Sword of Power

  After what felt like an eternity, Lukas finally reached the stone pier of the palace, where the others were already waiting for him in the water. Another flight of steps led up to dry land. A few paces from the stairs, two watchmen were standing guard near the manor’s small back door. A manned boat was bobbing in the current half a stone’s throw away, in the middle of the river.

  “Damn it,” Zoltan whispered. Like the others, he was clinging to one of the slimy ropes dangling into the water from the pier above. “I wasn’t expecting that! We might be able to take down the two guards at the door, but then the ones in the boat will spot us.”

  “Not if I cast a spell,” said Elsa, shivering in the cold.

  “How would that work?” Zoltan asked. “You can’t turn us all invisible, can you? Don’t play at being some great sorceress, girl.”

  Elsa didn’t let the commander intimidate her. “Not invisible, but something like it. If it works, the men in the boat won’t notice us. Promise.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to trust the girl,” Bernhard said. “We don’t have any other options.”

  Zoltan cursed softly under his breath. “Damn it, I don’t like this witchcraft nonsense. But try if you want. I doubt it will work, anyway.” He turned to Elsa. “Do you need your book for that?”

  Elsa shook her head. “I know this spell by heart. I tried it once before. Just having the book nearby is enough.” She drew her waxed-cloth bundle to her chest, and then Elsa’s gaze seemed to turn inward, so that only the whites of her eyes were visible. She spoke a few words that to Lukas’s ears sounded terribly sinister, and as old as the world itself.

  “INVISOR JAMEN AL INSPECTIS . . . NUNC!”

  A gray cloud seemed to descend upon the group. Everything was hazy and slightly distorted, as though viewed through thick glass.

  Elsa started trembling more and more; deep concentration was etched into her face.

  “What the hell?” Zoltan began.

  “Quickly!” Elsa commanded them, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how long the spell will hold.”

  Zoltan spent another moment regarding the gray cloud in amazement. Then he and Bernhard clambered up the pier using the ropes hanging from either side. The cloud enveloped the two men like a plume of smoke.

  Lukas prayed this would work. The soldiers remained calm, even though they simply had to have seen Zoltan and Bernhard. Lukas thought he saw two of the men in the boat staring straight at them, yet they sounded no alarm.

  Zoltan and Bernhard lunged at the guards near the door, their movements almost perfectly synchronous. There was a brief struggle followed by two dull thumps, and then the soldiers were lying at the foot of the pier. Zoltan tossed his cloth-wrapped cudgel aside and waved Jurek over. “You’re up!” he ordered.

  Jurek climbed up onto the pier, which was now completely enveloped in the hazy gray cloud. The short one-eyed man fished around beneath his wet doublet and finally withdrew a ring of lockpicks. He quickly set to work at the palace’s back door, but he appeared to be having trouble. His movements grew increasingly anxious as time went on.

  “What’s wrong?” Matthias hissed from where he was waiting with Lukas and his friends. “Jurek, you said this lock would be no problem for you!”

  “I don’t know,” Jurek replied, breathing heavily. “Must be rusted.”

  “Hurry,” Elsa wheezed, her eyes still rolled strangely back into her head. “Can’t . . . hold . . . the spell . . . much longer . . .”

  The gray veil surrounding them was already beginning to tear. Lukas saw one of the watchmen in the boat lean in over the railing, appearing curious about something.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” Jurek growled. He switched to a different lockpick, but that one didn’t seem to fit, either.

  Elsa’s head was slowly beginning to sag forward, and the gray cloud began to dissipate. Just then Jurek let out a soft whoop of victory, and the door swung inward with a squeak.

  “Hurry!” Zoltan commanded, and the rest of them scrambled up the ropes. But Elsa seemed too weak already—her hands could barely grip the rope.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get her,” Matthias said to Lukas, who was waiting hesitantly up on the pier. “Go on!”

  As the last tendrils of fog began to evaporate, Lukas and Matthias, with Elsa in his arms, rushed toward the entrance. Lukas stumbled forward, feeling himself land on a thick, soft rug as the door closed behind them with a quiet click.

  They were inside.

  Lukas heard his own ragged breathing, along with soft music and laughter coming from somewhere above them. There were no sounds from outside—no shouts, no knocking. Apparently, they really had slipped away unnoticed at the last second.

  Zoltan leaned against the wall, wiping his face clean of the river water that had already formed a large puddle on the soft red carpet. He was staring at Elsa as though properly seeing her for the first time. “That damn witchcraft actually worked,” he mumbled and shook his head. “We don’t have much time.” He pointed impatiently at the bundles lying at their feet. “Hurry up and change!”

  Lukas opened his bundle and pulled out a pair of slitted blue trousers and an equally blue robe that was far too large for him. He slipped into them and then pulled a laughing Venetian mask over his face. The others were changing into their own colorful clothes and masks; together, they looked like some kind of traveling circus. Jerome, in particular, had taken great pains in selecting his outfit, for which Paulus and Giovanni had already teased him repeatedly. In the end he’d opted for a red harlequin costume, along with a white mask and a tambourine, which he was now shaking theatrically.

  “Voilà, how do I look?” he asked the others around him.

  “Like a drunken clown,” Paulus replied. “And if you keep shaking that thing, you’ll look like a dead drunken clown.”

  “At least I don’t have a gigantic warty nose,” Jerome shot back.

  “But you’re about to have a bloody one . . .” Paulus began.

  “Quiet, you two!” Zoltan barked at the quarreling pair. He himself was wearing a pitch-black costume and a golden devil mask with plaster horns. “Since we don’t know where the scepter is, we’ll split up into three groups,” the commander continued, lowering his voice again. “If I know that pompous marquis, he won’t have locked the scepter away—it’ll be out on display, where anyone can see it if they know what they’re looking for. So keep your eyes open! From what I’ve been told, there’s a golden acorn at the tip of the scepter, with six oak leaves around it.”

  He glanced over at the shivering Elsa, who was now wearing a Medusa mask and a tight green dress. Her trembling hands were still clutching the Grimorium. “What about you, girl?” Zoltan asked sympathetically. “Are you strong enough to help look for the scepter, or should we leave you here with Lukas?”

  Lukas opened his mouth to protest, but Matthias spoke up first. “I’ll go with the two of them,” he said. “If it becomes a problem, we’ll return here to the exit and wait for all of you.”

  Zoltan nodded. “It’s decided, then. Good luck, men!” He gave Bernhard and Jerome a sign to follow him. Paulus and Giovanni went with one-eyed Jurek, though Paulus was staring daggers into the back of Jurek’s head as he walked behind him.

  Matthias, Lukas, and Elsa were the only ones left. Matthias put on his own mask. His monk’s cowl and hood covered his wet black hair and the pearls knotted into it. “Let’s go, then,” he said cheerfully. “The other two groups have gone to the upper floors, so we’ll look around down here.”

  They walked down the hall, which soon branched off into other rooms and corridors. The walls were hung with elegant woven rugs and fine oil paintings, most of which showed hunting scenes or scowling men in gleaming armor. After a while, they spotted the first few guests coming toward them—two women and a man, all wearing masks.

  Lukas held his breath, but the trio seemed not to suspect a thing. They went on laughing and chatting as they walked, passing Lukas so closely t
hat he could smell the thick cloud of perfume surrounding one of the women.

  Soon they saw larger groups of people, and it grew progressively louder around them. In one of the rooms, people were dancing boisterously as a small ensemble on a velvet-covered stage played a cheerful melody. Here, too, all the guests were wearing masks and brightly colored costumes.

  A masked woman approached Lukas, giggling as she held out a hand adorned with diamond rings. “Well, you’re certainly short, even for a Venetian lover!” she said in German, pointing to Lukas’s mask. “All the same, would the gentleman care to dance? It’s ladies’ choice.”

  Lukas coughed sheepishly, feeling the blood rush to his face. If he said anything, the woman would know he was only a boy! He was about to turn and walk away, but then the lady reached for his hands and began spinning him around wildly in time with the music.

  “One would almost think you’d never danced a volta!” she laughed. “Where are you from, sir? Not from Venice, I suppose—wild Russia, more likely. Look here, it’s quite easy. And one-two-three, one-two . . .”

  Panicked, Lukas tore away and hurried over to Matthias and Elsa, who were watching the dance from near the wall, looking as though they’d been turned to stone. Together, the three of them hastened toward the exit. They were nearly at the door when the woman’s shrill voice rang out behind them. “You there! Who treats a lady that way? How unbelievably impolite! May I at least inquire who it is that has just snubbed me so coldly? Go on, answer me!”

  A hush fell over the room; even the music stopped playing. Lukas gripped Elsa’s hand tightly and closed his eyes. Now they were done for! He should never have agreed to this adventure! But just as the woman was about to rip the mask from Lukas’s face, Matthias stepped into her path.

  “Signorina!” he hissed. “Mind what you say! The young man standing before you is, indeed, a Venetian. In fact, he is the son of the doge himself, the ruler of the sea republic! Only his exceptional manners keep him from speaking to you . . . or, for that matter, from having you thrown into the marquis’s dungeon,” he added darkly.

  “Oh, p-pardon me, I had no idea,” the masked woman stammered. “Ah, how can I . . .”

  “Best just keep silent,” Matthias whispered. “His Excellency is here without his father’s permission. I am his godfather and confessor.”

  “Of course, I’ll be as silent as the grave.” The woman turned away and hurried back to her friends.

  Matthias exhaled heavily. Small beads of sweat appeared on his forehead above the mask. “I expect we have until the chime of the next hour before the entire ball—and thus the marquis—hears of the supposed son of the doge,” he told Lukas and Elsa quietly. “The marquis knows his own guest list, of course, so the ruse will be discovered. We can only hope that the others have better success, because our search, at any rate, is over.”

  They hastened back into the hallway and made their way toward the rear exit again. Abruptly, Matthias stopped in front of a door reinforced with thick iron bars. He hesitated. “We haven’t checked here yet,” he whispered.

  Behind them in the hallway, Lukas heard several women giggling. He froze. He could handle almost anything, but not another dance. Besides, the lie about his identity was likely to be discovered at any moment. Perhaps they could just hide behind this door for a minute?

  “Let’s take a quick look before we turn around,” Lukas suggested quietly. “At least until these masked hens behind us have gone.” Cautiously, he turned the knob, and the door swung inward without a sound. Matthias and Elsa hurried in behind him before the women got too close. Lukas found himself gazing into a gloomy vault, a series of stone arches illuminated by individual torches. Lining the walls were swords, rapiers, battle-axes, halberds, pikes, and countless other weapons. More were on display in the many glass cases all around the room. Suits of armor stood against columns, shimmering dully in the flickering light.

  “An armory!” Lukas blurted out in astonishment. “My God, I’ve never seen so many different weapons in one place!”

  “Hm, I’ve heard that the marquis loves weapons,” Matthias murmured. He walked toward a glass case containing a massive two-hander. “A few of these swords look quite old. Probably quite valuable as well.”

  “And look here!” Lukas hurried over to another display case, which held several basket-hilted swords, including one blade with a hand guard made up of winding roses. “A real schiavona! My father told me about these types of swords. The Venetian Guard carries them. If only Paulus could see this!”

  “As much as I hate to interrupt you men,” Elsa piped up, “I thought I’d just remind you that we’re here to find Imperial Regalia, not to admire a weapons collection.”

  Lukas sighed, running his fingers along the schiavona case once more. “You’re right, Elsa. Anyway, we’re running out of time. We need to hurry up and—”

  “Die,” a voice interrupted from the entrance. “Is that what you were about to say, boy?”

  Lukas whirled around in horror.

  VII

  The man in the doorway was around fifty and was wearing a tight red velvet skirt, a ruffled blouse, and a powdered wig. A silver rapier dangled at his side. Even in the dim light, Lukas could see that the man was made up like a woman—he was wearing rouge and lip stain. And he was grinning like an evil harlequin.

  “Marquis Antoine de LaSalle,” he said with a slight bow. “And you two lovelies must be the Lohenfels siblings I’ve heard so much about. Especially you, girl.” He winked at Elsa, who retreated a step.

  Matthias and Lukas stepped protectively in front of her.

  “What do you want from us?” Elsa asked, hugging the Grimorium to her chest.

  “Well, first of all, from the looks of it, you are the ones who want something from me, isn’t that right?” LaSalle smiled. “You sneaked into my house uninvited and disrupted my festivities like dirty little thieves! And what does one do with dirty little thieves? One crushes them like lice.” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly three tall soldiers appeared behind him, wearing crested helmets and cuirasses. Their hair was black and oily, and their eyes were so lifeless that Lukas initially thought they were wearing masks as well.

  But then he understood.

  “Frozen ones!” he gasped. “You command frozen ones!” Lukas’s heart leapt into his throat. More than half a year had passed since his last encounter with the soulless creatures, yet they still terrified him just as much as they had the first time.

  “Indeed, frozen ones,” Marquis replied in a tone of respectful admiration. “My dear friend Waldemar von Schönborn gave them to me as a gift. Like machines, these former mercenaries obey my every command and cannot be killed.” He giggled. “I believe the future belongs to machines anyway. Perhaps someday they will not even require magic.” He smirked. “Get them!”

  The last two words were directed at the three frozen ones, who now had their swords drawn and were hastening toward Lukas, Elsa, and Matthias with strangely stiff movements. There was a crashing, crunching sound nearby. Lukas turned and saw that Matthias had smashed one of the glass display cases. He tossed Lukas a short sword known as a Katzbalger and then picked up the two-hander, which was nearly two paces in length.

  “So these monsters can’t be killed?” Matthias asked with a grim smile. “Well, they’ll have to prove it to me first.” He moved toward two of the frozen ones, while the third lurched toward Lukas.

  “Elsa, stay behind me!” Lukas commanded his sister, tossing his mask aside. Resolutely, he swung his Katzbalger and parried close to his body to block his adversary’s first attack. The blow was so powerful that Lukas’s sword nearly fell out of his hand. He preferred fighting with rapiers, which were both lighter and better suited to dexterous thrusts and jabs. With swords, on the other hand, it was mostly about swinging as hard as possible, so the stronger fighter often emerged victorious.

  And when it came to sheer muscle power, the frozen one had an enormous advantage over Luka
s.

  The blows were raining down upon him as he retreated little by little. The bandaged wound on his upper arm was throbbing in pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthias swing the two-hander in a circle, actually managing to strike one of his two foes in the thigh. Blood spurted from the wound, yet the frozen one simply went on fighting as though nothing had happened.

  Even without legs, he’d probably still crawl toward us, Lukas thought despairingly.

  Elsa, meanwhile, was standing with her back against one of the columns, murmuring silently. Sweat was pearling on her brow, and Lukas suspected that the spell outside at the river had severely weakened her. He wondered if she would even be capable of casting another one. Lukas knew all too well how dangerous these monsters were. Once upon a time, they’d been people, Spanish mercenaries fighting for the Kaiser. But Waldemar von Schönborn had used his sorcery to make them into utterly invincible machines, designed for one purpose alone.

  Killing.

  Another blow hit Lukas’s Katzbalger, and he stumbled against a glass display case. As he fell he knocked the case over, and it shattered with a deafening crash. Lukas found himself lying on his back among the shards. He reached for his sword, but the frozen one was already above him. He kicked Lukas’s weapon away with the tip of his boot and then raised his sword for the final deadly blow.

  In that instant, Elsa’s loud, if slightly shaky, voice rang out.

  “VADE . . . VADE SANTUATIS!”

  The frozen one tumbled backward as though hit by some unseen force. Lukas got to his knees and searched desperately for a weapon—something, anything! Finally, he found a gilded mace amid the glass shards and clenched it tightly. Gasping for breath, he got to his feet and prepared for the next attack.

  “Get the girl!” the marquis screamed, still standing in the doorway. To Lukas’s horror, he saw that more guards had now stormed into the room. They were mortals, not frozen ones, but Lukas still knew that he and Matthias could never fight all of them at once—not successfully, anyway.