Lord Wulfram fell silent, and Ludwig, not daring to risk exposure, could only wait, unable to determine what was happening below.
“Ah, here we are,” said the baron at last. “He has come like Demos to the Gods.”
“Demos?” said Ludwig.
The baron gave him a quick glance. “It’s from Honour to the Brave. Did you not read it?”
“I’m afraid my mind has been elsewhere, my lord.”
“By the Saints, Ludwig. We’re trapped in a keep. What else have you got to keep your mind so occupied?”
“To be honest, I’ve been reading the Book of Mathew.”
“Where in the Continent did you find that?”
“In the library," Ludwig admitted sheepishly. "I hope you don’t mind that I took it?”
“Mind?" said Lord Wulfram. "Why would I mind? Books are meant to be read, Ludwig. To ignore that would make them useless. Still, I sense a growing awareness of religion within you. See that it does not overwhelm you.”
“The words comfort me, but I’m far from being overwhelmed. Do you fear the Saints' words so much?”
“No, but as in life, many take the words too far. I’ve seen terrible sins committed in the name of the Church. I would not see you turned thus.”
Ludwig found himself caught off guard. He hadn’t seen this side of the baron before. It appeared there was more to this man than he knew. Seeking to learn more, he opened his mouth but was interrupted.
“Here comes Stein,” said the baron. “Now let’s see what he wants, shall we?” He straightened his back, looking down on his foe with the most regal expression he could manage. “So we meet again, Gebhard.”
Baron Stein’s voice drifted up from below. “What is it now, Wulfram? You could just have easily dealt with Captain Jager.”
“I wanted to see your smiling face,” said Baron Haas. “You’re the one who sought to make demands. The least you can do is make them face to face.”
“Certainly,” said Lord Gebhard. “I demand you immediately surrender and vacate this keep.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I shall reduce it to rubble with you inside.”
“No you won’t,” said Lord Wulfram. “Do that, and you risk killing Rosalyn. With her dead, your entire reason for being here is gone with her.”
“Then hand her over, and I shall leave with my army.”
“I have a counterproposal.”
“Of course you do,” said Lord Gebhard. “Go ahead, then, speak your mind, and let’s see what you suggest.”
“Leave Regnitz once and for all and never set foot in my lands again.”
“That's hardly an offer I would entertain. I might remind you that YOU are the one trapped here. It's only a matter of time before I get inside that keep, and when I do, the carnage will be great. You know what men are like when they get the fire within them, Wulfram. Would you expose your daughter to such horrific acts?”
“You’re bluffing, Gebhard. You can’t marry your son off to Rosalyn if she’s been mistreated, and you know it. Your only solution is to give up this foolish quest. March your army away, and save what little dignity you have left.”
Baron Stein’s voice grew louder. “You dare to order me about! Surrender, this moment, or suffer the consequences.”
“It's an empty threat. You'll not bombard this keep. You and I both know it. If you want to come and get us, you’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way—through the front door!”
“Don't lecture me on tactics,” warned Lord Gebhard, “or I shall reduce this keep to nothing but rubble, and Rosalyn can go to the Underworld for all I care.”
“And throw away your chances of her dowry? I don’t think you have it in you, Gebhard. Tell me, was this the plan all along, or did you actually think you could win her over?”
“I’ve had enough of your insolence. Now abandon this foolish resistance, while there's still life left within you.”
“Foolish, is it?" said Baron Haas. "Next thing I know, you’ll be demanding I pay you reparations for your attack on us.”
“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind!”
Baron Stein fell silent, and Ludwig had the distinct impression he was trying to soothe his nerves. Perhaps it was the strain of the situation, but when he spoke again, his voice was harsh and guttural.
“I've been civil with you, Wulfram. Saints know how hard I’ve tried to use reason, but you refuse to bend to the winds of change. Well then, bend no more. It’s time for you to break.”
“You may get into this keep,” responded Baron Haas, “but it will cost you dearly.”
“It will be worth it to be rid of you. My only regret is that innocents will die in the fight. I tell you what, old friend; send Rosalyn out, and I shall guarantee her safety while we two battle it out for supremacy. How does that sound?”
“Like an idea only an idiot would accept. What do you take me for, Gebhard? A fool?”
“If the shoe fits!”
Lord Wulfram fell silent. Ludwig shifted uncomfortably as the silence dragged on. A cool wind blew in from the east, ruffling his hair, and he looked skyward once more to see the clouds still gathering.
“Very well,” said Baron Stein. “It's obvious this parley has been a complete waste of time. Ready yourself, Wulfram, for when the time comes, my men will be ruthless.”
“Bring them on,” taunted Baron Haas. “I am eager to put my sword to them.” He stepped down from the parapet. “Fool,” he swore. “Did he honestly think I would surrender so easily?”
Lord Gebhard could be heard yelling in the courtyard, a call quickly taken up by others and echoed back through the gatehouse.
“We must ready for an assault,” said Lord Wulfram. “Gebhard does not appear amenable to my suggestions.”
“So it would seem,” said Ludwig.
Off in the distance came the creaking of wood echoing in the courtyard, and then Ludwig spotted a great rock flying through the air. It struck the battlements, dislodging a merlon and sending splinters of stone flying in all directions, along with a cloud of dust. Ludwig felt something sting his cheek, and then a trickle of blood welled up.
“Get below,” he called out.
Lord Wulfram was already moving, rushing for the stairs that offered some degree of safety. Ludwig waited for the dust to clear and then peered south to where the great trebuchet was already being reset. He cursed himself for forgetting the mighty siege engine, then followed Lord Wulfram below, determined to see him to safety.
Rosalyn met them halfway down the stairwell.
“Father?” she called out. “What is it?”
“It’s Stein,” Wulfram replied. “He has grown fed up with our defiance. I’m afraid he’s let that trebuchet loose against us.”
“But you said he wouldn’t dare reduce the keep?”
“It appears I underestimated him, my dear. I tried appealing to his sense of decency, but I fear it did no good. All I did was goad him on, and now he won’t see reason.”
“What are we to do?” she asked.
“Get yourself to the dungeon,” he replied. “Gather the women and children and take them with you. I’m afraid our position here is about to get much more uncomfortable.”
“And what of you?”
“My place is here,” said her father. “I still have hope he’ll come to his senses and attack our front door, but until then, I need you out of danger.”
“And Ludwig?”
They both looked at the man who stood between them.
“It's your choice,” said Lord Wulfram. “I have no control over your actions.”
“Then I will stand with you and fight to the bitter end.”
27
Breakthrough
Summer 1095 SR
* * *
The very bones of the keep rumbled as it was struck again, while above them, Ludwig heard the sound of collapsing stone. It had continued all night, the trebuchet's great projectiles relentlessly wearing do
wn the top of the keep. It was not a weapon that could discharge its missiles very quickly, and Ludwig was about to settle back down, determined to get some sleep before the next one came towards them, but then he heard a distinct sound, that of something battering the door.
Now, instantly awake, he stood, his hand instinctively grasping the hilt of his sword. Again came the noise, and then the front door shuddered, dust falling from its frame as a small portion of the wood buckled towards him, and he knew in a flash that they had come with a ram.
Lord Wulfram, of a similar mind, appeared from upstairs. “Find Rosalyn,” he ordered, “and get her above.”
“Surely not?” said Ludwig. “They have been hammering the keep all night. Wouldn't the dungeon be safer?”
“No, I have been inspecting the keep. The damage is mostly superficial, although we can no longer get to the roof. You need to get her to the upper floors, for only there can you take advantage of the stairwell.”
Ludwig, seeing the wisdom in it, made his way to the dungeon. Rosalyn was there, huddled with the other women and children of the keep. At his approach, she rose.
“It’s time,” was all he said. She understood perfectly, crossing the room and following him upstairs.
“How long have we?” she asked.
“Not long. The door is already beginning to buckle, but at least the trebuchet is done.”
“A small miracle. Even so, we must take what we can.”
He led her through the great hall, past where the remainder of the garrison were taking up their positions to repel the enemy. They had ascended only two steps of the staircase that led to the second floor when a tremendous crash announced the front doors of the keep had failed.
Ludwig risked a quick glance to see the head of a ram poking through the wood. Baron Stein’s men pulled it back, and two of Wulfram’s archers loosed arrows through the newly vacated hole.
At least one man screamed out in pain, evidence that the volley was not misplaced. Ludwig was torn between his oath to protect Rosalyn and his desire to fight. He had to tell himself this was not his war, that he was one of the mercenaries who would soon be streaming through the door, yet something held him back.
He cursed at the necessity for the decision, then turned once more, pulling Rosalyn up the stairs. After half a dozen paces, he halted, hearing the sound of feet rushing up towards him. Expecting a fight, he drew his sword, but it was only three of Lord Wulfram’s men, taking up positions to guard the stairs.
Ludwig halted in the small hallway at the top, placing Rosalyn behind him. Echoing up towards them was the sound of conflict, of steel on steel, a test of might between warriors. He wondered where Lord Wulfram might be found, but the thought was quickly taken from him as a group of warriors rushed up the stairs.
The attacker in the lead was quickly skewered, a spear taking him in the gut. The warrior who killed him tried to pull back his weapon, but it stuck fast, so he let go of the spear, allowing the body to fall, watching it slide down the stairs.
The fallen man was quickly replaced by another who stabbed out with a spear of his own. One of Wulfram’s men took a tip to the chest and slumped to the floor.
“Get to the stairwell,” he shouted to Rosalyn.
“What are you going to do?” she cried out.
“Hold the line, but I can’t do that if I’m guarding you. Go, while you still can.”
Even as he spoke, a hatchet flew forth, striking another of Wulfram’s men in the face. The poor fellow sank back, clutching at the bloody mess and screaming. Ludwig saw the danger even as the man fell, for now only one of the baron’s men remained between the attackers and him and Lady Rosalyn.
Ludwig, throwing caution to the wind, gave a yell and rushed forward, his sword clutched tightly. A spear lunged towards him, and he twisted, having the satisfaction of watching the tip scrape by, narrowly missing his chest. In answer, he swung down, cutting into an extended arm, and a cry of excruciating pain echoed through the corridor. Then Ludwig struck again, using his weapon's tip to extend his reach into a gambeson, tearing the fabric but failing to penetrate.
A mace struck his outstretched arm, knocking the sword from his grasp, and he quickly pulled his arm back as a pain shot up it. The warrior beside him attacked again with his spear, taking one of Baron Stein’s men in the groin, but it was his last action, for even as he did so, another hatchet flew forth, sinking into his neck. Blood sprayed everywhere, splashing Ludwig in the face and temporarily blinding him.
He staggered back, desperate to clear his vision. A spear stabbed him in the chest, but his metal breastplate held firm, deflecting the blow. Ludwig grabbed the end of the spear as it passed him, then pulled as hard as he could, dislodging the weapon from his enemy.
Stepping back, he wiped his eyes with his forearm, and through the red mist, he saw two men rushing forward. He took down one with the butt of the spear and then reversed the weapon, stabbing out with the point. It glanced off the second's forearm, drawing blood, and then Ludwig risked a look over his shoulder. The stairwell to the keep's upper floors was now right behind him, so he took three quick steps backwards until he felt the first step against the back of his foot.
The spear was incredibly light in his hands, and suddenly he was struck by the remembrance of his training all those years ago when a fourteen-year-old Ludwig was first taught how to hold such a weapon. He stepped forward, spinning the spear and then stabbed forward once more, hitting nothing but caused the next group of warriors to back up.
They paused, but that all ended as one of them got up the nerve to lead an advance. With a roar, they surged forward, filling the short corridor with the echoes of their screams.
Ludwig skewered one, but the other two closed in, striking out with their blades. A tug to his own gambeson told him one had failed to penetrate his armour, but then he felt a stab of pain as a blade sliced across his thigh. It was a light wound, to be sure, but the suddenness of it took his breath away, and he dropped to the ground with the weight of his opponent pressing against him. Releasing his spear, Ludwig smashed out with his fist and pain shot through his arm as his knuckles connected with a helmet. One of his attackers pummelled his wounded leg, and all he could do in defence was lash out with his foot. He felt resistance, and then one of his attackers rolled to the side, grasping his knee, Ludwig's attack having done its work.
A face loomed over him while his attacker raised a dagger on high. Ludwig’s hand clawed at his enemy's eyes, and a tortured scream erupted from the man’s mouth as he rolled to the side.
Ludwig shuffled back on his arms and legs, desperate to put some space between them. His hand hit the stair, and he pushed himself upright as his eyes cast around for a weapon.
The enemy's initial attack had been blunted, but more approached even as Ludwig spotted his chance—a sword lying disused, its blade stained red with blood. He dove for it as the next warriors came for him. His hand reached out, grasping the handle with steely determination, swinging with the last ounce of strength he had left in him.
Into a shin went the blade, and he heard bone crunch as the sword penetrated the man’s armour. His foe fell backwards, collapsing to the floor.
Ludwig was soon on his feet, eyeing his newest opponent with his sword held in a defensive stance. He stepped back, feeling once more the comfort of the next step. Up the stairs he went, slowly and deliberately, following the twist as he spiralled upwards to the top of the keep.
The air grew still, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional groans of the wounded. He heard the clash of steel on steel in the distance and again wondered what had happened to Lord Wulfram.
He kept backing up, moving slowly, trying to anticipate the next rush. A face peered up from below, using the centre of the column to hide the rest of the man's body. Moments later, Ludwig could hear them talking amongst themselves.
“We’ll rush him,” a man with a high voice suggested.
“You go right ahead,” said a
second, much lower. “I’ll stand back and watch.”
“Get out of my way, fools,” snarled a third.
Ludwig braced, and then one came up the stairs, a seasoned warrior by the look of him, a shield firmly in his right hand, an axe in his left.
“By the Saints,” said Ludwig. “It looks like I just can’t win today.”
“What is it?” called out Rosalyn.
“Of all the men in Stein’s army, I have to get a left-handed one.” Ludwig stabbed forward, but his sword only scraped along the man’s shield. In response, the axe came down, narrowly missing to chip off a small chunk of stone from the step.
Ludwig saw his chance and quickly stabbed out, driving the point of his sword into the extended arm. He felt the blade penetrate the man's mail and sink into flesh, and then his foe pulled back, his axe now forgotten.
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before the warrior backed down the stairs, his part in the assault finished. The other two were still somewhere below, muttering amongst themselves, just out of sight. Ludwig thought his fight over, but then slow, measured steps echoed up the stairwell.
“Where is he?” came a familiar voice.
“Baldric?” called out Ludwig. “Is that you?”
“Ludwig?” came the reply. “What are you doing here?”
“Protecting Lady Rosalyn.”
“You can come down now. The fighting’s over.”
“And Lord Wulfram?”
“In Lord Gebhard’s custody.”
Ludwig felt relief flood over him, but then he remembered Baldric’s last words to him. “Where are the rest of the Grim Defenders?”
“Waiting below,” replied Baldric. “Come, let us waste no more time.”
Ludwig descended the steps until he could see Baldric standing there with his weapon by his side, waiting for him. But something about his stance alarmed Ludwig, and while he was looking at the man’s feet, they suddenly shifted.
Ludwig brought his sword up in the nick of time. Baldric's weapon struck it low on the blade, scraping up to the crossguard to force Ludwig back until his heel caught on the step, tripping him. He only managed to put his hand out at the last moment to prevent an injury.
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