“Did you bring wine away with you?” she asked him, abruptly.
“No,” he said, though the lie pricked his conscience slightly. “But I saw something of how it was made, and how the plants were nourished whose nectar is its base.”
“They grow in human flesh,” Albrecht put in, as if to save Reinmar the embarrassment of explanation.
“Of course they do,” the old woman said, although Reinmar could not believe that she knew the truth in any detail. “To what finer purpose could human flesh be put? What greater luxury can there be than to serve the cause of luxury itself—to become pure pleasure. What higher hope can the soul have than to be distilled into the elixir of life? Are you sure that you did not bring a little of it with you? Why else, I wonder, would you have been called? And why else would you have been sent home to us?”
“I was not sent to you,” Reinmar told her, hoping that it was true. “I will concede that I might have been led to the source of the wine of dreams in order that a trap might be set, but if I was returned to anyone, it was to the witch hunter. The trap, if trap it was, went badly awry when I took the opportunity to pollute the purity of the wines that were in store. When you say that you have resources with which to protect yourself against capture, do you mean that you are a sorceress?”
Valeria clucked her tongue at that. “I am a scholar,” she told him. “Sorcery is magic worked for evil ends, but I have only been interested in knowledge—which is, in itself, the highest good of all. Scholarship is my resource, and my vocation, as it was Albrecht’s in the days when he was my lover.”
Albrecht might or might not have muttered “One of them”—Reinmar’s eyes were still fixed on the old woman’s rouged lips, and could not discern the words by sound alone.
“I know many men who would disagree with you,” Reinmar said evenly, “and think themselves fully entitled to do it.”
“You know many fools and country bumpkins who would disagree with me,” Valeria replied, matching his level tone satirically. “You know men who are fearful of knowledge itself, lest it threaten the ignorant empire of their stubborn beliefs. You know men who have tasted knowledge and have drawn back from it, terrified that they might forfeit the good opinion of their stupid neighbours merely by becoming wise. Perhaps you even know witch hunters, who are avid to destroy everything that threatens their cowardly confidence in the simplicity of goodness. But you do not know anyone who is entitled to disagree with me.”
“You should not have come here, Valeria,” Albrecht said. “It isn’t safe.”
“I did not come here because it was safe,” Valeria retorted, tartly, “but precisely because it is unsafe. Were I safe, I’d have naught before me but the grave and naught but dreams to haunt my slow passage thence. I’d rather take a risk and have a chance to answer my need. Have you seen our son?”
“No.”
“No?” Valeria seemed genuinely surprised. “Well, doubtless you shall. It will be a pleasure and a privilege, will it not, to be together again? A family reunited in its cause. Do you know where my son is, Reinmar, by any chance?”
“No,” said Reinmar. “I have seen him, but he seems to have vanished. I gave him directions to this house, but he never arrived. Perhaps he has gone to find a flask of dark wine for his beloved mother—not realising that there is none left to find.”
“Is there not?” Valeria countered, still staring at him curiously. “You have the odour of a liar about you now, for which I don’t blame you in the least. You’ve tasted the wine, have you not? You’ve savoured its promises.”
“The merest sip,” Reinmar assured her. “I got nothing from it but bad dreams.”
“Poor boy,” she said, sarcastically. “Your left hand hardly knows what the right is doing—but you would do far better to throw in your lot with us than with von Spurzheim. Perhaps you have, but don’t quite know it yet. Are you in love, perchance?”
Reinmar had no idea what reply he ought to make to this, although he was determined not to give way. He glanced at Albrecht, hoping to judge the old man’s opinion, but Albrecht had sunk into his rickety armchair and already seemed lost to the world, save for the hungry expression that came into his eye as he contemplated the kettle and the frying-pan. In the end, Reinmar was saved the trouble of answering by the sound of a thunderous knocking at the door, which must have been made by the hilt of a sword rather than a mere fist.
“That will be von Spurzheim’s men,” Reinmar said, jumping effortlessly to the conclusion. “They must think that I have had time enough to judge the situation, and have come to arrest you.”
So saying, he went to the door and opened it, although it would have been perfectly adequate to shout an invitation to enter, because he had not barred it when he came in.
He threw it open gladly—but the gladness shrivelled and died on the instant when he saw who it was that had knocked.
Brother Noel stood on the threshold, accompanied by Brother Almeric. The knocking had indeed been made by the hilt of an unsheathed sword, which Noel still had in his hand. It was stained with blood.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Reinmar leapt back to give himself time to draw his own blade. Mercifully, this operation went smoothly, and his prospective opponent had been inconvenienced by the narrowness of the doorway as well as his own surprise. Brother Almeric, who was unarmed, had stepped back rather than forward, and by the time Brother Noel had moved into a striking position Reinmar’s guard was up. There was a brief moment when Noel seemed to be on the point of lunging forward, but then he thought better of it. Perhaps he had observed that Reinmar had been properly trained in the use of his weapon, or perhaps he was mindful of his own tiredness.
“You are full of surprises, Master Wieland,” the monk said, as he moved slowly, keeping the tip of his sword raised, as if to threaten Reinmar’s throat. “Have you come to spoil our plans all over again?”
Almeric was not so well composed, but he made no attempt to take a position beside his companion. “Kill him,” he said. “What are you waiting for?”
“Forgive my friend’s impatience,” Noel said, his eyes still fixed on Reinmar’s face in a hawk-like manner. “He is unused to violence. Like the men you attacked and slaughtered in the underworld he has been a lifelong devotee of tranquillity and patience—but he becomes fretful when things go awry.”
“But you are not unused to violence,” Reinmar guessed, stepping backwards warily in response to Noel’s forward movement.
“I came late to my vocation,” Noel admitted.
Valeria spoke over Reinmar’s shoulder then, her lips no more than a few inches from his ear. “Put up your swords and close the door,” she said, in the manner of one well-accustomed to being obeyed. Reinmar was about to object that the matter was not so simple, but the monks reacted more swiftly. Almeric came in and closed the door behind him, but did not bar it. Noel dropped the tip of his sword, although he did not return it to its sheath. Reinmar hesitated for a moment, but the odds were obviously not in his favour no matter how poor a fighter Almeric was. He lowered his own blade, but he kept it in his hand, ready to raise it again if he were threatened.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Almeric said to Valeria. “We tried to approach with all due discretion, but the two watchers were widely-spaced and overly vigilant.”
“They were one too many,” Noel added. “I wounded one, but both are riding to the town as we speak. Time is short, but I think we can guarantee you safe passage if you come away now.”
“Have you brought wine?” That seemed to be Valeria’s only concern.
“Of course, Lady.” Noel immediately reached into his pouch and brought out a crystal flask. Valeria relaxed as she saw it, as if a great anxiety had been lifted from her—but Reinmar saw that Albrecht tensed, as if confronted with a danger he had not expected to face.
Reinmar considered the possibility of attempting to break the flask. Noel was distracted and the weight of his blade had dragged its tip
further down. The opportunity was there to knock the bottle aside and start a brawl—but Reinmar did not know whether he would be one against two, three or four, and if Noel was telling the truth about both sentries having gone for help no reinforcements would arrive for a quarter of an hour.
Valeria took the decision out of his hands by seizing the flask from the monk’s hand. She wrestled the stopper free, then raised the bottle to her lips and drank, deeply and avidly.
Valeria’s greying hair still had more than sufficient darkness in it to reveal that it had once been jet black, and the manner in which her fine skin sat neatly upon the bones of her face implied that she must have been exceedingly handsome in her youth. As soon as she had lowered the rouge-stained rim of the flask from her lips the turgor began to return to her cheeks. Her forehead became smooth and pale. Her hair darkened by degrees until it was as evenly black as a raven’s wing. Her eyes brightened until they were actually luminous, their irises flooded with radiant blue. Her lips became fuller, and the false colour seemed to fade into her flesh. The teeth that she was no longer ashamed to show became much whiter and more even.
The greatest change of all, however, was not in her appearance but in her presence, which seemed so greatly magnified that it filled and dominated the room.
Only a few moments before, Valeria had been one human being among five, a mere element of a greater company in spite of her assumption of dominance. She might have stood among a crowd of thousands now without seeming a mere particle of no unique interest. As soon as the wine of dreams had taken effect she became the obvious centrepiece of the assembly, the pivot around which everything else was arrayed, and upon which all attention had to be focused.
Reinmar felt that he could understand why a person—especially a woman, given the ordinary way of the world—might risk a great deal in order to obtain that kind of presence.
Valeria held out the half-empty flask to Albrecht—from whose point of view, Reinmar knew, it must seem half-full.
Albrecht hesitated.
Reinmar was tempted to say “Don’t”, as his father would certainly have wanted him to do, but the advice died on his tongue—not because he was afraid to voice it in such company but because he was afraid that it might not be the right advice. Albrecht knew far better than Reinmar did what price he might now have to pay for a draught of that quality, and death would only be a part of it—but what life had Albrecht left to lose?
Unwilling as yet to settle his hesitation, Albrecht took refuge in a question addressed to Brother Noel. “Was it Wirnt who summoned you?”
“No,” Noel said, keeping his eyes on Reinmar. “ft was another messenger who came to tell us that the lady would meet us here, and to inform our friends as to the increasing strength and defensive disposition of von Spurzheim’s forces. Do you know what this imbecile has done, my lady?”
The “imbecile” he meant was, of course, Reinmar—but Reinmar made no immediate protest.
“Albrecht says that he found the source,” Valeria said, absent-mindedly, “but that he was allowed to escape with his life.” She seemed intoxicated by the return of her strength, and she was studying the length of her right arm with obvious approval.
“Is that what you told them, Master Wieland?” Noel asked. “Did you tell them what a hero you were, because you killed a few old men who had never learned to wield a weapon skilfully and lacked the strength in any case? I suppose you think yourself a master of improvisation because you ran amok in our storeroom, and a master of deception because you stole the one remaining measure of the unadulterated nectar. You think yourself privileged by fortune because you escaped from the valley unhurt and because I have not run you through, although I have had every chance to do so. But what, if we examine the case more carefully, have you made of yourself by ignoring the offer we made to you? A thief, a murderer, a coward and a fool. Lady Valeria, we must be away from here before the Reiksguard comes thundering along the road.”
“Yes,” Albrecht put in, “go, Valeria, before you bring the witch hunter’s wrath down upon us all.”
Valeria did not appear to be listening. She was looking at Reinmar too. “Did you really take the nectar?” she asked.
Reinmar wanted to lie, but when he opened his mouth no sound came out. Valeria put her right forefinger into her mouth and sucked it for a moment or two. When she took it out again she reached out and touched it, still moist, to Reinmar’s lips. He wanted to draw back, but he could not do that either. Her bright blue eyes held him in thrall, and he knew that if she ordered Noel to strike him now, he would not be able to parry the thrust.
While the finger lingered on his lips he could not taste the wine of dreams, but he could smell it. The odour eased into his nostrils, and into his brain. It brought back the memory of both his dreams—not merely the dream of being taken up above the town to watch its destruction by fire but the earlier one, when he had fought a hostile wind to climb a mountain to a castle in the clouds, and there had been seduced by something quite unhuman and yet more desirable than any human woman ever could be. He reminded himself that that had only been a dream, whereas Marcilla was real, but with the intoxicating scent in his nostrils he could not entirely trust his judgement.
Valeria was very beautiful now—more beautiful, certainly, than Marcilla. But was she only human?
She smiled at him, and her smile was glorious.
She removed her finger from his lips, and he drew them in reflexively. He tasted the dark wine as soon as it touched his tongue, but it was only the merest drop.
“You may come with us, if you wish,” Valeria said. “Or stay, if you prefer. There will be fighting, and a great deal of killing, but I want you to know that that is nothing to do with us. Our part is very different, for we are scholars and honest tradesmen. Don’t be frightened by what you have done, for it will make little difference in the end. All significant choices remain to be made, and you are still free.”
“He won’t come with us,” Noel said, harshly. “Like father, like son.”
“Don’t be unkind, brother,” Valeria said. “We know no more of the final scheme than he does, and he may yet play his part far better than we.”
“Come away, my lady,” Almeric put in, his voice taut with alarm. “We have no time.”
“Of course we have,” she told him, negligently. “We shall steal the horses on which my dear cousins arrived, to prove our apparent wickedness—but you will understand in time, dear Reinmar, what virtues are ours.”
Almeric was already hastening the rejuvenated sorceress towards the door, and she consented to be guided although she still looked back at Reinmar. The monk let her go in order to open the door and look out, anxiously scanning the trees. “All quiet,” he said. “If there is another watcher still out there, he will not dare come into the open. We must beware of crossbow bolts, but if we move quickly we needn’t fear pursuit.”
“Fear pursuit?” Noel echoed. “We are not the ones who need fear pursuit.” Valeria had already passed from Reinmar’s view, and so had Brother Almeric—but Noel could not stop himself from pausing, as he left the room, to add to his farewell speech.
“Thank you for the horses, Master Wieland,” he said. “Given the shortage of our present supply, I think you’ll find the measure of the wine of dreams that your great-uncle holds in his hand more than adequate compensation. You’ll doubtless be contacted again about the one you stole.” Once he had finished, though, he wasted no further time before disappearing, slamming the door shut behind him.
Reinmar did not bother to go to the door to see which two of the three had claimed the two fresh horses, or what recourse the other had instead. He stayed where he was, staring at his great-uncle and the flask the monks had left behind.
Albrecht refused to be ashamed. “Is it true?” the old man asked him. “Did you bring wine out of the underworld?”
“The nectar of the gods itself, apparently,” Reinmar conceded. “I could not be certain that spil
ling the contents of the jugs and bottles would render them irrecoverable, but removing the most essential ingredient was bound to reduce their supply.” He told himself that it was not quite a lie, but failed to convince himself.
“And you hid it in the shop?” Albrecht queried.
“I hid it,” Reinmar admitted, refusing to confirm the latter part of the conclusion to which his great-uncle had jumped.
“Luther will probably find it,” Albrecht judged. “As soon as he goes to sleep he will be visited by a dream. If he does not, the two gypsies will. Reinmar, you have not the slightest idea what you are doing. Do you think that everyone else in Eilhart is as disciplined as your father, merely because they are careful to maintain that appearance in public? Are you really so certain that your father is exactly what he appears to be? Or the witch hunter? We are dealing with the ultimate temptation, and you have just seen one of the rewards that temptation offers. It is the kind of temptation that can all too easily set man against man, husband against wife, and father against son. This is war, Reinmar. Indeed, this is the ultimate war. Who can you trust with what you have brought out of the underworld?”
Reinmar understood that the last question cut to the heart of the matter. Who could he trust? Who did he trust? Von Spurzheim? Matthias Vaedecker? Godrich? Sigurd? Marguerite? Himself?
“What are you going to do, great-uncle?” Reinmar asked, as he finally resheathed his blade.
“I am going to mind my own business, for as long as I have the opportunity/ Albrecht Wieland replied. “If you ever had that option, you have lost it now. Do you have the least idea what kind of game you are playing?”
“I think so,” Reinmar said, speaking more honestly but still in some need of convincing. “I am a pawn, it seems—but I was not supposed to find my way into the underworld. They had no idea that I would care so much about the fate of a girl I had only just met, and they did not know that Vaedecker would see them dig her up as soon as they had buried her. I was supposed to return to Eilhart with Ulick, offering von Spurzheim a way to find the valley—but I suspect that his men would have been led to a different and more dangerous place, where they would have fought at a great disadvantage. Once Vaedecker and I had seen too much, the plan had to be recalculated. They still hope that I will serve their purpose, using our existing business to establish a new supply-route for the wine of dreams and its darker kin. They desperately need some such link with the Reik towns, and they will not kill me while there is a chance that I might provide it, no matter how I have annoyed them. Von Spurzheim guessed that my discovery of the valley was bait in a trap, and he would not have hurried into it in any case. He will build what defences he can within the town, and I suppose that his enemies will try to stop him before he gathers sufficient reinforcements. Eilhart has no choice but to help him, and pray to all the good gods for his victory—and because I am part of Eilhart, that is what I must do.”
[Warhammer] - The Wine of Dreams Page 25