Re: Steel and Gunpowder

Chapter 90: Five Years

If Marshal Eckhard was marching four thousand armed men south-west, and the exiled Württemberg vanguard was riding north-east to attend this fucking wedding... they were going to collide right in the middle of the road.

A disciplined Swabian army running face-first into an armored cavalry vanguard in the dead of night... it would be a bloodbath before anyone even realized they weren’t enemies.

He turned back to his desk, grabbing a scrap of vellum and his charcoal.

He scribbled a secondary note for the shadow-walker.

’Stay off the main western toll roads. Stick to the deep tree lines. If you see heavy lancers flying the Württemberg banners, let them pass. Do not engage.’

Konrad shoved the note into the hands of a second waiting spy, sending him sprinting after the first.

Konrad let out a long breath, resting his hands flat against the desk.

Creak... The doors pushed open once more. K

Elise slipped into the study, quickly shutting the door behind her. She looked furious.

"Konrad!" Elise hissed, "I am going to poison his wine! I swear to the saints, I am going to put lye in that fat pig’s chalice!"

Konrad frowned, "What happened with your sister? Did Bishop Tomas try to speak with you?"

"He didn’t just speak with me, he spoke about me!" Elise paced across the room, "I was in the upper gallery, hidden just as you ordered. I heard him talking to Duke Wilhelm near the hearth. He said he already has three minor Catholic barons lined up in Bavaria who would pay a rich dowry to take me away from this heretical keep!"

"..."

"I am not a broodmare, Konrad. If they force me into a carriage and send me to some illiterate lord who beats me for reading books..."

"They aren’t taking you anywhere," Konrad interrupted, "Nobody is putting you in a carriage, not Duke Wilhelm. Not the Bishop. Not the Pope himself. Look at me."

"Right now, yes, we have to play their tedious little games," Konrad said. "We have to hide our armies and pretend to care about their holy banners. But that is only right now."

He gestured toward his drafting table, "With the inventions coming into my mind... with the machines we are building in those lower forges... the world is about to change," Konrad promised, "Give me five years, just five years. I will build a kingdom so powerful, that not a single lord or king will ever dare to step foot in our valley without an invitation."

"One day," Konrad continued, "no one in this world will be able to talk down to you. Not a fat bishop, not a cowardly duke, not even the Holy Roman Emperor himself. Because whoever makes demands of the von Frundsberg house will be reduced to ash. Do you understand?"

Elise took a slow breath. She gripped her abacus a little less tightly and offered a small nod.

"I understand, Konrad," she whispered.

"Good," Konrad said, pulling his hand back. "Now go back to the upper treasury. Lock the door. If the Bishop comes knocking, tell the guards to break his fucking legs."

Three days passed... Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria and Bishop Tomas spent their days arguing over theology and sampling Swabia’s finest smuggled wines.

Katarina managed her father, keeping him distracted with discussions about seating charts and silk dowries.

Konrad knew Marshal Eckhard had successfully crossed the Savoyard border.

The silence from the southwest meant the fake Fugger convoy trap had sprung, and the Swabian guns were chewing through the remaining border barons.

Then, on the afternoon of the third day, the hunting horns blew from the northern watchtowers.

The exiled guests had arrived.

Konrad stood in the main courtyard, flanked by a dozen of his most intimidating Reiters.

He watched as the gates swung open and the vanguard of the exiled Duke of Württemberg rode into the keep.

However, the moment the riders crossed the threshold, Konrad’s mind snagged on a glaring detail.

There were roughly thirty armed lancers in the retinue... they rode tall, proud warhorses and wore the bruised, battered colors of their exiled house.

At their head rode Duke Ulrich himself - a notoriously bad-tempered, bearded man who looked like a lord who had spent the last few years sleeping in tents and borrowing money from anyone who would listen.

But as Konrad scanned the faces of the knights, a knot formed in his stomach.

Before the army had broken camp in the hidden ravine, Captain Ragnar had personally scouted the approaching Württemberg vanguard in the western passes to ensure they didn’t collide.

Ragnar had sent a detailed description of their forces back to the keep.

And looking at them now, Konrad realized the truth... the exiled Duke had arrived without any of the people Ragnar had seen, and more importantly, without any of the people Konrad himself had negotiated with on the snowy ridge.

There was no imposing Imperial Knight named Heinrich.

There was no slender, masked woman named Lady Amalia riding a black mare.

The people who held the Fugger silver, the people who claimed to be backed by the Emperor’s son... they were absent from this royal procession.

Konrad exchanged the necessary, tedious pleasantries, welcoming the exiled banner to his keep for the wedding.

Duke Ulrich was loud, arrogant, and clearly desperate for Bavarian allies, talking endlessly about how the Swabian Diet had wronged him.

Konrad barely heard a word the man said.

If Duke Ulrich was the true leader of the exiled army, why didn’t he know anything about the shipments of wheellocks and portable soup Konrad had been selling them for the last month?

When Konrad subtly mentioned the "western trade routes" during their initial greeting, the exiled Duke had just looked at him with genuine confusion.

Something was wrong... someone was playing a game of shadows, using the exiled Duke’s name to buy weapons and mass an army, and Duke Ulrich himself didn’t even seem to know it.

By the time the sun finally set behind the jagged peaks of the valley, plunging the keep into the freezing blackness of winter, Konrad had run out of patience.

He walked into his study, bypassing the blueprints. He opened a heavy wooden cabinet and pulled out a glass bottle of the strongest Swabian grain spirit his stills could produce.

He walked out of his study, marching straight down the corridor toward the western guest wing.

Konrad reached the door of the Duke of Württemberg’s assigned guest chamber.

The two exiled knights guarding the door crossed their halberds to block his path, but Konrad kicked the door open with his boot.

Duke Ulrich jumped in his chair by the hearth, nearly dropping the parchment he was reading.

The exiled lord looked up, "What is the meaning of this, Viscount?!" Duke Ulrich bellowed, standing up. "I am a guest of the Bavarian house. You do not simply break into my chambers in the dead of night!"

Konrad walked calmly into the center of the room, slamming the glass bottle of liquor down onto the table between them.

"Sit down, Ulrich," Konrad commanded.