Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (4 page)

Glancing around him, Thomas saw he lay on a bed of
spruce boughs covered with a plush lambskin blanket. Another heavy
skin was on top of his naked body and pulled right up under his
chin. Though he could not see them, he felt the snugness of
bandages wrapped around his middle and one leg.

At first he thought he was in a large tent, but then
realized his head was inches from the base of a giant spruce, and
the walls of the tent were, in fact, the tree’s overgrown limbs
stretched down to the ground. A tiny, smokeless fire burned on the
far side of the natural room, and beyond that was an opening in the
evergreen wall just large enough for a person to squeeze
through.

The old man held a wooden bowl to Thomas’s mouth.
The lukewarm broth, thin but pungent, flowed past his cracked lips
and traced a route clear down to his stomach. The man pulled the
bowl away before Thomas could drink his fill.

“Enough. For now. It would not do to sodden your
roots just yet.”

After working the saliva around in his mouth and
swallowing, Thomas found his voice.

“Seraina?”

The old man smiled. “She is fine. Do not fret over
her whereabouts, as I suspect she will be along shortly.”

“Who are you?” The strength and clarity of his own
voice surprised Thomas. Starting at his toes he began flexing his
muscles one by one, in an attempt to gauge the severity of his
injuries.

“Some names are worth knowing, Thomas Schwyzer. Mine
is not one of those. I did not kill you in your sleep, so I suspect
you can tell that I am a friend, and that should be enough.”

A rustle to Thomas’s right made him risk turning his
neck, and what he saw sent his heart hammering off the walls of his
chest once again. An enormous wolf, its fur the same downy white as
the old man’s hair and beard, sat on its haunches less than two
strides away. It caught Thomas’s sudden movement and turned its
great head toward him. Its lips curled up to bare pink gums and
jagged teeth longer than a man’s finger. A guttural warning echoed
up from somewhere deep in the back of the beast’s throat.

Thomas found himself scrambling back to lean on his
elbows and his head banged against the trunk of the giant spruce.
Pain lanced down his side and his leg throbbed as blood coursed
through the limb.

“Oppid! Get back. Our patient does not need to see
the likes of you just yet.”

He reached out and pressed his hand against Thomas’s
chest. Thomas risked a glance at the old man and wondered if he had
been saved by a hermit touched by madness. But there was something
about the way the man spoke and the rhythm of his words, and before
he knew it, Thomas was once again lying under the warm lambskin.
His eyes, however, remained fixed on the snarling wolf.

The old man began talking to the beast as though
Thomas was no longer present. “Even if he meant us ill, a man in
his condition is no threat to either one of us. Surely you can see
that? Settle down now.”

The beast kept its amber eyes fixed on Thomas and
slowly lowered itself onto its belly. After a moment it rested its
massive head on top of paws the size of full-grown rabbits.

“Is that your animal?” Thomas asked once he could
speak.

“Oppid is my companion,” the old man said. “You have
to forgive him. He is not the trusting sort.”

“But he is tamed?”

“Tame?” The old man looked at Thomas and laughed,
revealing straight teeth even whiter than his beard. “By Ardwynna’s
Grace, of course he is not tame. He is a wolf.”

That did little to set Thomas at ease. He could not
keep his eyes from the wolf, and finally the old man sensed his
discomfort. He said a few words in a tongue unfamiliar to Thomas
and the wolf padded to the doorway. But before he exited the tree
shelter, he turned his golden eyes on Thomas and gave him one last
blood-curdling snarl, as if to say,
I will not be far
.

With the wolf gone, Thomas relaxed. He continued the
self-assessment of his injuries. He felt the stiffness of stitches
on his thigh, as well as his torso and chest, but there were no
severed muscles or ligaments from what he could tell. Even though
he was concealed beneath the blanket, his nakedness was
uncomfortable. The Knights of Saint John were forbidden to sleep
naked, and it was a rule that was strictly enforced.

“I owe you my life,” he said.

“Not me. Seraina is the one that tended your wounds.
And she did a fine job, I should say. You were already on the mend
when I first saw you.”

Thomas glanced down at the line of stitches
stretching down his side. “It would seem her skill rivals that of
Hildegard of Bingen,” Thomas said.

One side of the old man’s mouth turned up in a
smirk. “Ah, you mean Sibyl of the Rhine? Your church did well to
claim her as one of its own, I will give you that. But tell me, why
has she not been ushered into Sainthood when so many undeserving
ones have?”

The hostility in his words caught Thomas off guard.
“It was meant as a compliment. I know very little of Hildegard. If
not for her texts on healing, I doubt I would even know her
name.”

“You know only what the church would have you know.
Nothing more.”

“I know God saw fit to imbue her with great healing
skills. Is that not enough?”

“Why is it that you Christians are so eager to
attribute all the good in this world to God and all things evil to
the Devil?”

“God sets us all on the path He sees fit,” Thomas
said.

“Well, your god had nothing to do with Seraina’s
skills. Seraina worked hard for her knowledge. I have never seen a
disciple so devoted.”

“You were her teacher?”

“One of many.”

There was a slight rustle at one of the makeshift
branch-walls and Seraina slipped through. Her eyes went wide when
she saw Thomas sitting up.

“You are awake!”

She dropped the sack in her hand and was at Thomas’s
side before he could speak. She took his hand in hers and placed
the other on his forehead.

“How do you feel?” her eyes glowed in the
half-darkness of the shelter and Thomas found himself unable to
look away.

“Good,” he said. “Better than good, all things
considered.”

Seraina took his hand in both of hers and lowered
herself onto the edge of the bed. “And you will feel even better
soon. The worst is over.” She turned to the old man. “Gildas, give
him some broth.”

Gildas cleared his throat. “I already did.”

“He needs more,” Seraina said. “I can feel it in his
heart rhythms.”

The old man grunted. “Very well. He is your patient,
after all.” He held out the bowl for Thomas to take. “But if he
needs more he should be strong enough to feed himself.”

Thomas began sipping at it slowly, and his hands
shook at first, but once the liquid reached his stomach he drank in
greedy gulps. Before he could empty the bowl, Seraina laughed and
reached out her hand to cover his own. She took the broth from him
and he fell back into the bed.

“That is enough,” she said. “For now. I can see
Gildas is about to throw a fit.”

“How long have I been here? And, for that matter,
where is here?” Thomas asked, glancing around at their cave-like
shelter of tree branches.

“Six days,” Seraina said. “We are only a few miles
from the hollow in Kussnacht where you found me. You were too
injured to move any further. But no need to worry. We are
well-hidden. Leopold’s men could never find us here.” The words
bubbled out of her and she seemed to take great delight in wiping
the remains of broth from Thomas’s chin with the sleeve of her
dress.

Six days?
Thomas clenched his fingers and
flexed his leg muscles. They responded well and did not feel like
they had been inactive for six days.

Gildas seemed to sense what was going through
Thomas’s mind. “Seraina exercised your limbs for you, when you
could not. Your recovery may seem
miraculous
to you, but it
is nothing of the sort. It is thanks to Seraina’s hands keeping
your blood flowing from your heart to your extremities and back
again.”

Thomas stopped flexing his thigh muscles and was
suddenly very aware of how naked he was under the lambskin blanket.
He looked at Seraina.

“You have my gratitude,” he said. “I hope it was not
too… much trouble.”

She shrugged. “You would have done the same for me,
I am sure.”

Thomas caught the trace of a smile on her lips
before his eyes dropped to his hands. A breeze rustled the walls of
their shelter, and a few green needles drifted down onto his bed.
He was grateful to have something to focus upon.

“And my clothes…?” he said, to no one in
particular.

“I burned them,” Seraina said. “They were ruined and
bore the stink of memories best forgotten.” Her eyes dimmed for
just a moment, and then flared to life again like a candle burning
too hot for a thumb and finger to extinguish. She pointed to the
sack on the ground. “I have brought you all new clothing. It is
time to make some new memories.”

Her words came too late for Thomas. His mind had
latched onto the colossal form of his boyhood friend lying still
and filthy in a dark prison cell. Thomas closed his eyes to shut it
out, but that was a mistake, for the image only grew more real. He
could see Pirmin’s swollen face, beaten beyond recognition. Bruises
and great purple welts in the shape of hobnailed boots lined his
chest and ribcage, and his once muscular arm lay blackened at his
side, seeping puss and a foul, cloudy liquid. He snapped his eyes
open before his mind could force him to relive the rotting stench
that went along with the death of his best friend.

Thomas looked at Seraina and worked the dryness from
his mouth. “And Pirmin? Do you know what became of his body?”

Seraina nodded. “Noll saw to him, but do not worry
about that now. You should focus on your own recovery.”

Thomas pushed himself up on one elbow. “Was he
buried on holy ground? I saw to his shrivening, but it would all be
for naught if he is put to rest anywhere but church land.”

“I have not yet visited his grave,” Seraina said
softly. “But I am sure Noll would have seen to it.”

Thomas grimaced as he raised himself higher. “I must
go and see for myself. Will you take me there?”

He attempted to swing a leg out from under his
blanket but the movement pulled at his stitches. Pain swept up his
side and his head pounded.

Seraina placed her hands on his shoulders. When she
spoke her words were soft but firm. “I will take you, in time. But
not until you are strong enough.”

Thomas resisted for only a moment before he felt his
strength drained away by the effort. He collapsed back into the
blankets and closed his eyes until the throbbing in his skull
subsided. He had to see Pirmin’s resting place. He would not risk
his friend being turned away at Saint Peter’s Gate because Thomas
had neglected his duties. But, he also knew his limits.

He opened his eyes and stared at the green canopy
above. “Tomorrow, then,” he said.

Seraina leaned back and lifted her hands from his
shoulders. “That is not for us to decide. You have been through a
great deal and we must allow the Weave time to welcome you back
into her fold.”

“I will be capable of travel tomorrow,” Thomas
said.

They stared at each other, locked in a battle of
wills, until Gildas spoke up. “Ready or not, he means to set out
tomorrow, Seraina. I suggest we be prepared to accompany him.”

Later that afternoon, with a little prodding from
Gildas, Seraina agreed to let Thomas stand. After pulling on his
new breeches, Thomas stood with Seraina’s help. With his arm around
her shoulders, the two of them shuffled between the bed and fire
until a light sheen covered Thomas’s brow and the breath rattled in
his chest.

Gildas and Oppid sat together on the ground and
watched. The old man, with his back pressed up against the trunk of
the tree, chewed thoughtfully on a blade of grass. The intense way
the pair eyed Thomas made him nervous, but he tried to dismiss the
feeling and concentrate on taking one painful step after another.
After all, who
would not be
uncomfortable limping about in
front of a giant wolf?

When Seraina finally eased Thomas back into his bed,
he grunted with relief. As darkness settled in, Gildas stoked the
fire and they ate a simple meal of cheese, blackberries, and
crunchy white tubers Thomas had never before seen. Although
suspicious at first, he found them to be delicious and, because of
their high water content, thirst quenching.

“He eats well. That, at least, is a good sign,”
Gildas said.

Seraina smiled at Thomas and nodded. “His body has
begun to take over the healing process. I suppose I am no longer
needed. Of course, I suspect someone will have to help him into his
boots in the morning.”

Thomas smiled weakly. The exercise had exhausted
him, and his body demanded sleep as it attempted to digest the
simple meal. He fought off the closing of his eyes once, but could
not find the strength to resist when they shut a second time.

Later, he was woken by a hair-raising howl that
belonged in the coldest hours of a full-moon night. Confused and
disoriented, Thomas tried to sit up. He clutched at weapons that
were not there.

But Seraina was. She stood over him and placed a
hand on his bare shoulder.

“Shh… it is only Oppid,” she said.

There was still enough light from the fire for
Thomas to make out the fine features of her face, and of course,
her eyes. “Lay back now…”

Somewhere outside their forest shelter, Oppid cried
out to his kin once more. This time it was longer and, it seemed to
Thomas, filled with anguish. Despite the comforting sound of
Seraina’s voice, and the warmth of her hand on his skin, Thomas
felt a chill roll up his spine.