The War Hound and the World's Pain (3 page)

As I came closer I began to smell them. They stank of corruption. They carried the odour of rotting flesh with them. I thought that the coach contained perhaps some dead cardinal.

Then I realized that all these creatures were the same. The flesh appeared to be falling from their faces and limbs. Their eyes were the eyes of corpses. When they saw me they came to a sudden stop.

The horsemen prepared their pikes.

I made no movement towards my own weapons, for fear of exciting them. Nonetheless, I readied myself to charge through them if it should prove necessary.

One of the riders spoke sluggishly and yet with horrifying authority, as if he were Death Himself and that pike in his hand the Reaper’s scythe:

“You trespass, fellow.

“You trespass.

“Understand you not that this land is forbidden to you?”

The words came as a series of clipped phrases, with a long pause between each, as if the speaker had to recall the notion of language.

“I saw no signs,” said I. “I heard no word. How could I when your land is absolutely free of population?”

In all my experience of horror I had witnessed nothing to compare with this talking corpse. I felt unnerving fear and was hard put to control it.

He spoke again:

“It is understood -

“By all. It seems.

“Save you.”

“I am a stranger,” I declared, “and sought the hospitality of this castle’s lord. I did not expect the place to be empty. I apologize for my ignorance. I have done no damage.”

I made ready to spur my horse.

Another of the riders turned his iron head on me.

Cold eyes, full of old blood, stared into mine.

My stomach regretted that I had broken its fast so recently.

He said:

“How were you able to come and go?

“Have you made the bargain?”

I attempted to reply in a reasonable tone. “I came and went as you see, upon my horse. I have no bond, if that is what you mean, with the master of this castle.”

I addressed the coach, believing that the castle’s owner must sit within:

“But again I say that I apologize for my unwitting trespass. I have done no harm, save eat a little food, water my horse and read a book or two.”

“No bargain,” muttered one of the monks, as if puzzled.

“No bargain he is aware of,” said a third horseman.

And they laughed amongst themselves. The sound was a disgusting one.

“I have never met your lord,” said I. “It is unlikely that I know him.”

“Doubtless he knows you.”

Their mockery, their malicious enjoyment of some secret they believed they shared, was disturbing my composure and making me impatient.

I said:

“If I may be allowed to approach and present myself, you will discover that I am of noble birth …”

I had no real intention of talking with the occupant of the coach, but should I be able to advance a little farther I would gain time and distance and with some luck I might break free of them without need of my sword.

“You may not approach,” said the first rider.

“You must return with us.”

I spoke with mock good manners:

“I have already sampled your hospitality too long. I’ll impose upon it no further.”

I smiled to myself. My spirits began to lift, as they always do when action is required of me. I began to experience that cool good humour common to many professional soldiers when killing becomes necessary.

“You have no choice,” said the rider.

He lowered his pike: a threat.

I relaxed in my saddle, ensuring that my seat was firm.

“I make my own choices, sir,” I said.

My spurs touched my horse and he began to trot rapidly towards them.

They had not expected this.

They were used to inducing terror. They were not, I suspected, used to fighting.

I had broken through them in a matter of seconds. Barely grazed by a pike, I now attempted to ride the monks down.

I hacked at the cowled men. They did not threaten me but were so anxious not to release their grasp on the carriage’s ropes that they could not move from my path. They seemed perfectly willing to die under my sword rather than give up their charge.

I was forced to turn and face the riders once more.

They had no battle skill, these people, and were uncertain in their movements, for all their arrogance. Again I received an impression of hesitation, as if each individual action had to be momentarily remembered. So clumsy were they that their pikes were tangled by a few passages of my sword.

I used the bulk of my horse to back farther into the press of monks. They offered the heavy resistance of corpses.

I turned the steed again.

I let him rear and strike down two monks with his hooves.

I jumped first one taut rope and then the other and was aiming for the grassy flanks of the steep hillside when the riders from the rear came galloping forward to cut me off.

I had a balustrade before me, some statues to my left, an almost sheer drop beyond these.

Again I was forced to pause. I tried to pull a pistol loose and fire in the hope it would startle their horses. I did not think I could delay their charge by wounding one.

My horse was moving too much beneath me, ready to gallop, yet not knowing where to go. I reined him tight, standing firm against that rocking nest of pikes which was now almost upon me.

A glance this way and that told me that my chances had improved. There was every possibility of escape. I no longer felt in terror of my attackers. At worst I could calculate on a few flesh wounds for myself and a sprained tendon or two for my horse.

The pikes drew closer as I reached for my pistols. Then a clear, humorous voice sounded from the interior of the coach:

“There is no need for this. It wasn’t planned. Stop at once, all of you. I demand that you stop!”

The riders drew in their own reins and began to raise their pikes to the slope.

I put my sword between my teeth, drew both pistols from the saddle-holsters, cocked the flints and fired.

One of the pistols discharged and flung a rider straight out of his seat. The other needed recocking, having failed to spark, but before I could see to it, I heard the voice again.

It was a woman. “Stop!”

I would let them debate her orders. In the meantime I had a little time in which to begin my descent. I sheathed my sword and looked down the hillside. I had planned to skirt this party and continue down the road if possible. It would mean driving directly through the pikes, but I believed I could do it fairly easily.

I prepared myself, while giving the impression that I was relaxing my guard.

The door of the coach opened.

A handsome woman of about thirty, with jet-black hair and wearing scarlet velvet, clambered swiftly onto the coachman’s seat and raised her arms. She seemed distracted. I was impressed by her bearing and her beauty.

“Stop!” she cried to me. “We meant no harm to you.”

I grinned at this. But since I now had something of an advantage and did not wish to risk either my life or my horse more than necessary, I paused. My loaded pistol was still in my gloved hand.

“Your men attacked me, madam.”

“Not upon my orders.” Her lips matched her costume. Her skin was as delicate and pale as the lace which trimmed her garments. She wore a matching broad-brimmed hat with a white ostrich feather trailing from it.

“You are welcome,” she said. “I swear to you that it is so, sir. You came forward before I could present myself.”

I was certain that all she was doing now was to change tactics. But I preferred these tactics. They were familiar enough.

I grinned at her. “You mean you had hoped that your servants would frighten me, eh, madam?”

She feigned puzzlement. She spoke with apparent sincerity, even urgency: “You must not think so. These creatures are not subtle. They are the only servants provided me.” Her eyes were wonderful. I was astonished by them. She said: “I apologize to you, sir.”

She lowered her arms, almost as if she appealed to me. She struck me as a woman of substance, yet there was an engaging touch of despair about her. Was she perhaps a prisoner of those men?

I was almost amused: a lady in distress, and myself a knight-errant to whom the notion of chivalry was anathema. Yet I hesitated.

“Madam, your servants disturb me by their very appearance.”

“They were not chosen by me.”

“Indeed, I should hope that’s so.” I retained my pistol at the cock. “They were chosen by Death long since, by the look of ‘em.”

She sighed and made a small gesture with her right hand.

“Sir, I would be much obliged if you would consent to be my guest.”

“Your men have already invited me. You’ll recall that I refused.”

“Will you refuse me? I ask,” she said, “in all humility.”

She was a clever woman and it had been some years since I had enjoyed such company. It was her eyes, however, which continued to draw me. They were wise, they were knowing, they contained in them a hint of deep terror and they were sympathetic, I thought, to me in particular.

I was lost to her. I knew it. I believe she knew it. I began to laugh.

I bowed to her.

“It is true, madam,” said I, “that I cannot refuse you. Boredom, curiosity and what is left of my good manners drive me to accept. But most of all, madam, it is yourself, for I’ll swear I see a fellow spirit and one as intelligent as myself. A rare combination, you’d agree?”

“I take your meaning, sir. And I share your feeling, too.” Those wonderful eyes shone with ironic pleasure. I thought that she, too, could be laughing, somewhere within her. With a delicate hand she brushed hair away from the left side of her face and tilted her head to look at me. A conscious gesture, I knew, and a flirtatious one. I grinned this time.

“Then you’ll guest with me?” she said.

“On one condition,” said I.

“Sir?”

“That you promise to explain some of the mysteries of your castle and its surrounds.”

She raised her brows. “It is an ordinary castle. In ordinary grounds.”

“You know that it is not.”

She answered my grin with a smile. “Very well,” she said. “I promise that you shall understand everything very soon.”

“I note your promise,” said I.

I sheathed my pistol and turned my horse towards the castle.

I had taken my first decisive step towards Hell.

I GAVE THE lady my arm and escorted her through her courtyard, up the steps and into her castle, while her horrid servants took horse and coach to the stables. Curiosity had me trapped.

Lust, half-appreciated as yet, also had me trapped.

I thought to myself with a certain relish that I was, all in all, thoroughly snared. And at that moment I did not care.

“I am Ulrich von Bek, son of the Graf von Bek,” I told her. “I am a Captain of Infantry in the present struggle.”

Her perfume was as warm and lulling as summer roses. “On whose side?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Whichever is the better organized and less divided.”

“You have no strong religious beliefs, then?”

“None.”

I added: “Is that unusual for men of my kind in times like these?”

“Not at all. Not at all.” She seemed quietly amused.

She took off her own cloak. She was almost as tall as I and wonderfully formed. For all that she gave the impression of possessing a strong and perhaps even eccentric will, there was yet a softness about her now which suggested to me that she was presently defeated by her circumstances.

“I am Sabrina,” she said, and gave no title or family name.

“This is your castle, Lady Sabrina?”

“I often reside here.” She was noncommittal.

It could be that she was reluctant to discuss her family. Or perhaps she was the mistress of the powerful prince I had originally guessed as owner. Perhaps she had been exiled here for some appalling crime. Perhaps she had been sent here by her husband or some other relative to avoid the vicissitudes either of love or of war. From tact I could ask her no other questions on the matter.

She laid a fair hand upon my arm. “You will eat with me, Captain von Bek?”

“I do not relish eating in the presence of your servants, madam.”

“No need. I’ll prepare the food myself later. They are not permitted to enter these quarters. They have their own barracks in the far tower.”

I had seen the barracks. They did not seem large enough for so many.

“How long have you been here?” She glanced about the hall as we entered it.

“A week or two.”

“You kept it in good order.”

“It was not my intention to loot the place, Lady Sabrina, but to use it as a temporary refuge. How long has your home been empty?”

She waved a vague hand. “Oh, some little while. Why do you ask?”

“Everything was so well-preserved. So free of vermin. Of dust, even.”

“Ah. We do not have much trouble of that kind.”

“No damp. No rot.”

“None visible,” she said. She seemed to become impatient with my remarks.

“I remain grateful for the shelter,” I said, to end this theme.

“You are welcome.” Her voice became a little distant. She frowned. “The soldiers delayed us.”

“How so?”

“On the road.” She gestured. “Back there.”

“You were attacked?”

“Pursued for a while. Chased.” Her finger sought dust on a chest and found none. She seemed to be considering my recent remarks. “They fear us, of course. But there were so many of them.” She smiled, displaying white, even teeth. She spoke as if I would understand and sympathize. As if I were a comrade.

All I could do was nod.

“I cannot blame them,” she continued. “I cannot blame any of them.” She sighed. Her dark eyes clouded, became in-turned, dreamy. “But you are here. And that is good.”

I should have found her manner disturbing, but at the time I found it captivating. She spoke as if I had been expected, as if she were a poor hostess who, delayed abroad, returns to discover an unattended guest.

I offered some formal compliment to her beauty and grace. She smiled a little, accepting it as one who was very used to such remarks, who perhaps even regarded them as the opening feints in an emotional duel. I recognized her expression. It caused me to become just a little more remote, a little more guarded. She was a gameswoman, I thought, trained by one or more masters in the terrible, cold art of intellectual coquetry. I found the woman too interesting to wish to give her a match, so I changed the subject back to my original reason for accepting her invitation.