Speak to the Devil

CHAPTER 25

Neither armored foe nor the dawn screams of roosters could penetrate the walls of Castle Dobkov. Flunkies out in the bailey could stoke ovens, thresh rye, or crank the windlass on the well without being heard inside.

Regrettably, female servants slept in the attics. They arose with the roosters and the ancient floor beams creaked. Ottokar angrily pulled the quilt over his ear, trying to will himself back to sleep. Warm, soft arms embraced him. The tendency for occupants to collect in the middle was both the joy and the curse of a feather bed.

“You’re awake,” Branka murmured.

He said, “No.”

“So what’s the news that kept you tossing and turning all night?”

He abandoned hope of more sleep and rolled over to join in the hugging. “As far as the staff is concerned, Anton is betrothed to the only daughter of the late Count Bukovany and the first installment of her dowry will pay Vlad’s ransom-Wulf delivered it. That happens to be true, which is useful. Father Czcibor can arrange a thanksgiving Mass for Sunday.”

She said, “Mmph. No more?”

“Not for Father Czcibor.”

He felt her mood change instantly. “Wulf’s started Speaking?”

“How did you know about that? I never told you about it.”

She chuckled and squeezed him tighter. “No, you didn’t, but the senior servants all know. I arrived just after Marek was taken, remember, and they knew that something would trouble young Wulf at times, and he would run off to the church to pray, all by himself. A few of them even remembered one of your father’s aunts being ‘strange.’ Father Czcibor remarked to me once, just after we were married, that as long as Speakers didn’t answer the Voices they heard, then they were resisting temptation and were good Christians. I guessed that he meant Wulf.”

“It’s your brains that make me love you.”

“This is a recent change.”

“After the Dominicans took Marek away, Father made us all swear not to tell anyone about Wulf. So I couldn’t tell you, and I didn’t want to burden you, anyway. You’ll forgive me?”

“Of course. You were right. I didn’t know; I was just guessing. But now he’s started?”

Otto had always feared that Wulf wouldn’t be able to resist Speaking once he escaped out into the world. Damn Anton for tricking him into it, just to impress the court! That was typical of Anton. Had the positions been reversed and Wulf had tried something like that on Anton-not that Wulf ever would-Anton would have turned his back and let him go ahead and break his stupid neck.

“I’m afraid so. It was Anton’s fault.”

“And they’ve quarreled?”

Otto took time to consider. “I don’t think so, not yet. But they may, and we mustn’t let it happen. They’ve done amazing things, but they’re in way over their heads, deeper than hell’s cellar.” He hesitated and then mentioned the other problem because he never willingly kept secrets from Branka. “Wulf got injured on the journey somehow, although his Voices cured him later. Cardinal Zdenek had ordered Anton to marry the late count’s daughter. That would be fine by Anton, confirm his claim to the coronet. Stupidly, though, he ordered her to care for Wulf while he was disabled.”

“Oh, no! Not Wulfgang! He didn’t!”

“It isn’t a matter of doing, I’m sure. But it is a matter of wanting to. On both sides, apparently. Of course it would never have occurred to Anton that those two were both in highly stressed situations. Wulf is terrified that he’s sold his soul to the devil, she had just lost her father, mother, and brother and was ordered to marry a man she’s never even heard of. When you think about it, what happened was almost inevitable. They grabbed at each other like drowning sailors.”

“So you think you’re going to ride off and help them?”

“My love, I have no choice. This is for no one but you, understand?”

“I swear.”

“It’s war! The Wends’ vanguard has crossed the border. Anton was wounded and would have died if Wulf’s Voices had not saved him-for the second time in three days. The main army is sure to follow. Jorgarian forces are weeks or months away and the only defense Jorgary has at the moment is a castle under the command of Anton Magnus, twenty years old and never seen a battle.”

Branka whispered a Hail Mary. Otto said, “Amen.”

She sighed. “When will you leave?” She was a worthy warrior’s wife.

“This morning Wulf and I’ll go on a brotherly outing, visit a few of the tenants. Hint that he has been having thoughts about a certain girl, if you must. We should be back before nightfall. After that… I don’t know. For as long as I’m needed.”

“You have time to say goodbye, big bull.”

Otto found his brother in the lesser hall, again being mobbed by the staff and giving every indication of enjoying it, which he probably wasn’t. The jabber died away as the baron approached. He announced the limited story about Sir Vladislav’s ransom, which was loudly cheered. He added that he and Wulf were going to go riding that morning. He glanced across the table.

“We’ll leave as soon as we can, Wulf?”

Wulf nodded with a smile that did not quite reach his wolfish eyes.

The brothers had no chance for a private chat before they rode out across the drawbridge together, Wulf on Copper and Otto astride his old favorite, Balaam, who was past any serious exertion but steady enough not to panic when Wulf started Speaking miracles. The sun was bright on golden leaves and warm for late September.

They left a lot of puzzled retainers behind them. When the baron went hunting, he took a retinue of beaters, hawkers, huntsmen, foresters, and kennel men. Going visiting, he would never venture forth without a train of at least forty men-at-arms. If he and his brother were merely planning an amble around the environs of the castle, why did they need to take such fat bundles with them, and why had they insisted that the baggage be attached to their horses’ saddles, instead of loaded on a packhorse? He was behaving very oddly.

Wulf was puzzled, too. “What’s the plan, Brother Baron?” he asked as they crossed the bridge. “What’s in the bags?”

“My court clothes, mostly. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll have to journey home the hard way.”

The kid frowned. “Nothing should go wrong.”

“Good. First you miracle us to Mauvnik. How long will that take?”

Wulf pointed to a hawk spiraling down out of the sky. His finger tracked it down until it vanished in weeds at the edge of the pasture and some anonymous rodent died. “About that long.”

“Oh!” Otto wondered if he had overestimated Balaam’s impassivity. “Secondly, we redeem the scrip for gold. The Medici agent there knows me. If Vlad tried to turn it into cash in Bavaria, it would take months.”

Wulf chuckled. “We never thought of that! Old Jurbarkas should have warned us. He’s Anton’s seneschal, decent but doddery. Then what? We call on the cardinal?”

His tone of voice suggested he was ready to argue. Wulf had changed. He was not the same boy who had ridden away with Anton a month ago, two youths going forth to seek their fortunes. Anton must have changed also. They would not be human otherwise, after what they had been through already. And Wulf must guard his secret very closely now. If the cardinal decided that his Speaker helper had served his purpose and become a potential cause for scandal, he would betray him. The Bible said, “Put not your trust in princes.”

The horses entered the coppice, where the air was cooler. With no one overlooking them, this would be a good setting for a miracle.

“It would be safer if I called on the cardinal instead of you,” Otto said. “You are vulnerable. I met Zdenek once, years ago. Father presented me to him. He wasn’t a cardinal then. He won’t remember me, but my title should get me in to see him.” The Magnus name alone should, under present circumstances.

“While I take two thousand florins south to Bavaria?”

“Yes. And bring back Vlad.”

They rode on for a moment. Then calculating golden eyes turned on Otto again. “I don’t have to tell him that Anton is now a count, do I? Please?”

Otto laughed aloud. “Brother, I have sorely missed you this last month! I’d suggest you chain him down first.”

Wulf grinned. “I’ll let you tell him. His face should be worth every florin. Ready for me to Speak?”

Otto dug in his knees and shortened the reins. “Go ahead.”

“You must stay close to me. That’s vital.” Wulf turned his head the other way and addressed empty air, “Holy Saints Helena and Victorinus, hear my prayer.” Pause. “First, would you heal the bruises on my face, please, so I don’t look so gruesome? Thank you.” He glanced around to enjoy Otto’s reaction when he saw that the black-eye bruises had gone. “And now, dear Saints, would you please move us directly through limbo to Mauvnik?”

The world became a silent, silvery mist. Balaam screamed in terror and reared. Otto grabbed the pommel of his saddle and clung tight with his thighs. Balaam bolted along the foggy trail, and now nothing was solid except Wulf and Copper, racing along at their side. Balaam skidded to a halt and tried bucking again like a two-year-old. Eventually the old courser steadied, more from exhaustion than his rider’s direction, but for a few moments it had been Wulf’s horsemanship that had kept the two mounts close together, not Otto’s.

He said, “Sorry! I was a little too sudden with that.” He looked very innocent, but there was a devilish gleam in his eye. The world hadn’t beaten all the boy out of him yet.

“When in Mauvnik, stay at the Bacchus” had been a family motto for generations. Otto was greeted with joyful deference and polite inquiries about “the hardships of my lord’s journey.” Wulf was welcomed back, having spent one night there a month ago.

If all went well, there would be no need to overnight in Mauvnik, but Otto needed a place to change. With Vlad’s ransom in hand at last, he was freed from the penny-pinching of the last two years, so he demanded a private room, no sharing, with two beds if possible-most travelers were happy to sleep three or four to a bed. He also wanted a boy to guard the baggage when he and Wulf were absent, hay and fresh straw for the horses, and the room to be cleaned and ready within twenty minutes. The landlord promised everything he asked.

With Wulf playing valet, Otto shed his traveling clothes and changed into city wear. Leaving their room guarded by the grubby-faced youth they had hired, the brothers reclaimed their mounts and rode off up the hill to Upper Mauvnik. Even in the capital, they did not venture out without their sabers.

The local Medici agent did his business in his home near the palace in a street so grand that it was both paved and wide enough for two wagons to pass. It was also less fouled with garbage and horse dung than most. Servants came running to take the horses and escort the noble baron indoors to meet the illustrious bankers. An effort was made to store Wulfgang in the basement with the menials while the oily Italian gentlemen discussed money upstairs with Otto, but Otto insisted that he attend. This gave the lad an hour’s instruction in how little he would enjoy a career in banking, watching shiny coins being weighed and tallied, and listening to shop talk about the grape harvest. Otto wondered if his brother was noticing how skillfully the bankers questioned him. They would forward the information they gained to Medici headquarters in Florence, to add to the vast store of intelligence that the bank amassed from all over Christendom.

Vladislav had been given quarter, which meant that his captor must be reimbursed for two years’ food and board. Otto had brought a pouch containing another sixty florins to add to Anton’s two thousand. He did not explain why the money was needed and nobody was crass enough to ask.

It was close to terce before the brothers emerged in the stable yard, Otto carrying a stout leather bag containing sixteen pounds of gold. Not wanting to try vaulting into the saddle with this burden, he handed it up to Wulf, who whistled at the weight.

“I could stun a robber with this.”

“Don’t lose it. Come to think of it, I must be crazy, entrusting it to you. You used to be very good at losing things.”

“I hadn’t been gone a month when I lost my heart.”

But not his virginity, Otto guessed. The small talk died, and the brothers smiled uneasily. The moment of double peril had come and they must part.

“I’d best hurry and find a comfortable chair in the Spider’s web,” Otto said, “in case I have to spend the rest of the day there. You remember where Baron Emilian lives?”

“Castle Orel.”

“Bavaria’s a big place. Do you know how to find it?”

Wulf gave him an odd look. “I just have to ask, Otto.”

Jesus save us! Even the whirlwind ride from Dobkov had not impressed Otto as much as those simple words. What had his baby brother become? Marek might have exactly the same powers, but Marek was a peace-loving scholar. Wulf had more of the warrior Magnus blood in him; a lightning-bolt temper hid behind his easygoing manner. Would his saints rein him in if he tried to use his powers too hastily?

“Then I don’t even need to wish you safe journey, but I’ll do it anyway. I’ll see you at the Bacchus when we both get back there.”

“And I wish you a safe return as well, Brother Baron. It was good to come home and be made welcome, even if it’s only for a very short time.” Wulf wheeled his horse and took off at a slow walk along the grand street.

Ottokar Magnus knew where the palace stabled visitors’ mounts and how to find the bureaucrats’ wing where the work of government was done. His title and the impressive document he bore were enough to gain him admittance to the cardinal’s anteroom, which was already crowded with petitioners. Two years had passed since he last graced the royal palace with his presence, when he came to beg for a royal grant to help ransom Vlad. Then he had been one of many on the same quest, and he had gotten no farther than he was now; even Vlad’s warrior reputation had failed to win a hearing from His Eminence. This time, Otto had come on behalf of the baby of the family, and his chances of being admitted were considerably better. He found that amusing, although Vlad would not.

He strolled across the marble floor, noting rustic aristocracy like himself in their shabby hand-me-downs amid lawyers, burghers, and courtiers flaunting the latest styles. The points on some of the shoes were so long that they had to be chained up to their wearers’ knees. Liripipes, the stupid tails attached to men’s hoods, had grown until they were wrapped around the head like turbans. There were no women present to compare, only men, some standing, some sitting, and all of them wanting something that they probably shouldn’t get. How did Zdenek stand it, day after day for a lifetime? Did he just enjoy the power to grant or deny? Didn’t it pall eventually, even on the son of a butcher, which is what he was?

The chancellor at the desk beside the door to the sanctum was a friar in Franciscan brown, and a flock of bored novices perched nearby, waiting to carry messages. The friar looked up at the visitor with a studied smile of welcome.

Otto introduced himself and the sender of the letter he bore.

The cleric’s smile curdled. He held out an ink-stained hand for the letter.

Otto retained it. “I must deliver this personally to the cardinal.”

Stalemate. “If Your Lordship would be so gracious as to take a seat for just a few minutes, I am sure His Eminence will be happy to accord you an audience very promptly.” That meant an hour or two.

“His Eminence is most gracious.” Otto turned away and was annoyed to see two men obviously trying to catch his eye. Almost certainly they were comrade knights from his campaigning days, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember their names or where he had met them. He smiled and began wandering in their direction. He did not get far before a treble voice spoke at his shoulder.

“Baron Magnus? His Eminence will see you right away.”

The two knights were too far away to overhear, but they could guess at the words and were staring as if the last trump had just sounded. With a shrug to indicate how disappointed he was at not being able to chat with them, Otto turned and followed the novice to the door of the inner sanctum.

Twenty years ago the Scarlet Spider had been a mere clerk, reticent and obsequious, his working quarters cramped and dingy. Now the center of his web shone in an obscene display of gold and crystal to proclaim his greatness. So much opulence made Otto feel slightly ill. The years had taken their toll of the old man. His beard and eyebrows were white, his fingers knobbed, and his smile displayed long teeth when he offered his cardinal’s ring for the visitor to kiss. If he were a garment, he would be regarded as threadbare. Nevertheless, he flaunted the red hat and robes of a prince of the Church and his chair was just high enough to register as a throne. Not bad for a butcher’s son.

“My lord baron, it is good to see you again. You didn’t heed my warning, I see.”

Otto straightened up. “I recall no warning, Your Eminence.”

“Did I not tell you that if you grew any bigger you would become a very easy target?” He laughed. “No, I do not remember our conversation either, but that’s what I always say to oversized youths, and my notes tell me that it was twenty years ago when your father brought you to court.”

“I remember you, Your Eminence.”

“I was more of a foothill than an eminence then. You have a letter for me?”

“I have a letter from my brother the count addressed to His Majesty.” Otto held it out. The only other person present, a plump, fussy little Franciscan with a patch over one eye, came around his shoulder and took it, broke the seal with a knife, and handed it to Zdenek. He then pulled over one of the lesser chairs for Otto.

“Bring a goblet of wine for the baron, Brother Daniel. You will give me your opinion of the vintage, my lord, and how it compares with your own renowned Dobkov reds. Pray excuse me while I read His Majesty’s mail.”

Brother Daniel brought Otto wine and then retired to a desk behind the door, not easily visible from where Otto had been seated.

The cardinal’s throne put his back to the light, which helped his reading, no doubt, but also shadowed his expression. He lowered the letter. “Incredible! Your brothers have done far better than I ever dared hope. Blood will out, as they say. Your family has long been a bulwark of the Jorgarian throne, my lord.”

“Your Eminence is kind.” The Zdeneks had butchered cattle and the Magnuses had butchered men.

The cardinal leaned back in his chair and chewed his lip for a moment. He had conspicuously not asked how a letter dated the day before had arrived so incredibly fast, and he had spoken of brothers, plural, not of a man-at-arms and his varlet. Normally a varlet would not be mentioned at all.

“Why did the landsknechte run away, do you suppose?”

“I do not know, Eminence. The person who brought that letter did not know either; he mentioned a possible disagreement over pay, which I find strange. Count Anton is young and inexperienced, but he is not an idiot. He needed those troops like he needs lungs.”

Zdenek nodded. “You are experienced in military matters, my lord. Tell a humble cleric what happens next in this forthcoming attack.” His pretense of humility might have been intended to amuse, but even without the mask of shadow, his face would never be readable unless he wanted it to be.

“If Castle Gallant is as good as its reputation, even a beginner like my brother should be able to hold off the foe for a month or two. That may be long enough, because the Wends will be sleeping in tents, in the mountains, in winter. Neither men nor horses prosper in snow. I would not expect them to dig in for a long siege, especially as the lake that is their way home will start freezing soon. They cannot bypass the fort to impose a true siege, so they cannot starve it out. Your Eminence’s reinforcements will arrive… when?”

The old man shrugged resignedly. “I have been promised some lancers and mounted archers, not many, and they cannot be there for at least another month. Even forty days may be optimistic. Gallant has always been considered impregnable. Is it still?”

Otto’s grandfathers would have said yes. Father might have done. “No. When Constantinople fell, we learned that nowhere is impregnable anymore, and the years since have confirmed that. If this bombard they call the Dragon is as large as my informant thinks it is, then the only question is whether the Wends can wrestle it in over a mountain trail.”

The cardinal nodded. “It was made by the gunsmiths of Sweden, the best in Christendom, and is reported to throw three-hundred-pound balls for more than a mile.”

“Then Gallant will fall.”

“If the Wends can get the monster emplaced.” The old man raised white tufts of eyebrow inquiringly.

So began the bargaining. “Of course. But who is to stop them? The obvious defense is to sally and try to seize the bombard itself and spike it, but Anton does not have enough troops to do that.”

The old man’s eyelids drooped slyly. “You have other brothers. If His Majesty was so generous to one who had yet to achieve anything, do you doubt that he will richly reward another after he has saved the entire country from rapine?”

He meant Wulfgang, but Otto was not without experience in negotiating.

“Possibly Your Eminence refers to my brother Vladislav? He hates to be left out of a good fight.”

Zdenek produced a cynical smile as easily as if he had pulled it out of a pocket. “I gambled a county because His Majesty was about to lose it anyway. I doubt if I can afford two more. Titles, yes. Stars and ribbons, by all means. I am sure Sir Vladislav has military experience that his younger brothers lack, but he can do little by himself and I see no practical means of bringing in effective reinforcements for him to direct.”

Of course not. Wulf would certainly not transport men he could not trust to keep his secret, so only Vlad could be brought in. Besides, other men would not fight for a man they must consider a servant of the devil. It was Vlad or nobody-except possibly Otto himself, but he need not decide that until he knew what Vlad was willing to do.

Now the cardinal was frowning and drumming fingers on the arm of his chair impatiently. “Brother Daniel, see how many more petitioners are waiting and warn the chancellor that we may have to take a recess.”

The friar rose and departed without a word. The moment the door closed and the two men were alone, Zdenek leaned forward and spoke more urgently. “The following conversation will never happen.”

“Of course not,” Otto agreed.

“Then let us speak freely. You are a soldier. You can bring the Dragon within five miles or so of Cardice by water, but then you must transport the monster over a mountain trail-not steep, I am informed, but muddy and punctuated by bridges and sharp bends. How do you do it?”

“I employ a Speaker, likely the same Speaker who cursed Count Bukovany and his son.”

“Quite. And this letter tells me that your brothers have identified him as Father Vilhelmas, an Orthodox priest. Without Satan’s help, Duke Wartislaw cannot bring his bombard along that road in the time at his disposal.”

“Satan’s help, Your Eminence?”

“Certainly. All my enemies work for Satan.”

Again Otto could not tell if the old man was serious or joking, but he refused to be intimidated. “Not an implication I want to hear near my family, Eminence. If you cannot send reinforcements to aid my brother the count, can you reinforce the other one? He has achieved wonders so far, but he is young and alone and without experience.” Now there was no doubt whom they were discussing, or what his role was.

There was a pause.

“A reasonable request,” Zdenek conceded. “It presents some difficulties that I cannot explain in the brief time we have available. Something might be achieved. Such matters should not be written down, so tell him that the password will be ‘Greenwood.’ He may trust anyone who comes with that word.”

“Excellent! There remains the matter of reward.”

The cardinal’s glare was very gratifying. “Your youngest brother is a Speaker. We both know that, and he gave himself away at the hunt a week ago. Had I realized that he was eighteen, I might have approached him directly, but my records inexplicably indicated that he was only sixteen. Women mature younger, but male Speakers’ powers are rarely properly developed at that age. Someone had been shielding him, I suspect. I could not appoint an unknown of sixteen to be a lord of the marches-my action in promoting his brother to the earldom was bizarre enough. I hoped that Wulfgang’s aid would help speed his journey to his new post, but I honestly did not expect such a daunting display of power. Who has been training him?”

“No one, I am certain.”

“He must have the endurance of a seasoned warrior.”

“It is in his blood. He is a Magnus.”

“So now he wants to hold His Majesty to ransom, does he? Will a dukedom suffice?”

“He would spurn it,” Otto said quickly. “He enjoys hunting, so a forest of his own might tempt him, but all the duties and responsibilities of a great landowner would not. That is not what he covets.”

Younger sons of noble houses were always ravenous for land, honors, and titles. It was largely they who kept Europe roiling in a perpetual state of warfare. Yet the cardinal did not seem surprised to hear of an exception.

“Speakers are not as other men, my lord. Or as other women. The best thing I can offer your Wulfgang is my protection. It is limited. If he starts walking through walls or striking men dead, then the Church will have him and that will be the end of him. As long as he remains discreet, I may be able to persuade the archbishop to turn a blind eye. More than that I cannot promise.”

“Your Eminence’s assurance is most comforting, but there is more. The little god with the arrows has intervened.”

“Martyrs pity me!” The old man rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “The daughter? Are you telling me that we may lose this war because of an outbreak of juvenile lust?”

“It would not be the first such mishap since Troy, Eminence.”

“No, I suppose it would not.” Zdenek leaned back in his chair. “You expect the king to reverse his edict? How bad is it?”

“In Wulfgang’s case, life-threatening-and unprecedented. He has never acted like this before. According to his account, the lady returns his ardor. Anton does not know, and probably will not care as long as his claim to the earldom is preserved.”

The door opened as Brother Daniel returned. The cardinal straightened up. “Well, they must be discreet. Certain acts are irrevocable, you understand?”

Marriage, for example. Otto nodded. What God had joined together stayed joined together.

“If the castle falls,” the Spider said, “the point is moot. If he succeeds, then Jorgary will be deeply in his debt. Meanwhile, I shall report your good news to His Majesty, and you may be assured that the house of Magnus will stand even higher in his favor than it has ever done.”

Hopefully that would be higher than where it had stood when it needed to ransom one of its sons.

Otto rose, then knelt to kiss the cardinal’s ring. Brother Daniel opened a door for him, but not the one by which he had entered. He walked down a stair and left the palace.