Much Fall of Blood-ARC (26 page)

The speaker was so drunk that his words were slurred. He still had every trooper in the place clinging to them. "—drank drank the mistress's blood. You could see it running from her throat." The man panted and sweated, just recollecting the event. "His skin is white, like something that's been dead. And he wears black clothes like a priest. And he walked right through the fire. Fire that was hot enough to kill the master's son, and burnt me like this, see." He pointed to his shriveled hair. "And I got out of there before him, long before him. It didn't burn him at all. You can't kill him."

The old man with the limp had come up to the table quietly, as they listened. He put down three mugs of beer. "On the house. You must stay here to protect us."

The captain had heard enough. He knew what he'd have to do. "Sergeant, we'll be shifting camp first thing in the morning." It was that or lose half his men to desertion. This Benedickt's story was obviously not invented for audience's benefit. It had spread to so many of the troopers already, that hanging the man would be a waste of time and effort. Counter-productive, in fact, since the hanging would simply give weight to the story.

Kouric's patrols still hunted for Prince Vlad. But there was a marked lack of real enthusiasm for actually finding him, and having to try and take him alive as they'd been instructed. Dead in a hail of silver bullets might be a better idea . . .

The captain was not a superstitious man. He would have to keep reminding his troopers just what the king did to those who disobeyed him. He also needed to send a message. Emeric would need more than the handful of soldiers he had in these hills, if they were facing a real armed insurrection.

He was not happy at the thought. The king of Hungary was known to ignore such messages and then, when troubles ensued, to demand the heads of those who had not warned him.

* * *

"Forty two men," grinned Angelo. "A perfect number. Too many to feed easily, and too few to do anything with. They lack arms, or training, or even anyone to train them. King Emeric must be very afraid."

Just a few seconds, before Vlad had actually been feeling quite proud of his new army. Their loyalty touched him. Angelo's sarcasm touched him too, on the raw. But the gypsy was right, and Vlad could not forget that they had helped him to flee and draw off those who might have endangered his rescuer.

"Well, I have you and Grigori and Radu. Then there is me. So we have forty-six men. And I will recruit more "

Angelo shook his head. "No, Drac. We—Radu, Grigori and I—must go south now, and fast. There is business that we need to see to for our people. We will have to leave you. But we will be back. There are certain rituals between your house and mine that need to be renewed before we can have you crowned."

The idea of them leaving frightened him. In his shifting world, the gypsies had been Vlad's one anchor. True, it had been a very small anchor, which had allowed the vessel of his life to drift into new and dangerous waters. But everything else had gone.

"I am not sure where to go next. Or what to do."

The gypsy seemed amused. "Being a prince is a trade you'll have to learn without my help. I could only teach you how to look and behave like a gypsy, not the ruler of Valahia. As to where you will go . . . I think that there is only one place for you to go and be safe for a little while, while you try to turn your men into a real army. The high Carpathians. It's wild, bleak and unruled. Bandit country. The Hungarians will not go there except in large numbers, and large numbers up there are hard to move around fast and unseen. You need time and a hiding place. Go up into the mountains and be very glad that it is still late summer."

Vlad decided that was sound advice. And those high bleak places called to him.

If he could not turn to the boyars for cavalry, leadership and training, he had to find some people he could trust to help with the instruction, or he would have to learn all of it himself.

But he was aware that twenty-seven horses and the contents of the boyar's strong box were not going to be enough.

Erik and the Illyrian captain stood on the wall of the little fortified village, looking down on the braided river below. "That is the edge of our territory," said the Illyrian captain. He pointed. "Over that ridge are the lands of the Golden Horde. They will have seen us by now. They keep a watch higher up. Across that mountain, are the Bulgars. There is usually someone up there too. I feel sorry for them in winter."

Erik nodded. "Our thanks, Captain. It occurs to me that I've yet to hear your name. I would like to tell my young friend, Benito Valdosta, how carefully you have watched over us. I do realize that you have dealt with two other groups of attackers, after the first incident on that pass. If we could formally introduce ourselves? I realize that it is late, but as they say, better late than never."

The mustachioed captain smiled. "In some cases, knowing could make you late, Ritter Hakkonsen. Benito already knows who I am. But as we part ways here, you may as well know my name. In these mountains I am called Iskander. And now, I see your men are readying themselves to ride. We will scout as far as the river bank. It is easy to ford at this time of year."

He turned and left the parapet. Erik went down to join the other knights. Manfred greeted him with a wave. Then frowned, seeing Erik's expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Erik. "We've just been hoodwinked a bit. Not that it did us any harm, I suppose. But Benito might've told us."

"I so love it when you speak in riddles," grumbled Manfred. "I suppose I should be grateful for the mental exercise."

"I mean that the Illyrian captain of our escort was none other than the Lord of the Mountains himself. Iskander Beg."

Manfred raised his eyebrows, and whistled. "No wonder his nose was out of joint when we were attacked. Eberhart is going to be sorely disappointed that he missed the opportunity to do some more politicking." Manfred smiled. "There is a rose in every patch of thorns. I'll save pretending that I knew until I need to irritate him about something. Still, we've got a day or two, surely."

"No. More like until Terce bell, if they have such a thing in these mountains. The river down there is the border, and our Captain Iskander has gone out scouting."

"Well, whatever happens we have learned a bit about him," said Manfred. "His logistics and staff work are far too good for some tribal chieftain lost somewhere in the middle of the mountains. My uncle would love to employ him."

Erik nodded. "True, although that's hardly a good thing for us to tell the overlord of these tribes. The Illyrians might be as poor as Shetlanders, but they are just as proud of their independence."

"I suppose so. Francesca tried to teach me the fine art of tact and sensibility, but I mostly failed at it." Manfred mounted up, grinning. "Fortunately, from my experience, it is something that translators do for you. So how ready are you with the Mongol tongue?"

"Far from ready to act as an official interpreter," said Erik, tightening a cinch before mounting up. "My understanding is getting much better. But as for the speaking, I really think that I need a better teacher."

"But then our horseboy would have no practice in getting faster reflexes."

Erik jibbed his horse forward, "Knights!" He raised his voice to address all of them. "We are now on the borderline between Illyria and the lands of the Golden Horde. Our Illyrian escort will leave us at the river. From there, until we meet the Golden Horde, we will be taking full escort duty. Falkenberg, you will organize the prince's personal guard. Von Gherens, you will take the van. Proctor Kalb will take the rearguard. Knights Von Diderik, Kirsten, Von Taub and Wellmans, Hunsen, Dader, pair off. You will be scouting ahead. Kari, you are with me."

He and Kari would be even further ahead, riding point.

Two of the Mongols, the rotund Tulkun and his sharp-eyed friend Matu, came up with their ponies. "We riding, scout. Meet Horde." He held a bunch of sky blue pennants in one arm and waved them about. "Put on, how you say, spear. Truce. Mother sun, father sky."

That would certainly ease any confusion arising from seeing a large party of foreign armored horsemen moving into their territory.

* * *

David had learned a fair amount since the incident on the pass. One of the things he'd learned was to look out for signs that the knights were expecting trouble. Even with the new sky blue pennants affixed to their lances, there was a sense of heightened awareness in the column. He, along with the baggage train, rode near the back, behind Manfred and his escort. By now he'd worked out that it was no use just wishing that he was riding even further back, preferably on the way to Jerusalem. He looked and listened hard. There was entirely too much silence in these places. He was sure that any enemy could hear the passage of the knights from a good half a league away. In a nice crowded noisy city there were other noises to hide behind.

He'd never realized just how much he appreciated Jerusalem's Mongol overlords, until they were no longer around.

* * *

The country was more rugged here, along the borderland with the Bulgars. Bortai knew that was a blessing more than a curse. The terrain had provided the cover that had let them avoid an arban that had plainly been out looking for someone. Now she prayed to the spirits of the land, to the tengeri, to the eternal blue sky, that they would not have to break cover to get over the next ridge. And they had to get over it and soon. She'd been scouting and spotted two arban of search parties. One to the west and the other to further east. The only way out was over the ridge.

Otherwise—had the pursuit not been getting closer—she would have been terribly happy. Kildai had awakened. He was confused, true. But two days ago she'd been less than sure that he would ever wake again.

Unfortunately, there was no way they could get the cart over that ridge. And she was not at all sure how he could ride. He seemed to think that she was his mother, dead five years now, rather than his older sister.

They had tethered the ox where it could graze reasonably well, and hidden the cart. With any luck those who were following them would lose a little time searching the area for them, not knowing that they'd moved on. Now it was a question of whether Kildai could stay in the saddle. She and Ion helped him into it. Surely, someone whose balance was that bad would fall? She thought they would probably have to tie him into the saddle.

But instincts honed by a lifetime spent riding came to Kildai's rescue. Even just sitting there, he'd put a foot into the far stirrup without any help from them. She had planned to ride on the same horse, in front of him. Now she wondered if he could stay in the saddle by himself.

But it was best not to take such a chance. At least Kildai was willing to let them tie his hands together, around her waist. Ion mounted clumsily—he had hardly ever been in the saddle. Leading the other horse which was laden with such supplies as it could carry, they rode out, keeping under the trees, working their way ever upward.

As she had feared, the last section of the slope offered no cover at all. It was just bare sheetrock with scattered tufts of grass. Looking back, she could see dust that had to be a large party of riders. There might be smaller groups trailing them also.

They simply couldn't afford to wait for nightfall. So she rode her mount out under the trees and onto a rough trail. As she had guessed would happen, she heard a distant yell and someone sounding a horn. She urged her horse into a canter. They'd save the galloping for later. Anyway, it was very likely that Ion would fall out of the saddle when they tried.

Coming over the ridge, she looked back again. The dust cloud had grown considerably. They were pushing those horses. And then, she heard a sound that she would have never have thought could be so sweet. It was a bell. She'd heard them before from one of the churches of the Vlachs who lived higher up in the Carpathians. No wonder they were hunting her hard. There must be a Bulgar village close by.

Crossing into Bulgar lands wouldn't stop the pursuit. But it did mean that someone—besides her—might just be shooting at them. If she could find some place to hide . . .

She wished that she knew more about the Bulgars and the border area. But her clan's holdings were far to the north. She'd never been down here and never had much interest before. The situation was complicated, if she recalled correctly. There were several conflicting peoples in the area. Bulgars, Illyrians, Hungarians. Bortai didn't really care. She just hoped that they would be furious with a raiding party and so busy fighting them that they wouldn't notice three riders fleeing.

* * *

Erik had missed his guess slightly. They were ready in the woods on the far side of the river when the terce bell rang out from the little white chapel in the village in the mountain-fold.

The Illyrians wasted no time, and engaged in no great formalities at their border. Iskander Beg simply rode up to Manfred, Eberhart and Erik. "Our mutual friend," he said, "has asked that you send word back, if you can, as to what is happening here. Of course he also wants to know what is happening further north."

He grinned through his mustache. "He never asks for too much. There will be some men and good horses waiting in the village." He pointed to the little place they had just left. "In case you or a message want to return the same way."

"Our mutual friend, Benito Valdosta," said Manfred smiling. "If you knew him as well as we do, you would know that he always asks too much—and then usually gets it. Our thanks to you, Lord of the Mountains. Benito said that you took your honor very seriously here in the mountains. I take mine seriously too, and I realize that you have paid us a rare honor. The Holy Roman Empire is in your debt."

Iskander bowed his head slightly. "I hope that I will have no occasion to wish to collect," he said, still smiling. "I hear a horn. It would seem that the Golden Horde are already aware of your presence. I think we will remove ourselves a little. Relations have not been of the best at times. I would prefer it if you met them somewhere close to the ridge. The land between it and the river is something of no man's land. We'd like to keep it like that."