Much Fall of Blood-ARC Read online

  "Excellent. I hope they have that upstart Vlad's head."

  The general coughed again. "No, Your Majesty. In fact all they seemed eager to do was to buy more horses and keep running. I think we should retreat on your garrison at Resicabánya. We will have twenty thousand men at your disposal there."

  Emeric stared at him in horror. Was this to be another Corfu?

  Chapter 80

  Once safe in Resicabánya, surrounded by his garrison, Emeric allowed his panic to subside a little and fury to take hold. The coward must have surrendered. He'd even talked of doing so! Well, he, Emeric, still had control over Irongate. And while winter would make major troop movements difficult to impossible in the mountains, what did Vlad really hold? A strip of worthless mountains, and adjacent towns. They could be given similar treatment to Irongate. Or did that require them to be surrounded by water.

  Emeric settled down to pen a message to Elizabeth. She had never refused to help him, when matters had really got out of hand. The letter was carefully worded—he certainly did not want her to take offence, and, on the other hand he did not want his message to fall into the wrong hands—Vlad had either taken cities and towns while travelling down to the southwest or had bypassed them. Of course Elizabeth would be able to hold off invading armies, single-handed if need be. The messenger was a tried and trusted one, and Emeric knew all he had to do was to wait.

  And he did.

  It was nine days before the messenger returned. With the message, undelivered.

  The messenger—who had taken messages to Elizabeth's castle before—was a troubled man. "Your Majesty, the castle has gone."

  Emerich stared at him. The man was surely mad. "Gone? It can't be gone,"

  The messenger sweated and was pale as death. "It's a ruin, Your Majesty. A burned out ruin. I went to Caedonia to try and find out what happened. The town has fallen to Vlad . . . and I didn't have to ask. I was told by everyone who had a tongue. They have some of the children that were held prisoner in her castle. They say the countess was in league with Satan himself. Some of the local dignitaries were taken there by Vlad's troops. They saw for themselves evidence of the devil worship in her castle. They were very full of it. And the countess Elizabeth Bartholdy is dead."

  Emeric had to sit down. The room was full of roaring sound. He knew it was just in his head. "Definitely?" he said weakly.

  "Definitely," the messenger said. He paused. "Your Majesty. It is well known in Caedonia that you were a guest at her castle. There is much suspicion about you."

  Emeric stood up. "I am going back to Buda. There are people I need to consult."

  He did not know what to do. He had hated her, but relied on her also. And now he was alone. Suddenly he was aware of just how desperately he needed her. Vlad must have found a far, far more potent magic worker. Emeric was afraid. Someone who could defeat her? That was almost unthinkable. And it meant that he was exposed too, to other enemies. He knew full well that she'd murdered many threats to his throne. He was less than confident about dealing with them alone. And then there was the enemy to the north. Elizabeth had told him what Jagiellon really was: the Black Brain, Chernobog.

  The answer came to him, on the journey back to his castle: He would obtain the services of her servant Mindaug himself. For all that Elizabeth had made some disparaging remarks about the count's timidity and bookishness, there had been no mistaking her genuine respect for Mindaug's knowledge.

  That was all Emeric really needed, after all. Simply the knowledge. He could provide the boldness the count himself lacked.

  * * *

  In Orsova the survivors of the Irongate were very glad to tell their new prince about their ordeal.

  Vlad and Dana had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Fortunately the king of the wolves was better informed.

  "Vila. They have always stood outside the compact. The Queen of the River does not rule them. They are creatures of both bank and water, spending time among the willows and in the slow backwaters of rivers and in lakes and ponds, and they breath air. Strictly speaking her sprites stay within the confines of the water, and can breath water. The Vila are an ancient evil. They seduce young men. They're said to be unfortunate girls who drowned themselves after getting pregnant . . . but they like to kill. I think they like desperation, and will take the young girls as they take the young men."

  "If the river queen can't deal with them, what can?" asked Dana.

  "I think it is more a case of 'won't' than can't," answered the wolf-king. "But they could." he looked at the two wyverns, peering doubtfully at the island fortress.

  The two wyverns looked at the water.

  "It's wet,"

  "And cold.

  "And runs too fast."

  "On the bank it would be a different matter."

  "You are a pair of babes," said Dana. "You fly."

  "Not over running water. Not if we can help it."

  "All forms of magic have their natural limitations, and it is likewise with magical creatures," explained the wolf-king

  "Then we'll just have to deal with it ourselves," said Vlad. "What are the Vila's limitations then?"

  "Iron. Fire. And they need to breathe air."

  "We could drown the island. Block the river with an earthquake."

  "That's not something used lightly," said Angelo. "Earth ties to earth. Move one piece and another must move too."

  "We could take the knights in boats . . ."

  "They'd sink the boat."

  Dana spoke up. "I am able to affect the flow of the water. Let us stop it."

  "And then?" asked Vlad

  Dana smiled at the Wyverns. "You two don't mind still water do you? "

  They exchanged one of those speaking glances, first with her, then with each other. "Not fond of it. But we can fly over that, yes."

  Vlad stood up. "I will go and see the priests."

  "Priests?"

  "As the wolves have explained by their desire to appear gypsies: people fear the unknown. They do not trust real dragons here. With reason, they are wary of the old powers. They were strong here once. So let us give them something else to believe responsible. I will have the priests on the shore exorcize it. During the night you two can fly over and deal with our green-haired naked women. Then in the morning we can go over and find that prayer worked. And who knows: It may even do so."

  Dana liked the idea. "I think we should get the townspeople to sing hymns across the water from the island too."

  Vlad nodded. "The more involved they are, the more they will believe."

  * * *

  In the dark of the night two batwinged shapes flew across the still water. The Vila, sitting combing her long, greenish tinged blond hair on the battlements did not see them come. She was too taken up with her narcissistic admiration of herself.

  "Fshhh." The wyvern said, taking the end of the blond hair in a taloned forepaw and a slashing another claw across the rest, with a movement more like scalping than cutting. The Vila, shorn, screamed. First in outrage, then in horror, realising what she was facing, as the wyvern shifted colors. She tensed to run.

  "Where are you going to run to?" asked the wyvern. "The water won't hide you. And the forest will not give you shelter. You've traded one off against the other for too long."

  "And anyway, you will run straight into me," said the other wyvern.

  * * *

  By the next day, when Dana and a small delegation of priests and knights went across, the island was a peaceful place, and very empty.

  The only sign of the terrifying women was a large hank of wet, greenish blond hair, next to the battlements.

  Dana was close to being considered a local saint. It seemed some measure of fear was a prerequisite for the Drac, but his little sister . . . she could be a lot better than she actually was.

  * * *

  "The land on the other side of the river—it seems sparsely populated," said Erik.

  "Yes. It's Slav land. Nominally
ruled by King Emeric too," said Vlad.

  "I wonder . . ." said Erik, tentatively. "Is there ny chance of getting a messenger across it, down into north Eastern Illyria? It can't be more than five or six leagues . . . to the village of Gorlac."

  "Dangerous for a man," said Angelo. "Easy enough for a wolf. We can do it one night."

  "Would you please?" Erik asked politely

  The King of the wolves nodded. "From what I hear we owe you for saving the girl."

  So, at long last, Manfred was able to send a detailed report of his whereabouts and the situation in the lands of the Golden Horde. It included a statement from Tulkun, and Bortai, in Mongol script, destined for the Ilkhan.

  Erik was willing to bet few sword strokes could wreak as much havoc as those sheets of paper would. Of course it might take until next spring to get them to where they might do some good.

  Chapter 81

  The winter, having being fairly mild, turned into a harsh season, with more snow. Vlad was able to do little more than consolidate, drill a little, and wait for spring.

  * * *

  To the east, the Golden Horde put aside inter-clan warfare in favor of keeping warm, and, of course, passing the time. A lot of babies would be born nine months later. And, naturally, a lot of stories were told. This was the time of year to strengthen and maintain the core of Mongol tradition, mostly by word of mouth. The story of Tortoise Orkhan was a popular one, across the White horde, and the unaffiliated and disaffected part of the Blue Horde. It was repeated, more clandestinely, even among the women folk of the clans closest to Gatu.

  The orkhan called a meeting of his closest advisors. "It is like being pecked to death by sparrows. Every day we get more demands about having a kurultai to choose a new khan. Do they not think that I know what they're doing?"

  "In spring . . ."

  "We cannot wait until spring. If we wait until then, we seven in this ger will be the last left," Nogay said glumly. "We've spread gold like water. And all she has spread is this story. And they prefer tradition and stories. The women coo about the romance of it."

  "Besides," said another adviser, "they have made an alliance, or at least a truce, with the khan over the mountain. He has let them pass through his territory. They can flank us or raid our gers while we try to fight the White Horde."

  "Let us call for a new kurultai," said Gatu thoughtfully.

  "You might have lost an election then, Orkhan," said General Nogay, "which is why we took the actions we did. You would definitely lose an election now.

  "Yes," said the orkhan. "But you have told me that we have a skilled assassin. Borshar has brought us nothing but trouble so far, not the help we were promised. So let us see if he can be of other use."

  Nogay looked thoughtful. "Kildai was supposed to die with the spell that knocked him off his horse. The ancestral tengeri look after that one. He would have to be killed in such a way that no suspicion fell on you, Orkhan."

  * * *

  After Emeric dismissed Count Mindaug, he felt some anxiety over his offer of employment. Mindaug had taken the offer—and gratefully, to all appearances. But the king of Hungary could not help but be somewhat worried.

  Emeric's grasp of magic was rudimentary, compared to that of Elizabeth's. In the past, the countess had seen to it that competent practitioners whom Emeric could co-opt were few and far between. She had killed anyone who might rival her, and taken into her own employ those like Mindaug who posed no threat but were highly skilled.

  The result was that Emeric had no good way to oversee the work of someone like Mindaug. He didn't know enough, himself. He would have no choice but to trust the count's word for such things—and trust was not something that came easily to the king of Hungary. It didn't come at all, actually.

  Still . . .

  He decided he was fretting too much. Elizabeth had never given any indication that she feared treachery from Mindaug, after all. The count's faults were those of fear and timidity—hardly the traits one would expect from an ambitious schemer. Emeric would simply have to see to it that, in a crisis, he over-rode Mindaug's inevitable hesitations.

  Chapter 82

  "The orkhan and the khans of the clans of the Blue horde have sent tarkhans to negotiate a kurultai!" announced Bortai, excitedly. "The generals and the khans from the clans are discussing safeguards with them."

  Erik found himself in turmoil on hearing this. He ought to be glad. Bortai was plainly pleased, the election of a new great Khan for the Golden Horde would hopefully end the civil war situation, and this after all would clear their way to their completing their mission. But . . . for the harsh months of winter, he had spent part of nearly every day with Bortai. She and two or three female Mongol—often different ones, escorted discretely by a few warriors, always came to make sure that they were well provisioned, and that they had no needs. Once Erik had found out the protocol that Mongol would follow among themselves on these visits, he'd had a word with Manfred and they'd turned them into showpieces of good hospitality. This had certainly done them no harm in the eyes of their hosts. They were an intrinsically traditional society, placing value on such things. The result had been that the knights were now almost regarded as a slightly odd Mongol tribe . . . and that Erik was even more fluent in Bortai's tongue—and she in his. And of course that his feelings for her had grown. She was . . . different to Svan. Always would be. But she was as true as steel, and laughed a lot.

  And now they would be parting. And he still was none too sure what to do about it.

  "Will you be going to the kurultai?" he asked.

  "Oh yes, definitely! I will be giving my testimony there, before the assembled clan heads."

  "I will miss you," The words were out before he thought about them.

  She looked at him a little oddly. "But you will be coming with us."

  "Um . . ." How best not to give offence?

  She understood. "It will not be like last time. Firstly . . . The clan Khans have agreed. And secondly, our army awaits less than a league away. Thirdly, it will take place on our borderland. This time it is not us who are far from home and isolated. And finally, this time we are prepared. Let them dare. Few, if any clans will stand for it twice. They have tried to pin the blame on us for last time. It has not worked. The honor and reputation of the Hawk clan towers above them. The best they can hope for is for people to accept is that it was a mistake."

  "I have to consider Manfred's safety." And yours, he wanted to say, but held back. How had he got himself into this situation? He'd said that he would never love another woman. That his life was duty . . . And also, well, just how could he do it? He had no real idea of the protocols involved in proposing marriage to a Mongol woman. And . . . was the idea at all acceptable to her? Was he?

  She nodded. "We understand the sanctity of a tarkhan and his escorts."

  Which was important, but not quite what he needed to know, right now.

  * * *

  Bortai had become very, very good at reading Erik. She knew him now for the reserved, intensely honorable that man he was. She'd long since moved on in her thinking from considering him a foreigner and some kind but lesser person. He was just . . . Erik. A man who loved neither lightly or with anything less than his whole being. She too saw complications. A Mongol woman moved, with her bride-goods, to the ger and lands of her new husband. She had long since realized that the horseboy had lied about Erik's noble antecedents. And she found that she really didn't care. She'd met enough young nobles whose nobility amounted to a title and wealth. In Erik . . . well he had that inner quality that set him apart. But just how did she persuade him to take that next step? And . . . was she ready to cast clan, tradition, and all she had lived for aside for a handsome foreigner?

  Her heart said "yes."

  Duty and common sense said "no." Or at least, not yet. But part of her said she should ignore the smiling chaperones—who were very good at turning a blind eye—and just kiss him.

  Duty won. />
  Narrowly.

  * * *

  The wolves knew roughly where to start searching. And the noses of the wolves were keen. It did not take them that long to find the shallow grave, and to open it up.

  Vlad stood silent looking down at fabric that he recognized. At her remains.

  Finally, he turned away and said quietly. "No man could own you. But you . . . owned me. And in part you always will." He took off his black cloak with its rich purple satin lining. "Let us wrap her in this. She will have a real burial, with honor, in the churchyard. My debt to the Lady Bortai is deeper. But I will purge this earth of Elizabeth's descendant too. Emeric of Hungary was Elizabeth Bartoldy's legacy. Destroying him will be Rosa's."

  * * *

  Kaltegg Shaman looked at the two boys and chuckled. "You are willing to do this, boy?" he asked David.

  David nodded. Once he would have shied as far as possible from it. But he been a different boy then. A person to whom the walls of Jerusalem had been the walls of the world, and to whom self had been all important. Now . . . he knew that had been a very small world, and that self was part of larger whole.

  "You know that they will try to kill you," said the shaman.

  "That's why I came. That's why I made Kildai come."

  "It is my task and my risk!" said Kildai.

  "Shut up, you," said David cheerfully.

  "How can you tell me to shut up? Have you no respect?" demanded Kildai. But the shaman could tell by the way he said it, that it was a rhetorical question. He smiled to himself. The young khan needed this. And the boy from Jerusalem needed him too.

  "Nope," said David. "You know that by know. So tell us, Kaltegg Shaman, can we do this? They will try to kill him. I know it. He knows it. Last time they tried by magic. I think that is what they will do again. I've talked to Von Stael. He says that I am doing the right thing."