time.
CHAPTER 38
A horse, a horse…
Wulf went to an empty stall in the Castle Gallant stable. He had never jumped Copper, so the horse he needed was Anton’s Morningstar. Morningstar had cleared the lethal brook at Chestnut Hill for Anton and would remember it. As usual the stable was dim, warm, and musty, full of the inevitable munching sounds and gentle clink of iron on flagstones, but there was a strange lack of voices. A quick look around confirmed that there were no people present, which was a surprise, but a welcome one. Wulf located Morningstar, who knew his voice and was pleased by the prospect of exercise. He made no complaint at being saddled.
Crown Prince Konrad was sitting on a fallen tree within a group of hunt companions, lecturing as usual. “The most I ever won at a single game of Nine Men’s Morris was two hundred florins, as I recall. You were there, weren’t you, Pavel? The night when that Italian bet a night with his mistress and lost?”
“Yes, sire. And the Greek mercenary who won her demanded his valet instead?”
His audience cackled like crows. Wulf recognized several faces from last night’s encounter. They were all fidgeting, impatient to be on their way.
They were almost certainly already at the rendezvous, but Konrad was paying no heed to the scenery, so the secret watcher could not be sure. They must be tired after a day’s hunt and anxious to head home, but none of them would be brave enough to tell Cabbage Head that he was wasting his time waiting around for the braggart Magnus brat to show up. They would rather let him make a fool of himself.
To ride out of nowhere at Chestnut Hill itself would be disastrous if the hunt was already there, so Wulf recalled a wooded hollow where the approach road dipped through a marshy area-not the sort of place people would linger. He arrived there safely, but then ran into an unexpected problem.
It had only been a week since Anton had tricked him into exerting his talent for the first time, but that week had turned the royal forest to red and gold. Trees had changed shape, also, as they shed their burdens of leaves, so that Wulf’s memories of the scenery were no longer accurate and he wound up far from where he meant to be. He needed more practice as a Speaker! Morningstar ran happily enough, enjoying this lush country after days in Gallant’s stable, but Wulf began to panic. He was already late, and now the sun was very close to the skyline. He was an hour’s workaday ride from the rendezvous, and everything would be lost if he failed to show up for his audience. Assuming that there would still be an audience.
F? urthermore, he had ridden Morningstar often enough but never jumped him. This did not bother him, but it might bother Morningstar. A horse could not see past his own long nose to view the landing, so jumping was a great test of how much he trusted his rider. Morningstar had made the impossible double leap once, so perhaps his simple horsey mind would assume that he must be able to do it again. Or he might have been having nightmares about it ever since.
At long last a grassy slope reminded Wulf of one near Chestnut Hill itself. Forgetting about the beech wood on its crest, he concentrated on the grassland he wanted and suddenly saw it through a gateway straight ahead. Morningstar shied slightly at the change of terrain when his hooves hit softer ground, but Wulf kept his head down. Soon they were pounding along the edge of the beeches, with the trees on their left and the green slope down to the stream on their right, gradually becoming steeper as they came around the hill.
But there was no one in sight.
As Zdenek had predicted, Crown Prince Konrad had reneged on their wager. No one would question his right to snub an insolent esquire. Even to send a witness would be an astonishing concession, and to waste his own time on such an absurd scam would make him look ridiculous. Of course the insolent puppy would not have been serious.
And truly, Wulf had not been serious. He had never intended to follow through. Events had forced his hand. Now his noble plan had collapsed in ruins all about him.
Then he saw them, the whole hunt. There were almost twice as many people as last week, so word of his bravado must have spread. Instead of assembling at the top of the slope, as he had expected, they had gathered down by the stream, to have a better view of his dramatic suicide. Already the prince had given up on him and the entire party was moving out. Konrad and his entourage were in the lead, recognizable by their fine garb and grand horses. There were a lot more men-at-arms than last week, too. Princes should not announce their travel plans in advance, and somebody in his guard had been smart enough to see the opportunities for ambush.
Wulf pulled off his hat to wave, then saw that he had been seen. Faint shouts drifted in on the wind. The column broke formation as everyone started heading back to the killing ground.
Suddenly that label seemed very appropriate. He had forgotten just how appallingly long and steep that slope was-grassy, but very nearly a cliff. The stream at the base was hidden within a double line of shrubbery and willows, and recent rain might have raised its level. Wulf’s blessing had undoubtedly saved Anton’s life. Doing it for himself probably required a different sort of witchcraft entirely. Fortunately he really had no alternative, and breaking his neck would be a kinder death than some. Most Magnus males died young.
Besides, since Anton had risked it, there was nothing left to debate.
Three horsemen stood at the edge of the wood, where his death ride would begin. As he drew nearer, they became distinguishable as a priest, a courtier, and a groom. Closer yet, he recognized the courtier as one of Konrad’s favorites, the youth called Augustin.?ed AugusWulf walked Morningstar up to the group and saluted him.
Augustin held up a scarlet cord. “Hands tied behind your back?”
Wulf felt goose bumps rise on his arms. “Of course, Lord Augustin.” He adjusted his bonnet, pulling it down firmly on his head.
The youth smiled sweetly. “Not a lord, just a knight so far. Next month maybe more.” Then his friend would be in a position to grant titles. As a prophecy of the king’s death, that was probably criminal sedition.
“Your pardon, Sir Augustin.”
“But Father Michal wants a word with you first.” Augustin rolled his eyes.
The priest rode forward and Wulf went to meet him, hoping to draw out of earshot of the courtier. He saluted the cleric respectfully. He was an elderly, hunched man, whose sour expression suggested a permanent bellyache.
“What you are planning would be a major sin, my son. You are risking the life the Lord gave you to no holy purpose.”
“I assure you, Father,” Wulf said softly, “that I have a very serious and worthy purpose.”
“Suicide is a mortal sin.”
“I am taking a risk, yes, but my brother did this a week ago and I am a better horseman than he is.”
“Are you in state of grace? How long since you confessed?”
“I spoke with a priest this afternoon, Father. Now please give me your blessing, for I have already kept His Highness waiting long enough.” He removed his bonnet, bowed his head.
The priest blessed him grumpily.
Wulf replaced his hat, looped the reins over his head, and turned to Augustin, who had followed him. He put his wrists together behind his back.
The priest barked, “No!”
The youth agreed with a laugh. “No, Father. His Highness forbade it, but said to try and see if he would be crazy enough to submit.”
Wulf discovered he was crazy enough to argue. “I don’t mind. I did say they could tie my hands.”
“I mind!” Father Michal said. “That would add murder to suicide.”
“Then we are ready, Squire Wulfgang,” Augustin said. “If you are quite sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Go, then. They do say the devil looks after his own!”
Wulf looked at him sharply, but Augustin’s pretty face was showing no superstitious dread, just amusement-and possibly even admiration.
