“No. The faster we go, the sooner we’ll get there. Go faster!”
He almost cried out as the big muscle in his left thigh knotted, leaving him limping on both legs. He was developing a stitch, too, a monstrous, crippling, stitch. If his experiences after the hunt and on the ride to Koupel were a guide, then the pain would be even worse after he reached Cardice. “Ouch!”
“What’s wrong?” Anton panted. “Take a rest?”
“No. Sooner we get… there, the… better. You lead. Fast… as you can.”
They ran on, but Wulf was stumbling often now, and could not suppress his cries. Cramps ran through his arms and chest. This was hell, truly hell. He was meddling with the devil and the devil was enjoying torturing him, waiting to see how much he could endure.
Maybe the only way to find relief was to give up and admit that he was beaten. Perhaps then he would be given what he wanted. But even if that was the game, the fact was that he couldn’t stand more. Every muscle in his body seemed to have taken on a life of its own, knotting, twisting. He could barely stay upright, staggering along as Anton hauled him.
Trees were flashing by, moving faster than fall leaves in a full gale.
“Stop! Please, stop!”
Anton slackened the pace. “We’re about there?”
“No. I need a rest.”
“No, we must keep going. You told me to ignore your whimpers.” Anton speeded up again. “We must be almost there. I can see you’re in pain, Wulf, and I am grateful for what you’re doing, but there’s no point suffering as much as this and then giving up and losing the prize.”
Wulf’s legs knotted up completely. He slid to his knees and then sprawled full length, leaving Anton almost running backward, hauling him like an ox pulling a plow. Fortunately the invisible surface under them seemed to be perfectly smooth.
Wulf was incapable of enduring such torment. He screamed aloud. “Sweet Jesus! Stop! Stop!”
“Just a little longer!”
“No! Stop! Holy St. Helena, please stop!”
Reality returned with a crack like thunder. He slid to a stop, sprawled facedown in grass and thistles, which filled his bare hands with prickles and narrowly missed his eyes. Anton pitched headlong, but with his usual luck avoided the thistles. The air was chill. A herd of sheep fled, bleating in unison.
Wulf screamed as every muscle in his body cramped simultaneously. It was worse! Worse, worse, worse.
“You all right?” Anton muttered. His face swam into view and then was drowned in tears of pain. “By the blood, you don’t look it.”
Wulf could hardly find breath enough to live, let alone speak. He writhed uncontrollably, every movement setting off more spasms. He thought he was about to die and that would be a very good idea.
“We must be close, Wulfie. We’ve come a long way. I can see mountains with snow on them. If I carry you, can you do the, er, miracle?”
Wulf swallowed the blood in his mouth and croaked, “Try.”
Anton’s clumsy attempts to lift him made his arms and legs thrash.
“Pox on you! If you can’t help, why don’t you at least stay still?”
“Can’t,” Wulf gasped.
Anton was big and superbly fit, but to lift another man onto his shoulders when both were wearing armor was a feat of note. Wulf’s spasms of agony did not help him, but after four or five attempts he succeeded, bent almost double by the load.
“Walk…”
“Easy for you to say.” Anton began staggering forward over the pasture. A few steps were enough to resume the Satanic journey, and he went shuffling through limbo while the mortal world, reduced to shadows on mist, rushed silently past.
CHAPTER 10
“Troubles never come singly, it seems,” Marijus Vranov remarked. “The bad news we have brought must seem especially cruel to you, so soon after your bereavements and in your mother’s melancholy.”
So it’s piety time now, is it? Madlenka pulled a face at him behind her veil.
“We must pray for strength to bear what the Lord sends,” she agreed. And we must wonder how many of the afflictions were sent by Havel, not Heaven. She had hoped for a private talk with Giedre on the way to the cathedral, but Marijus Vranov was waiting for her at the door as she prepared to leave the keep. He offered his arm and she could not refuse it without giving insult. They walked down the ramp together, following an honor guard led by the constable. The Hound and Leonas came next, with the boy happily chattering nonsense, then Seneschal Jurbarkas and Giedre. Captain Ekkehardt and some landsknechte brought up the rear. Bishop Ugne had gone on ahead. A surprisingly large crowd of townsfolk stood around in the little square, watching with worried eyes. They neither cheered nor booed, and their silence chilled the air like a dark cloud.
“Indeed we must. And I want to reassure you on one point. I know that in the summer my father was trying to contrive a marriage between you and one of my brothers, so I can guess that you suspect him of trying to foist me on you now.”
“Honored as I should-”
He chuckled. “Don’t say it. Of course marriage must be the farthest thing from your mind at the moment, even if King Konrad had not flatly forbidden any union between our two houses. I would not mention this at all except to reassure you. I am in a similar position to yourself. My wife died last week, giving birth to a stillborn son.”
“Oh, no!” She stammered, trying to find words while she wondered whether to believe him.
“Oh, yes. So I also mourn and we are partners in grief. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Nor am I hinting that I am now free to marry someone else. I mean that there are times for joy and there are times for memories, and joy is very far away just now.”
“Have you children already?”
“Two girls. I would dearly love to be with them at this time, but Duke Wartislaw has decreed otherwise. Although my father does not say so, I suspect he has never been so worried in his life. If the Wends can take Castle Gallant, they will have turned his flank. I mean they will be able to circle around and attack Pelrelm from the plain.”
“Yes.” Did he think she was a simpleton like Leonas?
“The townsfolk are frightened. Understandably so. May I suggest that you lift your veil and show them that you are not?”
“I am, you know. Terrified.” But she obeyed.
“You truly do not show it. Perhaps I should wear it instead. It may be my face that is scaring them.”
“You jest, my lord!” Despite his demolished nose, Marijus was the most impressive Vranov she had met yet. She had always known that she would have little say in the choice of her husband, and now that Cardinal Zdenek would be making the decision, her thoughts on the matter would count for nothing at all. One day she would be told whom she was to marry, and that would be that. She could only hope that he would make as good a first impression as this latest member of the Hound’s pack. He had shown up well at that meeting, carefully staying silent until he could sum it all up and take charge.
“Are you really planning to melt down the altar vessels?”
He chuckled. “No. But I would if I had to. I am sure that the seneschal can find all the money we need.”
“But will he? I do not know why he is being so difficult.”
“Is he, by any chance, honest?” Marijus inquired with a smile.
“Of course! Absolutely.”
“Not ‘of course,’ my lady. In fact he must be almost unique, and that helps explain his fear. You see, the next keeper, whoever he is, will march in and demand a close accounting of all the books to find out how rich he is. And
