Much Fall of Blood-ARC (6 page)

Vlad's mind was still tumbling along with his emotions. Part of him wished to scream and dance. Another part suggested that it was all very big and open and bright, and he should turn and run back to the tower in Buda castle that had been his world for so many years. But bright and hot or not, the sun felt wonderful.

Nervously, he walked down the narrow path, away from the castle. Away from the wide Danube and the row of pikes and the flesh-tattered bones of the impaled victims that Emeric ornamented his view with. That was something Vlad's grandfather had also been infamous for. Vlad wanted to turn and stare, but she led him onward, walking calmly, until they came to the first houses, set along a narrow street.Already Vlad was aware that his boots hurt. He exercised regularly and vigorously, but only with the armsmaster in the confines of his prison. He had not walked so far since he had been a child. There were horses waiting, held by a terrified-looking groom. Horses too had grown smaller, thought Vlad bemusedly, although he knew that this simply could not be case.

Fortunately, he had not entirely forgotten how to ride. Looking at the strange world he found himself in, Vlad was desperately glad he was not attempting this alone. He had absolutely no idea where he was going, except that it was downhill and away from the castle.

It just felt wrong. He should be going east, or at least following the river. The Danube would lead him to Valahia, to his father's duchy. His now, he supposed. But surely his rescuer knew where she was going? He would just have to put his faith in her.

They rode on, keeping in the shadow of the houses.

The wind carried a shred of strange lilting music to him from the open door of a tavern. His head said he must stay close to the countess. But his heart wanted to dismount and find that musician. He had not heard anyone play that tune since he had been a child, carefree and happy with his mother in Poienari castle. He could not remember where he had heard it there, but he could remember the tune clearly, and he also remembered that it was important, somehow. Terribly important.

His companion must have heard it too. She turned and looked, and although the veil hid her features, he could sense her anger. "We need to ride faster," she said.

This already felt fast enough to someone who had not ridden since he was ten. But Vlad gritted his teeth and urged his mount to a trot behind her.

The music still echoed in his head. It was still there when a footman helped him to dismount in a very ordinary courtyard, where four horses were already poled up to a large-wheeled carriage. At first he thought that it must be a huge vehicle. But then he realized that the man holding the door and bowing to them had an out of proportion head and was very small. He was child-sized, although bearded.

The countess gave Vlad no time to marvel at the fellow, but had him join her in the carriage. Her strange little dwarfish servitor lifted the steps, closed the door, and then made the carriage sway as he climbed up onto the box. The curtains—a rich, dark red velvet, were drawn closed. The coach clattered and swayed out of the yard. The interior felt as claustrophobic as his prison had. Vlad reached to open a curtain, to see the wonderful world out there. She put a restraining hand on his arm. She had a very strong grip for such a slight thing, Vlad noticed.

"I would like to see. It has been so long since I last could see any other places."

"Later, Prince. For now it is not safe. Now you can simply enjoy being alone in the darkness of my carriage with a beautiful woman." She gave him a sideways look, smiling. "I am sure you would like to kiss me, now that we are private and together."

The idea seemed both delicious and dangerous. Except . . . he was not all sure how to do this. She was very soft and scented against him. "We must not go too far," she said throatily. "Yet."

"It is as you said, Angelo," said the saturnine man. "She has him in her clutches. She takes him north, to her lair. But he heard the call. I saw him turn when you played it."

Angelo nodded. "It is in his blood, and that blood will answer. Now, somehow, we have to get him loose from her. We have only three days. Tonight she will stop at her nunnery. She needs her blood."

"We need blood too, Angelo," said Grigori with a toothy grin. "At least meat. A cow or a sheep."

Angelo shook his head. "A chicken will not be missed too much and will have to do for us. She doesn't want dinner. She needs pain and blood to sustain her youth. Now, brothers. We need to run. If we have a chance, we must take him."

Grigori grinned again. "I'll hamstring him, you tear his throat out. Mind you he doesn't look like he'll give us much of a chase. He looks to be a pale, weak thing."

Angelo looked grim. "
She
will chase
us
. And it will be no quick death if she catches us."

They followed the coach, discretely, at a safe distance. It was hard, deep in the farmed lands, away from the forest. But at least it was twilight, and anyone who saw them might assume that they were just great dogs, running.

"I was not in any real danger, Maria. They take honor seriously over there. And now we have a peace agreement, and maybe more."

"With them," Maria hissed, glowering at him. "Illyrians! How could you!"

"Given a choice between another war right now, and reaching an agreement that could keep the Corfiotes sleeping peacefully in their beds, I thought that it was not a bad idea," said Benito calmly.

"The Illyrians drove the great Mother's people to take shelter here. Made us call on the Lord of the Dead to put the sea between us and them! Kérkira's women can never forgive them. There can be no peace between us."

"Maria, you have an Illyrian rug on your floor. You bought that happily enough, thinking that you had got a bargain. This is a business arrangement too, and Petro Dorma will be well pleased, I think. Besides, you were born and bred in Venice, not here. The people of Venice's canals are 'us,' not the women here."

Benito tried to keep his own voice completely cool. He had no love nor trust for Corfu's ancient religion. He tolerated it. Barely.

"They are my people now," she said stiffly.

Benito was too tired for an argument. He shrugged. "Then maybe you should actually ask them what they think, instead of getting on your high horse and talking for them. Thalia seemed to think that it was a good idea."

"Oh." That seemed to take the wind out of her sails a bit. "You've been drinking."

Benito nodded. "Slilovitz. For breakfast."

Maria sniffed. "Don't they have food?"

"Ewe's cheese and bread that's rich in stones," said Benito, feeling a tooth. "Trust me. I needed slivovitz to be able to eat it. Seriously, Maria. Illyria is a hard, poor country. I'd rather they weren't using us as a larder to raid. Let them trouble Emeric and the Byzantines instead. Besides, you'd like the Lord of the Mountains. I must see that you never meet, or you might run off with him."

Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "You know that's not true, Benito. I love you. It's just . . ."

"It's just that I didn't tell you before I went," he said skating away from the other man in her life, the Lord of the Dead. Aidoneus was always somewhere in the back of Benito's mind, as was the fact that he would have to lose her for four months, come winter. It made their relationship just that bit more tricky, along with the fact that the church would not marry them, as a result. That drove her further into the arms of the Mother-Goddess worship and paradoxically toward Aidoneus. Life was never simple.

"Partly," she said. "And partly . . ."

"I know. And now is there any chance of real food? Without rocks or slivovitz? And how is our baby?"

"Grumpy and sleepless without her father. And fast asleep now, having kept me awake half the night. I suppose I could find you a bite to eat. There is some cold frittata."

Benito grinned and hugged her. After a moment she responded. "Our time together is so precious, 'nito. And I miss you like fire when you're away."

"Better away for one night than fighting a war again," said Benito. "But yes. I missed you too. I need you, remember."

She nodded, and buried her face in his shoulder. Together, a little later, they walked to Alessia's crib. Benito felt his face soften as he looked down on her. "Did she give you a hard time last night?"

"She's your daughter," said Maria. "So, yes. And I was worried about you. Boars can be dangerous."

"They're not a patch on an Illyrian with a sense of humor, or sailing with Taki after Spiro's finished the wine. Come, let her sleep a bit longer, and let me get some real food. And then maybe . . ."

Maria smiled wryly. "And then she'll wake up."

"She's trying to prevent any competition for your affection."

Later—when, as predicted, Alessia was awake—Benito went back to his office. Inevitably, there were a slew of minor matters that people thought would be better if he dealt with in person. Perhaps some of them would, at least for the people concerned. He also had to go and talk to Belmondo. The governor was in semi-retirement, but still wielded some influence back in Venice.

Benito was keen on having Belmondo's wife—and the old man himself, purely as an ancillary—shipped off to somewhere like Vinland. So far, Renate Belmondo seemed to have understood that in choosing to accept Benito's Maria as a willing bride for the Lord of the Dead, and, what was almost worse, having put Alessia at risk, she had made herself an implacable enemy. An enemy who would take her slightest miss-step as a reason for dire consequences.

Renate may possibly have had reasons, and made innocent misjudgments in an effort to do her best. Benito could see that now. But he was never going to tell her that. He'd learned to believe in checks and balances to power, no matter how good that power was. It was faintly amusing to know that Renate and the non-humans of the island considered him to be a check on their power. They were a little afraid of him. Bringing Maria back from the kingdom of the dead had engendered some respect from them, it seemed. That was good. Non-humans had advantages over most mortals. Reminding them that they shouldn't abuse their powers was no bad thing, Benito felt.

The sun beat down like a hammer from the cloudless sky of Outremer as they rode toward Ascalon. Well, Manfred had to admit that the hammer part could also be from the amount of wine he had drunk last night. The glare off the polished armor added insult to the throb in his head. After the departure of Eneko Lopez and his companions—and as a very odd companion indeed, Francesca de Chevreuse—and a small escort of the Ilkhan's warriors, things had gotten a little rowdy. Manfred, in between wishing for a drink, had time now to think about that escort. It would seem as if the Ilkhan's local representative, the Bashar Ahmbien, was sparing no effort to please the delegation from the Holy Roman Emperor. They even had a writ of safe conduct as the escort of an emissary, with the seal of the Ilkhan himself.

Ahmbien also had spared no effort in seeing they got on the road out of Jerusalem quickly. He had even intervened to deal with some awkwardness resulting from Erik having assaulted three of the local constabulary while they had been trying to arrest young Kari.

"It was a misunderstanding," Erik said. Looking genuinely embarrassed he admitted: "I took them for back-alley knifemen."

Manfred enormously enjoyed his gentle reproach to Erik. He hadn't had many opportunities. "Tch. As if those assigned to patrol the bad parts of town ever indulged in that kind of thing! Anyway, luckily you didn't kill them. The Ilkhan takes a dim view of that. Their cracked heads will mend."

"I am sorry. I will pay weregild."

"I already have." Manfred did his best to shake his head in a good imitation of disappointment. "I do hope word of this never reaches Iceland. Think what your poor mother would say!"

Erik peered at him suspiciously. "You have no idea, Manfred. Mama is . . ."

Manfred's composure failed then, and he collapsed into helpless laughter.

Erik did a very fine bit of glowering before starting to laugh himself. "I should have left them to arrest Kari. The best place for that boy is in jail, or out on the open prairie. I can't imagine what possessed the Thordarson clan to bring him along."

"Maybe they thought there would be enough space for him to be a horse-borne hooligan. From what I've heard, the Vinlanders are used to more space and less people."

Erik nodded. "It is what calls to me about the place. There are mountains and valleys and plains . . . and then more. It is so vast and fertile."

"And warmer than Iceland and far from your Mama, after she hears that you assaulted three officers of the law."

Erik pulled a wry face. "There is truth in that. She is very strict in her interpretation of right and wrong. She would never have accepted Francesca."

"You had enough trouble at first."

"I was wrong," Erik said simply. "I will miss her, you know."

"Not as much as I will," said Manfred, with a wicked grin.

Erik blushed. He was still, even after Svanhild, very prudish about some things. Manfred smiled. He'd had a pleasant few minutes giving Erik a hard time. It was a good thing that they hadn't killed the Bashar's officers, though.

Erik rode beside him now in silence. That suited the way Manfred's head felt, but headache or not, certain things were niggling at his mind.

"Just who is this Borshar Tarkhan?" he asked, pointing an elbow at the Mongol group who rode ahead of them. "I got the official story from Eberhart, but frankly it just doesn't wash."

Erik looked at the column ahead. "Eberhart says he claims to be a diplomat, but thinks that he might just be something else. I do not know the language yet, but look at the posture of his escorts. They fear him. He is a non-Mongol, yet he outranks them."

"A spy? Something else? And we are escorting him? People might take it as our stamp of approval if he causes trouble, Erik." Something else got through to Manfred's mind. "What do you mean 'know the language yet'?"