Demon summoner apprentic.., p.1
Demon Summoner: Apprentice (The Demon Healer Book 1/3), page 1
Demon Summoner: Apprentice
GREG WALTERS
Novel
The year is 1642. A murderous war has been raging in the Holy Roman Empire for 24 years and there seems to be no end in sight.
When marauding soldiers destroy Gustav's home and family, his life changes radically. Martin, a military field surgeon, takes him in and reveals a truth to Gustav that changes everything.
"Gustav, do you agree to serve as my apprentice?" "Yes." "Do you swear that you will keep the secrets you learn from both this world and the other world to yourself and not share them outside the community of feldshers?" "Yes, I swear." "Good, then you are now officially an apprentice feldsher for humans," Martin glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "and demons."
Author
Since graduating with degrees in history and political science 20 years ago, Greg Walters has dealt with historical material almost daily as a history teacher. So it was only a matter of time before he combined this passion with his passion for fantasy. The result is "Demon Summoner: Apprentice," a deeply researched historical novel, with a fair dash of fantasy and humor, just as readers have come to expect from Greg Walters.
More about the author: greg-walters.com
© 2022 Gregor Timme
Author: Greg Walters
Cover design, illustration: Alexander Kopainski
Translator: Justin Beckham
Map: Karlos Valero
Sword: Królestwo_Nauk/Pixabay
info@greg-walters.com
www.greg-walters.com
All rights reserved. This work may be reproduced—even in part—only with the express permission of the author. This work, including its parts, is protected by copyright. Any exploitation is prohibited without the consent of the author. This applies to electronic or other reproduction, translation, distribution, and public use.
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NEWSLETTER
For my dad
Contents
1. The Winter Comet
2. Gustav
3. Cowardice
4. The Baggage Train
5. The Feldsher
6. The Letter
7. The Second Battle of Breitenfeld
8. Night on the Battlefield
9. The Surgeon of Demons
10. The Feldsher’s Apprentice
11. Silver and Cinnamon
12. The Imperial Count
13. Apprentice Years are not Master Years
14. Funeral Feast
15. A New Apprentice
16. The Acid Test
17. The Redhead
18. New Orders
19. Change of Plan
20. The Tribunal
21. The Crooked House
22. Hayo
23. Demon Cages
24. Blood and Ashes
25. Negotiations
26. Mela
27. Demon Hunting
28. The Master of Masters
29. The End of Negotiations
30. A Never-ending War
Acknowledgements
Also by Greg Walters
1
The Winter Comet
November 1618
Gray clouds scuttled across the darkening, late autumn sky, taking with them the rain that had been falling so stubbornly all day.
"Finally!" muttered the broad-shouldered day laborer. "Just as it’s getting dark, the rain disappears. Maybe this isn't such a bad day after all."
"Don't jinx us. It’s never a good day until we have a place to sleep." Wolff, smaller and considerably skinnier than his friend, made the sign of the cross, peering about. But barren, already-harvested fields full of stubble were all he saw. Nothing that could serve as shelter for the night.
"These last two comfortable months in Lübeck spoiled you, Wolff. The Hanseatic city was good to us, but beautiful cities are like beautiful women. Eventually, you tire of them and need to move on."
Wolff said nothing. He knew this was Michel's way of dealing with a harsh reality. In truth, they had been kicked out of town because they were unable to find work so close to the start of winter. The city guards did not tolerate unemployed people within the walls if they weren’t citizens. Those brutes did not know pity. Wolff couldn’t be angry with them, though. The guards didn't want to lose their jobs either.
"Why are you always so pessimistic? We have our wages, after all." Michel showed his bad teeth in a broad grin and shook the small leather purse attached to his belt.
"What good is money if there’s nowhere in this godforsaken land to get a drink and a bed?"
"You'll run out of money soon enough, don't worry about that," Michel laughed hoarsely. "Still, you're right. What I wouldn't give right now to be sleeping on the luscious bosom of a bar whore instead of trudging through this bad weather. Cheer up. Just a few more days and we'll be in Bremen. The city is supposed to be huge—and rich. Two sharp fellows like us are sure to find work quick, and who knows? Maybe we'll finally settle down. A wife and a few children in a small house by the city wall. How does that sound? We just need to find some real Bremen women."
Wolff grinned. Michel's daydreams were nonsense. Neither man was a guild member and therefore no respectable town woman would ever think about marrying them. What woman would want to share the uncertain life of a wandering day laborer? To be perfectly honest, they weren't even particularly skilled. They knew enough to haul stones or sweep, but neither could ever hope to build a roof truss or a straight stone wall, since they had never gone through an apprenticeship with a master craftsman. That cost money, after all.
Wolff grabbed his crotch. "Hang on, I need to take a piss!"
"You pee more than a rutting donkey," Michel groaned, but also fiddled with his pants to relieve himself. "Funny, first the clouds rained down and now we are, too." He chuckled.
"We should find somewhere dry to sleep soon if we don’t …" Wolff broke off in midsentence. With his hand still on his member, he looked up at the sky, mouth wide open.
"Hey, don't play with yourself when I'm watching." Michel wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Wolff did not hear a word. He just kept urinating. The fact that his trousers were soaked through in the process escaped him. "Look," he breathed in awe. "There, look." He pointed at the sky.
Michel finished before looking up. "That can’t be real," he exclaimed in surprise. A long red tail of fire cut through the night sky, casting an eerie light on the barren, northern German landscape. It looked as if a giant had painted a flaming red line across the heavens. "What is it?" Michel asked.
"A comet." Wolff crossed himself. "A terrible omen. Never was a comet glimpsed in the sky without horrible consequences, so say the ancient philosophers. Terrible times are coming for us. No, for the world."
"You’re spouting nonsense again. I'm sure it'll be gone by tomorrow, and you and I will be the only ones who saw it." Michel turned and walked back along the wide trade path.
"Wait." Wolff panicked, afraid to be left behind, and nearly tripped over his dropped pants in his haste to chase after his friend. The wet branch of a birch tree struck him in the face as he ran, leaving a long, red welt that bore an astonishing resemblance to the tail of the winter comet.
Unseen by the two friends, small pieces split off from the tail of the comet, which would be visible in the sky until well into January 1619, and burned through the atmosphere to earth. A red-hot chunk about the size of a chicken hit one of the harvested fields behind the day laborers and penetrated deep into the moist soil with a hiss. At first, only fine smoke rose, then the earth around the small impact hole began to vibrate. It bulged up like a mole throwing up a mound, but the mound grew larger and larger until it was almost the height of a grown man. Suddenly a claw shot from the pile of dirt and a dark body peeled itself out. The creature had supernaturally long arms. Its giant skull was armed with two pointed horns and long fangs adorned a grotesque mouth. Sniffing, it looked around. Its eyes glowed a dusky golden hue and had no trouble piercing the moonlit night. The creature's long, frayed ears pricked up as it heard a noise. It was Wolff choking on the water from his waterskin. The demon stretched its long arms briefly in the air as if to celebrate, then its bare feet and muscular legs carried it swiftly in the direction of the two lone wanderers.
"Wolff, I’ve never seen you choke when you pour booze down your throat, but with water it happens every time." Michel slapped his friend on the back.
Wolff grinned sheepishly. "You know what that means. No more water for me! Only beer or wine in the skin."
Michel stretched. "You're just a drunk. Wait a minute, are those lights up ahead?"
Wolff narrowed his eyes. He didn't see as well as he used to. After all, he was almost thirty-five. It was a miracle that he was as well preserved as he was. "Indeed. Looks like just a small inn, but maybe they have a taproom."
"Yes, and maybe even—"
A low growl interrupted Michel's answer. Surprised, Wolff spun in the direction of the sound.
Against the moonlight and the strange light of the winter comet, a grotesque silhouette stood out—tall as a man, but with arms so long that its massive claws almost dragged on the ground.
"Hey, stranger." Wolff’s voice quavered. "What are you doing sneaking up on us like that? We’re armed and we will defend oursel
ves, so be on your way and leave us in peace." The only weapon Wolff could call his own was a small carving knife, but the stranger didn't need to know that.
"Are you crazy? Who are you talking to?" Michel asked, puzzled.
The creature’s glowing, golden-yellow eyes stared directly at Wolff. Briefly, he wondered why his pants were so warm, until he realized that he had wet himself with fear. Odd, I would’ve thought I’d be all out of piss after just going. The thought was ridiculous, and Wolff recognized hysteria beginning to claw through him. What is that creature?
"Wolff, what are you doing?" Michel stepped right in front of him, waving his arms to get his attention. "Are you trying to scare me?"
"My ways are your ways now," the demon informed Wolff in a deep, raspy voice, then lunged at the two unsuspecting men.
Its long claws tore Michel's head from his body in a single stroke. Blood gushed out, flowing pitch black in the moonlight. Michel was dead before he even understood what was happening to him. He neither saw nor heard the creature that brought his life to an end.
The demon leaped and impaled Wolff with its horns. It threw him in the air and let him fall to the ground.
Wolff groaned and clutched his stomach, hot blood gushing through his fingers. The horns had torn open half his torso. The monstrous creature watched him writhe in pain with no sign of emotion.
It came closer, sniffing the air, until its grotesque grimace was level with Wolff's face. The sight almost drove him mad. So the priests were right after all about demonic beings punishing heretics. I should have gone to church more these last few years. He groaned and tried to stand, but his body had no more strength.
The demon tilted its head and watched the death throes of its defenseless victim with interest. It opened its mouth armed with three rows of teeth and bit Wolff’s face. With a terrible crunch, it ripped off half his head and devoured it. The demon's eyes widened in delight as it tasted human flesh for the first time. It bit again, this time directly into Wolff’s bleeding belly. In a feeding frenzy, it devoured first Wolff and then Michel. Eventually, its greedy gaze fell on the lonely little settlement.
2
Gustav
October 1642, near the village of Breitenfeld, north of Leipzig—Electorate of Saxony, 25th year of War
Gustav slammed the door of the small, timbered house angrily behind him. Even outside, he could still hear his father's loud voice, which his mother was trying to soothe. Irritated, the boy trudged toward the stream with a bucket in hand. Another one of those silly tasks his father seemed to have endlessly in store for him. Chop wood, boy. Sweep the house, boy. Take the goat to pasture, boy. Help your mother in the garden, boy. And on and on and on. Gustav turned onto the trail that led to the creek. He had walked this path countless times and knew every stone and blade of grass. Furiously, he banged the wooden bucket against a gnarled birch tree. It dropped some yellow autumn leaves as if it, too, disapproved of his behavior. Even the trees were against him today.
Gustav sighed and thought about the argument with his father. It was the same one they had been having for a long time. Gustav wanted to join the Protestant Union forces, but despite his eighteen years, he was still too young to do so. He needed his father's consent because he was not a trained journeyman. One of the recruiters at the Breitenfeld market had told him of the riches that could be had. It only meant fighting for the holy cause in defense of the true faith and daring to defy the treacherous Ferdinand III. Gustav hated the emperor, even if he could not have properly explained why.
Light-footed, he jumped over the root of an old oak tree that crossed the narrow path. When Gustav first told his father that he wanted to enlist, the old man flatly denied the request and refused to even think about it. You’ll take over the charcoal-making business! Too many good men and boys have already died for nothing in this endless war. Enough! Finished! Done!
"He's such a coward," Gustav grumbled to himself. There was no other way to explain why his father did not want him to enjoy heroism and prosperity.
The boy could already hear the familiar babbling of the brook. Now he wished he hadn't rushed out of the house forgetting to put on a warm jacket. The temperature was surprisingly cold for autumn. It was late afternoon and the sun had almost set behind dirty gray clouds. It quickly became colder and colder. Gustav could see his breath. Moisture seemed to creep up from the ground. The white-hot anger that welled up in Gustav as he thought of his father burned off the cold. He knew that he was breaking the fourth commandment: You shall honor your father and mother. But he just could not suppress his anger. His father was simply a coward.
This might have been tolerable in the past, but that time was long gone. His father had once been a soldier himself in the Union's army and had taken part in the Battle of Breitenfeld. That was more than ten years ago, and he had never said a word about it. His father had lost his right leg in the fighting. As a child, Gustav had often looked at and touched the scarred stump with fascination when his father had unstrapped the wooden leg. Gustav did not know how he had lost it, only that one of the feldshers–field surgeons who took care of the wounds of the common soldiers–had sawed off the lower leg just below the knee.
The old man probably fell off a cart drunk and it ran over him. Secretly, Gustav was ashamed that he thought this of his father, but anger brought up all these blasphemous thoughts. Sometimes he felt that his dissatisfaction with life only grew the older he got. At fourteen, he had begun to find his parents' simple home and their rules confining. Now, at eighteen, it was even worse. More than once Gustav had considered simply running away and joining the mercenaries, but there was Anna, his little sister. Although she had grown quite tall for twelve, she continued to act like a small child. She was playful and lived in the moment, and she idolized her big brother, which made him happy. Gustav could not bring himself to leave her there alone.
Carefully, he walked down the small embankment to the creek. The grass and brown leaves were treacherously slippery, and it wouldn't help his mood if he slipped and fell into the water. The bucket filled with gurgling liquid. With an annoyed snort, Gustav heaved it up. He already didn't like having to fetch water, but the walk back with the heavy bucket on the narrow path, water constantly sloshing onto his legs and feet, was especially hateful to him. Gustav would have preferred to live in a large city, where people got their water from modern pumps and didn’t have to fetch it so primitively from a stream. If Gustav could choose, he would prefer to live in Leipzig. He had once visited the modern, cosmopolitan metropolis as a ten-year-old boy with his mother when she had tried to sell her elaborate, forest motif embroideries to Leipzig's wholesalers. Unfortunately, no one had been interested in them. Either they had been too old-fashioned for the modern city dwellers, or–and this was the more likely explanation–even liberal Leipzig was suffering from poverty and decline after all the years of war. They hadn’t been back to the city since.
After his injury, his father had decided to stay here with his family near Breitenfeld. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place, is how Hans the charcoal maker explained it. For him it seemed impossible that there could be another battle here in the vicinity of Breitenfeld. The war had moved over this area and had eaten its fill. Now it turned towards other areas where there was more to be gained.
