by Dave Duncan
The prisoner continued his story, pushing every word painfully through broken teeth and swollen lips. “Lord Volpe told me your son was in worse danger than you had realized and he could find a safer place to hide him. I was to find the boy and bring back word of where he was. He said he knew that this might not seem like honorable work. It didn’t, Your Highness, but I had to obey him, just as he must obey the Abbot, and the Abbot His Highness. His Highness had ordered this, the Provost said. I said I would obey.”
“And did you lead the men who abducted my sister and my son?”
“I guided them there, Highness,” he mumbled. “I told your sister that she had to come back with us and bring the boy.”
“Or?”
“Or we would use force.”
“And where did you take them?”
“To Vamky, Your Grace. I don’t know where they went from there.” Again he drank.
“Radu, I fear I have more bad news for you. I am almost certain your brother Harald is dead.”
It was impossible to read expressions on the prisoner’s face. “He died well?”
“I don’t know. He seems to have been trying to kill me. Could he have been doing that?”
“If he was ordered to do so.”
“So when he swore loyalty to the Baron, he perjured himself ?”
“If he was ordered to perjure himself, he would. The oath has no limits.”
“And when you told the Count a week ago that you were leaving Vamky? Were you also lying?”
The prisoner tried to shrug and gasped at the result. “No, I meant it. I was a fool to expect him to believe me.”
“Why would you break this irrevocable oath?”
“Because I saw the Grand Duke in a dungeon in Vamky. The Provost has broken faith. He is a traitor.”
“Count János refused you. Will you swear loyalty to me instead? And will you mean it?”
“Gladly. I will mean it. I fear my service will be brief.”
Ringwood knew he was witnessing a feat of rare courage. The Count’s brutality would have broken most men. Radu was apparently still capable of making a joke.
“You are not going to die, not tomorrow. The oath I demand is lifelong. Do I have it?”
“I swear. Willingly.”
“I need you to help me rescue my husband.”
“Your Highness!” Ringwood said, and heard Ranter mutter an obscenity.
“Be silent! Sister Trudy?”
“The prisoner speaks truth, Your Grace.”
“You would be insane to trust him.” János’s voice rumbled like thunder. “How can he break an irrevocable oath and expect you to trust him?”
“I do trust him,” Johanna said wearily. “I will take you into my service, Radu, if you will pass a test. Reveal a secret for me…How do the brethren create shadowmen?”
For a moment it seemed the turncoat would not answer. Then he shivered and said, “With a flea, Your Highness. A conjured flea. Just one will start the death-beyond-death.”
“Trudy?”
Ringwood had heard True’s gasp and knew what she would say.
“Truth.”
“Very good. Count János, get this man out of here. See that he is tended and taken to the octogram for healing. You will not hang him. Tomorrow he will tell us many things we need to know.”
• 8 •
Radu strode along the dark corridor, going fast but not running, for the summons had been exigent, not instant. If he arrived out of breath, he might be disciplined for exceeding orders. He still had the vulnerable, hollow feeling that came from being shaken awake in the small hours, but a man grew used to that in Vamky. His hood was raised, and the sword at his side hung on a shiny new brown sword belt. He was a belted knight, and that felt very good.
In effect he was navigating by stars, for burrows stretched endlessly ahead, level or sloped, lit by solitary lamps at the hubs, placed high so that their glow would not be blocked by other people. At that hour there were no other people. Once in a while he would pause to run his fingers over the numbers on a door and confirm that he had not gone astray.
When he located the door he needed, he drew a few deep breaths, then pounded the pommel of his sword against it three times. Boom, boom, boom. The wood was battered to ruin where generations of swords had performed the same task.
Only a minute or so crawled by before a voice bade him enter. He closed the heavy door behind him, took two steps to the simple plank table, threw back his hood, and waited to be acknowledged. Without moving his eyes, he could see that the cell was no larger or grander than any other. It included the standard bed, table, and chair, and a shelf where all personal belongings must be exposed to view. The muniment chest was extra, a mark of high rank in the Brotherhood, as were the two oil lamps that made it all seem bright as day to him.
The resident set his quill in the inkwell and looked up from his papers. He set back his hood to reveal a hard, scarred face and a silver-streaked beard.
Radu saluted. “Sir! Junior Knight-brother Radu reporting to Banneret Dusburg as commanded.”
“At ease, Radu. Congratulations on your belting.”
“Sir! Thank you.”
Both men replaced their hoods. Radu felt naked without his now.
“Less than three years?”
“Sir! Only one month less.” Two years as novice, three as squire. It was a good record.
“Better than ten years over,” Dusburg agreed. “You enjoyed your trip to Trenko?”
“Sir. It was memorable and most gratifying.” As junior knight in the ducal escort, Radu had seen more of the Margrave’s stables than his court, but it had been a welcome celebration of his new status all the same.
Dusburg went back to writing. The man was something of a puzzle in Vamky. A banneret commanded military groups in the field, but Dusburg was clearly well into his forties and too old for that. He had not made the usual transfer to the conjuring arm, nor the rarer one to administration, so his duties were mysterious. There was even doubt as to whether he was an Abbot man or a Provost man, a distinction rarely in doubt. Radu had never spoken with him before.
After ten minutes or so, a sword boomed against the door, just once. Novices were normally left waiting—it was not unusual to see three or four of them lined up outside a door—but the banneret shouted “Enter!” right away. Radu heard the door open and close but did not turn.
The man who sank to his knees alongside him was unusually large. Dusburg ignored the interruption and continued writing, so Radu risked a downward glance to confirm that the newcomer was indeed Harald, although he had guessed that just from his size. Their father always claimed that he had gotten better with practice, and Harald, the youngest of his sons, had been the largest of them all before he was sixteen. He was eighteen now and still growing. Radu saw him around the monastery sometimes, but they rarely had a chance to speak.
Harald was panting like a dog, with sweat shining on his shaven scalp, as well it might if he had sprinted all the way up from the novice cells wearing a broadsword. Radu hoped his brother’s summons had been instant, but it probably had, because Dusburg had called him in right away just to see that sweat.
Suddenly he laid down his quill, still ignoring the newcomer. “Radu, I have a disciplinary problem to put to you.”
Radu snapped, “Sir!” but his heart sank. His own conscience was clear. What had the kid been up to? It would break Harald’s heart to be thrown out, as so many recruits were. Novices were the workhorses of Vamky, drudges doing all the menial work in kitchens and stables that kept the monastery running. Some men remained novices all their lives, some were expelled, some gave up. Very few displayed the absolute obedience, dedication, and self-abasement required for promotion to squire, the first step up the ladder. Every one of Priboi’s sons had tried to achieve knighthood, and Radu was the first to succeed since Fritz, the eldest, who had done so many years ago and then died on his first campaign.
“A certain novice,” said the banner
et, “qualified for visitation privileges and his father came to see him. The novice passed on to his father an item of gossip alleging that certain members of the Brotherhood were plotting treason. You know that to repeat such a story to anyone except one’s immediate superior is cause for disciplinary action from the third list. What do you feel should be done to this novice?”
The question was so easy that Radu dared to smile, knowing his brother would not look up. He kept the amusement out of his voice, though. “Sir! A few weeks in solitary would teach him the virtues of silence. Unless, of course, he had been ordered to pass on that information.” It was six months since Harald had enlisted, so he would have been due for his first visitation.
Dusburg nodded. “He was so ordered.”
“Sir, I believe he should be congratulated on passing a test.”
“But this information was false, Radu. He knew it was false. He lied to his own father, and we have evidence that his father was deceived. Is he not a nasty sneak, an ingrate, a foul-mouthed liar?”
“Sir, he did even better than I thought. Especially if the father in question was anything like my own father, who is an extremely skeptical and sharp-witted old man.”
The banneret’s hard eyes twinkled. His voice stayed icy cold. “Then you approve of his deceit?”
“Sir. Wholeheartedly.”
“Then consider the following mission. The Abbot needs a man who will pretend to leave the Brotherhood and rejoin the laity. He will be required to tell lies to explain why he has apparently reneged, also to perjure himself by swearing loyalty to an outsider with the firm intention of betraying that oath in any way required by his fundamental loyalty to the Order. He will also have to undertake certain operations that could result in death to other people and certainly his own death if he is caught. It will be a solitary mission, lonely and dangerous, and entirely outside the normal bounds of honor as the world judges. What would you say to such a mission?”
Radu felt nauseated and ashamed because of it. A warrior does whatever is required to win. “Sir! I should be honored to be assigned such a mission.” Honored but horrified. Surely they would not put a youngster like Harald through such an ordeal?
“Why?”
“Sir. Because a solitary mission is always a great honor, and one so taxing would imply that the council puts enormous trust in me, a man who has been a knight-brother less than a month. Also, because I know that the Brotherhood does not cause death without reason, this mission must be important for the welfare of us all. Sir.”
Dusburg thought for a moment. “The perjury would not bother you? The betrayal?”
“Not if I was obeying orders, sir.”
“And if your orders were to avoid detection at any cost, would you willingly break the rule of our order? Would you steal, kill, even fornicate if necessary?”
“Sir. I will obey any order, as I swore on the day I enlisted.” That day he had been told the Brotherhood’s three requirements—obedience, obedience, and obedience.
The banneret nodded. “The novice may rise.”
Harald stood up. And up.
“At ease. The novice may greet his brother.”
Harald turned to look down at Radu with an eight-horse grin. “Sir! Permission to congratulate you on your belting?”
“Granted,” Radu said. “And congratulations to the novice! If he really pulled wool over the old man’s eyes he’s a better man than I can ever hope to be.” He gave his brother a hug and instantly wished he hadn’t. He thought he’d lost half his ribs.
“The novice will be pleased to hear,” Dusburg said, “that his promotion to squire will be announced at the midday meal.”
Harald gasped, looked at Radu with disbelieving joy. Then he fell into the age-old trap and reached up to raise his hood.
“The promotion will be effective when announced.”
“Sir!” Harald dropped to his knees again. The back of his neck was pink with excitement, though.
Radu hoped that what he was feeling was amazement, not jealousy. Squire in six months? Incredible! Surely that did not happen every century?
“The novice will open the shutters and report what he sees.” Dusburg picked up his papers as if to read over what he had written.
Harald jumped to obey. “Sir. Just the dark.”
“He will look to the left.”
He leaned out. “Sir! A fire! A huge…”
“Can the novice judge where it is?”
“I think…Sir! I think it must be Fadrenschloss, seat of Baron Fader.”
“Radu, go and see if you agree.”
It was, of course. And there was worse to come, when the shutters had been closed, when the brothers were back before the table, one standing, one kneeling.
“Radu, Fadrenschloss was your childhood home?”
“Sir.”
“You still have family there?”
“Sir.”
“Radu, there are presently contingents of brethren on every road leading in and out of Fadrenschloss. They have been there since sunset. They have done, and will do, nothing about that fire. What say you to that?”
Cold as a corpse’s, the banneret’s eyes stared up at him. There were questions he could ask, of course—had brethren started the fire? They must have known it was coming, or somebody had. Were they stopping people going in, or people going out? But ill-judged questions brought harsh discipline, second list.
“Sir. I fail to understand the question.”
“You do not wonder why they are there or what they are doing?”
“Sir. It is not my place to wonder.”
Dusburg nodded as if satisfied. “Dismissed.”
Radu saluted and went away, leaving his brother still there, on his knees.
He did not see Harald around anymore, but that did not mean the boy had accepted the solo mission. He might have refused it and been expelled in consequence. Or locked up in solitary if he had learned too many secrets.
It was less than a week later that Radu was again summoned in the middle of the night, but this time he was sent for by the Provost himself, which was an astonishing experience for a junior knight-brother. Furthermore, Volpe assured him that the orders he now issued had originated with the Grand Duke himself. Even granted that Radu had unique qualifications for this particular duty, it was a breathtaking honor for a mere junior to be assigned a mission so vital without supervision. He was amused to wonder if Harald’s skillful lying had given the family a good name.
Radu did not go back to bed after that interview. He went straight to the quartermaster’s store, where the pass the Provost had given him let him draw all the supplies he would need. He dressed in forester’s leathers on the spot, replacing his gown over them, then went across to the stable to requisition a palfrey and a down-at-heel packhorse. He turned his pass in at the gate, taking careful mental note of the operation name Volpe had given it, Jewel Case. He rode out at first light, followed by a squire from the guard. A furlong or two down the slope, Radu reined in. Keeping his back to his companion, he removed his robe and dropped it. Then he rode away, leading the sumpter. The squire would return the garment to the quartermaster, but even he had not seen the face of the man he had escorted out.
Radu resisted a gnawing temptation to visit the shattered shell of Fadrenschloss on his way, but only because he might be recognized, which had been forbidden him. Comforted by the knowledge that he would have heard by then if any of his family had perished in the blaze, he headed up into the hills, along trails familiar from his boyhood, heading for Brikov. He avoided the settlement itself, though, for Lord Volpe had warned him that many of the Baron’s people had sought refuge with Count János, including his own father.
How to locate one particular charcoal burner? If the Count’s servants noticed him wandering the Count’s lands, they would have questions to put and rough ways of putting them. Fortunately, the younger Radu had learned his woodcraft from Master Manfred, Baron Fader’s forester, and left n
o more trail than a trout.
In practice his task was not so hard. Burners had no interest in tall timber trees or inaccessible mountain slopes. Woodlands were harvested on a cycle of about eighteen years, so Radu could concentrate on areas where underwood had grown up again from the coppiced stumps. The sound of axes carried a long way. In a few days, he located a man chopping down branches and recognized his companions—a woman and a toddler, who screamed with merriment as he ran from her on very short legs. None of them saw Radu, yet he could easily have been an enemy seeking to do the child harm! Lord Volpe had not been mistaken when he said that there were safer places to hide the heir apparent.
There was no sign of a burners’ mound yet. The man was still constructing shelters, obviously preparing for a larger group to arrive. The sooner the child could be seized the better, but Radu’s orders did not allow him to try.
He walked out to where he had tethered his horse and rode off, reaching Vamky at midnight. The name of Jewel Case won him admittance. He reported his return to the Provost’s adjutant and within minutes was standing in front of Volpe himself, who looked as if he had just been wakened, although the blanket on his cot was neatly folded.
“Well done indeed, brother. I agree that haste is advisable. Can you manage a night without sleep?”
Radu said, “Sir.” What other reply could there be?
Two hours later he rode out with a troop led by Senior Knight-brother Báthory. At dawn the cordon of grim mounted knights closed around the burners’ camp, although there were still only the two adults there with the child. Radu dismounted and approached. The woman Voica snatched up the boy and sought refuge close to her man, who was not far short of Radu himself in size and had an ax, although he was letting the blade rest on the ground and being careful not to raise it in threat. Pale eyes stared out of soot-black faces.
“I know you, Voica,” Radu told her.
“And I know you, Radu Priboi,” she retorted. She must have recognized his voice, for his helmet’s face plate, cheek pieces, and bevor concealed all his face except his eyes.
“My name does not matter. I know the boy also, for I have seen him at Krupa. He is not safe here. Others may find him as easily as I did. We will take him to a safer hiding place. You are welcome to come with him.” Seeing her eyes flicker to her man, he said, “He, too, if he wants. You will all be well treated.”