by Eric Flint
"Then," said Manfred, standing up. "I think we need to sail for Venice. I suspect Alexius's capital is about to feel the weight of Venetian bombards. The question is what do we do with this Borshar Tarkhan?"
"I suppose we need to ask him."
They found the Ilkhan delegation on the balcony. Borshar Tarkhan rose and bowed. "Greetings. I gather your endeavors have not met with much success," he said in perfect Frankish.
He was expecting that, thought Erik. Their spies must make Francesca envious. "Yes. We plan to go to Venice itself…"
The tarkhan interrupted. "I am ordered to accompany you if that is the case."
Erik wondered why Eberhart looked as if he had just swallowed something really nasty. As they walked back to their quarters in the inn, Erik decided he'd better get on with learning some Mongol. It made him uncomfortable not to know what these people were saying among themselves. And he was, first and foremost, Manfred's bodyguard. Anything that made him uncomfortable was a warning sign.
Chapter 8
Vlad's head was in a turmoil. He was, by nature, a very precise person. Enough people had told him so, from King Emeric himself to the servants who had marveled at the geometric positioning he liked of the few accoutrements in his room. He could not understand why everyone would not wish their world so ordered. He liked to know precisely how things worked. In the small world of his tower in Buda castle, that had been easy enough. Some things, like his careful dissection, had upset and revolted Father Tedesco. But birds were free. They flew to the tower, to the high window, and away at their own choosing. He had merely wished to understand how it was possible. He had gained some understanding of just how they beat their wings and how the feathers flared from their wings. And of how thin and frail their bones were, even compared to mouse bones.
He had done penance for that.
He wondered now if he should do penance for this. He would have liked to have Father Tedesco to advise him. To try and make sense for him of all the unfamiliar emotions. She lay against him, her body softly curved and warm and scented. She had drawn his hand onto her thigh and now her fingers trailed across the skin on the back of his hand, barely touching him. How she could maintain such control as the carriage jolted and swayed on its leather springs was something a small part of his mind was fascinated by. The rest of his mind was overwhelmed by the sensations she was creating as she traced strange patterns with her perfectly manicured fingers.
After a little while he decided that he really didn't like it. It made an odd heat within him, not entirely a pleasant sensation. He felt as if he might take her into his arms or tear the fine fabric and lace away from her breast. It was beyond his rational control. That too he did not enjoy. So he pulled his hand away.
She laughed throatily. "Do you not like me, Prince?"
He blushed and stammered some reply. Was he being terribly rude? Was this how men and women conducted themselves outside of his tower? He had been escorted to King Emeric's throne room several times. There had been women and men there, but he did not recall noticing anything like this. Nor in his reading. Nor in his distant memories of growing up.
For the first time in many years, Elizabeth was both surprised and intrigued. Her senses were enhanced in such a way that she saw and felt things denied to ordinary mortals, just as their so-called salvation was denied to her. Pah. What had she ever cared for that? There was a virginal innocence to this boy that was almost intoxicating to her. It could only come from rearing him in such isolation from the world.
There was a darkness in him, too. Not at all like her carefully cultivated darkness, with its rewards and price, but wild savage darkness, more like some volcano of power and passion held in rigid check. And he had great strength. Power, for which he had paid no price. Power enough to pull away from her spell of binding and subjugation as if it had been a mere spiderweb. She had used sigils of dark magic that should have made him her slave.
She knew that his blood had value in magical terms, but she had merely seen him as bait. Bait for an ancient, rare and magical creature, useful to her plans. Now she realized his blood might be even more valuable than she'd believed. Possibly even worth keeping within his veins for a while. Who would have thought that mixing blood could have that effect? She might have to experiment with it herself. Of course, if it only affected offspring it would be of little use to her.
She would set Mindaug to investigate the matter. He needed work. She would watch Mindaug more carefully than Chernobog had been able to. Elizabeth had less interest in geographical power than Chernobog, but there were aspects to this strangely powerful pawn in that area too. So much-besides pain and betrayal-had become ennui as the years passed. This would provide a fascinating distraction. She would have him in the end. She would enmesh him and strip him of his innocence and then his power, and enjoy a brief period of lust and darkness with him before all was done. But in the meanwhile, let the prey think he had sprung the trap. That he had got away.
"What shall we talk about, Prince Vlad?"
He was silent for a while. "My homeland," he said. "And please, I need to open these curtains. The swaying makes me feel sick."
Both requests surprised her a little. She disliked bright sunlight, and the countryside. So dull, only good for hiding things in. And her knowledge and interest in Carpathia's countryside was sketchy at best. "It is mountainous. There are a great many trees."
"Pine trees. I have run and hunted there often," Vlad said longingly
He had been taken from home when he was ten, she knew. He must have been somewhat differently raised than the boys of the royal house in Buda. "You remember that?"
He shook his head. "I dream it. I dream it often."
And that, to one such as her, was more worrying than his resistance to her entrapment.
They panted and lolled in the shade of the small copse on the hillock, three rangy, grey-eyed men, in ragged, patched clothes that spoke of travel.
"Why could she not have chosen a cooler day for it?"said Grigori, wiping his face with a multicolored kerchief. "Or gone by night. Running at night is safer and more pleasant."
Angelo shook his head. "Not from her. Remember who she is. And this is not our home range. It is hers."
"I am just glad that the roads do not run too straight. At least, it's cooling off. Do you think that she will go on through the night, or stop at her nunnery?"
"Stop, I think. The horses are tired and there is nowhere else here she can get a change. Not that I know of, anyway. I have scouted this country, but I know it less well than I like." Angelo handed a wineskin to his companions. "Drink. I see dust. It will be the carriage."
"Is he definitely still in it?"
Grigori wiped his mouth and handed the wineskin on. "Hard to tell through the curtains. The _arriage has been out of our sight a number of times. Would she fear pursuit enough to set us a false scent?"
Angelo peered toward the dust. "She is old enough and devious enough. But she is also arrogant in her power. All we can do is follow until we can get close enough to get the scent of him. And getting too close may be foolish too. I have watched her kill."
The enclosed carriage clattered closer along the road. But now the drapes had been drawn aside. They could see him clearly despite the distance, his skin pale and his hair as dark as his grandfather, the dragon, with the same heavy moustache. His face was lean and long. His expression: troubled.
They watched as the carriage and the outriders passed some quarter of mile away. Their keen eyes noted details. Details others might not have spotted, but they were hunters. The offside horse was beginning to go lame. The countess would have to slow down soon.
Angelo got to his feet. "That'll make the chase easier. She'll be there at nightfall now, not before."
"It's an ill time to get there. We could strike before?"
"If the chance arises." Angelo sniffed. "The weather is on the change. That may help us tomorrow. Come, brothers. The chase calls."
/> A shepherd boy walking back to his flock with a hat full of blackberries saw a carriage and outriders pass. He waved. No one waved back, but that was hardly surprising. Then he dropped his hat and stood staring.
Those looked like great grey wolves loping across that field. Surely there were no wolves here? He felt suddenly very frightened and alone, and aware that his flock was further away from him than it should be. He stood indecisively for a long moment. And then, without stopping to pick up his hat, let alone the wild berries, he ran in the opposite direction from the wolves or the carriage. The carriage had outriders, doubtless with bows or guns. Let them deal with the wolves.
In the carriage, Vlad's companion had fallen silent. He did not mind. There was the vista. The air outside. It helped with the queasiness from the swaying. There was just so much space. He saw a boy in one of the fields waving his hand. It took him a few moments to work out that the young fellow was greeting him. He waved back, smiling for the first time on this momentous, terrifying, exciting, confusing day. But for some reason the lad was running away as fast as his legs could carry him.
"What was that, Prince Vlad?" asked the countess, turning her wonderful smile on him.
"A boy. He waved and then ran away. Am I that frightening?"
She shook her head. "Peasants. They are afraid of everything. Anyway, we are near the nunnery of Saint Anna. We can rest there for the night."
"They will allow men within their walls?"
"I founded it. I still provide a generous stipend for it. We take in poor girls and orphans from Arrabona. Even some waifs from Buda and Pest."
"That is Godly work."
She crossed her hands in her lap and looked demurely down at them. "They have no one to turn to."
How could he have doubted her? He knew so little of this outside world. Father Tedesco had told him of the poverty and the needs of the poor. He had known little about it when he'd first come to Buda. But the subject had been one of the old priest's more frequent topics.
The area must be rife with bandits, thought Vlad, surveying the grim, grey walled compound, with its church and cloister. The abbess who greeted them was scarcely more cheerful looking. And she was large. As big as most men, with hands like slabs of pork.
She bowed very respectfully to the countess. "All is prepared, Your Ladyship."
Countess Bartholdy smiled regally. "Good, Anna. We will have worship and rest. See that my men and the horses are suitably looked after. You have prepared a chamber for my guest?"
The abbess nodded. She turned to one of the women standing in her wake. "Illona, lead the gentleman to his chamber. See that he has warm water to wash with."
Illona looked as if she had missed all the meals the Abbess had found. She beckoned, and Vlad followed her, in through a heavy studded door and up a long passage to flight of stairs leading to an upstairs chamber. They passed a kneeling girl painstakingly sweeping the stone flags. The girl must have had a dreadful life. There was a beaten air about her. A look of fear. She cowered away from them in the passage. Vlad realized that, despite the terrors Emeric had inflicted on him, perhaps his captivity had not been so evil.
The room was large and luxuriously appointed, with an enclosed bed hung with fine red cloth. "Most comfortable looking," said Vlad.
Illona nodded. "Her ladyship keeps it for her companions. Warm water will be brought to you, shortly."
Looking over her shoulder-he was far taller than she was, far taller than most men, let alone women-Vlad was surprised to see the girl staring fearfully at him. A novice, he assumed.
She looked so afraid. He wanted to comfort her. "That girl…" he said, gesturing.
Illona smiled for the first time. You could not often say that a smile disfigured a face, but in this case it was true. "That one is for Her Ladyship's service. I will send you another."
"I just wanted say to her that God will care for her. She is safe in the arms of the church now."
The woman Illona seemed surprised. But she turned away without saying anything.
Later that evening, Vlad dined with the abbess and the countess. They ate venison and he enjoyed it very much. The wine too was as red as blood and strong. Wine never seemed to make him drunk, as he had seen in others and read about. It-or the long day-made him sleepy, however, and he was glad to make his excuses and retire to his chamber, where he soon fell into a sound sleep.
He was wakened by a scream.
Definitely it was a woman, screaming.
He thought he had better go and see. But the door refused to open. And the window too was barred.
The moon shone down and he looked out. He had quite a prospect from here. He could see the chapel. He could swear that was another scream coming from there. He watched for a while. And then he saw a light-candles-in the darkened chapel. They came out in the moonlight-some thirteen people, carrying something between them in a blanket. One of the carriers, simply by her size, had to be the abbess. Another, oddly, walked like a man. A third was plainly the dwarf.
They all wore hooded cloaks-except the last figure who walked behind them. Even in the moonlight, Elizabeth Bartholdy was beautiful. Her blond hair looked white in the moonlight, and her face serene. Somehow, she looked even younger than she had before. He wondered if he should call out and ask what had happened. But it seemed as if she was in control of the situation, so he just stood there, silent, watching as they walked into the cloister. As they passed below him, he thought that it looked rather like someone was lying on the blanket, but their candles did not provide enough light for him to see clearly.
After they had gone, he stood there for a long time looking out across the open landscape beyond the monastery walls. Yes, there were bars. But at least he could see. And the air smelled cleaner here.
In the distance something howled, a strange wild sound.
He almost felt as if he should howl back. He even found that he had taken a deep breath to do so, before shaking himself, and thinking how foolish he was being.
Then, because everything was still, he went back to bed. On the way he kicked a metal shackle set into the wood. It bruised him, and perhaps because of the pain or because it had been such a strange and experience filled day, sleep took a long while coming.
And when it did, he found himself in the old familiar dream of running through the scent-rich forest. Of the hunt.
But somehow, this time, he was the prey.
They left early the next day, breaking their fast just before dawn. Most of Countess Elizabeth's retinue looked as tired as Vlad felt, even if they were probably not as stiff. Vlad's muscles hurt as he struggled up into the carriage.
The countess herself, on the other hand, looked positively sparkling this morning, her skin radiant and full of a youthful glow. She smiled at him. "It does not look as if you had a good night. Unfamiliar beds do that to me too."
"What was happening last night?" asked Vlad curiously.
"Why, nothing. Should something have?" She lowered her lashes and looked at him from under them, with a little smile on her lips.
"I woke up when someone screamed. I tried to get out but I was locked into my chamber. From the window saw a party come out of the chapel. Why was I locked in? What were you doing?"
She laughed musically. "Why were you locked in? You silly boy! You are a man and this is a nunnery. If they had their way they'd have chained you to the bed, too."
"Oh, is that what the shackles are for?" he asked, pleased to have had the mystery clarified.
She looked at him enquiringly with just an element of calculation in her gaze. "Shackles?"
"Yes. There are four set into the wood of the bed. I barked my shin on one, so I noticed."
"Goodness. I wonder what those are for. Perhaps for chaining a dog or something. I was merely joking, Vlad. I did not want to trouble you with that sad business last night. The poor girl was possessed of an evil spirit. We had to scourge her and pray with her to exorcise it."
"Oh. I w
ill include her in my prayers, then," said Vlad. "Is she free of it now? Will she be all right?"
"She will recover. Pain is a necessary part of the process," said the countess. "Do you really have to have the curtains open, Prince? Of course I am a weak woman and not as robust as you. The breeze is so injurious to a lady's complexion. It's almost as bad as the sun."
"Once they cross they Danube we must strike," said Angelo. "If we let her get him to her fortress we will never get him away from her. Even another night could be too late."
"They will take a ferry. We could sink it, and snatch him from the flotsam." Grigori grinned, showing very white teeth.
Angelo shook his head. "She has a bargain with the Vila."
"Then we need to plan to get across by boat," said Radu. "Besides, Grigori, you get tired after swimming half a league."
Chapter 9
The crowd of voivodes and hetmen in his throne room were doing their best to look brave and great. To the iron eyes that looked out at them from Jagiellon's mask, they were neither. They were, however, the right sort of tools for his tasks. Greed and fear made great levers to drive them about his purposes. He kept them in balance between fear of their fellows and fear of him. And when he called, they came, like the cowed dogs they were.
Of course, there were a few who had attempted to avoid the summons with various excuses, and had sent representatives. They would be punished appropriately. They entertained something Chernobog disapproved of, and did his best to eradicate: the folly of hope.
Still, there was one emissary whose master could not be punished. Or, at least, could not be punished… yet. The fact that the emissary was here, and being seen in public, was an endorsement of sorts, as the remains of the Golden Horde were not yet vassals. But soon they, and the Bulgar Slavs, would fall in line. Constantinople and Alexius posed no challenge. Chernobog's geo-political machinations followed a very different logic from that of his merely mortal foes.
There was power in the geography, both on a physical and a spiritual plane. Other powers and their minions, such as that accursed Elizabeth Bartholdy, did not fully grasp that. They would. But by then it would be too late.