A Carpathian Campaign: The Powers Book 1

by Alma Boykin

  Janos appeared on István’s other side, started to say something, and then caught himself as Wetzel rose onto his hind-legs and peered through his glasses. “Ah, good afternoon, Your Highness.”

  «Good afternoon, Count Eszterházy. I was commenting to your Heir about the quality of the gathering.» Wetzel flicked a wink at István.

  Janos struggled to reply. István bit his tongue to keep from smiling at his father’s discomfort. After what must have felt like an eternity, Janos said, “High, but I fear sparse, Your Highness.”

  «Indeed. The Houses have lost too many this past year.» He draped his tail over his foreleg like a lady with a stole, and István caught a glimpse of a black mourning ring on one digit, behind the talon. «Far too many. So has the Empire.»

  After they had made their respects known to the Dietrichstein family and had greeted fellow guests, István and Janos followed a maid to their rooms to rest and prepare for the ceremony that night.

  They gathered just after sunset, in a torch-lit natural arbor in the woods behind the country palace. István took a place opposite his father, standing with other House Heirs in a half-circle. The Heads formed the other half, and István caught his father’s quick, unhappy droop as he noted the gaps. At least four Houses represented at Dietrichstein had lost Heirs, and more had lost War Lords. István pretended not to see Janos’s expression. Instead he started counting the humans, HalfDragons, and True-Dragons filling in behind the first rank of witnesses, House members standing closest, with guests from other Houses behind them. One of the largest swords István had ever seen stood in the center of the ring, jammed down into the soft earth of the forest.

  A gap opened in the ring, and Konrad walked in, following a priest and flanked by the Dowager Duchess Dietrichstein and another woman. A tall man followed them, and the circle closed. Through his shields István could feel the House shifting, attention sharpening. His own heart began to beat faster and he took a deep breath, inhaling the sour smell of the wet woods beyond them. The priest stopped and looked around the circle. “Let us pray.”

  With a rustle, everyone knelt. Well, almost everyone, István noticed—some of the Czech House members removed their hats and bowed their heads. Eh, must be Protestants, he guessed.

  “In nomine Patri, et Fili, et Spritui sancto . . .” the priest began. István followed the invocation and prayers for peace and for the health and prosperity of the House and for blessings on all gathered in the woods. “Amen,” the priest concluded, as István’s back began to ache in warning. He got to his feet with care, but everything felt as it should.

  The Dowager moved away, leaving Konrad and the tester in the center of the rings of witnesses. The human rested both hands on the end of the sword’s hilt and began questioning Konrad in Old Drakonic and German. The woman beside István leaned toward him and whispered, “Graf Johann von Hohen-Drachenburg, Head, War Lord, and Guardian.”

  “Danke.”

  Konrad radiated calm certainty and answered quickly and easily. A few terms escaped István, but he understood the general sense of what the tester wanted. After a quarter hour or so, Hohen-Drachenburg pulled the sword out of the ground with one hand and lifted it. “Prove your worth, Konrad of Dietrichstein.” He held the blade straight out.

  Konrad took two steps forward, until he neared the tip of the outstretched sword. He sat back on his haunches and scooted a little, so that the tip of the blade rested against his chest. The True-Dragon locked eyes with the tester, and István felt the House gathering itself around him. Konrad leaned forward.

  The blade pierced his heart. Eyes bulging with surprise, whiskers straight to the sides, Konrad squeaked, then fell over to the side, dead.

  “Konrad has failed the test,” Drachenburg announced. He twisted the sword enough to remove it from the dead Heir and rested the tip on the grass once more. “Who does the House call?”

  A woman’s resonant voice said, “House Dietrichstein-Ost calls Kristofer Aleman-Dietrichstein.” People rustled and, after some shifting and sorting, a terrified young man in a sergeant’s uniform stepped into the circle.

  “Will you accept the test, Kristofer Aleman-Dietrichstein?” The tester demanded.

  The man gulped, blinked, and gulped again. “I,” he squeaked, stopped, and tried once more. “I, I will if the House wishes it. But I am unfit and not trained, my lords. I am a Benedictine oblate and a legal mediator, not a warrior or leader. My training is as guide, not a guardian.” His eyes seemed as big as the rising moon as he looked around the ring, carefully avoiding Konrad’s body.

  “You heard what is asked of the Head, did you not?”

  “I did, my lord.” István could see Kristofer shaking.

  “And your response?”

  Kristofer gulped again. “I, I will try my best. That is all I can do. And will ask help of God and the House.”

  The tester lifted the sword once more. “Then kneel, Kristofer Aleman-Dietrichstein, and prove your worth.”

  Kristopher sketched a shaky sign of the cross, then knelt. The tester rested the tip of the blade against Kristofer’s chest, and the young man stared up at the tester. He leaned forward.

  And the House protected him, supporting his weight and giving him access to the gathered energies of the House. After an eternity, the woman who had accompanied Konrad and another, older woman stepped into the circle. They took Kristofer’s arms and pulled him back. Hohen-Drachenburg swung the ancient sword up and around, catching every eye as firelight and blood stained the polished metal. Then he drove it into the ground exactly the same depth as it had been before the test. “Rise, Kristofer, Head of House Dietrichstein-Ost.” István released the breath he’d been holding as the House members gave a muted cheer.

  “Let us pray,” the priest called, and all knelt or bowed their heads. Afterward, the new House Head dropped to one knee before the Dowager Duchess, saying something. Tears streaked her face, but she remained calm, or so it looked to István when he glanced in that direction. He had trouble looking away from Konrad’s body. The True-dragon had been Heir, trained from birth to succeed his father as Head of the House. And now he sprawled on the grass, his heart’s blood black in the torchlight, dead eyes wide with surprise, like a man caught by a sniper’s bullet. István crossed himself again.

  After the House departed, the Heads and Heirs gathered around the body. Prince Arnaulf von Taxis-Este looked around the group. “He had declined confession and absolution. But the Lord judges, not we mortals.”

  Oh holy Lord, no wonder his mother looked stricken. Dear Lord have mercy on his soul; Blessed Lady intercede please, with your tears of mercy and grace. István started shaking, and struggled to hide his reaction as the others discussed what to do with the body.

  “As I recall, there is a family tomb on the edge of the cemetery, one that extends beyond the edge of the consecrated ground,” an old woman said.

  “Ah, yes, there is. I believe that would be the most appropriate place.” The speaker, a fat man in evening dress, nodded briskly. “It is not for us to do more or less.”

  “And the House concurs,” a fourth voice stated.

  “So shall it be,” Janos replied.

  Once back in the country palace, István and the young Countess Kiralii both knocked back glasses of plum brandy. He needed the fire to clear his head of what he’d seen. “I have never seen a failure,” she observed at last, her words measured and steady. “It would be good to know what the House saw, or did not see, in Konrad, God give him rest.” They crossed themselves and István felt better as he saw that her hand shook just a little.

  “I do not know, my lady.”

  «Nor will you, either of you,» Prince Wetzel’s tight mind-voice told them. He strolled up on three legs, the fourth holding a glass. A footman trailed with a laden plate. The servant set the plate on a small table and Wetzel picked a tiny sandwich off with two talons. «Eat, both of you, or you will be under the table, not beside it.» After they’d both had se
veral of the savories, the prince continued, «It is the House’s decision, and not for those of us outside to decide. Or to speculate,» he pointed at Countess Kiralii with the tip of his tail. «As your brother would do well to recall, when you give him the news.»

  “Yes, your Highness,” she said. A servant gave István and Maria both glasses of fruit-flavored punch and refreshed the plate. This was still an accession, after all, if not exactly as originally planned, and so to be celebrated.

  After his hand quit shaking and the room stopped waving back and forth, István joined the line of guests waiting to greet the new Head of House Dietrichstein-Ost. As he drew closer, István saw the grey in Kristofer’s hair, and the fine lines around his eyes. He was older than he’d first appeared. “Thank you,” he was telling a woman in widow’s black. “I am not certain how my wife will take the news, and that is much appreciated.”

  “Please tell her not to hesitate to write, or even call me, if she has any questions, Lord Kristofer,” the woman said. “May the Lord be with you and the House. You shall be in my prayers.”

  “Thank you, Lady Kiralii.”

  István extended his hand. “Congratulations,” he started.

  “Col. Eszterházy? My lord,” a servant said, interrupting. “Colonel, you are needed in the billiard room.”

  Cold fear struck István. “If you will excuse me, my lord?”

  “Go,” Kristofer said. “Thank you.”

  István followed the servant, almost running in his haste. He found Janos surrounded by concerned House members and guests. Someone had removed his coat and undone his tie and shirt, as a man in a plain black coat listened to Janos’s chest and took his pulse. Janos leaned back, his eyes closed, lips and skin grey. Oh holy Lord, no, please God no. What’s wrong? A priest finished anointing Janos with holy oil and István’s heart began racing. No, please God, no, I need him, no.

  Once the priest finished István said, “I am here,” pretending to be calm.

  The doctor on Janos’s other side straightened up and István caught a glimpse of a Jew’s skullcap on the dark brown hair. “Colonel Eszterházy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father. Has he said anything about heart problems in the past? Chest pain, shortness of breath, perhaps indigestion and pain in his left shoulder?”

  “No, not that I am aware of.”

  Janos waved one hand a little. “No,” he whispered. “This is the first time. I need air, please.” The watchers all moved back, and István heard wood on wood as someone opened the windows.

  “Ah, thank you, my lord.” The doctor reached into his black bag, removed a bottle, and said, “My lord, I am going to put three drops on your tongue. Let them rest there, please. The pain should ease in a few minutes.”

  Already Janos seemed less grey. He opened his mouth and let the doctor drop medicine in.

  As István watched, his father’s color improved. The pain lines around his mouth eased, and his breathing sounded less strained. “Ah, your pulse is stronger already, my lord,” the physician announced. “Some rest and I believe you will be even better.”

  Dowager Duchess Louisa appeared in time to hear the last. “Very good, Dr. Cohen. Hans, Johann, assist Count Eszterházy to his room.” István watched as the men brought a stretcher into the billiard room, helped his father onto it, and carried him down the hall to a room in the family wing. He followed, eyes never leaving Janos’s face.

  Once his father was in bed and comfortable, István dropped to one knee beside the bed. “I’m here, Pater.”

  “Good.” His father’s hand felt cold, but its color seemed closer to normal.

  István searched for words. “Sir, if you were trying to distract Her Grace, you have succeeded admirably. But Mother might not be pleased.”

  Janos managed a wheezy laugh. “Your mother is never pleased when I distract other ladies, István. I suspect Barbara feels the same way.” He closed his eyes. “Don’t tell your mother.”

  Thank you, father. Now she’ll have both of our heads when she finally learns the truth. “I will not if you will not.” He held his father’s hand more tightly.

  “Agreed.” Janos drifted into a natural sleep and István let himself out of the room.

  He found a cluster of guests, including Prince Wetzel, waiting for him in the day parlor. “Lord Janos is asleep and comfortable. Thank you for your prayers and consideration.” The wave of relief and happiness on the others’ faces brought tears to István’s eyes.

  Someone gave him a drink—whiskey—and he sipped a little, then nibbled some of the food that appeared at his elbow. Dr. Cohen came in. “Col. Eszterházy, how old is your father?”

  “Ah, seventy, I believe, Doctor.”

  “And how old were his parents when they died—do you recall, my lord?”

  Why does he want to know? It took a moment for him to remember. “Grandfather was sixty five, died of apoplexy. Grandmother passed away at age eighty-five, died in her sleep. Why?”

  “Because I wished to know if your family had a history of heart disease. It appears not, my lord, but I suspect stress explains your father’s attack.” The doctor shook his head. “This past year has seen a number of illnesses and deaths, I fear.”

  “It has. What do you recommend for him?”

  “Rest, and less stress. He should go to Karlsbad or Marianbad, or one of the other medical spas. He needs quiet, fresh air, and good food.” He shook a finger at István, “And by good food I do not mean cake with every meal, extra cream, and lots of whiskey, my lord. Less fat, more vegetables properly prepared, rest and fresh air, that is what I prescribe, since this is his first spell, my lord. If this continues, then your physician might recommend digitalis or possibly the new, low-dose tincture of nitroglycerine, but I doubt that will be necessary, my lord.”

  Nitroglycerine as medicine? And here I thought having your father blow up at you was a crude figure of speech. The thought made István want to laugh, then cry. “Fresh air, less stress, good food, and a medicinal spa. Thank you Doctor.”

  Cohen bowed. “You are welcome, my lord.”

  Later that night, in his own room, István prayed the rosary for his father. He still could not sleep, and he lay in the comfortable bed, staring at the plasterwork ceiling. “You win, Janos,” he whispered at last, tears in his eyes. “I will ask to be transferred to garrison duty or discharged.”

  Could it have been only a year, István wondered, looking out at the forests from the verandah at Nagymatra. Less than a year, actually, since that Serbian bastard had murdered Archduke Franz Ferdinand and lit the world on fire. Two birds flapped past, and he thought he saw an eagle or large hawk circling high overhead, flashing in and out of sight through a gap in the trees. A small white cloud drifted by, far above the hawk, and the trees rustled in the wind.

  Janos and Maria had insisted that István take Barbara and baby Mátyás out of the city for a few weeks. “You need fresh air, both of you,” Lady Maria informed the couple. “And I am dragging your father to Hévíz, on Lake Balaton, to take the waters.”

  István had raised an eyebrow at the idea of his petite mother dragging Janos anywhere against his will, but said nothing besides, “Thank you, Mater. We will do as you recommend.” And leave my poor brother to deal with love-fuzzy Judit.

  István heard steps behind him and turned to see Barbara approaching. The soft material of her afternoon dress skimmed all the right places. He smiled and extended his hand. She came to him and he pulled her into a half embrace. “Asleep at last?”

  “Yes. I think I will take your mother’s offer of a nurse for Mátyás.” She sounded tired. “Magda is not young, and I need to be doing other things besides chasing your son across the mountains every day.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What a lovely afternoon.”

  “Yes, it is, my love.” He kissed the top of her head and returned to contemplating the view, such as it was. She smelled like violets and talcum powder. “Do I need to take M�
�tyás out hunting to use up some of that energy?”

  She giggled. “Not unless it is possible to drool an animal to death. He’s teething again.”

  “One is not enough?”

  “It seems not. Your son is a bit precocious, or so Magda says.” Barbara pushed closer against his side. “When he starts biting, you can feed him.”

  “I fear he would be sorely disappointed with the quality any meal I could provide. You, my lady, are far superior to me in all matters domestic.” He reached around her waist with one arm, then turned to face her, running his fingers down her cheek. “And in many, many other fields of endeavor as well.”

  She smiled, a little fire beginning to dance in her eyes and a flush in her cheeks. “And don’t you forget it, my love and my lord.” She kissed him, pressing against him, kissing him harder.

  That evening István sorted the mail as Barbara and Magda bathed baby Mátyás and put him to bed. Several newspapers he set to the side, frowning at one of the Viennese papers as he did. Large white spaces showed where the censors had blocked an article at the last minute. Really? We can do better than that. A letter from Aunt Claudia, several from Mátyás, and one from his sister’s fiancé joined the newspaper pile. Two bills he opened and skimmed over, wincing at the price of a hat Barbara had purchased for Judit’s wedding. The letter from Felix Starhemberg he tucked into his pocket. And then he saw one missive, on very heavy stationary, with the shield of the Duke of the Tirol embossed in the envelope.

  Barbara found him staring at Archduke Rudolph’s letter. “Dear, what is it?”

  He blinked. “Ah, nothing just now, possibly something in the future. I may be asked to advise one of the archdukes on a matter related to the family business.” What does Rudolph want from me? He has three Powers that he can ask, plus all the resources of House Habsburg. Or did he? Franz Josef had not died, and Josef Karl remained acting, not true Head of the House, although he was War Lord. István’s head began to hurt.