The rest of the day was a weary show of old manners...

Ulrich supped with the remnants of the Rothenburg court, eating poor fare of salted mutton and watered wine... stark signs of the estate’s failing stores.

Lady Helga, her wits clearly clouded by grief and loss of power, often forgot her manners. She spoke treasonous, angry words against the von Frundsberg rule, blind to the danger of speaking so loudly among unknown men.

Ulrich gave polite nods, waiting patiently for the keep to fall asleep.

At two hours past midnight, the Rothenburg keep fell into a heavy silence.

The guards walked predictable paths, hindered by their lack of drill and a dearth of lamp oil.

Creak... Ulrich slipped from his chamber.

The poisoning of his father had left no mark, but Isolde’s planted whispers had turned Ulrich’s eye toward the Swabian League.

He needed proof - namely, the tally books of the late Lord Henrich - to show that the League had poisoned his father over a broken pact with the sell-swords.

He walked the twisting halls, slipping past a sleeping guard with ease.

Upon reaching the late Lord Henrich’s private chamber, Ulrich used a simple iron hook to pick the old lock on the door.

Once inside, he opened a small, shielded lantern, casting a narrow beam across the messy room.

For three hours, Ulrich carefully read the scattered papers.

He found nothing but tallies of empty grain stores, peasant revolts, and desperate begging for Hanseatic coin.

It seemed the League’s men had swept the room clean before the house fell.

Weariness began to dull Ulrich’s senses. As he turned to look at a high shelf, his shoulder caught a heavy book.

The heavy Latin Bible fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Ulrich froze, his hand dropping to the wheellock dag at his belt.

He waited for the sound of guards, but the keep remained still. The starved peasants lacked the strength to hunt down strange noises.

As Ulrich knelt to pick up the holy book, he saw a strange thing.

The fall had broken the binding, showing that the thick block of parchment pages had been hollowed out... Hidden within the hole was a small, heavily ciphered ledger, bound in black calfskin.

Ulrich opened the ledger, holding it to the light.

The words were not of God... The book was a careful tally of smuggled goods and dark plots. It tracked the exact weight of saltpeter moved through Hanseatic roads, the stealing of the Emperor’s dues, and, most damning, the letters sent between Lord Henrich and the Bishop of Augsburg.

The words laid out a grand plan of the Swabian League to shatter the valley from within.

Furthermore, it clearly ordered the "death of old friends who command the heavy horse" to break the Waldemar lances.

The final pages spoke of a newly hatched plan: crying out to the Bishop of Augsburg to raise a holy war against the von Frundsberg forges.

"..." Ulrich stared at the ink, his heart hammering.

The ledger did not name Konrad von Frundsberg. It did not speak of the sugar of lead... It clearly showed the Swabian League’s order to kill the Master of Horse!

Lacking the full truth, Ulrich fell into the exact trap Isolde had set. He believed the Swabian League had murdered his father to break the Waldemar horse.

His mind was made up at once.

He had to bring these tidings to the only lord strong enough to break the Bishop of Augsburg’s coming crusade...

He had to stand with Konrad von Frundsberg.

... 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Three days later, Ulrich von Waldemar stood in the great hall of the von Frundsberg keep.

Clerks and masters of stores moved with perfect order, tallying sulfur, wheat, and the casting of new cannons.

Konrad sat at the head of the hall, his eyes fixed on a draftsman’s plan for a stronger cannon breech.

Ulrich walked to the desk, slamming the black calfskin ledger onto the wood.

"Lord Konrad," Ulrich announced. "I hold the proof. The Swabian League plotted the death of my father! And now they mean to cry to the Bishop of Augsburg to raise a holy war to take this valley."

"..." Konrad did not flinch. He offered no soft words for the loss of Ulrich’s father. He simply reached out, opened the ledger, and began reading the ciphered lines.

"The cipher is a common Venetian trick..." Konrad noted, "The words match our own spies’ reports on the Bishop’s supply roads."

"They murdered him, Konrad!" Ulrich pressed, his hands clenching into fists. "My father served this house for thirty years, and they poisoned him like a cur to break our lances! I demand we march. The Waldemar heavy horse is yours to command. We will ride the Swabian vanguard into the mud."

Konrad closed the ledger, setting it straight on his desk.

He looked at Ulrich, "Your wrath is a strong fire for war, Lord Ulrich," Konrad stated. "But your plan to throw heavy horse against a wall of pikes is madness... A blind charge will see nine of every ten men dead within the hour." "

This...?" Ulrich stared at the Lord, stunned. "Then how do we strike them? We cannot sit behind these walls while they march!"

"We will not sit," Konrad corrected. "We will put your men to better use... I have already formed a new cavalry, the Schwarze Reiter. The long lance is cast out."

Konrad pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from a drawer. "The Waldemar horse will strip off their heavy barding. They shall wear only the blackened half-plate, that their horses might run longer and swifter. Their chief arms shall be two wheellock dags for every rider."

"You will take command of a vanguard of these Reiters," Konrad ordered, ignoring Ulrich’s stunned silence. "...you will use the woods and hills to strike their wagons from the flanks, loose your dags at close measure, and ride away at once. You will bleed their stores dry before they ever see our walls."