through the barricade, he was pulled and pushed until he had no idea which way was which, but he could guess that they had to maneuver him between the guns they had been seen dragging up all afternoon. He heard a lot of diffgn=anicherent voices, so he was starting to collect information in spite of being blindfolded.
In warfare, knowledge could be dangerous to both the knower and the known.
It was hard to say which was worse: the times when he was being urged on after he had twisted both ankles and was almost weeping from the pain, or the pauses when he was made to stand so close to the cliff that he could feel the wind eddying off it, while hundreds of clanking feet went past on the sudden-drop side.
Even a blind man could understand what the oaths and grumbles and the creak of leather meant. Any village idiot would realize that the Pelrelmians were mustering for a night assault. So where was the Hound of the Hills? He ought to be up at the front, ready to direct his guns and lead his men. He couldn’t give orders from High Meadows, a mile away. Why was he sending so many men up when he hadn’t even opened fire on the gates? Until he battered them down, his men could do nothing. So the guns were a decoy, and Vranov expected some traitor to open the gates for him. That still didn’t explain why he wasn’t up at the front.
Nothing lasts forever. Eventually sounds of canvas flapping and odors of wood smoke told Arturas that he was now in the camp. He was made to wait until he thought he might freeze to death. He was not allowed to remove the blindfold. Then his hands were tied behind him, despite his protests that heralds should not be treated like that. He was shoved forward into a tent and the blindfold removed.
He blinked repeatedly in the brilliance of the lamps until his eyes adjusted and told him that the light was really quite dim. The tent was astonishingly hot and stuffy after the blustery cold outside, but it was much more luxurious than he had expected, with fur rugs, braziers, and furniture. The way the walls and roof rippled disconcerted him.
Four men sitting on stools, watching him, all four in armor, but with heads still uncovered, their swords and helmets lying ready at their feet. There might be a couple more behind him, but he did not look around.
Count Vranov he knew, and Sir Marijus, one of his many sons. The others were just men-at-arms.
“Well?” the Hound demanded. “You can have two minutes.”
Arturas licked his lips, thought about asking for a drink of water and decided that this might be construed as asking for hospitality. He launched into the speech he had prepared.
The count listened in stony-faced silence, so his men did the same. At the end he took a drink from a pottery beaker he was clutching in his big, hairy hand.
“So you’re suggesting that the dam may break and a flood will wash us all away?”
“It may.”
“Hate to lose the camp, but my men are safe enough at the moment, aren’t they?” al='0em'›
“Are they?” He wasn’t going to fall into that obvious trap.
The count laughed, and Arturas realized that he was drunk.
“You know where my army is tonight, little herald. And you think I’m going to send you back up the road so you can check your arithmetic?”
“That means you refuse the truce?”
“I won’t refuse it. I just won’t answer. And if that gangling strip of pig guts you call a count is too stupid to keep his guard up, that’s his lookout. You’ve probably told him all he wants to know already.”
Arturas said, “What?” He was horrified at how close to a squeak that sounded. “How would I have done that?”
“Because his brother the Speaker knows what you’re seeing and hearing.”
“Speaker? You’re accusing one of the Magnus brothers of-”
“Oh, plug your bung. You know who I mean. That yellow-haired, yellow-eyed squire of his. A witch he is, I know for a fact.”
There had been whispers. The new count’s extraordinarily fast response to the old count’s death, his speedy recovery from wounds… even the way he had ignored being knocked down in the hall by a younger brother, who should by rights have been taken out and scourged. As for today’s miraculous destruction of the Wends-people had been talking miracle while keeping their fingers crossed in case it had been the devil’s handiwork.
“I know nothing of witchcraft,” Arturas said, “except what I saw in the hall last night. I came in peace and expect- ” Oh, sweet Jesus! Vranov came and went by witchcraft last night. He was going to do the same now and open the gates himself!
“What you expect doesn’t matter.” The count glanced at his son. “What do you think?”
“Tie him up and send him home in the morning.”
Havel scratched his stubbled chin. “No. I don’t like spies.” He looked past Arturas at whoever stood behind him. “Take him outside. Give him two minutes to say his prayers, then cut his throat.”
Arturas was screaming as they dragged him out of the tent.
CHAPTER 24
Wulf was in a bedchamber, a very large and luxurious one, but the pink silk paneling and lacy draperies were obviously intended for a lady, not a man. He shot a reproachful glance at the nt›
“I think there has been a misunderstanding, my lady.”
Darina was pouring blood-red wine into crystal goblets. He did not need more wine, either.
“If you’re looking for the prince, that door leads to his bedroom. He isn’t there at the moment. Look if you want to.”
“No.” He knew he was naive, but even he could suspect a trap.
“A lot of people are stupid, you know,” she said, placing one goblet on a small marble table alongside one of the chairs. “You sit there. And others are timorous, ignorant, ineffective, or plain useless.” Clutching the second glass, she sank gracefully onto another chair, facing the first and about eight feet away. If this was to be a seduction, she was setting it up strangely like a business meeting. “And Speakers are just people.”
He sat where she had told him and stared blearily across at her. “Very strange people, my lady.”
“No, just greatly blessed. You are being talked about all over Europe. Already! Oh, not generally, but the Wise know, the top people know: Speakers and cadgers and rulers. In Paris and Toledo and Edinburgh and Oslo… You pulled off a military miracle and made it seem like an act of God. The latest rumor is that Duke Wartislaw’s head has turned up in a slop bucket and the rest of him is still missing. Lesser folk will marvel and praise God when the news of the Wends’ destruction reaches them, but the ones who really matter have heard it already-the pope, the sultan, the queen of Castile, and one or two other kings and queens. And they know who did it, which the others never will.”
“And Crown Prince Konrad?” That was whom Wulf had come to meet. A political discussion with the marquessa could wait until another day, lovely as she was. Or as she had seemed… A more careful regard told him she was at least ten years older than he had first supposed, pretty enough, but not the dazzling beauty he had first believed. Or that a workaday would believe, maybe. He still had much to learn about the use of talent.
“Cabbage Head?” she said. “He will never be trusted with Speaker secrets if he lives to be twice the age his grandfather is now. The old king never knew, although he must have suspected. Only the Scarlet Spider and a dozen or so other people in the kingdom.” She sipped her wine with lips that were not the ruby Cupid’s bows he had thought; just lips.
“So he did not send for me?”
“He has never heard of you and doesn’t want to.”
Time to go.
“Then, if you will excuse me, my lady-”
“Stay where you are and listen. You are a highly effective, insanely courageous, and possibly even honest Speaker. Any cadger in Christendom would gladly jess you, on any terms. You could be the answer to almost anybody’s problems. I didn’t think you had realized that, and thought you ought to know.”
He nodded stupidly and belatedly said, “Thank you.” He distrusted flattery. As long as whatever she wanted of him did not involve the bed, he had better stay and learn.
She smiled. “So let me get my problem in first. My cadger is a respected gentleman, elderly now, a
