When the Saints (22 page)

And what did they expect Arturas Synovec to do about it? He said nothing, which was usually a wise choice for a herald, or so Klement had taught him.

“We heard thunder a while ago,” the count said, “and the ground shook. We think a landslide must have blocked the gorge. Nothing else could plug up the river. If the Ruzena can’t flow, the gorge will flood. The Wends won’t be able to get at us. They’ll have to go home. They may all be buried under the slide—my brother’s gone to see. The Lord has spoken.”

Arturas found breath enough to shout, “God be praised!”

“Amen. But Havel and his Pelrelmians may not know this. I want you to go down there—”

The third man coughed, thereby revealing that he was Baron Magnus, the eldest brother.

“Um, yes,” said the count. “I’m
asking
you if you are willing to go down there with a flag of truce to tell them that the war may be over. We don’t want any nasty accidents or unnecessary assaults. But you’re not a man-at-arms, and this could be dangerous, so I’m
asking
, not ordering.”

“It’s my job, my lord. Of course I’ll go.” There! He was quite proud to hear himself say it. Surprised, too.

“Then the sooner the better,” the count said. “Try to get to see Count Pelrelm himself, or at least Sir Marijus, his son. Tell him we want a truce until noon. By then we should know exactly what’s happened, and if necessary we’ll let him send observers to confirm our reports. You may ortce also tell him that, if they abandon their aggression and go home now, we shan’t report this morning’s skirmish to the king. That was just a case of misunderstood orders.”

“Tell him that last bit only if you are pressed,” the baron added. “Don’t sound as if we’re afraid of a fight. They’re the ones sleeping in the snow, not us. The constable will see you out the postern. You’ll need a flag, of course, and a clean-burning torch.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“And a clean rag,” the baron said. “They may want to blindfold you, so take a clean rag with you.”

CHAPTER
21

Wulf narrowly avoided losing his left eye on a branch. Away from the avalanche area, where trees still stood, the gorge was almost totally dark.

“You go ahead,” he said to Vlad. “I have snow in my shoes and pine needles down my neck. I am going to strip naked and fall into bed.”

“You’ve earned it.” Vlad heaved half a cedar out of their way. “Don’t suppose anyone will miss you here.”

No. By the time Vlad caught up with his cavalrymen, they would have reached their horses and mingled with Sir Teodor’s men coming in. In the darkness and confusion, the squire’s absence would not be noticed.

Wulf opened a gate to the roof of the north barbican and stepped through it. “All is well,” he said. His brothers jumped like frogs.

Otto crossed himself. “I wish you’d warn me when you’re going to do that!”

“Vlad’s all right?” Anton demanded. “What happened to the river? Why’s it stopped running? A landslide?”

“Just an avalanche, they think; ought to melt in the summer. The war is over. We won. I helped, but it was a genuine miracle. You’d better tell the bishop to organize a Te Deum.” Wulf would attend and give thanks. The full import of what had happened was just starting to sink in.

“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” Otto said. “It’s a pity you can’t get the public credit.”

“No matter.” Wulf yawned as if he would never stop. He had been running on excitement for too long, and was almost asleep on his feet.

“Anton’s planning to knight you tomorrow.”

Wulf nodded. “Thanks.” He would try and talk them out of that, though. It was not a good idea—knight him for what? K stopped rnighthood should be recognition of prowess at arms, not Satanism. “I’m going off watch, my lords. If you need me, sit on it till morning.”

Otto thumped him on the shoulder. “Come to the solar and let us drink a toast to Wulfgang the Great.”

Anton said, “Yes, please. Let’s do that.”

However weary, Wulf could not refuse such a plea. “Just a quick nightcap, then.” The solar was in the castle, on the far side of town. He opened a gate to it and led the way through. After a couple of muttered oaths, or possibly prayers, his brothers followed.

Tonight someone had thought to order a fire and candles, so the little room was cozy and bright after the snowy fall night. The furniture had been shifted around; Wulf slumped into a chair. Anton played host, fussing with a decanter and goblets of fine Venetian glass. He and Otto drank their toast to the boy wonder, although they were too polite to call him that to his face.

“Thanks,” Wulf murmured as they sat down. He raised his own glass without summoning the effort needed to stand.
“Omnia audere!”

They chorused the motto back at him and all three drank.

“And to the Magnuses of Cardice,” Wulf added, directing a smile to Anton, but thinking sadly of Madlenka, matriarch of the future line. Tomorrow he was leaving Castle Gallant forever, pestilence or no pestilence. Perhaps in time the pain would end. “May they prosper for a hundred generations!”

Then it was Otto’s turn. One more toast ought to dispose of the rest of the wine, so Wulf could go to bed. But Otto said nothing, just watched Anton, who was leaning his forearms on his knees and staring down into his goblet, studying the wine as he swilled it around. Eventually: “Um, Wulf?”

“Yes, Anton?”

“You love Madlenka?”

“Yes. I told you and I wouldn’t lie about—”

“And she loves you?”

Wulf drew a deep breath. His heart began to thump insanely. “Yes.”

“Then … Oh, I like her. She’d be a good, honorable wife, but … I want her to be happy, not miserable. And you too. You’ve earned … I know she doesn’t love me. To be honest, given the choice, Giedre’s the one I would go for.”

Wulf glanced at Otto, who was now staring innocently at the fire. So that long talk on the barbican roof had not been just about what could be keeping Vlad occupied.

“That’s incredibly kind of you, Brother. I’d leap at the chance and I’m sure she would if … Well, it’s too late, isn’t it? You’re handfasted.”

The Church was the problem. Cardinal Zdenek wouldn’t care who married the countess now that his frontier was safe again, but the Church would not part a couple whom God had joined together.

Anton drained his glass. “Bishop Ugne keeps dropping hints that his palace is too small.”

Annulment?
Choirs of angels!
He was offering to have the handfasting
annulled
? Of course a count might manage that. Ugne would take a bribe if it was big enough, and Anton was a hugely wealthy man now. He might need a couple of years’ work to repair the Silver Road before he could collect any tolls on it, but he wouldn’t have thought of that yet, being Anton, and Otto could not have mentioned it to him.

“You’re serious? You think he’ll give you an annulment?”

“Of course he will,” Otto said. “And if he balks, we’ll get Zdenek to beat on him. He knows who saved his bacon, or soon will know, and it won’t cost him anything to reward you this way.” He grinned. “She may be all you get, of course.”

“She is all I could possibly want. How soon…?”

“I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.” Anton spoke more firmly than before, now that he was committed. “Starting tonight, I suppose.”

He meant it, bless him, but it was still too late. Wulf sighed. “I love you, Brother, and even more for this, but I have no future. The Church will never forgive me. You may buy a bishop, but you can’t buy the—”

A newcomer entered the room through a wall and the men leaped to their feet with cries of alarm. She was lovely, as blond as Madlenka and certainly no older, but shorter and … Buxom. Bosomy. Voluptuous. Her dress was a miracle of spreading azure satin, and the lace bodice advertised gorgeous things such as Wulf had not seen since he was weaned. She glittered all over with gems, but her nimbus was brighter than sunlight. She dropped a full curtsey—to Wulf. Of course she could see his nimbus as well as he could see hers.

“Lord Wulfgang! I am honored to meet the hero of Jorgary’s deliverance.”

He tore his eyes away from the lace long enough to manage a courtly bow. “Lady Umbral, I presume?” Who else could she be? “M-m-may I present my brothers. Count Anton…”

“Marquessa!” Anton said, stepping forward to bow with more grace than Wulf would ever achieve. “It is indeed a joy and an honor to welcome such beauty to Castle Gallant.”

The newcomer’s smile faded a tone or two. “Count Magnus? The lancer who bollixed the crown prince’s hunt last week!”

“Marquessa Darina.” He kissed her fingers. “You were pointed out to me at the St. Matous’s Day ball. May I present my brother Ottokar, Baron Magnus of Dobkov? Marquessa Darina is a friend of His Highness Crown Prince Konrad.” As she and Otto exchanged bow and curtsey, Anton twirled up his mustache and shot Wulf a pregnant look of warning—so pregnant that it ought to drop triplets instantly, but Wulf had no idea what species they would belong to.

What could the man be hinting at? That the crown prince was friends with a Speaker? Was he the marquessa’s cadger or her client? Anton could know nothing of that, and Wulf was still not certain what the difference was anyway. No, more likely Anton was just reminding him that the old king was likely to die any day now. His son would succeed and all bets would be off: the crown prince was known to be no friend of Cardinal Zdenek. The stench of court politics had come to Cardice.

The marquessa declined both a chair and a glass of wine.

“I cannot stay. I came to fetch Lord Wulfgang. His Highness is waiting.”

“My lady…” Was that how one addressed a marquessa? “I fear you are misinformed. I am merely an esquire, no lord.”

Her smile could have melted snow all the way to Pomerania. “But that is why I came! His Highness is very anxious to meet the man who saved his, er … future, of course … his future kingdom from a disastrous invasion. Public recognition must wait until the public announcement, but he wants to discuss suitable rewards.”

Anton was goggle-eyed, Otto frowning. And Marquessa Darina … lace.… Oh, angels give me strength.… Wulf did not feel as tired as he had a few moments ago. He could no more refuse such a lady than he could refuse the crown prince.

“I am hardly dressed to meet my future king, ma’am.” He had mud on his shoes and pine needles all over him. He badly needed a bath and a shave. And he was a lot more scared of her and what she might represent than he had been of the Wends.

Her steel-blue eyes scanned him in leisurely fashion from top to toe and back again. “Dress is very superficial. The man inside is what counts, and you look quite perfect the way you are, my lord, fresh from the battlefield. Come!” She held out a hand as a gateway opened beside her.

Wulf shot a terrified glance at his brothers, inserted his forearm under the marquessa’s delicate white fingers, and accompanied her through to a dim corridor, which became even dimmer as the opening closed behind them. The air was warm, muggy, and heavily scented. The carpets swallowed his feet.

“This is the royal palace in Mauvnik,” she said, not moving.

They were facing a wide door, gilt-trimmed and paneled, and Wulf had missed his cue. He reached out with his free arm and turned the handle for her.

CHAPTER
22

A thousand miles to the south, in Elysium, Justina dithered. Her first instinct was to break in on that charade in the Castle Gallant solar and boot the “Darina” trollop right back where she came from, or at least scare her away with the
three’s dangerous
situation. Then she realized that Wulfgang, not knowing the stakes, would probably stay out if it came to a brawl. Also, if Justina was too old for fieldwork, she was certainly too old for roughhousing. The years were taking their toll and it must be three decades since she had used raw power to settle an argument. That “Darina” hussy might very well make pike bait out of her single-handedly, even if she did not have a backup Speaker watching over her, ready to join in if she ran into trouble.

Fires of hell!

How in Heaven’s name had the crown prince learned about Wulfgang’s victory over the Wends already? The news could not officially arrive for at least a week, or longer. The old king, a very devout man, had probably never heard a whisper about Satanism or Speaking in his realm; and if he had, he had always been happy to leave such shady proceedings to the Scarlet Spider. His grandson was a first-rate dolt, not one of the Wise. Zdenek would never even tell him what day of the week it was, let alone entrust him with the secrets of talent and Speakers.

“Darina”—her real name was Hedwig Schlutz—was well known as the crown prince’s mistress and a she-rat from the wrong side of the gutter, the sort of vindictive pervert who gave Satanism a bad name. Many Saints would be frightened to tangle with her. But need must when the devil drove. She opened a gate and stepped through into the solar, just in time to glimpse Wulfgang leaving with the hellcat on his arm.
Hell’s britches!

Anton and Otto were still on their feet, and swung around openmouthed to meet this latest invasion.

“Good evening, my lords.” Justina sighed. “Pardon my barging in like this. I was hoping to prevent a rape.”