The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ Jagovere said.

  ‘Where in hells did they get an army like that?’ Enderlain said.

  Jagovere pointed out the flags fluttering over the camp at various intervals.

  ‘Mercenary companies,’ he said. ‘I recognise some of those flags. Those ones are Mirabayan. Those Ventish. They’ve been putting this army together for some time.’

  ‘Looks like negotiations are coming a little late,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Jagovere said. ‘It could simply be a show of strength. It’s easier to negotiate with an army at your back than with the threat of one.’

  ‘Expensive way to negotiate,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘I’ve heard the Markgraf could build his city walls with bricks of silver if he wanted to,’ Enderlain said.

  ‘Exaggerated,’ Jagovere said, ‘but not by much. Let’s move a bit closer and try to get an idea of numbers and who they all are.’

  They dismounted and Jagovere took a leather spyglass from his saddlebag. He and Wulfric crept toward a hedgerow where they stopped, and Jagovere started surveying the camp.

  ‘Black Fists, Bloody Lances, Blades of Voorn, the Black Ram, the Chevaliers of the Silver Spur—they’re trading on the name of an old Mirabayan order of bannerets—and a dozen others that I don’t know of. It’s a veritable who’s who of sell-swords. I hope no one else is planning on starting a war. I reckon Elzmark has pretty much every mercenary company worth the coin here.’

  ‘How many do you think?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Impossible to tell from here, and I’ve no desire to get closer. Judging by the banners, I’d say twelve thousand at least.’

  Wulfric whistled through his teeth. ‘Well, looks like I’ll have to kill the Markgraf, then,’ he said with a wry smile.

  Jagovere looked at him and raised an eyebrow, as though asking if it was ever going to be any other way.

  ‘Let’s get back,’ Wulfric said. ‘There’s nothing more we can achieve here but get ourselves into trouble.’

  EMISSARY TULLER and his royal guardsmen were at the city gate waiting for their return. Wulfric had expected them to have gone ahead, as their credentials were impeccable. Enderlain had raised Wulfric’s banner once more, so there could be no mistake that they were dealing with a man of distinction, even if the emissary’s credentials had not been up to muster.

  ‘You’ll have to wait here until I get instruction,’ the sergeant of the guard said when he stopped them.

  ‘I’m the emissary of Her Royal Highness, Alys of Ruripathia,’ Tuller said. ‘You have no authority to stop me here. My credentials allow me the freedom of the principality, which includes this city.’

  ‘I can’t let you in until his lordship has sent word,’ the sergeant said.

  Tuller let out a sigh of frustration and turned back to his party to wait. Short of forcing their way in with arms, precipitating the conflict they were there to prevent, there was nothing they could do.

  ‘It’s a show of strength,’ Tuller said. ‘A pretty pointless one, but it sends a clear message. Her Highness’s sovereignty is not recognised here.’ He sighed in irritation. ‘Did you see anything interesting?’

  ‘Mercenaries,’ Wulfric said. ‘Lots of them. A full army.’

  Tuller nodded. ‘I expected as much. There have been rumours. It’s hard to keep a force that large a secret.’

  An officer arrived at the gate, which was still allowing people to pass in and out, with only Wulfric and the others being held up.

  ‘The Markgraf sends his welcome and his permission for you to enter the city,’ the officer said. ‘I’m to escort you to the palace where he’ll receive you. I’ll have to ask your men to leave their weapons here at the gate.’

  ‘They’ll do no such thing,’ Tuller said. ‘This is Banneret-Captain Ulfyr, Royal Champion of Ruripathia. Any man who wishes to take the Champion’s blade from him will have to expect to do so with steel, as well you know.’

  The officer thought for a moment. ‘Very well, any bannerets can keep their weapons, but no one else.’

  Enderlain let out a dissatisfied growl.

  ‘My men will keep theirs, too,’ Wulfric said. He gave the officer his most threatening stare, and was pleased to see the man grow visibly uncomfortable beneath it.

  ‘I’m not sure I can allow that,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have any option,’ Wulfric said. ‘We’re not giving them up and that’s the end of it.’

  The officer shrugged, as he chewed over letting in three men with swords instead of two. ‘Very well, if you’ll all follow me, please.’

  There was no question of them dismounting, so Wulfric rode forward through the gates of Elzburg, entering the city for the second time with the intention of killing a man.

  RIDING into the city in his new armour, with Enderlain carrying his banner, was a very different experience to his previous visit when he had looked little different from the vagrants who begged on the street corners. He had been shoved, pushed, and ignored; treated like something unpleasant that no one wanted anything to do with.

  Now it was a very different story. People got out of his way, then stopped to watch him pass. The fact that he and the others were on horseback no doubt helped, but it left Wulfric feeling a mix of discomfort and pride. People looked at him with the same expression on their faces as he had viewed the returning warriors to Leondorf. Awe and curiosity, blended with a little bit of fear.

  Their progress was slow, as the crowds on the narrow streets had to part to allow the horses through, and it quickly began to feel like a procession rather than the end to a long journey. He could hear people ask their neighbours if they knew who these warriors were, and it was not long before he heard the name ‘Ulfyr’.

  Eventually they reached the square opposite the palace, where Wulfric had waited until he had finally spotted Ambassador Urschel before following him home and killing him. It seemed like a lifetime before, so distant he could almost be convinced he had dreamed it. He tried to push the memories out of the way and concentrate on the task at hand, as they all led him to the same place—the pain and loss he felt over Adalhaid’s death. It gripped at his heart when he allowed his thoughts to rest on it, and felt as though it would crush it to pieces. Focussing on the Blood Debt had been a useful distraction, but it was nearing its end, and once he had satisfied it he would be left alone with nothing more than the memory of what he had once had, and what had been taken from him.

  There was a gathering of men at the steps to the palace, well dressed and official looking, joined by young scruffy lads who looked like stable boys, and heavily armed soldiers who looked like they were supposed to be intimidating. Wulfric glowered at them as they approached. When he stopped he slipped down from his horse and held the reins out for a stable boy to take. There was an attitude he intended to convey for his time there: He was Royal Champion, and the Markgraf was nothing more than a budding traitor and a bully whose desires had caused a beautiful young woman’s death. He had only days at best to live, and Wulfric would be damned if he was going to pay him an ounce of respect.

  The emissary went forward to talk with the officials, while Wulfric and the others stood around feeling very much like ornaments to a more important subject. Eventually the emissary returned.

  ‘I’m to be brought through and received by the Markgraf immediately,’ Tuller said. ‘I want you with me. You can bring your standard bearer too, but the rest will be shown to our accommodation.’

  Wulfric walked over to the others to relay the information, then he and Enderlain walked into the palace. They were ushered through it to an audience hall that was on a smaller but equally ostentatious scale to the one in Brixen. A man sat in the dimly lit hall on a dais. He was alone, and everything about the setting struck Wulfric as being odd. The windows were covered by heavy curtains, with only an occasional beam of sunlight getting through. A handful of magelamps made up the rest of the light, but having come from th
e bright daylight outside, it felt overly dark, lending the meeting an ominous tone. Wulfric wondered if that was the intended effect.

  Tuller showed no reaction to the setting, and strode up the hallway with purpose, where he made an elaborate bow.

  ‘I bear greetings from the court of Her Royal Highness, Princess Alys of Ruripathia,’ Tuller said. ‘I offer my credentials to confirm my authority to negotiate on her behalf.’

  ‘I receive you and her embassy in the spirit of friendship, and hope that our negotiations will reach their conclusion on those terms,’ the Markgraf said.

  Wulfric watched him closely. He was younger than Wulfric had expected, with a good deal of colour still in his hair and beard. He had tired eyes, however, and seemed to bear his responsibilities heavily.

  ‘I hope so too,’ Tuller said.

  ‘I propose that we begin our talks in the morning,’ the Markgraf said. ‘You must be weary after your journey.’

  ‘The morning is satisfactory, my lord,’ Tuller said.

  ‘And you,’ the Markgraf said. ‘You must be Ulfyr, the new Royal Champion.’

  Wulfric nodded. ‘I am,’ he said, scrupulously avoiding using any term of respect.

  ‘You make for a fearsome sight,’ the Markgraf said. ‘I’m sure that’s the intended effect. I look forward to hearing some of your stories first-hand. They have become very popular here.’

  Wulfric bowed his head, not wanting to speak any more than was necessary. He wondered if it was in this room that the Markgraf had given the command that he wanted Adalhaid brought back to Elzburg, whatever his true reasons might have been. Wulfric wondered how he had reacted to the news of her death, or if he had even cared. He wondered what the Markgraf would look like choking on his own blood with a cut throat, twitching and gagging on his little throne. His greed and lust for power were going to mean the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, and Wulfric had a very difficult time seeing him as anything more than vermin that needed to be exterminated. He could feel his hand begin to shake, and took a deep breath to calm himself. There would be a time for that, but it was not yet come.

  ‘Very good, then,’ the Markgraf said. ‘Until the morrow.’

  CHAPTER 43

  As Adalhaid cleaned her implements before leaving the clinic that afternoon, she couldn’t help but think over what would come next for her. The idea of searching the world for Wulfric was a daunting one, but it gave her hope. Hope that there was a life to live after destroying the Stone, and with it, Rodulf. She knew in her soul that Wulfric still lived. If the gods favoured them, they would be together again. Faced with what she had to do, she would settle for just one more moment in his arms.

  She checked the bottles she had taken from the medicine cabinet again to confirm they were the ones she needed. The poison had enough in it to kill Rodulf several times over. Or her. A few drops would make him horrendously ill. A few more would kill him before dawn. The dream seed tincture had enough potency to keep an addict happy for a month. It was also more than enough to kill for if you were an addict. So much power in such small bottles. There was an irony in it somewhere, but she was still so nervous, because of the mistake she had made in treating the swordsman that morning, that she was too distracted to find it. She decanted some of the poison into a third bottle—a smaller one—stoppered it, and pushed it down the front of her bodice between her breasts. If her plan failed, there was something oddly satisfying in the thought that she would be able to cheat Rodulf of the opportunity to torture her. She pressed on the stoppers in the other bottles one last time and placed them in her purse.

  With everything cleaned and put away, she took a final look around the place. If everything went to plan, she wouldn’t see it again. She laughed to herself when it occurred to her that she wouldn’t see it again even if things didn’t go to plan. The inside of a dungeon would be her only view. Then? She could feel the vial of poison nestled between her breasts. It reminded her of the fate that she had spared Aethelman, although this one would be faster and less painful.

  ‘Steinnsdottir.’

  Adalhaid jumped at the sound of the voice; she was supposed to be the only person there. Sadly, she was not. Professor Kengil stood in front of her. How long had she been standing there? What might she have seen?

  ‘What are you doing here at this hour, Professor?’ Adalhaid said.

  ‘I came to see you.’

  ‘If I’m not mistaken, we’re nothing to one another now,’ Adalhaid said, her temper flaring. ‘I’m no longer a student, you’re no longer my professor. Why don’t you do us both a favour and leave, so I can lock up and go home.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d like that,’ Kengil said. ‘I know you think you’ve gotten the upper hand, but you’re sadly mistaken. I know. I know.’

  ‘Know what?’ Adalhaid said in exasperation.

  ‘Your little tricks. I know what you’ve done. Healing that little girl’s leg, the man with the lung disease. His kidneys were diseased too, but not anymore. I’ve never heard of vapours or infusions doing that before. Have you?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,’ Adalhaid said. ‘Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Like I said, you’re nothing to me now. Why don’t you scurry off and tell the Intelligenciers of your suspicions. See if they’ve any interest in listening to you. I certainly don’t.’

  ‘You think that just because you’ve qualified, you’re beyond my influence? Wrong. Oh, so wrong. There won’t be a physician in the city who’ll give you work by the time I’m done. Nor the rest of the country. Maybe the Intelligenciers will come after you, maybe they won’t. One thing is for certain, though. You’ll never work as a physician.’

  For a moment, Kengil’s threats made Adalhaid’s heart race. Then she remembered that in a day or two, she would be inside a dungeon, or riding away from there as fast as she possibly could. There was nothing Kengil could do to her.

  ‘Why don’t you do that, Professor?’ she said. ‘You tell whomever you like whatever you want. Do your worst.’

  Kengil’s face was a picture of confusion. Adalhaid reached forward and put the clinic’s key in her hand.

  ‘Lock up when you’re done ranting, won’t you?’ Adalhaid said. ‘I’ve somewhere more important I need to be.’

  She left a stunned and silent Professor Kengil behind her.

  ADALHAID WALKED BACK to the palace as slowly as she could. The conversation with Kengil had upset her, but she didn’t think there was anything Kengil could do to hinder her at that point. She would be long gone, or well dead, before Kengil’s rumours started to get around.

  Each step was filled with dread. She would meet with Gretta later that evening so she could put the poison in Rodulf’s food for the next day. By midnight tomorrow, he would be vomiting constantly. She expected Gerhard would be knocking on her door to take a look at him only moments later. Rodulf might object to being treated by her, but she was closest and her treatment would be the fastest. She would promise him a quick end to his symptoms, and in the agony of continuous vomiting, she knew he would relent. Her remedy would quickly take effect, and the tincture of dream seed that accompanied it would kick in a few minutes later.

  In the spirit of concerned and diligent care, she would offer to watch over him that night. When she was alone, and Rodulf was soundly asleep, she would destroy the Stone, resist the temptation to pour the rest of her poison down his throat, then flee the city to a new life.

  When she arrived at the palace, it was clear to her that something was up. She wondered if it had anything to do with the mercenaries Elsa had spoken of, and looked around to see if she could spot anyone who might know what was going on. Eventually she spotted Gerhard, and made her way over to him.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said.

  ‘A delegation has arrived from Brixen,’ he said. ‘I can’t say I know why, but they’ve got Ulfyr, the Wolf of the North, with them.’

  It sounded odd to hear a Northlander sobriquet fro
m one as refined in speech as Gerhard, and she had to do her best not to smile for the first time that evening. She had heard of the recently famous Northland warrior a number of times. Several bards and minstrels had told stories about him at the palace, and she had heard one or two in coffee houses also. She wondered where in the Northlands he was from, and felt a momentary pang of homesickness, before reminding herself that home didn’t really exist anymore.

  ‘The meeting is being held in secret, but everyone wants to get a look at Ulfyr, which is making my life difficult to say the least.’

  ‘Well, you won’t have to worry about me,’ Adalhaid said. ‘I couldn’t care less what he looks like.’

  She gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before heading for Gretta’s room. The news had added to the tension she already felt. As if she were not under enough stress already, Kengil’s threats added another pressure point. If the arrival of the delegation caused her any delays, Kengil could become more of a problem than Adalhaid had first thought.

  She knocked on Gretta’s door and waited, but there was no answer. She had feared it might be the case. With the arrival of emissaries and their entourage, it was likely the kitchens would be busy, all the more so if they had not been expected. With a sense of foreboding, she returned to her room.

  EVERY KNOCK at her door caused Adalhaid to jump. Fear twisted in her gut, making her think she would throw up as she opened the door, and the relief of seeing Gretta’s earnest face when she opened it did little to quell the sensation.

  ‘I was looking for you earlier,’ Adalhaid said. She beckoned for Gretta to come in and closed the door after her.

  ‘I know,’ Gretta said. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there. It’s been chaos in the kitchens since the royal delegation arrived. I think we’ll have to wait a few days before we play our trick.’

  Adalhaid did her best not to show her disappointment, but she could feel her face drop.