by Dave Duncan
“I hadn’t been gone a month when I lost my heart.”
But not his virginity, Otto guessed. The small talk died, and the brothers smiled uneasily. The moment of double peril had come and they must part.
“I’d best hurry and find a comfortable chair in the Spider’s web,” Otto said, “in case I have to spend the rest of the day there. You remember where Baron Emilian lives?”
“Castle Orel.”
“Bavaria’s a big place. Do you know how to find it?”
Wulf gave him an odd look. “I just have to ask, Otto.”
Jesus save us! Even the whirlwind ride from Dobkov had not impressed Otto as much as those simple words. What had his baby brother become? Marek might have exactly the same powers, but Marek was a peace-loving scholar. Wulf had more of the warrior Magnus blood in him; a lightning-bolt temper hid behind his easygoing manner. Would his saints rein him in if he tried to use his powers too hastily?
“Then I don’t even need to wish you safe journey, but I’ll do it anyway. I’ll see you at the Bacchus when we both get back there.”
“And I wish you a safe return as well, Brother Baron. It was good to come home and be made welcome, even if it’s only for a very short time.” Wulf wheeled his horse and took off at a slow walk along the grand street.
Ottokar Magnus knew where the palace stabled visitors’ mounts and how to find the bureaucrats’ wing where the work of government was done. His title and the impressive document he bore were enough to gain him admittance to the cardinal’s anteroom, which was already crowded with petitioners. Two years had passed since he last graced the royal palace with his presence, when he came to beg for a royal grant to help ransom Vlad. Then he had been one of many on the same quest, and he had gotten no farther than he was now; even Vlad’s warrior reputation had failed to win a hearing from His Eminence. This time, Otto had come on behalf of the baby of the family, and his chances of being admitted were considerably better. He found that amusing, although Vlad would not.
He strolled across the marble floor, noting rustic aristocracy like himself in their shabby hand-me-downs amid lawyers, burghers, and courtiers flaunting the latest styles. The points on some of the shoes were so long that they had to be chained up to their wearers’ knees. Liripipes, the stupid tails attached to men’s hoods, had grown until they were wrapped around the head like turbans. There were no women present to compare, only men, some standing, some sitting, and all of them wanting something that they probably shouldn’t get. How did Zdenek stand it, day after day for a lifetime? Did he just enjoy the power to grant or deny? Didn’t it pall eventually, even on the son of a butcher, which is what he was?
The chancellor at the desk beside the door to the sanctum was a friar in Franciscan brown, and a flock of bored novices perched nearby, waiting to carry messages. The friar looked up at the visitor with a studied smile of welcome.
Otto introduced himself and the sender of the letter he bore.
The cleric’s smile curdled. He held out an ink-stained hand for the letter.
Otto retained it. “I must deliver this personally to the cardinal.”
Stalemate. “If Your Lordship would be so gracious as to take a seat for just a few minutes, I am sure His Eminence will be happy to accord you an audience very promptly.” That meant an hour or two.
“His Eminence is most gracious.” Otto turned away and was annoyed to see two men obviously trying to catch his eye. Almost certainly they were comrade knights from his campaigning days, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember their names or where he had met them. He smiled and began wandering in their direction. He did not get far before a treble voice spoke at his shoulder.
“Baron Magnus? His Eminence will see you right away.”
The two knights were too far away to overhear, but they could guess at the words and were staring as if the last trump had just sounded. With a shrug to indicate how disappointed he was at not being able to chat with them, Otto turned and followed the novice to the door of the inner sanctum.
Twenty years ago the Scarlet Spider had been a mere clerk, reticent and obsequious, his working quarters cramped and dingy. Now the center of his web shone in an obscene display of gold and crystal to proclaim his greatness. So much opulence made Otto feel slightly ill. The years had taken their toll of the old man. His beard and eyebrows were white, his fingers knobbed, and his smile displayed long teeth when he offered his cardinal’s ring for the visitor to kiss. If he were a garment, he would be regarded as threadbare. Nevertheless, he flaunted the red hat and robes of a prince of the Church and his chair was just high enough to register as a throne. Not bad for a butcher’s son.
“My lord baron, it is good to see you again. You didn’t heed my warning, I see.”
Otto straightened up. “I recall no warning, Your Eminence.”
“Did I not tell you that if you grew any bigger you would become a very easy target?” He laughed. “No, I do not remember our conversation either, but that’s what I always say to oversized youths, and my notes tell me that it was twenty years ago when your father brought you to court.”
“I remember you, Your Eminence.”
“I was more of a foothill than an eminence then. You have a letter for me?”
“I have a letter from my brother the count addressed to His Majesty.” Otto held it out. The only other person present, a plump, fussy little Franciscan with a patch over one eye, came around his shoulder and took it, broke the seal with a knife, and handed it to Zdenek. He then pulled over one of the lesser chairs for Otto.
“Bring a goblet of wine for the baron, Brother Daniel. You will give me your opinion of the vintage, my lord, and how it compares with your own renowned Dobkov reds. Pray excuse me while I read His Majesty’s mail.”
Brother Daniel brought Otto wine and then retired to a desk behind the door, not easily visible from where Otto had been seated.
The cardinal’s throne put his back to the light, which helped his reading, no doubt, but also shadowed his expression. He lowered the letter. “Incredible! Your brothers have done far better than I ever dared hope. Blood will out, as they say. Your family has long been a bulwark of the Jorgarian throne, my lord.”
“Your Eminence is kind.” The Zdeneks had butchered cattle and the Magnuses had butchered men.
The cardinal leaned back in his chair and chewed his lip for a moment. He had conspicuously not asked how a letter dated the day before had arrived so incredibly fast, and he had spoken of brothers, plural, not of a man-at-arms and his varlet. Normally a varlet would not be mentioned at all.
“Why did the landsknechte run away, do you suppose?”
“I do not know, Eminence. The person who brought that letter did not know either; he mentioned a possible disagreement over pay, which I find strange. Count Anton is young and inexperienced, but he is not an idiot. He needed those troops like he needs lungs.”
Zdenek nodded. “You are experienced in military matters, my lord. Tell a humble cleric what happens next in this forthcoming attack.” His pretense of humility might have been intended to amuse, but even without the mask of shadow, his face would never be readable unless he wanted it to be.
“If Castle Gallant is as good as its reputation, even a beginner like my brother should be able to hold off the foe for a month or two. That may be long enough, because the Wends will be sleeping in tents, in the mountains, in winter. Neither men nor horses prosper in snow. I would not expect them to dig in for a long siege, especially as the lake that is their way home will start freezing soon. They cannot bypass the fort to impose a true siege, so they cannot starve it out. Your Eminence’s reinforcements will arrive … when?”
The old man shrugged resignedly. “I have been promised some lancers and mounted archers, not many, and they cannot be there for at least another month. Even forty days may be optimistic. Gallant has always been considered impregnable. Is it still?”
Otto’s grandfathers would have said yes. Father might hav
e done. “No. When Constantinople fell, we learned that nowhere is impregnable anymore, and the years since have confirmed that. If this bombard they call the Dragon is as large as my informant thinks it is, then the only question is whether the Wends can wrestle it in over a mountain trail.”
The cardinal nodded. “It was made by the gunsmiths of Sweden, the best in Christendom, and is reported to throw three-hundred-pound balls for more than a mile.”
“Then Gallant will fall.”
“If the Wends can get the monster emplaced.” The old man raised white tufts of eyebrow inquiringly.
So began the bargaining. “Of course. But who is to stop them? The obvious defense is to sally and try to seize the bombard itself and spike it, but Anton does not have enough troops to do that.”
The old man’s eyelids drooped slyly. “You have other brothers. If His Majesty was so generous to one who had yet to achieve anything, do you doubt that he will richly reward another after he has saved the entire country from rapine?”
He meant Wulfgang, but Otto was not without experience in negotiating.
“Possibly Your Eminence refers to my brother Vladislav? He hates to be left out of a good fight.”
Zdenek produced a cynical smile as easily as if he had pulled it out of a pocket. “I gambled a county because His Majesty was about to lose it anyway. I doubt if I can afford two more. Titles, yes. Stars and ribbons, by all means. I am sure Sir Vladislav has military experience that his younger brothers lack, but he can do little by himself and I see no practical means of bringing in effective reinforcements for him to direct.”
Of course not. Wulf would certainly not transport men he could not trust to keep his secret, so only Vlad could be brought in. Besides, other men would not fight for a man they must consider a servant of the devil. It was Vlad or nobody—except possibly Otto himself, but he need not decide that until he knew what Vlad was willing to do.
Now the cardinal was frowning and drumming fingers on the arm of his chair impatiently. “Brother Daniel, see how many more petitioners are waiting and warn the chancellor that we may have to take a recess.”
The friar rose and departed without a word. The moment the door closed and the two men were alone, Zdenek leaned forward and spoke more urgently. “The following conversation will never happen.”
“Of course not,” Otto agreed.
“Then let us speak freely. You are a soldier. You can bring the Dragon within five miles or so of Cardice by water, but then you must transport the monster over a mountain trail—not steep, I am informed, but muddy and punctuated by bridges and sharp bends. How do you do it?”
“I employ a Speaker, likely the same Speaker who cursed Count Bukovany and his son.”
“Quite. And this letter tells me that your brothers have identified him as Father Vilhelmas, an Orthodox priest. Without Satan’s help, Duke Wartislaw cannot bring his bombard along that road in the time at his disposal.”
“Satan’s help, Your Eminence?”
“Certainly. All my enemies work for Satan.”
Again Otto could not tell if the old man was serious or joking, but he refused to be intimidated. “Not an implication I want to hear near my family, Eminence. If you cannot send reinforcements to aid my brother the count, can you reinforce the other one? He has achieved wonders so far, but he is young and alone and without experience.” Now there was no doubt whom they were discussing, or what his role was.
There was a pause.
“A reasonable request,” Zdenek conceded. “It presents some difficulties that I cannot explain in the brief time we have available. Something might be achieved. Such matters should not be written down, so tell him that the password will be ‘Greenwood.’ He may trust anyone who comes with that word.”
“Excellent! There remains the matter of reward.”
The cardinal’s glare was very gratifying. “Your youngest brother is a Speaker. We both know that, and he gave himself away at the hunt a week ago. Had I realized that he was eighteen, I might have approached him directly, but my records inexplicably indicated that he was only sixteen. Women mature younger, but male Speakers’ powers are rarely properly developed at that age. Someone had been shielding him, I suspect. I could not appoint an unknown of sixteen to be a lord of the marches—my action in promoting his brother to the earldom was bizarre enough. I hoped that Wulfgang’s aid would help speed his journey to his new post, but I honestly did not expect such a daunting display of power. Who has been training him?”
“No one, I am certain.”
“He must have the endurance of a seasoned warrior.”
“It is in his blood. He is a Magnus.”
“So now he wants to hold His Majesty to ransom, does he? Will a dukedom suffice?”
“He would spurn it,” Otto said quickly. “He enjoys hunting, so a forest of his own might tempt him, but all the duties and responsibilities of a great landowner would not. That is not what he covets.”
Younger sons of noble houses were always ravenous for land, honors, and titles. It was largely they who kept Europe roiling in a perpetual state of warfare. Yet the cardinal did not seem surprised to hear of an exception.
“Speakers are not as other men, my lord. Or as other women. The best thing I can offer your Wulfgang is my protection. It is limited. If he starts walking through walls or striking men dead, then the Church will have him and that will be the end of him. As long as he remains discreet, I may be able to persuade the archbishop to turn a blind eye. More than that I cannot promise.”
“Your Eminence’s assurance is most comforting, but there is more. The little god with the arrows has intervened.”
“Martyrs pity me!” The old man rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “The daughter? Are you telling me that we may lose this war because of an outbreak of juvenile lust?”
“It would not be the first such mishap since Troy, Eminence.”
“No, I suppose it would not.” Zdenek leaned back in his chair. “You expect the king to reverse his edict? How bad is it?”
“In Wulfgang’s case, life-threatening—and unprecedented. He has never acted like this before. According to his account, the lady returns his ardor. Anton does not know, and probably will not care as long as his claim to the earldom is preserved.”
The door opened as Brother Daniel returned. The cardinal straightened up. “Well, they must be discreet. Certain acts are irrevocable, you understand?”
Marriage, for example. Otto nodded. What God had joined together stayed joined together.
“If the castle falls,” the Spider said, “the point is moot. If he succeeds, then Jorgary will be deeply in his debt. Meanwhile, I shall report your good news to His Majesty, and you may be assured that the house of Magnus will stand even higher in his favor than it has ever done.”
Hopefully that would be higher than where it had stood when it needed to ransom one of its sons.
Otto rose, then knelt to kiss the cardinal’s ring. Brother Daniel opened a door for him, but not the one by which he had entered. He walked down a stair and left the palace.
CHAPTER 26
Riding through Mauvnik, Wulf was anxious to consult his Voices, but reluctant to let any of the vendors, pedestrians, or barrow-pullers see him talking to empty space. He had to wait until he was almost at the Bacchus before he found a gap in the traffic.
“Holy Saints, if I ask you, can you take me to Castle Orel, in Bavaria?”
The Light brightened the alley and St. Helena spoke.
—No.
“What! Why not?”
No answer, of course. That sort of question they never answered.
But the Light remained, so he tried again. “You took me to Koupel, and you took me to Cardice. And Dobkov, and now Mauvnik. What’s different about Bavaria?”
Still no answer, meaning he had to work out the answer for himself. He knew Dobkov intimately and he had seen pictures of Castle Gallant. And the Voices had offered to take him to Marek, not to Koupel.
—Yes.
Success! “Thank you, but not right now. Can you tell me where he is and what he is doing?”
—He is in bed, Victorinus said.
—Fornicating, Helena added.
That did sound like Vlad, although the timing was odd. Nor was it a likely occupation while chained to a cellar wall.
“At this time of day? Has he nothing better to do?”
—No, he is a captive. But his captor treats him well. He is allowed to abuse servant women.
Did the girls regard it as abuse, or a welcome break in their working day?
Wulf thanked the Voices and rode into the innyard. He was starting to define limits to their powers. He felt that this must be significant, if he could just see how.
Copper would not be welcome in Vlad’s bedroom. Wulf returned him to care of the stable hands, and remembered to take the bag of gold away with him, trying not to tilt sideways too conspicuously as he walked. Upstairs he found the hired boy sitting outside the room, cleaning a basketful of boots.
“You carry on with that,” he said as he unlocked the door. “I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone except Baron Magnus himself, understand?”
He locked himself in. The room was probably the best in the house, and even two good-sized beds did not clutter it much. Large windows let in plenty of sun, but they were securely barred and not overlooked by any others. Miracle-working should be safe enough here.
“Holy saints,” he said very softly. “What is Vlad doing now?”
—Vladislav has dismissed his companion and is asleep already.
“Will you take me to him, please?”
A rectangular slice of reality disappeared into darkness. Stepping closer, he smelled different air. There was a door-sized hole there into somewhere else, a dimmer place, and a wind blowing in his face. Gingerly, he stretched out a hand. It did not fall off, but it was in deep shadow.
—Step through, quickly!
Wulf obeyed and was plunged into gloom as the doorway behind him closed. A roar of thunder shattered the silence. He ignored it, hoping that the boy in the Bacchus had not heard. Already his eyes had adapted enough to see chinks of light around a shutter. He made his way to it without tripping over anything and opened it, to find himself looking out a window high up in one tower of a many-towered castle, upon a crag surrounded by green forest. In the distance lay a small silver lake flanked by a road that might be the main approach. White mountains lined the skyline. So this was Bavaria, was it?