Henry swung the cart around outside the barn, checking the security of the ropes binding the two surviving scavengers in the back alongside the heavy load of recovered supplies.
“See you later, Theresa,” Henry called out, settling onto the bench and taking the reins.
“See you later, Henry.
May God watch over you,” Theresa replied, watching him pull away.
With a click of his tongue and a flick of the leather reins, the horses stepped forward, and Henry’s journey began once more.
The road leading down toward the lower settlement carried the faint, familiar smells of rural life—grain dust from the mill and damp timber.
Along the trail, local bakers had set up wooden trays with fresh loaves, and farmers were hawking early morning vegetables to travelers heading toward the castle gates.
Further along the path, outside one of the roadside bathhouses, a bath wench leaned against the wooden post.
Seeing a young man driving a loaded cart with a sword at his side, she lifted her skirt just enough to flash a sliver of ankle and flashed a flirtatious smile.
“What do you say, young man?
Where are you coming from on such a long journey?
Don’t you think a long trail deserves some interesting companion?”
Henry kept his eyes on the road, barely sparing her a glance.
“Not today,” he said, flicking the reins.
“I’ve got business at the castle.”
Ahead of him lay the steep uphill trail leading to the lower gate of Rattay.
The climb was brutal on the horses, but its strategic design was obvious: any enemy attempting to force their way up the narrow incline would be completely exposed to archers firing from the castle ramparts, while defenders inside could easily mount an escape down the same slope.
As the cart reached the archway of the lower gate, two guards stepped into the path with pikes lowered.
“Halt!
Who are you and what is your business here?”
“I’m Henry, son of the Skalitz blacksmith, and a survivor of the raids,” Henry said, holding the reins tight.
“I’ve come from Skalitz with news of the region, and I’m here to see my liege, Sir Radzig Kobyla.”
The guard scoffed, resting an elbow on his pike.
“Of course you are, lad.
And I’m the Pope!
What makes you think Sir Radzig has time to see a peasant?”
“I am Sir Radzig’s blacksmith,” Henry said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, calm tone.
“I’ve just come back from Skalitz.
I’ve fought off scavengers and survived the Cumans.
Do you think you can scare me?”
The guard blinked, taking in Henry’s armor and steady gaze.
He raised a hand and waved him through with a dismissive grumble.
“All right, go on then.
It’s your head Sir Radzig will take off, not mine.”
Henry nudged the horses forward through the portcullis, turning left into the lower courtyard of Rattay.
Near the roadside leading toward Pirkstein Castle, the Skalitz refugees had set up a makeshift camp.
It was a miserable sight—tent shelters constructed from single sheets of threadbare cloth, scrap wool, and damp hay.
Men and women huddled together in the mud, surrounded by stagnant puddles.
Henry searched the faces in the crowd.
Near a small, smoky fire sat Beran alongside his wife, who was desperately trying to boil something in a battered iron pot.
Further back, Old Thomas sat on a crate, staring blankly at the mud.
“Henry?
Is that you?”
Henry pulled the reins and turned toward the voice.
Running toward the cart was Johanka—the girl Theresa had saved during the slaughter—alongside his childhood friends: Matthew, Fritz, and Matthias.
Relief washed over Henry as he set the brake lever.
“Johanka!
Fritz, Matthew, Matthias…
thank God you’re alive.”
As he looked at them, a realization hit him: I’ve arrived early.
In another life, the original Henry would have been lying unconscious in a bed for two to three weeks, recovering from deep wounds.
Because he had acted faster, his friends hadn’t yet dispersed to find work in Sasau or the surrounding quarries.
They were still here, trapped in the immediate aftermath of the disaster.
Fritz shoved Matthew forward, his eyes darting hungrily over the sacks of grain and the iron armor loaded in the back.
“Henry…” Fritz muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What’s all this?
Is there food in there?”
“It’s supplies salvaged from Skalitz,” Henry said calmly.
“And I’m bringing it to Sir Radzig.”
Fritz spat into the mud, frowning.
“Radzig?
“I went back to bury my parents,” Henry replied, his voice dropping low.
“And I ran into scavengers along the way.”
Henry paused for a few seconds, watching to see if anyone would press further.
None did, until Johanka stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly over her apron.
“Henry…
if you have anything to spare,” Johanka pleaded softly, “the people of Skalitz have been rationing what little we have.
The older folk can manage, but the young children are going hungry…”
Henry looked past her at two small children huddled under a damp woolen blanket.
He looked back at Johanka, seeing how thin her own face had gotten over the last few days.
“Matthew,” Henry called out, pointing toward the back of the wagon.
“Take that heavy bag next to the bound men.”
Fritz raised an eyebrow.
“Bound men?
Bandits?”
“Yeah,” Henry said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“They tried to ambush me near neuhof.
I killed one and captured two so Sir Radzig’s captains can interrogate them for information.”
Fritz stared at him, taking in Henry’s clean wool, his sword, and the cold stillness in his posture.
“Look at you…” Fritz grunted, half-impressed, half-jealous.
“A week ago you couldn’t hold a wooden sword straight against Vanyek, and now you’re riding around like some lord’s sergeant.”
“At a time like this, Fritz, we all need to know how to defend ourselves,” Henry said quietly.
Matthew dragged the heavy sack of grain and dried meats down from the cart.
“Distribute this food to the children first,” Henry instructed Johanka.
“Make sure every child in this camp gets a full bowl tonight.”
Tears welled in Johanka’s eyes.
“Thank you, Henry.
May the Lord bless you.”
“Thank you, brother,” Matthew and Matthias added, while Fritz gave a respectful nod.
Henry gave a quick nod in return, flicked the reins, and continued up the cobblestone path toward Pirkstein Castle.
He halted the wagon inside the inner courtyard, dismounted, and stretched his legs before heading toward the stone staircase leading into the upper quarters.
Two guards posted at the base of the stairs stepped forward, squinting through the torches.
“Henry?
Is that really you, lad?” called out one of the guards.
“Boris?
Jannick?” Henry smiled faintly.
“I’m glad to see you both made it out.”
“We’re glad too!” Jannick said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“We thought you were dead in the valley!
What in God’s name are you doing back here?
Did you go back to Skalitz?”
“I had to go back,” Henry said softly.
“I had to bury my parents.”
Jannick’s face softened, and he rested a hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“Your father fought like a lion that day, He was a good man.
You did the right thing by giving him a Christian burial.”
“I was able to finish it,” Henry explained, “but there were bandits near Rovna who raided the village and stole supplies from the stables.
I took care of them and brought back the stolen goods.
They’re down in the carriage right now, along with two captives.”
Boris gasped, looking down at the wagon in the courtyard.
“My God, Henry…
we knew you wanted to learn sword , but who would have expected you to become a full-fledged warrior in a matter of days?”
“Didn’t have much choice,” Henry said, resting a hand on his pommel.
“Either you learn to fight, or you die in the ditch with the rest.”
Now, I need to report to Sir Radzig.
Where can I find him?
“He’s up in the Great Hall with Sir Hanush,” Boris replied, stepping aside to clear the stairs.
“They’re feasting tonight.
Go on up, lad—he’ll want to hear what you have to say.”
Henry nodded, adjusted the sword at his belt, and began his walk up the stone steps toward the hall.
=
Inside the Great Hall of Pirkstein Castle, warm firelight washed over heavy oak tables laden with roasted meats, bread trenchers, and metal goblets.
“Your Grace, I have to tell you in all seriousness…
this land of ours is in deep fucking shit.
Don’t you agree?” Hanush thundered, slamming his mug onto the timber.
Sir Radzig Kobyla sat across from him, his face lined with exhaustion and grief, yet maintaining his quiet dignity.
“I might not have put it as eloquently as you, Hanush,” Radzig replied, a tired wryness in his voice, “but considering I’ve been driven out of my own castle, I’m hardly going to disagree.”
“Well, Radzig, indeed, Pirkstein is yours for as long as you need it,” Hanush said, gesturing broadly with his hand before resting it heavily on the shoulder of his young ward, Hans Capon.
“There’s room enough for you and your men in Rattay, and I’m sure my ward won’t have any objection to me lending you his castle.”
Hans Capon offered a polite, practiced nod toward Radzig.
“I’d be honored, Your Grace.
Pirkstein is at your disposal for as long as you wish.” He smirked slightly, adding, “Besides, it’s just as well—we have another castle at the other end of town.”
“At any rate, I am deeply beholden to you, Sir Hans.
And to you, Sir Hanush,” Radzig said, bowing his head respectfully.
Sitting nearby, Jaroslav, the Vicar and representative of the Church, set down his cup and cleared his throat.
“I don’t like to speak ill of people, Sir Radzig, but…
well, there is no love between the townfolk and the refugees.
There has already been talk of criminality among those camped outside the walls.”
Hanush waved his hand dismissively.
“Well, they’ll just have to get used to it until this mess is resolved!”
“Forgive me, my Lord,” Father Vicar added quietly from the end of the table, “but when will this be resolved?
In God’s name, why is any of this happening?”
“I won’t lie to you, Father, I don’t fully understand it myself,” Radzig admitted, staring into his cup.
“You aren’t far off the mark,” the Vicar chimed in.
“I believe Sigismund’s original intention was merely to persuade Wenceslaus to accept the imperial crown in Rome, leaving the actual governance of Bohemia to him.”
“And who could blame him?” Hanush interjected, grunting as he tore a piece of meat.
“I know Wenceslaus is your friend, Radzig, but even you have to admit he brought this upon himself!
The man neglects his kingdom!”
“I cannot deny the King neglected affairs of state for…
other pursuits,” Radzig said, his voice grating with suppressed frustration.
“There is a dire need for order in the realm, but I don’t think the lords who sided with Sigismund realize just what ‘Hungarian order’ truly looks like.”
Hanush let out a harsh, booming laugh.
“Hungarian order!
Ha!”
“What concerns me most, my Lords,” the Vicar noted piously, “is how a good Christian prince could resort to such sheer brutality against his own brother’s subjects.”
“To give Sigismund his due, I don’t think he expected the lords of this region to stand firm behind King Wenceslaus,” Radzig explained soberly.
“But thanks to him, Bohemia is tearing itself apart—and now he’s scrambling to keep control.”
Young Hans Capon, who had been listening intently, leaned forward on his elbows.
“But why in God’s name does he have to use those steppe-savages?
Those Cumans?”
“Money is the root of all evil, young man,” Hanush grunted.
“Wars are costly affairs, and this one has dragged on for over a year.
Sigismund ran out of coin to pay proper noble knights, so he hired those whoresons that settled in the Hungarian plains.
The less he pays them in wage, the more they make up for it in plunder!”
Radzig nodded grimly.
“That is precisely why he struck Skalitz.
He wasn’t just making a political statement—he was after our silver mines.”
Before anyone could reply, the heavy iron-reinforced doors at the end of the Great Hall creaked open.
Henry crossed the threshold, clad in clean clothes and looking fit to stand before a lord.
The guard stationed inside the door immediately stepped forward, grabbing his spear to block Henry’s path.
“Hey!
What are you doing?
We have no business here!
Clear off, peasant!”
The guard raised his hand to shove Henry back into the corridor, but paused as Radzig’s head snapped around.
Radzig’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he stood up from his chair.
“Wait…
Henry?” Radzig called out, his voice a mix of shock and confusion.
“Henry!
Who I explicitly ordered to remain at Talmberg!”
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