concerning Pomerania. Duke Wartislaw, who claims the title of Lord of the Wends, has been buying ordnance from Sweden, heavy guns especially. He has been building up his army and we suspect that he has his eye on Jorgary. His Majesty directed Count Bukovany, via his son, to increase Cardice’s garrison.” He added with a hint of admiration, “Sir Petr negotiated a remittance of certain taxes to help allay the cost.
“I should not presume to instruct a soldier such as yourself, lancer, but if Duke Wartislaw wants to invade Jorgary, he will have to take Castle Gallant first. Driving herds or flocks over mountain passes is one thing, but a modern army needs tents, rations, fodder, cannon, powder, shot, women, and much else. At this time of year he must come by the Silver Road, and he must come before winter. Now, late September, would be about right. By the time His Majesty’s forces can muster and march north, Wartislaw may have laid waste half the kingdom. Even if he does not, once he has taken Gallant itself, he will never give it up, and our border will never be secure again.”
Anton nodded, perplexed. What in the world did the old villain want of him?
“Just yesterday, Saturday, His Majesty received an urgent and disturbing message from Cardice. The courier left there on the fifteenth, so he took eight days. He was half dead and had ridden several horses into the ground. You understand now why I sent for you?”
Anton guessed that he had been sent for because eight days would not do. “How soon does your reply have to be there, Your Eminence?”
The cardinal’s eyes appeared and then vanished again behind their curtains of fire. “I hope that you will be my reply. If so, you have not an hour to waste.”
Anton squared his shoulders. It had worked! Whatever the Scarlet Spider wanted, that insanity at the hunt had worked! “I am honored and eager to serve, Your Eminence.”
“Don’t be so hasty. You haven’t heard the whole problem yet. The message was that, on the morning of the fifteenth, Count Bukovany had suffered a severe stroke, and the doctors held out no hope of his surviving. Sir Petr had gone deer hunting that morning and was charged by a boar at exactly the same hour his father was smitten. He was brought back on a litter, fatally gored. Are you still so eager, Lancer Magnus?”
Witchcraft! Not quite so eager. “You suspect Speaking, Your Eminence? Satanism?”
“I do. Answer my question.”
Anton had thought he was to be asked to deliver a letter. Now the job description sounded like much more than that. Far more than anything he could handle, in truth.
“I am still very eager. Who sent the message?”
“Ah!” Long yellow fangs showed for a moment in the cardinal’s beard. “You ask shrewd questions, young man-perhaps Our Lady has answered my prayers. The warning was sent by the castle seneschal and countersigned by Count Stepan’s daughter, delivered by a juvenile son of the chief huntsman.”
“I should have expected the constable, or whoever was the count’s military deputy, to send it by a party of his lancers.”
“So should I.”
“Treachery?” Anton said with a shiver.
“It has the odor of treachery on it. The boy, Gintaras, is still barely coherent after his ordeal, but he confirms that the palace staff distrust the landsknechte presently reinforcing the garrison.”
Mercenaries were notoriously ready to change sides when money changed hands. They could have intercepted the official message while the private one slipped by. Anton thumped his sleepy brain to make it think harder.
“What else do I need to know?” How much would he be paid? A hundred florins would sound downright scrimpy now. To think Ottokar warned him that he might find life dull in the Light Hussars!
“You must remember that it will take at least a month to bring any significant number of the king’s men to the rescue. The only force that might be brought to Cardice’s aid in short order would be the Pelrelm muster, but the present count of Pelrelm, Havel Vranov, is known as the Hound of the Hills. Vranov would make a good impression on the devil. His specialty is burning down houses with people inside. He undoubtedly hates Wends with a passion, as his career shows, but he is not above casting a covetous eye on Cardice. Petr Bukovany reported that Vranov had been urging Count Stepan to marry his daughter to one of Vranov’s uncountable sons. The king refused to approve the match, and that was the answer Petr took home with him.”
Anton could remember Ottokar and Vladislav discussing political and military messes like this one. He wished that he had paid more attention, but he doubted that any of their examples had ever been quite this bad.
“So the nearest ally may not be much better than the enemy?”
“You may indeed find yourself between the dogs and the wolves. This cannot be described as an easy mission, Lancer Magnus. If you arrive to find the Wends already in possession of Castle Gallant, then you will very likely die. If you arrive before that, you may still be overwhelmed despite the best that you or anyone could do.”
And still no price had been mentioned. What would his father have said? That salty old campaigner had said many things that might be pertinent in this instance. Anton chose the most polite. “Then the prize must balance the risk.”
“How much do you want?”
“Five florins and Your Eminence’s favor.”
The fiery eyes flashed. “Insolent young devil! If you won’t haggle, then neither will I.” The cardinal beckoned to Brother Daniel, who brought over a black leather satchel. Zdenek began to fish out its contents, laying them on the table for Anton to see. First came a sash of cloth-of-gold, as wide as a man’s hand, bearing emblems of a crown and a cross embroidered in pearls. “The baldric of a companion in the Order of St. Vaclav-it gives you precedence immediately after the royal family.” Next was a baton, decorated with bands of gold and jewels in colors like butterflies. “From recruit to marshal of the army in less than two weeks? You will be the talk of all Christendom.”
Parchment scrolls followed, with royal seals dangling. “Your honorable discharge from the hussars… letters patent creating you Count Magnus of Cardice and lord of the marches… your commission, promoting you to marshal, and appointing you keeper of the fortress… and the king’s warrant requiring all his subjects to aid you in your present mission.” The cardinal chuckled dryly. “You should, of course, be dubbed knight in proper form, but a humble man of the cloth like me must not wield a sword. I shall send the crown prince to Cardice to do it next summer, after you have secured the border.
“And this edict says that you may, and will, marry Madlenka Bukovany, who is now an orphan child of one of His Majesty’s tenants-in-chief, and thus a royal ward in chancery. Marriage will let you get your hands into the Bukovany money chests and that will make your brother’s ransom seem like small change.”
The cardinal raised his eyebrow horns. He was probably amused by Anton’s state of shock. The lancer’s mouth felt drier than mummy dust. An earldom? No Magnus had ever reached such heights; he was barely twenty years old and had never seen a battle. After a moment he looked across at the shining eyeglasses and found his voice. “You do know how to inspire a man, Your Eminence.”
The old man sneered. “It is cheap trash to His Majesty-paper and wax, a ribbon, and a piece of wood? If you die, Anton Magnus, you will have lost what is most precious of all, life itself, while the king will have lost very little. If you succeed, you may become founder of one of the great families of the realm, the Magnuses of Cardice, and that will be a worthy reward. I am relying on you to maintain your family’s long and splendid reputation for loyalty and service.”
No, he wasn’t. Anton wished that were the case, but he was sure that Zdenek was actually relying on the family’s long and shameful record of producing Speakers. He did not want a courier, or even a warrior. Alexander the Great himself would not suffice. He wanted a Speaker. He wanted witchcraft. He thought Anton could call on the devil to help him reach Castle Gallant in record time and counter the Wendish Satanist who had cursed the Bukovanys.
But Anton Magnus wasn’t a Speaker. He had called on neither saint or demon for aid in jumping the stream.
“Well?” Zdenek demanded. “I cannot promise much else: a few hundred hussars at most, and not for thirty or forty days, even if the weather holds. They have all gone home, you see-officers for the hunting and men for the grape harvest. You are the only card I have to play. Do you accept?”
“Certainly I accept.”
The old man truly smiled, for the first time. It looked very much like a smile of relief. “You are insane, young
