The Dragon Horn

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Yes,” said Nadia.

  “Why couldn’t the escort destroy it?” Feodor asked.

  “She didn’t try,” Nadia said. “She tried to name it, which is a different thing entirely. Besides, the escort is a warder.”

  “And Magda’s a healer,” Yury said, snapping his fingers.

  Petor asked his brother, “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just trying to understand the various types of magic-users within the Sisterhood,” Yury said in a rush. “Magda’s a healer, the escort’s a warder.” He faced Nadia. “So which are you?”

  “I’m a shaper.”

  “What’s that?” Yury asked. His face shone with excitement as his crooked smile twitched into place.

  “A shaper shapes things,” Nadia replied.

  Feodor poked the fire with a stick. “Are shapers rare?”

  “They are,” said Nadia.

  Petor asked, “I wonder if that’s why Karlo came to the holding? What do you think?”

  “I think not,” Nadia said. “He’s not interested in me as an initiate.”

  “Is the faint from Karlo?” Petor asked.

  “No,” said Nadia.

  “How do you know?” Petor asked.

  “The escort said the faint is very ancient, although it’s very weak. That’s all she could learn about it. Now I have a question for you,” Nadia told Petor. “What makes you think Sir Karlo can practice the magical arts?”

  It was on the tip of Ivan’s tongue to name all the pieces of evidence, including the healing draught.

  Maybe Yury sensed that, because he said, “Ivan! Why not give me a hand with the horses. We need to be on our way.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Ivan rose and walked with Yury to the picketed mounts.

  “Do you remember your promise?” Yury whispered hotly, breathing his porridge-breath into Ivan’s face.

  “I remember, but I wonder why you wish to keep it a secret.”

  “If Petor learns about it he’ll demand I go home. I want to see the treasure Karlo has dug up.” Yury smiled. “Don’t you?” He tossed a blanket over his horse’s back.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Of course you do. It’ll be fantastic.”

  “How do you know?” Ivan asked.

  Yury heaved a saddle onto the horse. “Sir Karlo told me what he searches for. It will be quite a surprise.”

  “Gold and diamonds?”

  “No,” Yury said. “He seeks old weapons the legendary heroes used. I can hardly wait to swing one of them.”

  “What makes you think Karlo will let you?”

  Yury shrugged.

  “Karlo didn’t promise anything, did he?”

  Yury laughed. “I wish he would have. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just wondering what gives you the confidence to talk the way you do.”

  Yury didn’t answer. Instead, he cinched the saddle and went to Thunder.

  The mule, Ivan and a frowning Feodor were soon loaded up and they tramped down the trail. Ivan kept a close watch over Yury, worried about his best friend. He recalled Magda’s words, to try to stop Yury and Nadia from making bad choices.

  After two miles, Petor and Yury dismounted. The branches had become too thick for them to keep riding. Nadia stayed upon her horse a while longer. Finally, she dismounted and walked.

  “How did Karlo take his sleigh through all this?” Nadia asked, with twigs embedded in her scarves.

  “He took a different path,” Petor said. “The farmers told me their route. They said Karlo’s destination was the Golghiz Region.”

  “Is this a shortcut?” Nadia asked.

  “It is,” Petor admitted.

  Feodor asked in a sullen tone, “Aren’t there old legends about the Golghiz Region?”

  “None that need worry us,” Petor said.

  Feodor snorted.

  “What are you worried about?” Petor asked.

  “Bats!” Feodor said. “They say this region is filled with rabid bats that some say are strangely intelligent.”

  “I’ve never heard that,” Yury said.

  “Nor I,” said Petor. “Nadia?”

  Nadia shook her head.

  Feodor seemed ready to speak again. Then he hunched his shoulders.

  “If you know something,” Petor said, “you should tell us.”

  “Like Yury and Nadia told others about the faint?” Feodor asked.

  Irritation crossed Petor’s face. He kept his thoughts to himself, however.

  At noon, they stopped and ate cheese and hunks of cold bread. Ivan heated up broth and that seemed to revive spirits. The Old Forest was a bleak place. The naked, claw-like branches gave it an empty feeling, although the few snow-laden pines softened the image. Three times, they surprised rabbits, while another time Feodor pointed out a snowy-white owl as it blinked at them. Later, during mid-afternoon, Ivan had to hold back the hounds. He figured they’d caught a whiff of fox.

  They entered a clearing and crossed a frozen stream. At the edge of the clearing, Stribog paused, and growled. He lifted his leg and urinated. He sniffed again and whined.

  Ivan hurried to Stribog, then ahead of him. He stopped, eyes widening. Kneeling, he inspected a huge set of tracks.

  Feodor edged beside him. “Wolf tracks?” he asked.

  Ivan shucked off his mitten and placed his hand beside the track. He looked up at Feodor. “Ever see a wolf-print bigger than a man’s hand before?”

  “Not that much bigger,” Feodor said softly.

  The others gathered near. The hounds whined and took to urinating.

  “Those tracks are huge!” Yury said excitedly.

  Petor muttered under his breath.

  Nadia paled. Her eyes met Ivan’s.

  “Storm wolves?” he asked.

  “I-I don’t know,” she said.

  “Storm wolves?” Petor asked in alarm. “Are storm wolves real?”

  “The Magyars think so,” Nadia said. “In the far south they war against wolf-riders.”

  “I’d heard rumors,” Petor said, shaking his head. “I thought they were just tall tales.” His shrewd face zeroed in on Nadia. “Wolf-riders did you say? What kind of riders?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Nadia.

  “A man can’t sit a wolf like a horse,” Petor said. “No, not even the wolf that made these tracks. So my question is, what kind of riders are small enough and still dangerous enough to battle these Magyars?”

  “Clawmen,” said Nadia.

  Petor muttered as he scowled at the track.

  “That’s what a Magyar told a Pavian merchant who sold him sabers and hard spirits,” Nadia said.

  “Did the Magyars unload any corpses?” Petor asked. “Or did they sell any salted jars with clawmen heads in them?”

  “That’s disgusting,” Nadia said. “The Magyars are more cultured than that.”

  “Who’s talking about culture?” Petor asked. “This is a matter of proof.”

  “Clawmen are real,” Feodor muttered. “My father fought them once.” He gave them a terse description of Dimitri’s journey.

  “Incredible,” Petor said at last.

  “How exciting,” Yury said.

  “The important question,” said Ivan, “is whether clawmen or storm wolves are near. And if so, can the faint guide them to us?”

  “Remember,” Petor said, “all we’ve spotted are over-sized wolf tracks. There are no companion tracks of clawmen. Perhaps this track is simply of a wolf with porcupine needle-swelled paws.”

  Ivan recalled the eerie howl from last night. He told Nadia, “Maybe you should keep your wand handy. And maybe you should let me carry your bow.”

  “You?” asked Nadia. “I can shoot well enough.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” said Ivan. “But if storm wolves are loose, you’ll be too busy casting protective spells to use your bow.”

  “Since when did you learn to shoot?” asked Nadia.

  “I’ve let him
practice with my bow,” Petor said, studying Ivan. “Father thought it a good idea for the dog trainer to understand the intricacies of archery. Ivan is a fair shot if the target isn’t moving and he has time to line it up.”

  “Should I let him borrow the bow?” Nadia asked.

  “It might be a good idea,” replied the knight.

  Nadia went to her mount and returned. “Don’t break it,” she said, handing the unstrung bow and case to Ivan. “And don’t waste arrows. They were specially made and are each very straight and eagle-fletched. Only string it when you’re ready to shoot.”

  “Petor did teach me about bows.” Ivan ran his hand along it. “Say, this isn’t wood.”

  “No,” said Nadia. “It’s made of horn and sinew. It’s a Magyar’s bow, one they shoot from the saddle.”

  “Is it as good as a yew bow?” Ivan asked.

  “If you don’t like it you can give it back,” she said.

  “Oh no,” he said. “It’ll do.” Ivan had never told anyone, but he loved bows. The ability to shoot a distance…the idea enthralled him. The bow was the perfect hunter’s tool.

  -28-

  An hour later Feodor and Ivan led the way. They squeezed through a dense thicket, breaking branches for the others and their horses. Sweat glistened from their faces and they breathed hard.

  “You realize that we’re hiking closer to death,” Feodor wheezed.

  “I saw the Moon Lady’s rite before.”

  Feodor strained with a branch. The crack was loud in the cold. He tossed it aside. “Storm wolves could be here.”

  “And clawmen,” Ivan said. “I’m beginning to believe that the Imp was a clawman.”

  “So why are we here?”

  “To trick Karlo,” Ivan said without hesitation.

  “Magda’s orders?”

  “I’m not allowed to say.”

  Feodor grunted. They broke more branches. Behind them Petor cursed. The Belgorod knight quickly apologized to Nadia for using such crude language.

  “Sir Karlo isn’t going to be tricked,” Feodor said.

  “He might be,” said Ivan. Yury had only drunk half the healing potion. Nadia didn’t strike him as completely lost to love. In the end, he trusted the good breeding and life-long training that both Yury and Nadia had received. And he’d heard something in Karlo’s voice when he’d spoken about Nadia. Maybe the knight really did have a weakness because of love.

  “You’re not thinking,” Feodor muttered. “Sir Karlo has Perun and his men with him.”

  “We have the farmers,” Ivan said.

  Feodor shook his head. “We’re walking into a trap.”

  “Yes, with our eyes open.”

  Feodor snorted. “And since when has a bear been helped by letting itself be trapped?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Not suggesting, just wondering which of us are going to die.”

  The idea froze Ivan’s chest. Some of them were going to die. Maybe he would. Surely, one of his close friends would.

  “I asked that so you’ll be ready to fight for your life,” Feodor said. “At the first sign of treachery, maybe even before, you must hit hard and keep hitting until you know your opponent is down and dead.”

  Ivan swallowed. Feodor’s wide face was set in a grim mask. He knew the woodcutter’s son planned to do exactly as he suggested.

  “Don’t take any chances,” Feodor said. “Perun will kill you the first time you’re alone with him. So kill him first.”

  “How can you be so certain about it?” Ivan asked.

  Feodor grabbed his arm. “This isn’t a game. They’re evil men ready to slay us. We have to slay them first.”

  “Are you stopping?” Yury called from behind.

  Feodor let go of Ivan and broke off another branch. “When you have some time, talk sense into Nadia.”

  Ivan nodded. Trust Feodor to think things through. Out here in the Old Forest, the old rules came into force: Strike first and strike hard.

  -29-

  Near dusk, the wind moaned with an icy chill. Ivan shivered after setting up his tent. He hurried to Yury.

  “Have you seen the faint today?” Ivan asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you feel him?”

  “He knows we’re here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “How do you know?” Ivan asked.

  Yury muttered, “It’s the same way you know it’s going to rain. The air gets charged up and the wind shifts around with various smells.”

  “How come you sense him and Feodor can’t? Feodor is the best among us at woodcraft.”

  “I think it is a side-effect of the healing potion,” Yury said. “It left me with sharper senses. If you’ve noticed, I haven’t limped since then.” He lowered his voice, “And my bad hand feels stronger.” Using his left hand, he grabbed Ivan’s and squeezed.

  “You’re right,” Ivan said, feeling the new strength there.

  “Now maybe you understand why I’m not as suspicious about Karlo as you. Not only did he stand over me when the white wolves attacked, but he cured the worst effect of my childhood disease.”

  Ivan nodded. Using magic, Karlo had tricked Yury. He’d have to keep an even sharper eye on him.

  “Then you’ll keep your promise?” Yury asked.

  “You know me better than to ask such a question.”

  “I do,” Yury whispered. “You and me, we’re like this.” He twisted two fingers together. “I can trust you with anything.”

  “You can trust Feodor, Nadia and your brother just as much.”

  “I can trust them to do what they think is best for me. But I know Petor doesn’t trust Sir Karlo. He might disagree that the healing potion was a good thing.”

  Ivan nodded for Yury’s sake. Then he moved to the fire. It crackled beside a boulder, which gave them protection from the wind. Feodor rolled sitting stones around the fire and they ate vegetable soup with generous chunks of beef.

  “You have first watch tonight,” Petor told Nadia.

  She ran a hand across the wand on her knees. She’d told Ivan during the day that making it had taken months of careful labor. Each carved image of an eye, owl, star and bear helped fuel the talisman. The long hours of polishing had allowed her to acquaint herself with the wand’s properties. No two were alike, nor did they impart similar powers. A Sister of Moiré’s wand became as individual as the maker. It did more than focus her talent, Nadia had explained. In its making, the wand absorbed a Sister’s talent and magnified it. Without her wand, a Sister almost became powerless—until she made a new one. Nadia’s wand had become her most precious belonging.

  Petor and the others crawled into the sleeping bags as Ivan ministered to his hounds. He brushed their fur, took out burs, twigs and checked their paws. Flay’s broken leg wasn’t bothering him. Ivan still wondered how wise it had been to bring him. What if they faced storm wolves and clawmen? Ivan frowned as his stomach tightened. What if they fought against Karlo and Perun?

  He walked to Nadia as she leaned against the boulder and peered into the forest. “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “I’m cold.”

  He told her about Yury’s chess-piece and the one he’d given Karlo. He also mentioned the rite to the Moon Lady and the calf’s bitter death.

  At the telling, Nadia’s face stiffened. Behind them, a log popped and sparks showered.

  “You know that Sir Karlo can practice spells,” Ivan said quietly. “Or that he has someone who can.”

  Nadia bit her lip.

  “I know you’re clever,” he said. “I’ve had a lifetime to learn that. So you can’t fool me into thinking otherwise.”

  She glanced at him.

  “What’s your plan, Nadia? Are you going to leave with him?”

  “I have to take care of the faint first.”

  “Why?”

  “I must test myself. I must see if I can do this.” She shrugged. “Maybe I must in order to find out if th
ere really is a cost to magic? I don’t know. I’ve got to use my talent at least once in the cause of Light.”

  “So a faint is automatically evil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who controls it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Does Sir Karlo?”

  Nadia sighed. “No, Ivan. I know he doesn’t control it. That’s what gives me hope.”

  “Hope for what?”

  “Karlo.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Nadia stared up at the stars. “Have you ever heard the story of Jakub Vladimir?”

  Ivan frowned. “Should I have?”

  “I learned about him at the Sisterhood. Long ago, Jakub Vladimir grew up in the Golghiz Region of the Carpathians. It was a wild and trackless place during ancient times, much worse than now. Huge grimalkin cats came from here, and in this region lay the lair of Grakengol the Red.”

  “That sounds like a dragon?”

  Nadia nodded. “Jakub Vladimir’s father was a sorcerer, a servant of Old Father Night. He knew the dark rituals and taught them to his son. Jakub grew up strong in mind and body, and he grew up serving Darkness. Yet his mother had treated him with tenderness and taught him to cherish humanity. Then one day he met a maiden who had escaped the clutches of wolf-riders. The riders had been on their way to Grakengol the Red’s cave, to feed the maiden to the dragon. Well, Jakub Vladimir took one look into her eyes and knew he loved her. For her sake, he slew the wolf-riders. For her sake, he went with her to Rada and returned her to her parents. And for her sake he listened to the teachings of Light and forsook the dark path and worshipped Hosar. The maiden saved Jakub Vladimir from a life of evil. And it was he who in years to come slew the dreaded Golghiz blood-drinkers.”

  The fire crackled as Ivan listened. He understood Nadia better now.

  “Can I do any less than the maiden?” she asked.

  “Can Sir Karlo be saved?” countered Ivan.

  “I don’t know, but I must use this chance to find out.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “…I think so.”

  Ivan’s heart felt heavy. He hated the Bavarian knight.

  “Can I do any less than the maiden?” Nadia asked softly.

  Ivan couldn’t answer that.