“Why not? Tell me why not! I know the answer. What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t, and I don’t want to. I do know he’s fighting, too, but his is a different sort of war, Anton. The whole thing is disgusting, but we didn’t start it. And Wulf’s power doesn’t make him immortal. Remember that three Speakers died yesterday. He’s a brave lad, and he’s on our side.”
Anton drew himself up to his full height and glared down at him, hi s water-buffalo mustache bristling.
“Well, I know those Wends on the ladders were our enemies, but I think they were all brave men, too. And honorable men, trying to fight an honest battle with muscle and courage and swords, as men have always fought. And I think the devil gathered them up and took them straight to hell, and he did it because Wulf asked him to.”
Otto did not try to argue.
CHAPTER 12
Castle Gallant’s stables were far smaller than Dobkov’s and now they were almost deserted, for half the Gallant herd had been taken prisoner when the Wends captured the Long Valley outpost. Wulf stepped out of an empty stall. He had hoped that there would be no hands present, but two young boys were busily shoveling. They looked up in surprise as he approached.
“I’m Squire Wulfgang,” he said. “The count’s brother. Saddle up Copper and Balaam for me. Right away.”
They would never argue with a nobleman, and were too young to ask where he thought he was going when both gates were besieged. Happy to be useful while forced to miss out on the war, th ~
Copper was glad to see him, assuming that Wulf had come to rescue him from the noisome cell and take him out to run over the hills. Balaam, Otto’s old courser, had disliked Wulf ever since an afternoon seven years ago when Wulf had ridden him on a bet, much to Balaam’s disgust and Otto’s astonishment. That feat had won him the first florin he ever owned, and the years since had been kinder on the boy than the steed. Now Balaam was practically dog food and Wulf was… Wulfgang was whatever Wulfgang was now. Even yesterday he had worried about controlling more than one horse on a trip through limbo. Now he knew better. As Sybilla had implied, anything was possible to a Speaker.
– Calm, he told Balaam. Be happy! The old warrior raised his ears and put away his teeth. Wulf patted his neck and didn’t lose a finger. He had achieved his first tweak! He ought to take his own advice, though, because his heart was thumping much faster than a Magnus heart was supposed to thump. For the first time in his life he was going forth to meet a foe.
When all was ready, he vaulted onto Copper’s back and accepted Balaam’s reins. He dropped a coin into an eager hand. “That’s the only one I’ve got on me,” he said. “Share it, half each.”
He rode off with shrill thanks ringing in his ears. The bailey was almost deserted, but not quite, and it was overlooked by many windows. He rode across to the dark tunnel that led out to the street.
Except in his case. He made it lead out to Long Valley, emerging in an icy blast of wind in the pinewood where he had stood when Marek shot down Vilhelmas-was that only last night? It felt like weeks ago. The log wall of the barracks building was behind him, windowless on this side. The horses whinnied and he calmed them with a thought as he reined in. There was no one near to observe, no smoke emerging from the chimney. The air smelled less of pine sap than it had in the night, more of mud and animals. Peace had given way to the squeal of axles and familiar torrents of abuse from teamsters driving ornery beasts over rough ground.
The scenery beyond the pine grove had changed since last night, too. Tents and pavilions had gone. Now steady processions of oxcarts and horse-drawn wagons were creaking by on either side of the trees, heading north. About as many empties were going south, suggesting that the Wends were still ferrying in men and supplies over the lake. And they must be Wends. Count Pelrelm could never raise an army of this size. He might be in league with them, but they were not his own men. Wipe one theory off the slate.
Sybilla materialized alongside Balaam and pouted down in disgust at the needle-filled mud under her pretty shoes. The old horse barely flickered an ear. Before Wulf could dismount to help her, she slid a foot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle in a flaming whirl of cloth of gold and a flash of her halo. She shot Wulf a smile of triumph and expertly adjusted the stirrup leathers. Suitably impressed by the cardinal’s daughter, he passed her the reins.
“Your brothers think you’re in league with the devil,” she said, smirking. ng. iv›
Of course they did. He had seen the fear in their eyes. Even Otto hadn’t been able to hide it. They thought they were putting their own souls in peril by accepting his aid and failing to denounce him. They were probably right.
“Am I?” he asked. “Are you?”
She laughed and tried a coquettish leer on him. “If you were, what would you do with me?”
“Chain you to a rock and send a sea monster for you.” He nudged Copper into motion and rode around the back of the building, just in case there were pickets guarding the door at the front. The barracks might be deserted now, for all he knew, but as the only permanent structure available, it might also be Duke Wartislaw’s temporary palace, if His Grace was leading his army in person.
The casque’s original owner must also have been able to see well enough in it, but Wulf could not, so he removed it and propped it against the upright burr-plate on the front of his saddle. That way he was still an obvious nobleman, but less easily recognized as an imposter. His greatest danger, after other Speakers, were Two Stags’s surviving followers.
In a few minutes the intruders came to the edge of the pine knoll, where the land sloped gently down into marshy ground, which Dali Notivova had described in graphic terms. Scabby patches of snow did little to improve its appearance, while the passage of an army had churned the rest of it into ponds and black mud. Although the many small groves of trees had not yet shed their leaves, being aspens, they were managing to shake off most of the snow. Their spindly but densely packed trunks blocked sight lines so well that it was impossible to see more than twenty or thirty yards in any direction, a blessing for a man trying to avoid attention while wearing a nimbus. Having the choice of a dozen new trails, Wulf chose one at random.
Dali had mentioned snowy peaks, but now a leaden lid of cloud lay low on the valley. The wind tugged at Wulf’s tattered red cloak and drove flurries of snow in his face. He saw two troops of archers plodding along, a disorganized rabble of women and children with handcarts, many wagons piled high with hay, others laden with more women and children. Although the mob as a whole was heading north, its parts veered this way and that between the little lakes and the aspen groves, with disputes over precedence breaking out wherever two streams joined or tried to cross. Those on foot made way for the mounted nobleman and his lady, but they in turn had to find their own path around the cumbersome wagons. The fighting part of the army was presumably farther ahead, setting up a long-term camp.
“You should be paying attention to me,” Sybilla announced, riding at his side. “Not gawking around like a village idiot.”
He glanced at her incredulously. “You ought to be gawking, too. If a Wendish Speaker spots our halos, he’s going to load up his crossbow and pull the trigger faster than you can flutter an eyelash. And he won’t miss.” That was one experiment in Satanism that Wulf had allowed himself years ago-directing an arrow. Blessing it, he would call it now.
“Well, he can only fire one bolt at a time, and you’ll get the first one.”
“That’s why I’m gawking.”
Sybilla sniggered nervously, and he reminded himself that she was only a kid who liked to play at being a seductress. Since Speakers were both rare and reclusive, he might well be the first one close to her own age she had ever met, and he must seem more intriguing than an elderly Roman cardinal or his friends. Perhaps his lack of real interest in her was just encouraging her to taunt him.