Authors: Dave Duncan
Again Zdenek refused to rise to her bait. “I sent a new Speaker. He is young and inexperienced, but so far he has done a wonderful job. However, the Wends are unlikely to have limited themselves to one such helper—Hannibal took more than one elephant when he crossed the Alps. In short, my man needs to be reinforced.” And Speakers moved much faster than conventional troops.
The woman lowered her head and touched a fingertip to her lips to indicate that she was thinking. “I need to know more. Where did you find a spare falcon
1
around?”
“I like to keep a few in reserve.”
“So do we all, and only the pope can ever afford to. The Saints currently supply you with five hirelings, two of whom are growing old—as we all are—and all of whom must be currently occupied.” She glanced around briefly at Brother Daniel, but if she offered a smile, her veil hid it. “The Church has five or six Speakers in Jorgary, possibly seven. So where did you find another? I won’t help unless you give me all the facts.”
Zdenek never lost his temper. “It so happened that I had become aware of a new Speaker just the previous day.” He was proud of his speedy reaction to an unexpected opportunity—the old warhorse’s mettle had not rusted yet. “A young esquire recently came to Mauvnik to enlist in His Majesty’s Light Hussars. Twenty years old, the sort of arrogant whippersnapper who breaks ladies’ hearts and men’s heads with equal abandon. A week ago, he pulled off an incredible demonstration of horsemanship before half the court, at a hunt in the royal forest.”
“My, my! How convenient. A
miraculous
feat?”
“At least spectacular,” Zdenek said complacently. “He was mostly trying to impress the women, of course. But he is sprung of a notable baronial family, so, with His Majesty’s permission, I sent for the lad and appointed him Count Magnus of Cardice.”
She laughed aloud. “A count at twenty? Did he pinch himself very hard?”
“No, he seemed to regard it as more or less his right. He certainly did not question his own suitability for the post. I also passed on His Majesty’s command that he marry the late count’s daughter, Madlenka Bukovany, a fabled beauty of seventeen. That seemed only fitting.”
She laughed again. “I expect he thought so.”
“I even explained that his odds of surviving to enjoy her or any of the rest of it were very slight, but by then there was no holding him. He was out of here like a ferret down a coney hole.”
“A Speaker as count?” the lady mused. “An interesting ploy.” Speakers usually operated out of the public eye. They could be instantly identified by other Speakers, and public miracles would expose them to the wrath of the Church, which was tolerant enough of its own Speakers, but condemned occult “talent” in the laity as Satanism.
“No,” the cardinal admitted. “The Speaker was his younger brother, who was attending him as his varlet, Wulfgang by name.”
“Ah! And how old is he?”
“Eighteen.”
For a moment she did not speak, and he sensed a very shrewd mind at work behind her veil. “So his talent should be fully developed. It is curious that the Saints have not heard of him and the Church has not enlisted him. Who trained him?”
“I did not inquire.”
“You don’t mean he’s a haggard? You sent a
haggard
into a war?”
“Whether haggard or trained, he has done extremely well. He moved himself and his brother safely to Cardice. His brother proclaimed himself count and promptly showed that he meant business by hanging the constable of Castle Gallant for treason. A couple of days later he received a surely fatal wound when he blundered into the Wends’ vanguard near the border. Wulfgang healed him. After all that, the boy went home to report to the head of the family.”
“He must have nerves of iron and an incredible resistance to pain.”
“Quite so,” Zdenek said impatiently. Magnus males were all human bulls. The boy had shown he could cope and would cooperate—at what cost to himself was irrelevant.
“And the new count—Anton?—is his cadger?”
“Possibly. These matters were not mentioned when I spoke with the Magnus boy.” But they had both known that sorcery would be required to get the lad to Castle Gallant in the time available. “Yesterday, the baron himself—their brother—came to call on me. He pointed out that one Speakerrot one Sp is not enough to counter an entire army. It is a reasonable point.”
“Mm.… Speakers are in very short supply just now.” Lady Umbral turned to her two companions. “Justina?”
The taller of the two looked up from her rosary. “My lady?”
“Would you enjoy a few days’ vacation in fabled Castle Gallant, freezing in those ghastly mountains, defending it from ravening hordes of Wends?”
“Among droves of handsome young men-at-arms, my lady? Singing romantic ballads to me under my window?” No mere servant spoke so, or in such polished Latin.
“More likely an insufferable raunchy rabble of diseased, flea-ridden drunks.”
“Life as usual, then. A few days would make a pleasant change from dusting.”
Lady Umbral turned back to the cardinal. “I believe I could spare one Speaker, but for a limited time only.”
“Not enough,” he said flatly. “Not nearly enough.”
“No?” Her voice hardened. “Then there would seem to be no purpose in continuing this conversation. I am not merely staking out a bargaining position, Your Eminence. One is all I can possibly spare at this time. When winter is over, perhaps more. Have you asked Archbishop Svaty to lend you one of his? The Church has plenty.”
Svaty would help if he could, because the Wends followed the Orthodox heresy, but his price would certainly include Wulfgang Magnus himself, and Zdenek had his own plans for the boy.
“What can one more Speaker achieve against an army?” he demanded.
Lady Umbral had the French knack of shrugging graciously. “Against the bombard, you mean. The gun is critical to your problem, is it not? Wartislaw has little time to take the fortress before the weather drives him back home. Pomerania needs the tolls it levies on the merchant caravans just as much as Jorgary does, and he cannot afford to keep the Silver Road closed for long. That explains why he launched his campaign so late in the year: he waited until the great fall trading fairs were over. Spike the gun or roll it into a lake and you will have won.”
“True,” Zdenek admitted. “And I am confident that the boy could achieve that. But the Wends will certainly have posted their own Speakers to guard it, so he needs protection while he does it.”
“What do you offer in return?”
“What do you ask?”
“The hand of a princess.” Now there was no mistaking the smilv> ing thee behind her voice. “Jorgary’s delectable Laima, of course. Sweet sixteen and beautiful by any standard, not just as the usual courtesy compliment awarded to royalty.”
No! No!! No!!!
Zdenek had been urgently matchmaking all over Christendom for months, frantic to see a betrothal contract signed and sealed before the old king died and his grandson appointed a new first minister. Princess Laima was not only a beauty, she would be heir presumptive, and her brother showed no signs of fathering an heir. The bidding was spirited, and the cream that Zdenek expected to skim off this one contract might exceed all the graft that had flowed his way in the last twenty years. Now he knew why this hag had answered his call so promptly … but if she thought she was going to sup one spoonful of that deal, she was hugely mistaken.
“There have been negotiations,” he admitted. “Which suitor are you backing?”
“A very suitable young man, with a distant claim to the crown of France.”
Louis of Rouen! Zdenek registered polite regret. “This is not yet public knowledge, but in fact a marriage contract has been initialed and will be finalized within a week. So the princess is not available. Name a second choice.”
The lady remained silent for at least a minute, which was always a good debating technique. He remained silent also, and eventually she spoke. “A piece of the Wulfgang boy. About half would be fair, I think.”
“Oh, no! ‘Finders keepers!’ That’s the rule we all play by.”
She shook her head vigorously. “The Church doesn’t, and in this case I won’t. Blue-blood Speakers are rare and therefore precious. Besides, if Gallant falls, he may well die with it, so his life is worth very little at the moment. Your back is to the wall, Your Eminence. Obviously Duke Wartislaw blindsided you. Another military disaster like the Bavarian campaign and you will have nowhere to put that red hat of yours. I can spare Justina for a week, maybe two, which should be plenty. Take it or leave it.”
“A quarter.”
Again she paused, leaving him staring at that faceless veil. Finally she said, “How about a third? My final offer.”
Zdenek mentally shuffled papers into heaps, which was his way of weighing decisions. The boy could not possibly save Castle Gallant single-handedly if the Wends had arrayed more than one Speaker against him—the
yes
pile
.
If Gallant fell, then both the boy and Zdenek himself were likely to go down with it—
yes
again. Archbishop Svaty might be willing to assign two or three of the Church’s Speakers to keep the Orthodox Wends from taking a Catholic fortress—the
no
pile. But Svaty’s price would certainly include the boy himself, and probably much else—
yes
. Lady Umbral was a trader in magic that the Church publicly condemned as Satanism, whatever it really believed, and thwheeved, aus her dealings must always be secret, and her reputation for honesty was vital to her continued success, but no one would ever dare denounce her if she cheated. Now that she knew about the boy, she must be bound by some sort of agreement, or she might feel free to grab him for her own purposes, leaving the castle, Zdenek, and Jorgary to fall together—
yes, certainly
.
He sighed and nodded. “Your Justina must serve until the Wends withdraw, though. As you said, it cannot be very long.”
“Until the Wends withdraw or the castle falls.”
“If the castle and the boy survive, then you get one-third of him.” There might still be opportunities to renege on that part of the agreement. The Magnus family had a long tradition of patriotism and service to their king.
“Agreed.”
“The password is ‘Greenwood’.”
“How do we arrange the travel?”
“Brother Daniel has met Count Anton. Brother?”
The friar nodded. “But the hour is late to go calling on a fortress under siege, Your Eminence. Men-at-arms in dangerous situations often strike first and ask questions later. Too late.” He removed his eye patch to let the visitors have a clear look at his face. “If you will come calling on me tomorrow morning at, say, terce, my lady, I shall be happy to conduct you to Cardice.”
“I’m no ‘lady,’” the Speaker said. “Just Justina. I will see you then, Brother.”
The women rose as one.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Eminence,” Lady Umbral said.
A gap seemed to open in the air itself. All three stepped through it and vanished, leaving the cardinal with his hand out, offering his ring to empty air.
CHAPTER
2
“Can’t you even pretend to enjoy it?” Anton raged.
A week ago he had been Lancer Magnus, most junior recruit in the king of Jorgary’s Light Hussars, living on gruel in a repulsive attic and forced to share a bed with Wulfgang. Now he was Count Magnus of Cardice, Companion in the Order of St. Vaclav, lord of the march, keeper of Castle Gallant, one of the premier noblemen of the realm. So life felt good, with a few exceptions. One of which was his current problem.
“Pretend how, my lord?” she said. Her voice was muffled, because they were both deep in a feather mattress and buried under a mountain of down quilts. She was underneath.
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He was on top, which he always preferred, and also inside, but not making much progress. He must have swived two dozen young girls in the seven years or so since he became capable, but none had been so unresponsive. Older women—there had been even more of those—had always agreed that he was a good lover, delivering as much pleasure as he took. But Madlenka had been bewitched, and there was only one man around Castle Gallant who could use witchcraft.
Meanwhile, she was still waiting for instructions, although all he could do was repeat what he had told her a dozen times in the last three days. “Moan, thrash around. Bounce. Shriek. Bite and scratch. Above all, in the name of the Almighty, don’t just lie there and
weep
like that!”
A week ago he had been stalking the bawds of the court, hoping to work his way into the bed, if not affections, of some rich lady who might expand his income and advance his career. Now he was married—or at least handfasted, which was as good as married—to the daughter of the previous count. Only men who admired flattish chests and sinewy legs would regard her as a beauty. Anton’s taste ran to the voluptuous. He liked buttocks he could sink his fingers into and breasts like melons, great twin pillows where a man could bury his head; not these pale, pink-tipped pears. Her ivory skin, moonlight hair, and sapphire eyes were bloodless. She looked like an ice maiden and acted like one.