its rear wheel. There was a fourth wagon right behind these two, and its driver might see him at any moment.
Out came the dagger, and he set to work on the covering of the wagon he had just left, attacking the slope from the top of the upper layer of barrels down to the sides of the lower layer. There must be a hollow under there which he could put to good use. Despite his frantic efforts, the leather was hard as iron and put up a stiff resistance, but his luck was holding so far. Indeed, it was going at full gallop, because he was in the middle of at least four powder wagons. If he could set one ablaze, there was a good chance of the fire spreading to others, seriously depleting the Wends’ supply.
But the leather was going to defeat him. His dagger seemed to be losing its edge. Oh, of course! The covering had been blessed. So it could be cursed. Yield! You are as soft as wet paper. Rip! There was a second cover underneath the first, so he cursed that also. It gave way, and he opened a rent down to the lower layer of barrels. A quick sideways slash opened a gap wide enough to put the bed-warmer pan through.
His brothers released a yelp of joy when he reappeared. He grabbed up the pan and went back to his place between the wagons.
The adjacent wagon had started to move. Its rear wheel was about to grind him against the front wheel of the wagon he was attacking, like grain in a mill. The driver waiting on the fourth wagon, the one behind, was watching its progress and saw him.
He roared in a voice like a July thunderstorm. “You! Who’re you? Guards, guards! What’s that man doing?”
For a moment, Wulf nearly fled in sheer panic. More men saw him and bellowed in fury. Orders were shouted. Two pikes narrowly missed his head and buried themselves in the covering he had cursed. Fortunately, men started coming over the wagons at him from both sides. For a moment they needed both hands for climbing and their comrades could not use their pikes.
With seconds to spare before he was crushed, Wulf thrust the bed warmer into the gap he had made, and gave it a half-turn to tip the coals out on the lid of the barrid ds el below. Burn hot, my babies!
Then he went back to Castle Gallant.
Three men-all of them bigger than he-mobbed him, hugging him, thumping his back. He struggled free angrily, aware that he was shaking as if he had tertian fever.
“You did it, Cub?” Vlad demanded.
“I have no idea. Give me a drink. Let me sit down. Don’t suppose I’ll ever know if I did it-I mean, whether it worked.” Suddenly nauseous, he flopped onto a chair, the chair in which Marek had died. He had been seen. He had broken the first commandment yet again, and he could no longer plead ignorance. He should not have tried it. Justina was going to rip him to strips, and he was fairly sure now that her help and approval were vital to any faint hope he might have of escaping the Church’s vengeance for the death of Brother Azuolas.
“What exactly did you do?” Otto asked. “Tell us, dammit!”
Wulf told them, stuttering as reaction dug in like icicles. He had not slept for so long it felt like months. Tomorrow he would be needed again. He must report back to Justina, and he must sleep.
“Go and change,” Otto said. “You’re soaked!”
“If it blew up, would we have heard it?” Anton asked Vlad.
The big man shook his head. “In this snow? Other side of a mountain? No, but hot coals and powder don’t mix, so I’m sure he destroyed one wagon. One won’t save us. Nobody’s going to stay around and put the fire out, though, so the other wagons may go up as well. Very likely, in fact. And if they all go, then Wartislaw will almost certainly not have the means to breach our defenses. He still outnumbers us hugely, but the boy may have won us enough time for the king’s men to arrive. That’s as much as-”
The castle trembled as if kicked by a giant. Wine bottles rattled on the table, the candlesticks danced on the mantel, and hot embers collapsed on the hearth.
“Satan’s balls!” Anton yelled. “What was that?”
Vlad gave a great roar and charged the nearest window like a mad bull. He flung the casement open, admitting a gale and filling the room with flying snowflakes. It was still daylight out there, but it was barely possible to see across the bailey.
“What in the pit are you doing?” Anton roared.
His brother turned to show a ragged row of big white teeth in his forest of beard. “Waiting for the thunder. It’s like mining under a castle wall. You feel the. Y sti thump before you hear the-”
A long rolling rumble echoed off the mountains, and re-echoed faintly from farther away.
“You ever heard thunder in a snowstorm?” Vlad shouted, waving his fists in the air.
Otto said, “Yes, but it’s very-” He was drowned out.
“You did it, Wolfcub, you did it! I was wrong.”
Wulf felt a jolt of triumph and leapt to his feet, fatigue forgotten. “One wagon or all of them?”
“Every last one of them, surely!” Vlad slammed the casement.
“Bravo!” Otto clapped Wulf on the back hard enough to jar his teeth, then hugged him.
Anton screamed in joy and waved his fists in the air.
“Devil take ’em!” Vlad bellowed. “Half the shitty Wend army must be plastered all over the forest! What are we waiting for? To arms!” He charged to the door, wrestled briefly with the latch, and then vanished out into the corridor, still bellowing.
Otto said, “Heavenly Father, we humbly thank you for this great mercy that you have…” He concluded with a prayer for the souls of the dead. Three brothers said amen and made the sign of the cross.
Wulf had not broken the first commandment after all, because all the workaday witnesses must be dead. But his jubilation soon lost out to shame. And fear too. What had he done? Shaken the mountains? How many dead?
“You lost your dagger,” Otto said. “Take this one, you’ve earned it.” He held out his own, an heirloom with an amber handle in the shape of a man’s forearm with the fist in a clenched gauntlet making the pommel.
Wulf recoiled. “No, no! I can’t wear that.”
“You can and you will,” his brother said firmly. “It doesn’t belong to the reigning baron. The fifth baron had it made for his youngest son. For two hundred years it has been worn by the Magnus most worthy. I didn’t earn it, I just inherited it. I brought it along this time because I was planning to give it to Anton if he could hold on to his earldom. But by God, you’re the hero now! Wear it till you die. Tell your sons to send it back to Dobkov.”
“But-”
“Take it!” Otto roared.
Reluctantly Wulf obeyed and stared in disbelief at the treasured Magnus Dagger. As a small child he had dreamed of wearing it. He hadn’t been very old when hery y W realized how slim his chances were, with four brothers ahead of him. “This should be a reward for prowess at arms, not witchcraft.”
“It’s a reward for courage. Hang it on your belt or stick it in my chest. That’s the only way I’ll take it back.”
“I agree,” Anton said thinly.
In disbelief, Wulf hung the heirloom at his right thigh. Today, what was left of it, he would wear the Magnus Dagger. Tomorrow he would give it back to Otto to keep safe for him. Otherwise the Inquisition would steal it.
“Come, Count,” Otto said. “Vlad is right. We must strike while we can. Let’s go throw the fiendish bombard into the river.” He strode out the door.
Wulf shivered. “I need dry clothes first.”
