Much Fall of Blood-ARC (74 page)

"Mostly pine." The gypsy's eyes gleamed wickedly as he said it.

"Well," said Manfred. "If he's sitting in the forest with his loyalists . . . He isn't guarding his towns and cities."

"Irongate might be a bridge too far though," said Erik, looking at the map.

"He can surrender that one," said Vlad.

* * *

Standing at the appointed time on a knoll-clearing above the meeting place, Ban Ilescu could hardly believe it. He'd expected an emissary, more conditions . . . Yet the man—that all the towns of Valahia were hailing as military genius, who had beaten Emeric at every turn, had ridden blindly into his trap. He was out on the open fields with a small contingent of knights, waiting for Ban Ilescu to come and make his submission. To escort Vlad to his castles, and present him with the keys.

Ban Ilescu shook his head. He turned to tell his trumpeter to sound the advance. He had no intention of being part of it. Vlad was apparently a demon of a fighter. It was probably as much of a rumor as his military skill.

Only . . . there was no trumpeter next to him on the knoll. Just a rather saturnine man in bright but patched gypsy clothes. "Lady wants to see you," said the gypsy laconically. "You have implied that she and her brother are bastards and that her mother is an adulteress. She's a little upset with you."

The Ban reached for his sword. His horse reared. He fell off in a most undignified fashion, and found that something standing on his chest. Hot breath that smelled of meat was blown into his face from between very white teeth. Big teeth.

"Call off your dog. I have eight thousand men in these woods."

The gypsy laughed softly. "In the woods, eh? In the pine woods. A very bad place to keep them. Leshy and his people are wild and bad tempered at being woken at this time. And making them bad tempered is nearly as bad as calling Miu a dog. I hear you've been hanging gypsies, Ban. It seems that you're a bit like a bad-tempered bull. Maybe you need a nose ring." Sharp white teeth touched on his nose.

"I wouldn't pull away. You have a fairly long crawl ahead of you. Or you can get up and walk, if you behave yourself. The Princess Dana of Valahia wants a good explanation. A nice walk will give time to think of one. And I think you may find you're better off than your men. It could take them a week to get out of the forest. A week in winter out there could kill some of them."

Ban Ilescu walked. He was unused to walking. And the woods seemed very dark, and very empty.

They got to the open field. His troops surely had to see him—he had very recognizable gold and white enamel inlaid half-armor—and charge. The woods had been jam-packed with them.

The forest looked a little different now. Unfamiliar, somehow. Was that a dragon-like shape above it?

A young woman and a group of men rode over to him. He remembered her face. He'd been very flattering to her last time they had met. Her father had been Duke of Valahia then. And then with shock he recognized the men with her too. They were the city elders from Mehadia and Herkulesfürdö. His towns. With a sinking heart he realized that that was probably not true anymore. "It is very odd that you should not have chosen to mention that your mother was married to my father when we met last, at the reception last year at Poienari castle," Dana of Valahia said. "Perhaps you would like to explain how you suddenly claim to be my father's legitimate heir, both to me and these good people?"

Her brother did not even bother to watch what she was doing. Vlad continued to stand and look at the forest. It appeared to be moving.

The Ban knew that he lived or died on a young girl's whim. And she did not look very sympathetic. He grovelled. "It's not true, Princess. It was not my idea, I swear. King Emeric did it, Princess. I . . . had to go along with him. He would have had me killed otherwise."

She did not appear impressed. She was quite young, but had the speech and diction . . . and sarcasm of a much older woman. "Really? Even in your impregnable fortress at Irongate, that you bragged about?" she said dryly

"You filled it with your monsters, and killed my men," he said.

She seemed mildly taken aback by this. "What sort of monsters?"

"Naked women with long green blond hair."

"I assure you," said Princess Dana primly, "if I had anything to do with them they would have been decently clothed."

She began to turn away. "What are you going to do?"

"Deal with them, I should think. I don't think I approve of nudity."

Ban Ilescu had realized that whatever else was happening, his army was not coming to his rescue. "I meant . . . what about me. I came to make my submission. If you have the power to take my best castle by magic . . . and to destroy my troops . . ."

"We had nothing to do with your castle. And your troops are merely lost. That can happen in the woods, especially with a little mist. As for your submission: Vlad and I do not deal with traitors. When we found the ambush you planned, we decided we'd had enough. You are stripped of all your titles and possessions," she said. "I would find a stick and start staggering for Hungary if I were you. I've been told," she gestured at the town elders, " that you are not much liked here. All we wanted from you was a public renunciation of your claims. We have that, now."

* * *

A nervous general interrupted his master's inspection of a river barge. Emeric was still in love with his idea of taking them down to flank the Mongol, and opening a route to the Black Sea and conquest of the east. Perhaps even Constantinople. It was a great city, but Alexis was a soft nut to crack. The general coughed. "Your Majesty. Some of Ban Ilescu's boyars have just reached the town."

"Excellent. I hope they have that upstart Vlad's head."

The general coughed again. "No, Your Majesty. In fact all they seemed eager to do was to buy more horses and keep running. I think we should retreat on your garrison at Resicabánya. We will have twenty thousand men at your disposal there."

Emeric stared at him in horror. Was this to be another Corfu?

Once safe in Resicabánya, surrounded by his garrison, Emeric allowed his panic to subside a little and fury to take hold. The coward must have surrendered. He'd even talked of doing so! Well, he, Emeric, still had control over Irongate. And while winter would make major troop movements difficult to impossible in the mountains, what did Vlad really hold? A strip of worthless mountains, and adjacent towns. They could be given similar treatment to Irongate. Or did that require them to be surrounded by water.

Emeric settled down to pen a message to Elizabeth. She had never refused to help him, when matters had really got out of hand. The letter was carefully worded—he certainly did not want her to take offence, and, on the other hand he did not want his message to fall into the wrong hands—Vlad had either taken cities and towns while travelling down to the southwest or had bypassed them. Of course Elizabeth would be able to hold off invading armies, single-handed if need be. The messenger was a tried and trusted one, and Emeric knew all he had to do was to wait.

And he did.

It was nine days before the messenger returned. With the message, undelivered.

The messenger—who had taken messages to Elizabeth's castle before—was a troubled man. "Your Majesty, the castle has gone."

Emerich stared at him. The man was surely mad. "Gone? It can't be gone,"

The messenger sweated and was pale as death. "It's a ruin, Your Majesty. A burned out ruin. I went to Caedonia to try and find out what happened. The town has fallen to Vlad . . . and I didn't have to ask. I was told by everyone who had a tongue. They have some of the children that were held prisoner in her castle. They say the countess was in league with Satan himself. Some of the local dignitaries were taken there by Vlad's troops. They saw for themselves evidence of the devil worship in her castle. They were very full of it. And the countess Elizabeth Bartholdy is dead."

Emeric had to sit down. The room was full of roaring sound. He knew it was just in his head. "Definitely?" he said weakly.

"Definitely," the messenger said. He paused. "Your Majesty. It is well known in Caedonia that you were a guest at her castle. There is much suspicion about you."

Emeric stood up. "I am going back to Buda. There are people I need to consult."

He did not know what to do. He had hated her, but relied on her also. And now he was alone. Suddenly he was aware of just how desperately he needed her. Vlad must have found a far, far more potent magic worker. Emeric was afraid. Someone who could defeat her? That was almost unthinkable. And it meant that he was exposed too, to other enemies. He knew full well that she'd murdered many threats to his throne. He was less than confident about dealing with them alone. And then there was the enemy to the north. Elizabeth had told him what Jagiellon really was: the Black Brain, Chernobog.

The answer came to him, on the journey back to his castle: He would obtain the services of her servant Mindaug himself. For all that Elizabeth had made some disparaging remarks about the count's timidity and bookishness, there had been no mistaking her genuine respect for Mindaug's knowledge.

That was all Emeric really needed, after all. Simply the knowledge. He could provide the boldness the count himself lacked.

* * *

In Orsova the survivors of the Irongate were very glad to tell their new prince about their ordeal.

Vlad and Dana had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Fortunately the king of the wolves was better informed.

"Vila. They have always stood outside the compact. The Queen of the River does not rule them. They are creatures of both bank and water, spending time among the willows and in the slow backwaters of rivers and in lakes and ponds, and they breath air. Strictly speaking her sprites stay within the confines of the water, and can breath water. The Vila are an ancient evil. They seduce young men. They're said to be unfortunate girls who drowned themselves after getting pregnant . . . but they like to kill. I think they like desperation, and will take the young girls as they take the young men."

"If the river queen can't deal with them, what can?" asked Dana.

"I think it is more a case of 'won't' than can't," answered the wolf-king. "But they could." he looked at the two wyverns, peering doubtfully at the island fortress.

The two wyverns looked at the water.

"It's wet,"

"And cold.

"And runs too fast."

"On the bank it would be a different matter."

"You are a pair of babes," said Dana. "You fly."

"Not over running water. Not if we can help it."

"All forms of magic have their natural limitations, and it is likewise with magical creatures," explained the wolf-king

"Then we'll just have to deal with it ourselves," said Vlad. "What are the Vila's limitations then?"

"Iron. Fire. And they need to breathe air."

"We could drown the island. Block the river with an earthquake."

"That's not something used lightly," said Angelo. "Earth ties to earth. Move one piece and another must move too."

"We could take the knights in boats . . ."

"They'd sink the boat."

Dana spoke up. "I am able to affect the flow of the water. Let us stop it."

"And then?" asked Vlad

Dana smiled at the Wyverns. "You two don't mind still water do you? "

They exchanged one of those speaking glances, first with her, then with each other. "Not fond of it. But we can fly over that, yes."

Vlad stood up. "I will go and see the priests."

"Priests?"

"As the wolves have explained by their desire to appear gypsies: people fear the unknown. They do not trust real dragons here. With reason, they are wary of the old powers. They were strong here once. So let us give them something else to believe responsible. I will have the priests on the shore exorcize it. During the night you two can fly over and deal with our green-haired naked women. Then in the morning we can go over and find that prayer worked. And who knows: It may even do so."

Dana liked the idea. "I think we should get the townspeople to sing hymns across the water from the island too."

Vlad nodded. "The more involved they are, the more they will believe."

* * *

In the dark of the night two batwinged shapes flew across the still water. The Vila, sitting combing her long, greenish tinged blond hair on the battlements did not see them come. She was too taken up with her narcissistic admiration of herself.

"Fshhh." The wyvern said, taking the end of the blond hair in a taloned forepaw and a slashing another claw across the rest, with a movement more like scalping than cutting. The Vila, shorn, screamed. First in outrage, then in horror, realising what she was facing, as the wyvern shifted colors. She tensed to run.

"Where are you going to run to?" asked the wyvern. "The water won't hide you. And the forest will not give you shelter. You've traded one off against the other for too long."

"And anyway, you will run straight into me," said the other wyvern.

* * *

By the next day, when Dana and a small delegation of priests and knights went across, the island was a peaceful place, and very empty.

The only sign of the terrifying women was a large hank of wet, greenish blond hair, next to the battlements.

Dana was close to being considered a local saint. It seemed some measure of fear was a prerequisite for the Drac, but his little sister . . . she could be a lot better than she actually was.

* * *

"The land on the other side of the river—it seems sparsely populated," said Erik.

"Yes. It's Slav land. Nominally ruled by King Emeric too," said Vlad.

"I wonder . . ." said Erik, tentatively. "Is there ny chance of getting a messenger across it, down into north Eastern Illyria? It can't be more than five or six leagues . . . to the village of Gorlac."

"Dangerous for a man," said Angelo. "Easy enough for a wolf. We can do it one night."

"Would you please?" Erik asked politely

The King of the wolves nodded. "From what I hear we owe you for saving the girl."