Blood Red (9781101637890) (9 page)

The carriage moved smoothly off. “Well, I can see how meeting over a corpse would not exactly be much of an introduction,” the secretary said dryly, causing her to like him very much. “Fraulein Rosamund von Schwarzwald, may I introduce to you Herr Fritz Bern?”

“I am much better pleased to meet you now than I was the first time, good sir,” she chuckled. “And these are far better conditions. You said a moment ago that the Graf knows my mentor, the Lodge Master of the Schwarzwald Bruderschaft, Herr Gunther von Schwarzwald?”

“They are of long acquaintance, and the Graf has wanted to meet you for some time,” the secretary replied, leaning back into the comfortable cushions of the carriage, as she did the same. “You have something of a reputation, Hunt Master.”

Perhaps once on a time she might have blushed at the compliment and felt unworthy of it.

Now she shrugged, diffidently. “I have had the best training,” she pointed out. “And I have little or none of the talents one normally finds in an Earth Master. I am of little use in healing the damage done to the Earth by mankind, and my abilities at nurturing flora and fauna are no better than that of a mere mage. It seems I was meant for more martial duties.”

“Well, if all of us had the same talents, surely some of us would be redundant,” he pointed out, as the carriage rattled a little over an uneven spot in the road. “The Graf is conferring with your mentor even as we speak, and is conveying to him the wish that you might spend some time here before you continue your journey. Partly Lodge business, partly pleasure.” The secretary raised a finger before she could object. “We are not traveling to his city apartments. His estate is just outside the city boundaries, and Earth Masters have spent a pleasant time there before. I will say no more about what the Graf wishes to speak with you about, because it is not my place.”

She thought about the trip that remained before her. At least another day from Munich to Stuttgart, she would have to overnight in Stuttgart, for there were no night trains to Freudenstadt. Then from Stuttgart to Freudenstadt it would take another day, followed by wagon or horseback to the Lodge. . . .

And there was this, the fatigue of the battle—however brief it had been—was just settling over her.

“I think that might be wise,” she agreed. And after all, whatever it was that the Graf wanted of her, she always had the option to say “no.”

“Excellent.” The young man seemed pleased. He might be Prussian in origin, but he did not seem to have that rigidity of outlook that so many of his countrymen had. “Now, the Graf wishes to me to note down an account of the events on the journey while they are still fresh in your minds. Would you be so kind as to tell me, both of you, how the combat came about?” He extracted a pencil and notebook from his breast pocket, and seemed ready to take notes or dictation. It seemed he was well used to taking such notes in a moving carriage.

“I believe Herr Bern should begin,” she said, when Fritz hesitated.

“I traveled to Vienna on the Graf's orders, as you know,” Fritz began. “I will not trouble you with my initial fruitless searches; I only struck the proper trail when I began investigating missing slum children. That was when I pieced together the description of the Air Mage who styled himself as ‘Durendal,' and eventually tracked him to his home. I commenced to follow him in the ordinary manner without using any magic powers, and deduced his true identity—Herr Doktor Erik Reinhardt. Which was when I discovered—by being attacked—that I had not been as successful in evading detection as I had thought. I fled to the train station and purchased a ticket for Munich. Unfortunately it seems there was enough time for Durendal to track me, although I was unaware of that fact. I detected the energies of an Earth Master unknown to me as we left the station, but as the energies were located in the First Class coach, I had no way to make myself known. Then the train was brought to a halt by an ‘accident' on the line. I disembarked with others to see what it was, and to my horror, saw the signature of our foe.”

“And that is where I entered the story,” Rosa said, and explained her part. The secretary merely nodded, although Fritz looked extremely uncomfortable when she coolly described eliminating the rogue Air Master.

She could not help but notice that the carriage traveled so smoothly that the secretary had no difficulty taking his notes. Either
he
had some Elemental power that made this possible—she detected Air about him, and he might have coaxed sylphs to steady the carriage while he wrote—or this was an exceedingly expensive and well-sprung carriage.

Probably both.

“Thank you, Hunt Master,” the secretary said when she had finished. He tucked notebook and pencil inside his breast pocket. “I doubt I shall need any more information for the Lodge report than what you have supplied.” He smiled. “The Graf will be asking you more questions, I suspect, but this is for the report he will require me to write.”

A few moments later, the carriage commenced swaying and bouncing over the road in the manner Rosa would ordinarily have expected, which answered her question. But that also told her something else; that both the secretary and his master considered the report to be of great enough importance that it warranted the use of magic to make sure he got every detail clearly. That the now-deceased Air Master had been a person of some note was only a little worrying. Whether he had been a medical doctor or a scholar, he certainly would be missed. But he had never taken any sort of mundane transportation to get ahead of them, no one but she and Fritz knew he had been in those woods, and even if anyone else
did
know, there was no way to trace ‘Durendal's' disappearance to them. Aside from calling the minotaur, there had been no use of magic on her part at all, and minimal use on Fritz's part.

“I do not believe that the Graf will object to my saying that was neatly done, Hunt Master,” the secretary continued, confirming her belief. “I have been in my master's service a very long time, and I cannot foresee any way in which this can be traced to you and Herr Fritz. Additionally, disposing of ‘Durendal's' body—ah—
elsewhere,
has muddied the trail past unraveling.” The young man gave a nod of satisfaction. “You certainly live up to your reputation.”

“Thank you,” Rosa said, pleased that he was now regarding her with the sort of slight deference he would give to someone slightly higher in rank than he was. Technically, he almost certainly outranked her socially. He was private secretary to a Count, which meant he was university educated, very likely the younger son in some noble family or other, and even if he had no financial means of his own, she, as the daughter of a mere village schoolmaster, was far beneath him. But power and competence counted for a great deal among Elemental Masters, and she had proved herself in his eyes, which was no small accomplishment.

She was, however, rather at a loss for polite conversation after that point. Fortunately, she did not have to supply any, for before the silence became awkward, the carriage turned into what shortly became a beautifully graveled drive, and pulled up in front of a handsome mansion, lit up for their arrival.

I
T
was difficult not to be intimidated by the sheer
size
of the Count's home. There were castles in the Schwarzwald, of course, but Rosa had never been in, or even very near to any of them. To be literally driving to the front door of one was quite out of her experience, even if it didn't look much like the “castles” she was used to seeing at a distance.

Rather than being vertical—taking advantage of the small space on a mountaintop—and sporting pointed towers on various buildings all linked together, this was a huge edifice of at least three stories, built all of a piece, and of a unified architecture. Not a castle at all, really, but a palace, of the sort you would only find in a city.

This one—at least as much as she could see in the darkness—was built all of cream colored stone, probably in the previous century or the early parts of this one. It looked very modern compared to most of the black-beam-and-white-plaster buildings of her beloved Schwarzwald, most of which dated back hundreds of years.

To Rosa's surprise, the Count himself was waiting for them on the steps of his palatial mansion. He did wait for Rosa to be handed out of the carriage by a footman before greeting her, but—again, to her surprise—he greeted her as if she was a favorite relative, and not as a very young lady much his junior and
considerably
inferior in rank.

In fact, he first bowed and kissed her hand, then kissed her on either cheek. She managed to control herself to keep from flinching back in shock, and returned the favor, but this was not at all what she had anticipated.

“Welcome, my
very
dear young lady!” he enthused, before turning to Fritz, and shaking the man's hand and uttering a few words of congratulations and welcome. This gave her a moment to collect herself and examine her host.

He was something of a puzzle. His upright bearing suggested that like his secretary, he was Prussian—but his exuberance was typical of a Bavarian. His expensive and immaculate silvery-gray suit at least told her that he had an income to match his title, unlike some nobles who were rich in rank and impoverished by extravagant ancestors or crumbling estates.

For the rest, he had a thick head of snow-white hair, proving he was at least as old as her surrogate father Gunther, a neat little goatee to match, a pair of merry eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles, and moved with a smoothness and agility that belied his years. Then again, that was typical of Fire Masters. There was a faint scent of amber about him.

While she was studying him, he finished speaking to Fritz, and the young secretary, on some unspoken signal, escorted Fritz inside the mansion. The Count once again turned his attention to her.

“Would you care to come speak with Gunther before you retire for some well-earned rest, my dear?” he asked, in a quite kindly tone. “I believe that would put both your minds at ease, and I should very much like you to be at ease.”

Now, many Masters were able to communicate across vast distances, but she was not one of them. She had never yet conquered the magic of using an obsidian mirror for the purpose, and to have a Fire Master offer to exert his talents on her behalf was very reassuring. No less so was the fact that obviously he would not have offered to do so if he was not everything that he claimed to be. She relaxed a trifle, and smiled broadly at him.

“Oh sir! I cannot imagine anything I would like better, and you are too kind,” she said fervently. “Can we do so at once?”

“Immediately!” he exclaimed, and offered her his arm, as if she was the grand lady she had pretended to be. She took it, and the two of them passed between the pillars of the portico in through the double doors of his mansion.

If she had been less weary, she probably would have been dazzled, for she had never in her life even imagined a place as grand as this. It was every inch the baroque palace, with murals of sky and cherubs on the high ceiling, gilt and carving everywhere, crystal chandeliers boasting a fortune in candles in every one—and that was only the entrance. But he swiftly whisked her through the opulent spaces that he probably used for entertaining, and up a curved staircase into his private wing. Marble, gilt carving, and more shadowy murals greeted them, and statues, enormous vases, ornate furnishings, Turkey carpets—but lit only by the occasional oil lamp, so she only got hints of the lavish surroundings. At length he brought her to a small study, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and plush velvet-upholstered chairs, where a fire burned brightly. He closed and locked the door behind them, directed her to sit in one of the chairs facing the fire, then made a series of unobtrusive gestures. She sensed the flow of warm and surprisingly gentle Fire energies all around her—caught just a glimpse of salamanders dancing in the grate, and then with a start of happiness, saw her mentor's face peering anxiously out of the flames.

His expression cleared immediately, and before she could say anything, he exclaimed, “Rosa!”

“Papa Gunther!” she responded joyfully. “I have a great deal to tell you!”

She glanced aside at the Count, who had seated himself comfortably, and made a little gesture that she should continue. “I can hold this connection indefinitely, my dear. Make your report. As one Hunt Master to another, I would appreciate hearing it,”

She composed herself immediately, and began, starting with the moment she and Hans had arrived in Romania. The Count leaned forward and listened with interest, nodding with approval as she detailed how Hans had dispatched the nest of
vampir
females, and she had slain the male. He appeared astonished that she had had the temerity to summon a Lord of the Hunt, and tilted his head thoughtfully to the side as she described how she had taken out the werewolf. He chuckled, and exclaimed wordlessly when she told her mentor what she had told the Romanians.

“Well said,” Gunther agreed. “Where the people still believe in magic, we need them to understand that as we protect them from the creatures of the darkness, we need them to protect us from those who do not understand that magic is only a tool. But what of Hans? I have your telegram that he will not be returning, but why?”

“He said it was that he wished to help the Brotherhood, and that there was much need of him there,” Rosa said, as Gunther's image within the flames looked puzzled and concerned. “But I think there was more to it than that. It is very true that he can help them. It is also true that neither of our Brothers there are fit to be a Hunt Master, and we both know Hans is a fine Hunt Master, but as long as he remains with the Schwarzwald Bruderschaft—”

“He is unlikely to see as much action as a Hunt Master should.” Gunther nodded, though he looked a little sad. “He will always be playing second-fiddle to those of us who are older or more skilled. Still—”

“I think also . . .” she flushed a little. “Well, there were several pretty girls in that village that were looking very fondly at him and he was not at all unhappy about that.”

Gunther's face cleared, and the Count laughed out loud. “Old friend,” the Count said, waggling a finger at him. “You will never be able to offer the boy anything to compete with a village full of pretty maids who think they've got themselves a magical knight in shining armor. And not a bad thing either, it's good for new magical blood to come into one of these places.”

Gunther shrugged, with a rueful smile.

“Now let me tell you, old friend, all the details of the situation your young Hunt Master solved for me,” the Count continued, and launched into the story of the rogue Air Master.

It appeared that the situation had been even more dangerous than Fritz had revealed—or perhaps been privy to. As she listened to the list of attacks and murders the man they had known only as “Durendal” had been responsible for, she was aghast. And it made her wonder—if she had known the whole of it, would she have been so ready to step in and intervene? As the fire crackled and gave off a heavenly scent of applewood, she watched as her “second father” nodded and frowned in concentration as he listened to the Count.

“If I had known this fiend was such a threat, my friend,” Gunther said, his mouth set grimly, “I would have sent Rosa to you long ago.”

“I am pleased you did not,” the Count replied. “And I will tell you why. I fear that Durendal, being a Master of Air, had his Elemental slaves overlooking our every move. I cannot fathom how else he managed to uncover Fritz so quickly. Had you sent her to us, he would have discovered her, and she would have had a much more difficult battle. And had it not been that your young Hunt Master was on that particular train, and completely unknown to Durendal—well, things would have gone very differently. I am tempted to see the hand of Heaven at work.”

“Who am I to guess at the workings of the Good God?” Gunther replied. “I am only to give my thanks that things happened as they did.”

“With your permission, my old friend, I wish to thank your young protégée by entertaining her for some time before I send her back to you,” the Count told him with a broad grin. “I warn you, if you deny me this, I shall be sorely vexed with you.”

Gunther narrowed his eyes at the Count. “You have something more in mind than mere entertainment.”

The Count pouted. “Really, old friend, how is it I can never keep the least thing secret from you? Yes, I wish to introduce her to others of our kind, and in other countries than our own.” His voice took on an edge of steel. “There are others who need to know of her strength and ability. You know that I am right in this.”

To Rosa's alarm, her mentor looked—distressed. “But—” he protested.

“But me no buts, my old friend,” the Count replied, and turned to Rosa. “Tell me, my young Valkyrie. You have traveled to Romania to destroy the scions of evil, and you have fought another scarcely a few hours ago. Would you rather go back to your Schwarzwald and remain there the rest of your days, or are you willing to face the darkness wherever it raises its head, even if it means you must go far from the mountains you call home?”

She knew her answer; it felt as if she had been waiting to give it since she first realized she was meant for the Hunt. “I will pursue evil wherever it is,” she replied, and turned to her mentor. “I must do this, Papa,” she told him, so earnestly it almost felt like a prayer. “If the Good God had not meant for me to do this, why would He have given me the power he has? I could have been an Earth Master like Grossmutter Helga, but no. I am a Hunt Master, and my gifts are to cleanse, not to heal.”

Gunther gazed at her from out of the fire, and his expression was a mix of pride and sorrow. “Very well. I could not deny the justice of Hans wishing to remain in Romania. I cannot deny the justice of this. I will trust in the Good God to guide both of you.”

Rosa felt her throat close and her eyes grow hot and wet with tears. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, softly.

“Hear now!” the Count interjected. “No tears! I have not told you what else I have in mind! Such things are much more pleasant, and near to the heart of every female I have ever met!” He reached out and patted Rosa's hand, silently placing a clean handkerchief into it so that she could dab surreptitiously at her eyes. “From all I have determined, Gunther, she counterfeited the fine lady very well on this journey back to you. She may need to do so again, in more discriminating company. I have no doubt she is an apt pupil; I intend to give her a few lessons, and the wardrobe of a lady of rank, as another weapon in her arsenal.” His eyes glittered again, but dangerously this time. “Durendal underestimated her because she was female. Many others will do the same, the more so if they think she is pampered and sheltered.”

Rosa and Gunther both nodded, and she was not at all averse to some polishing atop what she had already learned of how to conduct herself as a fine lady. Wardrobe, however? How could he manage that in a few days?

“Heinrich, I will be the last person in the world to attribute any weakness to my Rosa, but I am wearying, and I did not just spend the last day traveling and dispatching a foul magician,” Gunther said, interrupting her thoughts.

The Count applied the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Of course! How churlish of me! We will speak again tomorrow night, old friend. Meanwhile, I shall see to it that your protégée is properly tended to. Good night!”

“Good night, Heinrich. Rosa, trust my friend as you trust me. Meanwhile, rest well!” Her mentor smiled, and slowly his smiling face faded into the flames until there was nothing but the fire, dancing over the logs in the fireplace.

“Now, my dear, I shall ring for a maid to show you to your chamber,” the Count said, patting her hand and standing up. He pulled on a velvet bell cord, and a maidservant appeared almost as if she had been waiting outside for the summons. “Gretchen, take the lady to the Forest room.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey, and turned to go. “Run along after her, my dear, and I shall see you in the morning,” the Count said, and made a little shooing motion with his hands. Rosa chuckled, and followed the girl.

Fatigue descended on her like night over the forest, and Rosa realized as she followed in the girl's wake that the energy that had sustained her all day was finally running out. She could not have retraced her steps back to the Count's study if her life had depended on it as the girl led her down halls and up stairs, and it was a very good thing that the journey was relatively short. But when the maid opened the door on a bedchamber and Rosa stepped inside, she was so astonished by the chamber she stepped into that for a moment she completely forgot her fatigue.

If, as a child, she had been asked to create the perfect bedroom, it would have been something not unlike this. The carpet beneath her feet was as soft as moss, and was the color of moss, with a design of tiny flowers woven into it. The walls were covered with murals of a forest, with small creatures and birds scattered in and around the trees. The four posts of the bed had been artfully carved to look like tree trunks, and held up a canopy and curtains not unlike the sort of pavilion she had seen in her books of fairy tales as a child. The rest of the room was half-hidden in shadows, but from what she saw in the light from the lamp placed on a little table at the side of the bed, this was a room that had been tailor-made to please an Earth Mage.