Sturm rising musket men.., p.1
Sturm Rising (Musket Men Book 4), page 1
MUSKET MEN
BOOK 4
STURM RISING
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, 1196
Table of Contents
Map of the Three Empires and the Surrounding Regions, 1196
Dedication
The Commandments of Wotan
The Rule of Wotan
Prologue: Restoring Order
Chapter One: Honors
Chapter Two: Guest Accommodations
Chapter Three: Assassins!
Chapter Four: Banking
Chapter Five: Mr. Gold’s Little Secret
Chapter Six: Steen Bank
Chapter Seven: Dieter Engel
Chapter Eight: Terrible News
Chapter Nine: Frustration
Chapter Ten: The Assets of the Earls of Fortaleza
Chapter Eleven: Legal Options
Chapter Twelve: Plotting Murder
Chapter Thirteen: Ambush
Chapter Fourteen: Plans
Chapter Fifteen: Making Muskets
Chapter Sixteen: Fire
Chapter Seventeen: The Implications of Arson
Chapter Eighteen: The Second Note
Chapter Nineteen: Politics
Chapter Twenty: Killing Marshal Sturm
Chapter Twenty-One: The Exchequer’s Court
Chapter Twenty-Two: An Unexpected Talk with the Master General
Chapter Twenty-Three: Frenzy
Chapter Twenty-Four: A Small Intimate Audience with High King Torben
Chapter Twenty-Five: Friendship
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Musket Club
Chapter Twenty-Seven: An Opportunity
Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Drinking Fellowship
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Threats
Chapter Thirty: A Storm of Muskets
Chapter Thirty-One: The Remains of the Tavern
Epilogue: Enemies
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 novel is dedicated to Terry Mancour for his brilliant book, Warmage. Court politics are exceedingly difficult to realistically portray, but Mancour does an extraordinary job of showing the various interests in court and how they affect policy. I hope I have done as well in these pages.
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: Restoring Order
Al-Andalus, Kriegsturm
The Blood Moon, Day 20, Year 1196
Karl Meier watched the Southies approaching with a growing sense of unease. There were about fifty of them, equivalent to the number of miners working for him if you included the slaves. Unfortunately, his miners and slaves were also Southies so if this was going to be trouble like he’d been hearing about happening all over the region, they would not only be no help to him, they’d likely throw in with the rebels. With that being the case, he had decided not to greet these men brandishing his pistol, as he didn’t think he could win a confrontation.
“What do you think they want?” Hans asked him. The younger man was the only other northerner in the mines and he had all the prejudices and none of the common sense that came from being an immigrant.
“They want the mine,” Karl told him. “Or, if we’re lucky, they only want the minerals we’ve extracted.”
“But it belongs to the earl of Fortaleza,” Hans protested.
Karl turned to stare at him, astounded that anyone who lived in Al-Andalus could say something so ignorant. “You do know that Joachim Adler is claiming to be the legitimate earl, don’t you?”
“That’s just stupid!” Hans said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Everyone knows that the real earl is that Eisenlander, Marshal Sturm. He’s a cousin or something. Joachim Adler is just a love child.”
Karl grabbed Hans by the front of his shirt and yanked him close because there really wasn’t time to do this subtly. “You just keep your mouth shut! Understand? If you spout nonsense like that in front of those Southies coming up here, you are going to get us both killed. So, stand there and be silent!”
“You can’t—Mr. Meir, this mine belongs to—”
Karl hit him hard in the jaw, knocking him to the ground just as the first of the Southies reached them. As if nothing had happened, he turned to greet them.
“Welcome,” he spread his hands to encompass all of them. “My name is Karl Meier, administrator of this mine, what may I do for you gentlemen?”
The man Karl took to be the leader of the group because of the large jewel adorning his turban and the many rings upon his fingers, took a moment to examine Hans where he sat on the ground rubbing his jaw. “Is there a problem here?”
“This is a mine,” Karl tried to make a joke of the situation. “There is always a problem. But if you’re asking about the young fool there, I think I have resolved it. He is a newcomer to this region who does not yet know how things are done in Al-Andalus.”
“Ahhh,” the southie said, “that sort of ignorance can prove to be very dangerous, especially in these unsettled times.”
“It can indeed,” Karl agreed. “May I offer you and your companions a drink of cool water after your journey?”
“Not at this time,” the man declined, making Karl quake inside. Sharing water would have been a sign that the Southie anticipated no violent conflict between them. Rejecting the offer left open certain highly unpleasant possibilities.
“As you will,” Karl told him. “How may I help you today?”
“My name is Achmed Adler,” the man said, confirming Karl’s concerns. “And I have come as a representative of my brother, Joachim Adler, the earl of Fortaleza.”
“I see,” Karl said wondering how he should handle things. Obviously, he was going to concede, but if he did so too completely too quickly, that also might be bad for him. “I hesitate to make the following request as it could be misinterpreted to suggest I doubt your word, but I am responsible to the earl. Did he, perchance, provide you with some documentation that you could share with me as evidence that you also represent the earl’s interests.”
“I am very pleased that you make this request of me,” Achmed announced, “as it shows you are keeping my brother’s interests close to your heart.”
He held out a hand to a companion who put a folded piece of paper in it. He then opened the paper, confirmed that it was what he expected, and handed it to Karl.
Karl quickly scanned the document which said, in effect, that Achmed represented Joachim’s interests and was to be fully cooperated with.
There was no seal. How could there be? The governor had probably taken the seal into his own keeping while waiting for the legitimate earl to arrive.
Karl didn’t care.
“Thank you, Mr. Adler,” he said to Achmed as he handed back the piece of paper.
“I prefer to be called syid,” Achmed told him.
“Of course, syid,” Karl agreed immediately. “How may I be of service to you today?”
Hans had watched all this from his place on the ground with growing astonishment. “You’re not going to accept that letter, are you? I can see from here it has no seal. And how could it—Joachim Adler is a pretender. He’s the son of a mistress not his—”
Karl listened with growing horror as Hans spouted off his accurate but totally irrelevant arguments. Finally, trying to staunch the damage and save both his and the young man’s life, he kicked him to shut him up.
“My profound apologies, syid,” Karl said. “As I indicated before, Hans is new to the area and does not understand the ways in which civilized men speak and interact. Please forgive this youth’s—”
“No!” Achmed cut him, ending the discussion. “He has insulted the mother of the earl of Fortaleza and by implication my own mother.”
Karl risked bringing the full anger of this man down on himself by getting to his knees and kissing the ground directly in front of Achmed’s feet. “Please, syid, he is little more than a boy, too stupid too—”
“What is wrong with you, Karl!” Hans shouted. “How can you abase yourself before these ignorant Southies?”
“Administrator,” Achmed said, “I can respect your
Karl’s whole body began to shake. Hans just wouldn’t let him help him. And now, unless he was very lucky, Karl might well be caught up in his punishment.
“What are you—let go of me!” Hans screeched as two of Achmed’s men grabbed hold of him, holding his arms behind him as they bent him over on his knees.
“Walid, my brother,” Achmed said, “I do not believe that your education has yet included the execution of a man.”
“The what?” Hans shouted. Karl wondered if this was the first time he really understood the danger they had been in since the Southies arrived at the mine.
“I have not, brother,” Walid admitted.
“Then take my sword and learn how it is done,” Achmed told the younger man.
Karl did not dare look up from his own position, lest he unintentionally add to Hans’ insult.
He waited, heart thudding in his chest, while Hans began to scream in incoherent terror. Then there was a horrible thunking sound and hot blood sprayed onto Karl, coating his cheek, his hair, his neck, and his shoulder.
He remained unmoving, desperately hoping the next blow would not be on him.
“You may rise now, administrator,” Achmed said and still shaking, Karl did as he was instructed, trying hard not to look at Han’s headless body or bodyless head.
He failed. The young man’s eyes stared up into the sky, a look of terror still twisting his face.
“Sometimes, death is the only lesson the young are able to learn,” Achmed told Karl.
“As you say, syid,” Karl told him.
“Now, you will give me a tour of this mine, and then I will tell you what you have to do to stay in control of it,” Achmed said.
Karl took a deep breath. “As your words are the wishes of the earl of Fortaleza, I will endeavor to carry out all of your instructions perfectly.”
“I see you have a more proper understanding of Al-Andalus than that unfortunate did,” Achmed told him. “Now show me everything.”
Hans’ blood continued to run down the outside of Karl’s shirt, but he struggled very hard not to think about that. “As I am certain you know, syid,” Karl began his tour, “this mine was opened to produce salt, although we also extract saltpeter and sulfur as byproducts.” He then went on to describe in increasing detail the operations of the mine, the manpower at hand, the quantities produced, and the sorry state of their provisions.”
Achmed listened carefully, showing he had a very fine head for the business. When Karl finished the tour, he said, “I have decided to leave you in charge of the mine with four of my men to assist you. I am pleased at the great quantity of salt you have produced.”
Karl hated to risk lessening the man’s pleasure, but he had to make certain he understood this was not a typical amount. “We have a greater than normal quantity on hand now because our regular schedule of delivering supplies and removing the harvested material has been disrupted the last few moons.”
“There has been much confusion in Al-Andalus of late,” Achmed told him, “but my brother is restoring order again. I will get your deliveries resumed and send wagons to pick up your harvest—except that saltpeter and sulfur. I really don’t see any reason to pay to bring that to Cidade Fortaleza.”
Karl decided not to tell Achmed that those minerals were two of the three components of gunpowder.
Chapter One: Honors
Aachen, Capital City, Kriegsturm
The Frost Moon, Day 10, Year 1196
“Then you will go down on one knee before his majesty, bow your head, and hold that position until he tells you to rise again.”
Colonel Marshal Sturm, the Earl of Fortaleza, relied on his military discipline to keep his face impassive as the protocol officer finished explaining to him what he was expected to do as he entered the small intimate gathering of the high king’s officers and a few of his closest friends.
The self-important little man made a disdainful tisking sound with his tongue. “I really hope you don’t embarrass me out there. We should have had a whole day to practice. It’s outrageous that you didn’t give his majesty more notice of your arrival.”
Sturm had tired of the man’s attitude roughly seven seconds after meeting him, but he continued to resist snapping at him and asked a question instead. “Are you the one who sent me the note this afternoon inviting me to this meeting?”
The man—for the life of him, Sturm could not remember his name—bristled at the word meeting. “The high king is doing you a great honor at very short notice.”
Perhaps it was his nervousness over his impending introduction to the high king, himself, but Sturm’s temper frayed a few strands more. “For once this evening, answer the damn question!” he snarled.
The courtier blanched in surprise—not anger—and took a step back. “Um, no, my Lord, that would be his majesty’s personal secretary, Sir Shawn Adcock.”
“And did you or he make the decision to invite me to this meeting on less than four hours’ notice?” Sturm demanded. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that he was not only a colonel now after his victory in Hekt, but he was the earl of Fortaleza, a very important nobleman. Whatever this sniveling little courtier thought, it was not his place to add to Sturm’s discomfort.
“No, my Lord,” the man said with suddenly recovered composure. “High King Torben made that decision.”
He dropped the high king’s name like it somehow won him the argument, but Sturm saw it in exactly the opposite way. “Then what the hell are you complaining about? The high king could have scheduled this interview six moons from now if he wanted to. Who are you to complain that he took the opportunity created by my early arrival in the city to meet with me now rather than weeks or moons down the road?”
The little toad of a man did not back down. “I’m only saying that if you could have sent a message ahead—”
“We did,” Sturm cut him off. “But then we rode faster than the messengers.” He didn’t add that if they had not chosen to do that, he and his friends would still be stuck somewhere in Graanland being feted in every town they passed through for their actions in defeating the Angevin invasion and restoring Hekt to the rule of the high kingdom. As a man who really hated society parties, the slower journey had been a form of torture for Sturm and he had seized on the idea of racing cross country unannounced to Aachen as a way of avoiding that pain. In doing so, they had reached the capital a full moon faster than it was originally thought that they could.
They had, in fact, arrived early this afternoon, and even though he wanted to do nothing more than soak in a hot tub and rest for the remainder of the day, Sturm had taken his friend, Captain Caldor’s, advice and sent a brief personal note to High King Torben informing his majesty that he had come to Aachen at the high king’s command and stood ready to call upon him before he completed his journey to Al-Andalus.
They were all shocked when he received a not so personal note back three hours later inviting him to attend a small occasion his majesty was hosting this very night.
Which brought up one more question as he and the courtier approached the door. “Who made the decision not to include my ladies and my friends in the invitation?”
The courtier stopped and for the first time looked genuinely shocked. “You would have brought two mistresses to meet the high king?”
“They aren’t mistresses,” Sturm snapped back. “And yes, I think they all deserve the honor of meeting the high king. Who made the decision?”
“I honestly don’t think it even occurred to anyone that you would want to bring them,” the courtier said. Then he proved he was still thinking only of Else and Henna. “There are going to be some of the most marriageable young women in Aachen here tonight.”
For the first time since arriving at the royal palace, Sturm laughed. “With all of the problems looming over Al-Andalus right now, if you think I am spending even one moment thinking about marriage, you’re a fool.”
“Securing the line of succession is a critical task of every peer of the realm,” the man said defensively.
Sturm suddenly stopped laughing when another troubling thought struck him. “Wait a minute, this is supposed to be a small intimate gathering. Why are marriageable women here?”
