Often the chamberlain would meet them and say there was potentially a problem, but he ‘took care of it’, then smile with abnormally sharp canine teeth.
The Venetians expected to see the great cities, but the countess’s staff kept to the countryside. Bypassing Vienna, they entered Hungary through Presburg, where her family had an estate. The ancestral home dated back centuries. It was sacked by Tartars, rebuilt and attacked repeatedly, but was strong, commanding the trade route in this area. They stayed there for a week to re-supply and gather more lackeys, because the chamberlain kept insisting, “There are many dangers along the way, not all of them man and we need some numbers.” These troops amounted to a small private army, but not a particularly strong looking one. Underfed, poorly clothed, but always moving forward; they earned their nickname of ‘hardy troops’.
The roads through Hungarian lands followed a series of hills and forests, but the entourage managed to stay at a series of fortified manors along this route – each within a day’s ride from the previous, with not much in between. What peasants they met along the way always moved to the side and bowed with hats removed. The danger was always bands of Tartars, Ottomans, and bandits, but it was still eerily calm until they reached the Tatra Mountains. Having found a place to cross the river, the chamberlain stayed close to the group as they moved through the mountains – there was something about these hills that scared him. The countess’s lackeys said that they had entered the lands of the Old Gods and would make a strange sign – not a cross but almost a Muslim prayer motion.
The entourage could hear wolves calling in these mountains; the Schiavoni were used to them and treated them like any other threat, but the countess and her crew seemed more afraid of them than Tartars.
Entering into the Crown lands of Poland, they followed the trade routes through Galicia. This area was a crossroads of armies – the Teutonic Knights, the Poles, Lithuanians, Russians, Ruthenians, and Hungarians all fought for control. This expanse was recognized as part of Polish Crown lands, in that part of the Polish-Lithuanian Kingdom ruled simultaneously from Krakow and Wilno by a member of the Lithuanian Dynasty. Each farm was a mini fortress and all the villages and hamlets had a manor house to serve as a refuge. Even though the lands they were moving through were technically part of the Polish Kingdom, there were always raids from Tartar, the free Cossacks of the Sech, Teutonic Knights, and Russian Boyars.
The countess kept to herself for the most part – there was no reason for her to mingle with ‘lesser’ people. Damiano was given the provisional rank of sergeant and as such, combined with his gentle birth, she would from time to time make small talk with him when he reported to her.
“You seem very polished considering your heritage. Have you read on court life?”
Damiano was shocked the first time she spoke to him. He hesitated, almost not sure if he should speak back to her. He cleared his throat and tried to still remain as militant as possible.
“My father made sure we were all taught in the latest manners. I was schooled with his other children. We learned Latin, Greek, French, and German. He taught me to love learning.”
“And yet for all this learning he sent you to be a soldier instead of scholar in the church?”
“I do not have the temperament for the church my lady; and he thought the best way to make my way was in arms. But I still try to read.”
“Books are expensive for one on your salary.”
“I pick up what I can. When we were in Manuta, I managed to ‘liberate’ some papers a noble named Castiglione was working on about manners. Not very polished, but interesting.”
“That you know manners at all is a relief compared to most of these men.” She paused and a devilish smile came on her face. “Do you know chess?”
“But of course, my lady.”
“Then you must come play some time. I need a distraction on this trip and the chamberlain is no challenge for me.” As if suddenly bored of his presence, her smile disappeared and she waved her hand. “You may go.”
Damiano left, feeling put in his place and intrigued that this woman knew chess. He would play when called. The first time he was surprised by her ability, but after that never made the mistake of underestimating her again. He was glad to have a new opponent as well. He tried teaching Mateo how to play, but draughts was more the Ethiopian’s game of choice, what with less thinking he needed to do.
*****
Eventually they decided to camp at the crossroads town of Zmigrod. Merchants and traders used this as a resting area before moving in any direction and it was popular in the wine trade. Kazimierz the Great had given its charter, so there were several inns to take advantage of this status and strong walls to protect it. Even with this, the accommodations were not spacious or luxurious, but some of the countess’ outriders had gone ahead to secure enough space in a suitable inn.
The roads north consisted of mud or corduroy that cut through dense pine forests. At times, the forest blocked out much of the sun, when it suddenly thinned out to the town before them. There was a constant flow of traffic along the road, and less chance for bandits and raiders, but the Schiavoni kept their arms at the ready. When they finally rolled into the town square, the countess went to her rooms and the soldiers and outriders bedded down in the common room. Damiano was summoned to the countesses’ outer chamber where she invited him to some wine.
“A nice tokay. Good enough to wash some of the dust off your tongue, as they say.”
Damiano bowed and offered his thanks. She told him to sit and he did so, when he noticed the countesses’ fool sitting in the corner having a conversation with himself.
“Ah, Myko.” She acknowledged with an arch of the eyes. “You know, in the olden days, kings and rulers employed fools because their minds were not cluttered with thoughts. I suppose it made people come under the impression they were more receptive to the gods. Sort of the way prayer is supposed to work, but most clever people can never really clear their thoughts to be receptive to spiritual beings. The clearer the mind, the deeper they can attain that communion.” The countess then took a sip of wine and offered the bottle and an empty glass to Damiano with a hand gesture. “We can afford to be a little familiar at this stage without other eyes on us while we play our parts, eh, Captain?” He could not tell if she was tipsy or playful. It was unusual for a lady of her station, but she was increasingly familiar in private moments.
“I’m only a corporal, my lady.”
“Corporal, captain, commodore; what does it matter? You have a broad base of learning. I am impressed.”
“I try,” he nodded as he poured himself some wine.
“Charming, I’m sure. There are after all many ways to fight, eh, Captain?” She said this with a note of distain and bemusement, then drifted away in thought.
*****
Later that evening Mateo pulled Damiano aside. “There is something wrong with that noble. More wrong than usual. She has a smell of death around her. Beneath a veneer of makeup there are rotten edges. She reminds me of a diobolose. My father told me stories of the deathless ones that roamed the plains. Something is not right here.”
“She is just an enlightened noble, Matti. All the time with this talk of devils and creatures. Enter the modern age.”
“Still my friend, be careful.”
Even though he quickly dismissed Matteo’s words, he kept coming back to them, and when he did, an odd shiver came upon him as if a chill had blown through. Surely, she was just another of those odd nobles he had encountered throughout his career. Surely.
*****
The survivors awoke to a city transformed. The blank boy they had used to open the portal was no longer there – just his shoes remained. When several of the guards broke through the door to the chambers, they found what was left of the castellan was scattered about the broken room. Several of the guards broke through the door of the castellan’s chambers. The man’s head was lodged on a bookcase with an odd grin. Other p
arts were scattered elsewhere, but for such slaughter, there was a noticeable absence of blood, as if it was drained and then torn apart. There was a great hole in the floor that opened up to what looked like catacombs and tunnels. What could only be described as slime from the river was smeared along the floor and out into the darkness.
When the citizens managed to recover, many came out into the streets. The lucky among them were covered in dust; the others were buried under rubble or found themselves at the bottom of a tunnel beneath the streets. The river had changed course slightly, shifting to the north so that the southern end of the docks was now high and dry. Some of the buildings had toppled over, leaving rubble in the streets. The bells in the church tower were still ringing erratically, and fissures opened in some of the streets to tunnels and caverns below ground. Several people rushed out of their homes into the streets shouting, “It is done, it is done! The Old Gods will be back to us!”
General mayhem broke out and was not contained until night when the militia managed to get things back under control. Along the river front some of the dock workers moved toward town with boat hooks and gaffes; there was a strange light in their eyes. It was the light of death.
*****
“What is the date? I do not wish to be late for my meeting with The Blackbird.”
Damiano heard the countess ask her retainer and thought nothing of it. He had gotten used to her odd ways and assumed it was the nickname of someone close to her. However, a few days later they reached a crossroads where Damiano saw an inn called, ‘The Blackbird’. He entered the inn with the countess’s entourage, as she had now kept him close to her inner group. The innkeeper met the group as they entered. She was an old woman that the Countess called, ‘Babcha’ or ‘Grandmother’ in a way that made Damiano think they knew each other. Others in her group seemed to know her as well, but called her ‘Baba’.
The furnishings were very old fashioned, but sturdy; the inside was clean compared to many of the other places they had been in.
The evening passed uneventful, but Damiano had strange dreams and the next morning when they awoke and went out to the adjacent stables, Starybogow seemed a lot closer than he remembered the night before. The horses were a little skittish, but Damiano continued to make sure the valets had packed everything securely. They left the inn and got within a mile or two of the town before stopping. Off in the distance to the east, he thought he saw the inn they had just been at, but not where it should have been, as if it got up and moved. He reminded himself that the country was very strange.
The closer the party got to the town, the devastation became more evident. They saw a monastery on their approach but the countess said it was an evil place – one to be avoided. Most of the destruction was from the earthquake and its subsequent tremors. Other places were clearly the scene of a struggle. At some point it looked like Tartars had passed through here on a raid; or at least someone wanted it to look like Tartars. On the plains, many homesteads were like small fortresses. All the way there he saw the remnants of unlucky ones – burnt out shells with bones picked clean by carrion. There were still the remnants of what were obviously sacred groves here and there, which had fairy lights visible in the morning gloom.
*****
The wood sprites watched cautiously from the edge of the glade. They saw the group from a distance, but knew that one of ‘them’ was among the travelers. Gmiaka, the eldest of the group, sniffed the air and moved quickly to the small spring and back to the edge of the trees.
“There is another with them. We must try to help him; he is one with us.”
“Does he know this?”
“Not yet. The closer he gets, the more it is awakened. The more it awakens, the more she can tell. We have to get him out of there and into a safe place.”
The smallest of the sprites, named Dzias, came zooming in, almost crashing into the leader. The sprites were small creatures, human in shape but with more slender and lithe frames to match their diminutive height. They moved about in small leaps that looked like they were flying, which allowed them to cover large distances quickly. “There is a problem coming from the east. Horse people coming fast. It looks like the necromancers have raised some for their own purposes. We need to warn the others.”
*****
It seemed almost as if the closer they got to the town the slower time passed. Damiano noticed what looked like fairy lights. There were also strawmen or scarecrows about and he swore they moved when he wasn’t looking. For a few minutes the party stopped as if in a trance, when slowly, and all at once, they noticed that behind the lights, in the distance, there was a cloud of dust. They began to see that they were riders; and at first they looked like Lithuanian light cavalry, but then someone yelled and they all snapped back to the present, “Tartars!”
There was no chance to outrun the raiders, so the group made for the remnants of a homestead near one of the fields. The building was a short distance from the road, away from the oncoming horsemen. It looked like it had been abandoned years before and would not withstand a prolonged attack, but it would buy them time. Luckily for them, Damiano noted, the raiders seemed like a small party, but that didn’t lessen the danger for them. Damiano’s guards drew their basket hilted swords from their scabbards and unhooked their bucklers from their saddles. The countess’ retainers dismounted and readied bows along with the troops they picked up enroute.
Damiano had not faced these steppe raiders before, but had met their cousins along the Dalmatian Coast. If they got in among the defenders, the raiders would overwhelm them. If anything should happen to the countess, Damiano might as well die defending her because his life would be worthless. The raiders started firing arrows as they closed within fifty yards – using their knees to keep the horse on its path, then turning and circling their position. At that moment only a person unlucky enough to expose themselves would have been hit, but it kept the defenders occupied as they tightened their circle closer on the countess’ party. The retainers were neither numerous nor accurate archers, and the Schiavoni were only ready for hand-to-hand combat. They formed a circle inside their compound, ready to deal with an attack from any side, but in the end it didn’t matter; the Tartars came at them from all directions. Some of the retainers were shot where they stood, others fell back to inside the circle. The countess and her immediate group huddled in their carriage. Her fool then started running around outside the safety of the vehicle with a short wooden sword as if he was leading a charge.
The countess screamed for him to get back, but he was clearly agitated and would not listen. She sent one of her lackeys to bring him back, but they only succeeded in getting killed by an arrow. Finally, after endangering enough lives, the fellow came calmly walking back amidst the chaos as if on a Sunday stroll, while arrows hit around him. Then upon entering back into the carriage, he mooned the marauders.
The small band of defenders condensed the circle and was able to take down one Tartar who got too close. One lackey was caught around the ankles by a lasso and dragged back away from the protective area and toward the other Tartars. Though he tried to struggle, he couldn’t cut the rawhide and he was eventually beaten into unconsciousness. Then it seemed as if the Tartars descended upon him with a hunger of wild animals. One of Damiano’s men, a man from Dalmatia named Migos, was caught around the upper body and braced himself to try to cut the lasso. For a few seconds he was able to hold, but the strength of the horse won out and he was pulled across the open ground. At this point, Damiano realized the raiders wanted live bodies and not dead ones if possible.
One of the raiders broke through the defensive perimeter and rode toward the countess. One of Damiano’s men stepped up to attack the horseman but was knocked over. The Tartar scooped up his lariat and threw it at the noblewoman. Damiano ran full-tilt toward the ground between the raider and the woman. Then, he noticed a strange thing; it was not the countess, but the fool that the Tartar was going after. He was behind the woman and she had s
tepped in front of him and caught the lasso in her hand – pulling it tight. The nomad attempted to pull away, but was stopped cold. At that same moment, Damiano jumped into the fray and hacked at the taught horsehide rope with his sword, cutting it in one chop. Both the Tartar and the countess then went flying backward. The countess landed with a thud against the carriage, while the Tartar went flying over his horse. The soldier looked over his triumph and swelled with pride for a second, then quickly ran to the countess to make sure she was alright. He tried to help the lady up and out of the action. The noblewoman quickly shook off the effects of the fall, and scowled at the soldier.
“Fool, I had it all under control.” Then as if realizing she said something she shouldn’t have, quickly backtracked, “Oh, thank you, sir. But, I was only trying to protect my dear sweet Myko.”
Prior to this, he saw Mateo had run through one of the brutes with his sword, but the man kept struggling – more than he had ever seen a man in the death throes move. He kept clawing at Mateo until the brawny Ethiopian grabbed his short sword in his other hand and lopped the man’s head off.
Damiano tried to be the cavalier and bowed, with a sweep of his sword, ready to get back in the fray, when he turned and was met with the fist of the Tartar who was thrown off his horse and looked like he had a broken neck. Black, soulless eyes stared out at him before he fell backward. He struggled to get to his feet but felt as if he would black out at any moment. As if in a dream, he thought he heard a trumpet and shouting. Then he felt the hands of the Tartar around his neck. He fought as best he could but was losing control of his muscles. Then he felt a swish of air and the hands slackened. He found himself with the man on top of him – warm from blood. He relaxed back on the ground and turned his head to see the head of the Tartar next to him and a lady’s shoes next to it. Then the darkness took him.
City of the Gods - Starybogow Page 3
