Chapter 99: Two Miles Beyond
Two days passed.
The Great Hall of the von Frundsberg keep was unrecognizable.
The tables that were normally covered in canvas blueprints, scattered charcoal, and half-assembled wheellock mechanisms had been cleared away.
In their place sat silver platters of roasted venison, wheels of aged mountain cheese, and endless clay jugs of imported spiced wine.
Lute players plucked lively, cheerful tunes from the upper gallery, trying to drown out the distant thudding of the lower forges.
Konrad sat at the head of the high table, a silver goblet resting loosely in his hand.
Behind his calm expression, his mind was spinning, trying to sum up the variables of the last forty-eight hours.
His eyes drifted down the table, locking onto the exiled Duke Ulrich of Württemberg.
The bearded lord was laughing loudly, tearing a leg of roasted pheasant apart with his greasy fingers, oblivious to the scrutiny of the Swabian Viscount.
Konrad had gotten his answers from the man two nights ago.
He had kicked open the guest room door, slammed a glass bottle of Swabian grain spirit onto the table, and interrogated the exiled Duke until the man could barely sit upright.
It hadn’t taken much...
Ulrich was a broken, bitter man desperate for an ally.
Konrad now knew how many men the Duke commanded, who he owed money to, and exactly why he hated the Swabian Diet.
He knew most of the things from him now.
But the most revelation of that drunken interrogation was what Ulrich didn’t know.
When Konrad had pressed him about the secret trade pact on the northern ridge, the Fugger silver, and the five thousand wheellocks... Duke Ulrich had just stared at him with blank, completely genuine confusion.
He had no idea what Konrad was talking about.
Even so, Konrad had pushed harder, demanding to know the identity of the slender, highly commanding woman in the featureless metal mask.
Ulrich had sworn on his honor as a knight that he had no women in his vanguard, and certainly no one matching that description.
Nothing... the masked lady was a complete and utter ghost.
She had used the exiled banners of Württemberg as a highly convenient timed shield to buy an entire arsenal of industrialized weapons, and the real Duke was completely oblivious to the fact that his name was funding a massive, secret army.
Who the was she? And more importantly, where were those five thousand guns right now?
"You are scowling again, Lord Konrad," a soft voice whispered next to him.
Konrad blinked, pulling his mind out of the tactical fog.
Lady Katarina sat gracefully beside him, wearing a stunning gown of deep crimson silk.
She held a small glass of wine, offering him a sharp smile.
"I am not scowling," Konrad replied flatly, taking a slow sip from his goblet.
"Your father’s personal guards eat like starving wolves."
Katarina let out a laugh, "They are Bavarian halberdiers. They require a lot of meat to maintain their strength. Besides, you should be smiling. You are playing the part of the harmless groom beautifully. My father suspects nothing."
She subtly nodded her head toward the center of the table.
Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria was deeply engaged in a heated theological debate with Bishop Tomas.
The fat papal envoy was waving a greasy chicken bone around to emphasize his points about the Vatican’s supreme authority, while the Duke nodded along piously.
They were completely blind...
They had been sitting inside the keep for days, unaware that Swabia’s main army was missing.
"They only see what they want to see," Konrad muttered, "They see a few hundred farm boys drilling in the yard, and they assume my entire military strength is accounted for. Let them drink."
After hearing such words, Katarina leaned a fraction closer, "You are very confident for a man who is hiding an entire army, Konrad. But armies make noise. How long do you really think you can keep them out of sight before the Bishop demands a full inspection of your garrisons?"
"As long as I need to," Konrad answered smoothly.
But deep down, the anxiety was gnawing at his ribs like a starving rat.
It had been nearly eight days since Marshal Eckhard had marched the four thousand men and twenty-one cannons out of the hidden ravine.
Eight days of silence from the Savoyard border.
If the fake Fugger convoy trap had worked, the cannons should have shattered the border keep days ago.
If it had failed, or if Eckhard had run into a Savoyard ambush, Konrad would have no way of knowing until the enemy marched right up to his own gates.
Though the feast was a necessary shield, sitting here drinking wine while his revolution bled in the mud was pure agony.
Suddenly, the doors at the far end of the Great Hall pushed open.
A young servant, dressed in the simple brown wool tunic of the kitchen staff, walked briskly into the room carrying a fresh silver pitcher of spiced wine.
Konrad noticed the man instantly.
The servant’s footsteps were too light, silent against the floor... It was one of Isolde’s shadow-walkers.
The spy navigated the crowded tables with practiced ease, smoothly stepping up behind Konrad’s high chair.
He leaned over, pretending to refill Konrad’s silver goblet, while tilting his head just enough to hide his mouth from the Bishop’s view.
"My Lord..."
"A party of your Reiters just arrived from the west. Their horses are blown. They are covered in blood and mud."
Konrad’s heart gave a sudden, powerful jolt, "Where are they?" Konrad asked, his jaw tightening.
"They are waiting in the pine forest, just two miles beyond the eastern ridge," the shadow-walker replied. "Klaus is carrying a sealed dispatch from Marshal Eckhard. He refuses to hand it to anyone but a member of the high household. He says the war news is too massive to risk."
Konrad let out a slow breath.
The news was finally here...
The fate of his entire Savoyard invasion was sitting in a leather pouch just two miles away in the dark.
"You have two options, Lord Konrad," the spy whispered, finishing the pour and stepping back slightly to maintain the servant disguise.
"You can slip out through the postern gate and go to the forest by yourself to read the dispatch. Or, you can send someone with high authority to fetch the letter from Klaus."
Konrad stared down into his freshly poured wine.
If he stood up right now and walked out of the Great Hall in the middle of his own wedding feast, Duke Wilhelm would notice. Bishop Tomas would definitely notice.
The fat clerk was already highly suspicious of Konrad’s missing sister, Elise.
If the groom suddenly vanished into the night, the Vatican spy would immediately send his Swiss guards to investigate.
He couldn’t send Isolde, either...
The spymaster was managing the flow of the servants, and her sudden absence would raise too many questions.
He needed someone who could leave the hall unquestioned.
Someone whose movements were protected by noble privilege.
Someone who could literally walk right past the Bavarian halberdiers without a single guard daring to ask where they were going.
Konrad slowly turned his head to the side.
Katarina raised an elegant eyebrow, taking another small sip of her wine. "Is there a problem with the vintage?"
Konrad looked at the shadow-walker standing behind his chair.
"Send Katarina."
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