Dark Ages Clan Novel Tremere: Book 11 of the Dark Ages Clan Novel Saga

by Sarah Roark

  “Finally, yes I did. Casts a much more interesting light on your religious fervor, which, as you know, I’d been finding rather tiresome. But I won’t stop you. You need your strength. Whatever he thinks he knows, it’s quite possible someone else out here knows too, and we’ve got to get more of them anyway…” Jervais shrugged.

  “You. You must have a name, don’ t you?” Hermann grated at the terrified slave.

  “Kalju,” the man gasped.

  “How about this, Kalju? You tell me this ‘useful thing’…” He actually mimicked the man’s accent. Apparently hunger brought out the spite in Hermann. “If it really is useful, then I promise I won’t bite you. And if it isn’t, then I promise I’ll make you wish I had done so.”

  Kalju told them. A little later, Jervais burst out of the tent with Hermann and Antal following.

  “My chart!”

  “Yes, master.” Fidus fetched it out of his master’s tent.

  “Let me see.” Jervais ran his finger over the tracks of the ley lines.

  Antal was at once peering over his shoulder. “Looking at the spots we couldn’t reach in scrying?”

  “Yes. Because if our Kur speaks truly, then we should have found the place already, except if it was in one of these spots… hm. How odd. How very, very odd. Look at this one, in the south here.” He tapped a spot.

  “What?”

  “Well, this was our travel route, wasn’t it? Something like this?”

  “Slightly more west, because we crossed this stream I think, but yes.”

  “We went right by it. Right past it.”

  Comprehension dawned on Antal’s saturnine features. “So we did.”

  “I know exactly what we’re going to do now. Exactly. And as long as we’re doing that…Fidus, get me that vial. And some thread.”

  “Which vial, master?”

  “The one I handed you not a moment ago!” Jervais snapped. Antal laid a hand on his arm.

  “Stop shouting,” the Hungarian warned. “We’re all hungry.”

  Jervais rounded on him as well—but then he caught sight of the other Tremere. Exhaustion and over-vigilance warred in their faces. Even Antal’s fingers gripped him a little too tightly. With an effort, he nodded.

  Fidus brought the vial out again. Jervais took it from him, suspended it from the thread and said an incantation over it, then swung it out over the chart until it began to spin rapidly.

  “So this is where I must have been last night, the northern alkas. It’s attuned to that iron-shoed bitch… probably not her alone, either. That one we destroy for certain. And this other alkas and this—what did Zabor call it, pannean , the sacred bog—they’re also within a half a night’s journey from the Telyav camp, so we should hit all three. Olena, can you carry a man while you fly?”

  Olena blinked. “Well, I haven’t tried, but I think so…”

  “Good. Then you’re with Master Antal.”

  “What for?” Antal exclaimed.

  “Baghatur,” Jervais said over the other magus’s huffing. “You’re with me.”

  The Khazar looked just as baffled as everyone else, but he said, “Yes, master,” and gave one of his little bows.

  “Torgeir, Fidus, you’re together, and take one of Herr Hermann’s mortal soldiers with you. You two leave tonight, since you’ve got the furthest to go.”

  “The furthest to go where?” Torgeir broke in.

  “Back south.” Jervais tapped the blank spot that he and Antal had been mulling over. “Fidus, go saddle the horses. Sit down, Torgeir, and practice patience. You’ll get all the explanation you need in a moment.” The Dane went rigid, and for a moment Jervais honestly thought he might lunge forward, but then he obeyed. “The rest of us will set out tomorrow. But we must prepare. Above all, we must feed.”

  “Then that means raiding a village tonight,” Hermann said.

  “Yes, indeed. Order a raid. And make sure to tell your men to take all the axes they can find, because tomorrow they’re paying a visit to the northern alkas.”

  “Axes. Good.” The Saxon’s eyes glinted.

  “But five knights of the Blood have to stay here, both tonight and tomorrow night. And you as well. Remember that boon you owe me, mein Herr,” he added when he saw Hermann’s scowl. The scowl turned to a momentary look of what Jervais was gratified to label terror, but then smoothed out again.

  “I see.” Hermann bowed from the neck. “My word is my bond, Master Jervais. My services are at your disposal. Call me when you require them.” Then he walked away, Wigand at his side conferring with him.

  “Say what you want about the Cainite traditions, they certainly do simplify certain transactions,” Jervais remarked to the others. “My brethren, and sister, with Miklos in Telyav hands, I think you all understand that our ward is doomed to fall and that we will lose our safe haven once more. Now I don’t know about you, but I haven’t the first intention of letting that happen without a retaliation in kind.”

  Hermann knelt grudgingly in the circle of salt that Jervais and Antal had constructed.

  “Both knees,” Jervais instructed.

  “A man only goes on both knees before God,” the monk-knight said stiffly.

  “That’s exactly the idea. Pray to God. It’s your devotion that we require for the spell. Just don’t pray for protection from us, or from sorcery, mind. That’d be rather counterproductive.”

  Hermann looked greatly surprised, but he folded his hands and began intoning under his breath. Jervais took the six Black Cross surcoats, folded them so that their blazon showed uppermost, and then laid them out on the ground along the inner perimeter of the circle. Antal picked up the bowl and used the brush to stir up the mixture of paste, gold dust and ground lily petals.

  Jervais touched Hermann gently on the shoulder to interrupt him, then proffered him a different bowl. “Drink,” he said. “Replenish yourself. You’ll need it for this.”

  “But I cannot…” Hermann began. Then he sniffed, and cautiously took the bowl from Jervais’s hand. He tasted of it, then glanced up at Jervais.

  “I promised him he wouldn’t be harmed,” he said. A low, dangerous note entered his voice.

  “You promised him no such thing,” Jervais returned comfortably. “You said you wouldn’t bite him. You didn’t. I have saved you that labor, and your honor as well. Now drink.”

  There was a curse all but spoken in the Ventrue’s eyes, but he drank.

  Jervais gazed out over the plain, toward where the Telyav camp lay, but it was useless. Too far away to detect any but the most gargantuan working. Whatever they might be up to, he hadn’t the resources to stop it. A dark bird streaked across the sky from that direction. He followed its flight with interest. It circled once overhead, then it fluttered down to land before him. It was a great, graceless black raven. Something light-colored was wrapped around its leg and secured with a knotted thread. He stepped toward it. It croaked at him and lifted its leg, looking up at him with what he thought a rather supplicating air, as if to say I was told you’d help me out with this infernal thing.

  He carefully untied the knot and extracted the long tape of parchment, first looking it over carefully, even though no spell should have been able to pass over the ward anyway.

  The letters were learned, but cramped and a bit wobbly. As you know, we have Miklos. We are willing to parley for his safe return. Send reply by bird. Yours.

  Antal came up beside him. “What’s this? More beastly couriers?”

  “Rather more innocuous this time, but yes.” Jervais withdrew from the raven a bit, motioning for Antal to follow. “Have the others fed from the new prisoners?” he asked quietly.

  “I assume so. We were all famished.”

  “Then we should gather them. I’m afraid there’s more work to do.”

  “The sun dawns in a few hours,” the Hungarian cautioned him. “Not enough time to purify for a major working.”

  “Then we’ll do without. Not sure this is the so
rt of working for which purifications are really appropriate, anyway.”

  He showed Antal the parchment.

  “They haven’t killed him, then?” Antal murmured.

  “No. And this—” Jervais held up the braid-band. “This shows that they’re telling the truth.”

  “You are right,” Antal said heavily. “There is no other choice. The boy is part of the sodalicium—as long as it stands, they can get at the rest of us through him. We must break the circle.”

  “We can’t break it in the proper manner. All of us would have to be present for that.”

  They were both well aware of the things they told each other now. The essential conversation was already had. Yet, to the faint amusement of some disconnected corner of Jervais’s mind, they kept talking, sharing not information but resolve.

  “This will not please the children.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “He said he had other bloodstones. We’ll use those.”

  “Yes. Have Fidus bring me my pen and ink, I need to write a reply.”

  “You’ll say yes, we shall parley.” Antal nodded his head toward the bird.

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll say anything, won’t you?”

  Jervais gave Antal a churlish glance, but for once the Hungarian seemed more curious than disparaging.

  “I’ll say anything required, yes,” he answered.

  “That must be why you are sent to woo princes, and I am sent to feed vozhd,” Antal ruminated.

  “I would imagine so.”

  Jurate felt awkward doing chores in front of the big auburn-haired Christian, even though he was laid out flat, his heart spitted on a shaft of ash-wood, unable to even turn his head to watch her. But at last, shortly before dawn, she finished her work. Then a perverse curiosity seized her. Deverra had firmly instructed Jurate not to speak to him; she’d said nothing about touching. Jurate went over to his still form and with her fingers closed his staring eyes. Then she sat beside him, studying the things he wore around his neck—a handful of teeth strung on a chain, a funny little charm with Western writing on it. In his purse she found a quaint assortment of things, some of them reminding her of the odds and ends curious children might pick up. There was a bit of thread wound on a spool, several smooth stones, a ball of wax, some fragrant anise seed, coins from various mortal mints, a bit of willow twig and the skull of a mouse. Then there was a little pair of wooden boards hinged together with silk thread. She opened them. Here, set into one of the panels, was what looked like it had once been a portion of eggshell, brightly painted with a colorful design. It had been crushed flat, giving it rather the look of a mosaic, and then shellacked into the shallow hollow of the board.

  It certainly didn’t look like a tool for any fearsome sorcery. What was it? She turned it this way and that, trying to make sense of the broken design. Someone had labored over this, bent over it with a tiny brush. Part of it looked as though it had been rendered with a wax-resist technique or something similar. And he had carefully saved it, found a way to preserve the fragile surface and yet carry it with him. She glanced pensively at his slack face. He doubtless wouldn’t tell her anyway. What was the mystery of these Tremere? They had two eyes, two ears, and their blood was the blood that ran in Telyav veins. How could it be that they’d wandered so far from the life of the world, while they still went about with old lovers’ tokens hidden away in their purses?

  He made a noise then. She started like a rabbit and shot to her feet. Vampires on stakes were not supposed to be able to make noise. His eyelids fluttered. Then he moaned again. His body began to shiver. It was the minutest possible movement, impossibly fast, visible only as a blurring at the tips of his fingers and nose and the edges of his clothes.

  “Grandmother,” she murmured, and then raised her voice, backing away, still holding the little wooden token. “Grandmother! Grandmother!”

  “What in the name of Moist Mother Earth is it, girl?” Deverra hurried in, pushing open the tent flap.

  “Look!”

  “Yes, I see…” Deverra laid a hand on Jurate’s arm. “Step back. Back.”

  A moment later the Christian’s head burst into flame, the auburn of his hair supplanted by a blazing corona of candlelight-yellow. Jurate felt the blood-terror enter her bones, urging her to flee, but Deverra held her fast. The rest of the body caught fire and began to blacken.

  “I thought they said they wanted to meet,” blurted Jurate.

  “This is their true answer,” Deverra returned with a gesture at the charring corpse. “Daughter, I want you to stay here with him until he is ash. Then you must gather every speck of him up and open the tent to air it out. We’ll stay in Bernalt’s ger until we have time to purify this one. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps?” she echoed. “Where are you going, Grandmother?”

  “I must find the darkhan.”

  Jurate sat uncertainly down, clutching the token now, to keep watch over the dead as requested. Deverra went and sought out the current head of the raider band, who stood conversing with the one person she had no desire to look at right now.

  “Darkhan Alessandro. Boyar Osobei.”

  They both bowed to her, the latter rather more floridly. “Mistress Deverra. How may I be of service?” the Tzimisce inquired.

  “I was seeking the darkhan, boyar, but I’m glad that I find you as well, because the news is the same either way.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” She turned to Alessandro. “Tell the mortals they move camp tomorrow. I want everyone gone by sundown except for my own priests and acolytes. Obviously that means your riders won’t be sleeping in the gers tonight. I trust they can manage.”

  “Yes, milady.” He frowned. “Which way are the mortals to go?”

  “Any way that’s far away. I would say east.”

  “And the riders?”

  “You will join the mortals after sundown, to lead them.”

  “I see. It will not please the great khan that we left you…”

  “The great khan is not here,” she replied grimly. “Nor can I concern myself with what would please him. Instead I must do as I know he would do in my stead.”

  “True.” Then to her surprise, Alessandro got down on one knee and took her hand.

  “We will guard the tribe, and pray Father Tengri that you rejoin us in triumph.” He paused. “And Father Telyavel.”

  She laid her other hand over his. “May the wind bear you up, darkhan.”

  Then she looked to Osobei. “We have enjoyed the honor of your company, boyar,” she said, “but it is time for you to go now.”

  The emissary bowed again. To his credit, at least he didn’t smile.

  “It would seem so, milady,” he agreed.

  Antal set down the platter upon which the blood-stones had rested. It was blasted and cracked now with the remnants of the heat.

  He spoke quietly. “Dismiss the quarters.”

  Torgeir was East, Olena South, Baghatur West, and Fidus North. The last recited his words with rather more care than strictly necessary. Everyone else waited patiently, even though the sun lay in wait just under the horizon.

  Jervais put out the incense. “Get some rest, everyone.”

  They stirred like dreamers just awakened. Antal remained where he was, standing bent over the platter.

  “Everyone comes upon death by and by,” he said. The others looked at him. “Not everyone has the—privilege of serving others by that death.”

  The futility of the sentiment hung there in the air of the disbanded circle. Jervais sheathed the ritual sword and stood. Antal, you idiot, this isn’t helping them. Keep your own demons out of this.

  “Or of being remembered.” Torgeir cleared his throat by way of preface. “I have an idea. A pact.”

  That drew their attention sharply.

  “A pact?” Jervais echoed.

  “A promise. I don’t know if anyone would be interested. A promise that…whoever falls
and has fallen, those who survive will remember.” He met Jervais’s eyes then. “Not in prayer, necessarily. In whatever way each one chooses to honor them. Once a year. Forever.”

  He bit into his fingertip and let the blood run. Olena did likewise and stepped forward, touching her finger to his. Then Baghatur joined them, and then—not without a nervous, permission-seeking glance at his master—Fidus.

  “Why not?” Jervais came forward as well. “Master Antal. Come.”

  But Antal stood as if rooted to the spot. He had a rather odd look on his face, and twisted the end of his beard.

  “A promise so much more easily made than kept,” he said.

  “Bring your arse over here, Antal!” Jervais blared. The Hungarian obeyed.

  “Zabor and Miklos.”

  “Zabor and Miklos.”

  They held all their fingertips together in somber silence for a few moments, then parted.

  “Perhaps a sodalicium can endure even as six,” Jervais murmured to Torgeir as they made their way back to the tents, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Well done. Your master could take a lesson from you.”

  Torgeir pulled away disgustedly. “Don’t talk to me now. You don’t understand anything.”

  Jervais raised his hands and let him go. He watched the young albino slog determinedly across the muddy grass. He had, at one time, drawn great distinctions of character between the Black Cross knights and his fellow Tremere, and also distinctions among the Tremere themselves. No more. One essential characteristic united them all, outweighing every difference.

  “I do understand some things, at least,” he told himself. “I understand what a promise is, and is not, good for.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Know any good songs to sing?” Ditmar asked Werner with a grin.

  “No, I’m used to swinging a sword, not an ax,” Werner retorted, grimacing, as he laid another stroke into the foot of the alder beside him. All around them the sunlit grove echoed with the sounds of chopping.

  “It would pass the time, anyway. I hope they don’t expect us to have this whole grove down today.”

  “God save us, no. I think the idea is just to—desecrate—” He yanked the blade out from where it had stuck for a moment. “Trespass the pagan law, render it unfit for their blasphemous use.”