“I must admit, I did not think we would meet again.”

Von Bolstedt had followed the woman to her home, to go and meet this supposed friend. The man that waited for him had not been an unwelcome sight, yet something about his sheer presence made Adebar’s senses for ill fate tingle.

Ludolf Holzer only grunted his assent. The huntsman, with his bristly hair and generally wordless demeanour, had been the one to spark the beginning of Adebar’s journey, in Diesdorf. The last time they had met, however, the man had lived in Reikland’s borders, with a wife and child. The appearance of the expatriate Talebeclander could mean nothing good.

They sat under the protection of the straw roof of the hovel’s barn, on a bench that should, by all accords, have given out already.

“Why did you come, Holzer? It's the middle of winter! And surely your family needs its father?”

The hunter did not look at him for a while, instead drawing deep breaths through his red nose. “I came to find you, Herr. The Count needs no gamekeeper now, and me family ‘as moved away from Diesdorf. Crossed the river, into Kemperbad. Not much wisdom stayin’ when old Gutrecht is slowly tearin’ apart the town.”

So his sins had caught up with him.

“Many folk ‘ave been breaking faith with you, Herr. Say you only brought more sufferin’ to us pious people.” Holzer’s eyes flicked over to him from behind weary, heavy lids. Adebar sought accusation, but found only green, unreadable pools.

The moment went by, Holzer produced a flask from his thick woolen jacket.

“Not me. Not much of a pious man, maybe, but I think Diesdorf is saveable.”

The flask met dry lips, its highly stinging contents running down Holzer’s gullet.

“The Count was not satisfied with Zech, I take it?”

Zech, the innkeep, had sacrificed himself to allow Adebar to escape, after having slain the Count’s son to prevent the madman from murdering the innocent. Adebar had thought about that night a lot, initially, but had eventually chosen to simply view it as a cruel trick of fate. It seemed his suspicions had been proven right.

Holzer gave a humourless chuckle, offering his flask to the nobleman.

Adebar took in the scent of herbs, before taking a swig of his own.

“Gutrecht ‘ad the poor fool publicly strangled, then threw out ‘is family.

We all thought it’d stop at that, but we were wrong. Not long after ‘e starts randomly persecutin’ people for ‘conspiracy’, whatever that means.”

Von Bolstedt wanted to say something, but frankly found his position strange. He’d been raised apart from these commoners. He knew little of their situation.

“We needed a plan, I ‘ad one. We’ll petition the Prince in Altdorf.”

The Elector Count of Reikland? The Emperor himself? Adebar’s disbelief must’ve stood writ large on his features, and Holzer seemed to agree.

“On our own we wouldn’t stand a chance. Diesdorf isn’t a chartered town, it’s Gutrecht’s private fief. We ‘ave few legs to stand on, if it’s to be dragged before court.”

This then was why Holzer had sought him out. It made sense now, he supposed.

“You would have me accompany you back to Reikland and lend my name to your case.”

The prospect shocked Adebar. He couldn’t go back. He was a wanted man, in more than one case. Besides, was it really his duty? He’d done his best for Diesdorf when they’d pleaded with him then, and he had seemingly only made matters worse! He’d dragged himself through the wilderness in penitence, and...Adebar stopped himself from sacrilege.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

“I fear I am currently in the employ of the Lord of this place, Holzer. I owe him my livelihood, you understand.”

Much to his surprise, Ludolf seemed to have heard about it all already.

“Yes, I ‘eard from Schimmel, the whole Beastmen-thing. Made it sound like hell on earth.” Now this was news to von Bolstedt. Much to his shame he now needed to admit that he hadn’t given as much as two thoughts to the companions of that night til now.

“Schimmel? He is here?!”

Holzer nodded his head, stroking his beard.

“Aye, all of them are, took refuge with the locals. Arrived yesterday, thought I’d be all alone in this place, and suddenly, first thing I see is Schimmel’s ugly mug!”

Though Holzer spoke with scorn, it seemed to hold a form of derisive affection of its own.

“It seems this place leads to many strange, chance encounters.”

The two men sat for a while longer, staring at the settled snow, half blinded now and then by the reflected light of the sun on the pristine, white blanket.

The moment of quiet was disturbed by a sharp cry, and a crash, inside the house of Holzer’s host. Then the backdoor flew open and two men stumbled outside, wearing felt caps, faces covered by leather masks. in their hands they carried long knives.

Adebar was the first to be on his feet, tearing his rapier from its scabbard, where it had remained since the night at the inn. The light danced along the edges of the silvery fencing-blade as it stretched out toward the first assailant, dipping low, to the thug’s left foot, then wheeling about, flying in a rightward arc, at chest height, to keep the other man at a distance.

The two men yelped, seemingly unprepared for actual resistance, but seemed to want to stick it out a bit longer, trying to round on Adebar, one going left, the other wheeling right. What the right man had not expected, however, was Ludolf Holzer’s boar-charge, barrelling into the knife-fighter and pummeling him to the ground. Before Adebar could indulge in watching the hunter have at his opponent, however, the left thug charged in himself. Adebar instinctively brought his left arm up, sweeping aside the foe’s striking arm, before following the brawler’s instinct, hammering the hilt of his sword into the assailant’s masked face, resulting in a pained howl as the man staggered forward, carried past Adebar by the force of his jab. Whoever he was, he was not a professional killer, that much was clear.

Who were these two? Who sent them?

He turned around, just in time to catch a glimpse of Holzer wrestling with his own enemy. The man had lost his knife, delivered a powerful strike to Holzer’s chin, pressed the hunter into the snow and sprang to his feet. His mask slipped off, unveiling, for a split second, a tanned, wide face, riddled with pockmarks.

Then the man was off, sprinting away, vaulting over a fence, and making for the hillsides.

His companion seemingly had the same idea, barrelling through the barn, escaping with a “wait for me!” and the bang of a backdoor.

It was Holzer who broke the stunned silence. “Friends of yours, Herr?”

Adebar didn’t reply for a while, in silent contemplation. He’d known that he’d give up his presence to the locals, but he hadn’t anticipated assassins!

“As you can see it seems my services are dearly needed here, Holzer. I cannot go anywhere before the heart of this conspiracy is found and excised.”

The woodsman looked at him, scratching his head, and massaging his chin.

“I may need your assistance, Holzer. You know this land and its people, I do not.”

Ludolf Holzer had never seemed to have much fear for the nobility, and it showed in his outraged speech, desperation driving what shreds of fearful respect might have held him.

“What of Diesdorf?! You ask me for ‘elp, yet you won’t answer me in turn!”

Von Bolstedt sheathed his weapon, turning to put Holzer under his eagle-gaze, laden with his irritation at being questioned, laden with his anger at being doubted in his honour, his righteousness. Before he knew it, he spoke again.

He spoke with the certainty of the faithful, the sternness of the priest.

“Diesdorf will have my aid, I swear it.”

‘Damnations,’ he thought, cursing whatever prideful core forced itself on him time and again.