Eifelheim

And yet…

Hans had flown through a rain of arrows and braved Gschert’s dungeon to rescue Dietrich from Burg Falkenstein. Whatever cold krenkish reason had driven it, it deserved more than a sword in answer. One did not put down a dog that had succored one, however fiercely it now barked.

Dietrich saw the world suddenly through krenkish eyes — lost, far from home, neighbors to ominous strangers who could contemplate the killing of their lords, an act incomprehensible, even bestial to them. To Hans, Dietrich was the Beast That Spoke.

Dietrich gasped and siezed Eugen’s snaffle rein. “Quickly. Ride to Manfred. Tell him, ‘they are your vassals.’ He will understand. I will meet him at the mill stream bridge. Now, go!”

The villagers chattered. Some had heard the lepers mentioned, and Volkmar said they would bring their illness into the village. Oliver cried that he would drive them off alone, if need be. Theresia answered that they must be welcomed and cared for. Hildegarde Müller, who alone among them realized what was coming down the Bear Valley road, stood frozen with a hand across her open mouth.

Dietrich rushed to the church, where he seized a crucifix and an aspergum and hailed the creature Hans on the head harness. “Turn back,” he pleaded. “There is yet time.” He draped a stole around his neck. “What is it you want?”

“Escape from this numbing cold,” the Krenk answered. “The… hearths… in our ship will not burn until we have repaired the… the sinews of fire.”

The Krenken might have spent the summer building snug cottages instead of collecting butterflies and flowers. But such chastisement was vain. “Max brings a force to turn you back.”

“They will run. Gschert has that sentence in his head. Our weapons and our form will cause them to flee, and so we will take your hearths for ourselves and not feel this cold.”

Dietrich thought about the gargoyles and monsters that adorned the walls of St. Catherine’s. “You may frighten these men, but they will not run. You will perish.”

“Then, likewise, we will not feel the cold.”

Dietrich was ru

And so it was that the shivering band of Krenken — bundled in what hodge-podge of garments they could muster and escorted by Max’s trembling, round-eyed men — approached the lord of the Hochwald. The Herr Gschert, splendid in red sash and trousers, and a yellow vest too thin for the weather, stepped forward and, at Dietrich’s coaching, dropped to one knee with his shivering hands folded before him. Manfred, after the barest hesitation, enclosed those hands in his own, a

He pressed the processional crucifix into the hands of Joha

The human heart finds comfort in ceremony. Manfred’s impromptu words, Gschert’s humble gesture, Dietrich’s blessing, the procession and cross tempered the dread in folk’s breasts, so that, for the most part, the Krenken were met by stu

More would flee were flight easier, Dietrich thought, and prayed for snow. Block the roads; choke the pathways; keep this monstrous advent contained in the Hochwald!

When the Krenken caught sight of the “wooden cathedral,” they chittered and pointed and paused to raise fotografik devices to capture images of the carvings. The procession bunched up short of the doors.

Someone shouted, “They fear to enter!” Then another cried, “Demons!” Manfred turned with his hand on his sword. “Get them inside, quickly,” he said to Dietrich.

While Dietrich chivvied the Krenken into the church, he told Hans, “When they see a red lamp, they are to genuflect before it. Do you understand? Tell them.”

The strategem worked. The villagers quieted once more when the creatures passed within and made obeisance to the True Presence. Dietrich dared relax, a little.

Hans stood beside him with the cross. “I have explained,” he said over the mikrofoneh. “That your overlord-from-the-sky will come again means that we may yet be saved. Do you know when this befalls?”

“Neither the day nor the hour.”

“May he come soon,” Hans said. “May he come soon.”

Dietrich, surprised by the evident fervor, could only agree.

When villager and Krenk alike had crowded within the church, Dietrich ascended the pulpit and related all that had transpired since St. Sixtus Day. He described the strangers’ plight in most piteous terms, and had the krenkish children stand before the congregation with their mothers behind them. Hildegarde Müller and Max Schweitzer bore witness to the injuries and deaths that had afflicted the creatures and described how they had helped place their dead in special crypts aboard their ship. “When I sprinkled them with holy water at the bridge,” Dietrich concluded, “they showed no discomfort. Therefore, they ca

The Hochwalders shifted and glanced at one another. Then Gregor asked, “Are they Turks?”

Dietrich nearly laughed. “No, Gregor. They fare from a farther land than that.”

Joachim thrust his way forward. “No!” he cried for all to hear. “They are true demons. A glance alone convinces. Their coming is a great trial for us… and how we answer it may be the saving of our souls!”

Dietrich gripped the pulpit rails and Manfred, who occupied the sedalia usually reserved for the celebrant, growled, “I have accepted this krenkish lord as my vassal. Do you gainsay me?”

But if Joachim heard, he gave no heed; rather, he addressed the familia. “Remember Job,” he told them, “and how God tested his faith, sending demons to torment him! Remember how God Himself, robed in flesh, suffered all human afflictions — even death! Might He not then afflict demons as he afflicted Job, and even His Son? Dare we bind God with necessity and say that this work God ca