Sturm clouds musket men.., p.1
Sturm Clouds (Musket Men Book 6), page 1
MUSKET MEN
BOOK 6
STURM CLOUDS
By Gilbert M. Stack
Amazon Edition
Copyright 2024 by Gilbert M. Stack
Cover Copyright 2024 by Chris L. Adams
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Map of the Three Empires and the Surrounding Regions, 1197
Table of Contents
Map of the Three Empires and the Surrounding Regions, 1197
Dedication
The Commandments of Wotan
The Rule of Wotan
Prologue: Weapons Shopping
Chapter One: Approaching Cidade Fortaleza
Chapter Two: The Greeting Ceremony
Chapter Three: Sturm’s New Home
Chapter Four: The Welcoming Party
Chapter Five: Poor Security
Chapter Six: The Governor’s Council
Chapter Seven: Major Problems
Chapter Eight: Homecoming
Chapter Nine: Assassination Plans
Chapter Ten: Surprising Customs
Chapter Eleven: A Debate over Breakfast
Chapter Twelve: The Grandmaster of the Granite Knights
Chapter Thirteen: The Open Market
Chapter Fourteen: Decisive Action
Chapter Fifteen: Recriminations
Chapter Sixteen: An Unexpected Setback
Chapter Seventeen: Harald’s Fountain
Chapter Eighteen: Anger and Fear
Chapter Nineteen: Return to Harald’s Fountain
Chapter Twenty: Planning a Riot
Chapter Twenty-One: Confronting Women and Children
Chapter Twenty-Two: Brandt’s Sermon
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Plan
Chapter Twenty-Four: Non-Lethal Warfare
Chapter Twenty-Five: General Dekker’s Response
Chapter Twenty-Six: What Will You Do?
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Riot Begins
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Soliciting Treason
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Mob
Chapter Thirty: The Measure of a Man
Chapter Thirty-One: Refugees
Chapter Thirty-Two: Rooftops
Chapter Thirty-Three: Marching Orders
Chapter Thirty-Four: Treachery
Chapter Thirty-Five: Aftermath
Chapter Thirty-Six: Three Jallahs
Chapter Thirty-Seven: A Duplicitous Offer
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Pumps
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Convincing Sturm
Chapter Forty: The Negotiations
Chapter Forty-One: Dead Tonight
Chapter Forty-Two: A Reluctantly Festive Spirit
Chapter Forty-Three: Preparations
Chapter Forty-Four: Marriage Customs
Chapter Forty-Five: Approaching Midnight
Chapter Forty-Six: Five Minutes until Midnight
Chapter Forty-Seven: The Opening of the Midnight Blooms
Chapter Forty-Eight: Rage
Chapter Forty-Nine: The Stroke of Midnight
Chapter Fifty: Cannibals
Chapter Fifty-One: Fear
Chapter Fifty-Two: A City in Flames
Chapter Fifty-Three: Escape
Chapter Fifty-Four: Clearing the Neighborhood
Chapter Fifty-Five: Street Fighting
Chapter Fifty-Six: Establishing a Perimeter
Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Barriers
Excerpt from Phantoms of Saw Mill Bridge
The Kriegsturm Calendar
Ranks in Kriegsturm and Anjou
Army Units in Kriegsturm and Anjou
About the Author, Gilbert M. Stack
About the Cover Artist and Mapmaker, Chris L. Adams
Other Works by Gilbert M. Stack
Contact Gilbert M. Stack
Dedication
This one is for Alexandre Dumas, one of my favorite authors of all time. Dumas wrote wonderful stories focused on larger-than-life heroes who never waver in the face of adversity. They are equal to any contest, whether it be on the battlefield or in the halls of the royal court. And his worlds are built on rich and wonderous moments in our history. If you only know Dumas through the movies, take the time to discover how truly rich his novels are. And not just The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo. There is so much more to Dumas than his two most famous works.
The Commandments of Wotan
Thou shalt always remain faithful to Wotan.
Thou shalt always defend your king.
Thou shalt always maintain your oaths.
Thou shalt always face your honorable foes blade-to-blade on the field of battle.
The Rule of Wotan
A man is:
Brave
Loyal
Trustworthy
Strong
Steadfast
Zealous
And
Right
Prologue: Weapons Shopping
Fortaleza, Al-Andalus, Kriegsturm
The Worm Moon, Day 3, Year 1197
Joachim Adler, eldest son of Johan Adler by his second wife, and pretender earl of Fortaleza, waddled across the courtyard toward the weapons merchant who had assembled a display of his wares for the mixed-race son of the northern and southern peoples to consider. Like his father, Joachim was a large man, massively overweight. Unlike his father, he did not have the height that helped to apportion his extra pounds and permit him some measure of grace in spite of his girth. So, he waddled, breathing hard despite the modest distance he had carried himself.
The merchant dropped to his knees as Joachim reached him and pressed his forehead to the ground, as was fitting for the common lout. “Show me the weapons,” Joachim told him with a casual wave of his hand to tell him he could rise again—not that the merchant could see the gesture with his forehead pressed against the earth.
The man spryly leapt to his feet, a wide grin upon his face. “I have brought you a wide array of devices that will assist you in crushing the Alkhudar and establishing your rule over all of Al-Andalus,” the man assured him before gesturing impatiently toward an assistant who brought forward a long heavy falchion which he offered to Joachim.
The pretender earl took the blade and felt its weight, before testing the edge with his thumb. It did not cut him, which was good. He didn’t like to cut himself. But he still needed to test the edge before committing to purchasing the weapon in quantity.
“Bring a prisoner,” he commanded and took a few practice swings while one of the hundred or so northerners he was currently holding in his fortress was dragged forward.
“Hold him,” he ordered while taking a two-handed grip on the sword.
His guards forced the man to his knees and then pulled his arms wide and held him between them, stretching his body out to create a proper target for Joachim.
“This man,” the son of Johan Adler told the weapons dealer, “dared to say to a follower of Naar that the high kingdom of Kriegsturm does not recognize marriages blessed by Naar the Ever Bright and Burning.”
“Such disrespect,” the merchant complained.
With a quick downward stroke of the sword, Joachim chopped the blade down on the man’s left arm, just below the shoulder. Despite the heavy bone of the upper arm, Joachim managed to sever the limb, causing blood to spurt everywhere as the two guards stumbled backward since they no longer had each other’s efforts to balance against.
The northerner did not fall at first, but knelt staring at his recently liberated arm. Then he collapsed on his face in front of Joachim.
Adler handed the bloody weapon back to the merchant. “Good edge, good weight, I will buy these falchions. What else do you have for me?”
The merchant’s forced smile brightened back into a genuine grin. “I have found you another five hundred bows and ten thousand arrows.”
“Wonderful,” Joachim complimented him. “Let us test them.”
They walked several feet away from the dying prisoner and Joachim accepted a bow from the merchant. Six men had been tied side-by-side to a fence in anticipation of this need. As the bow had already been strung, Joachim notched an arrow and pulled the weapon back toward his ear as he had been taught.
The truth was that he had never been particularly interested in hunting and so had not had much cause to practice his archery. He released the arrow and watched with satisfaction as it veered to the right of his target but still embedded itself in the leg of one of the Alkhudar prisoners. The woman cried out in pain—proof that Adler has drawn blood.
He decided not to test the bow again in case he hit a different prisoner and caused his followers to question the accuracy of his aim.
“I like these bows,” he told the merchant. ‘I will buy them all.”
“Very good, my Lord,” the merchant gushed his pleasure.
“Show me more!” Joachim demanded, and the two went through a similar procedure with a javelin. Determined not to display his lack of skill, Joachim advanced with the weapon to within ten feet and threw it hard into the belly of a northerner who had insulted Joachim’s mother by doubting his rig
ht to inherit the earldom.
They did the same with the spears which were roughly the equivalent of the Alkhudar pikes, and then he let one of his men lop off a prisoner’s head with a scimitar from horseback.
Necessary as the accumulation of weapons was, Adler began to grow bored from so much work. “What else is there?” he demanded.
“Only the greatest of prizes I have yet to show you,” the merchant assured him. He gestured impatiently to his men who pulled a small cannon with an unusually wide muzzle forward for Joachim’s inspection.
“These cannon were forged in the heart of Ahl-Alnaar Alshomal in the legendary city of Madinat Alharir.
Adler grinned with pleasure. Madinat Alharir was the seat of power of the legendary High Shiek of the northern province who took his city of elaborate tents with him wherever he journeyed. It was said that the forges alone for his cannon made a train of wagons half a mile long. “Show me!” he eagerly commanded.
“These cannon were made for the firing of chain that will break the Alkhudar formations by cutting huge paths through them,” the merchant explained. He looked meaningfully at the remaining prisoners. “I have found you four of them. Would you like to see them fire all at once or stretch out the pleasure of seeing these blasphemers cut down?”
“Show me now!” Adler shouted like a spoiled child.
The merchant’s men pointed the cannon at the whimpering prisoners, painstakingly loaded it while Adler stamped his foot impatiently and then handed a lit taper to the merchant.
“Would you like the honor of firing the weapon?” the merchant asked.
“Yes, I would!” the pretender earl snapped as he grabbed hold of the long wick.
He started to move behind the cannon but his Alkhudar captain of the guard whispered a warning in his ear. “Forgive me, my Lord, but the cannon will roll backward quite forcefully after you fire it. May I suggest you stand to one side?”
Joachim looked hard at the man. “You will receive a bonus of three gold crowns for passing my test. You have proven your loyalty.” He then made a show of moving to the side, hoping that no one would realize he had been about to injure himself through his ignorance.
He touched the taper to the gunpowder in the vent and took a step back for good measure.
It took a couple of seconds for the cannon to fire, but the results, oh the results. Huge swaths of bloody death cut through the mob of prisoners leaving the rest stunned at the horror of the weapon.
“I will buy these too,” Joachim decided. “Now reload it so we can finish off the rest of these scum.”
As the merchant’s men hurried to follow the earl’s commands, Joachim looked around expectantly. “Is there no more?”
“I am sorry, my Lord,” the merchant apologized most profusely, “but that is a sample of all the weapons I have brought for you today. They represent everything on the list that your brother gave to me.”
Joachim nodded thoughtfully. “I was hoping you would have brought me muskets. I am told that the man who pretends to be the earl is a captain of muskets in the Alkhudar military.”
“I did not know this,” the merchant assured him. “I will find you muskets worthy of a man of your station.”
“Do that!” Adler told him. “It will bring me great pleasure to kill this interloper with his own weapon.”
Chapter One: Approaching Cidade Fortaleza
The West Gate, Cidade Fortaelza, Al-Andalus, Kriegsturm
Worm Moon, Day 13, Year 1197
Sir Marshal Sturm, Earl of Fortaleza, Knight of the Order of Harald the Conqueror, Colonel of Muskets, Hero of Steil Pass, and Liberator of Hekt rode comfortably at the front of one of his two overstrength battalions of Fortaleza militiamen recruited near his family home in Eisenland as he examined the first layer of defenses of the city that was about to become his personal home. To his right rose an impressive tower with cannon emplacements and musket loops. Unfortunately, the wall only extended a dozen feet to the north and not at all to the south. It looked as if the builders had just given up and walked away one afternoon, never to complete the city’s defenses.
On the far side of the road stood another tower and two more like it, each in various stages of completion. In the distance, Sturm could see three more, the unfinished remnants of a second curtain wall that should have surrounded the city. He wanted to ask what had happened, but unfortunately, he knew the answer.
One of his two companions, was not so well informed.
“Why didn’t they finish the second wall?” Henna asked.
“Money,” Else and Sturm answered her in perfect synchronicity.
“I’m sorry, Marshal,” Else apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“No, no, please go ahead,” Sturm urged her.
Else looked past him to their friend, Henna. “One of the few consistencies we have seen from the government of the high king is that it does not want to spend any more money on defense than is absolutely necessary.”
“And after the high king’s ministers determine what is necessary,” Sturm added, “they half that amount, and then half it again.”
Else smiled at Sturm. She was a curvy blonde woman with a razor-sharp mind who, together with her even more buxom brunette friend, had tried to kill Sturm their first night together. Fortunately, they had been able to come to a better understanding and the women had become two of Sturm’s most trusted advisors.
“Part of the problem,” the blonde noted, “appears to be grounded in harsh reality—not just the result of the exchequer being cheap. I spoke a lot with our new bankers both in Aachen and in Eisenland and learned something I hadn’t been aware of. There was a lot of horse trading when High King Torben came to the throne. As you know, the high king has been lame since he caught the swimming sickness as a child. There are those who wanted his cousin to inherit the throne instead of him—a second cousin who descends from Harald the Conqueror’s sister. While under the law there was no question who was entitled to inherit, many among the nobility (and not just in Sturmkuste) felt that Wotan would frown upon Kriegsturm if it crowned a lame man as high king. So certain concessions were made. One of the biggest was that taxes on entitled estates of everyone above the rank of knight were eliminated. That was a crushing blow to the high kingdom’s tax revenues. There really is a lot less money for expensive building projects like these walls.”
They rode closer to the city. There was no traffic coming out of what Sturm believed had to be a very busy gate. As they came closer, he began to see why. There were people gathered there—quite a crowd of people—all looking toward Sturm as he led his retinue of six hundred musket men, four hundred pikes, two hundred cavalry, and two hundred more civilians into the city.
They rode closer.
There were actually two crowds in front of the gates—one made up of northerners fairly near to a stage that had evidently been set up with the coming meeting in mind. The second, and much larger crowd, was made of Southies who apparently were unhappy with Sturm’s arrival. A battalion’s worth of pikemen had been deployed between the two groups to hold back the southerners.
As Sturm watched, a wiry young man slipped between pikemen to charge toward the new earl and throw a stone. It wasn’t a good shot, the stone missing Sturm’s head by a good eighteen inches, but he reached up and caught it just the same to make certain it didn’t hit Else.
The crowd caught its breath for a moment at the sight of Sturm’s reflexive action, and then started shouting again as pikemen caught hold of the young man who had tried to injure Sturm and hauled him away.
Tossing the stone lightly in his hand, Sturm continued riding up to the stage.
Chapter Two: The Greeting Ceremony
The West Gate, Cidade Fortaleza, Al-Andalus, Kriegsturm
Worm Moon, Day 13, Year 1197
Sir Aslak Sorensen, Knight of the Order of Freyr, and Royal Governor of Al-Andalus frowned as he watched the military column move up to the gates after the new earl of Fortaleza. They were actually marching, in perfectly synchronized steps, something he hadn’t seen since the majority of the regiments stationed in Al-Andalus had left to reinforce Oosten Graanland last year to counter the Angevin invasion. Getting rid of some four-fifths of the army had gone a long way toward lowering tensions and assuring the peace, and now here was Sir Marshal Sturm, the new Earl of Fortaleza, destabilizing things again by bringing at least a battalion of troops as if he thought his rank of colonel was the real thing and not a gift to stroke his ego to hurry him down to Al-Andalus where his presence would finally permit Sorensen to start fixing the political situation.
