Twelfth Krampus Night (3 page)

Heinrich leaned in to Beate's ear before she could respond. “I know you're hurting, and Gisela's family
will
know about her, just as Lord Wilhelm just said.”

“I can't leave.” Her voice cracked.

“I'm thinking about us too. This could be a chance for you to escape the village for something better. That's what I'm hoping to do with my smithing. This is an opportunity for
us
, for our lives together after we marry.”

“Learn how to whisper, Heinrich,” Wilhelm said. “But your man is correct. Good help is indeed hard to find, and, sadly, easily wasted.” He looked at Gisela. “So pretty too.”

Beate wiped away her tears and glowered at Heinrich—he had a good point, but it came at a most inappropriate moment, and
why
he couldn't see that, she'd never know.

“It's the Walborg family,” she called to Hans. “Ask for them. The villagers will know where to send you.” Beate kneeled for a final time next to her friend, feeling around Gisela's dress and eventually finding a small leather satchel, loose and worn. Beate knew immediately what it held.

“I'll make sure your mother gets your kit back.” She kissed Gisela's forehead and wept as Heinrich mounted Uli and pulled Beate up to sit behind him.

“Place the girl over Hans's horse. Secure her somehow,” Wilhelm said to Otto, an older knight near forty who kept his gray hair cut short, but his beard full to cover skin pockmarked by smallpox scars.

Wilhelm reached into a small saddlebag and pulled out two gold coins, flipping one to Hans.

“Return her to the village with the baron's condolences, and give them the noble.” He turned to Beate and Heinrich and tossed the second coin their way. Heinrich caught it and was immediately told by Wilhelm, “Give it to your lady. It's advance payment for her emergency services.” And then, speaking to them like children: “It's a golden coin from England—my father obtained a bunch of them. Don't ask me how.”

The knights did as told. Otto awkwardly draped Gisela—her body forming a human horseshoe—on Hans's horse's rear, securing it with rope the big knight carried for such situations. Hans bounded away, one hand holding the reins, the other pressing down the body to keep it from falling.

Wilhelm smiled at the disbelieving couple. “Now, Beate and Heinrich, let's get on with our day. I'd like to return to the castle while there's still light outside.”

Heinrich handed the coin to Beate, who hid it without having to be told. They followed Wilhelm, with Otto bringing up the rear. The castle soon towered over them, and they waited for flunkies to lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis.

The massive spiked gate began its ascent and revealed a younger version of Wilhelm sitting atop a white horse.

“Karl, so good to see you,” Wilhelm said. “I've brought a seamstress who will fit both you and me for your wedding.”

Karl prodded his horse to amble to Wilhelm's party. The baron's youngest son, shorter and stockier than Wilhelm, had his brother's brown eyes and hair, although Karl's was receding, a sure sign he'd be bald in five years.

“This isn't the one I remember from the last time—Gisela, I believe.”

“Yes, a pity. Gisela was murdered earlier this day—bandits most likely.” Wilhelm made it sound like a mild inconvenience as he described Gisela's condition when they'd left her with Hans.

“Her friend here—” Wilhelm nodded and flashed his eyes at her, for he'd clearly forgotten her name.

“Beate.” She forced a smile.

“Yes, Beate here is a seamstress who will take her place for now. And this is her lucky fiancé, Heinrich, who's been gracious enough to bring her to the castle.”

Karl, dressed like his brother in layers of linen, wool and chain-mail, with a brown fur cloak shrouding most of his body, looked them both over and spoke to Beate. “I am sorry to hear about your friend. She seemed like a very capable seamstress, and better person.”

“That's kind of you to say, my lord.” Beate detected sincerity in Karl's voice that was nonexistent in anything that Wilhelm had previously said to her.

“And Heinrich, it's good of you to bring her here.” Karl noticed the way Heinrich caressed her hands that met around his waist as she hugged him. “And clearly you care for her. I wish I could say the same about
my
future wife.”

“Let's not get into that here, Karl. You'll learn to enjoy your wife's company as I have mine. And if she ever gets mad at you, simply provide her jewelry. That works for me. I think she picked a fight with me last week just to get a new bracelet.”

“Arranged marriages are nonsense,” Karl muttered to himself, then looked at the peasants. “And you're right, no sense bothering Beate and Heinrich with my woes. But I am happy for you, really. Please, as long as you're here providing this service, I insist you have a nice meal. We can stable your horse and feed him too.”

Heinrich and Beate stared at each other, not knowing how to accept such unforeseen generosity.

“My little brother, what a softie.” Wilhelm looked to Beate. “He takes after our mother. I don't believe our father has spoken to a peasant in a year, and that was merely an apology from over his shoulder after accidentally running one down with his horse. Always look both ways before you cross the road, you know.”

Mumfred, the steward who oversaw the castle's daily operations, wandered over to the gathering and was joined by two squires. Quick introductions and explanations were made.

“Have the kitchen prepare them anything they like,” Karl said. “The cooks are looking for something to bake, seeing that my parents aren't here.”

Mumfred, a tall bald man whose eyes were spaced little too far apart for Beate's comfort, assessed the peasants. “Very well, my lord. I suppose anything will be a nice departure from moldy bread.”

“That's not necessary,
Mummy
.” Karl knew Mumfred despised the nickname. “They are my guests—our guests.” He looked at Wilhelm, who rolled his eyes. “And they shall be treated as such. And I prefer you feed them now so I can get in some hunting before it gets dark.” Karl tilted back his head so everyone would notice the longbow over his shoulder.

“We just came back from one,” Wilhelm said. “We didn't see a single deer out there.”

Two knights rode their horses behind Karl and stopped. “Ready, my lord,” one said.

“Then you weren't looking hard enough,” Karl said to his brother, and then to the knights, “Victor, Mathias, let's go!” Karl charged off, calling to Beate and Heinrich, “Enjoy your meal. See you soon.”

“I suppose a little more time outdoors couldn't hurt—you up for it, Otto?” said Wilhelm.

“Yes, my lord.”

Just as Wilhelm prepared to depart, a fierce, prolonged roar bolted through the air from behind, whooshing by them and through the portcullis's opening

“Well, at least we know there's
one
big animal out there,” Wilhelm said to Otto. “Let's go find it!”

None of them knew it, but the roaring thing was the reason Gisela—but not Hans—reached the village.

Chapter Three

Hans removed his hand from Gisela's bouncing corpse—confident Otto had tied the body around the horse's frame enough so that it wouldn't slide off. He didn't especially enjoy the prospect of mingling with peasants, but felt compassion, knowing he'd soon devastate a family without touching his sword.

The girl
was
pretty
, he thought.
There's no way she didn't suffer.

Hans had seen his share of cruelty doled out to enemies of the lord to whom he'd pledged himself. He'd heard about ordinances dictating that anyone caught stripping bark off a tree would have his belly slit. A length of intestine was yanked out and nailed to the trunk, and then the unfortunate soul was made to circle the tree so long as any part of his gut was left in his body.

A twisted dance around the maypole,
Hans thought.
And that was just for stripping bark. What's the big deal about stripping bark? Just chop off my head and be done with it.

Soon the road would cease its decline and open toward a cobblestone-lined village a distance from the mountain's base. He estimated it to be three o'clock, time enough to dispose of the body and return to the castle before nightfall. Danger grew whenever one lost sight of the castle.

Instinct prodded him to unsling his crossbow from his back and stop his horse in the middle of the road. He heard and saw no movement, but he knew someone was watching.

“I am one of the baron's knights.” He kept the crossbow at a downward angle, ready to raise and aim it. “My lord knows my whereabouts and will be expecting my return. My disappearance will mean my fellow knights
will
come looking for me, and if you are from the village and they learn this, it will not bode well for you or your family.”

Hans waited for a reply. Just silence, the kind that stoked uneasiness.

“I seek nothing more than to return this murdered girl to her family. Walborg's the name. I shall reward you should you assist in me in finding the parents.”

“Leave the girl.”

Hans aimed the bow to where the deep voice originated. He saw nothing but clustered fir trees, enough to shield a body.

“Unless you are a relative and can prove it, I will not.” Hans pivoted back and forth, listening for movement. “Show yourself.”

“I only want the girl. She means nothing to you. Leave her and ride back to your lord.” The rough voice seemed angered by having to converse.

“I'm afraid I cannot do that. I have my orders.”

“Then I will take the girl and will leave you dead.”

Hans knew exactly what false bravado sounded like—this sounded
nothing
like it. Although his face expressed confidence and resolve, he couldn't help but think that whoever addressed him from within the woods would stay true to his word.

“Threatening a knight is punishable by death. And when I identify your relatives in the village, they'll suffer too.”

Hans didn't expect amused laughter, or the response that chilled him: “Raze the village for all I care. Kill everyone in it. Give me the girl. Now.”

Hans heard a few heavy clinks of a chain, sounds that made his horse fidget. “Easy, Hrolf, easy,” he whispered into Hrolf's ear to steady him, and then to the forest, “If you were serious and a competent shot, you'd have arrowed me by now. You're bluffing.”

“I don't use bows or arrows. Nor swords. Against you, all I need are my bare hands. And hooves.”

“What?” Hans said, then shuddered when the spot in the trees where he'd aimed his bow roared at him. Hrolf reared, sending Hans, still holding his crossbow, tumbling over Gisela's body and landing butt-first on the ground. Hrolf bounded for the village but had gotten not twenty feet when a large chain flew from behind tree trunks and wrapped around the horse's neck. The wielder yanked back the chain, and the sound of the horse's neck snapping echoed through the branches. Hrolf collapsed on his side, pinning Gisela's lower body to the ground.

The wielder dropped the chain. Hans saw an immense figure striding behind the trees, making its way toward the shaken knight.

Hans aimed his bow, timed the thing's movements and fired an arrow the moment the figure strode past an oak tree. The arrow sizzled and hit its target square.

Hans didn't attempt to reload. He dropped the weapon next to him and remained seated, marveling at what appeared from the woods with an arrow's fletchings and nock jutting from a brown, hairy rib cage.

“Ouch,” the creature mocked.

Now Hans knew what it meant by hooves, for it stood on two of them, the top of its head hovering eight feet above ground. The two twisted horns atop its skull made it ten feet.

The creature plucked the arrow from its side and almost flicked it away like a used toothpick, but refrained at the last second.

“I know you,” Hans said, awestruck by the thing his parents had warned him about when he was a child who had scoffed at the idea of its existence. “But it's January. It's over. And I'm no longer a boy.”

The creature stood in front of Hans, resting its clawed hands on its hips, looking at the knight the way a parent might a misbehaving child.

“Correct. You're now an unthinking yes-man. You should've stayed a boy. I never came for you then—you must've done something right. But that was long ago. Today you turn a blind eye to despicable acts perpetrated by those who employ you.”

“Take the girl, she's yours.” Hans dove back to reality.

“You don't think I'm aware of that? It's what I'm planning on doing to
you
that's keeping me here.”

The thing brought the arrow up to its eye level, examining it, and then looked down to the knight and grinned to reveal all of its fangs. It then held up its pointer finger, making certain Hans could see its curved talon. “I have an idea. Let's you and I go for a walk.”

The creature's hand, when placed over Hans's screaming mouth, concealed almost all of the slowly dying knight's head, muffling his anguish. It finished with Hans and loped to the horse and used the same bloodstained fingernail to slice the rope binding Gisela. It lifted the horse by the tail and gingerly picked up Gisela, seeing what he'd expected but needing to be sure.

“And they say
I
am heartless. You were lucky you were with child a month ago.” It held Gisela by her shoulder, her body dangling from its grasp like a used handkerchief. “The master frowns upon harming pregnant women.”

It looked at Gisela's belly. “I must show you to the master. He needs to see the frau's handiwork. The master is not without heart either. I am certain he shall have me return you to your family.”

It reached over its head, still holding Gisela, and lowered her body into a tall and fat barrel it had strapped to its back.

It retrieved the chain from around Hrolf's neck and lowered the links into the barrel next to the girl.

It left the horse to be picked on by a mother bear and her cub, both of which would be scared away by knights who would later find Hans, slouched face-first against a tree, his intestines wound several times around the trunk, the gut's end stuck in place by a crossbow arrow.