Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights)

by J. K. Swift

  “It is direct and wastes no time, much like the man himself,” Thomas said. He read it out loud then, though he had read it so many times to himself already, that he could have recited it from memory.

  Thomas,

  Beware the paths of Morgarten.

  H.H.

  Thomas looked first at Noll and then at Gildas. Noll’s face was suddenly pale. Gildas stared at the moon and shook his head.

  “Where exactly is Morgarten?” Thomas asked them both.

  Noll cursed, and since he seemed to be the first to recover, Thomas turned to him. “It is a mountain range. Far to the east.”

  Thomas held out a long stick and pointed at the ground bathed in the orange light of lanterns. “Draw it,” he said. “Mountains, roads, rivers, hills, and forests. I need to know everything.”

  Noll snatched the stick from Thomas’s hand. “And you will. I may not understand the scrawl of monks, but I can read the lay of the land better than a man’s face.”

  I believe you can. But whether or not it will be of any use, only God can decide.

  The more Noll scratched in the dirt, the clearer Leopold’s plan of attack became.

  “Where is the last of our palisades?” Thomas asked.

  “Here,” Noll said, drawing an ‘X’. “Just west of Lake Aegeri. To the east, on the other side of the lake, stands Morgarten. Leopold will march his army south, between Morgarten and Lake Aegeri. Here,” Noll put his stick in an area south of the lake, “lies the town of Sattel. Just before Sattel the trees thin out and the land opens up. It would be the perfect location for Leopold to spread out his men and form up ranks.”

  Anton shook his head more with every scratch of Noll’s stick. “From there he will be able to storm Schwyz, while bypassing every one of our defenses.” A knife found its way into Anton’s hand and he threw it at the palisade wall. It hit with a thump and quivered in the wood. “All these walls we spent months building, all our drills—useless.”

  Ruedi shrugged. “Gave us something to do, I suppose. Better than standing around waiting.”

  Noll pointed at the southern shore of the lake. “Normally, this area would be too marshy to march an army through—,” he said.

  “But not in late fall,” Thomas said, finishing Noll’s thought. Leopold had put off his attack until now because he had been purposely stalling. Waiting for his bridge to form.

  Noll nodded. “The ground has already begun to freeze some nights. It will be hard and dry.”

  They had all been deceived, but none felt the blow harder than Thomas.

  Leopold had disguised himself as a brash, overconfident general who favored a direct assault, where his overwhelming numbers would give him the advantage. And Thomas, seeing no further than Leopold had wanted him to, fell for it. He clung to his first impressions of the Duke as a young man of privilege, with little military experience, because that was the only advantage he could find in a hopeless war. He had eagerly accepted the notion that the Austrian army’s weakness was its leader, when, in truth, Leopold was its greatest strength.

  Thomas had underestimated the enemy. And now all those that depended on him were about to pay the Devil’s toll.

  As Noll kept adding to the landscape around the mountain of Morgarten, Gildas placed his hand onto Thomas’s shoulder.

  “You could not have known,” he said, his voice carrying no further than Thomas’s ears.

  He refused to look at the old druid, or even acknowledge his words, but something in them, or his touch, quieted his fears enough for him to think. While staring at the dirt map, he felt a slim hope emerge. He took the stick from Noll’s hand.

  “We must attack them as they are stretched along the shore of the lake, where they have no room to maneuver. If we hit them hard enough, we could drive them into the waters where their own armor will do most of our work for us,” Thomas said.

  Anton crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow at Thomas. “Charge an army that will most likely outnumber us seven-to-one? And that would be seven soldiers to every farmer.”

  “It could work,” Ruedi said. “If we come down off those hills and hit them in the flank like that.”

  The Rubin brothers perked up and glanced at one another. Thomas could feel the hopelessness, which had surrounded them all only seconds before, begin to lift like a morning fog.

  “I have to kill that plan before it goes any further,” Noll said. He held out his hand and Thomas surrendered the stick. “Lake Aegeri is very small. And very far. Leopold will march from Zug at first light, meaning even if we leave right now, the bulk of Leopold’s army would already be well past the shores of the lake by the time we arrived.”

  He made one last, definitive ‘X’ between Schwyz and the lower end of the lake. “They would catch us here, out in the open, with not a rock to hide under. Leopold’s knights would ride over us like a field of wheat.”

  Noll put the tip of his stick into the flame of a torch. He pulled it out and watched it burn. “There simply is not enough time,” he said. He blew out the tiny flame and a delicate column of smoke rose into the air.

  The fog was back. Someone cursed.

  But Thomas was not yet ready to give up on his plan. “What is this here?” He pointed to a mark on Noll’s map.

  “A fork in the road,” Noll said.

  “Where does this other road go?”

  Noll drew again with the stick. “It is the old road to Sattel. No one uses it much any more because it is in such poor shape and takes twice as long to reach the town.”

  “Is it still passable?” Thomas asked.

  “I believe so,” Noll said. “A small hamlet, called Schafstetten, is located here, so I imagine they still use it. But they would be the only ones that I can think of. At any rate, it is little more than a rough path, so we will only lose time by taking it.”

  “But how much would it slow down a large army?” Thomas asked. “If we blockade the main road and force Leopold to take the old one, would it give us enough time to get our men into position on the slopes above the lake?”

  “Possibly, but we do not have the time or the numbers, Thomas. First, we would need to create an impassable barricade, which is no easy matter. Then we would need to get a sizable force to Schafstetten to hold back the Austrian advance until the rest of our army can get into place. They would be on open ground and unprotected.”

  Gildas stepped into the lantern-lit circle and stood right on top of Noll’s map. He spoke directly to Thomas, as though he were the only one present.

  “The plan is a good one. But no need to waste your men creating a barricade. Leave that to me.”

  The men cast questioning glances all around.

  “Uh, you are standing on my stick…” Noll said.

  “The time for scratching in dirt is over, Noll Melchthal,” Gildas said.

  “Who the Devil are you?” Noll asked, raising his voice.

  “He is a friend of Seraina’s,” Thomas said.

  “Oh. Well, that explains a few things, but—”

  “Can you really do it?” Thomas asked Gildas. “Erect a barricade by yourself?” I am mad to even be asking.

  The old man nodded.

  “Are you sure? I need to know for certain.”

  “Trust. That is all you truly need, Thomas Schwyzer. Nothing else,” Gildas said.

  Thomas let out a deep breath and stared at Gildas. Five thousand more men is what I really need, he thought.

  Chapter 24

  Seraina climbed in total darkness. Eventually, the sun appeared upon the horizon, but its presence provided little comfort. In fact, she felt the lightening landscape was only time’s way of mocking her.

  She resisted the urge every few steps to twist and look over her shoulder far below in the direction of Zug. She knew she was too far away to see the Austrian army’s base, but that certain knowledge did little to lessen her need to look. They would march soon, and weave their way through the mountain roads on their way to rid the lan
d of the Helvetii. How many of her people could possibly survive?

  She drove the thought from her mind, and instead focused on putting one foot in front of another. Her thighs burned, her calves cramped, and the elevation change was proving a challenge for her lungs. But she knew she must press on, for the others would be waiting. They would need her strength.

  Finally, after what seemed like two eternities, Seraina stood upon the summit of the Greater Mythen. She sucked in full mouthfuls of the thin air and turned in a slow circle, gazing in awe at the land below, with all its secrets revealed through the majesty of the mountain.

  A tremor ran through her body and her eyes glistened with tears. There was power here; ancient and undisturbed for hundreds of years perhaps, but nonetheless it was here. She could feel it in the air, smell it in the thin layer of dirt dusting the solid rock beneath her feet.

  Unlike the Greater Mythen’s neighboring mate, this mountain had no trees on its summit; only rocks and scrub, and in its center a lone Christian cross three men tall. It was formed from two peeled logs, as thick around as her waist, notched and lashed together with cracked leather straps.

  Seraina marveled at the willpower of whoever had hauled the logs up from the tree-line. It must have been a grueling and dangerous trip. But Christians were never ones to back down from the impossible. Thomas had taught her as much. They would have sensed the natural power in this place, just as the druids did thousands of years ago.

  There were only a handful of the Old Religion’s sacred sites left in the world, to the best of Seraina’s knowledge, that did not have a church or cross built upon some ruins of a long forgotten people. Why should the fate of this place play out any different?

  But those were concerns for another day. Another time. As of this moment, the past was not yet dead. The Helvetii were not just another memory, like so many others had become. Seraina swore that she would not let her people be washed away by the sands of time. Not while she yet lived.

  With that vow upon her lips, Seraina walked toward the cross, and the twelve white-robed figures that surrounded it.

  ***

  Leopold had been in his armor for less than half a day and already it chafed his neck and hips. He could not wait to get out of it. When this day was over, he swore he would not don it again.

  What was the point anyway?

  He had no intention of being anywhere near the battle, if there even was one. The leather collars dangling from his horse’s saddle were for show. Nothing more. The thought of trying to slip a strap around a sweating, bleeding, Schwyzer repulsed him to no end. Although, perhaps he could attach a line to his horse and drag the peasants behind. That would be good for morale when they entered Zug on their return trip.

  Far away, the sound of another mountain horn called out. Two long, mewling notes, like a calf calling for its mother. The horns had been sounding all morning. Ever since they set out from Zug. Leopold closed his eyes and shook his head, which was beginning to ache.

  When he looked up he saw a man. A very old man with white hair. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he had not realized that Klaus had brought the column to a halt. He had one hand on the bridle of Leopold’s horse.

  “What is this?” Leopold asked.

  “It is an old man blocking the road,” Klaus said.

  “Ah, thank you.”

  It was not actually the old man who blocked the road, but rather, it was the score of felled trees crisscrossing it that made the way impassable. The old man just happened to be sitting atop that pile.

  The old man wore a dull, colorless robe that may have been brown at one time. But his hair was white as bone and glistened when the sun’s rays found it through the trees. He chewed on a long piece of grass and seemed to be completely unaware of the Austrians’ presence.

  ***

  As Seraina approached the center of the Mythen, the white-robed figures encircling the cross began to chant. Seraina recognized it immediately. It was a lesser verse, called A Greeting to the Weave, and was a precursor for more powerful incantations.

  One of the figures, an older woman, her blond hair heavily streaked with gray, broke away from the circle and stepped toward Seraina.

  “Blessed be the Weave, daughter.” She touched her forehead and her heart, and smiled at Seraina.

  Seraina bowed her head and held her right palm over her womb. “Blessed be the knowledge of the Weave as passed through the Elders,” she said.

  “Do you remember me, child?”

  “Of course, Elder Orlina. Gildas and I stayed with you often when I was young.”

  The woman placed her hands on Seraina’s shoulders. “I should have known. You never forgot anything as a child. Why should that have changed?”

  “Thank you for coming,” Seraina said, her voice cracking.

  Emotion swelled into the back of her throat. She looked at the circle of druids, the last of their kind, all come to help the Helvetii. As though they could read her thoughts, one by one, they turned and smiled at Seraina. They continued chanting. She recognized a few of the faces under the white hoods, but most were unknown to Seraina. The Weave only knew how far they had traveled to be here.

  “Thank you…” Seraina said again.

  Orlina shook her head. “Those who do the bidding of the Weave require no gratitude. We do what we do so that life can go on.”

  “Even though none of you are Helvetii?”

  “We are all of the Old Blood, Seraina. We are all Celts. And today,” she fanned her arm in the direction of the druid circle, “we shall all be Helvetii.”

  The chanting suddenly stopped. A cloud passed over the sun and a shiver that began in Seraina’s stomach fluttered out through every limb.

  “Come,” Orlina said. “It is time to awaken the Mythen. We will need your strength, as you will have need of ours.”

  Orlina took Seraina’s hand and led her to the edge of the circle. The druids there spread out to allow them room. Seraina looked at the base of the cross for the goat, for a ritual of this magnitude would need a sacrifice. But there was no tethered animal. Puzzled, she looked at Orlina.

  The older woman pursed her lips and tried to smile, but her eyes crinkled with sadness. She gripped Seraina’s left hand tighter, and the man on Seraina’s other side took her right hand in his own. The other druids, likewise, grasped one another’s hands, making a human chain around the cross. All save for two men opposite Seraina. They stepped aside, and Oppid padded silently into their center.

  What is he doing here?

  “Oppid!” The wolf looked at Seraina when she called his name. His golden eyes flashed and he whimpered once.

  By Ardwynna’s Word, no….

  Seraina tried to shake her hands free, but the druids tightened their grip. She looked at Orlina, who only shook her head and stared at Oppid. “Orlina, no, please…”

  Orlina closed her eyes, and her chest heaved with a heavy breath. “The Mysts will not come without a great sacrifice, my child. Balance must be maintained.”

  Oppid sat down at the base of the cross, next to a large, flat rock that someone had put there for a very specific purpose.

  The druids began to sing. The melody slow and mournful.

  “No! There must be some other way. Not Oppid… please, Orlina.”

  This time it was the older druid’s voice that cracked.

  “No, Seraina. Not Oppid.”

  Then Orlina’s words failed her, and all she could do was thrust her chin out to point in Oppid’s direction. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She shook her head and began to sing. Her voice quavered, but soon it was picked up and carried by the sounds of the others.

  Seraina turned her head, and for the first time, noticed what was placed on the flat rock at Oppid’s side. Folded ever so neatly was the white robe of a druid, and placed next to it was a walking stick. A peeled piece of oak, crooked and polished smooth with memories.

  She screamed, her legs gave out, and she tried to curl into a ball. Bu
t Orlina and the other druid holding her hands would not let her fall. She stood there and cried, her body writhing, and still they would not release their hold, or let her fall.

  Oppid howled.

  Seraina answered the wolf with a scream. And sometime later, still wracked with sobs, Seraina began to sing.

  ***

  “You there!” Landenberg shouted. “What happened here? Who cut down those trees?”

  The old man looked up and his eyes went wide, as though he had, until that very moment, been oblivious to the fact that an army thousands strong was less than fifty paces away.

  “You came!” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

  “What are you talking about? Come down off there,” Landenberg said.

  The old man chewed on his blade of grass, then pulled it out of his mouth and stared at it for a moment before throwing it away. Then he began walking down off the pile of trees, without once crouching or reaching out to balance himself by grabbing a branch. In a few seconds he stood on the ground, next to the exposed roots of a giant oak, and beckoned to the men to come closer.

  “It is against the King’s Law to cut down that many trees,” Landenberg said.

  The old man stroked one of the soil-covered roots next to him. “Do these look like they were felled with an ax, Vogt Landenberg?”

  “If you know who I am, then you must know who this is as well.” He gestured toward Duke Leopold.

  “I do. And I have a message for your Duke,” the old man said.

  “Very well,” Leopold said. “Go ahead. Tell me what you will.”

  The old man shook his head. “It is for your ears only, I am afraid.”

  Once again he gestured with his hand for Leopold to come near.

  Leopold had already nudged his horse forward a couple steps before he felt Klaus’s arm on his own. “My lord, it could be some form of trap.”

  Leopold blinked once and looked at Klaus. He was surprised that the two of them were already twenty feet away from Landenberg, Franco Roemer, and the other captains of his army. The old man beckoned again.