Dave Duncan - Speak to the Devil

“A lot of people have left town already,” Anton said. “Scared away by Count Bukovany’s death, the threat of war, the landsknechte ’s flight. If even one of them is carrying the pestilence, it’ll be all over Jorgary by spring.”

“Don’t forget that stupid curse tonight!” Vlad boomed. He was showing the effects of the wine at last.

“Right. On Vlad’s advice,” Anton said. “I’ve ordered the gates locked. Nobody’s leaving now.”

Heads nodded in approval.

Vlad explained. “I don’t believe for a moment that Havel Vranov came here to play with puppies. He came here to frighten everyone. He brought the silk and the puppy along as gifts in case he was made welcome, but his real reason was to make that spectacular exit. It was simple terrorism.”

“It’s possible,” Marek agreed again. “But I think Vranov came for Wulf. Vilhelmas had seen how badly Anton was wounded. He spied on him later and saw him alive and restored to health, so he knew there must be a Speaker in Gallant. That changed the odds! A war must be much easier to win if you have Speakers and your opponents don’t. That was why he had Vranov crash the banquet, and why he kept peering around, looking for another Speaker. If he’d seen Wulf, he might have done to him what Wulf and I just did to him.”

Vlad completed a long drink from a wine flask. “Faugh! Sometimes you just try to take on your foes one at a time and hope they never get to combine against you. If Vranov risked appearing here tonight, even for a few moments, then he doesn’t believe in the pestilence. I’m with Beanpole. Let’s deal with the Wends first and worry about plague later, if ever.”

Anton said, “Thank you. I’m going to bed.” He glanced momentarily at Wulf, without expression, and then he was closing the door behind him.

Wulf took a brief look out of Anton’s eyes to make sure he was going away and not lurking outside the door, then through Madlenka’s to make sure she was alone. Then he stood up and stepped through limbo to her room.

Madlenka was seated at her dressing board, taking pins out of her hair. The room was dim, with only a single lamp to scare away the shadows. She felt wrung dry by the events of the day, shattered by Wulf’s expected return, and nauseated at the thought of another interminable night with Anton. He wasn’t an evil man. If he saved the castle from the Wends, he might eventually make a good count and lord of the marches. At the moment, he was just an arrogant and insensitive youth. Perhaps few men of that age were much better, and Wulfgang was an extreme exception. She suspected that she might now be quite content with her lot if she had never met her husband’s brother.

There were two reflections in the glass.

She spun around. “Wulf! Idiot! Go away. I rang for my maid.”

“She’ll knock.” He was standing well away from her, his face grave.

“Anton-”

“Is on his way. We have a moment, that’s all. Oh, Madlenka! I just came to tell you that it was my fault and I am-”

She jumped up. “No, it was mine!”

“I told you I would be forty days and-”

“And I betrayed you in forty minutes.”

He shook his head and came a step closer. “I should have told Anton about us when I cured his wound.”

“Told him you wanted me as your share of the spoils?”

He smiled wanly. “Would you have minded if I’d called you that?”

“No. I would happily be your loot. Pillage me now and take me far, far away. I will never complain.”

He shook his head. “There’s no escape. That would make you a fugitive, a felon, an adulteress, and God knows what else. Even an accomplice to Satanism. We would be outside the law and condemned by the Church. Our children would be bastards, nobodies.”

She knew all that. She thought about it in bed a lot. “I don’t want you to reproach yourself. It was my fault for being so weak.”

“Mine!” he insisted.

“Your only mistake was healing Mother. If she’d not been there I could have stood up to them. But she threatened to lock me up in the Poor Claires’ convent until the king could decide what to do with me. Anton would never have done that. But she would! And the bishop…”

They had been moving closer. Now they were close enough to touch, but neither made the move. In the gloom his eyes were not golden, they were silver, like moonlight reflected in water.

“Forget all that,” he said. “It’s done, and you could never have found happiness with me. I am a Satanist. I’ve killed a priest and helped kill another. The Church will hunt me down and order me burned at the stake. I will love you forever, but you must forget me and love Anton. And pray that none of his children are Speakers, because Speaking is the curse of our line.”

Knuckles tapped softly on the door.

“My love,” he said, “always.” Then he vanished.

“If you keep doing things like that, I think I’ll burn you at the stake myself,” Vlad said.

Wulf resumed his place on the hob and filled his goblet. No one had moved in his absence: Marek was seated in the center facing him, Vlad to his right, Otto to his left.

Getting no answer, Vlad said, “Even if Anton dies, of the plague or anything else, a man cannot marry his brother’s widow.”

Wulf drank and picked up the flagon for a refill.

Vlad tried again. “Well at least you were quick. Did she enjoy it, too?”

Wulf stared at him coldly. “One more joke like that,” he said softly, “and I will burn your balls off, so help me God.” He put the goblet to his lips and drained it.

Silence.

“You are a dangerous combination, Brother,” Otto said. “The family chronicle begins almost two hundred years ago, in the time of the fourth baron. It names six Speaker daughters and hints at another, but only two Speaker sons before Marek. Meaning no disrespect to him, he has always been more of a scholar than a warrior. He would rather settle a dispute with law and reason than with sword or fist.” He glanced at Marek, who smiled to show he was not offended. “But you, Brother Wolfgang, wield your powers audaciously. You have a hair-trigger temper and you fear nothing, true to the Magnus motto.”

Wulf did not reply. He wished he had not threatened Vlad, but he would not withdraw his words.

“You are probably the most dangerous man in Jorgary,” Otto persisted.

“What I think,” Marek announced solemnly, “is that I’m going to get catastrophically drunk for the first time in my life.” He took a long draft, straight from a flagon. “Foul stuff! I’ll say this for Koupel-it does have grand wine… Brothers, one thing still puzzles me. Tonight, when I asked my Voices to restore the old countess, St. Uriel told me that it was important for me to know why she had been affected. I have asked him since to explain, but he will not. My saints have never volunteered advice before. Any helpful suggestions?”

He was looking at Wulf, who made an effort to think about it. “Vilhelmas had cursed her before, so perhaps she was more susceptible and he could do it from farther away.”

“Puppies make her sick?” Vlad suggested.

“I suppose… Mother of God!” Marek fell back in his chair, gaping up at the chimney above Wulf’s head. The room filled with a swirl of wood smoke and the sounds of voices and a crackling fire.

Otto and Vlad both spoke at once, demanding to know what was wrong.

“You killed my friend!” cried a shrill voice.

Marek made croaking noises. His brothers stared at one another in bewilderment. Just as Wulf realized that there must be an open gate in front of Marek that was only visible from that side, Leonas Vranov stepped from nowhere into the space between them. He was clutching a puppy. His always-pale face was white with fury, his fair hair stuck up in spikes, and he was slobbering.