him.
Dietz considered that: his friend's anger, or his friend's death? 'I can live with anger,' he said softly. Then he kicked his horse into motion again, keeping close to the buildings, with Alaric's horse right beside him.
It took him the better part of an hour to find someone willing to direct him honestly, and another hour to reach the right street. Then Dietz was explaining the situation to a household guard, who studied the pair of travellers closely before nodding and sending a servant to fetch someone in charge. Two minutes later they were being shown inside, their horses led away by a stablehand. A few minutes after that, Alaric was being placed in a comfortable bed, a physician already being summoned to treat him. Dietz was offered a room as well, but said he could not sleep until he had heard from the physician. At least, so he had thought, but he sat down to wait by Alaric, and quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the day's events. He barely remembered a pair of men lifting him bodily and carrying him to a bed of his own.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alaric stretched, yawned , and stretched again. He tugged sleepily at the heavy coverlet, burrowing deeper into its warmth, and dozed again for a second, but the sun was streaming in from the window nearby and falling full upon his face; some fool had left the bed curtains open. He reached up absently and caught the nearest curtain in his hand, tugging on the heavy fabric to pull it shut again... and started awake.
Bed curtains? Coverlets? He vaguely remembered the night before, and agreeing with Dietz that they needed some place to stay. Clearly, Dietz had accomplished that task without his help, but when had they ever stayed in an inn with such luxuries? Never, that was when. So where was he?
Blinking against the strong sunlight, Alaric peered around him. He was indeed in a comfortable bed, complete with coverlet, curtains and heavy wooden posts. Thick pillows were piled up behind him, and he was fairly
certain the lump near his feet was a bedstone. Luxury indeed! Past the bed, he saw a finely appointed room, with a handsome carpet, an elegant writing desk, nicely carved armchairs, and a large, ornate wardrobe. The walls were papered with a striped pattern, interspersed with a shield bearing a coat of arms, and Alaric turned and yanked the curtains away from the head of the bed, staring in shock at the paper and the heraldry revealed on it: a pair of silver swords, crossed on a black field.
It was the von Jungfreud family crest.
He was home.
That was impossible! They were nowhere near Uber- sreik, unless he had been unconscious for weeks. He did feel weak, but surely he would have awakened at some point during such a journey. This was definitely one of his family's homes, however. Then he remembered. Of course! The house in Altdorf. Each of the elector counts had a mansion in the Empire's capital, for themselves and their representatives whenever they needed to attend court. Many of the other major nobles did as well, and the von Jungfreuds were no exception. This must be that house. Alaric had seen it once, years before, but didn't remember every room. The wallpaper, however, was impossible to mistake. He had fallen back into his family's clutches. He glanced around wildly, hoping to find his clothes nearby, but they were nowhere in evidence. They were probably in the wardrobe. At least he hoped so. Perhaps he could dress, find Dietz, and be away before-
'Awake at last, I see.' The gruff voice came from the door that was still swinging open, and Alaric froze in the act of tossing the coverlet aside and leaping out of bed. He sank back onto the thick mattress instead, sitting up straight and smoothing the coverlet with one hand as he watched the speaker approach. Tall, blue-eyed, with dark blond hair and handsome if heavy features, it was like looking in a
distorted mirror. Enough people had certainly told them that over the years.
'Heinrich,'
Dietz considered that: his friend's anger, or his friend's death? 'I can live with anger,' he said softly. Then he kicked his horse into motion again, keeping close to the buildings, with Alaric's horse right beside him.
It took him the better part of an hour to find someone willing to direct him honestly, and another hour to reach the right street. Then Dietz was explaining the situation to a household guard, who studied the pair of travellers closely before nodding and sending a servant to fetch someone in charge. Two minutes later they were being shown inside, their horses led away by a stablehand. A few minutes after that, Alaric was being placed in a comfortable bed, a physician already being summoned to treat him. Dietz was offered a room as well, but said he could not sleep until he had heard from the physician. At least, so he had thought, but he sat down to wait by Alaric, and quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the day's events. He barely remembered a pair of men lifting him bodily and carrying him to a bed of his own.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alaric stretched, yawned , and stretched again. He tugged sleepily at the heavy coverlet, burrowing deeper into its warmth, and dozed again for a second, but the sun was streaming in from the window nearby and falling full upon his face; some fool had left the bed curtains open. He reached up absently and caught the nearest curtain in his hand, tugging on the heavy fabric to pull it shut again... and started awake.
Bed curtains? Coverlets? He vaguely remembered the night before, and agreeing with Dietz that they needed some place to stay. Clearly, Dietz had accomplished that task without his help, but when had they ever stayed in an inn with such luxuries? Never, that was when. So where was he?
Blinking against the strong sunlight, Alaric peered around him. He was indeed in a comfortable bed, complete with coverlet, curtains and heavy wooden posts. Thick pillows were piled up behind him, and he was fairly
certain the lump near his feet was a bedstone. Luxury indeed! Past the bed, he saw a finely appointed room, with a handsome carpet, an elegant writing desk, nicely carved armchairs, and a large, ornate wardrobe. The walls were papered with a striped pattern, interspersed with a shield bearing a coat of arms, and Alaric turned and yanked the curtains away from the head of the bed, staring in shock at the paper and the heraldry revealed on it: a pair of silver swords, crossed on a black field.
It was the von Jungfreud family crest.
He was home.
That was impossible! They were nowhere near Uber- sreik, unless he had been unconscious for weeks. He did feel weak, but surely he would have awakened at some point during such a journey. This was definitely one of his family's homes, however. Then he remembered. Of course! The house in Altdorf. Each of the elector counts had a mansion in the Empire's capital, for themselves and their representatives whenever they needed to attend court. Many of the other major nobles did as well, and the von Jungfreuds were no exception. This must be that house. Alaric had seen it once, years before, but didn't remember every room. The wallpaper, however, was impossible to mistake. He had fallen back into his family's clutches. He glanced around wildly, hoping to find his clothes nearby, but they were nowhere in evidence. They were probably in the wardrobe. At least he hoped so. Perhaps he could dress, find Dietz, and be away before-
'Awake at last, I see.' The gruff voice came from the door that was still swinging open, and Alaric froze in the act of tossing the coverlet aside and leaping out of bed. He sank back onto the thick mattress instead, sitting up straight and smoothing the coverlet with one hand as he watched the speaker approach. Tall, blue-eyed, with dark blond hair and handsome if heavy features, it was like looking in a
distorted mirror. Enough people had certainly told them that over the years.
'Heinrich,'
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