Much Fall of Blood-ARC (78 page)

Vlad's peasant soldiers found King Emeric, as they engaged in the looting of the corpses of their former attackers. Emeric was pretending to be dead himself.

That was a foolish ploy, given the finery of his apparel. One of the soldiers recognized him and moments later he was surrounded. The soldiers kept their distance—the Hungarian king had a reputation of his own for black magic—but they called out to their commander.

Prince Vlad rode over to see what all the shouting was about.

"I give you my surrender," said Emeric, sulkily. "As one lord to another. Keep these peasant carrion away from me."

One of the soldiers laid hands on Emeric. He reacted, foolishly, by using his pain touch. The soldier screamed and backed away. Now in a rage, Vlad got off his horse and strode over to the king of Emeric.

Emeric seized him as well; and, indeed, his touch was quite agonizing. But Vlad simply ignored the pain. He seized Emeric's hands in his own and, with one mighty shoulder-heaving wrench, broke both of the king's wrists.

Emeric screamed. Vlad flung the king to the ground, half-stunning him in the process. Then, seized Emeric by the scruff of the neck and shook him like a terrier shakes a rat.

"D'you want us to impale him?" asked one of the Székelers, grinning savagely. "Won't take but a moment to sharpen a stake."

Emeric nearly fainted with terror, suddenly realizing that he could be on the sharp end of his own favorite method of torture. "Please. I beg you!" he squealed.

"You threatened me with that, once," said Vlad harshly. "I spent long hours thinking of doing the same to you. But I have seen what cruelty unleashed can bring. Still, I will not suffer you to live."

He turned to his men. "Build a gibbet and find a rope. He hangs, right here and now."

* * *

It didn't take long. Many of Vlad's men were skilled carpenters.

Emeric screeched throughout. Once, frantically, he tried the pain touch again. But with both wrists broken, he couldn't get a decent grip on the prince of Valahia. Vlad cuffed him half-senseless, then.

That was something of a mercy, perhaps, since the Hungarian king was too stunned to be very aware of his surroundings. Which were, of course, quite unsettling. The gibbet went up almost as if by magic.

Emeric regained his senses when he felt the noose fitted to his neck.

"You can't do this!" he screamed.

"Yes. I can." Vlad heaved on the rope. Given his great strength, Emeric went up like a bag of linen. He kicked for a time, and then died.

Vlad tied off the rope to a strut on the gibbet and then gazed upon the dangling body for a few moments.

"Rosa," he said, and turned away.

* * *

When the fires were burning for the night, and men were feasting and drinking, Kaltegg Shaman sought out David, in the midst of the knights.

He found the boy by the side of the one that had designated himself as David's mentor. "Boy," he said, without preamble. "You did a good thing. You helped with the battle magic, and maybe more than you know." He nodded at the older knight, who was looking at him curiously, but without any hostility. "Translate. Tell your master."

With a look of astonishment on his face, David did so. The knight nodded thoughtfully. So did the others that were near enough to hear. So. They recognized what had happened, too.

"So, tell me. That song. What was it? Some magic spell this man taught you?"

David's brow creased with puzzlement, as he translated again. The knight laughed.

"No," the knight replied in terrible Mongol. "Is child's sing. I make him teachings of Church."

David blushed a deep crimson, but raised his chin. "My knight is giving me religious instruction, and he taught me the first hymn all children are taught, and it was the first thing that came into my mind. I couldn't remember the battle hymns, but I could remember this."

Tortoise Orkhan came into the firelight, and caught the last of David's words.

"The song? The boy is right, it's one of the first hymns any of our children are taught. They say Saint Hypatia—she was a sort of holy person, like a shaman of shamans—wrote it herself. I think it must have been translated into every language we've ever come across, which is why every Christian knows it." His brows knitted for a moment. "It's about how everyone of good will, no matter what face of God they worship, is united in the eyes of God. I'm no poet, but I'll try a translation for one of the stanzas."

His eyes closed for a moment, then sang softly.

"From lands of endless ice and snow, to sand-filled desert winds that blow, all men of good beneath the sun, hold this pure truth that we are one."

"It goes on like that for three or four verses, each one ending in 'we are one,'" said David. "I like it. I don't care if it is for children."

"Things for children are inclined to be very pure," the shaman said gravely. "Simple is not bad. The simplest things are likely to be quite profound."

He could well imagine that a saint had put her hand to those words. Even in translation, they had power.

Not enough power, however. So. Kaltegg studied the boy David. This one would bear watching, he thought.

The waiting game, decided Dana, was not one that she was well suited to. Everyone, including the wyverns, was away at the war. Dana hadn't liked her first brush with killing. She'd actually been very glad to agree that it would be wise for her to stay here, in Berek. But now she was bored and worried. She learned from the villagers that Vlad rode down to the Mongol encampment quite often. So, accompanied by three wary guards, she did the same. It too was full of women, waiting . . .

Including Bortai. Dana had really bound to the Mongol Princess in the time from their traumatic meeting in Elizabeth's castle to the taking of Irongate, and their return to Berek.

Bortai was also finding the waiting hard. "Khutulun rode with her father's generals. I think I should too," she'd said. And then had to explain why she couldn't, who Khutulun was and from there, it was a short step to Erik, and what he was doing, and more importantly, wasn't doing. And what her brother had said. And . . .

Dana found herself trying to comfort someone who was probably ten years older than herself. And who was a lot more worried about Erik than she'd admitted to anyone else.

"He's . . ." Bortai fumbled for words. "I'm stuck in a stupid practical joke that everyone in the entire Golden Horde thinks is hilariously funny. And the worst part is I think that I will have to stay in it. Erik . . . I think if he knew that I was a princess . . . that I have a bride's portion of many horses and flocks, he'd run away. He has told me so often that he was worried about what Svanhild's family back in Vinland would think of her bringing home a near penniless Icelander." She sniffed, defiantly. "I'd have him in the clothes he stood in. And half of the Golden Horde women would have him out them before he could open his mouth to protest. And now I don't even know if he's alive. I should have told him that I loved him."

"He's alive," said a voice behind them.

Bortai turned, and had a knife out, pushed Dana back so fast that Dana hardly had time to squawk her own surprise.

"Come out," said Bortai to the dark back of the ger.

"Phiss. What are you going to do with that little knife? Steel's no good on us. It needs to be stone and magic at that."

Dana stamped her foot. "Come out. It's a wyvern, Bortai. You know. The creatures we have a pact with. They can make themselves very hard to see. But they won't hurt us."

"Might eat you," said the Wyvern, gradually appearing out of the darker area of the ger. Dana knew it had been there all along, but looked like it was coalescing out of the shadows.

"No you won't," said Dana. "Have you been at the battle?"

The wyvern shrugged its wings. "A lot of magic. The shaman is good at it."

"My brother . . ."

"Is alive. His usual happy self. And so is Erik, and so is her brother," said the wyvern. "They sent me to tell you. But it does bring me to ask some questions about mating among you humans."

Dana hugged it. So did Bortai.

"I don't think we can cross the species line," said the wyvern. "Besides. I think I am female. I wanted to ask you about mating."

"I know a lot about breeding horses," said Bortai, grinning with relief. "And that is quite revealing."

Dana was more tenacious. "Have they won? And when will they be back?"

"They hanged someone called Emeric. And the clans are chasing down the northerners. They've crossed the Dniestr, I was told to tell you. Now about this breeding. Is it necessary to mate with one's brother? We've been looking at you humans and wondering."

Bortai looked startled. "It's not a good idea. Well, we do it sometimes with horses, and dogs. But new bloodlines strengthen the animals . . . And humans just shouldn't."

"We become a little more human with sharing of the blood. Still, we only have one chance to breed. There were many of us, once. But we are few now. We are the only two left here."

"Explain?"

So the wyvern did.

Both women were left silenced and discomforted.

Finally Dana asked: "Isn't there another way?"

"Not that I know of. But I don't know everything . . . yet," said the Wyvern.

* * *

Three days later the knights came limping back, accompanied by the surviving Székelers, and the mounted infantry. The wagons and the rest of the infantry were heading back into Valahia by a less steep route to the north.

The Mongol followed five days later, full of victory and loot, after a sweep that had taken the Golden Horde as far as the Bug river. They reported seeing ships flying the winged lion at anchor off Odessa.

Erik had come through the entire encounter with no worse than dented armor. And yet he was a troubled man. He finally went to talk to Manfred about it. "Am I fickle?" he asked.

Manfred smothered a snort. He didn't even try to pretend that he didn't know what Erik was talking about. "About as fickle as a whale-fish is small, Erik. Go and propose to her."

"I'm not exactly sure how to do this among the Mongols."

Manfred slapped him on the back. "I'll find out for you. Leave it to me. I have contacts."

Erik closed his eyes. "I shudder to think."

"Trust me," said Manfred. "The Great Khan himself speaks to me."

"You can't get Bortai to translate!"

"No. I'll take young David."

"That is worse! I mean . . . look what he got me into last time."

"He got her to notice and like you," said Manfred cheerfully. "What you may not know, and I do, is that she's a very popular woman. Had scores of suitors."

"I would think every man in the lands of the Golden Horde has tried. She's exceptional," said Erik, earnestly.

"Well, personally I'd advise you to run, and to run now," said Manfred, grinning. "She's got a tongue on her that could skin an ox."

"Good. I prefer them without skin," said a sibilant voice.

They both had their swords out. "Wyvern," said Erik, with relief. "Back there. What are you doing here, beast? Go back to Prince Vlad. Or his sister."

"Learning about human courtship. Dana sent me to find out just what you were doing."

Manfred snorted. "Everyone knows your business, Erik. Let me go and find David. Relax. Von Stael has quite reformed him."

Erik groaned. "Only with Von Stael, Manfred." He looked at the wyvern. It was not a very large creature, but he'd seen just how deadly it could be. "Are you going to go away too?"

"No," said the creature. "I thought I'd stay here and tell you a Mongol tale."

Erik was about to protest. "It is Bortai's favorite. Actually, it is the Golden Horde's favorite story. It's their founding myth you might say." The wyvern preened. "I am a creature of myth. It's important to understand them
I
think."

"There is sometimes a grain of truth in them . . . somewhere," admitted Erik, curious.

"Oh yes. Somewhere. Most of the story is usually wrong," said Wyvern.

"But they tell you how people think. Tell you about the culture."

"And pass the time between meals," said the Wyvern.

"Are you going to tell me this story or aren't you?" asked Erik sitting down. It beat pacing and waiting for Manfred.

"The story of Princess Khutulun and Ulaghchi."

"So they were real characters? Ulaghchi was the Great Khan. In what the Golden Horde feel was their golden age."

"Indeed. It is a song-poem. It goes like this . . ."

Erik listened. It was indeed a compelling story.

And when it was done, the wyvern faded away, blending its opalescent scales with the background and disappearing like a morning mist.

Erik shook himself. It had been a magical experience . . . well, it had been. He was aware that he'd heard snatches of the song before. It was obviously popular. And certainly held some clues as to how some people got married . . . Back then.

"Daydreaming?" said Manfred, grinning and smelling of wine. "You have to go and see the her brother, Erik. David will take you."

Erik had never attempted to find out where Bortai lived. It was, however, exactly as he imagined: a simple, neat ger, with simple poor possessions. Every single person in the entire encampment, however, seemed to be between him and his destination. Grinning at him. There were even some of the Great Khan's Khesig hanging about, throwing bones near the ger. They were not the most soundproof structures on earth, Erik reflected as Kildai, playing host, gave him Kumiss.

Erik did not last very long at the politeness. "Kildai," he swallowed. The boy was fourteen, and the impudent David, who hadn't gone away, perhaps a year older. "I want to marry your dau . . . sister."

David sniggered. But Kildai nodded seriously. "You realize that she does not have a very big bride portion," he said.

"I would take her if she had nothing at all," said Erik. "It's not important to me, if she'll have me."

Kildai looked thoughtful. "That doesn't seem a very provident thing to do. I do expect you to look after her. She would not be content to dine on vegetables like a Vlachs slave. Will you be able to feed her? And you do know that she snores? Especially when she drinks too much."