ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1)

by J. K. Swift

  “I am no outlaw. I recognize no Habsburg judge and refuse to be ruled by oafs such as Landenberg. He may be the Vogt of Unterwalden, but he has no authority in Schwyz or Uri. We are a free people.”

  Thomas nodded at the boy lying on the ground. “Talk like that gets people hurt. I know your type. You are a rebel by nature and live only to disrupt the natural order ordained by God.”

  “Only a fool would believe God wants these lands ruled by Austrian blue-bloods.”

  “What would you do? Overthrow the noble class? And replace it with what?”

  “Do you find it so hard to believe that common people can rule themselves? We need no royalty, or foreign judges enforcing corrupt laws. The Habsburgs get rich from our pain and suffering. It is not right and I have a hundred men under my command that agree. We do not only want to drive the Austrians from our lands, we want justice.”

  Thomas blinked at the force of Noll’s convictions, but then shook his head. One did not simply tamper with the divine natural order. The King and Church worked together to protect the common man from the Devil and himself, not subjugate him. God had granted the peasant class the ability to work in the fields, perhaps learn a trade. They had no capacity for politics, and thrust into that arena would prove incapable of ruling themselves. Politicking was the domain of the noble class, which in turn was under direct control of the King. Together they saw to all matters secular while the Church protected the spiritual souls of all devout Christians.

  “True justice can only be dispensed by God. A hundred men is nothing but mouths to feed, for the Habsburgs could have a thousand soldiers on your doorstep tomorrow. Do not be in a hurry to throw your life away in war.”

  Noll shook his head. “God does not concern himself with justice. I have seen enough of this world to know that.”

  Thomas crossed himself and leveled a finger at Noll. “Still your tongue. I will have none of your blasphemy on my boat.”

  “Why not join us, ferryman? You have been back long enough to see the poverty, the corrupt soldiers that reap our lands. Help us drive out the Habsburg blue-bloods.”

  Thomas shook his head. “You swim in black waters, boy. This will end badly. Mark my words.”

  Noll scowled at Thomas and then shrugged. He bent low and scooped up his wounded friend, hoisting him across his shoulders. He stood up easily, as though he carried no more than a sack of grain. He was not a large man, but lean and efficient, and his powerful legs did not tremble in the least at the added weight.

  “When you are shut up safe in your hut, in front of a warm fire, and the screams of dying country men can be heard beyond your walls, I trust you will say a prayer for them, ferryman.”

  “I am no priest,” Thomas said.

  “You talk like one.”

  Noll turned away. He stepped slowly but took long strides so as not to jostle his precious load. From up the path, without turning his head, he called out, “If you should change your mind and want to meet with me, mention it to Sutter. The right words travel easily in these mountains.”

  Thomas watched until Noll disappeared in the trees. The Devil had a purchase on that one, he thought, and at the same moment, he realized Noll had neglected to pay him for the ferry trip.

  Chapter 9

  “SERAINA!”

  She looked up from trimming one of her plants in the direction from which Noll’s voice carried. The cry was desperate and the trees marked his coming with incessant whispers, which Seraina followed with her eyes. Seconds later Noll burst into her clearing with Aldo hanging limp across his back.

  “Lay him here—in the sunlight,” she said.

  Together they eased him down onto his side and Seraina began examining the wound on his back, fearing the worst. She peeled back the bandage and was surprised to see the moldy bread and moss covering the wound. She did not move them, but held a hand to Aldo’s cheek. He was pale from loss of blood, yet not feverish, as he should be. She placed her other hand on his chest and listened to his heart rhythms while Noll fidgeted at her side. Deep, but strong and regular. She leaned back and looked at Noll.

  “He will live,” she said. “But not by my craft.”

  Noll, who was still standing, fell down on the ground and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. He took in a deep breath.

  “Who saw to his wound?” Seraina asked. “It was not you. That much I know.”

  Noll still labored over his breathing. He had carried the boy far, and up a steep slope as well. “What? Oh, the new ferryman applied a simple poultice. A pox on his hide, he is a stubborn man that one.”

  “The ferryman?” Seraina’s eyes widened in surprise. The dressing had been wrapped with precision and skill. The use of birch mane to stem the flow of blood and clean the wound was not well known.

  She continued to quiz Noll about the man until he threw up his arms and said he knew nothing more, and if she wanted to know more about the ferryman she was going to have to ask him herself.

  Noll walked to the rain barrel and ladled some water into one hand and then rubbed them together to wash off the dried blood.

  “Can I leave Aldo with you until the morrow? The Eidgenossen are meeting tonight and if I am to reach the meadow in time I had best be on my way.”

  Ah, Seraina thought. That explained Noll’s foul mood.

  “Has the council finally invited you?” she asked. When the leaders of Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwalden met it was always in secret and strictly by invitation, for they feared reprisals by their Austrian overlords.

  “What need do I have for an invitation? I merely assume my father’s position, since he cannot be there himself.” Noll shook the bloody water off his hands and wiped them on his breeches. “And if Walter Furst, or old Stauffacher try to deny my right to speak, I am prepared to make them listen.”

  Seraina met Noll’s icy stare and felt her heart skip a beat. Behind her, the trees murmured their approval.

  A short time later Noll said farewell and she watched him wind his way up the slope above the tree line until he disappeared over the grassy ridge.

  “He is an exceptional young man. And as headstrong as all you Helvetii seem to be.”

  Seraina jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. Gildas!

  She turned to see the old man sitting on a boulder, a blade of grass between his straight teeth. The green stood in stark contrast to the downy white of his beard, which in turn, blended into the white hooded robe of the druids. She was aware of another white form, but this one as insubstantial as mist, padding through the trees to her right. Remembering her manners, she fought off the urge to run into the trees, chase after Oppid, and nuzzle his fur. Instead she held up her hand in a ritual greeting.

  “Blessed be the knowledge of the Weave as passed through the Elders.” She bowed her head and held her right palm over her womb, her center and link to the natural world.

  The old man stood and held out his arms.

  “Come now child. It is just you and I—leave the formalities of another age in the past where they belong. Give me a hug, for nothing would gladden this old heart more.”

  Seraina laughed, ran to Gildas and threw her arms around his neck. She was a little girl again, and words bubbled out of her before they were thoughts.

  “I was so excited when I heard of your arrival. Then, when you did not show, I thought I was mistaken, and was only hearing the empty echoes of my heart. It has been so long…I thought I was alone.”

  “And I am sorry for that child. I wanted to come to you after your ordeal with the villagers of Tellikon but—”

  Seraina stepped back. “You know of that? Then why did you not come? I was so lost. And angry. What purpose could the burning of an innocent child have in the Weave? I wandered, desolate and alone for weeks, waiting for a sign from the Elders. But nothing. I thought something happened to you all. I had just about given up hope when the Mythen called and led me to this grove.”

  Gildas nodded, his face pale and
taut. “And you have done well. The trees are strong here, and ancient. And a great number of these people are of the old world, although few remember. They will have need of you, before their end.”

  He took Seraina’s hands in his. It had been six years since she had seen him, but he looked far older than Seraina remembered.

  “It pained me greatly to not seek you out when you were betrayed by those under your care. But I could not. There are so few elders left, and fewer talented ones seem to be born each year. I have not found a single adept in the last ten years, though I have searched every valley and mountain village from the lands of the Menapi to those of the Ausci.”

  He used the ancient names of the tribes. Names kept alive only through the oral traditions of druids like Gildas. The regret in his eyes placated Seraina’s anger, and she found herself feeling sorry for the man who had been like a father to her. Or what she imagined having a father would be like.

  “Cease your worry Gildas. The Weave is only changing her colors. The adepts will appear again, you will see.”

  He smiled, and his face softened, on the surface.

  “You were my greatest find Seraina and I have missed you terribly, child. Now. Tell me of this Arnold of Melchthal. You believe him to be a true Catalyst of the Weave?”

  Seraina nodded and her green eyes lit up like poplar leaves backlit with the sun’s early morning rays.

  “It is no accident the Weave led me here. Noll was the first person I met. He stepped out of the trees, with not a sound from them, mind you. And from that first encounter I knew he was something special.”

  Gildas nodded. “I have no doubt he is of the old blood. In different times, he may even have been trained to serve the Weave as we do. But he was not discovered early enough I am afraid.”

  Seraina became excited at the observation and started to pace. “You feel it too? But of course you do! That is why you are here. Is it not, Gildas?”

  “Your instincts have always been keen, my child. You will make a fine Elder one day. We have agreed the Weave is creating a powerful nexus in this area. And with every nexus there must be a Catalyst—one capable of nudging the Weave in the direction of change.”

  Seraina’s eyebrows furrowed. “There has been something bothering me,” she said. “How do we know this change will be good for our people?”

  Gildas sighed. “Seraina, you are a priestess of the Old Religion. It is your place to be concerned for the well being of the people. But never forget that the patterns of the Great Weave can never be fully known. Even by us. All we can do is be vigilant and do what we think right, for both the people and the land. Now, about this Arnold, or Noll as you call him. Why do you feel he is the one?”

  “The people love him. Even though he is an outlaw hunted by the Austrians. Or, perhaps that is why they love him. I have seen how the Habsburgs have come into these lands and stripped them bare. The best crops, animals, even tradespeople, are taken north and east to support the great Austrian cities. And for years they have been granting tracts of our people’s land to foreign lords who send men and soldiers to desecrate it. They have no respect for the old ways, and neither the people nor the land can hope to endure much longer. They plant the same crops year after year on the same land, never allowing it to rest. They cut down our ancient groves and float the trees down the river to faraway places I have never heard of, they—”

  Gildas held up his hand. Seraina’s voice had been growing louder and her hand movements more vigorous, but looking into the old man’s peaceful eyes gave her pause, and she took a deep breath, regaining some measure of control.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “It has been some time since I have had anyone to speak of these things with.”

  “Other tribes of our people have suffered much worse. Most in fact are no longer with us at all. But you must remember that strong emotions will only cloud your view of the Weave, and that in turn will greatly hinder your ability to help the land or those who call it home.”

  “I am sorry. It is just that this is my tribe. The last of the Helvetii. And they have already suffered so much. But I think Noll could change that. He could be as great as Vercingetorix, if only I knew how to help him,” Seraina said.

  The impatience and despair that had been building within her these last few months, as she watched Noll and his army of boys and beggars play with Austrian soldiers, finally overwhelmed her. Seraina’s eyes glistened as they welled with the first sign of tears.

  “Vercingetorix had the benefit of a full druidic counsel. He had access to all the wisdom we could offer, yet he still failed to turn aside the armies of the Romans. Do not be so hard on yourself,” the old druid said.

  “Please, Gildas. I beg you—tell me what I must do.”

  He looked like he would speak, but instead placed his hand on her shoulder. Its warmth spread into her. They stood in silence, listening to the trees together as they used to when Seraina was a little girl. In time, the feelings of despair shriveled and withered, then blossomed into something else entirely.

  Hope.

  Finally, when Seraina had settled and nothing could be heard but the murmurs of the forest, Gildas spoke.

  “Do not worry yourself too much, my child. The Helvetii are a resilient people, and I believe they still have a place in the Great Weave. Unlike my own tribe, your people’s time is yet to come.”

  Seraina kept her eyes closed and wrapped herself in the strength of his words. His voice was deep and resonated with power amongst the trees. She felt at peace.

  As he spoke, the old man’s own eyes roved slowly over the grove, drinking in every moss-coated stone and sun-dappled plant, logging the memory. Tucking it away somewhere deep enough that it would stay with him for the rest of this life, and into the next. When his gaze came to rest, finally, on the young woman at his side, his lips trembled and a single tear fled from the corner of his eye. In one swift motion he wiped it away and turned Seraina towards him. She opened her eyes and Gildas nodded towards the forest.

  “Now, go and say hello to Oppid. He has missed you more than you know.”

  Seraina beamed and an unstoppable grin spread across her face. With a shriek of delight she ran off into the trees calling out the wolf’s name.

  Chapter 10

  THE SLIVERED MOON offered little light to guide Seraina’s climb up the path from the water’s edge. Being careful to stay well back of torchlight and the harsh whispers of men’s voices, she avoided the main route and made her way in darkness through the forest of straight pines towards the Ruetli meadow. She took her time to enjoy the clear night air, stooping occasionally to pick star lilies, a red-petaled plant with flowers that only revealed themselves at night and was the base for many of her fever suppressing remedies. Slipping silently through the woods, Seraina caressed saplings, spoke in soft tones to the old growth, and skirted around areas with new shoots poking up from the forest floor. Finally, she reached the edge of the Ruetli, a clearing nestled in a thick copse of trees overlooking the eastern shores of the Great Lake of the four forest regions.

  In the meadow’s center, a low fire burned, illuminating the faces of a dozen men in flickering light. Walter Furst, the Justice from Altdorf, was there, as was old Werner Stauffacher of Schwyz. She recognized a guild man from Zurich named Studer, and although she did not know some of the other men, she saw the bear crest of Berne on one of their shoulders.

  “Torches coming up the path,” called out one of the two guards standing at the entrance to the meadow.

  The men at the fire cast questioning looks at one another.

  Walter Furst held out his hands. “We are expecting no others,” he said.

  “How many?” Studer, the guild man from Zurich asked.

  “Six torches. At least that many men.”

  Werner Stauffacher walked over and peered down the path into the darkness. He was tall and very old, but he still had the loose-limbed gait of one who spent countless hours walking up and down mountain trai
ls. “Arnold of Melchthal, and his band,” he said, shaking his head.

  Studer cursed. “Outlaws,” he said to the man from Berne. “Stauffacher, if this is some ploy of your doing, I swear I will bring the wrath of the guilds down on you and all of Schwyz.”

  “No need to get excited Master Studer. Werner had no idea the young Melchthal would be joining us. None of us did, but I must admit I am not so surprised,” Judge Furst said. A head shorter than old Stauffacher, Walter Furst was round in the face and had grey, wispy hair that seemed to float above his head.

  Studer and the men around them had their hands on their swords. “What do you mean not surprised?”

  “Arnold’s father is a member of the Oathbound Council,” Furst said.

  “I am not sure I want to deal with the Eidgenossen if their members include murderers and highwaymen,” the man from Berne said. He was a squat hairy man that Seraina did not know but who, she thought with a wry smile, resembled the bear his city had been named after.

  Studer nodded. “The guilds of Zurich feel the same. We are here to discuss how we can legally benefit our towns. We have no interest in rebelling against the German Empire. And where is Henri Melchthal? Why is he not here but sends his outlaw son in his stead?”

  There was a commotion at the head of the path as Noll and his men approached the guards. The two guards looked at Stauffacher for guidance on how to treat the newcomer, and when he shook his head they stood down.

  Noll strode into the clearing looking as unconcerned as a man coming home from the fields for dinner. He nodded to Stauffacher as he passed. His men spread out and took up positions on the outer ring of firelight, and their torches bathed the clearing in a bright light.

  “Evening Furst,” Noll said, pleasantly enough. Then his voice took on a hard edge. “I believe I heard my father’s name mentioned? By all means, tell the guild man why he cannot be present.”

  Walter Furst grimaced at Noll’s tone.

  “Your father paid a terrible price for his pride. We all wish it had turned out differently,” Furst said.