was Bero. A sigh rattled in my throat. Bero’s face shone pale, but his eyes were dark with determination.

  Most of the men appeared to be all right, but two barely hung on to their reins and one had been draped across the saddle facedown. An assortment of arrows stuck in his back. I didn’t see Enders and wondered if he’d been injured.

  For a brief moment I asked myself if I’d be happy if Enders died. It’d solve all my problems. Or would it? It would be a crying shame to lose Enders. Relieved I hadn’t forgotten all morals, I jumped down the steps.

  “They are hitting the main house,” Konrad was just saying when another detonation boomed, followed by the roar of a second cannon ball. A hole gaped in the roof now.

  “They are burning Hanstein,” another knight said. “We cannot get to the cannons. They have fifty men around them, archers in the trees to catch anyone who comes close.”

  Just before the gates crashed closed, screams erupted outside. One of the guards shouted something in our direction, but I couldn’t make out his words.

  It wasn’t necessary. Two men entered, dragging Werner’s limp body between them.

  “My Lord,” Bero screamed.

  “My Lord,” I whispered. Something cold spread through my stomach as if I’d swallowed a bucket of ice water. I don’t remember how I got back to the courtyard, but somehow we all made it unharmed. All I know is that the voice in my head kept repeating Werner can’t die… Werner can’t die. He just couldn’t.

  “Over here, gently,” Konrad said as Werner was placed in some hastily spread straw.

  The chainmail covering his waist was sticky with blood. More had soaked his pants. He moaned softly, his eyes closed.

  A hush fell over the servants, the men and women loyal to Knight Werner. Tears pressed ag
ainst my eyeballs. I wasn’t the only one. Several maids cried openly while Bero and Konrad kneeled by Werner’s side, sniffing.

  “What happened?” Lame Hans hobbled toward us. I’d never seen him move this quickly.

  “My Lord.” One of the soldiers bowed low. “We were on the retreat, a cowardly act by one of Schwarzburg’s men. I was too late.” He hung his head.

  Lame Hans clamped down his lips, reminding me of our meeting in his office. Another detonation exploded nearby. It was so loud that the ground shook and everyone but Hans trembled.

  “My Lord, what are we going to do?” Konrad said, his dark eyes wet with tears.

  “We must tend to my brother,” Lame Hans said matter of factly. Though it wasn’t clear what he had in mind. None of us knew what to do. We’d somehow taken for granted that Werner led us and gave the orders.

  “Hanstein will fall.” Konrad said what we were all thinking. As if to emphasize his point, another explosion rocked us. In the main building, stones crumbled.

  “Never.” Despite his words I detected doubt in Hans’s eyes like thunder clouds swirling across a summer sky. “We need more men and there is no time to get them. I am afraid my brother let some of them go too soon.”

  Schwarzburg had savagely waited until Werner had released some of the men he’d hired for the raid on Heiligenstadt—to get his own cows back.

  I looked at the castle, the place I’d considered safe, almost a second home. In the dull afternoon light, the walls seemed soft as if they’d melted with the air. A shiver ran down my spine. Hanstein was at the brink of being destroyed and somehow in the recesses of my mind I remembered something. Something I’d read months ago.

  “My Lord, I’ve got an idea.” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop myself.

  Hans looked up from his brother’s blood-soaked body with a grim smile. He obviously didn’t put much faith into what I had to say. His brother’s so-called squire who did nothing but deliver a few arrows to the archers behind the wall. Big effing deal.

  Feeling scrawny and insignificant, I pushed past the crowd. “My Lord, do you remember the prisoners taken in Heiligenstadt? They are Schwarzburg’s men and some are merchants.”

  “Schwarzburg will not stop fighting if you return the prisoners,” Konrad said in a dismissive tone. Irritated laughter erupted among the knights. No doubt they considered me an idiot.

  Hans waved an impatient arm. “Let him finish. Max Nerds has been useful…in his own ways.” A sigh escaped him as if it took great effort to make up his mind about me. “He saved the castle once before.”

  I blinked. Hans had taken my side. He had to be at his wits’ end to listen to me.

  “What if you force the prisoners from Heiligenstadt to go to the roof?” I hurried. “If Schwarzburg has people from his own town helping him, they won’t want to kill their own kind by firing cannons.”

  The mumbling around me stopped. The crash of another projectile hitting the roof tile made me jump. I yanked my arms to my side and locked my fingers behind my back to keep them from shaking.

  Hans stared at me, visibly torn between dismissing my idea and giving it a chance. The no-page, no-squire, no-lord castle idiot had spoken. Ignoring the mumbling of the crowd, Hans slowly nodded. “It may work.”

  As the next projectile landed short and bounced off the side of the building, six men, led by Konrad, hurried into the keep.

  “We can tell Schwarzburg that his citizens will be hit, if he keeps this up,” I said. “It would make him highly unpopular.” My eyes returned to Werner’s still body. Two maids were carefully removing Werner’s chainmail, but not careful enough. A deep wail escaped him before he passed out.

  Hans nodded. “Max Nerds, you are useful after all.” He turned in a circle. “Bero, get me parchment and ink. We must be quick.”

  Across the courtyard the Heiligenstadt prisoners shrieked and lamented as they were herded toward the main house. By the time Bero returned with quill, ink, paper and sand, Konrad was crawling through an attic opening on the south side of the roof. Behind him followed the disheveled prisoners. Even from here, I made out the anxious glances of the merchants, their heads swiveling between the gleam of Konrad’s blade as it poked at a man’s belly and the hundred-foot drop. Somebody wailed in terror torn apart by the wind.

  One by one the prisoners crawled out of the opening on top of the roof where they were tied to the metal spokes with rope. The assault with the cannons had stopped. Was Schwarzburg aware of the men above?

  Hans finished his note and addressed Bero. “Be careful. Stay away from Schwarzburg. Hand the message to one of his men instead.”

  Bero crammed the rolled parchment into his vest and disappeared through the gate. I opened my mouth in protest. I hadn’t meant for Bero to go and do the dirty job.

  By all accounts it should’ve been me.

  If Schwarzburg saw Bero or any of his men recognized him from our imprisonment, he’d be good as dead. New terror seized me, making my legs soft all over again.

  “A clever deed, Max Nerds,” Hans said. “Let us see what Schwarzburg will do.” Little by little, the assault of flying arrows ceased. The bailey turned quiet except for the bellowing of cows and the groaning of hurt men.

  “My Lord, shall we collect the dead?” one man asked.

  Hans nodded. “Take six men. Get the wounded first.”

  The two bleeding knights I’d seen earlier were placed next to Werner. I wondered what sort of injuries they had and if they’d survive. When the gates opened again, a steady stream of blood-soaked men, some limping, some being carried by others or strapped to horses, began to move toward the castle. I kept throwing anxious glances at the entry, but Bero didn’t appear and the gate slammed shut.

  To distract myself, I followed the men. All the gore was freaking me out.

  Fresh straw had been spread across the courtyard’s flagstones and I soon found it wasn’t just to serve as beds as much as to soak up the flow of blood.

  A new scream rang out. Lady Clara rushed near and bent over Werner, her face white as the clouds above. “My Lord, what happened?”

  Werner’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Shall we send for the medicos?” one of the knight’s said.

  “No…him,” Werner mumbled, his gaze on me.

  “Max, please do something.” Lady Clara took my hands.

  “I can’t, not with this. I’m no surgeon.” I took a step back to put some distance between me and the madness.

  “But you must,” Lady Clara cried. She returned to Werner’s side. “My Lord…”

  Werner didn’t answer.

  A maid curtsied, holding a flagon of wine. What was Werner going to do with booze? He was bleeding to death. Nobody offered real help or knew what to do.

  I fought down the urge to run. The smell of death hung in the air. What if Werner died? I crouched next to Lady Clara. Werner’s breath was shallow but regular. I bit my lip. I at least knew about keeping things clean.

  “I need lots of hot water,” I heard myself say. When none of the servants moved, I pointed at them. “You two, fill cauldrons with water and make it boil. I need clean fabric, linen or nettle cloth.”

  What plants helped stem bleeding? I thought longingly of Luanda’s herb garden, her knowledge of medieval medicine. Luanda!

  “Listen,” I said to a young oaf who stood watching. “You know where Luanda lives?”

  The idiot stared at me and shook his head.

  “I know her place,” Juliana said. I didn’t notice her until she stepped in my way.

  I fought the impulse to turn away, doing my best to push all my feelings, the touch of her skin and the soft moans out of my mind.

  Clearing my throat I said, “It’s too dangerous for you.”

  “I’ll go. Finding someone else takes too long. The Lord and these men need help now. We have nobody to treat them.”

  “I can’t do it alone,” I said.

  “I know.”


  “Get someone to go with you,” I tried.

  She shook her head. “Easier to slip past them alone.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she already hurried toward the gate. Was she trying to make up for seducing me? Was she going to look for Enders?

  Only after she’d run off, did it occur to me that I’d now sent both my friends into harm’s way. Bero was out there delivering a message to the greatest asshole on earth and Juliana was liable to get captured by one of his soldiers. And Adela was with Ott.

  A groan escaped me. I had potentially finished off Bero’s family.

  Great job, once again. Why did they all have to be so stubborn? If something happened to Juliana, Enders would kill me. If something happened to Bero or Adela, I’d never forgive myself.

  Chapter 22

  “You are making yourself useful.” Lame Hans stood leaning on his good leg. “It appears we have a ceasefire.” I’d watched him organize the supply lines, making sure the perimeter of the castle was well-stocked with ammunition.

  Hans eyed his brother who lay pale and unmoving on the straw. He threw his gloves carelessly on the ground. “Now let us take care of the sick.”

  He inspected the row of bleeding men, some pale and still, others groaning. Then he kneeled heavily next to his brother and gingerly moved aside the shirt. A gasp escaped him. The wound swam in blood and there was no way of guessing what was going on inside. I raised my eyes to the sky.

  We needed a helicopter to airlift Werner to Kassel’s hospital. Instead we had nothing. Not even a real doctor.

  “I’ll get the blacksmith to heat the fire,” Hans said. Hanstein like most castles had their own smith who shoed horses and supplied metal contraptions to the household. He also branded animals and obviously, did double-duty cauterizing wounds. He subsisted in a tiny room on the bottom floor of the main house where he kept a perpetual fire going.