Adventure of Frieda 1

The forest tightens around Frieda’s horse, branches clawing at cloak and helm. Ahead, the river road bends toward Hammerstein, its walls a hard shape through the trees. Behind them, hoofbeats answer in the dark.

A flash of lantern-light breaks between trunks. Two riders cut across the path ahead, trying to force her toward the bank. The horse shies, but Frieda keeps the saddle.

She thrusts past the choke point, the Witness clinging tighter as the stolen staff bumps against her side. The nearer rider loses ground in the mud, and the gap opens for one hard chance.

Hammerstein rises at last, its gatehouse above the river mist. Frieda has the evidence in hand, and if she reaches those walls, Bishop Eisenfaust’s lie can be brought before her own Order.

Frieda hauls on the reins and shouts for the gate, but the road kinks hard along the riverbank. The castle wall is near, yet a flooded ditch and a fallen cart choke the approach, forcing the horse sideways.

Behind them, the riders gain the bend. One lantern lifts above the mud, then another, and their line fans out to cut off the bank.

A shout answers from the castle side, muffled by mist. The main gate stays shut, and no one comes out to meet them.

The Guard lifts his spear toward the darker lane below the wall, where reeds crowd the water and a narrow gate might still be reached. Frieda has one opening, or she can abandon the horse and slip into the trees.

Frieda drives the horse off the main road and into the river mist, following the Guard’s spear toward the lower bank. Water hisses over stones below the reeds.

The animal surges through the bend, then steadies as the hidden postern comes into view, set low in the wall above the flooded edge.

Frieda reaches the riverside gate and brings the horse beside it. The postern is shut, but the latch hangs loose, already worked from the inside.

Beyond the wall, a thin strip of yard lies dark and empty. The gatehouse above remains barred, while the riders’ voices fade behind the bend.

Frieda swings down from the saddle and catches the witness before he can slip. The horse sidesteps in the mud, snorting at the dark water.

Frieda drives the latch up and forces the postern inward. The little gate opens with a sour groan, and the yard beyond is hers at last.

She half-pushes, half-carries the witness through the gap, his shaking hands clutching at her cloak. The loose latch knocks against the stone as the opening widens.

Inside the yard, Frieda drags the witness clear of the threshold and turns back toward the wall. The horse remains outside, riderless and restless, while the postern hangs open behind her.