Much Fall of Blood-ARC (66 page)

The duke nodded happily. "I have more merchants traveling every day. They use sleds, now. Which, as the roads are bad . . . winter has its advantages."

"Some spies, no doubt."

Vlad nodded again. "But as Eberhart pointed out, the news they take back to Emeric is hardly good." He took a deep breath. "It is about that that I wish to speak to you. I have had two letters from the southwest. One is from Ban Ilescu. He says that he wishes to meet. That he wishes his castellans to hand over the keys to his fortifications. He will become my vassal. In exchange . . . he wants certain guarantees. And of course certain territorial increases."

"Talk to Eberhart," said Manfred. "But in a nutshell, do you trust him?"

Vlad shook his head. "It may be that Emeric forced him into the position that he is in. But I would not meet with him without some force at my disposal."

"Hmm," said Manfred. "If you are going to a rendezvous with someone you don't trust, be there early, scout carefully, and make sure you have numbers and space to run."

"And the other letter?" asked Bortai. No-one would have dreamed, by now, of asking her to leave. And her Frankish was improving. Perhaps not as fast as Erik's Mongol—but they both tended to mix languages. That made the learning natural. Erik had noticed that she had an absolute fascination with the written word. Of course she could not read Frankish script. But she could—and did read—their own, which was apparently derived from the Chinese. He wondered where she'd learned. It was an unusual accomplishment for anyone who was not a noble, he gathered. But then Bortai broke the rules. She was still the only person that he could talk to about Svan. It had brought him great relief—to the extent that it didn't hurt all the time any more.

"Ah. The other letter. That is far more frightening to me." Vlad rubbed his pale cheek. "My good friend and advisor—the countess Elizabeth—has been consulting with some practitioner of the magical arts. Now, I know little of these things. I am, I hope, a Christian soul, although I fear for that, sometimes."

"Eneko Lopez—who is one of the finest theologians of Christianity, and also one of its better mages, once said to me that while men feared for their souls, God did not have to," said Manfred. "But anyway, go on?"

"She has had word about a piece of Pagan black magic, a blood ritual of sacrifice and torture. She says that her mage has told her that the gypsies probably wanted me for this end. She says they are in league with practitioners of the dark arts. Their errand boys, were the words she used."

"One of the other things Eneko always said was that evil really existed," said Erik. "But . . . he has also said that some of the pagan forces were not overtly evil."

"We had experience of that, in Venice, especially," said Manfred

"Yes, but she says that they have performed certain scryings and auguries. It is all set to happen on the night of the thirteenth. She says that she is organizing magical and religious safeguards—she is the patron of several nunneries, at her estate, near Caedonia. She asks that I go there, with all haste." He looked at Bortai. "And she includes a warning that the Mongol plan to betray me and attack my forces while I am away."

Bortai stared incredulously at him. Turned to Erik. "Say in my own language!"

Erik found he had no choice but to comply. Bortai said several bad words, showing her soldier-family antecedents.

She stood up. "Khan-over-mountain. I swear to you on my great grandmother's grave. We plan no treachery. This woman lies." Then Bortai moderated her tone. "Or she has been lied to. I go now, to the orkhan of the clan." She stopped mid-turn. "If we wished to kill you, she said, we could have done so many times. Here or on the trail. Instead the patrols watch over you!" She stormed off.

"That's true enough, Vlad," said Erik.

"I know. But, well, other than the fact that she does not like the gypsies, who have been very good to me—kept me alive and hidden—all the other information Elizabeth has sent me has proved true," said Vlad, unhappily. "That is why I told Bortai about it . . . I feel, well, welcomed here."

"You are," said Erik. "Trust me on this, I've been in a Mongol camp where we were not. They like you and trust you, Vlad. Bortai was saying so earlier. I hope this does not spoil that relationship. You could use peace and trade with them. And a mutual defense against enemies. With allies like them you could stand off Emeric."

Vlad nodded. "I know. And that is why I came. Alone."

Erik saw a group of the Khesig guard coming riding up. "I think Bortai has stirred up a hornet's nest for you. I think you must tell them just what you said right now," said Erik.

The Khesig-men rode off with Vlad. Respectful but . . . uneasy was the right word. The camp was a large one, by now, as large as a market-town. It was incredible how Bortai seemed to know everyone, that she could do this so quickly, thought Erik. But everyone did seem to know her. Erik had even had several strangers tell him what a lovely simple country girl she was.

"Vlad does raise Cain with great ease, said Manfred. "Why was she swearing on her great grandmother's grave of all things?"

Erik shrugged. "Whenever Bortai gets excitable, her great grandmama pops up. I hope they put a good heavy gravestone on her," he said with a smile. "Khutulun. Ancestors are important here. The Mongol reckon that they're still around looking after the living. And I suppose she was someone important."

* * *

Vlad looked at their grim faces. Every one from the young khan to the general was looking either offended or just furious.

The young khan spoke. Vlad noticed another boy, one who looked very like him except that his hair was not shaved mongol style (but looked like it might have been), and with his arm was in a splint, stood at his side.

The translator was there. "I hear you believe us treacherous."

Vlad shook his head. "No. That," he said, remembering Erik's advice. "is why I ride to your camp alone."

The translator translated. And Vlad could almost feel the tension in the great ger drain away as the implication of this sank home.

"If I did not trust you, then I would not have told you. And I would certainly not have ridden here alone to do so."

That too took a few moments to sink in. But a few of the assembled officers nodded their heads, thoughtfully.

"The person who sent me this information . . . has not been wrong before. She sends me much information about the movement of my enemy's troops. She has many contacts. She has found many supporters for me," explained Vlad.

"We do not plan any such thing," said Bortai.

The boy with his arm in a splint said something to the young Khan, diffidently.

Bortai was listening in and clapped her hands. "Ah. The letter. It say 'Mongol'. Not Hawk clan? Not White Horde? Is maybe Gatu Orkhan!"

That made sense. Vlad felt himself smiling.

One of the other officers—the one who had led the Mongol relief of the prisoners from what proved to be a trap—spoke.

"General Pakai, he ask, your spy says the attack will happen when you go to see spy-woman about magic?"

That was about the gist of it, although Vlad had never thought of Elizabeth Bartholdy that way. He nodded.

The general spoke again.

"General he say, you are an honorable man when we rescue women and children. He will come with you as a hostage. Hawk clan attack your people . . ." the translator drew a finger a cross his throat.

Bortai and several others chimed in immediately. Obviously volunteering themselves.

The boy spoke. Which translated to: "We will also send Shaman Kaltegg. To protect you from evil magic."

* * *

David found himself called into the presence of Kari, Erik, old Eberhart and Prince Manfred later that day. "Ritter Von Stael says that you tell him you were present at the meeting of Vlad and the young Kahn," said Erik.

"And I would like to know why they have a young Jackanapes like you in their royal tent, but for all that they treat us very well, we have yet to be invited," said Eberhart.

"We see everyone from their Generals to even young Kildai and Bortai every day," said Erik, defensively. "I've been meaning to ask you, David. Has Kildai been adopted by the . . . what do you call them, Khesig. The elite troop."

The devil that seemed to leave him when he dealt with Von Stael was back, with delight, in David. Sometimes people really couldn't see what was waved in front of their own noses. The Golden Horde—especially the White horde, and naturally, extra especially the Hawk clan, still put a lot of store in the show of austerity that the Great Khan had instituted. That didn't mean that one could not see who was rich and powerful. It was just more subtle than these Franks were used to. Oh what a prize jest! It was rather like desert tribesmen persuading foreigners that sheep's eyes were a delicacy, especially reserved for guests. Half the Golden Horde were laughing at Bortai's trick, and playing along much better by now. "Oh yes. He's a sort of mascot," said David. "Because he got away from the orkhan. And his father was quite well known to the old Khesig, you know. I get called on because I know him, and I speak Frankish. They want to know about the knights. I tell them a lot of good things."

"A pack of lies if you ask me," said Kari.

"Sometimes," admitted David, and ducked.

"So tell us what happened with Vlad."

"But that would be betraying confidences," said David as righteously as Von Stael himself.

"Don't make me angry," said Kari.

David shrugged. "Bortai got them frothing like new beer. Magic and the spirits are really important to them. And they're very touchy about honor. The Prince calmed them down pretty quickly. They like him nearly as much Bortai likes Erik. Ouch!"

"Keep to the point," said Kari. "Or I'll box the other ear. And you be grateful I got there first."

David caught Erik's, and, more intimidatingly, Manfred's glare and hastily continued. "Well, I pointed out that the warning might be about the Gatu Orkhan . . . which it might, and then old General Pakai, he chirped that he'd go as a hostage. Just about all of them offered themselves. So a bunch will be going with him. And just in case it's Gatu, the Hawk clan and their allies are going on an exercise to the possible passes. Oh and some hairy old shaman is being sent along with Vlad."

"And us," said Manfred. "We're going to protect his soul and stand his friends. And Eberhart is going along to do his negotiating with this tricky piece of work from Irongate."

* * *

A day later, again in one of the better breaks in the icy weather that they'd had, Vlad, and a substantial part of his army, rode south, accompanied by the knights of the Holy Trinity, and some twenty mongol, including Bortai and three other young women, and a short, hairy old man with a marked bouquet and very bright eyes. He didn't smell unwashed or anything, thought Erik. The shaman just made Erik want to sneeze.

Vlad rode with the knights, and not, for once, with his own men. "Friends," he said, his voice reflecting an inner turmoil. "I am so glad you are here with me, with the holy crosses around me. I . . . I truly fear for my soul. Something is dragging at me. I must go south . . . southwest. I must. I cannot even sleep properly waking repeatedly, wanting to go. I think someone has set a compulsion on me. It's as if a great tide is dragging at me."

Later that afternoon when they stopped for the night, Erik repeated this conversation to Bortai. Who in turn took him to see the old Shaman.

The old man looked thoughtful. "There is a spell on him. I saw that when I first met him." He shrugged. "But the spell does not work properly. Not on one like that, no. I can clean it away. It is just on one arm."

Erik sneezed.

And again.

"Sorry. It's the pepper."

"What?" asked Bortai.

"Pepper. Can't you sbell idb?"

They both looked at him strangely. "No." said Bortai. Erik knew it was a spice they used a lot of. He backed away from the old shaman a little. That was better.

The shaman peered at him. "Witchsmeller?"

"What?" asked Erik.

"You smell the users of magics, yes?"

"Not that I know of."

But it came to him, later, that he had smelled odd things when they'd encountered magic before. A dusty smell of snow with the magics out of Lithuania. Less pleasant bouquets on Corfu. It had never occurred to him that others might not smell the same things. How did he know if other noses were smelling what he did?

It did seem to impress Bortai enormously though. They found Vlad. Praying.

"The Mongol Shaman says he saw a spell on you, Vlad. He says he can take it off."

"He can?" asked Vlad, eagerly. And then: "But . . . isn't he a pagan?"

"Almost certainly," said Erik, keeping a straight face.

"And he say Erik is . . .What is the word, Erik?" said Bortai, grabbing his arm with excitement, her eyes sparkling.

"I didn't really understand it. He said that I was a witch-smeller. But I can't say I understand it."

"Do you think . . . he could help me?" asked Vlad. "I mean, would it be a sin? I feel as if I must run south." Vlad rubbed his forearms and then said, rather desperately: "Is it not true that the power of prayer, the name of Christ and the cross trump all pagan magics? Let us go, friends."

Erik had seen various enactment of Christian magic. This was different. Noisier for starters, involving a lot of rhythmic beating on a small drum. And oddly, the old fellow passed out. Bortai assured him it quite normal. That he merely went into the spirit world to do what had to be done. Then Erik simply had to go out to sneeze. By the time he came back, the old fellow was washing the back of one of Vlad's hands. The water turned a rusty reddish brown. And it smelled rotten. The shaman put the entire wooden bowl into the fire, along with a considerable muttering and various fluttering passes. The fire devoured it.

"Feel any better?" asked Erik.

Vlad took a deep breath. "No. All I can think is that I miss Rosa more than ever. I have to find out where she has gone. But I still must go south. Pardon me, my friends, but I must go pray again.