Much Fall of Blood-ARC (60 page)

They parted with mutual goodwill, each, it appeared, having got what they wanted. It was rather pleasant.

Outside, Vlad was surprised to see the officer who had told him they did not sell horses. The man bowed, warily. It appeared that at least one of Mongol had decided that he did not wish to fight Vlad. "Khan. My brother was with the Jahgun that escorted the Lady Bortai and the young Khan. He says you are terrible in battle. You saved some of their lives. I spoke foolishly before. But I spoke for you last night."

Vlad could honestly not remember much of the the sortie that had turned ugly. He hoped the man did not mean 'terrible' as in 'not good'. "We all say things we don't mean. I promise this. I do not harm women and children. In fact, if they need it, we will provide shelter and protection during the war.

The fellow seemed even more taken aback.

"You are our honored guests," said Bortai. "Most of the clan are back against the edge of the mountains and in the forest. You understand. Things looked bad for the clan. Now they are much better."

Erik wondered how they were so much better. Yes, with Vlad's cannon and arquebusiers, they had given a part of Gatu's army a bloody nose. But Erik had established that that was really quite a tiny army by Mongol standards. The country was fertile, it was covered in flocks and herds. Every man was a light-cavalry man. Apparently armies of forty or fifty thousand had fought over it in the past. And it looked like they were heading into more such internecine warfare. But he thanked her, politely. Manfred had said that he ought to be polite to a girl who could take on four warriors and win. That or start running. Manfred was forever making that sort of joke. Erik had just come from another meeting with Vlad. It appeared that he too was eager to have them in his demesnes. He had been devastatingly honest about that, and the size of his army. It was something that would have horrified most Dukes, and Erik found refreshing. "Our real desire is to return to Illyria," Erik said, smiling.

"That may take a little while,"said Bortai, seriously. "Of course, we will do all we can to make it possible. But it may take well into next spring . . ."

Erik wondered if she was merely optimistic, uniformed or just being kind. Civil wars could drag out for years. Still, she was just a soldier's daughter, even if he'd plainly taught her more about combat than most warriors. What would she know about civil war?

"If we are your guests—at least until we can return to Illyria, do you think it would be acceptable to have some of the knights accompany Prince Vlad back to his men at Ghîmes? It is just a small mountain village, on your border I believe. We have been talking about training some of his men."

She blinked. "Why?"

Erik struggled to explain in the limited vocabulary he had. He was getting better at the language, but he still had extreme limits on what he could say. And he found he put in Frankish words when he lacked Mongol. He wondered quite what she understood. "Our clans are on the other side of the Khan Emeric."

She scowled. "He tried to invade the lands around Irongate in my father's time."

"We have the same problem with Emeric. Prince Vlad is at war with him. The enemy of my enemy is worth helping."

"Not always. Sometimes the enemy of your enemy is worse. Best if they both fight for a long time and weaken each other."

That was remarkably astute if rather cynical for a mere soldier's daughter. "In this case the Prince is weak already. We would help him to become a little stronger. That way he could fight harder."

The dimple appeared. "Yes. He wants to put the eaters of vegetables on horse-back. He asks for horses that have no fire, because they will fall off ones that do have spirit and speed." This reduced her to giggles and then outright chortles.

"Well. You can see that he does need our help," said Erik, grinning.

Bortai, her shoulders shaking, agreed. "It will take a little time before the clans will agree to a new kurultai. I hope before spring. But first there will be winter. Probably a time of raids and much politicking. Gatu may try again. With force, this time. But that is too close to Mink lands for us to keep our guests as safe as we'd like. There are Székeler fortified villages further south. Arrange to meet him there."

"Then you do not think the Hawk clan will raise any objection to it?"

Bortai dimpled again. "Oh I think the young Khan will be happy to have you there. I will need to speak to your horseboy."

"Oh, he has gone up in the world, Bortai. He is a squire now. Von Stael seems to have tamed him. It's odd. That knight a big serious fellow, not too clever, who spends more time on his knees than most. And yet he has the horseboy following him like a puppy."

* * *

He was, for a foreigner, very polite. Not asking directly for Bortai to influence Kildai—not that Kildai did not know, too, of the debt they owed to this man and to his Prince. She liked him. It was the way he treated her like a respected equal—except that she had had to prove her skills at arms . . . he DID accept that now. She still needed to teach him a few things about respect for her wrestling skills. If he was a Mongol, she would ask him if he had any horses to wager. She blushed slightly. She could almost be tempted to fight to lose.

It was almost as if he didn't know who she was. Then a shocking, hilarious thought occurred to her. Maybe he really didn't know who she was. After all, she'd been mistaken about who Prince Manfred was—and he had dressed as a noble. The idea was crazy enough to make her smile. And the puzzled look on his face, enough to send her off into helpless laughter. Really. The tricks of the tengeri!

"Did I say something wrong again?" he said warily.

"No," she said, trying to keep a straight face. "I will ask one of the Officers to convey you word from the young Khan." This was just too amusing a game to avoid. It was a practical joke that would delight the clans for years. Of course half of them would have to be in on it. And the story would soon spread to the other half. If only she could keep a straight face. But he thought that she laughed a lot anyway.

* * *

"We need to stay on good terms with the Mongol of Hawk Clan. I've just had a message from their young Khan saying that they would find it acceptable for us to base ourselves at an encampment of theirs near the Székely fortress at Berek. It would be possible to organize some training together." Manfred coughed. "It's a little awkward, as I gather from you that the Székely at Ghîmes are supporting you . . ."

Vlad nodded. "I wish to move south this winter anyway. And Prince Manfred. I have a lot that I wish to learn. Let me ask the Primore."

The scarred captain nodded. His Frankish was limited, but he understood more than he was willing to speak. "Berek Is cousin," he said tapping his chest. "Székely declare for Drac, anyway."

Vlad looked earnest and addressed the man in Hungarian. After a while he said. "It will probably be possible, Prince Manfred. Primore Peter says the Székely will decide to support me. I don't know. But if it doesn't happen, I could send a messenger to the young Khan. They have already arranged that we will be in contact. I suspect they found us very profitable to trade with. It's not really something I know very much about."

Manfred grinned and slapped him on the back. "You say that about everything. And then show us just how successful you can be at it."

Vlad looked startled. And then smiled shyly. As if he had never had a physical sign of camaraderie before, thought Manfred. "I really don't know very much about anything, Prince Manfred."

"Call me Manfred. We're equals, I suppose. We've fought together. And Erik never calls me anything else."

"Except 'idiot'," said Erik. "Strictly speaking the Althing of Iceland recognizes no titles outside of the league of Armagh. So if I call him 'Prince' I am committing a crime. Or I would be back home. I am oath-sworn to the Godar Hohenstaffen to defend and train him in his
vanderjare
. You must understand, it is not the relationship of a Prince and his retainer, and I owe no loyalty to the Empire or deference to his title. Only loyalty to the Godar Hauhestaffen, in repayment of an old family oath. It has made me old before my time, but he is growing up quite well."

Ah. So Erik had noticed too, and was making an effort to make the Valahian Prince feel more accepted. "It is not easy," said Manfred, "to find someone who will call you by your first name, who wants nothing from you, and will occasionally beat you."

"I was beaten," said Vlad, his voice flat. "Emeric had his torturer beat me. Several times. When I first was taken to Buda when I was ten. They chained me and beat me. On the King's instruction, so I would learn who my master was. Then I was taken to watch the impalement. The King had them bring a stake and place it here." He touched the seat of his pants. "He said that that was what waited for me, if I forgot. Another time he had his men hold me above the pike. I was scared and started to struggle. Emeric said it would be good if I made them lose their grip on me, as I would impale myself. I . . . I had to hold very still. I was young and very afraid."

Manfred and Erik were both silenced. Eventually Manfred said: "I think it is time that someone pulled Emeric off the throne and onto one of his own pikes. Erik did not do that to me, Prince Vlad. He wrestled with me, and drilled with me, and fenced with me. That was the kind of punishment he inflicted on me. He taught me how to be my own master."

The pale face was motionless as if Vlad was wrestling with some inner demon. And then he smiled. "Call me Vlad . . . Manfred. And Ritter Erik, I would be grateful if you would fence with me sometime. I have never learned to wrestle."

Erik nodded. And reached out to squeeze the man's shoulder. Manfred knew Erik well enough to know how atypical that gesture was. "I'll fence with you and even teach you the basics of wrestling, with pleasure, Prince Vlad. It's a skill that is sometimes useful in combat. It is a major winter pastime among the people of Iceland, where I come from. I am Erikur Hakkonsen. Mostly the Franks call me Erik. I will stand your friend if you need to pull Emeric down. I owe him for the death of Svanhild anyway. His war caused that."

"Me too," said Manfred.

Manfred saw Vlad swallow. Then he nodded, and put out a hand. "I have a need of friends, Erikur. Manfred. I . . . I was very alone."

"Well, you are part of an odd brotherhood now. We will have time to wrestle a bit, eh?" said Erik, obviously acutely uncomfortable, shaking the hand that was extended to him.

* * *

Vlad and his men and their wagons and carts left the same day, accompanied by an escort or Mongols and a herd of horses. Sheep and more horses would follow, in a few days.

Manfred and Erik had gone to say farewell. The knights had paraded and saluted him, something which—by the enormous smile, had delighted Vlad. Manfred reflected that he had probably seen a hundred guards of honor. Vlad probably had not seen one before.

* * *

Vlad and his men had followed the most direct route—now that they had guides, and stopped at encampments that they must have passed—all hidden in folds of the landscape and bits of the old forest. Plainly the Hawk Clan had been keeping a low profile—but if alcohol—at least the alcohol you got from Kumiss had any effect on Vlad he could have got as drunk as many of his men did. The news they brought was welcomed by the Hawk Clan camps. Usually with an eagerness to drink Kumiss together. Fortunately Vlad could keep it down and be polite. And the relief and outright happiness at the news of their 'Young Khan' having returned to the Clan, and the defeat handed to the followers of the Gatu Orkhan, was infectious. It could have taken them a month to traverse what had taken them a week, quite easily, except that the Mongol escort plainly had orders too.

The fortifications at Ghîmes were in sight when their escort of Mongol rode up and announced that they had to return to their regiments. And the sheep would be here within the week.

Vlad and the horses rode to the village to a rapturous welcome.

"Well Primore. I see that you brought them back," said a smiling, elderly Székeler.

Primore Peter waved and gestured at Vlad. "No, father. The Drac brought us back."

"Greetings Drac," called the oldster. "Your men believed you would be back. They think that you are immortal. We thought you were all dead, thought it would save on food for the winter," he continued cheerfully showing that Primore Peter was not the only Székeler with a morbid sense of humor. "There are several fat burghers from the lower lands waiting to see you. We thought we might send them on after you."

Primore Peter paid his respects and left immediately with four of the Horseheads from Vlad's expedition to the eastern plains, for a meeting with the Seat-Captains of the Szekelers. "I will deliver them to you, Drac. I have some stories to tell." he said. "It was a great honor to have been there. I have stories to tell my grandchildren of the day we defeated the Mongol on their home ground."

Vlad went to see what the several fat burghers wanted.

Some of them were quite substantial. And all the representatives from the cities of Kölholm and Feketahegy were worried, afraid and desperately hoping that Vlad would prove to be half the man that his men and rumor had made him out to be.

His arrival with more than eight hundred horses and a sea of tales of war and success against the feared Mongol buoyed that hope.

The reason for their coming was rapidly told to him. Emeric's Magyar and a regiment of Slovenes had gone to Vajdahunyad, one of the towns that, all of the men there assured him, was the most pro-Hungary in the entire duchy, with a large expatriate population of Poles and Germans. For no good reason they had sacked the place. The King himself accused it of being a nest of traitors, and of supporting the pretender Vlad, instead of the true heir to Valahia, Ban Ilescu of Irongate. King Emeric's troops had had a three-day raven which had destroyed half the city, killed many of the citizens, and left their daughters and wives raped.

The towns of Kölholm and Feketahegy had themselves had clashes with Ban Ilescu. And—although this was unspoken—Vlad might be a pretender, but he wasn't a rabid weasel. And they were desperate for protection against the same thing happening to them. Their gates were closed, their walls manned. But they knew they could not stand against the forces that King Emeric could turn lose against them. So they'd come to offer their cities submission, fealty and support . . . in the hope that the duke would in turn deal with Emeric's troops. The fact that the cities and towns were reeling under new, heavier than ever taxation, and open confiscation of assets, had not helped Emeric's popularity with the the third group of burghers. Their town was full of billeted Croats, and they wanted them out . . .