Vlad said, “Don’t let your guard down on the south gate, but we’ll need men to work the north gates for us. We can go out by the sally port, but after we’ve gone and know it’s safe, you should open the outer gate to head height in case we need to make a fast return. Hey, Sir Teodor?”
The knight shouted acknowledgment through the mob, being halfway into armor and unable to move.
“See that you bring four men with shovels and two carrying spikes and mallets.” Shovels in case they needed to clear the road, spikes in case they were able to reach the great bombard. One spike hammered into the Dragon’s touchhole would make it scrap metal.
It took longer than Vlad wished but less time than he had feared to get the sally organized. The infantry were ready first, and marched off through the streets toward the barbican before he rode out with Jachym at his side and another ten horsemen at their backs, comprising the fearsome Castle Gallant cavalry. He thought the snow seemed less heavy than it had been. Word of the explosion had spread, and crowds cheered the forces. Out into the Quarantine canyon they rode, then through the inner gate into the barbican.
“Follow as quick as you can,” Vlad told Karel, “but you may have to clear some drifts. You must be ready for a very fast retreat if we run into a wolf pack. One other thing: don’t march your men over the edge of the cliff. It’s a long way down.”
“Aye, my lord. I mean, no, my lord.”
Vlad urged his mount over to the sally port. Men swung it open, snow swirled, in and he was shocked to see that the drift out there was thigh deep. His horse was even more discouraged. Seeing that it would take too long to get everyone out that way, he roared for the main gate to be opened. The men stationed up there must have been listening through the murder holes, because chains and wheels began to clank and squeak at once. If the enemy had crept close under cover of the snow, there would have to be a fight.
The instant there was enough clearance, Vladislav Magnus ducked his head under the steel base plate and rode out to war. He spoke the prayer thathe ava Father had taught him for that moment. For centuries it had served the warriors in the family well. It had not shielded all of them, but enough had survived to carry on the family line.
The drifts were patchy, and in places there was no snow at all. Already he had snow inside his helmet, up his nose, sticking to his eyelashes; and yet, the accursed stuff was certainly not coming down as fast as it had just a few minutes ago. He hoped that this might be just a lull between flurries, but soon he could see halfway to the bend where the road entered the gorge. The sun had gone behind the mountains, the wintery twilight was fading, and the flat light made it hard to judge the drifts or where the edge of the cliff was.
Still, no sniper was taking potshots at him, and once he had made a trail the rest could follow more easily. Pressing his spurs against his horse’s flanks, he rode up the Silver Road. As a mercenary, he’d come this way four years ago, but that had been in summer. He’d not been senior enough to meet the count, and all he had seen had been the Quarantine Road, nothing of the town or castle.
Long before he reached the corner, the snow had stopped and the way ahead was clear. Still, he saw no Wends. Poor lads had given up and gone home to bed? The blindings they had set up at the bend had blown over, leaving no cover for snipers.
The post seemed to have been abandoned: not a soul in sight. He found that almost creepy. The bombard wasn’t there yet. He paused to inspect the work and let the rest of his cavalry catch up with him. Progress had been slow, but the size of the trench they were planning was impressive. He revised his estimate of the time the enemy would need to emplace the big gun. On the other hand, recoil usually shifted the seating after a few shots, but once the Dragon was nested in the bedrock, it should be able to fire indefinitely without adjustment.
Vlad looked back and saw that the hundred or so men of St. Petr’s Battle were making much harder work of the snowy road than the horses had. Whatever happened, the Wends would have to wait a few days for the thaw before they could attack. And before they could hope to move the Dragon.
Even if they still had powder to use it. Yea, Wulfgang!
The rough side of this situation, of course, was that if a company of Wend archers did break cover now, the Cardicians would be trying to flee back home through all that snow with a hail of arrows following them the whole way. So the cavalry had better advance smartly and flush the whoresons out.
He glanced at Jachym and realized that he felt as cold as the man looked. He waved his arm as a signal to follow him, and urged his horse forward again, past the litter of snow and timber the Wends had left, and around the bend.
He had taken part in some mad escapades in the last dozen years, but never anything quite this mad. The air and the ground were all white, even the rocky wall to his left. The corner was abrupt, taking him suddenly into the gorge, but the crossbow bolts he half expected failed to arrive. No sentries leaped to their feet in alarm; no trumpets blew. The footing became treacherous, covered with scattered spars and shorter timbers, rtexpectedcollapsed tents, a few barrels, shovels and axes. No people at all.
Vlad’s horse balked, understandably, so he dismounted and tied the reins to a heavy beam. Drawing his sword, he set off to pick his way through this appalling clutter, hearing Jachym shouting orders behind him. The going improved as he left the work site. He walked along the road unchallenged until he came upon a couple of empty carts with their oxen still yoked, but no carters. He glanced at Master Sergeant Jachym, who was one step back on his left. “You think the devil came and took them all to hell?”
The old warrior’s nervy grin barely showed under his helmet. “My guess, sir, would be that they heard the devil taking a lot of them, and the rest ran back to help the wounded.”
That sounded logical.
The snow had stopped, but the light was fading fast under the trees. To walk until nightfall would be ridiculous, asking for trouble. But still there was nobody! Still, no quarrels came hissing out from the quiet.
Where were all the Wends?
CHAPTER 17
Last night Wulf had been assigned a cubbyhole called the Blue Room, just large enough to hold a bed and a wicker hamper. He had not had a chance to sleep there yet, but he had asked a housekeeper to find him some clothes, and she had apparently succeeded, for the basket was almost full.
As he stripped, he reflected that he had killed men by the hundreds that morning and by thousands in the afternoon. He couldn’t do penance for such Satanism if he went back and forth between Jerusalem and Santiago de Compostela on his knees for the rest of his life.
Bed beckoned, for he had not slept at all last night and very little the two nights before that; but he had an appointment with Justina to discuss what might be done about the Dragon bombard. He had almost certainly solved that problem by himself, and she might refuse to give him any more help than she already had, but he enjoyed talking with her. He had just pulled on his trunk hose and was reaching for a shirt when the light of a nimbus flared up behind him. He whirled around to face the intruder.
For a moment he did not recognize the demure young lady who stood there in a billowing silken ball gown.
“Pretty,” Sybilla said. “Nice muscles.”
He stuffed his arms into the shirt he was holding and hauled the rest of it over his head. “Why don’t you go to hell and drive the devil crazy? Why pick on me?”
She leaned against a bedpost like a cat rubbing itself against a friend’s leg. “Oo! Do I drive you crazy?”
“Not crazy the way you’re crazy. What do you want?”
“You for a pet, but I can’t have you. I came to say goodbye. Dearest Wulfgang, this is farewell! We can never meet again!” She sighed and clasped her hands in an Our Lady of Sorrows pose.