ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1) (24 page)

“I am done with soldiering. I told you that before.”

“I do not talk of guard duty for some noble’s spoiled children. This is the Duke’s household. And not just any Duke, mind you. Leopold is one of the most powerful princes of the entire German Empire.”

He paused and put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “He has the power to grant us knighthood, Thomas, and has promised as much.”

“Knighthood? What use to me is a title? What I really need is some solid timber to rebuild my ferry.”

Gissler’s eyes clouded over and his top lip curled upwards into a snarl. In a way, this relieved Thomas, for it meant the Gissler he knew was once again standing before him.

“Ferry? Are you daft? I offer you a chance at a noble life, something all men dream of, and you would rather sit in the mud cutting wood?”

“You do not need to be a knight to live a noble life. We have both known enough knights to recognize the truth in that.”

Gissler threw up his arms and began pacing. “If you wish to wallow in mud, I will not beg to change your mind.”

Thomas eyed Gissler. “Is that truly the reason you came to Schwyz? To offer me a position with your Duke?”

Gissler stopped pacing. His lips stretched into a thin smile. “You have an uncanny ability to hear things people do not say. Very well. I also seek an outlaw. Arnold Melchthal. Do you know of him?”

“You are the Duke’s manhunter then? Once a soldier of God, now you chase outlaws for rich men. Is that the glorious position you dangle before me?”

Gissler’s face clouded over with the dark grey of a winter storm. “You dare to mock my path?” Gissler stepped back and held his arms out to the sides. His fine velvet cloak fanned out and floated in the breeze, and the sunlight glistened off his calfskin gloves.

“My lord keeps me in the finest livery and comfort I have ever known. I have my own quarters in the Habsburg castle itself. Servants cook my food and bring it to me whenever I desire. And meat, Thomas. I eat meat every day, on trenchers baked from flour whiter than snow.”

Gissler’s eyes were wild now. He had always been volatile and easy to anger, but Thomas saw something there that made a tremor run up his spine.

“And this is but the beginning. Look at the rags falling off you. What right do you have to say your life is so superior? The Hospitallers whispered half-truths and lies to us as children so they could use us. They lulled us into a dream. They twisted your mind and stole your life, Thomas. They did it to all of us, but I have woken up. And you had best do the same.”

Thomas watched Gissler carefully. His agitation had grown as he spoke, and years of resentment for the Hospitallers, the Church, and perhaps Thomas as well, poured forth from the man like froth from the maw of a rabid wolf.

Thomas shook his head. “You scoff at the Divine Order. God made you a soldier, not one of the ruling class, and He has a reason for everything.”

Gissler laughed, but it was built upon anger.

“I hear nothing but the voices of monks in your words. I should have known you were too far-gone to reason with. Well, I will not waste any more time, for I have a life to live.”

He walked to his horse, a dun mare, grazing nearby. Gissler grabbed her reins and jerked her head up. She whinnied in alarm and danced a few steps as Gissler leapt into the saddle.

“When you change your mind, come to Altdorf and ask for me at the fortress. I will be staying there for a time.”

Thomas looked up at Gissler. “Why is it that everyone always thinks I will change my mind? Am I so fickle in my ways?”

With one last stare at Thomas, Gissler whipped the ends of his reins on his horse’s neck and jammed his heels into her sides. She took off, eager to be away from the source of her master’s ire.

Chapter 25

C
URSE THAT man’s self-righteous hide.

Gissler sat with Pirmin, sipping at his first flagon of mead, while the behemoth across from him was already half through his third. Only the lip of the tall, clay mug peeped out of Pirmin’s heavily scarred hand.

Gissler tried to focus on all that spewed from Pirmin’s mouth, but the memory of Thomas’s disproving face kept stealing his thoughts. Thomas was trapped in the past. No longer a captain of the Order, he was nothing now. Worse than nothing—a ferryman! He had no right to press his will on a member of the Duke’s household. All those years being captain of
The Wyvern
had swollen his self-worth far beyond his station. Gissler had every right to have him tied to a post and lashed.

“What brings such a smile to your lips?” Pirmin’s words cut through his musings. “Have you got a woman to tell me about?”

Gissler looked up from Pirmin’s scarred, misshapen hands to his grinning, chiseled face and twinkling eyes that only the strongest of women could hope to resist. It was a face that had been spared the ravages of war, but there are always roads leading back through a man’s past, if one knows where to look.

It had been an easy matter to find Pirmin. So easy in fact he regretted ever going to Thomas first. He should have known Thomas’s view of himself was too elevated to ever accept a master other than God.

Gissler had found Pirmin in the same worn out inn they had all said farewell in not so many months ago; the same one they sat in now. It was mid-afternoon and the two men were the only customers in the place. Gissler had no doubt that if he were to return in ten years, he would find Pirmin astride the very same bench. Such were the lives of men without ambition.

He had thought it better not to tell Pirmin about his employment in the Duke’s service, opting instead to say he had been traveling throughout Austria and France competing in the tournaments. Pirmin had not doubted him for a moment. The best lies were always the ones harvested from a seed of truth.

“I may have met a woman worth remembering,” Gissler said.

“Ah, well out with it then.”

“It is true the tournaments have more prizes than shields and coin,” Gissler said. “But you will not trap me into moaning over my conquests like some lovesick courtier.”

“Conquests? More than one then, and sounds like a battle more than a tumble with a sweet maiden. Pray, tell the tale, Gissler!”

Gissler declined a few more times, and finally, Pirmin gave up, concluding it was going to take a great deal more drink to loosen the man’s tongue.

“It looks as though the tourneys have indeed been good to you,” Pirmin said, nodding to the velvet cloak draped over a nearby rack. “Would take me two years of cutting Sutter’s wood to get one of those.”

He quaffed the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Maybe three,” he added grinning. “If I keep drinking my wages away.”

“Coin is easy to come by for men like us,” Gissler said. “You could just as easily hire out your ax and make a fortune. But you do not, and I believe I know why.”

Gissler emphasized his words with what he hoped was just the right mix of admiration and jealousy to pique Pirmin’s interest. And it seemed to work, for the hulk’s eyes brightened at Gissler’s words. He leaned forward on his bench and it groaned under his weight.

“And why is that—oh wise man with the fancy cloak?”

“You have a good thing here Pirmin. You are fulfilled.”

Gissler gestured around the room and nodded to the bar where Sutter was stacking wooden mugs and bowls onto a shelf. The door to the kitchen was open and someone was preparing a stew for the evening meal. Savory smoke trailed from the doorway as cubes of mutton sizzled and browned in a pot. The scene was tranquil, and the inn spotless. Amazing really, Gissler thought, considering the mess Landenberg and his men must have made mere days before. But then again, what choice did peasants such as these really have?

“You have built something here. These are good people. What more does a man need?”

“A fine cloak would be a start,” Pirmin said leaning back against the wall. But his eyes had lost their smile. “You are right. A man could do much worse. But truth is I mean to leave Sutter’s inn shortly, and most likely will not be coming back.”

“And why in God’s name would you do that? You just said how happy you were here.”

“Had some trouble a few days back.”

“Woman?”

Pirmin shook his head and looked to his hands. He stroked a crooked finger, which had been broken many times over. It was the thickness of a woman’s wrist.

“Soldier trouble, if you catch my meaning. Staying here puts these people at risk.”

“What have you got yourself mixed up in this time Pirmin?”

“Nothing I regret, that much I know.” His tone was fierce.

Gissler let the silence build, before he broke it. “Well, I find myself with time and coin, both in abundance for now. If you want my help, you need but ask.”

Pirmin looked up and stared at Gissler’s face for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. Feigning interest in his drink, Gissler avoided the man’s stare and let his ponderous mind reach its own conclusions. It was critical that Pirmin believe the next thought to be his own.

Finally, Pirmin spoke.

“I myself need nothing, you understand. But, there are those who need help, and we would welcome a man like you.”

“What scheme do you have cooking Pirmin?” Gissler said.

“There is someone who can answer that better than me, if he will agree to meet you. He is young, but I warn you, do not take him lightly. He is as sharp as a Spaniard’s dagger.”

“He would have to be to have you speak so highly of him. Who is this man?”

“His name is Noll Melchthal. Have you heard the name?”

Gissler pursed his lips and fixed Pirmin with a stony look.

“Never,” he said.

Chapter 26

“T
HOMAS—WELCOME. We have missed your face around here for some time.”

Sutter was caught off guard by Thomas’s sudden appearance at the inn. “Little early for dinner, but I got some nice mutton stew Mera made yesterday.”

“Thank you. That and some mead would make me a happy man,” Thomas said.

He sat at a table in the corner and watched Sutter drift off to the kitchen. He was a man going through the motions; a gaunt shadow of his usual surly self, always full of energy and quick with his tongue.