talent, men would be much less likely to shoot a woman out of hand and any man who tried to molest a Speaker would be very surprised by the results. Also, he realized, a Pomeranian Speaker would know the two’s company rule and would hesitate to challenge a party of two Speakers.
He must just hope Vlad never heard about this.
“I need a sword,” he said. “And there are horses at Gallant. Join me when I move to Long Valley, all right?”
Sybilla sat down on the bench, adjusting her cloak. “Don’t be too long. I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting.”
CHAPTER 11
Tap… tap… tap… Turn. Tap… tap… tap… Turn.
Anton was pacing the solar-fireplace to window, window to fireplace-and the jerky view was unsettling. Otto was there, too, slumped in a chair and watching the mindless parade. He wished he knew where Wulf had gone. Neither man was speaking, but Anton’s thunderous expression threatened hellfire.
He paced. Otto waited wearily for the next outburst.
Vlad had gone off to lead a sally from the south gate, in the faint hope of being able to reach the first bridge and destroy it. Otto and Anton were in the salon, where the war had been forgotten.
Otto had appointed himself Anton’s warden. If the situation had not been tragic and potentially disastrous, it might have been funny. Anton was even more casual about women than Vlad. He would fornicate like a billy goat whenever he had the chance, changing partners in a bedroom as readily as in a ballroom. But now he was effectively married, so he was suddenly steaming fury and vengeance against Wulfgang for seducing his wife. Girls were pleasure; wives were property. All he could talk about was what he would do when he caught him, ignoring the fact that Wulf was a Speaker and untouchable.
Once upon a time, Otto had been able to miss a night’s sleep and barely notice, but not now; he was getting too old for a military life. He was also deathly worried by the siege. Unless the family Speaker could provide a few more miracles, Castle Gallant was going to fall. As soon as Wartislaw had the bombard emplaced, he would demand that Anton surrender the castle. No Magnus had ever done such a thing, but this situation looked so hopeless that Otto seriously thought he may have to suggest it. The only alternative was sack, and then he might never see Branka and the children again. What would happen to Dobkov while his sons were too young to defend it?
Anton mumbled something.
“What?”
“I said I will kill him! Adultery is low treason!”
“You won’t kill him. You need him. Slacken off, Anton!” To remind him of what had happened when Wulf lost his temper yesterday would not help matters at all. True, Anton had been taken by surprise. In a properly staged fistfight, his huge advantage in reach would count, but why should Wulf stick to fists? He was the better man in wrestling or swordplay, and he could work miracles.
Then Wulf was there, although the door had not opened. He was clad in half-armor, carrying a crested helmet under his arm, and sporting a surcoat whose insignia Otto did not recognize. His expression was as grim as his brother’s.
Anton wheeled around a chair to confront him, hand reaching for his dagger. Otto struggled to his feet, fatigue forgotten, preparing for trouble. ? {e='epaC; What have you been doing with my wife?” the count roared.
Wulf blinked. “What am I supposed to have done with her?”
“You were seen kissing her.”
Wulf stared up at him for a long moment before saying, “Does she say so?”
Anton was almost purple, glaring down at him. “Answer my question!”
“No.”
“You didn’t kiss her, or you won’t answer?”
“I won’t answer.”
Otto tried to get between them. “Brothers, please! We can’t afford a family fight at this stage.” He was ignored, and his efforts to push them apart met with no success at all.
“Do I have to beat it out of her?”
That did it. Wulf’s face turned chalky white. He slammed forward, ramming Anton back with his breastplate. “Don’t even dream of it! You touch her, and-”
“Brothers!” Putting all his strength into it, Otto managed to get them apart, but it was Anton who gave the most ground. “Wulf, you must not lose your temper!”
Telling a man on the verge of losing his temper that he must not lose his temper was usually the fastest way to make him do so, but Wulf took a couple of deep breaths and then nodded.
Otto sighed with relief. “Now stop it, both of you! So there was a kiss? Wulf, will you give Anton your sacred word that there has been nothing more between you and Madlenka than a kiss?”
“I saw her in the bartizan. I went there and I kissed her. It was my fault.” Wulf showed his teeth for a moment, and then muttered, “Sorry.” He certainly didn’t mean that.
“And your oath that you will never touch her again!” Anton demanded.
There was a pause, and then Wulf raised his right hand. “I, Wulfgang Magnus, do solemnly swear, as I hope for salvation, that if I hear that you have struck Madlenka, or mistreated her in any way… Just one slap, do y’hear? Just one slap… then I will immediately take her away from here and you will never see either of us again. And if you beat her, I will kill you. So help me God! ”
He stepped around Otto and went to a chair. The boy Otto had known was being tempered into manhood with fire and water, hammer and anvil. Otto followed him.
Anton just stood where he was, glaring.
The room fell still, like a summer evening just before a thunderstorm.
“Getting back to the Wends,” Wulf said, his normally affable face still bleak as death. “The squire that Vranov brought to the parley this morning, Alojz Zauber, was another Speaker. He tweaked Bishop Ugne-changed his mind so he agreed that Havel and his friends were only an illusion last night. Had I not come along to that parley, Brother, he would have tweaked you too. You might have handed Havel Vranov the keys to the castle and invited him and his army to come in and make themselves at home.”
Anton didn’t react. He might not have heard a word.
Otto felt invisible insects crawling on his skin.
Wulf’s bitter expression thawed for a moment into a pale imitation of his old boyish grin. “Or perhaps he wouldn’t have gotten that far with you. You are a stubborn pig, as I well know. But he might have done! So listen. This situation is absurd and it is all the fault of Havel Vranov. Speakers never meddle openly like this. They are timid as mice, and stay well out of sight. Havel began it by using Satanism to murder Count Bukovany and his son. I suspect he had Leonas curse them, and the boy wouldn’t understand what he was doing. Vilhelmas may have started it all by tweaking Havel’s loyalty from Jorgary to Pomerania, but that’s a minor use of talent compared to malediction. Cardinal Zdenek countered by hiring me, but I was untrained, and I blundered horribly.”
He sounded much more sure of himself than he had this morning. “That Justina woman has been tutoring you?” Otto asked.
“Dropping hints.”
“Blundered how?” Anton said.
“Well, first I went storming into the monastery at Koupel and involved the Church, which no sane lay Speaker would ever do.”
“I thought your Voices told you to do that? Are they really evil? Is that what you’re saying-your Voices are demons, not saints?”
“In that case, they were the voice of inexperience,” Wulf snapped. “My next mistake was using open violence. Speakers don’t do that, either. We leave brawling to you brawny types. First against the Dominican, then
