Chapter Text
One of the bathmaids had told Hans once that he always seemed to be hiding behind a wall and she could never quite see over it. Hans had laughed it off, brushing aside her surprisingly astute assessment of him. She was absolutely correct, of course, and Hans was well aware of it. But it wouldn’t do for his subjects to see the soft, weak thing that existed at his core. The thing that trembled under the weight of responsibility, that wept secretly when he heard the whisperings about his own failures as a lord and future leader. Hans existed inside a tall, tall tower, allowing only glimpses of a very carefully cultivated image of himself. It was like seeing a picture gallery through a spy hole; they only ever saw pieces and never the whole. And Hans was fine with that, because it kept him safe.
And then Hans had met Henry, and Henry approached his tower in a manner similar to that of a siege weapon: suddenly, wildly, and with unstoppable force and devastation.
Hans had never felt so understood and yet so simultaneously reviled in his life.
“Isn’t that right, Hans?”
Hans’ attention returned to his uncle, who had been joking jovially with Radzig as they rode at the head of their combined forces toward the rendezvous point. “What?”
Hanush frowned at him. “Off in the clouds, lad? You should be paying more attention!”
“I’m sorry, uncle, I was just… thinking of the battle ahead.”
Radzig raised an eyebrow at him, and Hans wondered at the sharp gleam in the man’s eye. “Don’t dwell on it too much, it won’t do to borrow trouble.”
“Of course not, Sir,” Hans nodded. The two men returned to their conversation, and Hans sank back into his thoughts.
He’d watched Henry depart from Rattay. The fool still had bandages on some of his more serious wounds, and if Hans wasn’t mistaken - which he wasn’t - he’d still had a small limp. But the idiot had taken Bernard’s orders to go to Talmberg without complaint. He’d donned his armor, packed and tied on his bags, and left.
Without saying goodbye.
Not that he had to say goodbye, of course. Henry was under orders, he couldn’t delay. And to be perfectly honest, Hans was glad he hadn’t sought him out. They hadn’t spoken in several days, not since the night Henry had returned from Vranik. The boy was obviously still mad at Hans for some… imagined slight or other. When they passed each other in the street, Henry very pointedly gave Hans a wide berth. And he clearly hadn’t been sleeping in his room in Rattay either, not since that first night. Was he spending his nights down at that mill? Hans didn’t know. And he didn’t really need to know where the boy was sleeping anyway. It wasn’t his business, and wouldn’t be his business until Henry had calmed down.
Hans assessed the cracks in his tower. They were large, but not irreparable. He could reestablish his safety.
He knew he at least was still visiting the room, though. Hans checked it every afternoon, placing new, fresh chamomile and marigold decoctions on the small crate next to the mattress, collecting the empty bottles and leaving a small plate of food there as well. He had left bandages the day before last, and when Hans had checked the room that morning after Henry’s departure, he had found dirty bandages piled disgustingly in one corner, heavily coated in shed horse hair and old blood.
The weeds he’d left in a cup of water were gone too. “Horrible beast,” Hans muttered as he collected the cup with the other things. Somewhere inside himself, Hans began stacking bricks.
The soldiers began to pitch camp and, to Hanush’s very clear surprise, he didn’t have to bully Hans into helping. He didn’t do any of the actual work, like unloading supplies, but he did care for their horses, one ear cocked as the two men argued about Radzig going to parlay with the mercenaries in person. Hans quietly agreed with his uncle on the matter; Radzig going himself was an idiotic idea. Fortunately he gave in eventually, and they sent one of Hanush’s men to speak to the mercenaries.
He’d had to be dragged to safety by men who ran in with shields raised against arrows. Hans frowned over it. Of course, that was when the thunder of hoofs began to rise around them, and Divish arrived with his men. Hans found himself searching the group and there, in a small bubble of separation among the milling men, Henry stood, breathing heavily but looking alert. He didn’t have to push through the crowd to find the nobles, Hans noticed; the men parted around him with sidelong looks. He wondered what they made of this boy in their midst. Henry walked around the group to join them opposite Hans.
Henry held up well under the pressure of the nobles’ questions, giving out his information easily and with confidence. It was a tone he wasn’t really used to hearing from Henry, who tended to make himself small among such an audience. As Radzig, Hanush, and Divish worked out the details of the assault, Hans watched Henry. He was shuffling slightly in place, ears flicking back and forth as they picked up all the various noises of the soldiers around them. The boy had finally been putting on some muscle and fat during his time at Rattay, but it seemed his missions to Sasau and Vranik had stunted his progress somewhat. His cheeks were a little more hollow, his eyes a little more sunken. Even his caparison - Kobyla’s crest, Hans noted - seemed to hang strangely on him. When Hans looked back at Henry’s face, shaded by his wide-brimmed helmet, he had almost expected to catch his eye, to find Henry looking back. He wasn’t. Henry was steadfastly looking off to Hans’ left, probably gazing up at the stockades in the distance.
Inside, Hans built faster.
They continued to avoid each other the rest of the afternoon. Hans was checking his quiver and stock of arrows when Sir Radzig approached him. “All prepared for the battle?” he asked in an abysmal attempt at being casual.
Hans slid another arrow into his quiver and picked up the next, sighting down the shaft and running the fletching through his fingers. “As ready as one can be, I suppose. And you, sir?”
“As ready as one can be,” Radzig turned the phrase back on him with a raised eyebrow. Hans hummed, and continued his task without looking up to catch the expectant gaze. Finally, Radzig gave up the pretense and asked, “Have you fought?”
Hans snorted. “What, in a battle? No, not really. This will be my first real skirmish. Hanush is keeping me well back with the archers, have no fear.”
“That isn’t what I was referring to.”
Hans knew what he was referring to. “Then I’m not sure what you were referring to.”
“Did you fight with Henry?”
“Not since his return. Has he spoken to you?”
Radzig sighed, resting both his hands folded on the pommel of his sword. “No, and he likely won’t. Not about anything important, anyway. I’ve known the lad his whole life, but he hasn’t known me terribly well. And now he doesn’t know how to look at me. So… no, he won’t speak to me. But he will speak to you.”
Hans snorted, sliding the last arrow home and finally looking up. “Why should he?”
“Well, to be honest I thought the two of you got along rather well,” Radzig said with some surprise. “I expected him to come to you about… well. Everything, I guess.”
“Yes, well, unfortunately, he appears to be mad at me.”
Radzig opened his mouth to say something, but Hans cut him off. “And you too. For, you know, recent revelations. Actually I get the feeling he's angry at everyone about everything right now.”
“I suppose he has more right to it than most,” Radzig sighed. “I'll be honest, I was hoping he would tell you some of his troubles. He's never been very open, even to his parents. I worry about him.”
Hans wondered who these words were meant to benefit. Was Radzig simply unburdening himself, or was he trying to pass a hint to Hans about something? In the end it didn’t matter. If Henry had decided not to speak to him any more, then Hans would simply continue rebuilding his tower in peace.
He ignored how the foundations creaked beneath Radzig’s glance.
“Well, if he ever decides I’m worth speaking to again, I’ll let you know,” he said with the breezy manner of his usual self. “But until then, the last thing I heard from Henry was him telling me to get lost.”
Radzig frowned, but said simply, “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll see if he’ll speak to me after all. Get some rest while you can; it will be a busy night.”
“Sir Radzig,” Hans said suddenly, catching the man as he turned away. Radzig turned back, an eyebrow raised in question. “It hasn’t been that long since Henry was very plainly tortured. He’s a strong beast, but he’s still mortal. He’ll be tired, and hurt. Someone should check his injuries.”
Radzig’s eyebrow rose slightly higher, and the angle of his eyes seemed to harden slightly. “He hasn’t said anything to anyone about it. Bernard even asked. So did the apothecary.”
“Well the apothecary is a short-sighted fool who thinks Henry should be seeing the stablemaster instead of him, so that’s no wonder. And Bernard will accept any answer that means his men are marching. I could see him limping a bit earlier, and he still had some blood on his bandages from yesterday.”
“I’ll check on him myself. Thank you, Sir Hans.”
Hans bowed slightly as the man left, and decided to take his advice. He wandered to the treeline of the clearing, far enough from the gathered contingent that he could get a little quiet, but not so far he couldn’t watch what was going on. To his surprise, most of the soldiers were doing as he was, simply finding a comfortable place to wait. A number of small lean-tos had been scattered around, and some men rested beneath them. They chatted and intermingled easily, with one exception.
Henry was easy to pick out of the crowd. He stood idly near the edge of the encampment, napping in the sun. Hans could tell by the way he held himself, stiffly upright yet with his arms crossed loosely in front of him and his head sagging down towards his chest. He’d seen his horse nap standing up like that before, and had been startled the first time he’d seen Henry do it. There were so many things he hadn’t realized that Henry had in common with a horse, despite the obvious similarities. He was always so stupidly independent and stubborn.
Hans watched as Henry stirred, waking slowly. He stretched, arms to the sky, then bending his entire upper half forward over his front legs, a great long arch of his body that ended with a vigorous shake. Even at a distance, Hans could see small tufts of hair shaking loose. Henry was still shedding his winter coat, even this late into the spring. Only one or two horses at their stables shed past April, and Henry had apparently started even later than they had. He wondered idly how much longer Henry would be shedding. He wondered what it must be like, growing in and then losing all that extra hair every year.
Hans plucked idly at the grass beneath him, looking up at the sky and a few clouds moving in the distance. For the most part it had been sunny, but there in the clearing the unexpected heat of it had become somewhat oppressive. He looked back down to find Henry staring at the men as if he was looking for something. Obviously not finding whatever he was looking for, Henry made his way around the edge of the camp, searching. He circled around to one of the few standing trees where the nobles’ horses had been posted. Pebbles wandered over slowly to greet him, nudging him in the side until he spoke to her, running his hand up and down the bridge of her nose in the way Hans knew Pebbles was especially fond of. It would never cease to amaze him that Henry was the only other person Pebbles seemed to actually like. But when Henry didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, he moved a little way away from the horses and put his hand to his mouth. Hans could hear the whistle even across the field, and he quickly spied the dog Mutt charging up to his master with tail-wagging glee. Henry went down on his front knees to pat the dog, giving him something he’d fished out of his pack. Mutt nosed at it for several seconds and then took off at a jog around the camp, Henry following.
He watched their progress as they wound around clusters of men, most of whom either ignored or sidestepped Henry completely. It took only a few minutes until Hans realized that Mutt was weaving his way toward him , following the wandering path he’d taken to his shady respite. Hans looked around. He could attempt to hide, but Mutt was nearly as implacable as his owner and between the two he’d have a hard time indeed going unseen. He settled instead on simply letting the inevitable happen, lying back to peer up at the sky through the still boughs of the tree. Perhaps Henry was finally coming to apologize for his outburst.
The soft, vulnerable creature inside Hans slowed its brick laying, eyeing the siege engine that was approaching his walls.
Henry’s presence was announced by the thump of his hooves and Mutt’s heavy, excited panting. The dog stopped a short distance away and barked happily, obviously alerting on his target. “Lord Capon?”
Hans sat up, propping his arms behind him in a casual way. “Hm? Oh, hello Henry. Come to see me, have you?”
“Why’d you wander off? It’s not safe to leave the camp.”
Hans looked at the short distance between himself and the next nearest soldier. He could easily fire an arrow across the space. “It’s not like I’ve gone that far, I’m still well within view. And perhaps I wanted a bit of shade and quiet before the battle tonight. I rather fancied a nap. You look like you could use one, too.”
Henry huffed, one leg pawing the grass nervously. “And what would you have done if the bandits had men sneaking around in the woods, eh? And they stumbled across you over here alone?”
“Henry, I’m perfectly fine. Your father and Hanush have stationed guards and patrols all around the town, and I’m within earshot of someone.”
“ Sir Radzig came to make sure I was well,” Henry said, changing tack abruptly.
“I hope you didn’t lie to him,” Hans said breezily, standing and brushing himself off.
“I didn’t lie, I’m fine.”
“Is this what you call fine? Wounds still oozing, a limp, hiding your bandages under your armor? Do you think I don’t know you’ve got a bruise the size of my head there on your ribs? Jesus Christ, Henry, you were so beaten when you came back it looked like someone had spilled ink on you!”
“And what’s it to you, anyway? Sticking your nose in?”
Hans stared. “I’m damn well supposed to stick my nose in, you great lumbering asshole! That’s how this works ! You serve me, do what I ask, protect me, and in return I’m supposed to care for your wellbeing!”
“Was it caring for my wellbeing when you knew about my curse and never told me?!”
“God above, are you still mad about that?” Hans asked, throwing his hands into the air. “I told you I was sorry, it’s not like I was trying to hide it from you!”
“ Am I still -” Henry balled his hands into fists at his side, turning to the side as if he was asking some imagined audience to witness something. “Am I still mad at you for- for knowingly letting me go around like a fool, believing lies about myself?!”
“What part of your life was a lie, Henry? Your parents, they loved you! Martin raised you as his own - because you are! You’re Martin’s son, blacksmith’s boy ! He hasn’t stopped being your family just beca-”
“Don’t you fucking start!” Henry snapped, one foot stamping on the ground so aggressively it tore up a chunk of grass. “You don’t even know what family is, do you?! You sit in your castle and resent your uncle for not respecting you while he sits and resents you for not being your father! So you don’t get to sit there and talk about family to me!”
They both fell silent, and Hans found himself unnaturally still. He felt cold, like he’d been plunged into an icy stream. Within him, the walls he’d been hastily building were falling down around him. “How dare you,” he said, voice low and flat. “Whatever you may think of me, Henry, I don’t rejoice in the fact that I knew you were Radzig’s bastard before you did. I’m sorry you found out the way you did. If I could have spared you that, I would have. But do you know what? It doesn’t matter. If you’re so unhappy in my service, I will release you from it.”
“What?” Henry seemed genuinely taken aback, but Hans was too frozen to care.
“Your service, I’m ending it. I won’t employ anyone against his will, especially not such a monstrously cruel one. Good bye, Henry.”
Hans strode off back towards the camp with his head held high and, he hoped, his face neutral. It wasn’t until he found Pebbles that he let himself sag, arms wrapped around her neck as she whickered quietly at him. “I know, girl,” he said, “I know. You’re going to have a lonely night tonight. Be good, eh?”
Hans stayed with the horses until the sun began to set, and then set about preparing with mechanical blandness. He lined up for his serving of the heavily spiced slop Oats and a few others had cooked up. He sat with Divish and Radzig to eat, half listening to the two men casually discussing court drama. He watched Robard set out with his men in the heavily shadowed twilight. He lined himself up with the archers at the rear of the gathering, three fire arrows already stuffed with straw and strips of rag ready at his feet. He listened to Hanush’s speech. On Bernard’s command, he laid his first arrow on his bowstring and joined three other men at the closest brazier, holding the metal caged tips in the flames until they caught. On the second command, he drew his bowstring back, sighted quickly toward the stockade walls, and loosed. He watched the arrows fly up and out, arcing high overhead like falling stars to rain down inside the stockade. His second arrow was laid on his string and ready to go when Bernard gave the command. It lit and he loosed it, followed quickly by a final third volley as the soldiers reached the gate of the camp. He heard the screaming of the men inside even over the yells of the men charging, and with Bernard leading them, the archers checked their quivers and began the jog up the road to the encampment, where the others had broken through the gate.
Hans told himself as he ran that he wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, just watching the progress of the various skirmishes as the archers approached. He told himself he was just trying to gauge how the battle was going. They had superior numbers, barely, but any small thing could turn the tide against them. He wasn’t, he assured himself, picking Henry out of the crowd. He didn’t need to try, anyway; Henry was the tallest figure there, a flash of red, white, and yellow in his Kobyla colors as he reared and swung, parried and kicked.
He drew back an arrow, taking careful aim, and loosed. He didn’t hear the satisfying crunch as the barbed arrowhead broke the mail of the man about to hurl an axe at Henry’s exposed back, but he could imagine it. Henry whirled in time to see the man fall, axe slipping from his grip and an arrow protruding grotesquely through the man’s throat. He saw Henry glance up at the trio of archers who were watching the progress of the men clearing the outer bailey, but he turned away again just as quickly, charging on and trusting the men at his back. It was insane. It made Hans’ heart pound with terror. Not for himself, but for Henry’s headlong path into danger.
He couldn’t stop, though. Bernard was urging the archers into line behind the men working at the inner gates and Hans had to join them. He could hear, off to the side and behind, the yell of the small group of soldiers clearing out any remaining resistance in the outer yard. Was that his heart pounding, or Henry’s hooves? Hans didn’t know any more, maybe they were one in the same.
Smoke billowed up from the encampment, creating a haze that made Hans’ eyes water and his nose burn. It was hot with the fires blazing all around them. The noise was terrific, and he dashed his sleeve across his face trying to clear it. It came away smudged gray. The upper gate burst open with a yell and men packed into the opening to hold it. Hans fired his arrow off quickly, before their own side closed the melee. He readied another arrow, aiming low over the heads of their forces and hoping to hit the swell of mercenaries in the far back. The tremendous clatter of hooves was upon him suddenly, the thwock of his bowstring hidden beneath the sound as Henry appeared, shoving more than wading into the fight.
It was a terrible place for him to be, blocking the archers’ line of sight through the gate. Bernard seemed to think so too, as he ordered down bows and swords drawn. The archers now would join the fight. Hans was surprised his hand wasn’t shaking as he drew his sword, waiting in the back with the others for a break in the line.
It came when Henry finally shoved his massive weight through the enemy line, charging through and past them, turning quickly and veering away to avoid stray hits. It worked, distracting the mercenaries beautifully as the combined forces of the attackers poured through. Quickly they were broken up into groups, and Hans found himself fighting alongside Sir Divish. The man flashed like starlight in his white gambeson. He blocked the swing of a mace, diverting it away as Hans darted in from the side with his sword held low, driving it into the mace wielder’s side under his overextended arm. The man screamed, and Divish’s sword came up from its deflection and around, landing the fatal hit where the man’s neck joined his shoulder. Divish gave Hans a wordless noise of thanks, and moved on, already sighting his next target.
In the skirmishing, though, Hans had lost sight of Henry. The noise and confusion of colliding bodies made it hard to spot him, and the smoke and ash that rose from the still-burning buildings made it even harder. Hans shook his head. Wherever he was, Henry was fine, remember? Swore up and down he was fine. Hans would have to take his word for it.
Which was good, because Hans was suddenly very much not fine himself. He had been holding off two mercenaries on his own when a third nearby dispatched his opponent and joined the group. Hard pressed to duck and dodge two swords and an axe, Hans found himself being herded against the burning wall of a tent. He was running out of options. A few more backward steps and he’d be completely closed off from any angle of escape. He managed to catch the bottom curve of the axe blade on his sword and a quick tug and flick of the blade ripped the weapon from its wielder’s hand. The downside to the maneuver, Hans immediately learned, was that it left the man open to punch him, which he did. Hans’ ear rang with the force of the blow and his jaw creaked under it, but he managed to duck under the followup from the other side.
“Hans!”
An enormous figure came leaping into the fray, landing between him and his attackers. Henry’s sides heaved, and Hans could see a number of nicks and slashes to his shoulders and rump but he still bore down on the disarmed man with a sound like a half-screamed whinny. Hans took the moment of surprise and charged at one of the swordsmen, sweeping first at his knees and then bringing his sword up and around to the gap in his armor. Hans’ sword was sharp, and he felt it cut through the quilted padding deep into the flesh of the man’s arm. Blood gushed from the wound as he pulled his sword free and swung again at the same spot, nearly severing the arm. The man dropped his sword and clutched at his arm helplessly, leaving Hans free and clear to run his sword through the man’s unprotected throat. When he turned, the third man had gone, disappearing into the fray to find a different target.
Henry wheeled to face him, holding out his hand. “Get on, I’ll take you back to the center of things! The battle’s moving back from the gate!”
Hans took the hand and was yanked from his feet and thrown onto Henry’s back. He scrambled to sit upright, legs gripping his flank with desperation as Hans grabbed for the harness that held Henry’s caparison in place. Fortunately they didn’t have far to go, because Hans nearly fell off twice even over the short distance. Henry’s abrupt stop did the job, though, lurching Hans off sideways with a shout. It was only Henry’s hand grabbing his arm that kept him from landing squarely on top of a corpse, and once Hans was steady, Henry disappeared into the battle once again.
But Hans could tell things were wrapping up. There were only a few pockets of combat left, and he jumped in to help the nearest. By the time he looked up from his dead opponent, the last mercenary was falling and their forces were all looking around with panting, heaving breaths. Hans wiped his blade on the side of an unburned tent before sheathing it and wandering to where he could hear his uncle shouting. Hanush was splattered with blood, and his mace had something unpleasant wedged in one of its spikes. “Don’t tell me no one was in command!”
Radzig sighed tiredly, sheathing his sword and looking around at their forces, calculating. “It does rather seem that way.”
Hanush rounded on Henry, who was walking tiredly up to the group. Hans noticed his limp was worse. “Henry, where’s Toth?! You said he was here!”
“Aye, he definitely was, sir. I’ve got the wounds to show for it.”
“We’ve got to figure out what the snake is up to! Spread out, search for clues!”
Hans searched the faces around him, looking for one in particular. He spotted the recognizably broken and poorly reset nose quickly, and sidled up to the man as the soldiers began to disperse around the encampment. “Borivoj.”
The man leapt, wheeling on Hans and clutching his hand to his heart. “Christ have mercy, Sir Hans, you near scared the life out of me.”
“Good, you could do with a bit of a fright now and then. Listen. I need you to do something for me. Sneak this into Henry’s pouch, would you? I know you’ve got the lightest fingers of all the guard.” Hans passed the man a potion bottle.
He looked at it, squinting at the markings for a second before snapping his eyes up to look at Hans. “Is this Laz-”
“There’s groschen in it for you if you get it in his pouch without his noticing, and I’ll know if you do it or not.”
“But why not just-”
“And a time limit on the groschen offer. Go, do it now while everyone’s milling about and it’ll be easier.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man slunk off, somehow managing to make his Rattay waffenrock seem dingy and discolored just by slouching a bit.
Hans joined his uncle and Radzig by the gate to the inner camp as the soldier spread out, going about their various tasks. The dead needed to be cleared away, the bodies sorted, the tents searched for anything that might hint at Toth’s location.
“Well, lad?” Hanush said, looking him over as he approached. “Got all your bits, have you? Survived your first skirmish?”
“Yes, uncle,” Hans sighed. He removed his helmet, cradling it under one arm so the other could wipe sweat where it was beading on his brow.
Radzig frowned, looking around at the ruined and smoldering camp. “Shame about Toth, though. Seems strange he’d just leave his forces here without anyone to lead them.”
Divish joined them as well, and Hans noted that battle suited the man. He looked weary and worn, and his white armor was splattered with a mess of red and brown and gray. Yet he seemed more lively now than he had before the battle began. There was light in his eyes and a spring in his step, and Hans wondered briefly if it was maybe just the effect of the rush of battle. “I’m not sure they were really his men, though. None of them are wearing any colors. It seems like this is just an entire camp of mercenaries.”
“Colors or not, Toth hired them and then left them to die here,” Hans muttered. “It’s a hell of a thing to do to your men.”
“Istvan Toth has never been known for having excessive amounts of compassion,” Radzig said gently. “Intelligence and cunning, though, he has in spades.”
“You seemed to like him well enough,” Hanush jibed, gesturing with his mace. The thing that had been stuck to the head finally came free with a quiet plop onto the ground.
“Like him? No. I respected him, still respect him, as a clever and skilled political schemer. But like? Never. He will always reek of Skalitz burning, to me.” Radzig shook his head, and a familiar expression crossed his face. Brows drawn down, nostrils flaring, lips pulled back almost into a grimace. Hans wondered at it, the face so incredibly similar to Henry’s own.
“Sirs,” called Henry, approaching. “This was all I’ve found in Erik’s office, but there’s still more to search.”
Hanush took the paper and stared at it angrily for a moment before flinging it out for Radzig to take. “A letter? Here, Radzig, what does it say?”
Radzig took the paper with a raised eyebrow. “Perhaps you should avail yourself of young Lord Capon’s tutors, old man. Everyone in the courts of Prague can read these days.”
Hans watched the incredulity cross Henry’s face for the briefest of moments before it was hidden away again. He didn’t blame him for his surprise; the fact that Henry, peasant son of a village blacksmith, had learned to read before his nobleman uncle, was a unique oddity. Hans had just always been grateful his uncle had elected to continue the tutoring his father had started him on.
“Yes, well, I’m not in the courts of Prague, am I? It’s what I’ve got a scribe for, anyway. Go on, what does the damn thing say?”
“It looks like it was written by Toth, but he didn’t address it to anyone. It says everything’s going according to plan and the castle should soon be taken.”
Blank confusion crossed every face, and Hans frowned, thinking. Istvan’s greatest strength was his maneuverability, slipping in and out of places before people caught on to whatever wicked little task he was about. He had no need for a castle. But his pondering was interrupted as two guards dropped a limping man to the ground in front of them, and his uncle began snapping at the wretch immediately. No patience , Hans thought, watching Radzig attempt a more reasonable approach instead.
But the man wasn’t fooled. Hans watched him, laughing through bloody teeth and running on and on about a castle left unguarded. A nearby castle left unguarded. Hans glanced around the group as they watched the man slowly begin raving, and it was only Henry’s horrified stare that told Hans he was right. “It’s Talmberg,” he said, over the man’s hysterical laughter. “Toth’s gone after Talmberg!”
“Is that true?!” Divish said, stepping forward to see the man’s face. “Did he go to Talmberg!”
“You’ll never get him!” The man’s giggle was high and breathy, and he let his head loll as he sat on all fours. His manic grin was cut off with the swift upward swing of Hanush’s mace, no doubt, Hans mused in disgust, getting something new stuck to the spikes.
“What?” Hanush asked into the silence. “Were you going to send him off to join a monastery or something? Come now, I believe we have work to do, do we not?”
Divish scowled, the expression almost comical on his long and wrinkled face. “We should mount up, there’s no time to lose.”
They began the trek back to the horses as the captains began marshalling their forces back into order. Hans found himself at the back of the group, near but not next to Henry. He watched the man reach blindly into his belt pouch and pause, feeling around and withdrawing a potion bottle. Hans tried not to watch too overtly. Henry looked at the bottle carefully, staring at the mark on the front for several seconds before feeling around in his pouch again and withdrawing a different bottle. He looked between them, stowed the second, and popped the cork from the first to sniff gently at it. His ears flicked and he grimaced.
Hans nearly grimaced in solidarity. The comfrey and verbena always gave the lazarus potion a particularly earthy, nose-curdling smell. When Henry pushed the cork back in, Hans nearly yelled at him to just drink the damn thing already. But instead he flipped the bottle upside down and examined it. Suddenly, he righted the bottle and veered sharply to close the distance between them. Hans slowed down as Henry approached, letting the older men get ahead of them.
“Sir Hans,” he said, frowning, “I appear to have one of your potions in my pouch. Not sure how I came by it, but you should have it back.”
Internally, Hans was screaming. It was the damn bottle, he realized. The castle apothecary had all his phials made special after a rash of fake potion sellers had passed through some years back. These days, all his potion bottles were stamped specially on the bottom to prove they were really his work. “Oh, is that so? Never mind, then. I obviously didn’t miss it, so you might as well keep it.”
“No, sir, you should take it. It’s Lazarus, you may yet find you want it.”
Hans felt he rather deserved some kind of commendation for the uncaring act he was putting on. He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve got two in my pack, Henry. You keep it. Besides, you look like you need it more than me at the moment.”
“I’ve got my own medicines, sir, I don’t need to steal yours.”
“Then consider it a gift. A… reward, for giving me a hand back there.”
“I don’t want your potion, sir.”
“Just keep it, Henry.”
“I don’t need your pity, sir ,” Henry growled, shoving the potion into Hans’ chest. “I can take care of myself.”
He took off at a trot to catch up to the lords, who were now nearly at their horses. With a bitten-off scream, Hans hurled the bottle down onto the road, shattering the pottery and spraying Lazarus potion all over his legs. “You stubborn, idiotic fool!”
He stormed after him, the scent of the potion tickling his nose every step of the way.