Speak to the Devil

by Dave Duncan

  No one spoke as Marek recounted the Speakers’ adventures since the end of the banquet. No one suggested that Madlenka should be excluded and she must have been warned what to expect, for she seemed unsurprised by a discussion of Satanism. She was carefully displaying no emotion at all.

  At the end, Vlad said, “Well, now you’re both blooded! A Magnus isn’t a real man until he’s killed someone. That just leaves Anton.”

  “I hanged a man on Monday,” Anton said coldly. “Does that count?”

  “Not unless you whipped the horse yourself. Count us four bull’s-eyes and a blue, then.” The big man took a drink.

  Madlenka’s lip curled slightly.

  “Vladislav,” Otto said, “you have the grace of a hog and should not be allowed indoors. Marek, Wulfgang, I approve of the way you went after Vilhelmas. Priest or not, he was leading troops and doing nonclerical things. A combatant cannot claim benefit of clergy. Well done, both of you!” He raised a glass in approval. The others joined in the toast.

  Wulf smiled across at Marek and raised his own glass to him. He cared nothing for Vlad’s opinions, but approval from Otto was welcome.

  Marek smiled and responded, raising his glass. “Omnia audere!”

  They all shouted approval and drank again. Jollity reigned: it was five years since the brothers had last been united. Wulf might not be the only one heading for a Magnus-sized hangover.

  It was Otto who brought them back into the shadows. “But, Brothers—and new Sister—the Dominican’s death is going to bring real trouble. You said they were using Voices to force you to put on that iron bit, Marek. But a bystander wouldn’t have seen that, would he? It would look like you were doing it voluntarily.”

  “Not ‘Voices,’” Marek said. “Lodnicka doesn’t need to Speak aloud. Nor does Wulf, now. They’re both top-rank, um, Speakers. But I know what you mean.”

  Otto nodded. “A court of law would say that Wulf was the aggressor. I don’t think that, but the law will. He heard the priest speak behind the door and shot him through it in cold blood.”

  “They’ll have trouble making a case at all,” Marek protested. “How can they explain these events without revealing the Church’s own use of Satanism? I expect they’ll think up something, but it’ll take time.”

  “Yesterday Cardinal Zdenek told me he could protect Wulf from the Church, but it was a very conditional offer. Wulf must defend Castle Gallant against the Wends without Speaking so anybody can notice. Killing friars was not discussed. The Church will now be howling for Wulf’s blood.”

  “It was an accident,” Wulf said innocently. “I didn’t mean to shoot the quarrel at the door.”

  “My lords?” Madlenka murmured and five pairs of eyes swung toward her.

  “Yes, my dear?” Anton frowned, as if he hadn’t known she was capable of speech.

  “Havel Vranov has been a Wend-killer all his life; he hunted them down like vermin. Then a few months ago he started consorting with this Orthodox priest who’s supposed to be a distant cousin, but is certainly on the Wends’ side. Do you suppose that Vilhelmas was an evil genius, bewitching him? Now that he’s dead, will Vranov come back to his senses and repent?”

  They all looked to Marek, the expert on Speaking, but he looked blank. “I can’t tell you. But let’s hope so!”

  After a moment Otto said, “Day before yesterday, Wulf, you told me that you had to Speak aloud to your Voices. Now Marek says you don’t.”

  “No, I don’t.” Wulf did not want to admit that his Voices would not answer him now. “So what I can do is not Speaking, strictly speaking. I don’t know what it is. It’s not witchcraft!”

  “Can you prove that?” Vlad demanded. Incredibly, he still sounded almost sober.

  “God hears if we pray to him in silence.”

  Even Otto was looking doubtful now. “Joan of Arc always insisted that her Voices came from God.”

  “So will I, if the Church ever puts me on trial. I’m telling you all this because you’re my brothers and sister-in-law and I trust you. If you don’t want me here, just say so and I’ll be gone in a flash.” He did not look at Madlenka.

  “Have you worked out why Joan could lift a siege of a city and yet couldn’t rescue herself from a jail?”

  “No,” Wulf said unhappily. “Maybe it’s like all the fairy tales, and we only get so many wishes.” Last night again he had dreamt of fighting the Pomeranian army single-handed and his powers disappearing in the middle of the battle.

  “So you can work miracles?” Vlad said. “Show us.”

  A wine flagon rose from the table beside his chair and floated across to Wulf. He refilled his goblet from it and sent it back. There was a long silence while the others stared at one another. Finally the big warrior laughed and raised his wine in a toast. “To St. Wolfcub!”

  Wulf wiped his mouth. The wine was not as good as Dobkov’s. “So, Brother,” he told Otto, “if you’ve enjoyed your visit to Castle Gallant and would like to return to the arms of your loving wife, I’d be happy to arrange the journey for you.”

  “Ha!” Vlad roared. “He can’t go! Tell them the news, Brother Baron.”

  Otto scowled at him in disgust. “Vladislav, you’re a blabbering bone-skull.” From him, that was a stinging rebuke.

  “It’s long past bedtime,” Anton said, rising to his full height. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as Father Czcibor always says.” He held out a hand to Madlenka.

  Evidently she could be trusted with Satanism but not with whatever the other news was. The rest of the men rose also.

  “Don’t run away yet, Beanpole,” Vlad said. “You still have some explaining to do.”

  “You go ahead, my love. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Just for a moment, Wulf saw a flicker in Madlenka’s eyes, but then she accepted the dismissal with a humility that he was certain must be costing her dearly. Anton’s Madlenka might be a kitten, but the one Wulf knew was not. She curtseyed to the company and departed.

  Anton closed the door he had held for her, then leaned back against it.

  “You great blabbering ox!” he snapped. “I do not want panic in the town!” He was being Count Magnus of Cardice, lord of the marches, clad in awesome authority.

  Unimpressed, Vlad just chuckled. “But our miracle workers have a right to know. Listen, little brothers. Here’s the worst news yet. Before our noble count could carry his bride off to the conjugal chamber, Otto and I backed him into a corner and threatened to break his legs if he didn’t tell us the real reason the landsknechte left town.”

  “Plague,” Marek said softly. He smiled his wan little smile at them.

  Appalled, Wulf flopped down on the hob again. Lord have mercy! Pestilence? Then no one was safe. Even Madlenka.

  “Midge is calling you a liar, Beanpole,” Vlad said angrily. “You told us you hadn’t told anyone at all before we got it out of you!”

  “Knowing Marek,” Otto said, “I expect he worked it out with Aristotelean logic. Father always warned us that he was the smart one.”

  Marek smiled at the compliment. “Why else would a mercenary band run away from certain money? The landsknechte wouldn’t even have been in serious danger in a siege, because Gallant’s a unique stronghold in that it always has an escape hatch on the other side. A threat of plague was the only possible explanation.”

  “Bribery would be another,” Vlad grumbled.

  “But the way Wulf described it, they made no attempt to bargain and play one side off against another. And when we arrived this morning, Anton was pleased to see all of us except Otto. He has a family. The rest of us can take our chances, but if he takes pestilence back to Dobkov the whole Magnus line could be wiped out.”

  “Why?” Wulf snapped. “Why did you keep this news quiet?”

  Anton shrugged. “I was told of one woman with a lump in her armpit. She died. That doesn’t make an epidemic. I don’t want my people fleeing out into the moors with winter com
ing on.”

  “Was she by any chance in the infirmary while I was there?”

  “I don’t know. We must pray to Our Lady that it was a false alarm and we shall be spared that horror.”

  “Amen to that,” Otto said, “but meanwhile I can’t go home. I don’t even dare write a letter and ask Wulf to deliver it. Anything a pestilence victim has touched or breathed on can spread the disease.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Vlad proclaimed. “If the trollop really died of plague, half the town would be sick by now. Half the town might be dead by now!”

  “Possible,” Marek said, still quietly—he had learned long ago not to contradict his biggest brother directly. “But they say a town can’t be certain the pestilence has ended until forty days have passed without a new case. We have thirty-seven days to wait. After that you can go home, Otto.”

  “A lot of people have left town already,” Anton said. “Scared away by Count Bukovany’s death, the threat of war, the landsknechte’s flight. If even one of them is carrying the pestilence, it’ll be all over Jorgary by spring.”

  “Don’t forget that stupid curse tonight!” Vlad boomed. He was showing the effects of the wine at last.

  “Right. On Vlad’s advice,” Anton said. “I’ve ordered the gates locked. Nobody’s leaving now.”

  Heads nodded in approval.

  Vlad explained. “I don’t believe for a moment that Havel Vranov came here to play with puppies. He came here to frighten everyone. He brought the silk and the puppy along as gifts in case he was made welcome, but his real reason was to make that spectacular exit. It was simple terrorism.”

  “It’s possible,” Marek agreed again. “But I think Vranov came for Wulf. Vilhelmas had seen how badly Anton was wounded. He spied on him later and saw him alive and restored to health, so he knew there must be a Speaker in Gallant. That changed the odds! A war must be much easier to win if you have Speakers and your opponents don’t. That was why he had Vranov crash the banquet, and why he kept peering around, looking for another Speaker. If he’d seen Wulf, he might have done to him what Wulf and I just did to him.”

  Vlad completed a long drink from a wine flask. “Faugh! Sometimes you just try to take on your foes one at a time and hope they never get to combine against you. If Vranov risked appearing here tonight, even for a few moments, then he doesn’t believe in the pestilence. I’m with Beanpole. Let’s deal with the Wends first and worry about plague later, if ever.”

  Anton said, “Thank you. I’m going to bed.” He glanced momentarily at Wulf, without expression, and then he was closing the door behind him.

  Wulf took a brief look out of Anton’s eyes to make sure he was going away and not lurking outside the door, then through Madlenka’s to make sure she was alone. Then he stood up and stepped through limbo to her room.

  CHAPTER 35

  Madlenka was seated at her dressing board, taking pins out of her hair. The room was dim, with only a single lamp to scare away the shadows. She felt wrung dry by the events of the day, shattered by Wulf’s expected return, and nauseated at the thought of another interminable night with Anton. He wasn’t an evil man. If he saved the castle from the Wends, he might eventually make a good count and lord of the marches. At the moment, he was just an arrogant and insensitive youth. Perhaps few men of that age were much better, and Wulfgang was an extreme exception. She suspected that she might now be quite content with her lot if she had never met her husband’s brother.

  There were two reflections in the glass.

  She spun around. “Wulf! Idiot! Go away. I rang for my maid.”

  “She’ll knock.” He was standing well away from her, his face grave.

  “Anton—”

  “Is on his way. We have a moment, that’s all. Oh, Madlenka! I just came to tell you that it was my fault and I am—”

  She jumped up. “No, it was mine!”

  “I told you I would be forty days and—”

  “And I betrayed you in forty minutes.”

  He shook his head and came a step closer. “I should have told Anton about us when I cured his wound.”

  “Told him you wanted me as your share of the spoils?”

  He smiled wanly. “Would you have minded if I’d called you that?”

  “No. I would happily be your loot. Pillage me now and take me far, far away. I will never complain.”

  He shook his head. “There’s no escape. That would make you a fugitive, a felon, an adulteress, and God knows what else. Even an accomplice to Satanism. We would be outside the law and condemned by the Church. Our children would be bastards, nobodies.”

  She knew all that. She thought about it in bed a lot. “I don’t want you to reproach yourself. It was my fault for being so weak.”

  “Mine!” he insisted.

  “Your only mistake was healing Mother. If she’d not been there I could have stood up to them. But she threatened to lock me up in the Poor Claires’ convent until the king could decide what to do with me. Anton would never have done that. But she would! And the bishop …”

  They had been moving closer. Now they were close enough to touch, but neither made the move. In the gloom his eyes were not golden, they were silver, like moonlight reflected in water.

  “Forget all that,” he said. “It’s done, and you could never have found happiness with me. I am a Satanist. I’ve killed a priest and helped kill another. The Church will hunt me down and order me burned at the stake. I will love you forever, but you must forget me and love Anton. And pray that none of his children are Speakers, because Speaking is the curse of our line.”

  Knuckles tapped softly on the door.

  “My love,” he said, “always.” Then he vanished.

  “If you keep doing things like that, I think I’ll burn you at the stake myself,” Vlad said.

  Wulf resumed his place on the hob and filled his goblet. No one had moved in his absence: Marek was seated in the center facing him, Vlad to his right, Otto to his left.

  Getting no answer, Vlad said, “Even if Anton dies, of the plague or anything else, a man cannot marry his brother’s widow.”

  Wulf drank and picked up the flagon for a refill.

  Vlad tried again. “Well at least you were quick. Did she enjoy it, too?”

  Wulf stared at him coldly. “One more joke like that,” he said softly, “and I will burn your balls off, so help me God.” He put the goblet to his lips and drained it.

  Silence.

  “You are a dangerous combination, Brother,” Otto said. “The family chronicle begins almost two hundred years ago, in the time of the fourth baron. It names six Speaker daughters and hints at another, but only two Speaker sons before Marek. Meaning no disrespect to him, he has always been more of a scholar than a warrior. He would rather settle a dispute with law and reason than with sword or fist.” He glanced at Marek, who smiled to show he was not offended. “But you, Brother Wolfgang, wield your powers audaciously. You have a hair-trigger temper and you fear nothing, true to the Magnus motto.”

  Wulf did not reply. He wished he had not threatened Vlad, but he would not withdraw his words.

  “You are probably the most dangerous man in Jorgary,” Otto persisted.

  “What I think,” Marek announced solemnly, “is that I’m going to get catastrophically drunk for the first time in my life.” He took a long draft, straight from a flagon. “Foul stuff! I’ll say this for Koupel—it does have grand wine … Brothers, one thing still puzzles me. Tonight, when I asked my Voices to restore the old countess, St. Uriel told me that it was important for me to know why she had been affected. I have asked him since to explain, but he will not. My saints have never volunteered advice before. Any helpful suggestions?”

  He was looking at Wulf, who made an effort to think about it. “Vilhelmas had cursed her before, so perhaps she was more susceptible and he could do it from farther away.”

  “Puppies make her sick?” Vlad suggested.

  “I suppose … Mother of God
!” Marek fell back in his chair, gaping up at the chimney above Wulf’s head. The room filled with a swirl of wood smoke and the sounds of voices and a crackling fire.

  Otto and Vlad both spoke at once, demanding to know what was wrong.

  “You killed my friend!” cried a shrill voice.

  Marek made croaking noises. His brothers stared at one another in bewilderment. Just as Wulf realized that there must be an open gate in front of Marek that was only visible from that side, Leonas Vranov stepped from nowhere into the space between them. He was clutching a puppy. His always-pale face was white with fury, his fair hair stuck up in spikes, and he was slobbering.

  Vlad roared an oath and started out of his chair. He drew his sword.

  Otto shouted, “Wait! Careful!”

  Leonas shook his free fist in Marek’s face. “You killed my friend and I HATE you!”

  “That’ll do, Leonas,” his father’s voice said.

  “I want you to die too!”

  Wulf leaped past him and turned to view the gap, the same timber barracks, faces watching, Havel Vranov with a sword in his hand …

  “Come back here, Leonas!”

  The youth spat, turned around, and disappeared back into nowhere. The gate through limbo vanished.

  Otto muttered a prayer and made the sign of the cross. “Gone! So now we know how it was done. But who opened the gate for him, if you killed Vilhelmas? The Wends have more Speakers?”

  “Or Leonas himself is one!” Wulf said. “He was close to Countess Edita tonight. Could that be why your Voice told you … Marek? Marek!”

  Marek was leaning back in his chair, eyes glazed over. Otto and Wulf lunged across simultaneously and knelt on either side of him.

  “No! Marek!” Wulf grabbed his brother’s hand. “St. Victorinus! Holy St. Helena! No! No! No!”

  He could find no fire, only ash. Like Azuolas, Marek had gone.

  “No pulse. He’s dead.” Otto reached out and closed their brother’s eyes.

  The three stared at one another in dismay, struggling to believe it.

  One by one they bent their heads in prayer.

  Marek, oh, Marek! You never wanted to hurt anyone until tonight. Five years locked up in Koupel, two days’ liberty, and now this! Why didn’t you let me kill Vilhelmas?