Vlad pouted. Bishops were unpredictable and often lacking in respect for secular nobility.
Otto said, “Now listen carefully! Tell him the story, Wulf.”
Wulf said, “Anton is the best liar in the family, so we built on the hints he’s been dropping. And we decided to stick as close to the truth as we could. Cardinal Zdenek was warned about the Wends months ago. He ordered Petr Bukovany to hire landsknechte. He didn’t trust Havel Vranov. All true so far! Now comes the invention-Zdenek set up a secret command post somewhere near the border, to keep an eye on all the northern marches.”
“In Gistov,” Otto said. “It’s the next county to the east. We have a distant cousin there, Sir Bedrich Magnus of Rovny. Met him once.”
“So did I,” said Vlad. “He can’t ever be distant enough.”
“But he fits nicely in the plan,” Otto continued. “Zdenek decided you were a good man to put in charge, Vlad, so he secretly loaned me the money to ransom you from Bavaria, and you chose Rovny as your headquarters. You got there not long before the count of Cardice died.”
“Why didn’t Anton know all this?” Otto said suspiciously.
“He did, but it’s a state secret. If we get caught lying, we say we were told to lie. At Rovny, you organized border patrols and one of them intercepted Gintaras, the boy carrying news of Bukovany’s death. Rovny pigeons took the news directly to Mauvnik. The murders were totally unexpected, but the Spider improvised and sent Anton north to take the count’s place.”
“Why not me?” Vlad demanded. “I was in the area, you said.”
“Because of Madlenka. You’re already married.”
“I didn’t know that.”
The others laughed, which was often unwise around Vlad.
“Well you do now,” Wulf said. “Congratulations. Be fruitful and multiply. Besides, you’re the overall commander, isn’t that enough? Anton’s title was signed by the king on the day of the old count’s funeral. Of course when I left yesterday, I went straight to you, at Rovny-remember? Once you read Anton’s report, you knew that Cardice was where the Wends would strike, so today you’ve come to take a personal look. Makes sense,” Wulf said, hoping that was the case.
“How many pigeons would you need to carry Vlad?” Marek murmured.
Vlad glowered. “How long have I been skulking at Rovny?”
“A month?” Wulf suggested.
Otto said, “What sort of man is this bishop? Wouldn’t it be simplest just to confide in him? Count Vranov started the Satanism by murdering Count Stepan and his son. Cardinal Zdenek responded by sending Wulf. If the bishop’s at all reasonable, he’ll agree to turn a blind eye, surely?”
“It would make our next confessions easier,” remarked Vlad, who was not as stupid as he often seemed.
Marek smiled shyly. “He who speaks with the devil needs a glib tongue.”
“I haven’t met the bishop,” Wulf said. “But Madlenka says he owes his miter to being the son and brother of a duke. He’s pompous, she says, and not likely to approve of a mere baron’s brother being promoted to an earldom.”
“Then let’s hope he never suspects anything more,” Otto said. “It’s a good story, very good! But, Vlad, remember that we made it up. If you march into Castle Gallant and announce that the commander-in-chief has arrived, Anton will throw you in a dungeon.”
“Think I’m stupid?” Vlad growled. “I’ll grovel to the kid if I must. Now let’s move out before I freeze.”
Wulf still had to deal with the packhorse, and he could not ask Marek to help. Five horses, four riders, two Speakers? How could he keep them together? The sumpter would certainly panic when it found itself in limbo. He spoke to his Voices. “Can we take the packhorse with us to Cardice?”
The Light shone around him. — There are ways you could do that.
That was Victorinus dropping hints again. Marek was quietly talking to Saints Uriel and Methodius.
Wulf said, “Can you open a doorway, as you did when I went to speak with Vlad in the castle?”
— You are progressing, my son, Helena said. — We can.
“Marek, let’s do it this way. The saints will open a gate for us. I’ll ride through first, with Otto next. Then Vlad follows with the packhorse. You bring up the rear and ask your Voices to close the gate. You can do that?”
Marek asked someone on his left, “Will that work?” then added, “No pain, you promise?” He nodded. “All right.”
“Merciful Mother!” Otto said. “When they both do it, it makes my hair stand on end.”
“It shrinks my balls to acorns,” Vlad said. “I smell sulfur.”
Wulf said, “Saints, please open a door to the road below Castle Gallant. As long as there’s nobody there to see,” he added.
A gap like a church door appeared in front of him. It was a hole in the world, so that where his view of the trees should be he saw instead the road up from High Meadows to the south barbican. Wind hurled rain in his face, but he nudged Copper through, much against the courser’s will. He turned to see Otto making the sign of the cross as he followed, from dry forest glade to muddy mountain trail. Vlad was loudly praying to St. Stanislaus of Cracow, patron of soldiers in battle.
In a moment Marek brought up the rear and the hole in the sky disappeared behind him. He smiled at Wulf’s inquiring glance and made a thumbs-up sign to show that he had not been smitten by sudden agony.
Cowering against the weather, they urged their mounts up the trail. As they rounded a sharp bend, the long line of cliff came in sight, topped by its curtain wall of red stone. Vlad and Otto whooped in approval. They also liked the barbican, when that appeared.
The gate was closed. The riders huddled in the archway, but there was too little overhang to shelter them from the rain. Wulf banged on the postern shutter until the grille opened. An unfamiliar face peered out.
“Squire Wulfgang, the count’s brother, bringing three honored guests.”
“Got orders to admit no one.” His dialect sounded like rocks in a bucket.
“Bring me the captain of the watch.”
“I am the captain of the watch. Come back at nones.”
Nones was hours off. Wulf would freeze to death before then.
“I am Count Magnus’s brother. I left here two days ago. Don’t you recognize this horse?”
“No. Told you-no visitors before nones.”
Wulf felt a surge of anger and a nudge of warning from his conscience. His Voices could almost certainly change the man’s mind, but to call on their help just to escape from the discomfort of rain and the embarrassment of having Vlad laugh at him would be an abuse of power. He was convinced now that his gift came from God and must be used for worthy purposes. Denying other men their free will would be contrary to God’s plan.
“Holy St. Christopher!” Marek proclaimed loudly, “St. Joseph, St. Melchior, St. Anthony of Padua, and all other blessed saints who protect travelers, St. Methodius and St. Uriel, I pray you to soften this man’s heart so that he will admit us poor wayfarers.”
Marek was completely hidden inside his hooded Franciscan habit, but for a moment as he named his Voices, Wulf saw a nimbus glow around him.
“Hellfire!” the guard said. “You look harmless enough, and it’s a pig of a day. Herkus, open the sally port.”
“Harmless?” Vlad repeated incredulously. “Me?”
Marek flashed Wulf a triumphant wink. Either he saw nothing wrong in Speaking for minor personal advantage, or he was just eager to help and prove his loyalty. Inside the barbican, the guards stared in surprise at seeing a friar on a horse. Otto and Vlad continued to enthuse about the defenses.
Wulf could hear a band playing in the distance.
“What’s the occasion?” he demanded. “Why no visitors?”
“Holiday,” the captain of the guard explained. “New count declared a one-day break in the mourning. Festival to celebrate his taking over.”
Taking over what? Or whom?
“This way!” Wulf shouted. “Move!”
He urged Copper forward, through the inner gate. That put him on the road that wound between the curtain wall and the cliffs to the west, and he had to pass through a third gate to enter the city. The festival was in full romp already, with flags and colored cloths hung from windows, bands competing, young men showing off their juggling and acrobatic skills, boys on stilts. People dancing in the streets hastily cleared out of the horsemen’s way, cheering them good-naturedly as they went by. An odor of free beer hung over the town.