by Eric Flint
Emil looked at his hands, looked at how his nails had been pulled away from the quick, and how the dirt was still stuck there. He shook his head trying to clear it. It was full of such terrible visons, like a cobwebbed maze of nightmares, with the same horror at every turn, no matter how he tried to flee from her, from the memory of her head at such an unnatural angle, and a dribble of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth. And now he was trapped, condemned and doomed. There seemed no way out of what he'd done. He'd buried her. There was still dirt under his nails from his efforts to make that shallow grave. Why had he killed her? Rosa had been a friend of his, in the way that she was a friend of half of the camp, including the Drac. It was all so confused, so misty in his head.
He was so very afraid. And still so very compelled to do what he had to do.
"Where do we go now?" asked one of the men he had taken with him.
He couldn't answer at first, still knotted up inside with guilt and fear and uncertainty. He couldn't possibly escape the consequences of what he'd done. Surely, surely the Drac, or even Mirko, would realize that something was wrong, that he had chosen the worst, not the best.
Emil waited for an answer that he knew would come unbidden to his mind. An instruction. A direction from the power that had usurped his mind the power that controlled him and drove him. Until now, it had had him pursuing a wolf hunt for days, but that was over now, it seemed.
His orders came. "We need to go North west for a little to avoid the Hungarian patrols. After that we go south again."
" It's amazing, Sergeant," said the pockmarked soldier, the one who was always trying to butter him up, "you always seemed to know exactly where they're going to be."
He did. Because she did.
***
In her southern bastion, the nunnery she had had constructed on her estate near Caedonia, Elizabeth once again allowed herself to revel in the amenties of life that she felt were a necessity. Fresh linen, well cooked hot food, and suitably inflicted pain were what made life worth living. That and the use of her power. She had had little vengeance on the wolf-changers, but they were easy enough to track, magically. It was very satisfying to use her power again. It would appear though, that one had avoided the fate she had in mind for them. He was dead.
Her sendlings were supposed to have brought them back to her, alive. She had ideas and uses for humans that could become wolves, interesting and terror-filled uses. Well, the other would be an interesting addition to her menagerie, when she finally caught him, but there were other matters more pressing to deal with. Along with the other preparations that had to be made, she was going to be busy. Some things she had to do herself. The staff here in the nunnery were all entrapped in her darkness and could not betray her, but still, some things had to be done by the worker of the magic. There was much labor, which she despised, in the ritual.
She turned her attention to those other matters, and was rudely interrupted in her exercise of inflaming the lust of the victim for tonight's bloodletting. She could not make them love her, but lust, yes. And that was a good enough substitute for Elizabeth Bartholdy. The moment of betrayal when they realized that she had not brought them to the desecrated chapel for a passionate, shameful, but desperately desired tryst, but to be defiled, tortured and killed for their blood, was always sweet. And only Emeric would dare to interrupt her. He was almost too gauche to live.
"We will see each other later, Narine," she said smiling at the daughter of some small provincial noble, knowing that the poor girl was desperately in love with some ineligible merchant's son, and was now terribly conflicted by the enchantment that her hostess, so sympathetic, had set in her flesh.
When she was found dead, it would be suicide. Or perhaps she would arrange things to make it appear that the little merchant's boy killed her… The sacrifice-to-be was not a peasant girl with no relations and no-one to notice if she disappeared. The body would have to be found, and still be recognizable. Noble blood was riskier, but it would do more for her complexion.
"Grooming your newest victim?" said Emeric, not caring how offensive he sounded.
Really, he contrasted badly with young Vlad. Emeric was stupid and willfully sadistic. Vlad was not stupid, and the streak of bloody murder and fascination with pain that was in him was well controlled… it would be entertaining to free it. And he could lead… she put the thought away from her. Crocell had warned her of his danger, and although she liked to toy with danger, she would never willfully endure a long term threat that she could not utterly subjugate. Vlad was unnaturally strong, and seemed to be better armored to resist or throw her coercions off. Better to endure this crass puppet, even if he was getting far too many ideas of his own. She sniffed. He stank. He'd always been a little erratic about bathing. "What is it now, Emeric?" she said tartly.
"I've been south to see Ban Alescu of Ironguard. I don't trust him. He's ambitious."
"We've dealt with ambition before, Emeric. Put a little fear into him."
Emeric nodded. "I did that. And I think I'm going to find a town to make a similar example of. There's too much support for that little upstart. Ban Alescu told me he was popular with a number of burghs. Besides I want some replacement coin for my pay chests from them."
"Besides taxes." She knew he'd increased those.
"Sometimes taking all of the substance at once is a more worthwhile exercise than bleeding them slowly."
Bleeding them slowly. She'd never thought of that. She could keep them alive for a while. Let them replenish their blood. Occasionally even the stupidest fool could say something wise. She smiled on him. "So long as it is not too close to here. I have things happening that I do not wish disturbed."
"I have a list. Ban Alescu is not to be trusted, but he's a useful source. More effective than my own spies have been. I'm bringing another thirty thousand men in, over winter. The first ten thousand will be arriving in a few days. I'm going to make these mountains untenable, and remove his support by ensuring that the towns remain mine. Then we can strike before Vlad is ready in spring. Now, I came to ask what you could tell me of his troop numbers, disposition, weaponry and so on."
She shrugged. "They are on the move. He seems to have mostly peasant levies with arquebuses."
"I'm going to have to take steps against the freemen and peasantry in this part of my Kingdom. Punish some relations."
He really was not very bright, thought Elizabeth. He'd bite off too much and have a civil war on his hands. He did have enough troops to put one down. It was not something that Vlad and his partisans could win in the long term, even if Elizabeth was going let him survive. Then it occurred to her that it had been a while since she'd been around civil strife. It was a good time to find plenty of displaced people looking for sanctuary. And people went missing. "What a good idea," she said. Once Vlad was gone, it could always be fixed.
Ban Alescu sniffed. He could only smell cloves. He had always considered himself the biggest, wiliest and nastiest dog in the pit. Now, although he'd burned the soiled breeches, and washed himself repeatedly, he knew that he was not. That shame and abject terror would live with him for the rest of his life. His mood was as black as the weather outside. And that was very black indeed. Rain was sheeting down. Not all of it could wash away the shame and embarrassment. But, he thought, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction, he might not be the biggest and nastiest dog in the pit, but he was still wily. He'd successfully convinced Emeric that several of his rivals and the towns and cities that fell in their ambit were sympathizing with and supporting Prince Vlad.
He had the sworn declarations now of a nursemaid, and a bishop, who attested that his mother had married Radu-Vlad's father, in secret, and that he, Ban Alescu, was the offspring of that union.
Ban Alescu doubted that many people would believe it. Or that Emeric cared whether they did or not.
He sniffed again. He absolutely could not smell anything beside the cloves in the pomander he toyed with. He really must mak
e plans. Ones which would oblige his overlord. He was afraid to do otherwise.
***
The wyverns had begun to roam, and to hunt on their own. But it was raining. She could have brought them food. They licked their lips and looked at her, considering.
Dana had grown accustomed to them by now. She knew that they were dangerous and capricious. But she liked them anyway, and they, it would seem, liked her too. "A bit of rain won't melt you. And Angelo says that you need to learn to hunt or you will be reliant on others always."
"Hunting is good. But the rain makes it harder smell prey."
"And winter is coming, Radu says. We need to be fat before winter. So do you."
Winter was coming, and despite the Wyverns and the fascination of the strangeness of their hosts, Dana was beginning to long for the comforts of a real bed and a home. She also wondered when Grigori and Miu would be back, and what news they would bring from her brother. She wondered just what he would be like.
Chapter 55
Armor protected a knight. They tended to love it, despite the weight, the layers of padding, the inflexibility, the smell and the temperatures inside it. A knight in armor was worth twenty peasant levy footmen, and four light cavalry. Of course, they did not really approve of firearms. Besides the flux, the other thing a knight in armor dreaded was rain.
Right now, Erik welcomed it. It was mixed with flurries of sleet. Delightful! Absolutely wonderful! Even if only David, in Kari's old hooded cloak really had a chance of staying half-dry. To think that the boy had been roasting in it only a few weeks ago.
It was just what a large party of horsemen attempting to hide from a far larger search party needed. They consolidated the two parties of knights, when the rain started. Visibility was terrible and there was no point in losing each other. They'd had to stop to rest and where possible change horses. You couldn't expect even an enorous warhorse to carry something the size and weight of Manfred and his armor for too long.
Rain found its way into the cracks and chinks of the spike-shouldered armour, into the quilted liner. A cloak only helped so much. Erik flexed and moved as much as possible. Sighed. They'd have to stop and oil joints soon. As soon as they could find a good spot. But hopefully this would discourage the pursuit. He said as much to Bortai.
Bortai crushed that hope. She shook her head. "It will make you harder to follow yes. But they will know which direction you are going now. They will follow hard. We still have many leagues to go."
"About how many?"
She shrugged. "I think it should be possible to reach Hawk lands in about three days if we continue to travel as fast we are now. But they may follow us even there. Our clan will be weakened and in disarray from what happened at the kurultai."
They'd done a day, perhaps a day and half of traveling so far. Even in the rain, that was a lot to ask of their luck.
"Once we cross the Iret river…"
That was another drawback to traveling across this country meant for grazing. Not only had the Mongols indulged in widespread tree-clearing, there were very few bridges over the rivers. They'd had to engage in two very dangerous exercises in fording, and Erik was afraid of getting trapped against a natural barrier like that again. "This river… is it very…" He struggled for the word. "Fat?"
She chuckled. It was a very infectious chuckle. Warm and… well comfortable. And right now that was very welcome. "Wide." She said. "It has some fords and an old Roman bridge. I will find them for you. I know that country well."
Erik wished he knew this country well too. But the best he could do was to deploy scouts. He had them in layers. Knights innermost, Tulkun and Bortai, next, and Kari ranging ahead. He had done some of the latter ranging too. But in this rain it was hard to even guess the lay of the land. He was about to ride out a bit further, when Kari rode up. "How am I supposed to keep my powder dry in this? There is a river ahead, with a decent ford a little east of us. I might have seen some riders lurking there. It's hard to tell the difference between a horse and a man and a tree in this."
The hairs on the nape of Erik's neck lifted. A ford-a good one-was a perfect place for an ambush. It forced the knights to use one spot, and it would slow the horses down, if they were forced to charge, or tried to flee. "Scout upstream. I'll send Kirsten and Wellmanns downstream. We'll halt here for a bit of a rest. We're overdue for one."
Kari came back a little later. "You can force it about a half a mile upstream. Not easily or safely. By the trail the ford is where most people cross. But that tree I saw… It has moved.
"Hmm. Do you think that tree saw you?"
Kari nodded. "I'd guess. I went to the water's edge. Trotted part of the way in."
The two knights returned. "We saw a Golden Horde scout. There is a small settlement a little way downstream. Just a few huts."
That was rare enough in this country. The Golden Horde had taken a very different attitude to the Ilkhan. The Ilkhan kept the cities of the land they'd conquered. They made relatively tolerant overlords, apparently. They were certainly pleasant enough in Outre Mer. Here, at least, the Golden Horde seemed to have allowed very few of the cities or even villages to survive-at least that they'd seen so far. Erik resolved to ask Bortai about it. Later. "Any boats at this little settlement?
"Looked like there might be. That was probably why there was a scout."
Erik went back to confer with Manfred. "I don't suppose you've found an inn with good mulled wine and eager serving wenches?"
"No, but an ambush on the river. And we'll have to cross it. No easy way around, and we can't afford too much time looking for one. Besides, they probably be guarded too. And the scouts almost certainly know we're here."
"It's what I'd have done, in this weather," admitted Manfred. "Well, there is a world of difference between being surprised in ambush and riding into one ready and primed."
"There is Kari's ford, upstream."
Manfred shook his head. "I know that mad Vinlander. His idea of a dangerous ford is most people's idea of swimming. And men in armor don't swim."
"We could put a rope across. We have some rope."
"It'd take too long, Erik. By the time we had half the men across the Mongol would have heard the commotion, and come riding up both banks. We'd be divided and worse off than riding into their ambush. "
"I was worried about that. Well, what I'll do is to put a few men across-and then we'll ride into the ford…"
"I'll ride into the ford. You take Kari and the horse-boy and the girl and her brother across. Tulkun. Maybe a dozen others. And then we'll ride across the ford. Nothing takes the wind out of an ambush as badly as being attacked from behind, when you're the one supposed to be taking someone by surprise."
Erik liked the idea of leaving Manfred not at all. But, he was forced to acknowledge, the small group attacking the ambushers would need a very decisive and effective commander. Charging into the ford simply meant giving the order. So that was what they did.
The other 'ford' Kari had found was merely a slightly shallower place in the river. But the water, though high, was not that fast moving. Kari and he (as soon as they were across an exercise complicated by Kari's needing to remove hand-cannons from various spots that would get wet, and put them in an oilskin bag), took up positions upstream and downstream, watching for patrols. Erik brought some twenty knights across, having chosen men with stronger horses and of smaller stature. It was still a tricky, slow exercise. It had taken them the better part of an hour, and they were all very wet. Kari was fussing about his firearms and his powder. Von Thiel would be too, Erik knew. The bombardier had his little cannon-barely worth calling that, but the bombardier loved it-strapped onto a spare horse. Erik had wondered about leaving it behind. But it could yet be a little surprise for their foes, and besides, it had not been worth arguing with Von Thiel about.
They rode quietly downstream towards the main ford. As with most complex plans something went wrong… A pair of Mongols on horseback. They, however, wer
e just as surprised… and had little time to do anything about it. Kari didn't even get his beloved wheel-lock pistols out. Bortai and her brother had both had arrows on the string, and let fly as soon as the vague shapes in the rain resolved into figures. They were very accurate; two riderless ponies shot off into the storm.
Bortai did not turn so much as a hair. The boy looked quite pale, but not as pale as his companion. David's eyes were wide and frightened as they rode past the corpses. "The horses will tell them there is a problem," said Bortai, fitting another arrow as if she did this every day of her life. Erik thought about how he had worried about her scouting for them. And felt a little foolish. "No matter. They'll have enough problems soon. The main ford didn't look very deep, and Manfred will take the knights into it at speed, if I know the man. He'll not wait for us. We should hear the shouts any moment now."
And a few moments later, they did.
They rode hard themselves, pushing their horses. Erik did not like to do that, with the cold of the water in their muscles, but there was no help for it. And then, they were practically on top of the ambushers firing arrows at the charge. Kari cursed as one of his pistols misfired. The second did not. And the ambushers, who had dismounted and hidden in a brake of hazel on the upstream side of the ford, found themselves the ambushees, caught between two sets of foes. The rain made it even more uncertain, hard to guess at numbers. The Golden Horde, taken at a disadvantage or no, were consummate warriors, even trapped between two sets of attackers. A knight on Erik's left went down, and then a second. The air was full of the sounds of battle. It was bitter hand-to-hand conflict. But the attack from their undefended flank had cost the Mongol warriors dearly. For one they were cut off from their horses, tethered further back, and for a second thing the two-pronged attack had allowed the charge across the ford to gain full momentum and get the van of the knights across and among the dismounted Mongol… and they were not able to retreat and mount because of the second attack. On horseback or at range they were deadly opponents. On foot with the heavily armored horses and knights, they were at a huge disadvantage. Still. It was grim work, and not as one-sided as it could have been. Nor was it as complete as it could have been. Some-not many-of the Mongol managed to get to their horses. Despite the flanking encirclement by Von Gherens and his van platoon, in the misty rain, at least one managed to escape.