The implications of his last sentence struck Goron’s consciousness like a bolt of lightning. This was the Novi working against him, he was sure of it. Like so many times before, they sensed his influence over a powerful entity and were moving to subvert it. Once again Goron was thankful for his forethought to strengthen the fortress walls for protection. He drew strength and confidence from the knowledge that he was safe. As an added bonus, he now knew who the Novi were and what they were up to.
When Goron spoke again it was with the methodical tone of an educator. “This Martin Luther has been quite successful equipping every German speaking Christian, to their own peril, with the ability to read and interpret my word for themselves. More and more I am convinced this man is not just a heretic touched by the devil, but truly is the devil himself.”
“The one of unnatural birth you often caution me against? The one you have battled throughout the ages?”
“One of his demons showed remarkable ability with linguistics in the past,” Goron went on. “This translation had to be his doing, and where his demons linger the lord devil is never far away. The stakes are much higher now. If unchecked, this demon and his master may very well break the unity of my church, leaving humanity to twist about in the winds of anarchy without my guidance.”
“Then Martin Luther must be stopped at all cost,” Archbishop Leonhard declared. “For the last three years he’s sat inside that castle in Wittenberg churning out his heretical texts with impunity. It is time to end this once and for all. The man’s arrest has been ordered, and it is the obligation of any Christian to carry out that order.”
“Breaching the stone walls of a castle is no small undertaking,” Goron pointed out. “It requires a massive and sustained military campaign that the church is not equipped to carry out.”
The archbishop got off his knees, “Then we put it to the people. In the past, Popes encouraged lords and kings to mount the Crusades. Those men willingly marched thousands of miles to retake the Holy Land for rewards in the next life. Is it really too much to ask that they now cross a few hillsides and lay siege to a local castle to arrest this demon?”
“Yes it is,” Goron emphatically answered. “The genius behind the devil’s plan is that he owns the unwavering support of the ruling class because Martin Luther’s teachings remove my church from over their heads. He enhances their power with every word he writes.
“As for granting my favors in return for conquering that castle,” Goron went on. “The whole idea behind his teachings is that faith alone leads to salvation, not deeds performed. Any call to action by the church in return for rewards in heaven only adds strength to Martin Luther’s argument.”
“What is there to do then?” the archbishop asked.
“Raise the stakes,” Goron declared with the fire within his flowing life force doubling in intensity. “Dissect this translation. Show it to be riddled with self-serving embellishments and omissions. Insist the leaders and public servants renounce them. Then seek out, isolate and destroy those who resist. Burn them all down to the ground in the name of your lord.”
Goron sensed an uneasy hesitation in the archbishop, so he spelled out the plan in more simple terms. “Make an example of the few to instill fear, and fear will lead to obedience once more. This rebellious movement must be stamped out at all cost. Everything on this earth depends on it.”
“Thy will be done,” the archbishop said with a bow and then exited the reclusive, private chapel.
**********
Tonwen looked through the distortion of the lead glass window and saw Archbishop Leonhard exit his private chambers and cross the stone paved courtyard toward the library. He thought it best to look busy when the archbishop entered, so Tonwen cut his break short and raced back to the room’s center table where three separate translations of the Bible in Hebrew, Latin and German lay open.
He inked a quill and made ready to make more notes in the margins of the Germanic Bible when the archbishop burst through the door. “Have you found anything in your review of the translation? Is it accurate? Martin Luther certainly must have altered the text to suit his own ends, and we can use that to discredit the entire work and turn the public against him.”
“My review is far from finished, but right now I am forced to admit the translation is remarkably accurate,” Tonwen reported with an exhausted sigh. “I will continue my work, and I assure you, we will get our man.”
Chapter 51: Peasant Rebellion
“You should not be here,” Prince Fredrick whispered into Tomal’s ear. “You are too important to the reformation movement; outside the walls of Wartburg castle I cannot guarantee your safety.”
“For weeks now I have sat in that castle listening to report after report of commoners rising up on account of my teachings only to be put down with murderous force,” Tomal shot back while barely managing to keep the volume of his voice under control. “It is time for action, not hiding.”
“They rebel against high taxes and low wages while watching their lords build opulent castles and throw lavish parties,” the prince countered. “Your teachings are just a convenient message to rally around.”
Tomal could only imagine how proud Hastelloy would be of him right now. Attempting to lead an uprising against the excesses of the upper class at the expense of the lower was a complete rehabilitation from his behavior back in Rome. There Tomal was the culprit of upper class abuse of the commoners, and his lust for the finer things left him vulnerable to manipulation by the Alpha relic. Tomal had indeed come a long way.
“Regardless, it is a noble cause, but it desperately needs a central leader,” Tomal declared. “All these tiny uprisings are being easily put down one at a time.”
“Of course they are,” Prince Fredrick began, but had his attention interrupted by a man standing a few feet away wildly swinging the wooden handle of a chain mace while holding onto the solid metal striking ball. He released a frustrated huff through his nostrils and then walked over to show the man, whose hands bore the telltale blisters of a farmer, how to properly hold and swing the weapon.
Walking back to Tomal, the prince shook his head and gestured all around the dense forest where twenty other farmers practiced using the unfamiliar weapons they found themselves wielding. “These are farmers attempting to fight against professional soldiers. Every time these peasant groups try and stand toe to toe against knights, trained archers and armored horse they get slaughtered.”
Tomal raised a finger which induced a silent pause from the prince. “Correct, so the trick will be avoiding a direct confrontation with their armies and striking where they are not.”
Prince Fredrick let an amused smile cross his lips, “Master theologian, linguist, and now general? Did I get all your titles correct?”
“I am a learned man of many talents,” Tomal replied and then stepped forward to place a reassuring hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Relax, this will be a minor affair. If things go badly, I promise you can kidnap and hide me away in your castle once more.”
“And if things go well?” the prince asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Then we change the world for the better,” Tomal answered while swiveling his head about to locate the sun. The celestial body was making good time crossing the morning sky. “The executions were set for noon. It’s time for us to move.”
An hour later Tomal and the prince found themselves herded through the main city gates along with all the other citizens of the town. They all were ushered into the main square at the prodding of armed guards with the lord’s inner keep proudly looking over the grounds. At the base of the three story stone structure rested a pile of printed books circling three wooden pillars sporting four sets of shackles each. A quick survey of the literature littered about the ground let Tomal know his writings would provide the fuel for the fire that would see twelve leaders of the local rebellion burned alive.
The townspeople looked on in dejected silence as the twelve men were led one by
one to their shackles amid the piles of books. These were husbands, brothers, and friends of those in the crowd, and therefore there was no cheering or taunting done by anyone except the roughly fifty soldiers spaced around and about the silent crowd.
While the parade of prisoners commenced, Tomal made sure to stand near a pair of soldiers issuing cat calls. Prince Fredrick did the same, as did several others from his team who Tomal spotted among the crowd.
The first few prisoners struggled against the guards chaining them to the poles, but the rest saw the futility in the effort and opted to meet their end with some dignity. When all twelve victims were chained in position, the lord stepped out onto a third story balcony protruding from the inner keep. The aristocrat wore all the jewels and fine garments of his elevated station to oversee the proceedings.
In truth, the townspeople were lucky the lord was only executing the leaders rather than every participant in the uprising. No doubt the fat, white haired old bastard’s first instinct was to fire the town, but then where would the income to support his life of luxury come from?
Instead, the lord made do with forcing the town to watch their brave loved ones shriek, squeal, and beg for their lives to end sooner as the flames cooked them alive. The town’s population was fortunately large enough that a few extra observers were not noticed.
The lord at least had the good sense not to give some pompous victory speech in front of the town’s people. He kept it short and to the point. “Get on with it so we can all put this sad affair behind us.”
Tomal did not wait for any lit torches to come near the kindling. He calmly drew his dagger and impaled the closest guard in the back through his lungs and heart for a silent kill. Tomal slit the other guard’s throat from behind as the incompetent man watched the show rather than perform his guard duties. Tomal then proceeded toward the perimeter of the crowd.
He set his sights on another pair of guards standing near the main gates of the castle when screams and shouts from among the crowd put the men on alert. Tomal sidestepped around one last woman between him and the guards and flung his dagger with deadly effect into the neck of the nearest sentry. The dead man’s companion drew his sword while Tomal produced one of his own from underneath his hooded coverture.
Tomal did not possess Gallono’s legendary prowess in hand-to-hand combat, but he was certainly no dunce with a blade owing to several lifetimes spent in military service. The guard managed to parry two strikes, but the third drew a gash across the man’s stomach which stunned him long enough for Tomal to impale him through the heart.
He paused to look around the dirt paved courtyard to judge the progress of his rescue assault. On ground level, all but a couple of guards lay dead, and those still standing would soon be horizontal as well if the five to one odds had any bearing on their fortunes. The only remaining threat now came from the two archer towers on either corner of the front walls.
Tomal pilfered a triangular shaped shield from one of the fallen guards. He spotted two others from his assault team doing the same and enlisted their help. Holding the shields over their heads, the three men ascended the stone steps to reach the wall walk and made their way across the parapet to the corner tower.
Now at an even level, Tomal pointed his shield toward the archers and sprinted forward to close the gap. The shield was useful, but did not cover everything, and every second gave the shooters another opportunity to hit exposed flesh. One after another, missiles clanked off his shield and the ground around his exposed legs and feet. Only three archers occupied the tower, but they were firing at an impressive rate, which probably attributed to their lack of accuracy.
Just before reaching the shooters, Tomal felt the bite of an arrow graze his right leg, but his adrenalin rush forced the pain to the back of his mind. He rammed shield first into the closest archer, knocking the man clean off his feet, slamming his head against the wall. The archer was probably unconscious from the blow, but Tomal ran his sword through the man’s chest just to make sure.
His companions dispatched the other two shooters just as effectively, and they each armed themselves with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Tomal notched and drew an arrow to hit the other tower, but saw his efforts were unnecessary. Prince Fredrick and a few others had already conquered that elevated archer position. He adjusted his aim to the lord’s balcony extending over the courtyard from the third story of the inner keep, but found it empty. The lord and his family had retreated inside, trusting the stone walls and reinforced wooden door would hold the rebels at bay long enough for help to arrive. They may have been right were it not for one architectural flaw to the building – the wooden roof.
Down below the townspeople mobbed the prisoners and labored to break the chains of their imprisonment. One by one they were released to the frantic hugs of wives and children. While the joyous reunions were taking place, Tomal and his bow wielding companions stuck a handful of wadded pages onto the ends of their arrows. A touch to the lit torch meant to incinerate the rebel leaders lit the arrows and the six bowmen sent them on their way.
In all, dozens of flaming arrows landed on the rooftop. In a matter of minutes the modest flames took hold of the timbers and grew. Two men from inside the keep attempted to climb onto the roof to extinguish the flames. One did not even make it out of the window before taking an arrow to the chest. The other managed to reach the roof and put out two budding fires before falling victim to an arrow that sent his limp body sliding off the steep pitch of the roofline to the courtyard below.
A brief ten minutes later saw the roof entirely engulfed in flames and it began to crumble and fall into the wood framing below. With no choice other than roast to death in the flames or face the mob, the front door of the keep opened and a dozen guards charged out to do what damage they could, which wasn’t much.
Four fell to arrows while the other eight were quickly swarmed and dispatched by the waiting mob. Finally the lord, his wife, two grown sons and their wives and young children stepped out into the open with arms raised in surrender.
A couple of the formerly chained rebellion leaders moved in to execute the lord and his family, but Prince Fredrick interceded on their behalf. “No, wait. They are far more valuable as ransomed prisoners than dead bodies. Take them to Wartburg castle. You have my word the ransoms received will be split among you for the troubles you have endured.”
This was the moment of truth. If the rebellion was about God and Tomal’s teachings, then the family would be spared. If it was really about raging against the aristocracy, then the entire family would perish.
The earth stood still for a few anxious moments until a man stepped up to Prince Fredrick with a raised sword in hand. “Lord Gringwald saw fit to only seek punishment of the leaders; we then shall do the same. No more, no less.”
Prince Fredrick turned his gaze to Lord Gringwald who seemed to accept the accord. He quietly took a few moments to hug his family and then willingly stepped away to receive his fate.
Fredrick snapped his fingers and pointed to the family. Twenty of the prince’s men immediately went to work binding their hands with rope and leading them out of the castle grounds. When the last of the lord’s grandchildren passed under the gatehouse, the prince and the rebel leader looked to Tomal.
“Be quick about it and then meet us on the way to Weinsberg,” Tomal said quietly and then left the castle grounds amid the clatter of the inner keep crumbling in on itself and thick black smoke billowing hundreds of feet into the air.
Chapter 52: Identity Crisis
The relic floating before him did not have a body for Kuanti to assess its mood. Four of the warriors who fell aboard Zhu’s marooned flagship had already reanimated into clay forms, but these two were being stubborn. He needed a quick answer, but in all fairness, it was a rather vexing decision to make. To suppress his impatience Kuanti turned away from the stone altar to take in the grandeur of the burial chamber once more.
In the center of the room rested a sol
id bronze coffin interring the remains of the Chinese nation’s first emperor, Qui Shi Huang. Surrounding the coffin was a detailed three-dimensional map of the nation complete with flowing streams of mercury representing the Yellow and Yangtze Rivers. The slightly domed ceiling lay twenty feet overhead with imbedded seashells, pearls and gemstones accurately depicting the sun, moon and star constellations of the sky. Hanging from the ceiling, at evenly spaced intervals, were a hundred whale oil lamps which still functioned admirably today.
The only imperfection to the ceiling’s portrayal of the heavens was an antenna the size of a man’s head, which extended down from the chamber above. His men had spent the last year carving out the chamber to harness and house the relics soon to arrive from Mars. Victory over the Novi, once so certain, was now in doubt. Kuanti needed all the physical soldiers he could summon to fend off an assault by the Novi that he knew was imminent.
A bright flash of golden light emanating from behind Kuanti caused him to turn and face the relic once more. Whatever its answer would be, the relic certainly had strong feelings on the matter.
“I will not comply with that order,” the relic insisted. “It blatantly betrays the laws of Mother Nature. I will not dishonor myself by reanimating.”
If Kuanti were still a relic flame, his rage would have scorched the entire burial chamber; the selfish arrogance. “You do not have the luxury of saying no, soldier. You are under my command, and I order you to reanimate to take up arms and defend this chamber until our brothers from the Mars colony arrive.”
“The Mars relics do not need to transfer here, and those Alpha warriors will arrive on this planet to deliver final victory whether this chamber is defended or not,” the relic countered. “This order is all about you. You and your need to be the hero and this blasphemous obsession you have with reanimation.”
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