Chapter 223: A play for power

"...And who said anything about escaping?"

Lukas stared at the Imperial warlord, his jaw nearly dropping to the wooden floor.

He accidentally dropped a silver coin from his fingers, and it rolled slowly across the explosive black powder scattered on the ground.

"Huh?!" Lukas stammered, taking a quick step backward toward the hidden stairs. "Are we going to die just to do this?! Diego, I am a thief, not a cursed martyr! I came here for gold, not to be blown into bloody chunks of meat!"

Hearing these words, Diego threw his head back and let out a booming laugh that shook the room.

"You foolish boy," Diego chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Do you truly think I am going to sit in a damp tunnel and light a fuse myself?"

Lukas paused, his hand still resting on the hilt of his dagger. "Then... who will light them?"

"The inside man, of course," Diego grinned broadly, leaning back in his creaking wooden chair. "Our greedy friend who runs the royal wine cellars. We promised him a heavy chest of Swabian gold as soon as the palace falls. He thinks he will have a full five minutes to run out the back doors."

Lukas swallowed hard. "And... will he?"

"What he does not know is that the fuse cords on those clay pots burn much faster than they look," Diego smirked. "He will light the first one, turn around to run, and the fire will hit the powder in ten seconds. He will burn with the Archbishop."

Lukas let out a long sigh of relief, leaning against the wall. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

For a terrible moment, he genuinely believed these crazy Imperial mercenaries were going to force him on a suicide mission.

"That is a cruel trick, Diego," Lukas chuckled, walking back to the table. "But I suppose a traitor deserves a traitor’s end. As long as I get my share of the silver, I do not care who lights the fire."

However, just as Lukas opened his mouth to joke about the doomed wine merchant, a loud commotion erupted from the muddy streets outside the bakery’s boarded window.

The loud sound of armored horses galloping through the mud shattered the quiet morning of the market district.

People outside began screaming, scrambling out of the way to avoid being trampled by heavy hooves.

Diego rose from his chair and walked quickly toward the window. He peered through a crack in the wood, looking down at the street below.

Ten elite Austrian guards wearing the Archbishop’s white and gold colors were riding fiercely through the crowded market.

The lead guard was blowing a brass horn to clear the way, while another rider was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Hear ye! Hear ye! By decree of the Royal Palace!" the guard roared. "The Archbishop of Salzburg has fallen gravely ill! A terrible fever has struck him. The royal gates are now closed and sealed!"

The guard paused to yank the leather reins of his horse, turning the beast in the thick mud.

"The grand jousting tournament scheduled for next week is canceled until further notice!" the guard shouted once more. "Return to your homes! Pray for the Archbishop!"

The armored knights did not stop to answer the panicked civilians’ questions. They continued galloping down the street, their voices fading into the cold winter fog.

Diego slowly backed away from the window. The confident smirk had vanished entirely from his face.

"..."

"Diego?" Lukas asked, looking at the hundreds of clay pots stacked around them. "What does this mean?"

"It means we are doomed," Diego snarled, kicking a wooden chair across the room to shatter against the wall. "The tournament is canceled. And the palace gates are sealed shut. Our inside man cannot smuggle fifty barrels of ’wine’ into a locked-down fortress!"

Lukas’s face paled. "But we have a hundred bombs sitting right here! We cannot leave them above a bakery oven forever. If the city guards start searching houses because of the Archbishop’s illness, they will find this place!"

"I know!" Diego roared, snatching up his thick wolf coat. "The entire plan is ruined! Months of planning, wasted in a single morning! I must tell Fernando!"

"If they knock on that door, I am jumping out the back window," Lukas warned, pacing the floor. "I will not hang for your war, Diego."

Diego did not even wait for the thief to finish speaking. He stormed down the stairs, wholly ignoring the confused baker on the first floor, and rushed out into the muddy streets.

He rode furiously, pushing his horse to its absolute limits. Mud flew into the air behind him as he tore through the city outskirts, passing startled farmers and merchants. He did not care who saw him; the ticking clock of the undiscovered bombs consumed his mind.

***

Despite that, while panic erupted in the markets, a entirely different atmosphere hung over the high hills outside the city walls.

The crippled Fernando sat quietly on his custom leather saddle. He pulled his woolen cloak around his neck, letting the freezing Austrian rain wash over his pale face.

Right beside him, sitting on a brown mare, was Captain Vargas. The scarred alchemist had a hemp rope coiled around his neck, and was using a small steel knife to clean the mud from his horse’s bridle.

Together, they were gazing down toward the sprawling capital of Salzburg.

Specifically, Fernando’s cold black eyes were fixed on the Archbishop’s cathedral palace right in the center of the city.

"It truly is an ugly building, is it not?" Vargas muttered. "Too much gold, not enough stone. If someone placed three of your new Swabian bombs near those southern arches... the entire side would collapse like a cheap tent."

"We will not bring down a single wing, Vargas..." Fernando smiled calmly. "When the jousting tournament begins, I want the explosion to be so immense that King Konrad feels the ground shake even in Augsburg."

"You are a highly dramatic man, Fernando," Vargas chuckled, putting his knife away into his belt. "But I suppose you have earned the right to be dramatic. When this city burns, the Emperor will have no choice but to rely on your Vanguard forces."

Before Fernando could reply to the compliment, the loud sound of a heavy horse galloping desperately up the muddy hill broke their focus.

Fernando turned his head. It was Diego.

Diego was panting, his warhorse covered in mud from the reckless run. Diego yanked the reins hard, halting his beast next to his crippled brother.

"Fernando!" Diego gasped, his chest heaving. "The plan... the plan is ruined!"

Fernando raised a calm eyebrow, not showing an ounce of panic. "Ruined? Did the baker talk? Did the guards find the powder?"

"...It is the Archbishop!" Diego shouted, pointing a thick finger toward the city below. "Royal knights are riding through the merchant streets right now. The Archbishop has fallen ill, they canceled the tournament and closed all the gates!"

Vargas sat up straighter, his burned forehead wrinkling in surprise.

"A sudden illness..." Fernando whispered to himself, his eyes narrowing slightly as he rolled the word around. "An illness that cancels a tournament and seals a fortress. How very convenient."

"What do we do, brother?" Diego asked, his horse shifting nervously in the rain. "We have enough black powder in that bakery to blow up half the city. If we do not move it, the guards will smell the sulfur sooner or later! Should we dump it into the river? Or should we just light the fuses right now and run for the border?"

"Shut up, Diego," Fernando ordered, raising a gloved hand to silence the hulking warrior.

Fernando turned his head and looked at Vargas. "You were an esteemed alchemist in the Imperial court, Vargas. Tell me... how often does a healthy, well-fed ruler suddenly fall ill just one week before the largest political gathering of the year?"

Vargas rubbed the burn scar on his forehead, a mocking smile slowly spreading across his rough face. "In my experience, Fernando? Kings and Archbishops do not get randomly sick right before showing their wealth and power to their followers. That kind of timing is rarely an accident."

"Exactly," Fernando murmured.

"You think someone poisoned him?" Diego asked, finally grasping the idea. "Who would dare?"

"Someone who wants his throne," Vargas chuckled. "Or someone who knows what we are planning and wants to stop us..."