Senno nodded. “All right, as you wish. I’ll depart for Vienna tomorrow, to return the Imperial Regalia. The Kaiser will be pleased to hear that—”
“Ah, speaking of the Regalia . . .” Jerome raised the crown hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to break it, je le jure! I only wanted to put it on for a moment, to see how it looked on me.”
Senno leapt to his feet. “You fool! What have you done?”
Jerome pointed to several empty settings on the crown—the gleaming, colorful gems had fallen onto the table. “They just tumbled out,” Jerome complained. “There was nothing I could do.”
“Just tumbled out?” Senno lifted one of the stones gingerly and gave it a long, scrutinizing look. Then he picked up another, and then a third. Finally, he cursed and threw them all to the floor, where they shattered. “These stones are fakes!” he exclaimed. “Someone stole the real jewels and put these cheap bits of glass in the crown!”
“I think we all know who that was,” Giovanni groaned. “What did I say before? If anyone can tell real diamonds from fakes, it’s Gwendolyn. I fear she must have swapped them and taken the real ones.”
“But how is that possible?” Paulus asked. “She was lying upstairs in bed injured the entire time.”
Giovanni shrugged, grinning. “Don’t forget that she’s a thief. A fairly good one, too.”
Senno stamped his foot furiously. “How am I supposed to explain this to the Kaiser?”
“I suggest you don’t say anything to him,” Giovanni replied, peering at the empty settings. “Stick a few glass stones in there with wax and keep silent. Only a few of the diamonds are missing—not all of them. If you’re lucky, the Kaiser won’t notice a thing.”
“And if I’m not, I’ll end up a head shorter,” Senno growled. “And all because of that devil-woman!”
Lukas smiled quietly to himself, picturing Gwendolyn with a pouch full of gems, her bow over her shoulder and her brother beside her—leaving Prague in search of new adventures.
Wherever her path took her, he wished her luck.
EPILOGUE
Eight Weeks Later, at Castle Lohenfels in the Palatinate
Lukas stood in the center of the courtyard, watching the local farmer boys arm themselves and suit up in stained chain mail and rusty helmets. Autumn had announced its arrival with an icy wind that blew cold, misty rain into the boys’ eyes, but none of them complained. Their faces were full of grim determination; their hands gripped swords, rapiers, pikes, and lances. Those who had no other weapons resorted to scythes and cudgels. They were all afraid, but they also knew that fear made a poor companion in war.
With dark expressions and anxious hearts, the boys waited for the enemy’s arrival.
It had taken Lukas and his friends more than a month to return to the Palatinate from Prague. Senno had found them horses to make their trip slightly less arduous, but the countryside they’d ridden through had still been desolate, ravaged by war. The four friends had passed through destroyed villages and ruined fields where not a single blade of grass grew. They’d seen entire cities burning, their towers and churches reaching to the skies like fiery torches.
Senno had been right. The war had returned to the Palatinate.
Rather than organized armies, there were predatory robbers, small groups and battalions roaming through villages and vineyards, plundering and pillaging. Their sheer numbers were enough to make the Palatinate a living hell. Riders had reported a larger troop advancing from Heidelberg through the Odenwald Forest, toward Castle Lohenfels. Farmhouses and stalls were already burning on the outskirts of the castle woodlands.
They would reach the castle any day now.
“Spread out along the wall!” Lukas called to the boys. “A dozen of you on each side. Look for Paulus, Giovanni, and Jerome—they’re your officers! Follow their orders!”
The boys did as commanded, climbing ladders made of woven willow branches up to the wall-walk, where Lukas’s friends were already waiting for them. Paulus, in particular, had worked hard over the past two weeks to teach the farmhands and servant boys the art of war. Now they would see whether all their hard work, sweat, and bruises had been worth it.
Lukas glanced briefly toward the castle keep. He’d locked the Grimorium away in the cellar there, inside a large chest reinforced with bands of iron. Sometimes, late at night, he thought he heard it calling out to him softly.
It was a high, delicate voice that whispered to him, telling him everything he could accomplish with the book. A rain of gold ducats for new weapons? Impenetrable castle gates? An army of enemy mercenaries going up in flames? In Lukas’s dreams, anything was possible. All he had to do was take the Grimorium out of the chest and look through it.
Surely it would soon reveal its secrets to him. The way it had done for Elsa . . .
And then it would gradually take control of me, just like it did Elsa, Lukas thought. Until I end up like Schönborn. An evil black sorcerer.
He’d managed to resist the temptation thus far. That was partly thanks to his friends, who looked after him, took him out hunting, argued with him, fenced with him, joked around with him, did what was needed to drive his dark thoughts away.
Including his thoughts of Elsa.
“Raise the drawbridge!” Paulus shouted. “Think you can manage that soon? Or are you planning to invite the enemy in to play dice?”
The drawbridge squeaked and groaned as two of the young boys turned the iron wheels to raise it. The four friends had had it reinforced just a few days ago. Now it was time to find out whether it would hold.
There were moments when Lukas missed his little sister so much that he thought his heart would burst. But the girl standing beside Waldemar von Schönborn in that hexagram hadn’t been his Elsa any longer. The book had had complete control over her by then. Lukas hoped he would see his real sister again someday, the Elsa he knew from before. That was why he kept the Grimorium safe, so that she would come back to him and he could talk to her.
Even though he knew it might cost him his life.
He’d considered destroying the book, simply burning it or throwing it into the river. But Senno had warned him that the Grimorium Nocturnum would defend itself, and that it would release forces powerful enough to destroy all of Lohenfels.
So the Grimorium remained in the chest.
“Enemy sighted!” called Giovanni, who had the best eyes of any of them. “Everyone to their posts!”
Lukas shook himself, clearing his head, and buckled his rapier on. He didn’t have time to worry about that damnable book. He had to defend his homeland and his father’s castle, and he had to protect the lives of these young boys.
He climbed up to the wall-walk, where a row of youths were crouched behind the arrowslits, holding longbows and crossbows. Among them was the boy Lukas himself had trained in fencing just before they’d left for Prague. The boy already seemed a great deal older and more mature. His name was Jonathan, and Lukas was going to make a good fencer out of him.
“Are you ready?” Lukas asked.
Jonathan nodded.
Lukas could tell he was afraid, but his gaze was determined—not a twelve-year-old boy’s eyes, but those of a soldier defending his land.
“Yes, my lord,” Jonathan replied.
Lukas sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a lord. I’m a boy like you, and . . .”
He stopped short, seeing dark points on the horizon. They quickly came together to form a line, and that line was approaching fast. Soon he could make out individual horses and riders. The distant sounds of whoops and shouts reached his ears.
The enemy had arrived.
“Together against death and the Devil!” Lukas shouted, just as Zoltan had once done to drown out all their fears. He raised his rapier, and the other boys followed his lead.
“To hell and beyond!” they cried in chorus.
Lukas smiled ruefully. They weren’t Black Musketeers yet, but they could shout their fea
r into the wind and stand tall when it mattered most.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My children, Niklas (15) and Lily (12), acted as my test readers and editors for this book, too. Thanks for your wonderful suggestions and your severe but constructive criticism! I know I really got on your nerves with all my questions, especially while we were on vacation on Mallorca. It’s not always easy being a writer’s kids . . . But I’ll pay you back by taking you with me on my next research trip up to Wales. Promise!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Oliver Pötzsch spent years working for Bavarian Broadcasting and now devotes his time entirely to writing. His historical novels for adults have made him internationally famous. He is the author of the books in the Hangman’s Daughter series, the children’s novel Knight Kyle and the Magic Silver Lance, and the Black Musketeers series, including Book of the Night and Sword of Power. He lives in Munich with his family.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Photo © 2017 Saray Taylor-Roman
Jaime McGill is originally from Omaha, Nebraska, and recently returned to the States after eleven wonderful years in Berlin. She has translated more than a dozen novels, including works by bestselling German authors like Jessica Koch and Emily Bold. She also holds a master’s degree in music, and when not translating, she can often be found holding a bass clarinet, surrounded by effects pedals.
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