ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1) (11 page)

Thomas ignored him and ripped open the boy’s shirt to expose the wound. “You will not be needing to use that on me. But if you insist on cutting your own throat for almost killing this boy, I will not stop you.”

“Watch your tongue ferryman. I saved his life.”

“I have seen many things, but never a man who can pull a crossbow bolt out of the middle of his own back. Some unthinking fool pulled it out cutting open every blood vessel around and leaving a jagged hole bigger than some men’s brains.”

The young man clenched his teeth and glared at Thomas.

“Careful. We are off the bank—out of reach of Landenberg’s men. I do not need you anymore to sail this raft.”

Thomas pulled out his curved belt knife in one quick motion. The young man jumped to his feet, his hand starting to pull his own blade. Without paying the man even a sidelong glance, Thomas sliced a relatively clean piece of cloth off his own shirt and then pushed it hard against the boy’s wound.

“Since you are up, reach in that saddle bag at your feet and hand me some of that clotting moss,” Thomas said.

The man glowered, but he relaxed his grip on his sword and did as Thomas asked. Thomas pushed a handful of the moss into the wound and held it for a minute; until he was satisfied the bleeding had slowed. Then he had the man take over and keep pressure on while he went back to helm the ferry and bring her into shore.

Once on shore he cut some clean bandages and produced a moldy piece of bread from his bag along with some more moss. He put them over the wound and wrapped it tightly with the bandages. The young man watched quietly.

“You learn that in the Holy Lands?”

Thomas looked up, his eyebrows knit together. “What makes you so sure you know anything about me?”

The man laughed. “I know more about you Thomas Schwyzer than you know about yourself. I know you have returned to Schwyz after thirty years of fighting in the Holy Lands. These are my mountains. I have eyes and ears everywhere. If I did not, the Habsburgs would have hung me years ago.”

“You are the outlaw Noll Melchthal.” The realization came fast. He was a favorite topic between Pirmin and Sutter at the inn, but Thomas had imagined him as a much older man. Apparently this Noll was a brigand wanted by the Habsburgs but was looked on fondly by many of the locals. They saw him as some kind of freedom fighter. The thought of turning him over to the Austrians for a reward crossed Thomas’s mind.

“I am no outlaw. I recognize no Habsburg judge and refuse to be ruled by oafs such as Landenberg. He may be the Vogt of Unterwalden, but he has no authority in Schwyz or Uri. We are a free people.”

Thomas nodded at the boy lying on the ground. “Talk like that gets people hurt. I know your type. You are a rebel by nature and live only to disrupt the natural order ordained by God.”

“Only a fool would believe God wants these lands ruled by Austrian blue-bloods.”

“What would you do? Overthrow the noble class? And replace it with what?”

“Do you find it so hard to believe that common people can rule themselves? We need no royalty, or foreign judges enforcing corrupt laws. The Habsburgs get rich from our pain and suffering. It is not right and I have a hundred men under my command that agree. We do not only want to drive the Austrians from our lands, we want justice.”

Thomas blinked at the force of Noll’s convictions, but then shook his head. One did not simply tamper with the divine natural order. The King and Church worked together to protect the common man from the Devil and himself, not subjugate him. God had granted the peasant class the ability to work in the fields, perhaps learn a trade. They had no capacity for politics, and thrust into that arena would prove incapable of ruling themselves. Politicking was the domain of the noble class, which in turn was under direct control of the King. Together they saw to all matters secular while the Church protected the spiritual souls of all devout Christians.

“True justice can only be dispensed by God. A hundred men is nothing but mouths to feed, for the Habsburgs could have a thousand soldiers on your doorstep tomorrow. Do not be in a hurry to throw your life away in war.”

Noll shook his head. “God does not concern himself with justice. I have seen enough of this world to know that.”

Thomas crossed himself and leveled a finger at Noll. “Still your tongue. I will have none of your blasphemy on my boat.”

“Why not join us, ferryman? You have been back long enough to see the poverty, the corrupt soldiers that reap our lands. Help us drive out the Habsburg blue-bloods.”

Thomas shook his head. “You swim in black waters, boy. This will end badly. Mark my words.”

Noll scowled at Thomas and then shrugged. He bent low and scooped up his wounded friend, hoisting him across his shoulders. He stood up easily, as though he carried no more than a sack of grain. He was not a large man, but lean and efficient, and his powerful legs did not tremble in the least at the added weight.

“When you are shut up safe in your hut, in front of a warm fire, and the screams of dying country men can be heard beyond your walls, I trust you will say a prayer for them, ferryman.”

“I am no priest,” Thomas said.

“You talk like one.”

Noll turned away. He stepped slowly but took long strides so as not to jostle his precious load. From up the path, without turning his head, he called out, “If you should change your mind and want to meet with me, mention it to Sutter. The right words travel easily in these mountains.”

Thomas watched until Noll disappeared in the trees.
The Devil had a purchase on that one,
he thought, and at the same moment, he realized Noll had neglected to pay him for the ferry trip.

Chapter 9

“S
ERAINA!”

She looked up from trimming one of her plants in the direction from which Noll’s voice carried. The cry was desperate and the trees marked his coming with incessant whispers, which Seraina followed with her eyes. Seconds later Noll burst into her clearing with Aldo hanging limp across his back.

“Lay him here—in the sunlight,” she said.

Together they eased him down onto his side and Seraina began examining the wound on his back, fearing the worst. She peeled back the bandage and was surprised to see the moldy bread and moss covering the wound. She did not move them, but held a hand to Aldo’s cheek. He was pale from loss of blood, yet not feverish, as he should be. She placed her other hand on his chest and listened to his heart rhythms while Noll fidgeted at her side.
Deep, but strong and regular.
She leaned back and looked at Noll.

“He will live,” she said. “But not by my craft.”

Noll, who was still standing, fell down on the ground and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. He took in a deep breath.

“Who saw to his wound?” Seraina asked. “It was not you. That much I know.”

Noll still labored over his breathing. He had carried the boy far, and up a steep slope as well. “What? Oh, the new ferryman applied a simple poultice. A pox on his hide, he is a stubborn man that one.”

“The ferryman?” Seraina’s eyes widened in surprise. The dressing had been wrapped with precision and skill. The use of birch mane to stem the flow of blood and clean the wound was not well known.

She continued to quiz Noll about the man until he threw up his arms and said he knew nothing more, and if she wanted to know more about the ferryman she was going to have to ask him herself.

Noll walked to the rain barrel and ladled some water into one hand and then rubbed them together to wash off the dried blood.

“Can I leave Aldo with you until the morrow? The Eidgenossen are meeting tonight and if I am to reach the meadow in time I had best be on my way.”

Ah,
Seraina thought.
That explained Noll’s foul mood.

“Has the council finally invited you?” she asked. When the leaders of Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwalden met it was always in secret and strictly by invitation, for they feared reprisals by their Austrian overlords.

“What need do I have for an invitation? I merely assume my father’s position, since he cannot be there himself.” Noll shook the bloody water off his hands and wiped them on his breeches. “And if Walter Furst, or old Stauffacher try to deny my right to speak, I am prepared to make them listen.”

Seraina met Noll’s icy stare and felt her heart skip a beat. Behind her, the trees murmured their approval.

A short time later Noll said farewell and she watched him wind his way up the slope above the tree line until he disappeared over the grassy ridge.

“He is an exceptional young man. And as headstrong as all you Helvetii seem to be.”

Seraina jumped at the sound of the voice behind her.
Gildas!

She turned to see the old man sitting on a boulder, a blade of grass between his straight teeth. The green stood in stark contrast to the downy white of his beard, which in turn, blended into the white hooded robe of the druids. She was aware of another white form, but this one as insubstantial as mist, padding through the trees to her right. Remembering her manners, she fought off the urge to run into the trees, chase after Oppid, and nuzzle his fur. Instead she held up her hand in a ritual greeting.

“Blessed be the knowledge of the Weave as passed through the Elders.” She bowed her head and held her right palm over her womb, her center and link to the natural world.

The old man stood and held out his arms.

“Come now child. It is just you and I—leave the formalities of another age in the past where they belong. Give me a hug, for nothing would gladden this old heart more.”

Seraina laughed, ran to Gildas and threw her arms around his neck. She was a little girl again, and words bubbled out of her before they were thoughts.

“I was so excited when I heard of your arrival. Then, when you did not show, I thought I was mistaken, and was only hearing the empty echoes of my heart. It has been so long…I thought I was alone.”

“And I am sorry for that child. I wanted to come to you after your ordeal with the villagers of Tellikon but—”

Seraina stepped back. “You know of that? Then why did you not come? I was so lost. And angry. What purpose could the burning of an innocent child have in the Weave? I wandered, desolate and alone for weeks, waiting for a sign from the Elders. But nothing. I thought something happened to you all. I had just about given up hope when the Mythen called and led me to this grove.”

Gildas nodded, his face pale and taut. “And you have done well. The trees are strong here, and ancient. And a great number of these people are of the old world, although few remember. They will have need of you, before their end.”

He took Seraina’s hands in his. It had been six years since she had seen him, but he looked far older than Seraina remembered.

“It pained me greatly to not seek you out when you were betrayed by those under your care. But I could not. There are so few elders left, and fewer talented ones seem to be born each year. I have not found a single adept in the last ten years, though I have searched every valley and mountain village from the lands of the
Menapi
to those of the
Ausci.
”

He used the ancient names of the tribes. Names kept alive only through the oral traditions of druids like Gildas. The regret in his eyes placated Seraina’s anger, and she found herself feeling sorry for the man who had been like a father to her. Or what she imagined having a father would be like.

“Cease your worry Gildas. The Weave is only changing her colors. The adepts will appear again, you will see.”

He smiled, and his face softened, on the surface.

“You were my greatest find Seraina and I have missed you terribly, child. Now. Tell me of this Arnold of Melchthal. You believe him to be a true Catalyst of the Weave?”

Seraina nodded and her green eyes lit up like poplar leaves backlit with the sun’s early morning rays.

“It is no accident the Weave led me here. Noll was the first person I met. He stepped out of the trees, with not a sound from them, mind you. And from that first encounter I knew he was something special.”