“Hold!” one of the guards blocking the road demanded.
The front coach slowed to a complete stop, the horses’ flaring nostrils mere inches from the guard’s impassive face. The man didn’t so much as flinch. His companion stepped around the front of the horses and walked up to the door of the front carriage.
Ganz reached through the open window for the door handle and opened the door. He climbed out of the coach cautiously, stiff from the long hours of travel.
“We seek an audience with the baron,” Ganz said, walking up to the soldier. “I trust you will see to it that word gets up to the keep so we are properly welcomed, as befits our status as emissaries of the count himself Ganz craned his neck to look up at the soldiers on the battlements, meeting their gaze one by one and letting them know that he was taking care to remember their faces.
“Baron Rothermeyer does not recognise the claim of your master, sir. If I allow you to enter Eschen it is as a common traveller. Have you coin to pay for your food and board? We won’t allow vagrancy, baron’s rules.”
Ganz looked at the soldier, and shook his head very slowly from side to side. A slow smile reached his lips.
“Listen carefully,” Ganz said. “I am going to pretend you haven’t opened your mouth just yet. First impressions are so very important.
“Now, let me tell you who I am. My name is Ganz, Alten Ganz, and I am chancellor of the Count of Sylvania’s court. That would make me one of the most powerful men in the land, wouldn’t you agree? Now, I am going to let you into a secret, and then we can begin again. The last person who used a similar tone when addressing me currently resides within the cold dirt of one of the many cemeteries in Drakenhof city. So, should we try again? We seek an audience with the baron.”
“Like I said, chancellor, the baron does not recognise the legitimacy of your master’s rule. You are welcome to visit our city as a traveller. There is not, I am afraid, very much to see, but you must understand that any audience will be on the baron’s terms, if indeed he should choose to grant one. I am also to inform you that there is, unfortunately, no room for your entourage in the keep itself, though there is a single chamber that has been made up for you and your man. Might I recommend the Pretender’s Arms for your companions, it is a fair-sized tavern about half-way up Lavender Hill.” He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the crag-and-tail rock formation leading up to the keep.
“This is preposterous,” Ganz said, shaking his head in disgust. “Does the baron not realise the implications of such an affront to the count? Never mind, don’t answer that. Of course he does. For every action there is a reaction, it is predictable. Rothermeyer knows full well that von Carstein will look to extract punishment for this stubborn display of resistance, and yet he goes ahead with it. Very well, soldier, open the gates’
The second soldier stood aside. Together the two men raised the huge wooden brace barring the gate, and pushed the doors open to allow the black brougham coaches to pass.
The leading coachman cracked his whip above the horses’ heads and the carriage lumbered forward. Likewise, the others followed in tight procession through the gate and into the cramped streets of Eschen. The steel-wrapped wheels clattered on the cobblestones and the horses’ hooves clip-clopped loudly in the relative quiet of the early morning. The streets were tight and wound narrowly in a series of twists and turns like the meander of a great river. The spectre of Eschen Keep was ever-present, looming over the procession as it moved slowly up the incline of Lavender Hill toward the keep itself.
The Pretender’s Arms was indeed almost halfway up the long tail of the hill. Two stable boys and a dour faced groom waited for them by the coach house gates. The boys looked as though they had just been dragged rather violently out of bed and hauled down to the courtyard. The soldier from the gate must have sent a runner on to warn them that they were coming. No doubt he had some sort of reciprocal arrangement with the tavern. Ganz’s coach pulled level with Posner’s as it peeled away toward the tavern’s courtyard. He saw Posner’s impassive face staring out through a chink in the curtained window. The man looked anything but happy at the baron’s affront. Ganz gestured for him to pull down his window so that they could talk.
“I will have word sent down to you when I am settled. Get some sleep, tonight we will sort out this idiocy of Rothermeyer’s.”
“Indeed we will,” Posner said coldly.
The manner with which he said it sent a shiver the length of Ganz’s spine. Herman Posner was not inclined to offer forgiveness; it was not a part of the warrior’s personality. He would answer the slight in his own way, Ganz had no doubt about that. Posner pulled up his window again and let the curtain fall so that he could no longer be seen.
“To the keep!” Ganz shouted up to his own coachman, and sank back into the velvet banquette to wait out the final few minutes of the ride. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again the coach was slowing down at the gates of Eschen Keep. Again, two soldiers blocked the coach’s path. A third soldier came around the side of the coach and knocked on the door. Ganz drew the black curtain aside.
“Yes?” he said, any hint of civility gone from his tone.
“The baron bids you welcome to Eschen, Herr Ganz. The chamberlain will take you to your room, and a girl has been assigned to see to your… ah… needs during your stay at the keep. Your coachman is to return to the tavern where the rest of your companions are staying. The baron trusts that this will meet with your approval.”
Ganz sighed. “No, of course it doesn’t meet with my approval, soldier. But I will show good grace and accept the decision. For now.”
The soldier banged on the side of the carriage and the brougham rumbled forward beneath the barbican. Eschen Keep was a formidable bastion, immune to assault from three of its four sides thanks to the jagged rocks of the crag it was built on. Though the mile-long tail of rock formed a gradual incline, the keep itself was several hundred feet above the town below. The wind was strong in the narrow bailey, the curtain wall doing little to prevent a battering from the elements. The coach rolled to a stop and Ganz opened the door and clambered out. The air tasted fresh. It stung his cheeks as he turned to survey his surroundings.
Eschen Keep was undoubtedly built for war. Unlike many of the baronies of Sylvania whose keeps and castles were ostentatious displays of wealth to separate themselves from the commoners, Eschen with its wall walks, murder holes and narrow arrow slits was made to hold off a full frontal attack. It wasn’t a home, it was designed for protection during the strife of war. No doubt within the keep itself measures had been taken to survive a prolonged siege as well. Despite himself, Ganz could not help but admire Rothermeyer’s audacity. The man had almost certainly bled his coffers dry in this last stubborn defiance of von Carstein’s rule.
It was a pity that the gesture was futile.
A raven flew overhead, cawing raucously. Ganz couldn’t help but think back to that evening on the battlements with the count and wonder if it was a sign. An acceptance of superstition came naturally to most Sylvanians.
The chamberlain and the girl waited on the steps of the keep. The man could have been Ganz’s doppelganger; it was like looking at himself only thirty years older, the same cadaverous features, sunken cheekbones and hollowed-out eyes, and a willow-thin frame that was all awkward angles. The man’s white hair was brushed back over his scalp and instead of a fringe he wore a harsh widow’s peak. The girl on the other hand was, as the count would have said, a thing of beauty. She had an olive tint to her complexion and almond-shaped eyes. Her oval face was heartbreakingly pretty, high cheekbones and lush full kissable lips. But Ganz’s eyes were drawn back to hers. At first they appeared to be green in the dawn’s early light but the closer he looked the more certain he was that they were in fact a kaleidoscope of colours and it was the colour of her shawl and the sun that made them look green.
The man bowed stiffly as Ganz approached, the girl curtseyed. Sh
e moved as pleasingly as she looked.
“Greetings,” the chamberlain said, holding out his hand to take Ganz’s travel cloak. Ganz unclipped the hasp and with a flourish draped it over the man’s outstretched arm. “Follow me, please.”
“Lead the way,” Ganz said, moving into step beside the girl.
His first impression of Eschen Keep was that he had had the right of it when he assumed Rothermeyer had emptied his treasury making the place as defensible as possible. The place was spartan. There were no wall hangings or tapestries or other decorations aimed solely at being easy on the eye. Everything about the keep was functional, the corridors narrow and the ceilings low to make swinging a sword difficult, tight spiral stairways, the corkscrew of stairs favouring the right-handed defenders fighting a retreat. Ganz followed the chamberlain to a small room on the second floor.
“Klara will draw you a bath so that you might wash the road from your skin, and I will have your luggage brought up to the room. Rest. You will be summoned when the baron is ready to greet you. If there is anything you need, Klara will see to it. I trust your stay will be a pleasant one, Herr Ganz. If there is nothing else I will leave you to Klara?”
“Thank you. That will be all,” Ganz said.
“As you wish.” The white haired man bowed again, as stiffly as before, and left the two of them alone.
“I will see to your bath.” The serving girl’s voice was husky and thickly accented. Where some might have seen it as a flaw, for Ganz it only added to her curious appeal.
“Please,” he said, moving to the window. The view from the window was surprisingly similar to the view from his window in Drakenhof Castle, but then, he reasoned, how different could an endless cluster of rooftops, towers and spires look? The room itself was smaller though, and like the corridors leading to it, it was bare of ornament or decoration. There was a large metal tub in the corner of the room, and a cauldron of water bubbling in the hearth. Four large porcelain jugs filled with cold water were lined up beside the tub, a fifth jug stood empty. Klara took this jug to the cauldron and filled it with steaming hot water, which she poured into the metal bath. The water hissed against the cold steel.
“If you would like to undress, I can prepare the bath and bathe you?”
“Ah… no. It’s all right, I can manage by myself. Just fill the tub up, leave some lye so that I can scrub the dirt out of my skin, and I will be more than happy.”
“I am to care to your every need, herr. I would not wish to disappoint my baron.”
“Disappoint is a word for lovers, not servants, girl. You displease your master or you give him pleasure. It would please me greatly if you drew a nice hot bath and then left me in peace to savour it, understood?”
“Yes, herr,” Klara said, lowering her eyes. She drew a second jug of steaming hot water from the cauldron and emptied it into the bath.
It took her a few minutes to fill the tub and cool the water sufficiently for Ganz to submerse his whole body. She left him alone to undress.
The bath was good. Being on the road, forced to live like an animal for the last month, made soaking in the hot water all the more luxurious. Ganz closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the feel of the water on his skin. He remained that way, head back, eyes closed, simply savouring the sensation of being clean, until the water was barely tepid. He soaped himself, rinsed the lather of acerbic lye off with icy cold water from the final jug, and clambered out of the bath and towelled himself dry. He wrapped the wet towel around his waist and stood by the window once again, this time paying special attention to the layout of this side of the keep and the streets below. He locked certain landmarks in his mind, using them to orientate himself. Knowledge of what could become hostile surroundings was invaluable.
He turned away from the window at the sound of a knock on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” Ganz said, expecting Klara to have returned from whatever errand she had fetched herself off on. It wasn’t the almond-eyed servant girl who opened the door.
An elderly man, frail-boned, with snow-white hair fastened in a topknot, corsair style, leaned on a silver-tipped cane in the doorway. His hands were liver-spotted, the skin hanging loosely on the brittle bones beneath. The old man was frail but he wasn’t weak. There was a difference. Ganz knew who his visitor was immediately.
“Baron,” he said by way of greeting. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“As was my intention, Herr Ganz. A naked opponent has, ah, less chance of hiding things, so to speak.”
The old man’s eyes were bright and hinted at a sharp mind at work in his old body, which was so rarely the case with the aged. The old baron came into the room and closed the door behind him. He lowered himself gingerly down onto a hard wooden chair. “Now, let’s get something straight, shall we? I don’t care for your master and I have no intention of kowtowing to his every whim. I am the lord of my dominion. These are my people here. I care for them. Your master in his cold empty castle hundreds of miles away is nothing to me.”
“Ah, now, you see, Baron Rothermeyer—may I call you Heinz?” without waiting for the baron’s consent, Ganz went on: “You see, Heinz, you have put me in a difficult position here because I do care for my master and he sent me to you to give you a chance. Every mile of this godforsaken journey I have fervently hoped there would be a wise man waiting at the end of the road, not a fool. Stubbornness will only get you killed, Heinz. Surely you can see that.”
The old man stiffened slightly in his chair. “Do not presume to threaten me in my own home, young man. You are alone here. Your erstwhile assassins are in a tavern half a mile away. I am surrounded by people who love me and would willingly die doing my bidding. You on the other hand, well, no one would so much as hear you scream.” Rothermeyer coughed, hard, dredging up a lungful of phlegm. It rattled in his throat before he swallowed it back. Am I making myself clear?”
“Abundantly,” Ganz said, adjusting the towel. His semi-nakedness made him feel far more vulnerable than he would have leaning over a tabletop in some diplomatic chamber in the heart of the keep. “But perhaps I am not making myself quite so clear, Heinz. I live for my count and likewise I would willingly die for him. I am sure that if you so chose you could have your men make me scream. The prospect does not frighten me even half so much as disappointing my count.
“That, I believe is a mark of my devotion to him. He is a righteous man, a powerful man. He is good for this nation of ours. But Heinz, I have to tell you that your stubbornness has ceased to be amusing to von Carstein. I was told to offer you a choice. It is the same choice the count has offered other errant barons, and it is a simple enough one: bend the knee to him during the festivities of Geheimnisnacht or face his wrath. If you swear subservience, your petty rebellions will be forgotten, that is his promise. He is a man of his word, Heinz.”
“It won’t happen,” the old man said flatly.
“That is a shame. Might I urge you to think it over? What is it they say? Decisions made in haste are most often repented at leisure.” The cold had begun to draw goose pimples out of Ganz’s bare skin but he made no move to cover himself.
“The decision was made a long time ago, son.”
“And you set about preparing to defend yourself from its ramifications? Is that what the wall is all about?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“And now judgement has come to your door. I pity you, Heinz. Honestly, I do. If you kill me, another will come, and another after him, and they will keep coming until Eschen has been purged from the face of the world. He won’t spare you because of your age. He won’t humour a senile old fool. Have you no sense of what you are doing to those people you claim to love? You are signing their death warrants. Is it worth it? The death of everyone who loves and respects you? I can’t believe it is. I can’t. But trust me, this petty show of defiance guarantees that it is only a matter of time. So, because of you, I pity them, too. The count is not by nature a merciful man.”
/> Rothermeyer stood awkwardly, his weight on the cane. “You speak very prettily for a thug, son. What are you, von Carstein’s pet scholar?”
“I don’t want anyone to suffer unduly.”
“But what constitutes unduly in your eyes?”
“People dying needlessly, which is exactly what will happen,” Ganz said with a surprising amount of passion in his voice.
“Better to die free than enslaved to a monster like Vlad von Carstein. Haven’t you realised that yet?” Rothermeyer walked slowly over to the door, and then paused with his hand on the handle, as though something had just occurred to him. “I don’t see that we have anything else to talk about. Erich, my chamberlain will see you are fed, and returned to your men by sundown. I expect you out of Eschen by nightfall. And, in time, expect you to return with your armies to crush what you see as my petty rebellion. If death by a thousand cuts awaits me, so be it. I will meet Ulric in the Underworld with my head held high that I lived as a man and died as one.” The old man invoked the name of the warrior god. “As you so rightly said, I am an old man.
“Death does not frighten me the way it used to.” Heinz Rothermeyer closed the door behind him as he left.
“Why waste a thousand cuts, you old fool, when one will do?” Ganz muttered at the wooden door.
The meeting hadn’t proceeded the way he had hoped it would but it had gone very much the way he had expected it to.
Ganz unwrapped the damp towel and dressed in clean clothes from his travelling chest.
Klara didn’t return.
He lay on the bed and closed his eyes, content to doze for a few hours before rejoining Posner at the Pretender’s Arms.
[Von Carstein 01] - Inheritance Page 9