I walked more than eight miles without finding the next village. Witchfire was limping badly, the wine skin was nearly exhausted and night closed in on us. There was nothing for it but, like a hero in a fireside tale, to stretch out under a tree and sleep in armor.
I unsaddled Witchfire, rubbed him down as best I could with some weeds and hobbled him for the night.
I had my flint and steel with me, and by dint of a half an hour's puffing and cursing, I managed to get a decent fire going. I gathered a supply of wood, doffed my helmet and unlaced the coif at my throat. I took another pull of wine and dozed off.
At perhaps midnight, I woke to the sound of a wolf howling. It was shortly answered by another and yet another, and they were close!
The fire was down to a few dying coals and Witchfire was whinnying nervously. I went to him and tripped in the dark, which spooked him worse. I had to speak to him a bit before he'd let me come close enough to take the hobble off. A damned nuisance when time was precious, but no beast of mine will ever be taken without a chance to defend himself! I could hear the wolves, snuffling, gathering both their courage and their numbers.
I went back to the coals of the fire and found my helmet and sword. Then I threw what kindling and wood I had left onto the coals and said a silent prayer in thanks to Saint Christopher for the blessing of enough time to get ready.
The fire blazed up as I belatedly laced shut the chainmail coif at my throat and donned my helmet. I slipped on my shield and drew my sword, for this was not the place for the lance, though I love that weapon above all others. The wolves grew louder, and I could tell that they didn't like the fire. I could imagine some impudent young wolf complaining, "Sooner! We should have hit them sooner!" It's sure that I heard one of the animals yelp as though bitten!
Witchfire, trusty friend that he is, came into the circle of firelight to join me. He knew that this must needs be a fight afoot, but he none the less meant to get his share of it. I grinned at him and they rushed us.
A huge gray wolf burst out of the darkness and at my throat. It was skinny, gaunt and hungry, yet it was fully my own size and weight none the less. These murderous beasts must have traveled far for the pains of winter to still be on them!
My sword caught the huge gray brute fair on the side of the skull and I heard the bone crack. His body rammed me square on the shield with such force that I was nearly knocked over, and indeed would have been had not a second wolf hit me but a moment later in the back. A foul blow, that, but one I was glad of, for once down, it was not likely that I could defend myself with any alacrity!
The wolf at my back was trying to bite into my neck, but the armor my father bought at great price was proof against it. I swung my sword back hard as though preparing for a forward blow. It caught the beast on the back. Again, I heard bones crack and it was at my feet whining and snapping.
I had no time to give it mercy, for my war-horse was sore pressed. Three gray forms were snapping around him and he had a fourth in his teeth, shaking it as a small dog will shake a rat. He threw it high into the air. It came down on the fire, screamed, and lost all of its fighting spirit. It ran away, yelping, its coat burning merrily.
I waded into the beasts that were harassing my mount and broke two gray necks with as many blows. The third turned to charge me, but Witchfire dropped both front hooves on its back and it moved no more.
Suddenly, all was quiet. We'd killed five of the foul creatures, and the one who got away would think long before it again approached a human fire!
Witchfire seemed unhurt and I was unwounded. I gave each of the dead animals another blow to see to it that they stayed that way, then laid myself back down to sleep. I didn't bother hobbling my mount. He wouldn't be wandering far from the fire again this night!
Yes, I was unharmed, but only because I was armed and armored and with a trusty war-horse. One can well see why the peasants lock their doors at sunset and dare not leave until dawn. Even in daylight, many are killed when caught alone in the wilds. But what can be done about it?
I left the carcasses to rot on the ground. Wolf skins are worthless—even a peasant can afford better. And maybe the other wolves would get a meal off of their brothers instead of killing some hapless commoner.
The next morning I gave the coup de grace to the last of my wine, cheese, and bread and found the village not a quarter mile down the trail. I caught the smith and his family on their way to church.
"But, my dear sir knight! This is Easter morning, the holiest day of the year! Surely you can't expect me to work on this greatest offcast days!"
"Surely I can! Know that I am sworn to attend our liege lord, Count Lambert himself, on this very day at Okoitz. I cannot get there without my horse and my horse cannot travel without a shoe. You are the only blacksmith available and therefore you will do the job. Bid your family to church without you, and come with me."
"But to miss mass on Easter would be a great sin!"
I loosened my sword. "Not nearly so great a sin as committing suicide, which is your alternative."
His wife kissed him worriedly and hustled their children before her toward the church. Thus she made the decision for him, though I intended the man no harm. He started to call to her, but I took him by the upper arm and moved him to his shop.
"But I am in my best clothes! I must change."
"Very well. Do it quickly." He went into his house and I followed. It was well built, as peasant huts go, with a brick fireplace and a real wooden floor. He stopped and looked at me hesitantly, so I drew my sword and placed it before me, point down with my palms on the pommel. He changed clothes rapidly.
"But, sir knight . . ."
I ground the point of my sword into the floor, twisting it. He darted out to his shop. I followed.
Once he had a fire going in his forge, he said, "But I have forgotten! I have no more iron! I used the last of it Thursday and no more will come until tomorrow."
"No iron? Then we must find you some. Hmmm . . . the hinges on this door are iron. It's a start." I ripped the door from the frame and threw it at him. It's a pity to have to use such techniques on such a sniveling wretch, but he had exhausted my patience.
"But that's not nearly enough and hinges are so hard to make!"
There were plenty of iron tools about, but I hate to deprive a man of his livelihood. I stalked back to his house. "That crucifix is iron."
"But that was blessed by the priest! We can't . . ."
"No, I guess we can't. Those candlesticks . . . the two of them will make a shoe and nails and we can spare your hinges."
"But I made those for my wife!"
"If your wife demands gimcracks while you lack the wherewithal of your trade, she deserves a good beating! Take them!"
It was eight hours of welding and forging, filing and fitting before my horse was shod. While I waited, his wife returned. I sent her out for wine and meat. Lent was over and I had a craving for a thick slab of roast pork.
What I got was small beer and chicken, the best—she claimed—to be had in that festering dump.
Finally, it was past none when I saddled Witchfire.
The blacksmith ran up. "But sir knight, you owe me for the shoeing!"
"The last time I had a shoe put on, it cost me eight silver pennies, so that's what I'll pay. And here's another penny for the meal, though it wasn't worth it." I rose to the saddle.
"But the candlesticks alone were worth twice this!"
"Then next time be better prepared." I rode out of town. Actually, I'd paid him half the money I had. My father was not a wealthy man.
We were an hour getting back to the main trail and though we pushed on as fast as I dared, darkness overtook us many miles from our destination. I had failed.
There was no moon and perforce my charger and I spent yet another night under a tree.
The tierce bell was ringing as we rode into Okoitz. An old friend was at the gate; we embraced and exchanged the kiss of friendship.
"Aye, Sir Lestko. Witchfire threw a shoe and finding a smith on Easter . . . But I must apologize to Count Lambert. Where is he?
"Your apology will be delayed as well; Lambert left at gray dawn to make his spring rounds. He may not return for months."
"Damn! Damn and thrice damn!"
"Fear not at all. Lambert said that if you arrived today, all would be well; but if not, we should search for you on the morrow. He knows no son of your father would fail him."
"Sir Lestko, we serve the finest lord in Christendom."
"Agreed. But come. You have just time to wash off the road dust before dinner."
We entered the bailey where a vast tower was under construction. "What on Earth is that thing?"
"A device of Sir Conrad's planning. They say it will suck power from the winds and force it to do man's bidding."
"That smacks of witchcraft."
"Sir Conrad claims not, though by all accounts, he's as much warlock as warrior and a giant besides."
"Sir Conrad? Is he the man that killed the brigand, Sir Rheinburg?"
"Rheinburg and his entire band and each killed with a single blow of the sword!"
"Unbelievable!" I said.
"But true. That German bastard's arms are in the storeroom here without a mark on them. Sir Conrad caught him straight through the eyeslit and cut his skull in half without harming the helmet."
"Some might call that luck."
"Not when he killed all the others besides. I tell you he brought in four suits of armor and all of them intact save for bloodstains."
"What manner of man is he?"
"I haven't met him yet myself, having arrived only a day before you. They say he's in Cieszyn and will return in a week or two. I must watch the gate until sext, but you go up to the castle; the ladies will see to your comfort."
"Indeed!" I asked, "Is Lambert's board and bed all they say it is?"
"Better. He has eight of them now and there are only five of us knights to keep them pleasured."
"The poor things." I grinned. "Well, we can only do our best."
No one met me at the castle door, but a remarkable noise was coming from within. It sounded like a dozen mad drummers going at once, or like carpenters trying to be musicians. I followed the sound to the great hall and found there an incomprehensible flurry of activity.
There was a great table around which sat a half dozen pretty wenches. Each had a cartwheel in front of her that seemed to spin of its own accord. There were big balls of wool and complicated arrangements of thread and spools spinning with astounding speed.
Unconsciously, I made the sign of the cross.
Against one wall, two more ladies worked a great wooden machine of incredible complexity, with thousands of strings and levers and moving parts.
Against the wall opposite stood three huge bolts of cloth.
One of the girls at the spinning wheels noticed my entrance, stopped her work and greeted me.
"What . . . what is all this?" I asked.
"Lambert's loom and spinning wheels, of course. Our lord would have us make our own cloth and stop paying our silver to those awful Waloons. You must be Sir Vladimir. Let me show you to your room."
As she led me down a hallway I said, "These wheels and such. They are something this Sir Conrad has built?"
"Who else?"
"You know him then?"
"I don't exactly know him." She rolled her eyes and grinned. "I mean I was still only a peasant girl when he left, but I hear he's just marvelous!"
"But you've seen him?"
"Oh, yes. He's enormously tall and absolutely beautiful!"
"I fail to see how a man can be beautiful."
"Then you haven't seen Sir Conrad. This will be your room." She scurried about, seeing that the water pitcher was filled and the chamber pot was empty. The place was remarkably clean, with a huge bed, a stool, and a wash stand.
"This will do nicely. Uh, would you help me get out of this armor? This is my first chance to remove it in three days. Two nights sleeping in chain mail is entirely too much."
"Of course, Sir Vladimir . . . Oh. You need a good scrubbing, besides."
"That is a glorious thought." I sat on the stool and she gave me a thorough sponge bath. Very thorough.
Once dry, I sat on the bed and said, "I'll rest a bit. Take off your dress and join me."
"I thought you'd never ask."
Much later I said, "That was good, wench. Very good."
"Thank you, my lord. Ah. There's the dinner bell. We must dress."
"Right." I got into my tunic and hose. "Uh, what is your name?"
"Annastashia."
At dinner I met Sir Bodan, a friend of my father, and he introduced me to Sir Frederick and Sir Stefan. They each sat down with a woman by their sides, so I bid Annastashia join me.
"I believe I'm still senior here and so am in command," Sir Bodan said. "Sir Vladimir, I observe that you have arrived late. In punishment for this, you shall take the graveyard shift and watch the gate from matins to prime."
"This seems just, my lord." I downed a bowl of beer and motioned for it to be refilled.
"Well, somebody has to do it."
"I make no complaint. But tell me more of this Sir Conrad."
"He does seem to be the main subject of conversation hereabouts," Bodan said. "First off, he rides a mare."
I stifled a giggle. "A mare?"
"A mare. Furthermore, they tell as many stories about the horse as they do of the rider. She refuses to be shod and goes without horseshoes, yet she gallops over rocks without splaying her hoofs. She doesn't soil her stall, but removes the bar and goes out in the bailey like a house-broken dog. Then she returns to her stall and replaces the bar!"
"Incredible!"
"She is fully war-trained and Conrad claims that two of his kills were made by her alone. Yet she has no objection to wearing a horse collar and working with the peasants. And under her influence, Count Lambert's best stallion hauled logs last winter, two war-horses guided by a single little peasant girl. The commoners here claim the mare is so intelligent that she can talk!"
"What?"
"Oh, it's just a matter of shaking and nodding her head. Yet she does it in response to questions; myself, I think it just a carnival trick."
"But what of the man himself? Who are his people?"
"That's another mystery. It seems that some priest laid a geas on him, that he may not tell of his origins. Some say that he is a socialist, though it is not clear just what that means. It might refer to his country, his military order, or his religious sect. Myself, I think it must be a religious sect, for he is uncommonly gentle with children, peasants, and other animals.
"All we really know is that he came out of the east in the company of a merchant, Boris Novacek."
"Ah. I know the man."
"Then you know that Boris is no fool and that he wouldn't lie unless there was a profit in it."
"True."
"Well, Boris claims he took this true belted knight out of a monastery in Cracow, where he was engaged in writing books."
"A knight who can read and write? That's unmanly!"
"There's nothing unmanly about him, though he claims to have spent seventeen years as a student in schools."
"Indeed. How old is this Conrad?" The beef stew was excellent.
"He claims to be thirty, but he looks no older than you and there's not a scar on his body. Then there is his equipage. They say he has a pavilion light enough to hold in the palm of your hand; it's said to have the property of keeping out noxious insects. He has silver pots and plates, lighter than a cobweb. He has a knife with a dozen blades that fold to a size smaller than your finger. He has another instrument of the same size that produces fire at the touch of a lever and a sleeping cloak that grows shut to keep the cold out. He gave Sir Miesko a device with a needle that always points north, to guide him in the dark. That needle burns with a gre
en fire but never is it consumed."
"I could have used that last night," I said. The beer was truly fine.
Sir Bodan ignored me. "He gave Lambert an object that makes far things look close. Some of the girls here can show you incredibly tiny needles they had of him. And the peasants! He gave hundreds of parchment packages of seeds to the peasants, each package with writing and a beautiful painting on it. Most of the seeds are sprouting and there are some damn strange shoots coming up in Okoitz!"
"He must be a man of great wealth."
"Fabulous wealth. He arrived here with a chest of gold and silver worth 120,000 silver pence!"
"Then . . . then why does he stay in a backwoods place like Silesia?" I asked around the bread in my mouth.
"Who knows why a wizard does what he does?"
"Ah, yes. I saw his wheels and loom. He's a mighty wizard."
"Yet there's no magic in those machines in the great hall. I've been over every inch of them and there's nought there but boards and thread. They're clever, mind you. Damned clever. But they're still just things of wool and wood."
"Indeed?" A wench refilled my bowl.
"Then there's Conrad's sword. It's a skinny thing with but a single edge, yet with it Count Lambert—in front of a hundred witnesses—took the head off a fully grown pig with a single blow; and when Conrad became angered with a blacksmith, he chopped the anvil in half."
"Well, I can sympathize with that," I said. "But you haven't told me much about the man himself."
"I was coming to that." Bodan took another pull of beer. "He is huge and must duck his head to walk through that doorway. His hair is a dark blond and he wears it very short, inches above his shoulders. He has a proper moustache, but he shaves the rest of his face every day with a strange knife that never goes dull. Mostly, he wears ordinary clothes, but sometimes he dons garments of a thin, eldritch cut, with hundreds of buttons, clasps, and closures. There's something odd about his boots, though I haven't heard a good description of them."
Conrad Starguard-The Radiant Warrior Page 27