Much Fall of Blood-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey

David shrugged. "Bortai got them frothing like new beer. Magic and the spirits are really important to them. And they're very touchy about honor. The Prince calmed them down pretty quickly. They like him nearly as much Bortai likes Erik. Ouch!"

  "Keep to the point," said Kari. "Or I'll box the other ear. And you be grateful I got there first."

  David caught Erik's, and, more intimidatingly, Manfred's glare and hastily continued. "Well, I pointed out that the warning might be about the Gatu Orkhan . . . which it might, and then old General Pakai, he chirped that he'd go as a hostage. Just about all of them offered themselves. So a bunch will be going with him. And just in case it's Gatu, the Hawk clan and their allies are going on an exercise to the possible passes. Oh and some hairy old shaman is being sent along with Vlad."

  "And us," said Manfred. "We're going to protect his soul and stand his friends. And Eberhart is going along to do his negotiating with this tricky piece of work from Irongate."

  * * *

  A day later, again in one of the better breaks in the icy weather that they'd had, Vlad, and a substantial part of his army, rode south, accompanied by the knights of the Holy Trinity, and some twenty mongol, including Bortai and three other young women, and a short, hairy old man with a marked bouquet and very bright eyes. He didn't smell unwashed or anything, thought Erik. The shaman just made Erik want to sneeze.

  Vlad rode with the knights, and not, for once, with his own men. "Friends," he said, his voice reflecting an inner turmoil. "I am so glad you are here with me, with the holy crosses around me. I . . . I truly fear for my soul. Something is dragging at me. I must go south . . . southwest. I must. I cannot even sleep properly waking repeatedly, wanting to go. I think someone has set a compulsion on me. It's as if a great tide is dragging at me."

  Later that afternoon when they stopped for the night, Erik repeated this conversation to Bortai. Who in turn took him to see the old Shaman.

  The old man looked thoughtful. "There is a spell on him. I saw that when I first met him." He shrugged. "But the spell does not work properly. Not on one like that, no. I can clean it away. It is just on one arm."

  Erik sneezed.

  And again.

  "Sorry. It's the pepper."

  "What?" asked Bortai.

  "Pepper. Can't you sbell idb?"

  They both looked at him strangely. "No." said Bortai. Erik knew it was a spice they used a lot of. He backed away from the old shaman a little. That was better.

  The shaman peered at him. "Witchsmeller?"

  "What?" asked Erik.

  "You smell the users of magics, yes?"

  "Not that I know of."

  But it came to him, later, that he had smelled odd things when they'd encountered magic before. A dusty smell of snow with the magics out of Lithuania. Less pleasant bouquets on Corfu. It had never occurred to him that others might not smell the same things. How did he know if other noses were smelling what he did?

  It did seem to impress Bortai enormously though. They found Vlad. Praying.

  "The Mongol Shaman says he saw a spell on you, Vlad. He says he can take it off."

  "He can?" asked Vlad, eagerly. And then: "But . . . isn't he a pagan?"

  "Almost certainly," said Erik, keeping a straight face.

  "And he say Erik is . . .What is the word, Erik?" said Bortai, grabbing his arm with excitement, her eyes sparkling.

  "I didn't really understand it. He said that I was a witch-smeller. But I can't say I understand it."

  "Do you think . . . he could help me?" asked Vlad. "I mean, would it be a sin? I feel as if I must run south." Vlad rubbed his forearms and then said, rather desperately: "Is it not true that the power of prayer, the name of Christ and the cross trump all pagan magics? Let us go, friends."

  Erik had seen various enactment of Christian magic. This was different. Noisier for starters, involving a lot of rhythmic beating on a small drum. And oddly, the old fellow passed out. Bortai assured him it quite normal. That he merely went into the spirit world to do what had to be done. Then Erik simply had to go out to sneeze. By the time he came back, the old fellow was washing the back of one of Vlad's hands. The water turned a rusty reddish brown. And it smelled rotten. The shaman put the entire wooden bowl into the fire, along with a considerable muttering and various fluttering passes. The fire devoured it.

  "Feel any better?" asked Erik.

  Vlad took a deep breath. "No. All I can think is that I miss Rosa more than ever. I have to find out where she has gone. But I still must go south. Pardon me, my friends, but I must go pray again.

  "What was it?" asked Bortai, when he had left.

  "Sexual spell. For lust," said the old shaman grinning. "To trap and hold. Nasty spell. You don't need that, eh."

  * * *

  Erik blushed. Bortai gave the shaman a look that, if looks could kill, would have the old man in the realms of Erleg Khan right now.

  There was no need to bring that up. None at all. It had been a perfectly unrelated airy enquiry earlier, about whether love charms really worked.

  Chapter 70

  In the moonlight, twisting tendrils of the freezing river mist crawled over the outer wall of the island. The guard trudging between the towers had his mind on staying warm, rather than on any possibility of an attack.

  She was sitting on the battlement.

  Naked.

  Wet.

  Her eyes were empty and glowed green.

  He screamed and tried to flee.

  She caught him easily.

  So many of the others had drowned themselves in the freezing river, rather than be caught.

  Barely a handful made it to the boats, an only two of those boats reached the shore.

  The fishes would feed well.

  * * *

  The Ban Ilescu was not in his fortress that night. He was discussing troop dispositions with his boyars in his city of Orsoua.

  Chapter 71

  The "gypsy" encampment was finally breaking up. Dana thought it odd to be moving. This place had been their home for months. But they were travelers, and the sense of something long awaited about to happen was almost palpable.

  The wyverns had gone. She'd been up this morning, avoiding annoying Emil and his guards, back to their usual place. But the wyverns weren't there. Miu was.

  "Where are they?" she demanded.

  He pointed up slope, towards the snow-clad peaks. "They go back to the lacul Podragul. It is covered in ice now, but they will break the ice. It is important that they go there to ask the old questions."

  "Old questions?"

  "Of the water. And the things that live in it. The time is coming."

  "I don't understand."

  "Neither do they, and that is important," said Miu annoyingly. "And like you, they will get no answers. Now, your watchdogs are looking for you. You want me to create a distraction while you get back to the camp?"

  It would be a wolf.

  She wasn't supposed to know, but she wasn't that stupid.

  * * *

  The gypsies had converted their carts into sleds. The went east, for the track across to the Olt valley. It was hard traveling, and, from what Dana could gather, they were expecting the Jiu valley—where she found out they were headed—to be worse.

  Dana found it all incredibly irritating. She wanted to go straight over those snowy mountains, straight as an arrow southwest. She eventually said so.

  Angelo nodded. "That is where we go, little one. But we have to go around the mountains." He seemed satisfied. Dana was not. She wanted to get on. It was pulling her. And they were going the wrong way. She rode some of the time. It was a better option than sitting in the cart, listening to her mother.

  * * *

  Elizabeth consulted her scrying tools. Excellent. They came. They came from the Olt Valley with the girl, and also from the northeast. Vlad.

  Excellent! She must send Dorko and Ilana-Jo into Caedonia to buy some extra provisions. She sniggered. Why, they'd be entertaining soon.
By the looks of it the girl would be here first. There was no time for seduction. It would be straight into the dungeon with her. She could scream with the others. Elizabeth had taken serious measures, both physical and magical, to ensure that they could not be heard. She still had fifty of Emeric's troops at her disposal. They would be useful for snatching the girl from the wolves. She had been very busy putting up magical defenses against them, because they would be desperate to get the girl back . . . especially once they realized their foe had Vlad too.

  It was a good thing that Emeric had gone to Irongate. She didn't want him getting any of his silly ideas about Vlad or his little sister. Irongate should keep him happy. Of course, he couldn't actually go into Irongate. Or past it. No, not any more. The place was infested with a river's worth of beautiful naked women with green empty eyes.

  She laughed nastily. The local people would be taking some priests along to try and exorcize them soon. A pity that they could only get there by boat. Drowned priests appealed to her. She suspected that the Ban would be all eagerness to reach some kind of accommodation with his overlord. It was a pity he had not been in the island-castle. Her spies said that he was marshaling rather a lot of his followers. He was strong among the southern boyars.

  * * *

  Dana was wholly unprepared when it happened. She was riding a little way behind the caravan of sleds and horses. As usual, her brother's three men were riding close by. They looked . . . edgy, she thought. And then, suddenly, at a gallop they came towards her. "Hungarian Patrol!" they shouted. "We must flee." And they swept her along with them, up a trail into a side valley. She clung to her horse.

  And then there was a rude surprise. At least half a company of King Emeric's soldiers. Waiting.

  One of the three tried to draw a fire-arm . . . and was promptly killed.

  Dana had never seen death before. Not . . . close. "You . . . murderer!" she screamed.

  Emil—the sergeant in charge of the other two—grabbed her. "We need to move," He said, as the troopers calmly shot the other man. His voice sounded very odd. Almost a sob.

  Dana bit him, but it didn't help. He didn't even seem to notice. They tied her up. And tied her to the saddle.

  The troopers pushed their horses along the trail someone had painstakingly cleared of snow, obviously deliberately for this purpose. They covered several miles before coming to a bleak stone castle.

  There she was cut free of the horse. The troopers plainly had no intention of staying. She, and that vile traitor Emil, walked up the stair to the heavy doors, with the sound of their departing hooves in her ears.

  Emil knocked. The door was opened . . . by a dwarf. A man with a thoroughly venomous expression. "Come. You are expected."

  They were marched down several corridors, and to a large, luxuriously appointed salon, heavily furnished with mirrors.

  It appeared the person expecting her was fond of seeing her own reflection.

  That was not surprising. She was truly celestially beautiful. Her skin was exquisite and her hair so gold it almost glowed. She had a little rosebud mouth. Dana had expected King Emeric, or some general. But not . . . her.

  Emil groveled at her feet, but she did not even seem to notice. Instead she walked over to Dana and raised her chin with a perfect forefinger. "What a lovely child," said the woman. "My favorite age. But I think we need to restore you to your true appearance first."

  Dana felt her hair twitch and straighten. "The complexion too, I think," said the witch. Looking at herself in one of the mirrors Dana saw the brown stain drain away, leaving her skin its usual white, with just a touch of color at the cheeks.

  Dana had been alternately frightened and angry, and plotting revenge ever since the kidnaping. Now . . . she was just terrified.

  "Beautiful! And so virginal and afraid," said the woman. She licked her lips. "Almost I am tempted to play, now. But your brother comes. He should be here before Vespers."

  There was a big beefy woman, with a face like cold pork-fat standing waiting. "Take her below, Dorko."

  Dana was propelled away. And when she tried to lie down rather than co-operate, she was picked up like a screaming kicking sack of meal and carried. He last view of was of Emil, still on the floor. His expression was both adoring and, somehow, anguished.

  * * *

  Hearing the sound of gunfire, they halted. The small army was moving with a strong perimeter of scouts, with two companies ahead, mounted infantry and Székeler cavalry, and another riding the flanks, with a fringe of scouts beyond that, wading their way through snowdrift and forests—this was not territory which had declared itself for the new Duke.

  A Székeler Primore came gallopingh up and reported: "The scouts found signs of a large group of horse. Fifty or so. We followed them. They were Hungarian soldiers, Drac."

  "I thought your informant said that there were none within seventy miles and Caedonia was ready to declare for you, Vlad," said Manfred.

  "I suppose they could have moved. Where have they gone, Primore?"

  "We're burying most of them Drac. We asked the survivors some questions. They say the King himself was here three days ago, with a thousand men. He's gone south, to Irongate. They were supposed to join him. They say there are no other troops near at hand."

  "I do hope the countess Elizabeth is all right," said Vlad. "She has played a difficult double game for me."

  "Well, provided there are no other nasty surprises, I think we'd like to make the castle before dark. It's going to be a bitter night."

  "It is nearby," said the Primore. "Maybe half a mile away."

  They rode on, and soon could see the turrets on the skyline. It was a big monolithic place, with looming high walls of featureless dark stone, broken only by tiny window-slits. "She's a wealthy woman," said Manfred, impressed.

  The snowy silences were suddenly torn by a terrible howling.

  "This is a bad place Drac," said the Primore. "Listen to those wolves. "

  "We have two thousand men, Primore. We should be able to cope with a few wolves."

  The man looked doubtful. "They say," he said darkly. "That wolves can turn to men in these foreign parts."—as if they were ten thousand leagues away, instead of twenty leagues from his village.

  Mirko grinned. "Ah, but they also say that the king of the wolves of the mountains, also answers to the Prince of Valahia."

  Soon they were at the castle gates. The gate-house was empty, and the gates open. They rode on to the great hall itself. Vlad dismounted and walked up the steps to the great doors. These were flung open.

  "Why, Vlad!" said the stunningly beautiful blonde woman in the doorway, flanked by the footmen who had flung it open. "I was expecting just you. Not an army."

  She didn't sound wholly pleased to be receiving one.

  "It is hard for me travel without one, Countess. Especially when we found some of Emeric's troops waiting for us," said Vlad. It was odd. They said that absence made the heart grow fonder. But seeing her, Vlad realized it was not so. He had felt conflicted before. Now . . . she was very beautiful. A lovely woman in the flower of her youth. But he missed Rosa.

  "They can't come in here, Prince Vlad," she said, glancing at the troops.

  "Then we must leave and find lodging elsewhere, Countess. It is cold and I will not have them sleep outdoors tonight. You told us Caedonia was ready to declare for me, and it is not. They fired on my banners," he said, grimly. He gestured at the castle. "It is a large establishment. Can you not make space for them? They'll bed down in the halls if need be."

  * * *

  Elizabeth was furious. There was going to be some servere punishment for a lesser demon. He had deliberately deceived her. Deliberately! He had not shown her this force. "It is Emeric's doing," she said angrily. "Caedonia was ready to declare for you. But he led a force up here. I managed to send him chasing off to Irongate."

  She paused. "Well. What can't be cured must be endured. Caedonia is my city. I will have messengers sent . .
. " she saw Vlad's expression. Was he becoming even more resistant to her magics? "Not tonight. Tonight, somehow we will cope. I just ask that you order the men to stay out of the cloisters!"

  She looked onto the field. At the bright silver shields and their three red crosses. She wanted to be sick. How did they get here? If there was one thing she feared . . ."Who . . . who are they?" she croaked. She would lash that little demon with white fire.

  "Ah. Let me introduce you," said Vlad beckoning them closer. Several knights dismounted. "These are my good friends. Prince Manfred of Brittany. Ritter Erik Hakkonsen of Iceland, and the good Ritter Eberhart of Brunswick. Remember how you said that I was weak politically. Well, I have found a wonderful advisor!"

  Elizabeth bowed, recovering herself. Manfred of Brittany. Here? Well, what a prize for little Emeric. Manfred's Icelandic ladies-delight companion looked a little unwell. "Forgive me for being so abrupt. I was . . . rather surprised. Come in. If you will pardon me I will go and speak immediately to my castellan and chatelaine about arrangements for your men." She turned to her dwarf retainer. "Refreshments. Mulled wine, Ficzko."

  The dwarf bowed. But the look he gave Vlad was one of unmixed hatred and fear. She would have to discipline him.

  * * *

  Erik struggled to control his stomach. How could they live with the stink in here? Something had died and was rotten. Castles stank as a rule. You got used to it. But perhaps he had been outdoors for too long. It didn't seem to be bothering anyone else.

  * * *

  She would have to delay. Her castle, her castle stables . . . they bulged indecently. The passages were full of common men-at-arms. Lascivious commoners, devouring her with their eyes. Did they not know who she was?

  Well, no. That was the point. Anyway, she still had three days. The moon and the sun were still moving toward their appointed places. Tomorrow she would send the troops off. She would bring intolerable pressure to bear on that stupid mayor, by magical means, tonight. Well. She could not chase them all out. She would have to allow Vlad the appearance of having a guard. Perhaps thirty or forty men. She could manage to deal with twice that number easily enough.