Bloodforged (20 page)

‘Mistress Ulrika, mistress,’ he said.

Raiza’s steel whisper came from within. ‘Show her in.’

Severin turned and bowed to Ulrika. She stepped in and, just as she had expected, found Raiza, in white shirt and tan breeches, engaged with a fencing dummy, which had been set up at one end of the long, heavy-beamed room. Ulrika smiled. She had guessed it from the sounds, which she remembered from her days training with her father’s Kossars – the swish and thwack of wooden sword on leather, the shuffle and thud of boots as they stamped and lunged.

Raiza was belabouring the dummy with her usual lightning precision, beating aside the wooden pole that stuck from its chest and thrusting home, only to thrust a second time before the dummy had stopped rocking from the first.

‘Mistress, I am relieved,’ said Ulrika stepping forwards with a smile. ‘You are recovered.’

Raiza gave the dummy a final stab in the throat, then turned and bowed. ‘Only partially,’ she said, and held up her left arm. It ended in a stump just below the elbow.

Ulrika stared, aghast. Raiza’s movements as she fenced had been so smooth she hadn’t noticed. ‘Mistress, I… Forgive me. I didn’t–’

‘Do not apologise,’ said Raiza. ‘But for you, it would be all of me that was missing. As I said before, I will not forget.’

Ulrika looked down, embarrassed. ‘So, it did not heal? It will not grow back?’

Raiza shook her head. ‘Boyarina Evgena is a skilled sorceress and healer, and tried everything in her power to restore it, but could not. The black knife is a fell weapon.’

‘It is,’ said Ulrika. ‘I have learned more of it, and have returned to warn Boyarina Evgena of it and the man who wielded it.’

‘Then you should wait to speak of it until she comes,’ said Raiza. She turned to the wall and leaned her wooden practice sword against it, then picked up her sabre and tucked it under her truncated left arm. ‘Until then, will you fence? I am learning to adjust my balance to my new… condition.’

‘I would be honoured,’ said Ulrika.

She undid the points of her doublet and shrugged it off, then unbuckled her sword belt and drew her rapier as Raiza unsheathed her sabre and let her scabbard fall to the ground. They crossed to the middle of the ballroom, saluted each other and went on guard.

Raiza raised an eyebrow. ‘An Imperial stance and a Tilean sword. Are you not from the northern marches?’

Ulrika grinned. ‘Aye, but I practised for a time with a skilled swordsman of the Empire, and adopted some southern techniques.’

‘Very good,’ said Raiza. ‘We shall see if they avail you.’

And with that she lunged forwards, aiming straight for Ulrika’s heart. Ulrika dropped her hand and turned the thrust on her hilt, then returned it, aiming for Raiza’s throat. Raiza’s sabre knocked her point aside and slashed back at her shoulder. Ulrika leapt back, unable to avoid the attack in any other way.

The loss of a hand seemed to have in no way impaired the swordswoman’s abilities. She was just as fast and agile as before, her blade as hard to catch as flickering lightning. No sooner had Ulrika parried it, than it struck somewhere else.

Then Ulrika saw a weakness – a tendency for Raiza to block too wide to her right side, leaving her middle momentarily open. Ulrika attacked her three times in quick succession, each time leading her arm a little more to the right, then a fourth time, a dip under her blade to disengage, and a second thrust straight for her belly.

Raiza’s knuckle guard smashed down on her hilt like a hammer and Ulrika found the tip of her sabre pressed hard against her sternum. She froze. She had been caught, and would have been impaled if Raiza had followed through.

‘A trap,’ she said. ‘I’m embarrassed to have fallen for it.’

‘Do not be,’ said Raiza. ‘You only fell for it because you are an excellent blade. A lesser sword would not have seen the bait, and therefore would not have taken it.’

‘Then I will have to strive beyond excellence,’ said Ulrika as they stepped apart. ‘For I would wish to know the bait for what it was next time.’

The swordswoman smiled. ‘I have many years of tricks in my head,’ she said. ‘And you will have ample time to learn them.’

‘I look forward to it.’

They reset, but then Ulrika lowered her rapier. It was rare to meet another woman who fought, and she was curious. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘But how did you come to the sword, and… and to the boyarina?’

Raiza’s jaw clenched, and Ulrika was afraid she had pushed the swordswoman’s new friendliness too far, but after a moment she spoke.

‘I came to the sword as you did,’ she said. ‘By way of family. My brothers rode in a rota, as did my husband. When the hordes came the last time, they took my farm, and my daughters, and in the end my husband too. When my brothers brought his horse and his armour back to our village, I put on the armour and mounted the horse and rode with them to war.’

‘The last time?’ asked Ulrika. ‘This past winter?’

Raiza shook her head. ‘Two hundred years ago, during the Great War against Chaos. We fought here in Praag, at the Gate of Gargoyles, and then through the streets, when Magnus and the Tzar retook the city. It was then that I met Mistress Evgena.’ A frown creased her forehead. ‘She and her men were defending her house – a different house at the time – from pillagers, and my brothers and I came to her rescue. All… all were killed but me, and I was dying. She gave me the dark kiss. I have been with her since.’

Ulrika nodded, but she was surprised at the end of the story. She had not seen anything like compassion in Evgena. ‘The boyarina was moved by your sacrifice?’ she asked.

Raiza snorted. ‘She saw a serviceable sword on the street, and picked it up. That is all.’

Ulrika looked at her. ‘You don’t like her?’

‘She is perfectly fair,’ Raiza said, evenly. ‘What else can one ask from a mistress?’ She raised her sabre into guard. ‘Shall we go again?’

Ulrika made a salute, but as she readied herself, there were footsteps in the hall and the doors opened. She and Raiza lowered their blades as Evgena and Galiana entered, their long dresses hissing on the floor. They were followed by a handful of men-at-arms.

Ulrika bowed low. ‘Mistress. Sister.’

They did not return the courtesy.

‘You did not return last night,’ said Evgena, eyeing her levelly. ‘We were concerned for your safety.’

Concerned I had abandoned my vow, more like, thought Ulrika. Well you will see in my heart that I haven’t. ‘I apologise, mistress,’ she said aloud. ‘My hunt for your enemies left me far from here at sunrise. I was forced to find shelter elsewhere.’

‘And was your hunting fruitful? Did you follow the cultist Raiza told me of to his lair?’

‘Mistress, I did not,’ said Ulrika. ‘By the time I set off for him, he had vanished.’

Evgena’s eyes flared. ‘So, you lost the monster who cost Raiza her hand, and also fumbled the lead with which we provided you. Most impressive. Have you
anything
to show for your night’s endeavours?’

Ulrika suppressed an angry response. ‘Yes, mistress, I have. I have learned the identity of the man who attacked Mistress Raiza, and the nature of the weapon that hurt her.’

The boyarina’s rigid face softened a little. ‘This is good news,’ she said. ‘Come to the drawing room. We are to hear from some of our spies now, but we will hear you first.’

Ulrika bowed, then slipped into her doublet and strapped on her sword belt and followed the others through the house to the room with the dried-blood walls and the cold hearth. There, Evgena took her seat on the divan, while Galiana curled in her chair, and Raiza stood at the boyarina’s shoulder, just as she had the night before. Ulrika wondered if anything about this ritual had changed in two hundred years.

‘Speak, then,’ said Evgena, when Ulrika had taken her place before her. ‘Who is this cultist who wields such powerful weapons?’

‘The weapons are called Blood Shards, mistress,’ said Ulrika. ‘And there are five more. They are soul prisons. They suck the essence from their victims and hold it within them for eternity. Had Raiza taken a worse wound from it, she… she would have been consumed.’

Galiana shivered and Raiza’s face grew more grim than usual. Evgena’s remained cold and composed.

‘And the cultist?’ she asked.

‘He is not a cultist, mistress,’ said Ulrika. ‘It was only a disguise. He is someone from your past. A vampire.’

‘Don’t be coy with me, girl.’ snapped Evgena. ‘Who?’

‘His name is Konstantin Kiraly,’ said Ulrika. ‘And he has come north to take revenge on you for–’

Evgena cut her off with a dry laugh. ‘Who has been telling you this nonsense? Kiraly is long dead. I killed him myself. I cut off his head.’

‘I was told he was taken to Sylvania and… and brought back to life.’

Evgena scowled. ‘Told by whom? Who knows of Kiraly?’

Ulrika hesitated. She had reached the point of no return. If she couldn’t convince Evgena that Stefan’s story was true, and that he was no threat to her, she would likely be thrown out on her ear, or worse. Not for the first time, she wished she had Countess Gabriella’s gift for persuasion. She swallowed.

‘It was a vampire named Stefan von Kohln who told me, mistress,’ she said. ‘He seeks vengeance on Kiraly for the death of his blood father. He wishes to ally with you – to combine forces to defeat Kiraly and the cultists.’

Evgena’s lined brow furrowed. She turned to Galiana. ‘Stefan von Kohln. Is that the name of the Sylvanian pup who came sniffing around here recently?’

‘It is,’ said Galiana. Her bright black eyes glittered suspiciously at Ulrika.

‘He did come to you recently, mistress,’ said Ulrika. ‘You turned him away without allowing him to speak.’

Evgena curled her lip. ‘Turned him away? Raiza would have killed him had he not run so fast. And now you tell me this assassin is your confidant?’

‘He is no assassin, mistress,’ said Ulrika. ‘Your enemies are his enemies. He too hunts the cult, and he has sworn to kill Kiraly, who has sworn to kill you. You should fight on the same side.’

Evgena’s eyes blazed, her hands gripping the arms of the divan. ‘You are either a dupe or an assassin yourself. I am not sure which is more dangerous. Either way, you have broken your vow to protect me by consorting with this Sylvanian, and will pay the price.’

‘Mistress, I have not!’ said Ulrika, her voice rising in spite of herself. ‘You
know
I have not. I have done all that I have done with the best of intentions. I am trying to protect you.’

‘Then you are a dupe, as I said,’ sniffed Evgena. ‘And are too much a fool to live.’

‘Please, mistress,’ Ulrika begged. ‘Will you not consider even for a moment that Stefan’s story is true? Kiraly lives! Raiza and I have faced him! Can you deny the loss of her hand?’

‘Oh, I am certain you faced someone,’ said Evgena. ‘And I am certain I know who it was – and so do you.’

The thought froze Ulrika. Could it be true? Could it have been Stefan hidden behind the cultist’s mask? It didn’t seem possible. She had seen his face when he learned of the Blood Shards. He had been aghast. He had gone mad. He had torn the Novygrad apart looking for Kiraly. Could it all have been a trick? Well, yes, it could, but to what end? She couldn’t see a reason for it.

‘I don’t believe it, mistress,’ she said. ‘Stefan has wanted nothing to do with you from the beginning. It was I who suggested enlisting your help in fighting the cult, and he who rejected the idea. It was I who insisted we must all join forces. If he had wanted to use me to get to you, wouldn’t he have
begged
me to do these things?’

Her words fell into a cold, hard silence. All three of the Lahmians were looking at her now with hard, dangerous eyes.

‘From the beginning?’ said Evgena in a voice like ice. ‘Precisely how long have you known this von Kohln?’

Ulrika’s skin prickled with dread. Her tongue had betrayed her. ‘I…’

‘How long?’ snapped Evgena.

‘Since… since the night you found me at the kvas distillery,’ Ulrika said, hesitantly. ‘He helped me fight the cultists.’

Evgena’s eyes bored holes into Ulrika. ‘So, you admit you knew him before you came to us. Indeed the two of you discussed allying with us, and yet, when you swore your oath to me, you hid this from me. Why?’

‘I… I…’

‘Enough!’ cried Evgena. ‘I will hear no more lies. You are no dupe! You are a Sylvanian spy! A foresworn traitor to your own bloodline! You and your von Carstein master have come to kill me and my daughters!’ She sneered. ‘Well, von Kohln will have to do his own dirty work from now on.’ She flicked her fan towards Raiza and her men-at-arms. ‘Kill her.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE VIOL OF FIEROMONTE

Raiza and the men drew their swords and moved in as Ulrika stepped back and put her hand on her hilt.

‘Please, mistress,’ said Ulrika. ‘I swear I have not conspired against you. Can you not see it in me? Did I not push Raiza aside when the Blood Shard was thrown?’ She turned to Raiza. ‘Sister, tell her!’

The swordswoman looked uncertainly at Evgena. ‘She did, mistress,’ she said. ‘It would have been my heart.’

‘Can you say she wasn’t trying to push you
into
its path?’ said Evgena, then waved her fan dismissively. ‘It matters not. Spy or dupe, she made oath to us under false pretences. She must die.’

‘Yes, mistress,’ said Raiza and started towards Ulrika with the others.

Ulrika drew her rapier and backed away as they surrounded her and Evgena began some sort of incantation. If she stood and fought she would die. Either Evgena’s sorcery or Raiza’s blade would kill her while she was engaged with the rest. With a shout, she spun and leapt at the two men between her and the door, slashing at them as Raiza and the others bounded forwards.

Ulrika cut down both men and sent one crashing into Raiza’s path. The swordswoman jumped him, raising her sabre, but Ulrika threw open the door and caught her edgewise on it, then slammed it shut behind her as Raiza staggered back. Heavy thuds shook the panelling. Ulrika laughed wildly, surprised she had made it out of the room, then turned and ran down the corridor towards the entry hall. Could it be this easy? Just a few more paces and she was free!

Something shrieked in her ear and clawed her face, wings flapping and beating her. She ducked away instinctively, then caught it and dashed it against the wall. It was a hawk, but she had felt no pulse beneath her fingers.

Another bird attacked her, and a third, tearing her flesh with their claws and beaks. She looked around wildly as she slashed at them. More were coming, diving down from their perches on the walls. Ulrika stared. The hunting trophies – they weren’t stuffed, they were undead!

Raiza and the men burst from Evgena’s drawing room and raced towards her. Ulrika ducked through the storm of birds, throwing her cloak over her head, and bolted into the entry hall, then skidded to a terrified stop.

The two giant bears on either side of the door were lumbering down from their pedestals and loping towards her across the floor. Glass-eyed wolves were padding from the side rooms, trailing cobwebs. The wild boar knocked the Cathay vase to the floor and charged her, its sharp hooves skittering on the marble tiles. The whole house had come alive.

Ulrika knocked more birds of prey from the air, then darted for the stairs and vaulted the banister, inches ahead of the boar. Severin the majordomo thundered down from above, roaring and swinging an immense curved sword of eastern design. She ducked it, then grabbed him by the belt and hurled him down the stairs behind her, flattening a pair of wolves.

The great bears mauled him as they climbed over him towards her. She ran up to the first-floor gallery, flailing at the birds that screeched around her head, and sprinted to the nearest door. Locked. She tried another. Also locked. A wolf leapt at her throat as she tried a third. She hacked its head off in a spray of dust and twisted the latch. Again locked. The bears shouldered into the narrow corridor side by side, and advanced on her, growling.

Ulrika backed to a fourth door, her rapier out in front of her, and felt behind her for the latch. Before she found it, Raiza leapt over the bears and landed before them, on guard.

Ulrika’s fingers touched the handle and twisted. It turned. She let out a sigh of relief. ‘I’m sorry, sister,’ she said. ‘I’m not ready for another lesson.’

She backed through the door as Raiza darted forwards, and slammed it in her face, then leaned hard against it, fumbling with the lock and feeling the swordswoman’s implacable strength pressing at the other side. Finally the bolt shot home and she backed away, then turned, afraid she might have locked herself in a room with more undead animals.

There were none. She was in a conservatory of some kind, with leaded glass walls on two sides and flowering trees that reached up to the arched glass ceiling. A sunroom was a strange room to find in the house of a vampire, but from the look and smell of the unsavoury plants that grew from the pots and urns that cluttered the room, Ulrika guessed Evgena must use them in her necromancy.

A heavy clawing shook the door. The bears. They would tear through it in short order. She stepped to the glass wall and looked for a door. There was none. No matter. She picked up a potted succulent in her off hand, but just as she made to throw it at the glass wall, it smashed in from outside.

Ulrika stepped back as shards spun past her and Raiza crashed through the hole, her handless arm shielding her face. Ulrika threw the plant and charged in behind it, but Raiza blocked both pot and sword and returned to faultless guard.

Ulrika clenched her teeth. She would have to fight her after all. ‘Very well, teacher,’ she said. ‘If you insist.’

But as she edged forwards, Raiza lowered her sabre.

‘Cut me,’ she said.

Ulrika frowned. ‘What?’

‘Cut me and go,’ Raiza whispered, and looked over Ulrika’s shoulder to the door, which was beginning to splinter under the bears’ attacks. ‘We haven’t much time.’ She turned her right shoulder to Ulrika. ‘I will say you bested me. Now hurry. Make it deep.’

Ulrika hesitated. ‘Are you certain?’

‘Yes! Hurry!’

Ulrika nodded, then raised her rapier and hacked Raiza in the shoulder, cutting through cloth and flesh and hitting bone. Raiza staggered aside and fell against a table full of potted plants, grimacing and hunching in pain.

‘Good,’ she said through her teeth. ‘Now hurry.’

Ulrika stepped past her to the hole in the glass wall, then turned. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I told you I would not forget,’ said Raiza, clutching her wounded arm. ‘But my debt is cleared now. I will not disobey my mistress again.’

Ulrika swallowed, caught off guard by sudden emotion, then saluted Raiza with her sword, ducked out through the hole and leapt to the garden below.

As she raced through the grounds towards the street she heard the smashing of a door and Evgena’s angry cry.

‘Where has she gone? How did she get past you?’

She ran on.

Ulrika walked into the yard of the kvas distillery and looked around. Stefan was not to be seen.

‘Stefan!’ she called, turning in a circle. ‘Come out. They are not coming.’

There was no response. She frowned. Her hand dropped to her hilt. Had he left? Had he given up? Had something happened?

‘So,’ came Stefan’s voice from behind her. ‘They would rather lock themselves away than confront the dangers that face them?’

She turned.

He stood on the broken wall of the distillery, a sardonic grimace twisting his face. ‘I expected as much.’

‘It isn’t that,’ she said, as he jumped down and crossed to her. ‘I… I blundered.’ She hung her head. ‘I let slip that I had allied with you before I pledged myself to them, and Evgena cast me out for treachery. She ordered me killed.’

Stefan’s jaw clenched, and a flash of anger flared in his eyes, but he let out a breath and it passed. He lifted her chin and looked at her scratched face. ‘You fought your way out, I see. Did you kill any of them?’

Ulrika turned from him, pulling her chin from his fingers. ‘Raiza let me go. She said she owed me for saving her from Kiraly. She made me cut her so it would look like we’d fought.’

‘Most noble of her,’ said Stefan gravely. ‘But I cannot say the same for Evgena. She is a fool to do this. She makes war on her allies when enemies abound.’ He sighed. ‘And it leaves us to fight Kiraly and the cultists alone. We are back where we began.’

Ulrika nodded, but did not speak, nor did she look at him. His mention of Kiraly had returned Evgena’s words to her. She had been turning them over in her head since she left the Lahmian mansion, not wanting to believe them, but not able to dismiss them either.

‘Is something wrong?’ Stefan asked.

Ulrika raised her eyes and looked at him. ‘Evgena did not believe Kiraly lived. She said she thought
you
were the cultist who threw the Blood Shard – that you had come here to kill her.’

Stefan stared, then sighed and shook his head. ‘I admit I have been tempted. She is a bad leader – a cloistered fool too long set in her ways. But no, I am not Kiraly. I am not here to kill her, though…’ He chuckled darkly. ‘Though, after this I would willingly use her as bait to draw him out.’

Ulrika frowned. What he said sounded plausible, but it also sounded like the sort of thing a cunning villain would say to draw suspicion from himself, and Stefan was undoubtedly cunning. She just couldn’t tell if he was a villain.

‘If you ask for proof that I don’t want to kill her,’ he continued as she remained silent. ‘I’m afraid I have none. It is notoriously hard to prove a negative.’

Ulrika nodded, still thinking. She could ask him to turn out his pockets for the Blood Shards, but it would prove nothing if he didn’t have them. He could have hidden them anywhere. She could ask him for his word, but a villain would give his word without hesitating. All she had to go on was what she knew of him already.

Of her acquaintances in Praag so far, only he and Raiza had treated her well. Raiza had honoured her debt, and Stefan had saved her life and helped her against the cult, and both had been at least civil, if not friendly. Evgena, on the other hand, had tried to kill her from the start, had openly mistrusted her even as she accepted her vow of service, and had attacked her after welcoming her into her house.

So, in the final tally, she couldn’t be certain Stefan wasn’t out to kill Evgena, but if he was, she couldn’t blame him. She was beginning to feel the same way herself.

She raised her head and looked at him. ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that I don’t care. If you are with me against the cult, then I will ask no more. If you tell me there is no Kiraly, and that it is you who seeks to kill Evgena, it will not prejudice me against you.’

Stefan laughed. ‘To thine own self be true,’ he said with a wolfish smile. ‘I believe you are at last becoming a vampire.’

She shrugged, uncomfortable. ‘I am only thinking of Praag.’

‘Precisely,’ said Stefan, then sighed. ‘Unfortunately, there is indeed a Kiraly, and I must still kill him, but…’ He paused, then turned back to her, coming to a decision. ‘But I begin to fear I will not be able to do so before your cultists intend to strike, and I am afraid of what madness will follow if they succeed – even if they fail. Kiraly may retreat. I may lose him. I could be killed before I found him. Anything could happen, and so I think I must put aside my hunt for him and help you first.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘Tell me again what leads you have. I’m afraid I didn’t listen further once you told me of Kiraly last night.’

‘There was little else,’ said Ulrika. ‘When I chased Kiraly, I lost the man who led the sacrifice and couldn’t find him again.’ She frowned. ‘But now that I think of it, he did let something slip during the ceremony. He said the cult would be stealing something tonight called the Viol of Fieromonte, and that the success of their venture depended on it. If we could stop them, or steal it first, we might end their threat in a single stroke.’

‘The Vial of Fieromonte?’ Stefan asked. ‘I don’t know it.’

‘The
viol
, I think,’ said Ulrika. ‘As in violin.’

Stefan raised an eyebrow. ‘Their success relies upon a fiddle? Did he say where it was?’

‘No,’ said Ulrika. ‘Only that it was in a hiding place.’

‘That is little enough to go on,’ said Stefan. ‘It might be anywhere. It might not even be in the city.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Ulrika, glum, then looked up, brightening. ‘Ah, I know! The goat and the wolf.’

‘Who?’ asked Stefan.

‘The cultists who Raiza and I followed to the sacrifice,’ said Ulrika. ‘They may know where it is.’

‘Ah,’ said Stefan. ‘What strange names they have.’

Ulrika laughed and turned towards the street. ‘Not as strange as their habits. Come, I’ll take you to their house.’

But when Ulrika and Stefan reached the Yeshenko mansion it was surrounded by the city watch, and priests of Ursun and Dazh circled the grounds, chanting invocations and prayers. Other men, dressed in dark civilian clothes, went in and out of the house carrying out books and papers and trunks – the Ice Queen’s chekist agents, no doubt, Ulrika thought.

‘This does not bode well,’ said Stefan.

‘No,’ agreed Ulrika, looking around at the rest of the street.

Yeshenko’s wealthy neighbours peered from behind the curtains of their mansions, but their servants were less circumspect. They huddled in little groups outside several houses, watching the proceedings and whispering amongst themselves.

Ulrika stepped away from Stefan and sidled up to a trio of scullery maids who were standing outside the gate of the house opposite.

‘What’s all the fuss, devotchkas?’ she asked. ‘What happened to the Yeshenkos?’