stryker and the angels of death michael arnold

‘Cavalry.’ He drew his sword, finding the weight reassuring in his grip. The vibrations were stronger now, reaching his hips. The forest was dense, an impenetrable blanket of shadowy emerald, interspersed only by the dark colonnade of ancient, soaring trunks. He peered into the green abyss at the road’s flanks. It was empty, but the vibration at his feet told him of an approaching storm. Even as he turned he could feel his bowels turn to water and bile singe his throat. It vibrated, gently at first, but gathering strength all the while, tracing a path up his tall boots. It was only when he heard the shout at his back that he noticed the thrum at his feet. They watched as their mission came to a successful conclusion, aided by one young lieutenant who had taken his chance and now led a highly important spy back to the safety of Pomerania. He could see a dozen men at the ford, and the rest of the company clustered on the far bank. Matthias laughed, finally seeming more relaxed. ‘And I’d thank you not to mention your precious cargo to the men,’ he called up as loudly as he dared risk. He ordered his musketeers to flank the vehicle as it juddered into life behind the palfreys, a trail of steaming manure dropping in their wake. ‘I am honoured to see you through this final step of your mission, sir.’ Stryker stepped aside, indicating for the driver to continue. ‘I am a merchant, bringing my fine wares to the north.’ Union agents in Berlin arranged it as my cover.’ He shrugged. He looked down to brush flecks of dust from his fine blue doublet. ‘Palinka,’ Matthias explained, his tone full of disapproval. Stryker let his gaze drift beyond the men. ‘This is Herr Sammer, my driver.’ He waited while Stryker and the driver exchanged a quick nod. He indicated the man seated to his right. ‘Danke,’ Matthias bobbed his gleaming pate. Stryker turned his shoulder, sweeping an arm out in the direction of the tumultuous River Oder. ‘Our reformed church will be obliterated by Rome if we do not resist.’ ‘Because I am a Lutheran, sir,’ Matthias said, his voice made soft by exhaustion.

Stryker and the angels of death michael arnold