— You are too far away, Wulfgang, Helena said. -Go closer. Lay your hands on him.
Surprised, he obeyed, and took the wounded arm in both hands. Anton did not react to his touch. He had stopped praying. Without a miracle he would slide quietly into death.
Then Wulf would have it all: earldom, wealth, and-best of all-Madlenka. He need only send for that ancient doctor and leave the patient in his murderous hands. In an hour the cathedral bell would toll. The count is dead, long live the count! Wulfgang, second Count Magnus of Cardice.
“Holy Saints Helena and Victorinus, I pray you to restore this man, my brother, to perfect health.”
— Do you accept the price?
“If you mean pain, then no. But I accept any risk. Omnia audere.”
Helena:- Oh, Wulfgang, child, you will regret this.
Victorinus:- Courage becomes you. Look for the fire, my son, the flame.
Wulf peered around… Where? “I don’t see any fire!”
— Do not be too hasty. Search within.
He searched: the arm; Anton’s corpse-pale face; the rest of him, stretched out on the bed like a ribbon of steel… Ah! Now he made out a faint and ghostly glow-behind those lifeless eyes, inside his brother’s head or superimposed on it-as if Wulf were seeing Anton with one eye and this vision with the other. It was like the worms of heat that crawled on embers and gave birth to butterflies of flame when you blew on them.
“I see, I think. What must I do?” Blow?”
— Stamp it out! Victorinus said. — It is his soul, seeking to escape. If it bursts into flame and departs, he will be gone. Do not let him go! Picture it on your mind. Will it! Use your hands, for the heat cannot hurt you.
Wulf tried to imagine his hands tearing a fire apart, scattering the coals; then switched the image to his feet stamping, grinding. That worked better, and in his fancy the illusional lumination crumbled to sparks, died, and was extinguished.
— It is done, Helena said. — He will live, for a little span.
The Light faded as he watched the miracle happen. An obscene sausage shrank to become a man’s arm again. Bloat became muscle. Skin turned from fish-belly white to tan. Anton stared up at him from the pillow.
“What happened? How did I…?” His gaze raked the room, the furniture, the bed curtains, and came back to Wulf. Suddenly he was fully conscious, and visibly terrified in a way Wulf had never seen before.
“You cured my wound?”
“My Voices did. Welcome back.” Wulf stood up and looked down on him fondly. “We almost lost you, you know.”
No regrets. Even Madlenka. Love could not be bought at the price of a life of shame. He could feel proud that he had passed a test.
“Who are you?” Anton whispered. “More to the point, what are you?”
“I wish I knew,” Wulf said humbly. “The Voices will not explain. I am just… their protege, I suppose. I do not understand. I am certainly not a saint.” Saints did not think the things he caught himself thinking about Madlenka. “I must try to use their gifts to do good.” Not to steal Madlenka away from you, for instance. I still can. It would be so easy and feel so good. “Let’s get that armor off you, and tuck you in like the invalid everyone expects to see.”
Anton slid out of bed, fully restored, and in minutes they had made a heap of all his mail.
“Bed!” Wulf insisted. “And listen. Everyone will guess that I have just used witchcraft. The bishop will ask questions that we cannot answer. I must leave Cardice at once-that’s obvious. And you must play invalid for at least a day, or they will accuse you of being in league with the devil, too. You are in danger also. Promise me?”
“Of course.”
“Let me bandage your arm, then. No one must see it.”
The wounds had disappeared completely, without a scar.
“Go where?” Anton grumbled. “By my faith, I need you here, Wulf! Not just your Voices. You! You can do some things much better than I can.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d taken a head wound.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“Well, you’ve never paid me compliments before.”
Anton growled and tried to rise.
Wulf pushed him back down, not gently. “Invalid, remember! Now, what did you want your secretary for?”
“To tell the king the Wends have invaded, of course.” He glared up angrily. Half naked and bloodstained, yet he still resented being babied by his kid brother.
“That’s an excellent excuse for me to leave. I’ll deliver your letter to the Spider.”
It was time for Squire Wulfgang and Cardinal Zdenek to discuss the division of spoils. Not fair that one brother should do all the work and get none of the rewards! This could be explained to Anton later.
“Wulf! I need you, I tell you!” Anton looked unusually sincere, and extraordinarily worried. “I need someone here I can trust. I have no real experience, just what I’ve picked up listening to Father and Otto and Vlad. I’m not qualified to be a marshal, leading the country’s defense against odds of a hundred to one. I can’t handle this by myself.” His eyes brightened. “The man I really need is Vladislav! He’s doing no good rotting in captivity in Bavaria. I told the seneschal I needed to pay a ransom for my brother. He wasn’t very happy, but he admitted that it could be done. He mumbled something about letters to a bank. I didn’t understand, but it can be done!” He twirled up his mustache in delight.
Wulf shook his head. “At this time of year, with a new moon coming, I’d allow ten days for the ride to Mauvnik and probably another ten to reach wherever Vlad is in Bavaria. Then twenty for him to ride back here. Forty days. Your war will be all over in less than forty days.”
“But you could do it in less than an hour.”
“No. No! No! The Voices are warning me that every time they help me, they increase my danger.” Hinting that, anyway.
“Danger of what?”
“Of the Church catching me, I think. It may be something worse. Less than a week ago you asked me to pray for you as you tried to break your neck, and now you have me dragging you out of the grave. I’ll carry your report to Mauvnik and I’ll take Vlad’s ransom along if you like-at least you can trust me not to steal it. But this latest miracle or magic is too obvious. I have to get out of here, Long One, before I end up like Marek with a life sentence of pulling weeds all day long.” Or playing the torch in a torchlight parade, like Joan of Arc.
Anton scowled, but then he nodded. “That’s fair. I can’t thank you enough, and I mustn’t endanger you any more. See how Radim is doing, will you? And see the seneschal about the ransom. I am the count and the money is mine to spend.”
Wulf gathered the bloodstained clothes and armor into a heap, then arranged the bed curtains so that Anton was in deep shadow, visible only through a narrow slit. “Remember that you’re at death’s door,” he said, as he tugged the bell rope to summon some servants.
CHAPTER 20
He found Madlenka and Giedre in the solar, counting their rosaries-praying for Anton’s recovery, Wulf assumed, although Madlenka must have considered what might happen if Anton died, just as he had.
“He’s going to be all right.”
They looked up disbelievingly.
“Really. He lost a lot of blood, but the bleeding has stopped and he’s resting.”
“Our Lady be praised!” Madlenka said. She closed her eyes for another silent prayer. Was she asking forgiveness for certain evil thoughts? “Aren’t you going to sit down?”
“I’m on my way to the stable… Mistress Giedre, I have something to tell Madlenka. Would you please give us a moment alone? Leave the door open if you wish.”
The women exchanged glances. Madlenka nodded. “Just for a minute.”
