Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

"Name not that evil!" snapped Lopez. "And lower your weapon, girl!" His companions moved forward.

"Stop!" cried Maria. "I'll shoot at least one of you others!" The canaler was holding her own pistol two handed. She stood feet apart, weapon raised, looking like Nemesis.

The Basque priest seemed to be almost grinding his teeth. "Madness!" he hissed.

"Thank God you've gotten back," snapped Erik. "We've been summoned to assemble in the courtyard. Every one of us, in full armor. Something is happening."

Manfred nodded. "We need to talk to Petro Dorma. I think it's time to shed pretenses."

"It's time to dress in full armor," said Erik, grimly. "I have a feeling we've left talking too late. But when this assembly is over we'll go and find Count Von Stemitz, and get him to authenticate you, and go and see Dorma. I tried to get out to fetch you earlier. This place is sealed tighter than water-damageable deck-cargo. They must have let you in, but Sachs's trusties are not letting anyone out. No one. Now move it."

Fifteen minutes later, they stood to attention in squads in the courtyard. The knight-proctors inspected them, reported back to the abbot, returned to their squads.

The abbot stood in front of serried rows of steel-clad men. He held up a wad of parchment. "These are a final and complete list of the Jews, Strega, Mussulmen and other ungodly ones in this pesthole," he announced in a triumphant voice. "I have addresses and maps. We will be arresting the ringleaders tonight, Ritters, just as soon as the tocsin bell in Saint Mark's square is rung. Tomorrow a full contingent of our Knights will be arriving from Trieste to help restore order in what will be the new southern frontier of the Holy Roman Empire."

Erik heard Manfred, standing next to him, draw a deep breath. He waited for the bull-like bellow. It didn't come.

Sachs had paused, as if he too had been waiting for something. Then he continued. "Knight-Proctors. Step forward and collect your orders. Squads are to remain together, at their assigned posts, until the tocsin bell rings. Then you will move out, with your assigned group of Servants of the Holy Trinity, to protect you from whatever magic these ungodly ones may attempt to unleash at you. Fear not! God and the holy Saint Paul are with us!"

Erik and Manfred found themselves assembled in a front salon along with some twenty knights, under the command of Knight-Proctors Von Welf and Von Stublau. Many of the other knights had been kept back in the courtyard.

He and Manfred walked up to the two knight-proctors.

"Who said you could break ranks?" snapped Von Welf.

Manfred took a deep breath. "We need to take you to see Count Von Stemitz, Von Welf. There is something he's got to tell you."

Von Welf smiled a particularly unpleasant smile. "We'll be seeing him soon enough. As soon as the bell in Saint Mark's Square begins to ring continuously. His name is on the top of our list."

There was a moment's silence. Erik heard footsteps shuffling behind him; quietly, as if heavily armored men were trying to move stealthily across a tile floor. Two or three of the knights in the salon were coming up behind him and Manfred.

He was quite certain of their purpose, and had to fight down a savage smile.

In the distance a bell began to ring. "That's early," said Von Stublau, quietly, almost conversationally. "But it's the signal. Such a pity that Petro Dorma ordered you killed. The evidence and report are on their way to the Brenner pass right now."

But Erik was moving before the Prussian had finished the last sentence. He knocked Manfred aside with a thrust of his right arm and spun to the left, dropping to one knee as he did so. The poignard in the hand of the knight assigned to stab him in the back passed overhead harmlessly. An instant later, the Algonquian hatchet sheared through the knee joint in the knight's armor.

The knight screamed and toppled forward. Erik rose up beneath him and added his own thrust to the topple, sending the armored man crashing into the two Prussian knight-proctors.

Erik glanced at Manfred. The prince had been expecting treachery also, of course. And if Manfred did not have Erik's lightning reflexes, he could move much faster than anyone would expect. Erik's shove had sent him out of immediate danger, and by the time the knight assigned to murder Manfred had reached him…

The prince had his sword out. A sword he had learned to use extremely well over the past year. His assailant attempted a feint, which Manfred countered by the simple expedient of lopping his arm off. The knight went one way, the arm another. Blood poured over the tiles.

For a moment, Erik studied the remaining knights in the salon. They were still frozen in place, immobilized by the sudden and unexpected violence. Clearly enough, none of them except two had been directly involved in Von Stublau's plot.

Von Stublau and Von Welf were struggling back onto their feet?no easy task for heavily armored men sent sprawling to the ground. Von Stublau was on Erik's side, Von Welf nearer to Manfred.

Von Welf never made it up at all. Manfred's sword, in a backswing, shattered his helmet and the skull inside it. Von Welf sprawled back onto the floor and lay there motionless.

Erik disarmed Von Stublau with a quick hooking motion of the hatchet, a maneuver the Prussian neither expected nor had ever encountered before. He was still looking more puzzled than anything, when his attention was riveted by the razor edge of the hatchet?three inches in front of his eyes.

"Make any move and I'll take off your face," said Erik cheerfully. "That nose guard might as well be a lady's veil, as much good as it'll do you."

Von Stublau froze. The Icelander's thin smile was as friendly as a wolf's.

"You made two mistakes, Von Stublau. The first one is that bell. You see, that isn't the one from Saint Mark's Square. That's the Marangona, the bell they ring every morning at the Arsenal. It goes on for half an hour every morning, so you should know it. As this isn't morning, and as the Arsenal is working right now, I imagine someone has found out about your plot."

The knight-proctor looked startled. Then, began to pale.

"And the second one is that you shouldn't assume everyone is as stupid as you are."

He raised his voice. "Prince Manfred, Earl of Carnac, your uncle His Imperial Highness, Charles Fredrik, Holy Roman Emperor, has given me orders to kill any man who threatens your life." Erik grabbed the lower edge of Von Stublau's helmet and jerked him forward, kicking the knight-proctor's legs out from under him and driving him back down. The Prussian grunted with pain as his knees smashed into the floor.

"Kneel, traitor. May he be shriven first, My Lord Earl?"

Everything was moving too fast for the remaining knights to understand what was happening. Most of them were still slack-jawed with surprise. But at least two thirds of them, out of training if nothing else, had drawn their broadswords.

The doors at the back of the salon opened. The entry of soldiers or other knights might have simply made the situation explode into violence. Outnumbered sixteen to two, Erik and Manfred would have been hard-pressed to survive long enough for any kind of rescue.

Except… by an unarmed, haughty, imperially-dressed woman, accompanied by an elderly gentleman in court clothes. The woman looked like a princess. She certainly wore enough jewels.

Francesca smiled at them from under her tiara. The knights parted like the Red Sea before Moses, opening up to allow her and Count Von Stemitz to walk through.

She curtsied to Manfred. The count bowed low.

Manfred behaved as if he had, not a few moments back, been in a fight for his life, and didn't have a bloody sword in his hand. "Princess." His mind raced for a suitable address. Well. There were enough little principalities in the Empire. Let the Knots guess. "How may we assist?"