Dave Duncan - When the Saints

He heard a shout and caught a glimpse of a man descending the cliff, walking backward on the end of a rope. Because the distraction had made him look upward, Wulf also saw a red cloak caught in a tree. He found the owner at its roots, eyes staring glassily as flies walked on them. An absence of blood suggested that the tree had broken his fall enough to save him from being pulped inside his armor, but not enough to save his life. His helmet lay beside him, and it was a nobleman’s casque, vizorless and bearing a crest of two stags. The same emblem showed on his surcoat. He was of higher rank than Wulf had hoped for, but he would have to do. He even had blond hair, although not as pale as Wulf’s, and had been little older. At a distance, the imposture might pass.

The Pomeranian surcoat was what he really wanted, but the armor looked as if it would fit him well enough, so he might as well take it also. Murmuring a prayer for the dead man’s soul, Wulf retrieved the cloak from the tree and spread it out. He laid the helmet on it. Then he stripped vambraces and rerebraces from the man’s arms-he wore no gauntlets, perhaps because they would make ladder climbing too tricky. More shouts indicated that more Wends were coming down the cliff. He unbuckled the dead man’s cuirass and added it to the loot. He would need a sword, but there was none in sight, and it might take hours to find one here. Whispering another prayer for the man he had slain and now plundered, he gathered up the bundle and took it back to the little vineyard at Avlona.

His brothers had finished dinner and were still at table, reminiscing over childhood memories. Madlenka was still in the infirmary. Havel was urging on a team of men and oxen hauling guns up the hill from High Meadows. So the Hound was going to make a serious assault on Castle Gallant? Damn… No, Wulf decided not to damn him, because he didn’t know what his curses might do now, even at a distance.

He spread out the cloak on the stone table and surveyed his loot. Yes, to be convincing he must get another sword to replace the one he had left on the barbican roof. Not surprisingly, Sybilla appeared. She would have been watching him all this time.

“Robbing the dead?”

“Disguise,” he said. “You’re going to be conspicuous.”

She had changed into a long riding skirt and a scarlet cloak with a matching hat that sported a tall plume. She looked more respectable, but was respectability needed? Every seedet army included a lesser army of loose women, and he had been expecting her to dress more like one of those. But nobles and captains brought along their highborn wives; he should have guessed that Sybilla’s ideas would run more to gentry.

“And you won’t be? In that helmet? You’re a lord, I’m your lady. You want me to be conspicuous. You want other men to lust after me. Don’t you?”

There was a double meaning in that question, which he ignored, but he did risk a smile of surrender. Sybilla was no delicate damsel in need of coddling. She could look after herself better than he could.

“Well, in the absence of my squire, you can assist me in donning my mail, my lady.” He tried on the helmet with the twin-stag crest. Even with the padding still inside it, it was tight on his ears, but it would suffice. He put it down and inspected the cuirass. The back plate had suffered some dents where it had hit some tree branches, but was still wearable. He hoisted the breastplate into place. It was a snug fit.

Sybilla slunk around the table to him. He wondered if her hints of availability were all pretense, all tease, and if that was what he was supposed to wonder. She had guessed his shyness at first glance. She would have tied him in tangles instantly if he had not been armored by his love for Madlenka.

“You’re serious about letting that hussy accompany you?” Justina asked, appearing in the place Sybilla had just vacated. She was spinning, and her spindle did not miss a twirl.

“Could I stop her?” he asked. “Pull it tighter, please… I can barely tell night from day in that sallet, so I need her to look out for Speakers. And she can probably vanish faster than I can. She’s had more practice. Tighter!”

“I’m better at undressing men than dressing them,” Sybilla said.

“If she is,” Justina sniffed, “then she doesn’t stay around to let them return the favor. Remember I’ll be watching you. And remember that this is a matter of life and death, young miss, not an exercise.”

Whose death? And what sort of exercise? If Sybilla had been given Speaking lessons to develop her talent, then why must Wulf not have them?

He told her, “You’ll need a warmer cloak. There’s snow on the ground there and more snow threatening.”

She pouted and disappeared.

“I hope she doesn’t do that where workadays can see her,” he said.

“She won’t. She’s got more wits than she chooses to show.” Justina was suddenly closer to proud grandmother than crabby governess. “This is a good trial for her. Just what are you planning to do?” x201C;="0em" width="1em" align="justify"› “Go to Long Valley and look for the Dragon. I may find the whole force moving out, of course, if they’re really Havel’s men. If they’re Wends and I can find the bombard, I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get near it. But if there’s a bridge I can curse before it tries to cross it, that would help, wouldn’t it?”

“If it doesn’t get blessed later, to remove your curse.”

“Havel Vranov had three Speakers, but all related to him. How many does Duke Wartislaw have?”

“Don’t know,” the old woman said crossly, watching her spindle twirl ever closer to the paving. “But most rulers keep one or two in the shadows, even if they don’t know it themselves. Warty’s been very successful at clawing his way up. If he does have hirelings, they’ll certainly be there, guarding his precious cannon, so keep your eyes open for halos.”

Wulf tried on the helmet again. Keeping his eyes open in that was not much of an advantage over having them closed. He took it off and tucked it under his left arm, which is what its owner would have done when he didn’t have a squire handy to carry it. The crest would still show. That, his surcoat, and the scarlet cloak dangling down his back proclaimed that he was a nobleman. He might run into one of Two Stags’s personal friends, who knew that he was listed among the missing. Wulf must gamble that the Long Valley camp was in a state of busy anarchy as the army absorbed its costly defeat and prepared another assault.

Sybilla reappeared in a garish cloak and hat of cloth of gold, the sort of garments a queen might wear. Admittedly, it set off her nimbus splendidly. Wulf glanced at Justina and met mockery in her eyes, so he did not comment. Certainly no one was going to notice him with that vision riding alongside him. Which meant that Wulfgang Magnus, esquire, was about to venture onto a field of battle sheltering behind a woman’s skirts, was he? He couldn’t do that!

But he had gone this far, hoping perhaps that Justina would forbid her ward to accompany him, and now it seemed that she supported the idea. He reminded his tattered honor that he needed Sybilla to help watch out for other Speakers, and she would be at no more risk than he would be. Less, in fact, because even if she did not use talent, men would be much less likely to shoot a woman out of hand and any man who tried to molest a Speaker would be very surprised by the results. Also, he realized, a Pomeranian Speaker would know the two’s company rule and would hesitate to challenge a party of two Speakers.

He must just hope Vlad never heard about this.

“I need a sword,” he said. “And there are horses at Gallant. Join me when I move to Long Valley, all right?”