Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[GeneralHankerchief]

Outside of Damascus, 1228

The Second Holy Crusade had arrived in Outremer to much cheering and jubiliation. After months of hellish walking, riding, and sailing the Imperial Crusaders had finally arrived at Damascus and salvation. However, there was a slight complication:

Three large armies of the same people that the Crusade was designed to protect the Holy Land against had arrived at Damascus first.

And so, the Crusading Army was camped outside of the city, debating and deliberating on what to do. Finally, Duke Leopold, leader of the Crusade, had gotten fed up and decided to take on all three armies in the field. There was some grumbling among the soldiers, but debate was finished. Come the next morning, they would all take the field in a battle against the Horse Lords.

Conrad Salier was not particularly enthused about fighting so soon, although he would never say it out loud to the Kaiser's brother. There were other, more personal reasons why he had joined the Crusade in the first place and did desire to see certain things completed before he died in battle. He sat beside one of the many campfires burning quietly in the night, comtemplating. While his chances of entering Heaven would certainly be improved by dying while on Crusade against an unholy enemy, he wished to stick around to complete a little bit more of God's Work before he went. It would be a sleepless night for Conrad and, most likely, many others in the camp.

Leopold interrupted Conrad's meditations by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Conrad. All officers are meeting at the Command Tent for a briefing about tomorrow." Conrad nodded and departed for the Command Tent, which was the largest tent and located a few hundred yards away. When he arrived, the tent was half-full with the high-rankers in the Army. Conrad took a seat in the front (log stumps had been set up as chairs) with the other Generals. He watched in silence as the tent began to fill up.

Finally, Leopold arrived, in conversation with a big man whom Conrad had never seen before. This man was tall, clearly German, wearing a suit of battle-armor that was incredibly scratched and dented. Clearly, this man had seen some fights.

Leopold took a seat beside Karl Zirn, a fellow Austrian. The other man continued standing in front of the crowd and waited for quiet. Since this was a military crowd, he quickly received it, and began to speak.

"Welcome to Outremer, gentlemen!" he began. Conrad thought he detected a small amount of sarcasm. "You gave up the plentiful green fields of Europe and your families up for this; this stinking heap of desert that would be completely worthless if it wasn't for the fact that several important religions started here. Aren't you glad of the choice you made?"

Silence. The man chuckled.

"Sorry, forgot who was talking to. You guys are Crusaders, you still hold the higher ideals and everything. Well, a few months out here will take care of that. Heh. You're probably wondering who I am, why I'm here. My name is Kurt Altman. Some of you older folks may recognize me as part of the Kaiser's bodyguard. I'm here to teach you how to fight who you're going to fight, and I don't mean the Egyptians either."

Ah, now it made sense. Essentially this meeting was a combat seminar. A veteran who had survived the first battle with the Horse Lords was passing on information.

"These people fight hard, gentlemen," Kurt continued. "Kaiser Henry thought that it would be prudent if I imparted some of my knowledge of their forces to you officers.

"Most of you fought, what, mainly infantry back in Europe? Italians, Poles, Hungarians, the French, that lot? I guarantee you you're going to be wishing that you're fighting those guys again after your first battle against the Horse Lords. They have no infantry. None." A brief murmur went through the crowd at this. Altman acted like he didn't notice. "Instead, they focus on foot archers, horse archers, and heavy, heavy cavalry. Cavalry where one single horseman can mow down dozens if not hundreds of crossbowmen. Do not question me on this, for I have seen it happen."

Kurt's smile was now long gone. "European tactics aren't going to work out here. Your crossbows are going to have to do a lot of work in chasing their missile cavalry down with arrows. The infantry is going to have to stand firm and take whatever's delivered to them, for that's the only way the Horse Lords are going to be stopped. And our cavalry, well... I feel your pain. You guys are going to have to be everywhere. Chances are good that if you survive, you're going to be either wounded or dying of exhaustion."

The cavalrymen in the audience, Conrad included, shuddered a bit. Meanwhile, a young sergeant in the back of the tent raised his hand.

"Sir, with all due respect, what makes these people different? Every nation we fight uses different tactics, and we've adjusted to all of them. Why should we be more scared of these people?"

Kurt's gaze now turned to stone. It was impossible to believe that he had been smiling, even sarcastically, a few minutes ago. In silence, he took out a wrinkled piece of parchment and began to read it in a monotone.

"Baghdad

They are here. They have come from the East, where the ground was flatter and lands more open. We thought the desert and our walls would stop them. They did not.

They have taken the city through strange rocket launchers and sophisticated siege equipment. We placed our best infantry on the walls, knowing they had little good foot soldiers, but it had no effect. And then the gate burst, and the soldiers in front of it were subject to a terrible thunder, simply trampled alive, the Horse Lords not even bothering to hack them down.

A more efficient taking of the city I have never seen or heard of. A more efficient sacking of the city I have never seen or heard of. Baghdad is no longer recognizable. Everything of moderate worth has been looted; half of the city's buildings are destroyed. The stench of blood and sight of corpses rendered unrecognizable are now common.

There is no hope of renewal, even for those who survive. Our city is now just a giant slum. There is no hope. The only good thing that comes out of this is that the whirlwind of destruction is quickly gone, off to ravage another target. There is no hope."

Kurt sighed. "This was taken from a Mongol soldier during Kaiser Henry's battle with them. That Mongol most likely took it from the inhabitant of Baghdad who wrote the entry. It is a miracle that I am reading it to you now, for the original, non-translated copy was so bloodstained that it was almost illegible.

"Why, you ask?" Kurt pointed to the diary entry. "This is why. The fact that Kaiser Henry got into open-field combat with these people with a numerical advantage and lost his entire army is why. Most of you came here with the purpose of salvation in mind, correct? Good. Use it. You need to use whatever you can to gain an advantage when fighting these people. Killing the Horse Lords is your new career, gentlemen, secondary to everything else. You had better get good at it."

Kurt departed, and slowly the occupants of the tent shuffled out. Conrad thought to himself: Well, if anyone was going to get any sleep this night, after that little speech, nobody is now. Tomorrow would be an interesting day, to say the least.

[Kagemusha]

Home coming

After the battle of Durazzo, Jonas had quickly turned the control of Austrian army to Austrians and started travelling North with only his closest men,escorting a wagon pulled by two oxens,carrying the earthly remains of his eldest son.
An native Croatian elder man named Mirco had also joined the the escort to guide them through Austria safely to Prague,where Erhart Von Mahren was to find his final resting place.
Jonas had been very silent mostly, but not completely. Von Mahren had never spitted in the pint before and after the events of Durazzo his drinking had detoriated to the point where after nights of heavy drinking and burts of rage,the whole party had to wait untill noon sometimes before Jonas could get out from bed. Then he would ride silently or muttering to himself untill the first resting place along the way. Then everything would start again from sipping of beer and wine for the headache,then to lame jokes that drunken people tend to have and many times after the stop for the night ending into uncontrollable rage or sadness that formed by Jonas sitting near the wagon and him talking to his dead son for hours sometimes,untill the mercy for the night would come in form of passing out.
Days turned into weeks as the funeral escort rode through Austria. From the Dalmatian coast and its fresh sea air,to the the mountains of Croatia,crossing the fertile plains around Tonava. Through the Hungarian Pusta,climbing on the forested hills of Bohemia and finally they were infront of Prague.
There Jonas stopped as if he was scared to enter the city. He stubbornly found excuses not to enter inside the walls.The men reminded him that during the summer time human bodies wouldnt last long before decomposing and that Erhart should be buried so he could rest in peace. Jonas didnt listen to his men. The only one alive he talked mostly was Mirco. The old man had told that not long a go he had lost his entire family in a Hungarian raid and the two bonded in their misery,finally on the second night infront of Prague after the wife of Von Mahren had sent messenger asking what was keeping them,Mirco convinced Jonas to enter the quiet city.
The city was in mourning.All the flags were dropped in half and when the small escort entered the city,there was not usual sounds of night,but the city was like a tomb,people were home and there were no usual drunkyards travelling the streets,singing nasty songs that dunks know the best.
The messenger his wife had sent escorted Jonas to a large house in the middle of the city,while the others went towards the city church to put Erhart in the crypt to wait for his funerals to take place.
Jonas entered the room and there was only Willelda von Mahren in the room besides the unlit fire place. Only few candles were set alight to give some light on the large room.
Jonas walked to his wife and their eyes met for the first time in decades. Willelda was still beutifull,while age had left its marks on her. But her eyes were cold and the expression on her face didnt show any kind warm feelings towards the new comer.

"Wellcome Mi Lord."

Willelda sayed with cold voice. Jonas decided that it was better to stay silent.Willelda continued with now ironic voice.

"So you are back from you glorious quest to Holy land?I hear that you were mighty succesfull and people will long remember the mighty deeds of German crusaders."

Now Willelda´s voice turned deeper and her eyes fixed on Jonas.

"I hear you rendevouzed with my son near Durazzo.Its a shame that you too couldnt spend more time before you got your own son killed."

Next Willelda started screaming so furiously that Jonas took one step back.

"Why didnt you die yourself?! Why you couldnt die in Holy land,so my son wouldnt have died becouse of you bastard?! We had everything allright here before you stupid fool arrived back in Reich. Can you see that your other children are not here to wellcome their father? It is becouse they hate you,you murderer!"

Jonas just stood there as the woman before screamed and cursed to him. He stood there with a face like stone,eyes focused on the woman before him. Willellda continued.

"I hope that you will soon leave for the stinking hell hole of Magdeburg you love so much. You are not the man i married and bared children to. You are nothing but stinking murderer and it would be better for all if you would just die and go to hell where you belong!"

This was too much for Von Mahren. His eyes enlargened and he took a quick step forward and punched Willelda straight to the face.Willelda dropped on a floor, her nose and lip bloodied. Before she could get up.Jonas leaned towards her and sayed with silent but determined voice. With the expression of a madman on his face.

"Woman.Your wish is granted. I will leave from here and never come back. You are dead to me for now on. I hope that you will restrain on visiting in Magdeburg and i will stay out of Prague. I buried Erhart already on our way here,im sure you can do the honours for his remains in here."

After saying that Jonas turned around and walked away from the room,leaving Willelda crying on the floor.As he came out from the building,others had come back from the church and Wolf the trusted Teuton of Jonas started.

"Your son is now in the crypt.."

In the middle of the sentence Jonas interrupted Wolf and sayed.

"Yes.Now we are leaving to Franconia.Ready your horses we will depart to Magdeburg immediately"

Wolf muttered.

"But sire,the funeral? We cant leave now.We have to bury Erhard."

"Shut up!"

Jonas sayed and continued.

"We buried that boy in the field of Durazzo. There is nothing for us here now. We will leave now and thats my final word.Any who doesnt want to come can stay. I will not talk about this more. And last, any man that mentions my family ever again in my presence will taste my sword. I will swear this."

Jonas quickly mounted his horse and started gallopping out from the city.The rest looked at each other with stupified expressions on their faces. After a moment Rudolf the old Veteran captain of Jonas sayed with loud voice.

"Follow the Count! We cant let him ride alone at that state!"

After Rudolf´s words,the whole escort mounted and galloped after their leader,also Mirco joined the group. Soon after, first Jonas and bit after the rest of his men galloped out from the gates of Prague disappearing in the midst of the night and leaving the shocked night guards sitting on their arses near the gate as Jonas Von Mahren and his men headed towards North.

[Ituralde]

Dust was everywhere. His eyes stung as he closed them and they stung again as he opened them. Every tiny crack of his armour seemed to be filled with sand. His right arm was sore from swinging his sword, it was aching like mad and the pain that shot up through it with every thrust was hardly bearable. Uttering another inaudible cry he slashed away at the enemy in front of him.

It seemed like minutes and hours ago that he had taken the horse from under the Mongol Heir Khanzada Batudhun. The battle had gone well. Khan Jebuk had been captured by his personal bodyguard, after the coward had fled the field. It had been a good day so far. A perfect day, to be quite honest.

The man in front of him snarled his lips as he attempted a backwardslash against Leopolds throat. He rose is sword just in time to deflect the blow, once again searing pain shot through his arm, momentarily blinding his vision. There was no helping it. He was getting old. He had never been old. He did not want to be old. Die toothless in bed, or die snarling in battle? Leopold had made his choice. A thin smile on his lips he carefully, delicately lets go of his sword. Blocking another thrust at him with his shield arm he grabs for his helmet, which is sent hurtling to the ground.

Air and sound rush in at Leopold and he takes a deep breath, two. He had never felt so alive, so aware of his surroundings, of the battle raging around him. He could feel that they were winning, that his troops were pushing forward. They were so close. His smile ever broadening he looks at the man in front of him and triumphantly spreads hir arms wide. The Mongol can hardly believe it, just minutes ago he was hard-pressed for survival and now his foe offered him such an opportunity. After a moment of hesitation he struck home.

The fool! There he was unarmed and the Mongol had only managed to drive his sword between his breast and shoulder armor, piecing deep but not deadly. He could have made it quick, but he failed. His smile still on his lips Leopold slowly sunk from his horse, his vision blurring. Before the world tilted sideways he could see the head of his opponent slashed wide open by thrust from Rainer. He had been too late and Leopold could almost feel sorry for him.

As his eyesight finally returnd to him Leopold was lying on the ground. Fate had it that he was now facing his own troops. He could see Imperial soldiers advancing towards him. Some seemed astonished, others determined. The news of his demise must have already spread. But instead of discouraging the men it seemed to drive them ever onward, forward against the Horse Lords. The battle was won!

Leopold looked down at his side where with every breath his life was spilling out of him, coating his armour blood red. Looking up again ever so slowly he sees a familiar figure dismount in front of him. Cracking a wide smile he raises his right arm as if in triumph and opens his mouth as though to shout, but only blood emerges as with a last gurgle the life fades from Leopold. Duke of Austria, Greatest General of the Reich!

[flyd]

Outside of Damascus, 1228

It would be nice to say that the Khan of the mighty Horse Lords was a mighty man. That he was ten feet tall, and that the ground trembled when he spoke. He was not. The only thing that separated him from the other Mongol prisoners was his highly fancy armor. It was probably worth more than his life.

It would also be nice to say that the German commander and the Khan could engage in an emotional conversation after such a battle. A heated argument, perhaps. Insults, would be thrown! However, they were separated by a series of no fewer than three translators. It's the best that could be arranged on short notice. I think the intermediate languages were Arabic and Persian. In any case, little was said, but it took a very long time to say.

"Tell the Khan that I am considering accepting the ransom offer, but am worried that he will raise another army and attack us again."

The tedious process started. It would be a few minutes before the response came. The 2nd and 3rd translators had especial difficulty in understanding each other, I don't think either of them were very fluent in Persian.

Fredericus walked out of the tent, and looked at the battlefield. The wind had kicked up a lot of sand, and it was not possible to see very far, but as far as it could be seen, the ground was covered in bodies of men and horses. The final count was not in, but this piece of desert would be the final resting place to some 400 Germans, and a countless number of Mongols. Not a long distance away, up the hill to the south, would be the location of another mass grave in the future. At the present, occasional cries of men or horses could still be heard from up there, to say nothing of the sounds coming from this battlefield.

The German soldiers who remained had by now largely rallied at the camp. Most were sitting or lying, being extremely tired from having fought two battles within the span of a few hours. Damascus was not far away, and another would be coming soon. They were still roughly grouped with their regiments, and it was obvious that none of them were even close to full strength. Still, I expect the men would be ready to march given the order. They could be considered happy to be in a regiment which was still at one third strength. Their commander and most of his bodyguard had died, and their new commander now formed a one-man regiment, after his entire bodyguard had been wiped out. Though the troops were inspired, this created some administrative difficulties for Fredericus, as he did not know anyone.

"Hey, you. What was your purpose, again?"

"I was ordered to count the troops, sir."

"Oh. Right. Well, what is the count?"

"596 so far, but there are still men out there."

"Has Leopold's body been found?"

No. No, it hadn't. Everyone had seen it happen, but no one now knew where. They all had different versions of the story too. Some say he dropped his sword in the middle of the battle, and wanted to die. Others say he dropped his sword because he was wounded in the arm, and killed three Mongols with his bare hands before being killed. Others say he killed five. At least a few claim they saw him bite the Khan's head off, although I would dispute that one on the grounds that the Khan is sitting over in the tent.

By this time, the tedious translation process was over, and the Arab translator was ready to deliver the Khan's response. In broken German, the following was roughly delivered:

"The Khan says that it would be in your best interest to accept the offer of ransom. The Khan says that this attack that he has led was merely a scouting party. The Khan says that the real army is now forming in Persia, and that it is ten times bigger than all the armies you have seen, combined. The Khan says that unless he reports that there is nothing here worth conquering, that you will be attacked by this army. The Khan also says that if he should die, nothing will save you from the wrath of his brothers. He says that he was impressed with the fighting skill and bravery of you Germans, and that he may yet be convinced to spare you. But the Khan wants to make clear that if you choose to face the full might of the Mongol army, that you will be destroyed. That is all the Khan says."

Everyone was a bit stunned at this reply. It was common knowledge that these Mongols possessed a vast empire, one that stretched well beyond the point where everyone's knowledge of geography stopped. Where the hell was Transoxania, anyway? But how big of an army could they really field? Was this man telling the truth, or was he merely trying to save his worthless life?

Some of the guards started to quietly discuss these considerations, when they were interrupted by a soldier entering the tent, on his horse. For some reason, the guards outside had not stopped him, and it soon became clear why: he had with him the body of Leopold. It was clear that he had come here for the Khan. As he jumped off his horse and grabbed Leopold's sword, he was restrained by the guards, but just barely, at least two of them being injured in the process. Though not happy by Leopold's death, the guards were worried about the Khan's threat.

After a short pause, Fredericus spoke up:

"Today, just one of our armies destroyed three large armies of our enemy in the open field. We only needed to do that because we were in a hurry, for we wanted to reach Damascus before them. When and if they come for the second time, we will be ready. We will have many armies, and with each of them being three times better than an army of the enemy, we cannot lose. I don't care how many armies they have. Let them come."

Nobody found further reason to protect the Khan.

[Northnovas]

North of Frankfurt

The three men rode along the secondary road to the battle scene. The road had not been used since the battle between Prince Jobst and the Danish Crusading Army. It was considered unholy by the locals. The only users were scavengers of souvenirs and family recovering their dead. Apparently many bodies of man and animal had been left to rot in the open road.

The three men rode silently along the pine sided road where the fresh scent of pine and the light rainfall made it tranquil and mediating. The tallest of the three was preparing for the worst to come. He had travelled from Hamburg on “official government business” and was to report back to his superiors on his findings; his objective was to find out what really happened on this road. The two other figures were local ancient warriors who had fought long ago with Kaiser Henreich. They were brought for their expertise and for a hansom fee they were to keep their confidentiality to the Crown.

Slowly the road opened to a small clearing, the rain was like a mist and the small patches of fog settled in the low ground. There before them lay the disaster, turkey vultures sitting on corpses pecking away not even aware of the intruders as they busily gorged on the feast before them.

The men stopped the wagon the two old men got out and began to survey the scene, scanning very methodically over the landscape. The government official also jumped down and began to walk about the carnage. The vultures would jump of the corpse to the next closes as the men walked amongst them.

Movement! I saw an arm move the official shouted, the two men ran over. The body of the young soldier was turned over the foul odour of human decomposition filled there nostrils and movement of thousands of maggots slithered all over the body. That was the movement, the two men smiled at each other and continued on their work. The government official saw enough and immediately ran to the wagon to wait for the work to finish. The damp air no longer suppressed the foul odour it had penetrated his senses and no amount of snuff was going to remove it.

The men walked and looked at what appeared first contact. They examined the horses left to rot and saw the wounds inflicted from all sides of the animal. They went wide of the road and examined the heavy foot prints of man and animal coming to the road from within the deep forest. The broken and bend branches of the trees and shrub to show the direction of travel.

After several hours they completed their work and reported back to the official who was not looking well and was has discoloured as some of the remains they had seen. They both knew why confidentiality was so important.

Venice Italy

The government official was well rested from his mission but yet the images and smells of that day were still vivid. He was now reporting to his superiors. The meeting was held in a fashionable building of a local merchant with a very ornate study under the guise of great secrecy. The room presented not only wealth but that have power and tradition. His superiors were men of great influence and yet faceless to most nobles of the Reich. They each represented the Kaiser and the respective Houses. They were the policy behind each and made things happen that had to be done for the benefit of the Reich.

Gentleman, my report is before you and I will only elaborate on the highlights of my findings. This was indeed an ambush by the Prince on the Crusading Danish Army. The reasons I do not know but the evidence of the field suggest so. I have also taken the prerogative of cleaning the site up upon the completion of my investigation. To continue:

The road the Danish were on was a secondary road. This was a large army that we were aware of and because of their mission we let them have the right to move through. The Danes not wanting to alarm our locals utilized secondary roads as they travelled through hence their slow movement through our land.

The Prince with the European Imperial Army (EIA) was on routine patrol for rebels and French invaders of our territory. I don’t know if the Prince was aware of the exact location of the Danes? He had his army in a loose formation travelling through the woods. We found the camps location several kilometres from the scene.

To start the “contact” by the initial was small and by “contact” we feel that it was staged. The scouting party of the Danes was very lightly armed and protected. I think they felt secure travelling through and were not manoeuvring under SOP for hostile territory.
The road comes to an opening and is flanked by high ground and thick brush. The evidence does suggest that the Prince waited for the Danes to expose themselves and then he attacked with his small army. The report shows the various wounds inflicted on man and animal to support our conclusions. Though I must say the attack by the Prince was strategically brilliant unfortunately it was not a recognized enemy of the Reich.

From the reports released by the Prince the contact did not occur as reported. If it did happen and the location the actual fighting would not have occurred in the location it did.

That is my report.

Silence in the room... the chair of the group then speaks,

Councillors, our friend here has done an admirable job and has not disappointed us. I also approve the action of having the scene cleaned up.
This indeed a bit of quandary and not something we want debated by the Diet members. At this time we do not know the Prince’s mind thought for his actions and we have to be strongly remembered that he will soon be our new leader of the Reich.
Though his actions have caused a War with the Danes it is only that a minor war that was inevitable. The true concern was the loss of our faith with the Church. However, through God’s providence we were spared the humiliation of ex-communication and have relatively remained unscathed by this incident. Therefore, we will protect the future Kaiser and the interest of the Reich has it our job to do and speak of this incident no more.

Advise the scribe on the official report as follows,

Frankfurt Germany 1218

The battle that was fought by Prince Jobst and the Danish Crusading Army was a combination of unfortunate events by both parties.
For unknown reason the Danes travelled a secondary road and neither party was aware of each others location.
The EIA were on policing patrol to route out rebels identified in the area. Also an intelligence report received suggested the French had amassed a large army that was converging on Frankfurt or another significant city in the north.
The weather conditions were not a clear as documented by the biographers. There was a heavy fog and coming into the twilight hours.
The EIA had split there small force as procedure to locate a rebel camp being hidden in that area.
The scouts of the EIA heard the army coming along the road but could not identify any banners but heard French being spoken.
A small patrol of EIA came out of the road to confront the unknown army moving towards them. An exchange of identification was ordered by passwords and from their chaos ensued. Through a series of miscommunication by the contact parties and the divided EIA a melee ensued that only progressed because of the difficult external conditions present.
It was only after the Prince realized who he was fighting and what occurred did he try to rally is men to halt any further offensive action.

Then we will advise the usual apology and reconciliation towards the Danes and other rhetoric that follows such reports.

In conclusion, we will send this report to the Kaiser and leave it at his discretion to announce the findings to the Diet. Otherwise it will remain buried in the archives with all the other documentation. That is all for today’s business.

[Warluster]

North of Metz, 1226 AD
Part II
It was several kilometres from Prinz Jobst's camp, the sky was pitch black, as the moon dared not show itself onto a horrible night.

From the dark road out of Metz, in a building,meant for some farmers, who lay deadon the ground. At the table was a man, he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the wooden table,waiting for someone.

As if timed the door opened, and 3 men entered, all looking fearful, one kneeled down.
"Master, we have a problem with the plan" whispered the man, the master wiped his head with a white cloth.
"What now, Hugo?" said the man.
"There was a second investigation at the battle scene!" said Hugo, the master sat up straight.
"Did they find it!? Did they notice anything!? We can not let them know... It will be obvious!" said the man, clearly agitated. Hugo got up,
"No master, the men provided a clear summary to the Diet, I thought maybe..." the mans sentence disappeared into the misty fog outside.
"Of course I wasn't Hugo, our network was down for some time..." said the master.
"The men have in fact helped us! Prince Jobst, we heard, has calmed down and ordered for a quick marched to Dijon for a visit so he can see his family" whispered Hugo, the master sat back, twiddling his thumbs,
"Excellent"
________________________________________________________________
The Road to Dijon, 1228 AD

"Quick march, forward!" roared a voice, there was banging of armor then the organisedslam oif foot on ground. Horses neighed, voices were yelling to and fro around the camp. Prince Jobst and his boyguard has gone for a scouting mission, and he had left Fritz and Luka in charge.

Jobst breathed in the fresh air, he was finnaly going to visit Dijon again, the city he controlled, his home city, where his family resided, after all the fighting against Danes and allies.

Dieter rode up next to Jobst.
"Mein prinz, are you sure we are safe? I am sure the French would be happy to see your head on a pole over the Seine River." said Dieter, Jobst laughed.
"Well you see theres the first problem, the French don't control Paris anymore, the Swabian DUke recently caught it" said Jobst, and his bodyguard cheered. Dieter smiled, the German Empire had been flourishing lately, only the arrival of the Horse Lords had stopped the flow.

There was a thunder of hooves, Jobst looked behind him, Fritz with some heavily armored knights were galloping towards Jobst's Bodyguard. Fritz stopped next to Jobst.
"mein lord, a message from a offical in Rome" said Fritz,Jobst opened it up quickly and scanned it through equally fast, he covered his mouth in shock.
"It seems, young Erhart Von Mahren was killed near Durazzo" said Jobst, the men around him bowed and shook their heads,
"And worst of all, Duke Leopold was killed by the horse lords from China!" exclaimed Jobst, Jobst continued "But not before taking their Khan's life!" roared Jobst.

A arrow flew out of the surrounding foilage and embedded itself in the Knight standing next to Fritz, he watched the knight fall to the ground, dead.
"mein prinz, AMBUSH!" roared Fritz, the whole scene erupted as men jumped from the surrounding area, and arrows flew forward. Several more knights fell.

Fritz tackled Jobst to the ground, then got up and speared an incoming man through the chest,
"Defend the Prinz!" roared Fritz, more shouting came from nearby, Luka was coming with more soldiers. Fritz slew a couple more soldiers before the backed off, he sighed as Luka came around the corner with a battalion of more men, he pointed to behind Fritz,who wheeled around.

Standing in front of jobst,who was standing bearing a longsword, was a lightly ragged man, who drawled,
"We shall kill you in the end, milord, no matter how many times we try" a arrow flew from behind Jobst and hit the man between the eyes, and fell back,instantly dead.

Dieter walked forward,
"That was the best shoot I've ever had" said Dieter, inspecting the man. Luka gasped,
"Mein Prinz, look at the clothes this man is wearing!" said Luka, Fritz and Jobst came over, and looked as well. Jobst swore quite loudly,

It was the ensigna of the Reich.

That man was a German.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Outside of Damascus, 1232

Conrad Salier and a minor scouting party consisting of several friends and retinue members were on a mission east of the city to survey the lands in case of an attack from that direction. The day was ridiculously hot out and of course, little shade was offered, so the mission would not be as long or productive as the people back in Damascus wished it would.

“I don’t even see how this is helping anybody,” Hugo Bresch grumbled. Hugo was Conrad’s veteran warrior, who had been with Salier since his campaigns against the Milanese back in Europe. The two were only really together in battle, as Hugo did not share in Conrad’s interests in religion or governing. “I mean, the Mongols are all gone and we don’t really have to worry about Egypt for a while… Who’s going to attack us out here? The Turks?”

“Careful,” Conrad chided. “There is always the possibility of a surprise attack. Did you think that Pope Gregory, God rest his soul, expected Kaiser Heinrich to violate Papal borders and take Rome? The desert is large, and we do not know what is on the other side, willing to cross it and take new territory.” Hugo simply nodded. It was easier to simply agree silently than argue and have to listen to all of that religious rhetoric crap.

“Hill to the north,” someone pointed out. It looks pretty defensible, especially if the Turks do decide to attack.” There was some minor snickering. In silence, the party swung to the north to take a closer look. Once they had crested the hill, before they had the chance to survey the land around it, a dark shape was moving their way. Upon further inspection it was found to be a lone carriage carrying goods. The scouting party, by Conrad’s orders, blocked the driver’s way. The poor man got out and started shouting at them in Arabic.

“Translator!” Conrad called. “Kindly inform this man that the city of Damascus and its surrounding area is now under the control of the Kingdom of Outremer, and as such we are allowed to deny access to its borders. Ask him about his cargo and his destination.” After several moments, the translator replied.

“He’s carrying something called hashish, from the East,” said the translator. “It’s a certain form of some kind of plant that can be smoked. Apparently, this man says, it makes you very happy.” At the mention of “happy,” the driver grinned and started to nod furiously, saying something in garbled German: “Yes… happy… big happy… you try, yes?”

After a moment, Conrad nodded. The Bible didn’t really say anything about smoking, and if it was bad, he would ban it. Besides, one time couldn’t hurt…

The Arab driver showed Conrad how to prepare the hashish, and after Conrad did so and took his first whiff of the smoke…

…and after Conrad did so and took his first whiff of the smoke, the landscape gradually changed around him. What was once mostly desert was now solid rock of various shades or red, orange, brown, and black. All at once, the flat stagnant sand/rock suddenly rose in some places, depressed in others. And then the no longer flat but still stagnant sand/rock erupted into flames, so the whole land was burning except for a path that Conrad was conveniently riding on…

…Conrad looked back at his scouting party but now there was no scouting party, no Arab driver. Instead, behind him, neatly in marching line were thousands of horrible human/bat/gorilla creatures armed with swords and shields and spears of ancient times, beating their shields as instruments and chanting in unison:

“In eleven fifty-four! We shall be prepared for war!
In eleven fifty-four! We shall be prepared for war!”

…Horrified, Conrad urged his horse (who had mysteriously changed colors from brown to purple with yellow polka-dots) forward at a gallop, but over the next ridge was a sheer cliff, with a river of lava waiting a million feet below for whatever unlucky soul fell off.

…The purple with yellow polka-dotted horse did not stop in time and they went over the edge, with Conrad screaming, but they didn’t fall – they were just suspended in mid-air, and the horse continued to trot on absolutely nothing…

…Beside Conrad, also riding on nothing, was the Mongol lord that Otto von Kassel had just defeated, Jebe the Tyrant. He sidled up beside Conrad, looked at him, and smiled. “Hello Conrad,” Jebe said. “Hello Jebe,” Conrad replied. “Where am I?” “Why, you’re riding on thin air, a million feet above a hot river of lava. I suggest you don’t fall off.”

…a gust of wind blew Jebe’s head off (oh right, he was decapitated) and they both watched it fall a million feet below but then Jebe continued talking as if he didn’t notice, and Conrad could hear him clearly despite the fact that the headless body of Jebe had no mouth: “You know, you still have work to do,” Jebe said. “Another wave of my people is coming, and this one will be much larger and powerful than the previous wave.” “Oh really?” Conrad asked. “Why should I trust you? You’re a Horse Lord.”

…the headless body of Jebe laughed and Conrad’s horse changed colors again. This time it was plaid. “Dude” (Dude? What on earth does “dude” mean?) “Dude, I’m dead, remember? I have no personal gain either way in this matter.” “Oh yeah,” Conrad replied. That sounded reasonable. He paused, and then a thought struck him. “Hey Jebe, how come we can understand each other? I mean, I thought you couldn’t speak German, and I know I’m not speaking Mongolese…”

…Jebe laughed once again and put a hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “Actually my friend,” he said, “we’re both speaking English.”

English?

…all at once the body of Jebe and his horse disappeared and suddenly gravity kicked back in and Conrad and his horse started hurtling down to the river of lava a million feet below, but this was only momentary as they regained momentum and actually started to rise – his horse could fly? – and then they were racing upwards, flying in circles and dive-bombing nothing…

…all at once, a giant arm came out of the sky and grabbed the two. Conrad was facing the index finger, and at the tip, where the fingerprint would be, he instead saw the face of Maximillian Mandorf…

…the index finger began to speak, in Mandorf’s voice. “Conrad, wake up,” it said. “You need to get back to Damascus, somebody has something to say to you.” All at once, before he could reply, the hand started squeezing very hard, and Conrad screamed, he was losing air, he was going to burst under pressure…

…he was going to burst under pressure but he suddenly snapped back to life, fully aware of himself. He looked around at the scouting party who, to his horror, looked away, not wanting to face him eye-to-eye.

“How long was I out?” he asked. Finally, Hugo said something. “About two hours. Although I wouldn’t really say you were out, so much as not there… what do you want to do about this man?”

“Arrest him and burn the carriage. Hashish is an evil substance and the Lord most certainly did not put it on the Earth in this current form. We’re heading back to Damascus.”

The next sound heard was a unison sigh of relief, broken only by the Arab driver’s yelling and (presumably) cursing.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Damascus, 1234

Being King of Outremer was a very stressful job, Conrad Salier had discovered fairly on into his formal appointment to the post. As essentially the Kaiser’s viceroy and mouthpiece in the East, it fell on Conrad to make sure that borders were guarded, soldiers were inspected, and people of importance, both Imperial and foreign, were liaised with. Already the job had taken a small toll on him, and Conrad privately believed that the position made at least a small contribution to his predecessor’s death.

The always-present question of the hashish did not make matters any easier. While Conrad had banned the substance in Outremer and arrested those smuggling it in, the fact remained that the one time he had smoked it, he had seen visions in his high. Later on, the things he had seen had come to pass on multiple levels. The only thing that was still in question was whether the Mongols would return, and so far all rumors were that they would indeed return to the West. Ever since King Otto had passed on, Conrad found an internal battle raging within himself, concerned squarely with the merits of the hashish.

It is an evil substance and you should not be tempted by it.

But I saw the truth!

Some things are not intended to be seen. Did you wish to know your true relationship with Cardinal Otterbach?

But surely isn’t knowledge better than ignorance? What if God is sending these visions?

What if Satan is and he’s successfully leading you on by them?

Eventually one of the voices won out and Conrad finally decided to act. He made his way through the streets of the city accompanied by Hugo Bresch and eventually arrived at its dungeons. Room #19 was his target, as it contained two men of importance in the hashish smuggling cartel that were recently arrested.

As Hugo put the keys in the lock and prepared to open the door to Room #19, he turned and looked at Conrad.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Conrad, unable to look his veteran warrior in the eye, stared at the floor and nodded. Shrugging, Hugo opened the door.

Facing the Germans as they entered, shackled to the wall, were two Arabs. The one on the left wore a scraggly beard of modest size. He was tall and very muscular; he would have made a fine warrior had he chosen a different profession. The one on the right was less toned but still held an intimidating appearance. His thick, black mustache and hair were still very neat and slicked despite the weeks he had spent in the dungeon. His dark eyes, reminding Conrad of the bottomless pits in Hell that he had read about, regarded the two Imperial soldiers as they walked in.

“Hamid, Abdullah,” said Hugo, addressing the bearded and mustachioed prisoners, respectively, “The King of Outremer has a proposition for you.” Neither man said anything, and Abdullah’s dark eyes unnerved Conrad, causing him to stumble over his words.

“Be completely, uh, honest with me here,” Conrad began. “How much infl-influence do you have with the hashish, uh, growers and transporters?”

“You could say that we are a small part of the hierarchy,” said Hamid, the bearded one, in fluent German.

“Are you large enough to be trusted by the leaders of your outfit when it comes to negotiating with the Kingdom of Outremer and Holy Roman Empire?”

The two captives looked at each other, expressionless. After a moment Abdullah, the mustachioed one, nodded. In a voice as smooth and oily as his hair, he asked: “What sort of negotiations are you proposing, King Salier?”

Conrad was momentarily unable to speak at the mention of his title, handed to him by a dying King and friend. Hugo spoke in his stead.

“King Salier is hereby proposing the decriminalization of the hashish plant – that is, it’s still illegal per se, but no arrests will be made. You will be allowed to continue your business and sell at the same rates as before hashish was made illegal, provided…” Hugo stopped, almost ashamed to continue. “…provided that you supply King Salier and his staff with any amount that he requests for no charge.”

Once again the two captives looked at each other. Finally, there was a change in expression, as Abdullah slowly grinned. Hamid, however, continued to remain stoic. “I see one problem with this negotiation,” he said impassively. “We are currently unable to notify our people of this development, since we are in chains and cannot physically leave this very room.”

Conrad reluctantly nodded. He seemed to be immensely regretting this decision, but continued to follow through with the deal. “You will hereby be released and pardoned, under the condition that you remain in Damascus or another location under my eye. Do we have an agreement?”

After about a minute, the prisoners gave their answer. “Very well. Release us,” said Abdullah in his oily voice. With a look of utter exasperation on his face, Hugo Bresch undid the shackles of the two men. Abdullah and Hamid took several seconds to adjust and rub their wrists and ankles, and promptly headed out the door. Before doing so, Abdullah stared at Conrad from the distance of a foot. His endless black eyes seemed to hypnotize the King of Outremer.

“You can expect your first personal shipment three days from now.” With that, the two men returned to society and freedom, leaving Conrad and Hugo alone in the dark, smelly dungeon Room #19. The veteran warrior stared at his commander with an accusing look in his eye. Despite this, the look was still infinitely less frightening than anything that Abdul could give.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t trust those people at all.”

Conrad put a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “I know, my friend. But if this hashish is truly a medium that connects me closer to the Lord, then surely it will be worth doing business with these people.”

The two men walked out of the dungeon into the streets of the city, but the day looked much less bright and sunny than it did for the two Arabs who had just exited the same place a minute ago.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Rome, 1240

"Ggggghxxhxzz."

Conrad Salier woke up and returned to full alertness for the first time in days. Since he had overdosed on the hashish (if that was even possible) and unknowingly revealed his secret to the entire Diet, Conrad had slipped into a state halfway between life and death, temporarily suspending the session as he was given emergency medical attention. After that, his condition had improved slightly, but he was still in a coma for some time. When he finally arose he found himself in a large, comfortable bed that happened to be the exact bed that Kaiser Heinrich had died in many years ago, but no one in the room knew this little fact.

Present when he awoke were the most trusted members of his retinue: Hugo Bresch, his veteran warrior, Frederick Weinmuth, his Chief of Staff, and his old friend Wilhelm de Lannoy, the former Deputy Governor of Rome who had officially joined Conrad's staff upon his return to Rome.

"Ah, Conrad" said Wilhelm, his eyes brightening when he saw that Conrad had woken up, "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Conrad blinked for a second and then looked around. "Care to be more specific?"

Frederick spoke up. "You're in Rome, Conrad. Still in Rome . We've hidden you away from the public eye ever since that little display of yours a couple of days ago."

Although he heard Frederick's words clearly, Conrad thought that he was still groggy. They didn't make any sense to him. "Display? What display? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You blabbed, Conrad. You overdosed on the hashish, stumbled into the Diet, and told the entire esteemed body that Rome was going to fall thanks to the hands of Satan, and that the hashish had told you this. Then you collapsed. You're lucky to be alive."

Finally, everything fell into place. His three friends watched silently as Conrad put two and two together. "I… overdosed… hashish… Diet? …oh, no, oh God no…" He put his head in his hands. "Oh, no…"

"Oh yes," said Frederick unkindly. "You have exposed your secret to the world. Congratulations."

Wilhelm jumped in. "You've got to stop taking this stuff, Conrad. You barely survived this time, and I mean that both physically and career-wise. You're lucky that the Diet doesn't know more about this hashish or otherwise Kaiser Henry would have stripped you of your title and given it to Fredricus."

Conrad was now fully awake, but wished he wasn't. He could tell that this was going to be a massive argument with three of his friends. Not pleasant in any circumstances. "I can't stop taking it," he pleaded. "I see things in there. Visions. I can use the knowledge."

"You can't use the knowledge if you're dead, Conrad." Everybody jumped. That was Hugo Bresch speaking for the first time. They had forgotten that he was even present.

"It's just God testing my strength," Conrad said. "What will this say about my character if I quit?"

"It will say that you are a smart man who made the wiser choice," said Frederick patiently. "Conrad, you must realize what this is doing to you. For God's sake, for our sakes, stop taking this hashish!"

"NO!" Conrad roared, surprising everyone. "If I sacrifice myself for the sake of the Reich, so be it. But I will not consciously allow this gift of foresight that I have been granted to fade away. I am not deluding myself. I know what I am doing, and you will realize that if you wish to continue working with me."

"You say that because you-"

"Enough. Get out of here, all of you. I need some time to rest."

Silently, Conrad's three friends shuffled out of the room, exchanging looks of despair. They had failed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, Conrad heard a knocking sound coming from his door.

"Enter."

The door opened, and a wizened old man, older than even Kaiser Henry, stepped into the room. Despite his age, he clearly did not look German. His ethnicity (Greek) was confirmed when he spoke.

"King Salier," the man said in a thick accent, "How is your recovery progressing?" Conrad was immediately suspicious. While this old Greek was far too aged to be an assassin, he wondered if it was another attempt at an intervention.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

The old man smiled. "Greetings to you too," he said in a sarcastic voice. There was a time when Conrad would have recognized his error and apologized, but that time was long gone now. The man continued as if he didn't expect an apology. "I am the official Byzantine ambassador to Rome, and also a historian of our great Empire, stretching back to the days when Constantinople was not even included in it and there was no Christianity to be divided over. I simply wished to liaise with the King of Outremer before he departed back East."

Conrad was still in a foul mood and cared little for diplomatic procedure at the moment. "Liaise with me then, and be done with it."

"Very well," said the old man, slightly taken aback. "The Byzantine Empire officially requests that the Kingdom of Outremer illegalize hashish. Before you can throw me out, I assure you that this request is official. Due to your lack of prosecution, deliveries of the plant have made it all the way to Constantinople, causing our citizens grief."

"I must respectfully disagree with your Emperor's assessment of the properties of the plant," said Conrad, gaining some diplomatic tactics back. “While under its influence I have seen many useful things.”

“But you do not deny that you have seen… upsetting things? Like, for instance, ‘Satan standing triumphant on Palatine Hill?’”

Conrad stared. “Is that what I said at the Diet? Wow…”

The ancient Greek continued on, business-like. I have with me here several transcripts of men speaking while on the hashish, their lives after they had been taking the plant for some time, and comments of their friends and family members. You will notice that many of them are, in fact, suicides.”

Horrified at the casualness of this man’s tone, Conrad took the first paper from the stack. It had already been translated into German.

“Strange things,” he read to himself, mumbling, “he thought he could see the future… started to scare him, eventually poisoned himself…”

“This next one is from our former Minister of Finance,” said the Greek pleasantly, handing Conrad another paper.

“Former?”

“Well, he apparently swallowed some Greek fire while under the influence. It burned right through him, poor man.” He was shaking his head sadly, but continued to rifle through the papers. “Here’s one visitor from your Outremer; he’s still living but thinks he’s Pope Gregory, poor chap… hey, what’s this one doing in here?”

“What? Is it actually a piece of good news?”

“Unfortunately, it is completely the wrong subject. Well, maybe not entirely off-topic, depending on the way you look at it.”

Conrad was mildly intrigued. “What is it?”

“It is a piece of the diary of your Marcellus Aemilius. It’s quite interesting, actually, not counting the fact that we Byzantines have a more complete record of the early Roman Republic than you Romans do. This one was written in 247 BC, in the second year of his shortened co-Consulship with Numerius Aureolus.”

“What does it say?”

“I’m getting to that, young fellow, hold on.” The Greek seemed amused. “The history behind it is interesting, actually. Most of you Germans and Italians consider Marcellus to be a hero, the one who saved the Republic from the evil Servius, right?” Conrad nodded. Everyone knew. “Do you know what happened to him after that little battle of his? This time, Conrad shook his head. Details were always murky after the Civil War. The Greek continued. “Well, it seemed as if the Hero was shirking some of his Consular duties in order to pursue Servius. Apparently, the night before that final day of battle, Marcellus had intercepted a message from Servius to his brother, Oppius. The message detailed Servius’s plans for his wife and legacy after the war. After there was a lack of activity in the Senate Session of 249, an official investigation was not permitted so Marcellus decided to go off on his own.

“Anyways, he grew obsessed with finding his nephew and bringing Servius to justice. In that letter that he had intercepted, it said that Servius’s wife, Eutropia, I think, was with child. Obviously, this was the ultimate bargaining chip to get Servius to come out of hiding and Marcellus knew it. So he tracked Eutropia and the kid down, leaving his army and any semblance of Roman decency behind, and basically made a public statement. Either Servius was to show himself or his wife and the kid were going to buy it. Sad, really.”

Conrad was intrigued. “Did he finally get Servius?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is that Marcellus was completely consumed by his obsession. This diary entry is him lamenting on what he had done and how he wishes that he had been more focused on the things that mattered – namely, rebuilding the Republic. It’s quite interesting, maybe you could learn something from it.” He absentmindedly tossed the old paper to Conrad, and glanced out the window. The sun was rather low in the sky. “Look at the time, I had best be leaving. An old man needs his rest, you know. Do think about illegalizing this hashish, will you? The Emperor would thank you very much if you did.”

He slowly got up to depart, leaving Conrad with the ability only to nod. Finally, Conrad obtained the vocal skills necessary to ask a question.

“I’m sorry, I never got your name?”

The old man turned and smiled.

“Iannis,” he said. “Have a safe trip back to the East.”

[GeneralHankerchief]

Damascus, 1242

The Cathedral of the Virgin Mary located in the city was not part of the new, rapid re-Christianization movement taking place. A great number of smaller places of worship had popped up since Damascus changed hands some years ago, but none could match the splendor or grandeur of what had been there for a millennium. Built by the Romans in the Second Century AD, the Cathedral had seen its share of history over the years. It currently housed the Crown of Thorns, Conrad Salier having lent it to the Diocese prior to his departure to Rome.

Today, however, seemed like just another ordinary day inside the Cathedral. Mass was taking place; the usual Gospel passages (Romans 20, others) were posted for all to see, and Communion was being administered.

Conrad and his aides having taken Communion first (being King of Outremer did have its benefits), they silently returned to their pews, and, after prayer, observed the rest of the congregation.

"Lots of Arabs getting Communion today," whispered Wilhelm de Lannoy.

"Good," Conrad whispered back. "The Word of the Lord is spreading."

"I don't like it," said Hugo Bresch, Conrad's veteran warrior. "It seems like the number jumped at once. Unless a priest gave a particularly powerful sermon a few days ago, I suspect foul play is involved."

“Rubbish,” said Frederick Weinmuth, Conrad’s chief of staff. “You’re paranoid and need to get to church more often, Bresch.”

Conrad was annoyed. “Can we be silent? In case you haven’t noticed, a holy ritual *is* taking place.” Hugo muttered something under his breath but the matter was not pursued further. The remainder of Mass continued without incident.

Following the priest’s exit from the main hall, the congregation rose to depart, as did Conrad’s staff. He, however, motioned for them to sit, saying that he wished to observe the Crown of Thorns before leaving. The three men, especially Hugo, reluctantly returned to their seats. They all knew better than to annoy Conrad while he was in church.

Conrad, however, was focused on other matters. He could not help but linger on what Hugo had said, and noticed how many of the Arabs present were taking their time leaving the church. Perhaps one of them would try to kill him, after all. Conrad had brought no weapon to church, but put his senses on high alert as he silently prayed for peace. Which one would attack? Was it the one lingering by the altar who had badly fumbled an easy song in the hymnal? The one currently ambling down the aisle, about to pass their pew, who had turned east during the reading of the Apostle’s Creed? The one behind them, who had arrived late? The one diagonally in front and to the left of them, who had held up the Communion line? The one still in his pew off to the side, who kept his face hidden?

As it turned out, the answer was all of them. After the last people had departed the cathedral, those five Arabs plus three more drew knives out as one and charged at Conrad’s group.

They were badly outnumbered and out-armed. The only member of Conrad’s group with a weapon of any kind was Hugo, who drew out a longsword. Conrad saw with displeasure that one of them was the mountain of a man, Achmed, the mute one. Another, the one with his face hidden, was the also-powerful Hamid. He was suddenly giving orders in Arabic. This assassination attempt was obviously not designed to fail.

“HELP! ATTACK! IN THE CATHEDRAL!” Frederick screamed shortly before the tussle began. It was not out of cowardice; he was just trying to even the odds.

The attack came. Hugo was able to hold off three of the potential assailants by holding out his sword; they could not compete with his reach. That still left five. Wilhelm ducked behind the pew; if the attackers were to come for him they would have to go over the top. Frederick was desperately fighting off one trying to plunge his knife in. Most were going for Conrad, however. The King of Outremer, thinking quick, had counter-rushed three men coming at him from the side, surprising the men and spilling the fight out into the center aisle of the Cathedral.

Elated at his success, Conrad tried to wrestle the knife from the closest man, but he wasn’t giving it up easily and now the other two were up and closing in on him. Realizing that this was a battle he could not win, he kicked the first man in his privates and retreated a few steps back. The man was hunched over in pain, blocking the aisle and impeding the other two’s momentum. Conrad had earned a brief respite.

Back in the main pew, a series of wrestling matches were occurring. Somebody had decided to climb over a pew and try for Wilhelm, who was still hunched and ready. However, the pew had slipped and gone askew, causing the man to lose his footing and trip onto Wilhelm. Both were now on the ground, fighting for the knife. Frederick now had Hamid gunning for his throat and it was taking the full strength of both of his arms to try to push the knife away. Despite this, he was still losing.

However, it was Hugo who drew first blood. One of the men he was fending off feinted, paused, and threw his knife at Hugo’s neck. Hugo easily parried it aside and quickly lunged at the now-unarmed thrower, stabbing him in the chest. He went down, moaning, and blood spilled on the stone floor and pews. Hugo turned to the other two men, who were now more cautious.

The three men chasing Conrad were now all up again and closing in on him. Conrad turned and ran down a pew aisle. He reached the other side with the men in about the middle. He gripped the end of the pew and with all his might swung the side. The pew moved, crashing into Conrad’s pursuers, buying him more time. He needed to find a weapon. He found some in the vigil candles (God forgive me, but this is a time of great need), and rushed over to them, grabbing a handful. He only had a split second of grace before he could fire them (Achmed was one of the men chasing him and had recovered instantly). Tossing all the candles in his right hand, he watched as they found their target. Achmed slowed, emitting a wordless scream.

Wilhelm had finally succeeded in wrenching the knife from his attacker’s grip and had managed to stab him in the throat. He turned around and locked blades for a second with a surprised Hamid, who had just overcome Frederick. Wilhelm quickly withdrew, his feet splashing in the blood created by three separate stab wounds. Six to three.

One of the men pursuing Conrad broke off from the chase and ran towards the altar, more specifically the Tabernacle off to the side. Grunting, he picked up the heavy golden box and staggered over to Hugo, chucking it over the heads of the two men he was holding off right at him. Hugo ducked, and the two men rushed him. One managed to implant his knife in Hugo’s back. Hugo, screaming, swung his sword wildly, lopping off the arm of his attacker. The man retreated back to the cathedral’s wall, groaning, and sat down. He was out of the fight, simply waiting to die. Meanwhile, the other two men still on Hugo were pushing him back little by little. Eventually he was back-to-back with Wilhelm, who was being marked by Hamid. The two men were surrounded by pews and attackers. Hamid grinned.

Finally, someone ran back into the church. It was the priest who presided over Mass that day, his white robes flailing as he ran. He couldn’t have been younger than fifty. Nevertheless, he did what was required of him. Hamid, who was completely focused on Wilhelm, never saw him coming. The priest began to choke him from behind. Hamid, surprised, flailed his arms for a minute, allowing Wilhelm to stab him in the stomach. Hamid went down but not before his knife found the priest’s shoulder. Both men went down, Wilhelm’s knife still implanted in Hamid as he fell, causing a large incision to be made. Wilhelm looked ready to vomit, but somehow managed to turn away and face Hugo’s attackers.

Three to four. Conrad ran over to the main action, eager to finally get a knife. As always, he was closely pursued by Achmed and the other man. In one fluid movement, he bounded over the bodies, picked up Hamid’s knife, and slashed, making contact with Achmed’s knee. Good. Maybe that will take some of the speed out of him. Achmed turned around to the other man and gestured rapidly. They switched positions, but Conrad struck as the other man was off-balance. The second that Conrad’s knife was in the other man’s groin, he was vulnerable. As he went down, the other man slashed, making a deep cut in Conrad’s arm. Conrad groaned, staring at Achmed. Both men were injured. After a second, Achmed charged but tripped over all of the corpses. He fell face-first to the ground, the blood splashing up onto Conrad’s shirt. Conrad switched the knife to his uninjured arm and quickly put the knife into the back of Achmed’s neck before he got up. Achmed did not rise.

“Exit’s clear!” Conrad yelled. “Watch for the bodies!”

The three men turned and ran for the exit doors. They were about halfway there when suddenly the doors to three confessional rooms opened. Out rushed Abdullah and two bodyguards. The exit was blocked. The two pursuing them blocked them from going out another way. They were trapped.

Abdullah, drawing a dagger along with his bodyguards, grinned. “One way out of this, Salier. You know it as well as I do. If you legalize the hashish, I might just let you live.”

“Ha!” Conrad spat back. “I would not allow myself to make your ‘generous offer’ be used as a crutch for me so soon.”

“So be it,” Abdullah said simply. He jerked his head in the slightest of motions. At that instant there were footsteps behind Conrad’s group. Hugo reacted quickest, spinning his sword around and making contact with his two attackers. They both fell in a pool of blood. After about five seconds Hugo joined them, his back wound finally getting the better of him. Hugo Bresch, poor Hugo Bresch, the veteran warrior who was against the hashish from the start, now became a casualty, a victim, of the substance. He died doing what he was supposed to do: protect the King of Outremer.

Conrad had no time to weep. He was bleeding freely from his arm and Wilhelm had taken quite a few bruises. The path to retreat was now open, but then all the deaths would have been meaningless. Abdullah would escape and surely organize another assassination attempt, and the next time Conrad wouldn’t have Hugo to protect him.

Without warning, Abdullah and his men charged, catching Conrad and Wilhelm unprepared for a moment. It was enough. They wrestled the two remaining Germans to the ground, the thin layer of blood between them and the hard ground somewhat dulling the impact.

Knives flew everywhere. Conrad took another slash, this time to the leg. Neither had any time to grab Hugo’s sword, and so they were forced to defend themselves at close range. The fighting soon got dirty. One of Abdullah’s men spat in Wilhelm’s eye, temporarily blinding him. Wilhelm took half a second to wipe the spit away, and his attacker used that short period of time as an opening. He plunged the knife in the German’s throat. Wilhelm, crying out silently, did the same in retaliation.

Conrad did not notice. He was too busy with his own battle. A knife was drawing perilously close to his own throat. In desperation, he bit the man’s hand, for his own weapon was being used to fight off Abdullah. Conrad rolled away, managing to grab a second knife from one of the many corpses on the ground.

He took stock of the situation: He was outnumbered, injured in two places, and facing relatively fresh and unhurt foes.

Jesus, grant me strength, he thought, and for a second, his wish was granted. The pain in his arm seemed to wash away, and with all his might Conrad threw both knives at Abdullah’s remaining bodyguard. The aim was off on one, but by luck (or the will of a higher power) that was the one that was blocked. The second throw’s aim was true and the knife embedded itself right in the man’s heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

It was down to Conrad and Abdullah. The two men stared at each other, and for the first time in his life Conrad was able to stand Abdullah’s bottomless eyes for more than a second. Abdullah was no longer grinning; his face was the epitome of hatred. He raised his knife and flung it. For a third time Conrad was wounded; this time it was in the shoulder. Moaning, he went down.

He opened his eyes and stared at the cathedral’s elaborate ceiling. It seemed to change before his eyes into a blue sky complete with white puffy clouds and white doves flying across his field of view. Is this a hashish vision, or is my life flashing before my eyes?

Suddenly, the brightness of the vision turned dark, and the ceiling returned. A moment later Abdullah’s face, once again grinning, blocked his view. He had picked up another knife. Conrad somehow found the strength to crawl back to avoid Abdullah’s final blow. Finally, though, he came across a roadblock – a corpse – and could crawl no more. Abdullah’s face came into view once more.

“End of the ro-OOMPH!” Abdullah’s speech was interrupted by Conrad shoving his hand in Abdullah’s face. His other hand was busy groping around for a weapon. He had to work quickly, Abdullah was strong and had position, both of his hands were working to get Conrad’s out of the way…

Abdullah finally did so and recovered his vision. In that brief moment he saw Conrad, tired and bloody but still triumphant, holding a longsword and stabbing it forward. Abdullah screamed and fell, adding his blood to the drenched cathedral floor.

Conrad paused and eventually got himself up with the help of two pews. He did not observe the carnage, and slowly limped out of the Cathedral of the Virgin Mary, seeking medical attention. There would be time to grieve later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, before the masses arrived, a dark, hooded figure stepped into the church. A barely-conscious Abdullah was the only person still living to witness it. This figure seemed to know this fact and made his way straight for Abdullah.

“Rise, Abdullah. That wound is nothing.” The man’s accent was indistinguishable, but his voice was that of poison.

Somehow, at these words Abdullah’s wound did not seem to hurt him anymore. He rose slowly but without a grimace.

“Do you wish revenge on the man who did this to you?”

Abdullah nodded, being unable to speak. After all, the man had just saved his life!

“You will not go back to the hashish. You are done with that silly substance and that foolish cartel. You will go to work for my associates. We are much more powerful and influential than any illegal operation that deals in drugs. We work behind the scenes and control the Reich’s affairs from afar. And we… deal with those Electors that do not cooperate. Your Salier is a target. Will you work with us?”

“Yes, of course… my master.” Abdullah did not consciously remember saying that last bit, but it just came out and he did not correct himself. He did not wish to correct himself.

“Good.” The dark figure clapped his hands. “We will begin immediately. Your first assignment is regarding Ulrich Hummel. He is becoming somewhat of a liability…”

Abdullah, fully reinvigorated with life, followed his new employer, his new master, out of the bloody cathedral and into the light of the day.