As the sounds died, the dark man began to fade. He whispered, “You must do it now, Yury. Pick up the sword before it’s too late.”
Wearied by the exertion of sounding the horn, Ivan sagged to his knees. He scowled. Why did he feel so weak?
Yury shouted triumphantly then. “It’s mine!”
It took an effort of will and strength for Ivan to raise his head. For a moment, his mind was blank. Then he saw Yury holding the battle-blade. His friend smiled strangely and cut at the air above Ivan’s head.
Karlo laughed, almost gleefully. He backed into the shadows.
Stribog followed the knight.
“No,” Ivan whispered. “Stay.”
Stribog instantly sat down, although he kept watch for the silver-haired Bavarian.
Something was different between them, Ivan knew. But he was so tired. He looked at his friend. “Yury,” he whispered.
Yury blinked at the mention of his name and lowered the weapon.
“Do you know who I am, Yury?”
“That’s a stupid question. You’re Ivan.”
Ivan blinked as a great weariness settled upon him. “What about the dark man?”
Yury frowned. “Yes, once he owned the blade.”
Ivan was bewildered, but he wanted to get out of here. He rose with a groan and stepped forward, only to stop short. “There’s blood on the sword.”
“Well so there is.” Yury took a cloth from his pouch and wiped off the crusted blood.
“Why not put it down?” Ivan said.
Yury shook his head.
“Do you want to go back to the others?”
“Yes,” Yury said. “Let’s go.”
Ivan found a stick and thrust it into the fire-pit. Once the end burned, he staggered over the bridge. Many passages were evident, but Yury seemed to know the way out. When they passed one particular corridor, Yury paused and glanced into it.
“What’s wrong?” Ivan asked.
Yury licked his lips, as he turned pale. Then he hid his face and hurried on.
Ivan thrust the torch into the side-passage. In the flickering light, he saw corpses, brutally murdered men. Then he fled. He knew where the missing farmers were, and that none would be going home. Ivan knew where the blood on the battle-blade had come from. Karlo must have sacrificed the farmers in some unholy ritual, just as he had sacrificed the calf two weeks ago.
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Blowing the horn exhausted Ivan, and the murder of the farmers depressed him. He stumbled over a rock and almost went down.
Yury turned, and he switched the battle-blade from his right to left hand. “Lean on me,” he said.
Ivan’s knees buckled as Yury grabbed him. “I’m out of strength,” Ivan whispered.
“Don’t worry. I feel as strong as an ox. Lean more of your weight on me.”
Ivan pressed against Yury, and to his amazement, his friend seemed like iron. Ivan couldn’t recall Yury ever having felt so strong before.
They emerged through the opening and back to the snow. Ivan tossed his makeshift torch as Nadia and Feodor came running.
The two hurried near and then slowed, perplexed. “Where did you get the sword?” Feodor asked.
“From in there,” Yury said, “in the crypt.”
Nadia eyed Yury. “The crypt?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Yury said, “the crypt for the Lord of Bats. He lies deeper—much deeper.” Yury chuckled. It was an evil sound.
Nadia grew tense.
“Is anything wrong?” Yury asked.
“Can’t you feel the evil emanating from the sword?” Nadia asked.
“What nonsense,” Yury said.
Nadia eyed him and then asked Ivan, “What happened?”
“The farmers,” Ivan whispered. “They’re dead.”
“Yes,” Yury said. “They’re all dead, slain in a brutal way.”
Ivan sagged to his knees for the second time today.
Feodor reached him first. “He’s freezing,” Feodor said. “We need to get him to a fire.”
Ivan missed whatever else was said because everything became a blur. He knew Stribog was at his side, but little else. After a time they set him beside a fire. He quit shivering after they wrapped a blanket around him. Feodor squatted by the fire and poured out cups of broth. Using both hands, Ivan drank deeply, even though the broth burned his lips.
“Ivan?” Nadia asked. Fortified, he looked up. “What happened in there? How did the farmers die?”
Ivan squeezed his eyes shut as if he could shut out the memory. “They were sacrificed…”
Yury spoke into the silence. “It was terrible, but at least I was given this sword.”
“Who gave it to you?” Nadia asked.
“Vlad Blackheart,” Yury said.
“He means the dark man,” Ivan whispered.
Nadia took a step back from Yury. “You spoke to the dark man?”
“He’s Vlad Blackheart,” Yury said. “In a different age, he wielded the sword. He was a champion, a warrior of surpassing valor. Then he became something darker, a drinker of human blood. Yes…that part is bad.”
“But my mystical protection…” Nadia said. “How was the faint able to speak to you?”
Yury chuckled. “Vlad Blackheart isn’t a faint. He’s become a gaunt.”
“Hosar help us,” whispered Nadia. “A gaunt? Are you certain?”
Ivan shuddered. In a singer’s tale, everything about a gaunt was unholy. They were wickedness purified: fell powers that had been slain and buried long ago. The essence of them refused to perish and thus they stalked the living. His fear for Yury grew.
“He is Vlad Blackheart,” Yury repeated, almost boastfully. “And yes, I’m quite certain that he’s become a gaunt.”
Nadia said in a fearful voice, “You have named him, and ill it is for you that you have.”
“Who is Vlad Blackheart?” Feodor whispered.
“He’s a friend,” Yury said in a rush. “He needs my help because a new age is about to descend upon us.” He eyed the sword. “But, there was something else, too. I think Ivan told me. What was it you said, Ivan?”
Ivan felt weary, so very tired. “It’s time we cleared up a few things.”
“What kind of things?” Nadia asked suspiciously.
Ivan nodded to Yury. “I’m going to tell them. With so many people dead, we can’t afford secrets.”
Yury shrugged as he smiled at his sword.
“Sir Karlo gave him a healing potion,” Ivan said.
“What?” Nadia said.
“He only drank half,” Ivan said. “When he showed me the draught, I convinced him to pour out the rest. Yury said the potion made his bad leg and hand better. When he helped me out of the cave just now, I felt his muscles. They’re like iron.”
“I see,” Nadia said.
“Now I wonder what else was in the potion,” Ivan said. He sat up to take a bite of bread, but when he remembered the farmers his appetite fled.
“Pray continue,” said Nadia.
Ivan concentrated. “I heard the dark man tell Yury that he had been readied for the sword. To my way of thinking, the potion did that.”
“Yes,” Nadia said. “That makes sense. So do the chess pieces now.”
“There’s something else,” Ivan said. “I don’t think the dark man was sent to watch you. I think he’s been after Yury the entire time.”
“If he’s a gaunt,” Nadia said, “then yes, what you say makes sense. I-I thought he was a faint.” She shook her head. “I’ve been a fool. I should have known something was amiss when the escort couldn’t name him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yury said. “Even if Vlad Blackheart is evil, Ivan drove him away. So the sword is mine.”
“How could Ivan possibly have driven away a gaunt?” Nadia asked.
“He did it with the horn.” Yury tore his gaze from the sword. “Say, that was strange, wasn’t it?” He ran a hand over his eyes. “Something’s wrong wit
h me. I’m not thinking straight. Am I?”
“No,” Feodor said, “I don’t think you are.”
Yury frowned at the sword.
Feodor asked, “Why don’t you set aside the sword and give me a hand with some logs?”
“Sure.” Yury set the sword on the snow. He held the position for several seconds.
“Is anything wrong?” Feodor asked.
Yury straightened with the sword in his hand. “I can’t let go.” He grinned shyly. “That doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Nadia opened her mouth to speak.
“No!” Feodor said hastily. “It doesn’t matter at all.”
Nadia closed her mouth and nodded after a moment. She turned to Ivan. “You still haven’t told us how you drove away the gaunt.”
Ivan had hidden the horn under his cloak. He revealed it now. Its texture and dull color proclaimed it to be made of bone. The red silk cord was attached near the mouthpiece and halfway up the flaring end. It was shorter than a short sword and rather tubby. It looked like an ordinary horn, if larger than a cowhorn. The horn’s texture reminded Ivan of old elk bones that he’d found before in the fields. Yet the horn didn’t seem brittle in any way. In fact, he had the feeling it was stronger than iron.
“A horn?” asked Nadia.
“It hung beside the sword,” Ivan said.
“So what happened?”
He described the scene, telling them what the horn had done to him and to the gaunt.
“May I touch it?” Nadia asked.
Ivan felt no reluctance giving it to her. Her eyebrows rose as she held it. She even tested it, blowing through the mouthpiece. No sound issued.
“Does it make you feel hot?” Ivan asked.
Nadia shook her head, handing the horn to Feodor.
Reluctantly, the woodcutter’s son blew it. Nothing happened.
“How about me?” Yury asked.
“Not yet,” said Nadia. She indicated that Feodor give it back to Ivan.
Ivan felt a moment’s warmth as he took it. He told Nadia that.
“It’s magical,” she said.
Ivan inspected the horn with an odd feeling. Just then, a rabbit peered from behind a tree. Ivan grinned at it. When Flay perked up, Ivan said, “No. Leave it.” The dog lay its head back down, although he watched the rabbit.
“Leave what?” asked Nadia.
“That rabbit,” Ivan said.
“What rabbit?”
Ivan threw some snow at it. It jumped with a start and bounded away. Vesna rose. Ivan shook his head. Vesna sank back down.
Nadia tugged her lower lip, studying Ivan.
“What does all this mean?” Feodor asked in a bewildered tone. “Why did Karlo kill our friends?”
“It means that I found a mighty sword,” Yury said.
“No,” Nadia said. “I’m afraid it means more than that.”
“Like what?” Yury asked.
Nadia gave him a worried look. “It means that a gaunt tried to take over your body.”
The blood drained from Yury’s face. He examined the battle-blade with a new light. For the first time it seemed he wanted to let go.
“Quickly,” Feodor said. “Drop the sword.”
Yury almost seemed ready to do so, but he shook his head and said, “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Nadia asked.
“No!” Yury shouted. “I’m no one’s tool!” He threw the battle-blade away, but his hand refused to release its grip. He was jerked after the sword and he stumbled onto the snow.
“Get it away from me!” he screamed.
Ivan stepped forward. Nadia held him back and shook her head.
“Why won’t you help me?” Yury sobbed.
Feodor whispered, “What should we do?”
“Knock me out, if you have to,” Yury said, “and pry my fingers loose.”
“I don’t think we could,” Feodor said.
Nadia nodded in agreement. Ivan looked agonized.
Feodor said, “I think you’d defend yourself with the sword if we tried.”
“Yes,” Nadia told Feodor, “I think you’re right. You feel its evil as much as I.”
Yury turned away and strove to regain mastery over his emotions. Finally, he asked, “What happened to me?”
Stroking her chin, Nadia paced back and forth.
“Nadia?” Yury asked.
She regarded him. More than ever, she seemed like the wise princess. Her eyes were clear and bright, stabbing into the heart of Yury’s eyes. She swept a hand through her long hair and brushed it back over her head.
“What happened?” Yury asked. “Do you know?”
She glanced at Ivan, eyeing him as well.
Feodor poked a log so it split apart and burst into sparks. He spoke to Nadia. “You said that a gaunt tried to take over Yury, right?”
Nadia didn’t answer.
“Am I right?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And this gaunt’s name is Vlad Blackheart?”
“It is ill to speak his name,” Nadia cautioned.
Feodor said, “Yet he has been named and Yury holds an ancient battle-blade.” He turned to Yury, who was pale-faced. “Does the sword have a name?”
“Night,” Yury said.
Nadia moaned and took a step away from Yury.
“What is it?” Yury cried. “You must tell me!”
“I’m surprised you don’t know the significance of the name,” Nadia said after a moment. “You seem to know so much already.”
Yury stared at her, and slowly a change came over him. A sly smile worked onto his face. “I hold the battle-blade named Night,” he said.
“Once wielded by the Old One, Vlad Blackheart,” Nadia said.
Ivan sucked in his breath. “An Old One? If the battle-blade is evil, this horn must be as well.”
“No,” Nadia said. “For with it you drove away a gaunt. Think about that for a moment. You drove away a gaunt, Ivan.”
“So did you this morning,” Ivan said.
“No,” Nadia said. “It tricked me. The gaunt is clever as well as wicked. I’ll not underestimate him again.”
“What about the horn?”
Nadia peered at the horn as her forehead puckered. “I recall something about a horn, something one of my history teacher’s said. Ah! Your horn must be Karlo’s goal.”
“This?” Ivan asked.
“The famed Dragon Horn,” Nadia said in awe. “Long, long ago,” she said, “in the dawn world, there was the Dragon Golghiz the Red. Yes, I remember the story. He was a terrible monster. He devoured villages and destroyed towns. At last, a band of champions formed together—so my history teacher taught us in the Sisterhood. They called themselves the Dragon Hunters. For six long months, they studied the beast. At last, they devised their plan. After a terrifying sweep of a far country, the dragon came to his cave to sleep. He’d eaten well and his belly bulged. His inner fires, after such destruction, had become low. He wormed his way into the cave and fell into a fitful slumber. The desperate Dragon Hunters slipped in after him. He awoke, as they knew he would. In one fiery blast, the dragon slew half their number. Then the spells flew and the arrows sang. And then Grogan Ironfist bellowed his war cry as he attacked. In his rage and pain, the dragon slew more hunters. Only two survived. There was an old veteran and an enchantress of wonderful cunning.
“The enchantress bade the veteran to hack away part of the dragon’s scaly armor. Soon drenched in dragon blood, the warrior cut away muscle and sinew. Then he sawed away part of the dragon’s shoulder blade. Using Grogan’s magic spear, the warrior probed deep into the dead monster. Black smoke hissed out of the dragon’s nostrils when the tip of the spear touched the heart. The enchantress ordered the warrior to smear the heart-blood on the sawn shoulder blade. Then, with the air still charged by spells, with the dragon-spirit still passing on, the enchantress created her most powerful tool: the Dragon Horn.
“The enchantress d
ied in the creating. Therefore, only Pepin the Lord of Eagles emerged from the cave. An eagle was the first beast he saw upon blowing the horn. From that point, he became one with eagles, and he became gifted with eagle virtues and abilities, except that of flight. At Pepin’s passing another blew the horn, and he too gained mastery over a select form of beast. The horn is neither good nor bad, but magic of the highest order.”
Nadia became thoughtful. “Since the Lord of Bats was Vlad’s patron, I think it is obvious who Vlad controlled and become like—bats. I’m sure I know of him, but under a different name. The Old Ones have long hidden themselves, even to giving themselves new names.”
“You’re right,” Yury said. “Once he called himself Binder.”
Nadia grew pale.
“Is that bad?” Feodor asked.
“If Vlad Blackheart was him known as Binder…” Nadia gripped her wand. “The gaunt would be powerful beyond ordinary measure. That Sir Karlo seeks the gaunt’s resting place…no.”
“What is it?” asked Ivan.
“Sir Karlo must serve an Old One,” Nadia said.
“What makes you say that?” asked Ivan.
“Sir Karlo’s Old One uses him. Yes, the Old One seeks mighty weapons and willingly releases a gaunt. That one knew Karlo would need others to risk the gaunt’s presence. Yes, but they didn’t count on you, Ivan.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Nadia peered at him with red-rimmed eyes. “There is still a modicum of hope for Sir Karlo. We have hope and terrible peril. For a new hunter has arisen.”
“You meant Yury?” asked Ivan.
“No, you,” Nadia said. “For you blew the horn. Until you die, there cannot be a new hunter.”
“But—”
“Stribog was with you,” Nadia said. “You saw one of your hounds first. How fitting, Ivan. You have become the Lord of Hounds.”
Ivan blinked in confusion.
“They say the more times you blow the horn, the more it will protect you from evil,” Nadia said. “That is how you were able to defeat the gaunt. Because of your action, we also have a Sword-Bearer. Yet for how long?” she asked herself. “Yury, you must remain by Ivan. Yes, the gaunt must fear him, and that is important. For if the gaunt enters you, all is lost.”
The Dragon Horn Page 21