Much Fall of Blood-ARC (61 page)

Vlad listened. He needed them. He also knew that there were resources in the towns he was going to need if he was to succeed against King Emeric. He was grateful for the long lecture he'd had on the subject by the white-haired old man in Manfred's party.

"Yes. I will accept your submission and fealty. But there are two things I will require of you."

They listened warily. "Firstly, no more taxes paid to Emeric. No succor nor sustenance for his troops."

They cheered that.

"And of course, instead, half that tax comes to me. I will need it to defend the duchy. And do not dream of cheating me. My men will tell you that I am my grandfather reborn. Remember how he felt about dishonesty? And how he punished that. I would suggest you remember that, and explain it very carefully to your guildsmen. Oh. And I will also require three large wagons and dray horses of each city of over a thousand souls and a hundred men for my armies for every thousand. Smaller towns will send me levies proportional to their size. Now go and tell your councils. Tell them what you have seen, and that those are my terms."

Three days later two of the three returned, along with representatives from another two towns, and three boyars with whom the Ban of Irongate had conflicts.

The next day brought the last of the first three back and yet another two smaller towns. And nearly five hundred sheep. And the Primore Peter.

"How are things since I left, Drac?" asked the captain of the Horseheads.

"I should go down to the plains to buy horses more often. I leave and seven cities send their representatives to make their submission to me, " said Vlad shaking his head in amazement.

Primore Peter beamed. "And the Székely seats have declared for you. They recognize you as the true Count of Székely. Valahia rallies to you, Drac." He looked at his little village. "And it all comes to Ghîmes!"

"It may not for too much longer, Primore," said Vlad, with inherent truthfulness.

"Oh I know that, Drac," said the Primore, placidly. "It's a small place. There are better passes. But it was here that it began. People will remember that."

"They will also remember you, Primore Peter. I think I will call you the father of the battle wagon."

Winter was settling fast on the mountains. Temperatures were barely ever over freezing during the day, and snow lay on the ground in many places. This did not stop Vlad. Moving his headquarters to Berek, the training and the preparation went on. The towns that had declared for Vlad knew a rapid return on their fortunes, as Vlad turned the money into casting cannons—with the Smerek brothers supervising, and setting up a new factory for arquebuses—and supplies of equipment, and fodder and provender.

The knights, having little else to do, were drawn into training.

"I thought it a stupid idea. But this business of mounted infantry could just work in this terrain," admitted Falkenberg. "The infantry of his are still useless in a melee, but they can stand together and fire together. They're disciplined and better than most of the sweepings Emeric has for footmen. And they cover a lot of ground and get there relatively fresh. They carry a lot of ammunition and provender. Prince Vlad lacks heavy cavalry—he's got about thirty boyars and their loyalists—maybe a hundred heavy cavalry in all, and Emeric's Magyar will ride right over them. But the Székely make very good light cavalry, and there are a lot of them."

"And then there are those battle-wagons of his," said Erik with a smile, knowing this would provoke a reaction from the rather conservative Falkenberg. It did, but not the one Erik had been expecting. "I told him to put some spades in those wagons. A trench will stop a charge and an earth will stop wall bullets and arrows. Like the wagons They won't stand siege, but they'll bring cannon to field warfare. He's going to put more cannon in those Székely fortifications too. They were built to stop the Mongol, but they'll work just as well against Emeric." He paused. "Or the Golden Horde if they decide to try the pickings across the border. Bombardier von Thiel is drilling the cannoneers."

"If I was Ban Ilescu of Irongate, I'd consider the value of my head, above my desire to claim a dukedom," said Manfred, coming in. "And it's a good thing we've got drilling to do. We don't seem to making much of this diplomatic headway. Old Eberhart is busy enough talking to elderly generals, and we're being treated like royalty, but if it wasn't for Vlad, I'd be bored."

"The Hawk clan Khan is still consulting some Shaman called Kaltegg," said Erik, who had had this from Bortai, yesterday afternoon. "No insult is intended. Anyway, the diplomatic stuff will only really start after they manage to have another kurultai and elect a new Khan."

Manfred put his helm down. "Bortai: the gospel according to." He turned to Erik. "Has your girlfriend infected all the other Mongol in the place? They only have see you and they start grinning. How is she, by the way?"

"I wish you'd stop that, Manfred," said Erik, his ears glowing with the guilty knowledge that he'd gone to look for her only that morning. "She's away. They seem to be using her and Tulkun to spread the tale of Gatu Orkhan's perfidy. I suppose she has the common touch."

"And the drill-sergeants command of invective, and can take on four armed men and win. I'd run if I were you," said Manfred cheerfully. "Mind you, I don't know if it would help. She rides better than you do. I saw her on a blood mare that most Princes would give their eye-teeth to own. I wonder where she got that?"

"She said she got it from a wager," said Erik. And then realized what he was being led into, and scowled.

Kaltegg Shaman was a wizened old man with piercing blue eyes. Those eyes—very un-mongol eyes, and his outspoken attitude, had been the principal reasons for his falling out of favor with the clan-heads, and particularly with their father and uncle. Bortai was more than a little nervous about going to see him.

They went through the appropriate rituals of greeting and gifting before business could be discussed.

"It is good that you have overcome your father's prejudices and come to see me, Khan Kildai, Princess. You will need a battle shaman soon. Much evil has been raised against you. "

Bortai did not, or not directly anyway, want to point out that she was here more out of worry about her brother's health, than a desire to re-instate the shaman. But perhaps . . . they'd lost a powerful shaman back at the kurultai. "Kaltegg Shaman, the Parki Shaman said we should bring Kildai to you when his Suns soul wandered in the lands of Erleg Khan. He is better now. But I thought it might be wise to consult you."

"You have your mother's wisdom. She was very angry with your father over the decision to make Parki the clan shaman. He was a good man, my apprentice. But times like these we need more than good. Come. I need to examine your brother, and visit the worlds above and below to check on his souls."

Bortai had been—now that she thought about it, aware that her mother and father had not seen eye to eye on the subject of the shaman Kaltegg. Well, that did raise him in her estimation a little. Her father had been an excellent Orkhan. But her mother, with her descent from Princess Khutulun, had had great status. And, as Bortai remembered, a lot more common sense than her father about social issues. Father had been rigid about tradition.

The shaman began his rituals and his dancing and drumming. And then went off into the spirit-worlds.

A little field mouse, striped and inquisitive, peered from the slumped man's shirt. Bortai found herself wanting to laugh during what was a very solemn rite.

At length the shaman surfaced again. "I have made you whole, Kildai Khan," he said. "You suffered a very powerful magical attack. Someone wanted you dead, young Khan. You will need some protections. I shall see to it."

"I told you I never fell!" exclaimed Kildai. "I was pushed off by a big hand."

The shaman nodded. "A hand from the north, young Khan."

He raised an eyebrow at Bortai. "It is acceptable to laugh at Kreediqui, my mouse. He does not mind. And he is very curious."

"I think," said Kildai, decisively, "That we need you to come back to the great camp of the clan, Shaman. I ask this the Khan of my people."

The old Shaman gave her brother a wintery smile. "And how do you feel about marriage, young Khan?"

Kildai's forehead wrinkled. "I think I would like to avoid it for a while. I have people trying to arrange one for me already." He looked warily at the shaman, expecting the next arrangement.

The old man gave a little snort of laughter. "That was what I fell out with your father and his brother about, finally. Arranging marriages. It might be useful for the clans, but it's not always good for the people. I get to see the results. Besides the children, I saw the sickness caused by the conflicts of souls. Some souls do not bind well together, and a marriage must be a melding of souls if it is to be a healthy place to raise young warriors."

Kildai frowned. "That makes sense."

"That was what your mother thought. Your father thought it caused problems if women chose their own bridegrooms," said the shaman, gathering his possessions. Some were prosaic like little bottles and a tools. Others were decidedly odd. Stones. Some wing pinions. Small bones. A tooth.

"Oh," Bortai could see that her little brother was out of his depth here. So was she, a little. "But there is always the challenge for the bridegroom. Princess Khutulun did that. It must always be acceptable. And father always let me choose . . ." She'd turned down a number of suitors. And fought with seven. She had of course beaten all of them.

"The rules for his own daughter were different. It is often like that." His tone said Kaltegg did not approve.

"That is true, I suppose," admitted Bortai.

Kaltegg smiled. "There is a spiritual selectivity to these things. Just as there is in the creation of a Shaman. You can train and try . . . but the tengrie choose who they will work with. It is not arranged. Not at the final point."

"Are they too stupid to learn!?" Emeric snapped angrily. "Instead of taking a valuable lesson from Vajdahunyad, I have reports here of towns and villages daring to refuse my men entry. Turning billeted troops out in the dead of winter. And not paying their taxes!"

Elizabeth looked bored. "They can always be brought to heel, Emeric. Do not concern yourself with small people. The boyars have been loyal."

"Most of them, yes," said Emeric sourly. "But the Székelers are going to be landless peasants by summer. They're really going to understand the meaning of losing their so-called 'privileges'."

"Without Vlad they will fall apart. They'll be glad enough to come cowed and licking your boots then."

"With or without Vlad they will fall apart. Or I will rend them in pieces, come spring. I have ordered a mobilization. I'll have forty thousand men here, before the spring."

"He will be gone before spring and you can just send them all home again."

"Not before I've taught those towns a very painful and direct lesson for daring to oppose me. I'll have more men on pikes than Vlad's Grandfather did. Every village, every hamlet will get a very pointed reminder. At the moment we can't do too much because of the snow. Anyway, we have the devil finding even the male peasantry now. They're deserting their boyars in droves."

Elizabeth shrugged. "A few women and children should do it. They seem to get that message."

* * *

Jagiellon looked at the sweating Nogay.

It was, in magical terms, a great effort to achieve such a materialization.

Normally it could only be done if both the participants were magically skilled. But this Golden Horde general was totally unskilled. Jagiellon had yet to decide whether it was going to be worth sending him back. Of course, Nogay's body was actually still in a ger in the territory of the Golden Horde. But what the spirit does not know, it can do little about. Nogay thought that he was here. Whether the Black Brain let him return would depend on what the man had to offer.

"Gatu Orkhan prepares to raid north. It is late in the season for a major campaign. They will not expect him."

"And this benefits me how, Nogay? I have provided you with much gold for an army and a complaisant khan, who would turn them loose as I wished on the Bulgars and Constantinople."

The Horde had enjoyed several years of relative peace, and abundance, after a long period of civil wars during which Lithuania had devoured much of the northern territories of the Horde. Once their lands had stretched as far east as the Kirgiz Steppe and south to the Caucasus on the other side of the Black Sea. Capture and subversion had brought Lithuania lands and vassal states right down to Odessa. Some of the old parts of the Golden Horde lands had been cut off, and reverted to small khanates. That suited Jagiellon, since those could be devoured at will.

In part, Jagiellon had intervened in the politics of Golden Horde simply because that would stop them raiding his shipyards and pressing north. The murder of Gatu's rival for the khanship had failed. But even the failed assassination of the more obvious heir apparent Kildai had given the grand duke of Lithuania months of peace to continue building. The fleet was nearing readiness.

If a civil war was the best that Jagiellon could hope for, instead of another army of horsemen to turn on his foes, it was still better than the alternatives.

"Khan, we will win. We outnumber them and they have nowhere to run. They are trapped between us and Hungary."

"I will allow you some time to try this. Finally, the matter of the tarkhan Borshar."

"Yes, Khan?"

"He is skilled at killing. Use him, but circumspectly. Remember, as I have told you, he believes my sending come from his god. His mind is less than clear, much of the time. But I have gifted him with certain magics. I believe that may impress the primitives. Now go."

* * *

The demon now turned its attention to other matters. There were strange stirrings in a far-distant spirit realm. Those seemed to have ties to the northern regions from whence he once drew the shamans to service in the court of Jagiellon.