Impossible Odds

by Dave Duncan

  “I may not seem so by this time tomorrow.”

  “And who is the villain who seeks to kill Her Highness? Who is behind it all?”

  “We are on our way to find out, are we not? With these conjured lockets around, anyone may seem to be someone else. You say that Lord Volpe himself gave you orders to abduct Frederik. You cannot be certain that the man you saw was the Provost.”

  Radu nodded. “I have thought of this ever since I heard the Duchess’s story. And Wolfgang may not have been dispatched by the Abbot.”

  But whoever was locked up in the dungeon knew the truth, if he was still alive. They rode on in silence for a while, until the knight made an admission that was a surprising concession from him.

  “I have never heard of these lockets. They must be a devastating military conjuration, as long as their existence is kept secret. To be able to impersonate your enemy’s commander-in-chief, say!”

  “Difficult to apply in practice. In Grandon I asked Grand Wizard about them. He had seen examples of similar enchantments, but nothing so effective, nothing that would create a likeness capable of deceiving anyone. He grew quite excited! He did point out that it was the necklace that carried the conjuration, not the locket—it works when you close the necklace around your neck. And he said that such an enchantment would require the original to be present. Both locket and Grand Duke must have been inside the octogram, in other words. I cannot see how one would go about arranging that in a war.”

  “But why…?” Radu thought for a moment and then laughed. “From what I have heard about our Grand Duke, he probably had it made so he could send a double to represent him at boring social occasions and be free to go about his private business. A dangerous contrivance if it were stolen.”

  Or if the conjurers had secretly made two lockets, not just one. “Tell me about Knight-brother Nickolaus.”

  Radu said, “Death and fire! I cannot see that he is any business of yours!”

  “Nor can I. I am merely playing a hunch, but if we two cannot trust each other, then we had better turn back now.”

  Radu sulked in silence for a while, but eventually said, “There is nothing to tell. He and I are friendly rivals—classmates, you could call us. Men never talk of their backgrounds in Vamky, but Nickolaus is obviously gentle born. He’s popular, competent…He was sworn in a few days before I was, but I was belted a week sooner, so I had the edge in seniority. On any assignment the low man gets the menial tasks, like watching over the horses.”

  Bellman chuckled. “And mothering the Duke?”

  “Especially mothering the Duke. As soon as we reached Trenko, Nick was assigned some other duty, so I inherited the currycomb and bootlicking. I have not heard of him since. Of course I have been away for months, and even if I had not, there would be absolutely nothing unusual or sinister about that! Are you satisfied, Your Nosiness?”

  “It feels relevant. You came back one man short?”

  “Yes, we did. So?”

  “So nothing. All I can do with hunches is let them hatch in their own good time. Thank you.”

  This one was chipping its shell, though, and what was emerging looked very much like the truth at last.

  The track descended a rocky slope to a rivulet now swollen by the rain. Manfred, a tiny, swaddled shape in the saddle, was letting his horse drink.

  “You’re here, my lords,” he said hoarsely. “Follow this and you will meet the Asch just below Olden Bridge. I am going home to enjoy a nice bout of pneumonia.”

  They laughed appropriately and thanked him. He rode back up the hill, vanishing into the murk. The swordsmen turned downstream and Bellman switched to practical matters.

  “We have planning to do,” he said. “You must have seen keys in Vamky. I want to know exactly what they look like. How big are they?”

  “As long as my finger, maybe longer. A handle, a shaft, and a sort of flag on the end.”

  “Bow, shank, and bit. Are the shafts hollowed? Do they have holes in their ends to fit over a pin?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Then describe the bits. That’s what I need to know.”

  “You’re not doing very well, you know, Squirt,” Ranter said.

  “What do you mean?” Ringwood countered, although he had been thinking the same thing.

  “As Leader. To start with, Blades have to know the terrain, we were told. You got any idea where we are right now?”

  They were on horseback. They were following directly behind their ward and the János brigand, with a dozen or so armed men riding ahead and about as many behind. Apart from that…No, Ringwood had very little idea where he was beyond “Somewhere in Krupina.” Rain had been falling steadily all day, and now dusk was falling, too. Donehof was said to be halfway between Fadrenschloss and Krupa, and they had ridden past the charred ruins of Fadrenschloss some hours ago. They were still on the highway, which was a long, thin swamp of mud today, but if he understood the geography correctly, which was doubtful, they should be turning off to the west very shortly.

  “We’re about an hour from Donehof.”

  “You’re guessing. And why are we here anyway? You’re supposed to keep our ward out of danger, Squirt. You’re not doing well there, either.”

  Because Ringwood had been upbraiding himself for this all day, he did have a few answers ready. None of them were very good. “And what would you have done differently if you were Leader—other than locking Her Nibs up in Chivial somewhere?”

  “I wouldn’t have let her leave Brikov. You know spittin’ well that she’s going to try and gate-crash the wedding tomorrow.”

  “She won’t. We’ll see to that. And we couldn’t stay in Brikov. She was right. With only one way out, any peabrain could see it was a trap.”

  “I wouldn’t have let her get in there in the first place,” Ranter ranted. He was wet and tired and frozen and scared, with Ringwood his only available target. “Charging in over that Smugglers’ Pass, losing horses, making the local robber baron mad at us. That’s burning bridges, that is.”

  Ringwood, too, was wet and tired and frozen and scared. Also hungry. “The reason we had to go over the pass, brother, is that you went and spewed out the news of the wedding. If you’d reported it to me in private, as you should have done, I wouldn’t have told her. We could have taken the slow, safe way around by Zolensa, not going through Brikov or Trenko, and by the time we got here it would have been too late! She’d have given up and we could have escorted her back to Chivial to live.” Not a bad rant, he thought, and some of it was true.

  “Bah! Second-guessing! And she’d have insisted on going to Brikov to collect her brat. The Brotherhood would have heard about her being there and come and got her. And if they hadn’t she’d be running around screaming looking for him, ’cause he wasn’t where she’d left him.”

  “Now who’s second-guessing?” The trouble was, Ranter’s complaints were all justified. Ringwood had blundered, just as he had always feared he would. He had let his ward slip ever further into danger until now he could see no way out. His most recent and worst mistake, which Ranter had not discovered yet, was that in the rush to leave Brikov that morning he had forgotten to ask Bellman for the money. He had no money. The Duchess never carried any. They were entirely dependent on Count János now, until Bellman came back, and the odds that Bellman would ever come back were not much better than the odds that Count János would prove to be a generous benefactor.

  The vanguard was turning off the so-called highway. “Here’s the Donehof road now,” Ringwood said.

  “So now we’ll have the rain right in our eyes and the wind’s getting up. The going will be even worse than this, and I expect we’ll arrive at a cold house with no food ready. Let’s just hope we get there soon. It’s going to be a very dark night.”

  Yes, it was, Ringwood agreed. A very dark night.

  Daylight was fading on the peaks, and down in the gorge it was already night. Still the rain fell. Radu reined in at Ol
den Bridge. Bellman halted beside him, and the two peered at each other.

  “A good night for shadowmen, Herr Bellman?”

  “I don’t recall ever being wetter or colder in my life, Knight-brother.”

  “This has been a better day than some I spent in the Count’s dungeon,” Radu said, “but not by much. Now we must choose.”

  “I thought we had already chosen.”

  “There is no shelter between here and Vamky. If we wish to turn back, cottagers near here would give us shelter for a copper or two. Tomorrow we could hasten to Donehof and rejoin your lady. You decide.”

  Bellman shivered and patted his mare’s neck. The poor brute would be lucky to escape bronchitis after such a day, but her rider might have much worse problems even sooner. “Answer me one question, Knight-brother. I can see ways around almost any pitfall we have discussed except a few of the extremely unlikely ones, and those I will dare when the stakes are so high. I see only one exception, just one, and you first suggested it yourself. When the doorman pulls your pass out of the box, will it be tagged for your immediate arrest? Will it ring alarm bells, or will it be dealt with by standard procedures? You dropped the letter, so the traitors can have no doubt that you were the intruder who discovered their secret prisoner. They cannot seriously expect you to return, but will they have taken precautions in case you do?”

  “You rest your decision on that alone?”

  “I do. If you will take that risk, then I will brave all the rest.” Bellman was determined not to be first to quit. He desperately hoped that Radu would do that for him.

  “You are a fool, Chivian,” Radu said harshly. “You expect to outdare a Vamky knight?”

  A renegade knight? Bellman was tired of the man’s airs. “Well, yes. We locksmiths’ apprentices have our pride, too.”

  “I should cut out your tongue for that.”

  “The light is poor for surgery. If you want to run away, say so, otherwise move your ass out of here before mine freezes to my saddle.”

  Without a word, Radu dug in his heels and rode forward, onto the bridge.

  Bellman followed. See what you just did, idiot?

  The horses knew when they were close to Donehof, whinnying and picking up the pace. Soon the expedition passed under the walls of a high, drum-shaped tower, barely visible in the last shreds of daylight. Close beyond that stood a mansion with lights glowing in upper- and lower-story windows. Already it was a much more imposing residence than János’s seat at Brikov, and surrounded by numerous outbuildings, workers’ cottages, and livestock paddocks. Ringwood was impressed and Ranter must have been, too, because he turned sarcastic again.

  “Why does he live up there in his mountain squalor if he owns a palace like this?”

  Probably the Count felt safer back in his ancestral stronghold than he did down here on the plains within reach of his ducal overlord. Ringwood did not say so, because János was still alongside the Duchess close ahead and might be listening.

  The visitors dismounted gratefully, then gasped and blinked as they followed their host indoors, into a blaze of many candles and seductive warmth. Fires crackled on two great hearths, and high walls hung with hunting trophies soared up to galleries and hammer beam ceiling. Ranter’s fears proved unfounded, for the seneschal had been expecting the Count and had everything ready. Flunkies came running with steins of spiced ale to take away the chill. Ringwood managed to down a surprising amount of his before his binding turned it to lye in his mouth; the heat flowed straight into his veins and raised goose bumps all over him.

  Max Priboi, the seneschal, was presented to Frau Schale. He was an older, balding, and much bulkier version of Radu, with an easy smile reminiscent of the turncoat Harald. He bade the visitors welcome and conducted them upstairs in person to show them their quarters. Those were close to perfect—a large and imposing chamber for the women, reached through an anteroom that would house the Blades nicely.

  Bucket-bearing servants were already filling an oaken tub with hot water. Johanna and True waited impatiently while Ringwood hastily inspected the accommodation. Hasty did not mean slipshod to a Blade, though, and he hunted dutifully for potential trouble. He emerged from peering under the bed convinced that there was none. He opened his mouth to say so, then took a second look at the love of his life.

  “What’s wrong?”

  True frowned. “Nothing’s…Well, there’s something. I haven’t tracked it down yet.”

  “What sort of something?”

  “Ask me again when I’m warm and dry and well fed.”

  “True!”

  She nodded, tight-lipped. “True! Now go away.”

  Unhappy, Ringwood went out to the guardroom to towel off and change. She was tired, as they all were. Worse, he hadn’t been able to spare her any time all day. Not that True was jealous or anything! She understood how his binding worked. But a Blade should never fall in love, especially a Blade bound to another woman.

  They dined in a small, elegant room: Duchess, Count, seneschal, two Blades, and True. Servants hurried in and out, bringing a collection of mouth-watering roast meats, fish, stews, soups, cheeses, hot bread, poultry, vegetables, peppery sauces. Ranter overate as always, and Ringwood topped him handily, but the other men were close behind. Even the women tucked in well, sampling one dish after another, so there was very little conversation for the first half hour or so. Meanwhile a man sitting in the corner played the viol and sang sorrowful Krupinese songs. When he had finished, János praised him highly and sent him off clutching gold coins. That was a surprising view of the barbarous chieftain who had so callously tortured and hanged a man that morning.

  By then the dishes were being removed and a second course brought in, offering a similar variety, with eels and salmon instead of loach, pork instead of beef, and so on. With the sharp edge of his appetite blunted, Ringwood could eat while returning to his duty, which was to worry about everything imaginable—what had True detected that had bothered her, and was that what was still making her squirm now? He had never seen her so fidgety. Did the seneschal’s odd glances at the Duchess mean that he had guessed who Frau Schale really was? And what was going to happen tomorrow when János rode off to the wedding and there was no sign of Bellman and the money?

  Chivian inquisitors had a conjuration called the Question, which forced the victim to confess everything. Even if the brethren had no similar means of interrogating prisoners, they could always resort to thumbscrews, and then they would come straight to Donehof to find the lost Duchess. That was assuming they managed to take Bellman alive, of course. Ringwood was starting to appreciate how much he’d come to depend on the man’s good sense.

  Talk sprang up. For a while the Count cross-examined the seneschal about farm accounts, the output at some mines he supervised, and other business matters. János had been drinking steadily, so his ugly face was now very flushed, but the wine had not dulled his wits yet. Then the conversation turned to tomorrow’s wedding, the enthronement ceremony right after, and the days of festivity to follow.

  “Krupa’s never seen anything like it,” the seneschal said.

  “You mean the Duke didn’t celebrate his other marriages so lavishly?”

  “I’m too young to remember them.”

  “Or do you mean the gentry approve of this wife more than they liked the last one?” János was drunk.

  Big Max waited until a last footman had left the room, then said with great deliberation, “I do remember the late Grand Duchess Johanna, my lord. The old man and I rarely got along, as you know, but I did visit Fadrenschloss once when she lived there. She was incredibly beautiful and universally adored.”

  Johanna exploded in laughter. She had been drinking, too. “I told you he’d know me! It is good to see you again, Max! How are your family?”

  His family, he said, were all well and visiting at some place called Werfurt. “And they will be honored to hear that Your Highness asked after them.”

  Ringwood sh
uddered. Why not send heralds with bugles to Krupa and Vamky to proclaim that she was here now, come and get her, and this time kill her properly? How many other people in this house had recognized her? This was all his fault. He must be the most incompetent Blade in the history of the Order.

  “Of course,” Max said, “if in ‘family’ you include my brothers, sisters-in-law, nephews, and nieces, Your Highness, then I would have to go on all night. Almost all of us managed to meet in Brikov at my father’s funeral last week, and we saw him off in a style he would have approved. We even have a fully-fledged Vamky knight-brother in the family now! Radu? You remember him?”

  “Yes, I do,” Johanna said with a sideways glance at the Count.

  Was János about to admit how he had treated his seneschal’s brother?

  No, he wasn’t. He said nothing.

  Max missed the sudden tension. “And even Harald, our teeny baby, is a squire already!” he said proudly. “It is wonderful to see that the terrible stories of your death were untrue.” And so on.

  After a while Ringwood realized that everyone else had finished eating. Regretfully he wiped his knife on his sleeve and tucked it away in his belt. He caught Trudy’s eye and she nodded. He pushed back his stool.

  “By your leave, Your Highness, my lord?”

  The Count interrupted himself to turn and glower. “Where you think you going?”

  “A brief look around the house, my lord.”

  “Don’t trust my hospitality, huh?”

  “My lord, if I did not trust you completely my ward would not be here, but I am required to inspect security.”

  “Required by who?” János was turning puce with anger.

  “By my oath, my training, and my binding. I did no less in King Athelgar’s palace when there were a dozen other Blades on guard duty.”

  “Sit down! Max will show you around later.”

  When Ringwood’s ward did not speak up in his defense, he sat down. Blades should be seen and not heard, Grand Master said, and if possible not seen, either.