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said.
    “Well that is no farmer’s hut,” Pirmin said pointing at the keep on the hill.
    Thomas remembered the Norseman Ruedi talked about. The Wyvern had been patrolling the waters off the coast of Turkey and they came across the remains of a burned out merchant knarr floating dead in the water. Only one man remained alive, though he hovered precariously close to death.
    Thomas ordered him to be taken to the Hospital in Rhodes, where to everyone’s amazement and thanks in no small part to the skill of the Order’s doctors, the man had survived and spent almost two months amongst the Hospitallers. He was well traveled and a tireless storyteller, provided he was kept in his cups, and told endless tales of the far North and how most people there still believed not in one god, but in many, similar to the Greeks of old.
    The seven men dismounted in front of a church, which, though small, was still the most impressive building in sight. Next to it was a recently constructed barracks, with three Austrian soldiers standing about eyeing the travelers. It was midday, the street quiet as most people were at work.
    Each man said some parting words to Ruedi and embraced him in the quick emotional manner of men who had forged a bond of incredible strength over the years. As a parting gift Thomas gave him a dozen crossbow quarrels.
    “You will make better use of these than I ever could,” Thomas said.
    “Aye. You never had much of an eye, Cap’n. I will come find you sometime—maybe take you hunting. Try not to starve before then.” His voice broke slightly and the forks of his mahogany beard twitched as he clamped his mouth shut.
    Thomas mounted up and the men rode out of Altdorf, leaving Ruedi standing alone in the middle of the road, the occasional townsman scurrying past, pretending not to stare.
    ***
    It was already dark when they rode into Schwyz, but they had no trouble finding a large inn. The village was a common stopping point for travelers who had made it over the Alps and the inn’s business seemed good. The high-ceilinged common room held a dozen tables, half of them filled with patrons, when Thomas’s party entered. A staircase, with sturdy treads formed from split logs, led up to several rooms on the second floor.
    Faces looked up but quickly turned away again when someone from Thomas’s group met their gaze. Good things rarely came from prolonged eye contact with six heavily armed men weary from the road.
    The owner, a thin, tight-lipped man with strong hands, watched the new arrivals suspiciously from behind a high counter, which separated the crowd from several tapped kegs. He seemed to relax slightly when Max paid some coins up front and negotiated for rooms and horse stabling.
    Soon, heaping bowls of chamois stew and ceramic mugs of ale were placed before the six men. As the owner brought the food out of the kitchen, Thomas glanced an older woman and a younger pretty girl with sand-colored hair. She stared at Thomas and his companions with wide eyes, and then the door swung shut obscuring her from view.
    Thomas surveyed the patrons. A few tables of traveling merchants, and another with two grizzled and grey men and a woman hunched over their drinks, talking in hushed tones. Then he looked at his own group of dirty, rough men-at-arms as an outsider might and did not blame the innkeeper for hiding the womenfolk away in the kitchen.
    While with the Order, Thomas and his men had always worn brown cloaks and tunics with the white Hospitaller cross prominently displayed on the chest or shoulder. His friends looked different now in plain traveling garb, albeit their weapons and partially visible chainmail marked them as more than simple travelers.
    “Our coin will go a long way in this land,” Max said, obviously pleased with the outcomes of his negotiations.
    “A good thing that is. Since you still owe me for re-shaping that sword you carry,” Urs said. During his years of service to the Order of Saint John,