Arcanum Read Online Free PDF Page A

wooded hill that squatted opposite both the crag the fortress sat on and the town that clung to its skirts.
    On top of the hill was a tower, tall, black, glistening.
    Felix followed his gaze. “Then why are we …?”
    “Because our Teutonic friends need reminding. Every year, those that can head south for the fighting season, and none of them return. If they live, they invariably stay, given the choice between going home to a frozen swamp that’ll be in perpetual twilight for the next six months, and warming their toes in the Mittelmeer while Italian girls peel them grapes. So every year I have to re-educate the sons-of-bitches that they should leave my palatinate free of their stench.”
    Even if Felix didn’t yet understand the attractions of the girls, he could see the point. “So they don’t love their home?”
    “Gods, no. Why would they? It’s a miserable shit-hole fit only for little bitey flies and eels.” Gerhard waited again, and the door opened out into the courtyard. “And for some inexplicable reason, your stepmother doesn’t like me swearing in front of you.” He tapped the side of his nose.
    A man, talking with men, needed to be free with his language. They needed to know their leader was someone who knew a good two dozen names for his manhood, and who wouldn’t faint if he heard the gods being cursed.
    Perhaps it was time to take more of an interest in the education of his heir. Not his only heir any more: thanks to his new wife, he had spares, but all the same … Felix was thirteen this year. It was about time he was weaned off the milk his tutors gave him. More riding, more hunting, more of the martial disciplines – that Genoese fop Allegretti could stay because of his ability to make an edge sing – and more of the civil arts too. Starting now.
    “Dress plainly, boy. But put some steel on your belt. Something you know how to use. No point in turning up with some great pig-sticker you plainly can’t lift.”
    “Signore Allegretti has been teaching me to use two swords at once. He says the style is very popular in the south,” ventured Felix.
    “Has he indeed?” Gerhard thought it sounded like a dangerous affectation. “Can you beat him yet?”
    Felix scowled. “Not yet.”
    “And does the signore hit you with the flat of his blade when he wins?”
    “Yes. Sometimes twice if I’ve been stupid.”
    “Good.” It had been years since Gerhard had been thrashed by his old sword-master, but the lessons had stuck, both in his body and in his mind. Nothing fancy for him: just a longsword, light and strong, one-handed, two-handed, hews and blocks. If he had to, he could take that fat, greasy barbarian in single combat. Using a magical sword, naturally. “Go and get ready. Hurry.”
    Felix ran into the fortress ahead of his father, and Gerhard walked at a more measured pace through the doors and corridors and into the Great Hall at its centre. It was a big space, lit by both daylight and bright globes of enchanted crystal. Look up and, after the dimness of the entrance, a visitor would be blind.
    At the far end of the hall was a raised platform. On feast days, the high table would be set out there: his lady on his right, his favoured men with him. Today, there was nothing but a single high-backed chair.
    And Trommler. There was always Trommler.
    “My lord.”
    “You know what we should do?” Gerhard stepped up onto the dais and slumped into the throne.
    “What, my lord?”
    “Send the hexmasters up to the Baltic coast and get them to turn it into glass. That’d solve a few problems. And” – the prince wagged his finger – “half of Europe would thank me.”
    Trommler stroked his white beard with his fingers. “The Order wouldn’t trouble themselves with a matter so trifling as the Teutons.”
    “Hah! Trifling or not, we’ve one at our gates, and another three hundred on our borders.”
    “They’re camped near Simbach. The Bavarians have moved them quickly