The Legacy (39 page)

Sabina realized he had mistaken her for a peasant because she wore a servant’s dress. Perhaps it would work to her advantage.

“Step away from him,” she said.

“Tell me, my dear, why do you trouble yourself over the likes of him?” he asked, his voice almost kindly. “As soon as we open that strong box, we will share the wealth of its contents with each of you worthy peasants—after, of course, deducting reasonable expenses toward the cost of conducting this Holy War. And for regrouping those traitorous louts who deserted for lack of pay,” he added as an afterthought. His attention returned to her. “Come, come, now. Put the dagger down. You will only injure yourself with it anyway.”

“He does not have what you want,” she said distinctly, tracking the shadowy movements she could barely make out in the circle outside of the torchlight.

Müntzer arched a brow. “And that would be …?”

“The key. He does not have it,” she said again, and prayed the baron would not rouse himself enough to contradict her.

“Ah. And how do you know this?” Müntzer asked her.

“Because I have it,” Sabina said flatly.

“You—. Well, what a stroke of good fortune.” His cool smile died. “Give it to me,” he said, clearly scenting the treasure he imagined within his grasp.

“Let them go first.” She motioned toward the servants. “Your argument is not with the peasants, it is with the nobility. Why hold them hostage if you are fighting on their behalf?”

Müntzer raised a brow at her logic.

“Why indeed?” he murmured. “Very well. Show me the key, and I will let them go. After all, how can I trust someone I do not even know, however exquisite and daring she might be?”

Sabina was prepared for this. She pulled a key out of her pocket, and dangled it on its ribbon in front of her.

“Let them go,” she ordered again.

Müntzer was silent for a moment, eyeing first the key and then Sabina. With a curt nod of his head, he ordered the servants released. They ran into the night, one or two of them tearfully thanking her, but all having the good sense not to say who she was. She was certain some of them had recognized her, but none had given her away. She flipped the key over to Müntzer, and he caught it with one hand.

“Girl, this key had better work, or else your death will be far more painful than the one I have planned for him,” Müntzer calmly informed her with a nod at the baron.

“It will work,” she informed him. In fact, she counted on it. “Take what you want and go.”

He looked at her for a moment, and deep in his eyes, she saw an awareness of her that made her shudder.

“Believe me,” he said in that deceptively cool voice, “I intend to.”

He turned to the box. “Which keyhole? How does it work?”

She did not trust herself to speak; she gestured to one of the keyholes. He inserted the key and it turned easily. He smiled. But the smile turned to a frown when he tried to lift the lid on the chest and it did not budge. He turned his furious gaze on her.

“You have to put your finger in the hole and press down,” she stammered. “It has a spring mechanism.”

Müntzer turned back to the chest and, squinting at it, slipped the index finger of his right hand into the hole.

Everything happened at once. Müntzer screamed as the razor-edged trap snapped shut on his finger, lacerating it down to the bone, blood spurting out from the cut. He was caught literally red-handed, unable to remove his finger. His startled men stared at him, uncomprehending, their attention drawn to him and away from her.

At that moment, a blood-curdling berserker cry ripped the night, frightening Müntzer’s men so badly, they swung to face whatever demon had uttered the sound. Günter aimed with deadly accuracy, the distraction enough to make two of the peasant men hesitate for a scant moment, a moment which cost them their lives. Wolf ran a third through with horrifying swiftness. Peter thrust his body between Sabina and the rest, his sword at the ready, prepared to defend her from any who should try to approach.

Günter wheeled around to one of the men who had retrieved the chest; the man immediately dropped his weapon and ran sobbing into the night. Günter let him go and tore after “ax man.” Another man made the mistake of swinging his blade toward Sabina and Peter. Peter stopped the blade by flanking it with the flat of his sword while Wolf’s steel thrust into the man’s exposed side. He fell silently to the ground, dead.

Sabina turned her head away from the sight of the dying men, gagging.

After quickly dispatching “ax man,” Günter swung around and pointed his bloodied great sword at Müntzer, still trapped by the chest.

“What do you want to do about him?” he asked, not even breathing hard.

Peter, Wolf, and Sabina all turned to face Müntzer—who, despite his injury, had managed to draw his sword with his left hand and now stood holding it on the barely conscious baron. His hand trembled, but he held the blade directly over the baron’s heart.

Wide-eyed with fear, the baron stared around him, not understanding what had happened while he lay unaware.

“I will kill him,” Müntzer hissed, his face ashen with pain, blood oozing from his wound. Sanguine spatters covered the side of the iron box.

Unfortunately, at that moment, the baron saw Sabina. “Daughter,” he begged, “Save me! I am sorry for all I have done to you … do not let him kill me!”

“Daughter?” Müntzer managed, and turned his eyes on her. “How … interesting.” Through gritted teeth he ordered, “Release me now, or your patrician father dies.”

She stared at the baron, a man who had beaten, starved, and locked her away like an animal, the man who had tormented her for so many years. She tried to dredge up some sympathy for him, tried to see him as just another weak man gone astray. She could not.

“Did you kill my mother?” she asked.

“What?” The baron blinked rapidly, as if he did not understand the question. He quivered in fear.

“Did you kill my mother?” she repeated tightly.

She had to know. She pulled the second key out of her pocket and showed it to him, then raised it above her head in a fist as though she would throw it across the ward. “Tell me the truth, or I will let you die.”

“B-but I—” he stuttered; Müntzer’s blade pressed against his chest, allowing a small dot of blood to ooze out. The baron whimpered in pain.

“Yes, yes … but I did not want to. It was your fault! She was not a bad woman, but I needed a son, and she was never going to be able to give me another. If you had not killed my son, I would not have had to take your mother’s life! You are as much responsible for it as I,” he cried.

Wolf started toward him, eyes blazing. “Why, you piece of filth—I will kill you myself!”

Müntzer immediately threatened Wolf with his raised sword. Günter stepped into his path while Peter grabbed Wolf’s arm to hold him back. The baron turned his face toward Wolf, wild with fear. “You! You must kill him. You must set me free!”

“I would not if I were you,” Müntzer said, gesturing the sword at Wolf. “I am quite capable with both hands, you know. Ambidextrous. It is a sign of the Devil, they tell me.” He laughed harshly.

“You must!” the baron pleaded to Wolf. “Or … or I will tell them everything.”

“Then you will
surely
die,” Wolf said, his voice colder then the blade of steel he held in his hand. He stared at the baron and made a slight movement with his sword.

The baron followed the movement, his eyes widening with understanding at the implied threat. The older man grew more ashen then he already was, but his pleas subsided to whimpering sobs. The others watched the exchange with questioning stares, but Wolf stonily ignored them.

Müntzer swung his sword back to the baron. His dark eyes bored into Sabina’s. “The key, woman. Now.”

Sabina stood motionless, the hand holding the key still high above her head. A sweeping rage roared through her, cleansing, righteous. She could end it now—throw away the key, watch the baron die a coward’s death. It was no more than he deserved. He was a criminal, no better than an animal, murdering innocent people so he could satisfy his own needs and ambitions.

Still, her conscience whispered inconveniently, if she let him die this way, what would that make her?

“Hurry, you worthless cow!” the baron cried.

Whatever it would make her, she could live with it. She drew back her hand and threw the key as far as it would go.

Each man watched it arc across the ward with a similar shocked expression on his face. It landed with a “ping” somewhere in the black night. Obviously, none of them had believed she was capable of such an act. She had not even believed it herself until the key left her hand.

She looked at Müntzer. “Do your worst. He is nothing to me now.” She walked over to an astonished Wolf, who immediately placed her behind him.

Müntzer grimaced on a spasm of pain, but held the blade steady, pointed at the baron’s heart. “Well, this
is
an unfortunate turn of events,” he mused.

Wolf moved toward him, and as if on cue, the brothers each raised their swords and moved with him. “Put down your weapon, or die where you stand,” he said. “Prison or death. Your choice.”

Müntzer shook his head slowly, as though turning down an invitation to supper. “I am sorry, but my plans do not include incarceration at this time. For me, prison and death are the same. You understand. Find the key and release me now, or he
will
die.”

Wolf barely spared a glance for the baron. His stance and his look spoke of complete indifference.

“I’m afraid you took the wrong man hostage. Whether he lives or dies is of no concern to me. You may have noticed, as a father-in-law, he leaves something to be desired.”

The baron began to wail.

Müntzer raised his brows at Wolf. Sweat trickled down his forehead. “That vengeful sprite is your wife? Well. My condolences.” He cast a disparaging glance at the blubbering Baron von Ziegler. “Obviously takes after her mother.”

The sword blade wavered, just a little, and then steadied again. “It seems we are at an impasse,” Müntzer mused. “What
shall we
do?”

Peter spoke up. “You cannot get away. You must know that. Put down your weapon and surrender.”

Müntzer stared at the little group clustered around him. “My chances of escaping are looking rather dim.” His eyes fell once again on Sabina, and he blinked rapidly, trying to focus his gaze. “Such a stalwart thing. Pity. You would have made one of my peasant rulers a magnificent wife. Mayhap even me.” He sighed in resignation. “Very well. But we must not waste an opportunity, eh?” With that he drove the sword straight into the baron’s heart.

Sabina had been mistaken in her indifference. Her screams nearly drowned out the baron’s. Wolf grabbed her as she ran by him, struggled to keep her from his side. Günter stepped between them, and Wolf expected him to execute Müntzer as efficiently as he had the other men. But he did not. It wasn’t necessary. In Müntzer’s weakened state, he had fainted and now slumped over the chest, unconscious.

Peter rushed to both men, examining first Müntzer, then the baron. He looked up at Sabina.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “The baron is dead.”

Wolf held her trembling body. “It was God’s will, Sabina. An eye for an eye. We were merely the instruments. Don’t blame yourself.”

She shuddered once and went still, nodding.

Günter prodded Müntzer with the flat of his sword. “He’s worth money, you know, to the one who can bring him in. Would anybody care to take on the pleasure? Nay? Well, I suppose I shall.” He motioned to Müntzer’s hand, still trapped in the box. “Shall I just cut off his finger, then, or should I bring the box with—?”

“I will find the key!” Peter hastily interjected, holding up his hands to forestall him. “Just wait. I believe I saw where it fell.”

Günter shrugged indifferently while Peter hastened off to search for it.

Sabina looked around her at the death and carnage they had wrought, the waste of life, and she began to feel genuinely ill. “Excuse me,” she said, and staggered away.

She found a quiet corner of the ward, retched, and then sat down on the ground unsteadily. Wolf was beside her instantly, putting a cool hand to her forehead, massaging her back. She looked up at him, and he looked down, eyes bleak.

“I don’t know what to say to make it better, other than I love you.”

She reached up a hand, grasped his tightly. Leaning back against his solid strength, she closed her eyes and said, “That is enough. Love is always enough.”

W
olf lifted Sabina off Suleiman, cradling her tenderly against him. The men had agreed Peter should go into town to warn the Guard about what had transpired, and Günter would provide an escort for Sabina and Wolf back to Sanctuary before taking Müntzer back to claim the reward for his capture.

Sabina had fallen asleep on the way home, and now lay limp and exhausted in Wolf’s arms. Even after weeks of eating Bea’s excellent cooking, the burden of Sabina’s weight was little enough to bear.

Wolf remembered another time, not too long ago, when he had held her like this, taken her across the threshold into his home—their home now, if she still willed it—and he couldn’t believe how far they had come. He carried her to the door before a deep voice stopped him.

“Hold.”

Günter watched him from the height of his horse, which he had draped with its own peculiar burden—an insentient Thomas Müntzer. The horse shifted from side to side, uncomfortable with its extra cargo. Günter held the horse firmly in place with his knees.

“I would speak with you. I have questions about Papa. I have questions about many things.”

Wolf glanced down at his wife, and back up to Günter. “And I have answers. But now isn’t the time.”

Günter considered that for a moment, and nodded. “But there
will come
a time.”

Wolf met his steady gaze. “Yes, there will come a time.”

Leather creaked as Günter shifted in the saddle.

“I must hasten,” he finally said. “My time here was supposed to be short. I’d only intended to stop by Sanctuary briefly before rejoining the merchants I travel with. I sought to bring you news. Imagine my surprise when Franz told me what your new wife was up to.” Günter glanced at Müntzer’s inert form. “He will bring a fine bit of coin when I turn him over. I will gladly share,” he offered again.