Dave Duncan - When the Saints

“I am not sure I want him,” Lady Umbral said tartly. “As he indirectly caused the death of Lady Magnus’s husband, Sir Wulfgang’s brother, we shall let them pronounce sentence in due course. Stand over there, brancher.”

She pointed at Wulfgang. Alojz lurched down the step and hurried to his side, giving him a nervous smile, which Wulf did not return. Madlenka sought out Wulf’s hand again.

“When,” Umbral demanded, “did the Agioi learn of Vilhelmas’s trespass, and why did they not act to stop it sooner?”

“Vilhelmas has gone to the Source of Peace. The matter is of no importance.”

“It is of importance to me.”

And to Wulf. Now he knew how Vilhelmas had turned up at the head of the Wend invaders. Almost certainly he had been watching Anton, the unexpected new count who had arrived to take charge of the defenses. They had not yet met in the flesh, but Vilhelmas would certainly have been Looking in on Vranov’s visit to the town that Sunday and seen Anton announce himself in the cathedral. By then Wartislaw must have infiltrated an advance force into Long Valley, and when Anton rode off to inspect the frontier post on Tuesday, Vilhelmas had gone to take charge. He had gone to commit murder! When Anton had been wounded, he had mockingly sent him home to bleed out or die of wound fever. Very likely he had cursed him to make sure. Any lingering guilt Wulf felt over the priest’s death now evaporated.

The janissary scratched his right armpit vigorously. “As Allah is my judge and witness, the Agioi discovered the situation only a handful of days ago, but we decided it was a personal vendetta and the politics were incidental. Vranov was so convinced that Wartislaw could take Castle Gallant with his bombard that he turned his coat. Half a year ago he wrote to Wartislaw and offered to deliver Castle Gallant to him without a shot being fired, helped by his cousin Vilhelmas, a Speaker. Wartislaw meant to take Gallant by force, but to have Havel Vranov give it to him would have been much cheaper and an exquisite pleasure. Making Havel Vranov pay-pay long and hard-for all his crimes was an old ambition of his, so much so that he had ordered Vilhelmas to contrive the Hound’s utter destruction. He was to be branded a traitor and a Satanist, so that both king and Church would turn against him, and his nights would be filled with terror.”

“But of course Vilhelmas had tweaked Vranov to turn his coat in the first place, as Lady Magnus suggested?” Umbral’s voice oozed scorn.

Madlenka squeezed Wulf’s hand.

“Oh, Vilhelmas may have nudged him a little,” the janissary growled in his harsh croak, “but you are well aware that tweaking cannot move a man far along a path he does not wish to tread. Havel succumbed because he is a coward and afeared of his sins.”

“Then why are you so hard on the brancher? He has completed his handler’s work magnificently. Vranov has made war on his own king, is now seen to be in league with the devil, and is trapped in a stolen castle with his would-be ally buried under a mountain of snow. You should be heaping praise on the boy.”

Alojz straightened up, leering. He glanced at Wulf as if expecting approval, and promptly shriveled again.

The pasha spat on the floor. “If you think he is so good, you jess him. Let us discuss Magnus’s cold-blooded destruction of the Pomeranians.”

“By Our Lady, I am surprised to hear a member of the sultan’s army worry about bloodshed,” Lady Umbral said. “That was a brilliant application of talent, with a tiny effort producing great results. Clearly the powder wagons were ignited by lightning and the explosion brought down an avalanche. It has been accepted all over Christendom as an act of God.”

“But not all over Islam. Not in Pomerania. And not by the Agioi. It was trespass!”

“It was not!” The shout came from Madlenka. “Those lands belonged to my father… er, my… to the count of Cardice! It was the Pomeranians trespassing, not Wulf!”

“Lady Magnus is correct, Pasha,” Umbral said. “Occupation is not ownership. There had been no surrender or peace treaty. Is there anything more to discuss?”

“Certainly!” The janissary pointed a hairy finger at Wulfpeace. “He murdered Vilhelmas!”

“Sir Wulfgang,” said Umbral, “advance to the center.”

Wulf strolled to the middle of the room and stepped up onto the dais, where he bowed to Umbral, then turned to bow to the pasha. Madlenka noted admiringly how handsome and brave he seemed, completely calm, and very unlike the cringing Alojz who had stood there a few minutes ago.

“Your brother pulled the trigger to kill the priest,” the Turk said. “That was cold-blooded murder!”

Wulf shook his head. “With respect, Pasha, it was justice. Two days previously, that same priest had led an attack on that same building and slaughtered the garrison, offering no preliminary challenge or quarter. The post belonged to my king and my brother the count, who gave us permission to perform the execution. As lord of the march and lord of high justice, he had the legal authority to so.”

“You were seen by workadays! That was a violation of the first commandment.”

“Marek was seen, true. But less than an hour earlier, Vilhelmas had created a major display of talent in the hall of the keep at Gallant. He tore up the rules first!”

Madlenka heard a few quiet murmurs of amusement and approval behind her.

But Wulf had not finished. “I am grateful to you for revealing his motivation, Pasha, because we have all been puzzled by it. Now that we know that Vilhelmas was working for Wartislaw and not Vranov, it makes complete sense. Vranov lost his temper, which I daresay is not an unusual occurrence, and uttered curses, so then Vilhelmas made him vanish-in a p uff of sulfurous smoke, I expect. He was instantly branded an agent of Satan, until Brancher Alojz tweaked the bishops the next day and undid all that good evil, er, I mean good work.” He bowed again.

The Turk showed his teeth in a snarl. “Then let us discuss the bloodbath in the Ruzena gorge and the death of Duke Wartislaw. You blew up their powder wagons and slaughtered thousands of innocent men!”

“Do you have eyewitnesses that saw me do this terrible thing?”

“I have witnesses who heard you claiming to have done it!”

“But I am such a liar!” Wulf said sadly.

This time there was open laughter at the way this newly fledged falcon was defying the dreaded hand of the Agioi. The Turk flushed with rage.

“You may withdraw, Sir Wulfgang,” Lady Umbral said sharply. “Unless Sokullu Pasha has more questions. Pasha, we have discussed the charges. Shall we ask the jury to find a verdict?”

“May the Giver of Wisdomry to guide their deliberations.”

The six people in the front row joined hands. Led by the monk, they stepped away in a daisy chain and, one by one, vanished into the air. The room erupted in a babble of many tongues.

After the jury left, Lady Umbral beckoned Madlenka. Taking a firmer grip on her husband’s strong hand, Madlenka led him forward. She had not expected to find herself treated as the senior partner, but he seemed to accept that strange situation quite happily. He flashed a smile at her and they halted together at the edge of the dais. Madlenka curtseyed; he bowed. Even at close quarters, Umbral’s face remained bizarrely indistinct and unfocused.

“I congratulate you both on your so-recent marriage,” she said. “And you on your choice of husband, my lady. I know of no falcon ever achieving so much so soon. If you wish to join the Saints, we shall be most glad to welcome you both.”

Madlenka glanced at Wulf; he nodded.

She said, “We are honored, my lady. We have much to learn.”