"It makes you look like a hedge witch."
She looked down her nose at him. "I do not like the comparison or implication, Emeric. My power is not drawn from old ambivalent goddesses or herbs. I've done my best to stamp that out."
She took out the candles and made the nine circles complete. Wrote certain names in an ink that was very prone to clotting despite the spells she used to counter that. A small blot could change meanings, and free something that might, at best, devour her. Elizabeth often wondered if that, or symbolism, was why it was required for these summonsings. She called up something that made Emeric blench. Not her. She'd seen worse. Although, this one was a tricky one. "I abjure you once. By the dark power that is given to me by great Lucifer, by Ashteroth and Baal'zebub and all the lesser names: show only the truth." She repeated it thrice.
The thing in the pentacle smiled toothily. It had many teeth. "Of course, mistress. As if I would do otherwise."
"Not now, you won't. Show us Ban Ilescu of Irongate."
An image appeared, as if floating in the air. The man was seated and eating soup. He was a rather noisy soup eater, and they could hear him, clearly.
"It is fish soup. Sterlet," said the demon.
Emeric sighed irritatedly. "How valuable . . ."
And someone said, "M'lord, there is a messenger here from Prince Vlad."
"Show me this messenger," Emeric snapped.
The demon ignored him. Showed instead the Ban putting down his spoon, and taking the message, and reading it."
"Let us see what it says!" shouted Emeric. Elizabeth had to push him back. The fool would have broken the enclosure.
The Ban, of course unaware he was being watched, smiled. It was not a nice smile. "'He will be just in addressing my claims'. Ha. Now the horse-trading begins."
He set the message aside, and continued to eat his soup.
At length someone coughed. "Will there be a reply, M'lord?"
The Ban nodded. "Oh yes. But not until I have thought it over. See the messenger fed and given a bed."
"He would not stay, M'lord."
"How trying. But the last messenger got there. Now what do we have after this soup?"
* * *
Emeric's General Muiso was was doing his best to avoid conflict without telling his master. "It would be difficult to take his fortress. The island is well defended. It is about a mile long and walled. Then there is the citadel itself . . . Your Majesty, it would be possible to take it by siege—but there are fields on the island itself. To bombard it from the water is not to be thought of, to bombard it from land . . . firstly the range, and secondly it is in the mouth of the gorge. The terrain is vile. Steep. Forested. It will take time to get the guns up there, and they're going to be further away from the island than will allow us any accuracy. The city of Orsoua and the castle there—his secondary fortress, would be easier," said the General. He coughed. "And, Your Majesty, the Irongate gorge is not easy to navigate. There are some cataracts, the Prigada rock . . . It is possible, Your Majesty, but far from easy. Do you wish me to make preparations to seize the castles? We will need to commit quite a lot of troops to it."
Emeric slammed his fist into his hand. Sighed. "No. I will see if . . . alternative means cannot be made use of."
* * *
"Yes," Elizabeth Bartholdy said. "In the middle of the water, isn't it? Yes, there is something I have wanted to try for a while. They do not like being dry, of course. But the river spreads its net a long way. With the power I will release from that blood . . . I think soon men will run screaming from it. But the island will do for a start. The Irongate will be in the hands of those who will devour ships crews that come too close."
"You talk of power, Aunt. But all I seem to have done with your machinations this time is lose it. And send my money to my enemy," said Emeric sourly.
"Ah. But that is because you look too closely. You do not see the the syzygy. The pattern between great events. The old ones on the land have held power for a long, long time. But once power lived in rivers—some seven thousand years ago. There are carvings on the stones beside it that show you the evidence. And the river-things did not share that power; they were worshiped and took what they needed from their acolytes. That time will come again, but this time, I will rule. I will control all of them. I have had an arrangement with the Vila now for many years. I give them what they desire; now I will give them more—for a price. And I will take the other ones into bondage, for my purposes." She laughed.
"Seven thousand years. Surely there is nothing left."
She snorted. "It draws its strength from the forces of nature and the stone of the mountains, the movement of the sun and moon, and those will soon be in alignment."
"Who and what are these things you seek to bind?"
"Various ancient magical rulers. And wolves."
"Wolves?"
She shrugged. "The wolves made a compact with a tribe of stone-workers. And between them they made a compact with a power of air and fire. The forest, the Leshy, which gives allegiance to the earth, joined with them. But the compact must be renewed. If one, just one, the one that draws from all of them, can be constrained to make the same bloody bargain with the last of the old water order, my Vila friends . . ."
Emeric shook his head. This was out of his depth. He took part in some rituals. He used a few simple spells. But Elizabeth had destroyed the other magic-users and workers far more thoroughly than the Servants of the Holy Trinity had. "How did you find all this out?"
"I have my sources," she said, loftily.
She did. Demonic ones. Emeric could only hope that she had checked them against more tangible and less deceptive sources.
Chapter 69
Vlad had ridden—despite the weather—down to the Hawk encampment. He was a familiar face there now. The Mongol had, Erik gathered, decided he was mad. Mad in such a way that he should be humored. Stories of his campaigns had been leaking across to the Golden Horde via the Mongol speakers among the Székely. That merely re-enforced their belief that he was mad, and dangerous . . . in a good sense as long as you were on his side. The Székelers of course took vast pride in him, did everything possible to claim him as one of their own. He was the Count of Székely, as well as the duke of Valahia. They preferred to call him the former, on every possible occasion.
But Vlad did inspire respect, even this side of the mountains. He seemed to have no real notion of personal safety, often riding alone, even across into Mongol territory, always sleeping apart, yet living with his men. He'd confided to Erik and Manfred that he hated being enclosed by walls. Manfred had taken the opportunity to pass on to the Generals of Hawk Clan that a suitable gift would be a small felt ger. No gift could have pleased Vlad more: it was just too cold to sleep outdoors in this weather. Those driving sheep and horses west reported that he lived in it. This totally unintended flattery raised his profile still further among the Mongol, who despised those who lived in fixed dwellings.
He was greeted as if he was an honored emissary by the patrols. No one made any attempt to escort him to the guards around the actual camp. Even those merely saluted. Bortai commented on it as he came riding toward them. "He's a trustable man."
"Yes," said Erik. "But I really do think the Mongol have the right of it. He is a little mad. He's a good man . . . but on the cusp of being dangerous at times. He's terrifyingly strong, too. He's not a great swordsman . . . just powerful." Erik had long since got used to saying exactly what he thought to Bortai.
Bortai nodded. "I would not wish to be his enemy. A sane man will ride away from a fight he cannot win. A madman will attack you even when you know that he cannot. Sometimes such a man take down many."
Vlad rode up to them, and greeted them politely. "Friend Erik. Lady Bortai. I need to consult with you Erik, and Manfred. And then with Ritter Eberhart, about a separate matter."
"Manfred thinks that he should just move up there with you. Like Bombardier Von Thiel. Manfred has just finished
with drill." Erik had had to forgo that for the last few weeks whilst waiting for his wound to heal. It was healed, really, by now. He'd started stretching and working it from when the stitches came out. But it was pleasant to rest and talk. And it did Manfred the world of good to put the knights through their drill instead of having Erik do it. A prince ought to know how to do that, Erik thought, faintly guiltily.
They went to find Manfred. He was experimenting with a curved Mongol blade, which he put aside when he saw his visitors. "Ah. An excuse for wine. Have you managed to get us any more, Vlad?"
The duke nodded happily. "I have more merchants traveling every day. They use sleds, now. Which, as the roads are bad . . . winter has its advantages."
"Some spies, no doubt."
Vlad nodded again. "But as Eberhart pointed out, the news they take back to Emeric is hardly good." He took a deep breath. "It is about that that I wish to speak to you. I have had two letters from the southwest. One is from Ban Ilescu. He says that he wishes to meet. That he wishes his castellans to hand over the keys to his fortifications. He will become my vassal. In exchange . . . he wants certain guarantees. And of course certain territorial increases."
"Talk to Eberhart," said Manfred. "But in a nutshell, do you trust him?"
Vlad shook his head. "It may be that Emeric forced him into the position that he is in. But I would not meet with him without some force at my disposal."
"Hmm," said Manfred. "If you are going to a rendezvous with someone you don't trust, be there early, scout carefully, and make sure you have numbers and space to run."
"And the other letter?" asked Bortai. No-one would have dreamed, by now, of asking her to leave. And her Frankish was improving. Perhaps not as fast as Erik's Mongol—but they both tended to mix languages. That made the learning natural. Erik had noticed that she had an absolute fascination with the written word. Of course she could not read Frankish script. But she could—and did read—their own, which was apparently derived from the Chinese. He wondered where she'd learned. It was an unusual accomplishment for anyone who was not a noble, he gathered. But then Bortai broke the rules. She was still the only person that he could talk to about Svan. It had brought him great relief—to the extent that it didn't hurt all the time any more.
"Ah. The other letter. That is far more frightening to me." Vlad rubbed his pale cheek. "My good friend and advisor—the countess Elizabeth—has been consulting with some practitioner of the magical arts. Now, I know little of these things. I am, I hope, a Christian soul, although I fear for that, sometimes."
"Eneko Lopez—who is one of the finest theologians of Christianity, and also one of its better mages, once said to me that while men feared for their souls, God did not have to," said Manfred. "But anyway, go on?"
"She has had word about a piece of Pagan black magic, a blood ritual of sacrifice and torture. She says that her mage has told her that the gypsies probably wanted me for this end. She says they are in league with practitioners of the dark arts. Their errand boys, were the words she used."
"One of the other things Eneko always said was that evil really existed," said Erik. "But . . . he has also said that some of the pagan forces were not overtly evil."
"We had experience of that, in Venice, especially," said Manfred
"Yes, but she says that they have performed certain scryings and auguries. It is all set to happen on the night of the thirteenth. She says that she is organizing magical and religious safeguards—she is the patron of several nunneries, at her estate, near Caedonia. She asks that I go there, with all haste." He looked at Bortai. "And she includes a warning that the Mongol plan to betray me and attack my forces while I am away."
Bortai stared incredulously at him. Turned to Erik. "Say in my own language!"
Erik found he had no choice but to comply. Bortai said several bad words, showing her soldier-family antecedents.
She stood up. "Khan-over-mountain. I swear to you on my great grandmother's grave. We plan no treachery. This woman lies." Then Bortai moderated her tone. "Or she has been lied to. I go now, to the orkhan of the clan." She stopped mid-turn. "If we wished to kill you, she said, we could have done so many times. Here or on the trail. Instead the patrols watch over you!" She stormed off.
"That's true enough, Vlad," said Erik.
"I know. But, well, other than the fact that she does not like the gypsies, who have been very good to me—kept me alive and hidden—all the other information Elizabeth has sent me has proved true," said Vlad, unhappily. "That is why I told Bortai about it . . . I feel, well, welcomed here."
"You are," said Erik. "Trust me on this, I've been in a Mongol camp where we were not. They like you and trust you, Vlad. Bortai was saying so earlier. I hope this does not spoil that relationship. You could use peace and trade with them. And a mutual defense against enemies. With allies like them you could stand off Emeric."
Vlad nodded. "I know. And that is why I came. Alone."
Erik saw a group of the Khesig guard coming riding up. "I think Bortai has stirred up a hornet's nest for you. I think you must tell them just what you said right now," said Erik.
The Khesig-men rode off with Vlad. Respectful but . . . uneasy was the right word. The camp was a large one, by now, as large as a market-town. It was incredible how Bortai seemed to know everyone, that she could do this so quickly, thought Erik. But everyone did seem to know her. Erik had even had several strangers tell him what a lovely simple country girl she was.
"Vlad does raise Cain with great ease, said Manfred. "Why was she swearing on her great grandmother's grave of all things?"
Erik shrugged. "Whenever Bortai gets excitable, her great grandmama pops up. I hope they put a good heavy gravestone on her," he said with a smile. "Khutulun. Ancestors are important here. The Mongol reckon that they're still around looking after the living. And I suppose she was someone important."
* * *
Vlad looked at their grim faces. Every one from the young khan to the general was looking either offended or just furious.
The young khan spoke. Vlad noticed another boy, one who looked very like him except that his hair was not shaved mongol style (but looked like it might have been), and with his arm was in a splint, stood at his side.
The translator was there. "I hear you believe us treacherous."
Vlad shook his head. "No. That," he said, remembering Erik's advice. "is why I ride to your camp alone."
The translator translated. And Vlad could almost feel the tension in the great ger drain away as the implication of this sank home.
"If I did not trust you, then I would not have told you. And I would certainly not have ridden here alone to do so."
That too took a few moments to sink in. But a few of the assembled officers nodded their heads, thoughtfully.
"The person who sent me this information . . . has not been wrong before. She sends me much information about the movement of my enemy's troops. She has many contacts. She has found many supporters for me," explained Vlad.
"We do not plan any such thing," said Bortai.
The boy with his arm in a splint said something to the young Khan, diffidently.
Bortai was listening in and clapped her hands. "Ah. The letter. It say 'Mongol'. Not Hawk clan? Not White Horde? Is maybe Gatu Orkhan!"
That made sense. Vlad felt himself smiling.
One of the other officers—the one who had led the Mongol relief of the prisoners from what proved to be a trap—spoke.
"General Pakai, he ask, your spy says the attack will happen when you go to see spy-woman about magic?"
That was about the gist of it, although Vlad had never thought of Elizabeth Bartholdy that way. He nodded.
The general spoke again.
"General he say, you are an honorable man when we rescue women and children. He will come with you as a hostage. Hawk clan attack your people . . ." the translator drew a finger a cross his throat.
Bortai and several others chimed in immediately. Obviousl
y volunteering themselves.
The boy spoke. Which translated to: "We will also send Shaman Kaltegg. To protect you from evil magic."
* * *
David found himself called into the presence of Kari, Erik, old Eberhart and Prince Manfred later that day. "Ritter Von Stael says that you tell him you were present at the meeting of Vlad and the young Kahn," said Erik.
"And I would like to know why they have a young Jackanapes like you in their royal tent, but for all that they treat us very well, we have yet to be invited," said Eberhart.
"We see everyone from their Generals to even young Kildai and Bortai every day," said Erik, defensively. "I've been meaning to ask you, David. Has Kildai been adopted by the . . . what do you call them, Khesig. The elite troop."
The devil that seemed to leave him when he dealt with Von Stael was back, with delight, in David. Sometimes people really couldn't see what was waved in front of their own noses. The Golden Horde—especially the White horde, and naturally, extra especially the Hawk clan, still put a lot of store in the show of austerity that the Great Khan had instituted. That didn't mean that one could not see who was rich and powerful. It was just more subtle than these Franks were used to. Oh what a prize jest! It was rather like desert tribesmen persuading foreigners that sheep's eyes were a delicacy, especially reserved for guests. Half the Golden Horde were laughing at Bortai's trick, and playing along much better by now. "Oh yes. He's a sort of mascot," said David. "Because he got away from the orkhan. And his father was quite well known to the old Khesig, you know. I get called on because I know him, and I speak Frankish. They want to know about the knights. I tell them a lot of good things."
"A pack of lies if you ask me," said Kari.
"Sometimes," admitted David, and ducked.
"So tell us what happened with Vlad."
"But that would be betraying confidences," said David as righteously as Von Stael himself.
"Don't make me angry," said Kari.
Much Fall of Blood-ARC Page 51