Speak to the Devil (27 page)

Wulf had never heard Otto speak like this before. “There already is a St. Wolfgang. One is plenty.”

Another candle went out.

“I’m serious, chaffhead,” Otto said. “You told me that your Voices have warned you of danger and won’t tell you what it is.”

“They never answer questions like that.”

“I just answered it for you. The Church doesn’t want miracles, so it calls what you’re doing witchcraft, acts of Satan. It’s all about power, Wulf, worldly power. You are a threat to the authority of the pope and
the bishops. But if Cardinal Zdenek believed that you were an agent of Satan, he would never have dared use you. It wasn’t
Anton
the Spider wanted, it was you.”

Wulf nodded. “He had to take Anton because I’m only a kid.”

“You’re not a kid anymore.”

“But Anton’s ten feet tall, ruts like a goat, and beats men’s brains out with his mustache.”

“So he’s your puppet. You are the one the cardinal really hired.”

Wulf sniggered. He knew that Otto had been deliberately plying him with wine, and he was also very weary. “I don’t fancy telling Anton that!”

But Otto had struck to the heart of the problem, as usual, and now it was time to explain to him that Zdenek had not divided the rewards fairly. Yet Wulf still could not bring himself to talk about his love for Madlenka.

After waiting a moment, Otto sighed. “Back in the year Father died, a month or so after Marek was taken away, the Hartmannovas had a knighting celebration for Cousin Hans. Remember?”

“No.” That year Wulf had been twelve and fighting his own problems—strange noises and lights and the gnawing terror that he was growing up to be a Speaker like Marek.

“I went in Father’s stead, because he was too ill to travel. On the first night they held a ball and the first dance was a saltarello. There was a girl … every time we passed, our eyes met. When the dance was over I dragged my host through the crowd to her and had him introduce us. That was the end of the ball for both of us. We just sat in a corner and talked. Her name was Branka.”

Wulf swallowed a lump in his throat. “Am I so childishly obvious?”

His brother laughed. “Your eyes melted when you mentioned the beautiful heiress, but after that one time you ignored her, except to say that you think you healed her mother. Tell me about her.”

“There are no words. Her name is Madlenka. She’s glorious. Out of this world. Angelic. Clever, witty, feisty, mischievous …”

“Did you tell her that you love her?”

“And she loves me! I never knew it could happen so fast.”

Otto snapped his fingers. “Like that! I spoke with Branka’s parents the next day and when we got around to talking about dowry, I accepted
their first offer. Branka and I have never regretted our marriage for a minute. But it doesn’t always have a happy ending, Wulf. Does Anton know?”

“No!”
Wulf soaked in his misery for a few minutes, and finally said, “Anton wouldn’t
care
! If it has two legs and no crotch bulge, then he doesn’t
care
what face it wears.”

“Like Vlad—two nights is a long-term relationship. You’re like me, lad; you don’t keep your heart in your codpiece. I’m sure Anton would happily let you have her if she was any ordinary wench. But she isn’t, Wulf. She’s the key to his castle, a ward of the king, and any nonsense will land you in more trouble than you can imagine.”

“I know that, thank you. Not that I care about me. Only her.”

“Her, too. Oh, saints! You’ve really been hit hard, haven’t you? Cupid’s filled you plumb full of arrows. I’m sorry, Wulf, I really am. So tomorrow you plan to hand Anton’s letter to the cardinal, in person, and tell him you want the girl as your share?”

Wulf nodded. Coming from Otto it sounded even crazier than it had seemed before: suicide, self-immolation. Before he could say so, the last candle smoked and died, leaving only firelight. Otto heaved himself to his feet.

“Time to go. I am enormously proud of what you and Anton have done, Wulf. I’m humbled, honestly. No Magnus in three centuries has come close. One day your exploits will be added to the family chronicle in letters of gold, I promise you. And tomorrow, we’ll decide how I can best help you both.”

He took a new candle from the box on the mantel and lit it. He put it in a candlestick and handed it to Wulf, giving him a clap on the shoulder. “You’re half asleep. To bed. Sleep well, Sir Wulfgang.”

“There has been a mistake, my lord. I am Wulfgang Magnus, esquire.”

“You have proved yourself worthy of knighthood. Battle honors are no less worthy if they must be kept secret. Come along.”

Alerted by some guardian instinct, Whitetail awoke, heaved himself to his paws, and led the way to the door.

Wulf was to sleep in the main guest room, which was large by castle standards, but cold and musty. Many great lords and even royalty had slept there over the centuries, and the walls bore frescoes of their arms,
some crude, some crafted in exact detail, some old and faded or even overlapped by newer work. A single candle flame did little to flatter them. He blew it out and set the candlestick on the table by the bed. Shivering, he stripped and slid in under the quilts. If one believed Otto’s flattery, he was not unworthy of his surroundings.

Neither armored foe nor the dawn screams of roosters could penetrate the walls of Castle Dobkov. Flunkies out in the bailey could stoke ovens, thresh rye, or crank the windlass on the well without being heard inside.

Regrettably, female servants slept in the attics. They arose with the roosters and the ancient floor beams creaked. Ottokar angrily pulled the quilt over his ear, trying to will himself back to sleep. Warm, soft arms embraced him. The tendency for occupants to collect in the middle was both the joy and the curse of a feather bed.

“You’re awake,” Branka murmured.

He said, “No.”

“So what’s the news that kept you tossing and turning all night?”

He abandoned hope of more sleep and rolled over to join in the hugging. “As far as the staff is concerned, Anton is betrothed to the only daughter of the late Count Bukovany and the first installment of her dowry will pay Vlad’s ransom—Wulf delivered it. That happens to be true, which is useful. Father Czcibor can arrange a thanksgiving Mass for Sunday.”

She said, “Mmph. No more?”

“Not for Father Czcibor.”

He felt her mood change instantly. “Wulf’s started Speaking?”

“How did you know about that? I never told you about it.”

She chuckled and squeezed him tighter. “No, you didn’t, but the senior servants all know. I arrived just after Marek was taken, remember, and they knew that something would trouble young Wulf at times, and he would run off to the church to pray, all by himself. A few of them even remembered one of your father’s aunts being ‘strange.’ Father Czcibor remarked to me once, just after we were married, that as long as Speakers didn’t answer the Voices they heard, then they were resisting temptation and were good Christians. I guessed that he meant Wulf.”

“It’s your brains that make me love you.”

“This is a recent change.”

“After the Dominicans took Marek away, Father made us all swear not to tell anyone about Wulf. So I couldn’t tell you, and I didn’t want to burden you, anyway. You’ll forgive me?”

“Of course. You were right. I didn’t know; I was just guessing. But now he’s started?”

Otto had always feared that Wulf wouldn’t be able to resist Speaking once he escaped out into the world. Damn Anton for tricking him into it, just to impress the court! That was typical of Anton. Had the positions been reversed and Wulf had tried something like that on Anton—not that Wulf ever would—Anton would have turned his back and let him go ahead and break his stupid neck.

“I’m afraid so. It was Anton’s fault.”

“And they’ve quarreled?”

Otto took time to consider. “I don’t think so, not yet. But they may, and we mustn’t let it happen. They’ve done amazing things, but they’re in way over their heads, deeper than hell’s cellar.” He hesitated and then mentioned the other problem because he never willingly kept secrets from Branka. “Wulf got injured on the journey somehow, although his Voices cured him later. Cardinal Zdenek had ordered Anton to marry the late count’s daughter. That would be fine by Anton, confirm his claim to the coronet. Stupidly, though, he ordered her to care for Wulf while he was disabled.”

“Oh, no! Not Wulfgang! He didn’t!”

“It isn’t a matter of doing, I’m sure. But it is a matter of wanting to.
On both sides, apparently. Of course it would never have occurred to Anton that those two were both in highly stressed situations. Wulf is terrified that he’s sold his soul to the devil, she had just lost her father, mother, and brother and was ordered to marry a man she’s never even heard of. When you think about it, what happened was almost inevitable. They grabbed at each other like drowning sailors.”

“So you think you’re going to ride off and help them?”

“My love, I have no choice. This is for no one but you, understand?”

“I swear.”

“It’s war! The Wends’ vanguard has crossed the border. Anton was wounded and would have died if Wulf’s Voices had not saved him—for the second time in three days. The main army is sure to follow. Jorgarian forces are weeks or months away and the only defense Jorgary has at the moment is a castle under the command of Anton Magnus, twenty years old and never seen a battle.”

Branka whispered a Hail Mary. Otto said, “Amen.”

She sighed. “When will you leave?” She was a worthy warrior’s wife.

“This morning Wulf and I’ll go on a brotherly outing, visit a few of the tenants. Hint that he has been having thoughts about a certain girl, if you must. We should be back before nightfall. After that … I don’t know. For as long as I’m needed.”

“You have time to say goodbye, big bull.”

Otto found his brother in the lesser hall, again being mobbed by the staff and giving every indication of enjoying it, which he probably wasn’t. The jabber died away as the baron approached. He announced the limited story about Sir Vladislav’s ransom, which was loudly cheered. He added that he and Wulf were going to go riding that morning. He glanced across the table.

“We’ll leave as soon as we can, Wulf?”

Wulf nodded with a smile that did not quite reach his wolfish eyes.

The brothers had no chance for a private chat before they rode out across the drawbridge together, Wulf on Copper and Otto astride his old
favorite, Balaam, who was past any serious exertion but steady enough not to panic when Wulf started Speaking miracles. The sun was bright on golden leaves and warm for late September.

They left a lot of puzzled retainers behind them. When the baron went hunting, he took a retinue of beaters, hawkers, huntsmen, foresters, and kennel men. Going visiting, he would never venture forth without a train of at least forty men-at-arms. If he and his brother were merely planning an amble around the environs of the castle, why did they need to take such fat bundles with them, and why had they insisted that the baggage be attached to their horses’ saddles, instead of loaded on a packhorse? He was behaving very oddly.

Wulf was puzzled, too. “What’s the plan, Brother Baron?” he asked as they crossed the bridge. “What’s in the bags?”

“My court clothes, mostly. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll have to journey home the hard way.”

The kid frowned. “Nothing should go wrong.”

“Good. First you miracle us to Mauvnik. How long will that take?”

Wulf pointed to a hawk spiraling down out of the sky. His finger tracked it down until it vanished in weeds at the edge of the pasture and some anonymous rodent died. “About that long.”

“Oh!” Otto wondered if he had overestimated Balaam’s impassivity. “Secondly, we redeem the scrip for gold. The Medici agent there knows me. If Vlad tried to turn it into cash in Bavaria, it would take months.”

Wulf chuckled. “We never thought of that! Old Jurbarkas should have warned us. He’s Anton’s seneschal, decent but doddery. Then what? We call on the cardinal?”

His tone of voice suggested he was ready to argue. Wulf had changed. He was not the same boy who had ridden away with Anton a month ago, two youths going forth to seek their fortunes. Anton must have changed also. They would not be human otherwise, after what they had been through already. And Wulf must guard his secret very closely now. If the cardinal decided that his Speaker helper had served his purpose and become a potential cause for scandal, he would betray him. The Bible said, “Put not your trust in princes.”

The horses entered the coppice, where the air was cooler. With no one overlooking them, this would be a good setting for a miracle.

“It would be safer if I called on the cardinal instead of you,” Otto said. “You are vulnerable. I met Zdenek once, years ago. Father presented me to him. He wasn’t a cardinal then. He won’t remember me, but my title should get me in to see him.” The Magnus name alone should, under present circumstances.

“While I take two thousand florins south to Bavaria?”

“Yes. And bring back Vlad.”

They rode on for a moment. Then calculating golden eyes turned on Otto again. “I don’t have to tell him that Anton is now a count, do I? Please?”

Otto laughed aloud. “Brother, I have sorely missed you this last month! I’d suggest you chain him down first.”

Wulf grinned. “I’ll let you tell him. His face should be worth every florin. Ready for me to Speak?”

Otto dug in his knees and shortened the reins. “Go ahead.”

“You must stay close to me. That’s vital.” Wulf turned his head the other way and addressed empty air, “Holy Saints Helena and Victorinus, hear my prayer.” Pause. “First, would you heal the bruises on my face, please, so I don’t look so gruesome? Thank you.” He glanced around to enjoy Otto’s reaction when he saw that the black-eye bruises had gone. “And now, dear Saints, would you please move us directly through limbo to Mauvnik?”

The world became a silent, silvery mist. Balaam screamed in terror and reared. Otto grabbed the pommel of his saddle and clung tight with his thighs. Balaam bolted along the foggy trail, and now nothing was solid except Wulf and Copper, racing along at their side. Balaam skidded to a halt and tried bucking again like a two-year-old. Eventually the old courser steadied, more from exhaustion than his rider’s direction, but for a few moments it had been Wulf’s horsemanship that had kept the two mounts close together, not Otto’s.