When the Saints

CHAPTER 14

Snow was falling just as hard in Castle Gallant as it was on the other side of the Hogback. Wulf had planned to return from Long Valley to the same bailey entrance tunnel that he had used to leave, but he materialized in the alley outside, about two house lengths away. His arrival was unobserved, because there was no one close, and the snow was thick enough to hide him from anyone watching through windows, yet the deviation startled him, a reminder that he was still very ignorant of the workings of talent. As he rode along to the arch, a troop of men-at-arms came marching out, proving that his intended destination would have been a very poor choice at that time. He had certainly not known this beforehand, so he must assume that Saints Helena and Victorinus were still looking after him, even if they did not speak to him anymore.

He found Balaam standing in the bailey with his reins looped around the burr-plate. He looked abandoned and bewildered, but was happy to follow Copper into the stable, where the same two boys as before came running to give both horses rubdowns. Fortunately, horses could not gossip about where they had been, or explain the mud on their legs.

Vlad and Anton were in the solar.

Wulf went next to the armory to turn in Count Szczecin’s armor as a contribution to the stores. To the victor go the spoils. He detoured to the kitchens to borrow a bed warmer, which he carried on his shoulder like a pike as he went on up to the solar. The few people he passed gave him puzzled looks, but did not question.

The shabby little room felt hot as an oven after the wintery day outside. Vlad was slumped on a chair with a wine bottle, yawning. Anton was pacing to and fro, and jumped like a frog when Wulf walked in.

Wulf lifted the bottle from Vlad’s hand and took a long swig. “How’s the war going?”

He laid down the contraption he had brought from the kitchen, and took another long swig. Dutch courage, they called that.

“All quiet at the moment,” Vlad said. “We can’t see the end of our noses out there. I think both sides are bringing up guns. They’ll start work on our gates as soon as the snow stops. Gallant will fall on Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“You planning some hay time?” Anton demanded, looking at the bed warmer. He sat down also, but he was as taut as a bowstring.

“No.” It would be a very good idea, though. Lack of sleep was making Wulf’s eyes gritty and his head droop. “How do you transport gunpowder, Sir Vladislav?” He stretched across to return the wine bottle.

The big man reached a very long arm to take it. “In the best barrels. You keep it dry and away from fires.”

“Do you mark it as dangerous?”

“Sometimes,” the big man said cautiously. “I’ve seen barrels painted red.”

“I’ve just seen whole wagons painted red. The covers, I mean, but they were over barrels, I’m certain.”

All three men looked at the object on the hearth, the usual flat brass pan with a flat lid and a wooden handle about four feet long. Servants used such pans to warm the sheets on milady’s bed, or even milord’s bed, if milady wasn’t already warming it for him.

“Would it work?” Wulf asked, hoping that the answer was no.

“No,” Vlad said. “If you mean, would it blow everything sky high, no. At least… I don’t think it would. Powder’s funny stuff, unpredictable. You have to shut powder up tight to make it go bang. Loose powder just burns.”

“A whole wagonload just burns?”

“Yes. Christmas, would it burn, though! Whoosh!”

After a thoughtful silence, Vlad added, “I don’t think it would blow everything sky high. Might if you fired a gun at it. Or made a bomb. We got some powder downstairs, so if we packed it tight in a metal shell with a long fuse… but we don’t have one of those, that I know of.” He took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, which was almost as hairy. “We do got a couple of arquebuses.”

Too dangerous. Wulf glanced at the snow-packed casement. “If I was close enough to be sure of hitting it in this, I might go flying with the eagles.”

“Very like.”

“My way’s worth trying, then?” Wulf said unhappily. He could make fire with talent, he was sure, but again he wouldn’t get away fast enough.

“If you’ve got the balls for it.”

Did he? He thought about it. Justina had told him his talent couldn’t damage the Dragon itself. This felt like a good chance at the next best thing. It must be done now, while the snow would hide what he was doing, so he did not break the first commandment. Set one powder wagon on fire and men would flee in terror rather than try to save the others. A bombard without powder was useless junk, and it might take weeks to bring in fresh supplies, time that Duke Wartislaw did not have. The pass would close soon. Even if Wulf did not save Castle Gallant, he might cripple the subsequent invasion of lowland Jorgary.

Too good a chance to pass up, he decided. Omnia audere. He would not be the first Magnus to die before reaching legal adulthood.

“I have them now,” he said. “I hope I can keep them.”

Vlad muttered blasphemy under his breath. “You’ll have to go faster than a farting bat, lad. There’ll be powder dust on everything under the covers. One spark can do it, you know.”

Wulf knew that much. He knelt down, opened the lid of the warmer, and began picking hot coals out of the fire with the fire tongs. His brothers watched in appalled silence.

The door swung open and Otto walked in, then stopped to stare at what was going on. He had probably noticed Wulf’s guilty start.

“Going to hit a mattress?”

“No. Bolt that door, please.” Wulf went back to work.

Otto obeyed, raising inquiring baronial eyebrows at Anton, who was officially in charge of anything that happened in Castle Gallant.

“He’s located the duke’s powder wagons.”

“Virgin save us!” Otto went to a chair. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Wolfcub?”

That was Vlad’s name for him, but Otto would mean it as a term of affection.

“Oh, yes. I’m not sure what the powder will do afterward, though.” Wulf tossed down the tongs and closed the lid. That job was done. Now he must move on to the next. Which was…?

Which was to go to a moving target. He hadn’t tried that before. He could go to people he knew, so he should be able to find a wagon he knew, and it couldn’t have moved very far from where he had seen it, if at all.

He siavehoped that the snow was still falling as heavily over there as it was here.

He was forbidden to use his talent in front of witnesses, but his brothers all knew about it already, so no more harm could be done.

Recalling the wagons, he decided that the gunpowder casks must be much smaller than wine barrels, barely more than large kegs. They had been stacked four across, with a second layer on top, three across. That would explain the shape of the covers and ropes, and would make a reasonable load for a team of four horses on rough ground. Not that he knew how much gunpowder weighed, compared with, say, wine or nails, but an army wouldn’t risk too much of its total supply on a single wagon.

The wind seemed stronger than ever, at least in Gallant, and falling off the wagon would not be a good idea. He removed his cloak, which might get in his way. Anton took it for him.

He was procrastinating. Scared, in other words.

Still balanced on one foot and one knee, he turned his back on the warming pan and the hearth. He looked up at three agony-filled faces and was touched by their obvious concern.

He checked that his dagger moved freely in its sheath. The dagger had been Otto’s birthday and farewell gift to him when he and Anton had left Dobkov, not much more than a month ago. He caught Otto’s eye and they shared a smile.

“Our Lady be with you, Wolfcub.”

Anton said, “Amen!”

“And all the saints,” Vlad rumbled. “I’d come with you if I could, Cub, but thank sweet Jesus I can’t.”

That was it, then. Time to go.

Wulf went back to Long Valley.

He was very nearly blown clean off the wagon by the storm. He threw himself flat on the snowy surface and grabbed at a rope, but it was too tightly bound to give him a good grip. He found another he could hold on to, then took stock of his surroundings.

About three feet in front of his head, the carter and a pikeman were huddled together on the bench, swathed in their cloaks in an effort to keep the blizzard from running down their necks. So far they must be unaware of their passenger. The wagon was not moving, and the horses were understandably fretting, stamping hooves and tossing heads. Another wagon directly ahead was similarly stalled. The snow was too dense for Wulf to see much farther, but he could hear a lot of angry shouting as too much army tried to move along too little road.

A row of helmets on his right, almost level with him, was close enough to touch. Fortunately, the men-at-arms wearing them all had their backs to him, cowering away from the wind fr ri in the lee of the wagon. They, too, were stamping and grumbling. Beyond them was a cliff of rock and scrub, not quite a wall, but too steep to walk up.

The escort on his left should have been facing in his direction and ramming pikes into him already, but another red-painted wagon had pulled level and extremely close, so the guards had doubled up on the far side of it. Apparently none of them had noticed him-yet.

He rolled over and slid off his perch, down between the two wagons, crouching to make himself inconspicuous. He was already soaked and shivering, and he had banged a knee on the side of the first wagon. At the moment he was safe, but the gap was so narrow that if either wagon started to move, he would be crushed by its rear wheel. There was a fourth wagon right behind these two, and its driver might see him at any moment.

Out came the dagger, and he set to work on the covering of the wagon he had just left, attacking the slope from the top of the upper layer of barrels down to the sides of the lower layer. There must be a hollow under there which he could put to good use. Despite his frantic efforts, the leather was hard as iron and put up a stiff resistance, but his luck was holding so far. Indeed, it was going at full gallop, because he was in the middle of at least four powder wagons. If he could set one ablaze, there was a good chance of the fire spreading to others, seriously depleting the Wends’ supply.

But the leather was going to defeat him. His dagger seemed to be losing its edge. Oh, of course! The covering had been blessed. So it could be cursed. Yield! You are as soft as wet paper. Rip! There was a second cover underneath the first, so he cursed that also. It gave way, and he opened a rent down to the lower layer of barrels. A quick sideways slash opened a gap wide enough to put the bed-warmer pan through.

His brothers released a yelp of joy when he reappeared. He grabbed up the pan and went back to his place between the wagons.

The adjacent wagon had started to move. Its rear wheel was about to grind him against the front wheel of the wagon he was attacking, like grain in a mill. The driver waiting on the fourth wagon, the one behind, was watching its progress and saw him.

He roared in a voice like a July thunderstorm. “You! Who’re you? Guards, guards! What’s that man doing?”

For a moment, Wulf nearly fled in sheer panic. More men saw him and bellowed in fury. Orders were shouted. Two pikes narrowly missed his head and buried themselves in the covering he had cursed. Fortunately, men started coming over the wagons at him from both sides. For a moment they needed both hands for climbing and their comrades could not use their pikes.

With seconds to spare before he was crushed, Wulf thrust the bed warmer into the gap he had made, and gave it a half-turn to tip the coals out on the lid of the barrid ds el below. Burn hot, my babies!

Then he went back to Castle Gallant.

Three men-all of them bigger than he-mobbed him, hugging him, thumping his back. He struggled free angrily, aware that he was shaking as if he had tertian fever.

“You did it, Cub?” Vlad demanded.

“I have no idea. Give me a drink. Let me sit down. Don’t suppose I’ll ever know if I did it-I mean, whether it worked.” Suddenly nauseous, he flopped onto a chair, the chair in which Marek had died. He had been seen. He had broken the first commandment yet again, and he could no longer plead ignorance. He should not have tried it. Justina was going to rip him to strips, and he was fairly sure now that her help and approval were vital to any faint hope he might have of escaping the Church’s vengeance for the death of Brother Azuolas.

“What exactly did you do?” Otto asked. “Tell us, dammit!”

Wulf told them, stuttering as reaction dug in like icicles. He had not slept for so long it felt like months. Tomorrow he would be needed again. He must report back to Justina, and he must sleep.

“Go and change,” Otto said. “You’re soaked!”

“If it blew up, would we have heard it?” Anton asked Vlad.

The big man shook his head. “In this snow? Other side of a mountain? No, but hot coals and powder don’t mix, so I’m sure he destroyed one wagon. One won’t save us. Nobody’s going to stay around and put the fire out, though, so the other wagons may go up as well. Very likely, in fact. And if they all go, then Wartislaw will almost certainly not have the means to breach our defenses. He still outnumbers us hugely, but the boy may have won us enough time for the king’s men to arrive. That’s as much as-”

The castle trembled as if kicked by a giant. Wine bottles rattled on the table, the candlesticks danced on the mantel, and hot embers collapsed on the hearth.

“Satan’s balls!” Anton yelled. “What was that?”

Vlad gave a great roar and charged the nearest window like a mad bull. He flung the casement open, admitting a gale and filling the room with flying snowflakes. It was still daylight out there, but it was barely possible to see across the bailey.

“What in the pit are you doing?” Anton roared.

His brother turned to show a ragged row of big white teeth in his forest of beard. “Waiting for the thunder. It’s like mining under a castle wall. You feel the. Y sti thump before you hear the-”

A long rolling rumble echoed off the mountains, and re-echoed faintly from farther away.

“You ever heard thunder in a snowstorm?” Vlad shouted, waving his fists in the air.

Otto said, “Yes, but it’s very-” He was drowned out.

“You did it, Wolfcub, you did it! I was wrong.”

Wulf felt a jolt of triumph and leapt to his feet, fatigue forgotten. “One wagon or all of them?”

“Every last one of them, surely!” Vlad slammed the casement.

“Bravo!” Otto clapped Wulf on the back hard enough to jar his teeth, then hugged him.

Anton screamed in joy and waved his fists in the air.

“Devil take ’em!” Vlad bellowed. “Half the shitty Wend army must be plastered all over the forest! What are we waiting for? To arms!” He charged to the door, wrestled briefly with the latch, and then vanished out into the corridor, still bellowing.

Otto said, “Heavenly Father, we humbly thank you for this great mercy that you have…” He concluded with a prayer for the souls of the dead. Three brothers said amen and made the sign of the cross.

Wulf had not broken the first commandment after all, because all the workaday witnesses must be dead. But his jubilation soon lost out to shame. And fear too. What had he done? Shaken the mountains? How many dead?

“You lost your dagger,” Otto said. “Take this one, you’ve earned it.” He held out his own, an heirloom with an amber handle in the shape of a man’s forearm with the fist in a clenched gauntlet making the pommel.

Wulf recoiled. “No, no! I can’t wear that.”

“You can and you will,” his brother said firmly. “It doesn’t belong to the reigning baron. The fifth baron had it made for his youngest son. For two hundred years it has been worn by the Magnus most worthy. I didn’t earn it, I just inherited it. I brought it along this time because I was planning to give it to Anton if he could hold on to his earldom. But by God, you’re the hero now! Wear it till you die. Tell your sons to send it back to Dobkov.”

“But-”

“Take it!” Otto roared.

Reluctantly Wulf obeyed and stared in disbelief at the treasured Magnus Dagger. As a small child he had dreamed of wearing it. He hadn’t been very old when hery y W realized how slim his chances were, with four brothers ahead of him. “This should be a reward for prowess at arms, not witchcraft.”

“It’s a reward for courage. Hang it on your belt or stick it in my chest. That’s the only way I’ll take it back.”

“I agree,” Anton said thinly.

In disbelief, Wulf hung the heirloom at his right thigh. Today, what was left of it, he would wear the Magnus Dagger. Tomorrow he would give it back to Otto to keep safe for him. Otherwise the Inquisition would steal it.

“Come, Count,” Otto said. “Vlad is right. We must strike while we can. Let’s go throw the fiendish bombard into the river.” He strode out the door.

Wulf shivered. “I need dry clothes first.”

“Wait!” Anton shut the door and blocked it, arms defiantly folded. “Wulf, you have done everything we could have hoped for. You have defeated the Wends and saved Castle Gallant and we are all very grateful, but the Inquisition will soon come looking for you. You said so yourself. I realize that you got into the trouble you are in now by helping me, and I promised you any reward I could give you. Name it, take it, and then go. You must flee.”

Wulf looked up at his brother and saw a lot more jealousy than gratitude. He felt his temper twitch again. He shivered again as the cold bit deeper. “Pretty speech! The trouble is, the only reward I want, you cannot give me. And fleeing is no answer. Let’s see how things are back in Dobkov… Branka is currently reading a bedtime story to our nephews. Old Father Czcibor is teaching a confirmation class. Understand? I can see them and I could go to them. The same applies to the Inquisition’s Speakers. I can’t hide from them, no matter where I go.”

“But you don’t need to draw their attention to the rest of us!”

Fury! “Oh, listen, you long streak of stupidity. The Scarlet Spider fooled you, haven’t you seen that yet? When Zdenek offered to exalt you from a nothing to a lord of the northern marches, he knew that you couldn’t claim the reward without using Satanism. He knew the Magnuses produced both swordsmen and sorcerers. You knew that too, and knew you could twist my arm until I agreed to help, so you accepted. When you twisted, I yielded. I was just as guilty and just as deceived.”

Anton unfolded his arms, but one hand sought out his sword hilt and the other went to steady his scabbard. He was probably too mad to listen to reason. “Deceived how?”

“Because if we’ve won the war, we’ve won it for that old sinner, not for us. Maybe I’ ve destroyed Wartislaw’s powder and Vlad and Otto can do the rest. But the way the Church sees it, I begged help from Satan and you accepted it, too. We are up to our necks in Satanism, all of us. The cardinal won’t lift a finger to save inglp us, not a pinkie! Once he’s sure that Castle Gallant is safe, he’ll throw the Magnuses to the dogs and put some dandy courtier in your place. We’re all doomed. Understand? Now get out of my way.”

Anton’s face was fiery, and for a moment Wulf thought he was actually going to draw. Glaring, he stepped aside, and Wulf left.