Dave Duncan - Speak to the Devil

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.”