"..."

The choking dust of the Swabian mine settled slowly.

A piercing whine rang in his ears, and crushing darkness swallowed his sight.

Konrad lay upon his back, his mind racing to calmly read his body and the earth around him.

A rough stone pinned his legs to the rocky floor. He tasted blood but he felt no heavy bleeding. His chest was clear. He could still draw breath, though the air was thick with brimstone and crushed stone.

The trap had been sprung.

Lord Henrich’s panicked bowing to the new ways of the mine had been a lie. The lesser lord had either been bought by the Swabian League or had chosen on his own to slay the cold ruler who had overthrown his old ways.

The "chance" blast of powder was a clumsy, but deadly snare.

Gathering his strength, Konrad tested the stone trapping his legs. It was heavy, but not beyond moving.

Using the laws of weight and lift he knew so well, he set his hands against the floor, ignoring the sharp stones cutting his palms, and thrust upward with his hips.

Grrrnd... The rock shifted slightly. With a final surge, he rolled his hips, letting the stone slide from his legs.

"Cough, cough..." He sat up, coughing violently as the dust filled his lungs.

His hand immediately reached to his belt. His wheel-lock pistol had been crushed in the fall, the cunning spring snapped entirely.

Yet, the small leather pouch holding his flint and steel was unbroken.

Spark... A tiny, weak glow illuminated the grim truth of his snare.

The tunnel behind him was entirely sealed by tons of shattered rock. The tunnel ahead was a dead end, the very rock face he had come to judge.

He was trapped in a hole barely ten feet long and five feet wide.

Konrad instantly pinched out the spark to save the air.

The sums of survival in a sealed hole were cruel. His true foe was not hunger or thirst; it was the foul air bred by his own breathing.

He reckoned he had but two days of clean air before the bad humors took his life.

Rescue by Lord Henrich’s men was a fool’s hope. He had to rely entirely on the strength of the men he had bought and trained.

Closing his eyes, he slowed his heart and measured his breath to stretch his hours.

The Swabian night was cold, but the air inside the keep was boiling.

"The builder is buried."

In the deep, guarded cells, Uncle Lothar stopped his pacing. A mad, greedy smile spread across his bruised face as he repeated the hidden word slipped to him by a servant.

Henrich of Rothenburg had done it! The proud, fearful boy who had shamed Duchess Isolde and broken a Swabian vanguard was dead, crushed like a worm in the mud!

With Konrad gone, the Bavarian pact would shatter. Katarina would flee to Munich. The hired swords would melt away without their silver master. Lothar would be the last von Frundsberg.

He could step up as steward, open the gates to the Swabian League, and claim the lands and the forges for his own!

He rushed to the door of his cell, beating his fists furiously against the iron grate.

"Guards!" Lothar shouted, "Fetch Lady Katarina at once! I must speak with her!"

...

Ten minutes later, Lady Katarina appeared in the dim hall, flanked by her scarred captain, Gregor. She looked cross and deeply wary.

"What is the meaning of this shouting, Lothar?" Katarina demanded, crossing her arms. "I am reading Lord Konrad’s ledgers."

"Konrad is dead!" Lothar spat, entirely unable to hide his glee. "He was crushed in a mine fall at Rothenburg... The lands are mine now. I am the steward. You must order your guards to free me, and we can strike a new bargain!"

"..." Katarina stared at the older man.

Her eyes read his mad face. "...if Lord Konrad has fallen, I will strike no bargain with a proven traitor. I will simply take the forging tools by the sword and bear them to Munich."

Lothar’s smile vanished instantly. He saw he had horribly misjudged the Bavarian Duchess’s reason.

Before Lothar could even speak, Katarina turned and walked swiftly down the hall. "Gregor," she commanded quietly. "Find Master Dieter and Captain Eckhard at once. Bring them to the hall."

A half-hour later, the hall was filled with the heart of Konrad’s power.

Dieter looked pale beneath his soot, and Captain Eckhard’s scarred face was carved of stone.

"...We must act as if Konrad is either dead or trapped in the dark," Katarina ended, after speaking Lothar’s tidings.

Dieter slammed a fist onto the table. "I will not hear it! The boy is more cunning than the devil. If he is trapped, he breathes. We must dig him out!"

"Lord Henrich holds those lands," Eckhard pointed out truly. "If we march a host to Rothenburg, he will cry war. He will call his serfs to arms and bar the roads."

Katarina looked at the two men in silence. The truth hung in the air. Konrad’s life hung on a thread, and they had no way to break the gates without a bloody slaughter.