Read Online Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) by J. K. Swift - Free Book Online Page B

came alive. It deflected the blow
downward and then Klaus whipped the flat of his blade against the
man’s leg and head so fast the pain registered in both places
simultaneously. He cried out and fell to one knee. Klaus grabbed
the wrist of the man’s sword-arm in one of his own massive hands,
and squeezed until the messenger’s fingers went numb and the blade
fell to the road. Klaus elbowed him in the face, and he fell over
with the criss-cross pattern of chainmail covering both eyes and a
freshly broken nose.
    Klaus leaned over, took up the man’s sword and threw
it as far into the bush as he could. He sheathed his own weapon,
grabbed the messenger by his long hair, and dragged the
half-unconscious body into the woods. He slowed to pick up a shovel
leaning against a tree, and then continued with his prize deeper
into the black forest.
    When he felt they were far enough from the road,
Klaus let go of the man. His head bounced off a root and he
groaned. Klaus kicked the messenger’s feet.
    “Wake up,” he said.
    Only a fool would throw a body into a river. They
have a tendency to bloat, rise up to the surface, bounce along on
currents, and eventually show up in a fisherman’s net, or get
mangled in some miller’s wheel. Careful men preferred holes. So
long as they were deep enough to keep the meat from prying wolves,
holes were always a better alternative than water.
    Looking after Duke Leopold had made Klaus a careful
man. And sometimes, a lazy man. Digging holes was hard work, and
Klaus was no longer a young man.
    Klaus kicked the messenger’s feet until his eyelids
flickered open. He threw the shovel on the ground and its sharp tip
broke the earth, spilling soil over his face. The man turned his
head and spit dirt from his mouth. His eyes were white with fear as
he looked up at the giant above him.
    “Dig,” Klaus said.
    ***
    The sound began as a pitter , like the first
few drops of rain hitting an oiled cloak. Rhythmic, almost
comforting, it did not penetrate far enough into Leopold’s sleep to
wake him. But the pitter grew into a thump, followed by two more,
and then a series of bangs. Finally, a frantic whisper cut through
the heavy door and reached Leopold’s ears.
    “Dawn approaches, my lord. You said to wake you well
before. Do you hear me?”
    The voice was coarse and gruff. Completely unsuited
to whispering.
    Klaus! What time was it?
    Leopold’s eyes snapped open. He threw back the heavy
down quilt and tried to stand, but his foot caught in the blanket.
He crashed onto the floor. His head ached and his tongue felt like
the wings of a giant moth. He cursed as he scrambled about on the
cold flagstones, thankful that he had had the foresight to sleep
fully clothed. He pushed himself up and swayed unsteadily until his
head cleared.
    By the blood of Mary, I hate mornings.
    The banging started anew.
    “Stop it!” Leopold pulled open the door and Klaus
took a step back. “I am up. No need to wake the entire castle.”
    “You said to wake you before first light. No matter
what,” Klaus said.
    “Do I look like I am sleeping?”
    “I have seen dead men look more awake,” Klaus said,
as Leopold scrubbed his face with the palm of one hand.
    “You have somewhere to be,” Leopold said and slammed
the door shut.
     
    Leopold watched the Archbishop from an alcove in the
keep’s outer wall. He was right on time for his morning ritual of
walking the entire length of his fortress wall. As the autumn sun
crested the surrounding peaks, it began to bathe parts of the city
in a warm glow. From this vantage point, the Archbishop could see
almost every single household in his city state.
    Leopold rolled his eyes as the Archbishop stopped
and stared out over the wall. Seeing his lands and subjects spread
out before his feet like that must feed the man’s already bulging
sense of self-worth, he thought. He took a breath and stepped out
from his hiding spot.
    “Salzburg has indeed flourished under your