A Carpathian Campaign: The Powers Book 1

by Alma Boykin

  “Thank you.”

  Once safely in the small carriage, pulled by a shaggy but sound old gelding, István relaxed as much as he could. Whatever came next, he was home. If he had to live in a city, he preferred Kassa to Budapest or Vienna, but the mountains felt right in a way that paved streets and town palaces never did. The smells soothed him. He studied the land as the stolid gelding walked steadily uphill, past vineyards and into the woodlands. The notch in the mountain of the quarry disappeared behind dark green leaves. A few trees had already begun to turn brown or yellow, and splashes of red in the underbrush confirmed autumn’s approach.

  A half-dozen servants waited along the porch of the lodge as he stepped—with great care for his footing—out of the small carriage. “Welcome home, Lord István,” Szombor said. He’d come ahead to help get things ready.

  “Thank you.” István glanced around but saw nothing strikingly amiss. “I trust all is well?”

  «As well as can be, given the current situation, my lord» Agmánd, the butler and chief servant for Nagymatra informed him. The grey-and-dull-orange True-dragon bowed. «But that is a topic for later discussion, my lord.»

  “Thank you, Agmánd. I apologize, but I am rather fatigued from the journey and from recent events.” István took his time as he climbed the wooden and stone steps.

  «Of course, my lord. Please allow me to convey all our condolences on Lord Janos’s passing.»

  “Thank you. You may be pleased to know that his grace Archduke Thomas informed me that masses have been said at St. Josef’s monastery for the rest of his soul.”

  «His Grace is very kind.» Agmánd and the others crossed themselves, and István dipped his head.

  Hans, now the huntmaster, approached István the next morning. «My lord, the test will be tomorrow night. The House, those members who can travel, have gathered and will be here by tomorrow afternoon. Fr. Francisco from St. Michael’s will be here as well.»

  “Thank you.” And so it begins, please God have mercy on me. István fingered his St. István medallion and prayed.

  How he managed to sleep that night, István didn’t know. He alternated between resignation, eagerness to take his place as Head, and fear. He wanted to ask Janos what his own testing had been like, but it was too late. He also wondered who would be the tester. Hans? Possibly. Agmánd was another possibility, although nothing said the tester had to be a True-dragon. Which reminded him, who had the tester been for Josef Karl? The man had not seemed fully human, and not just in the ways HalfDragons differed from pure humans.

  Out of habit and a reluctance to waste food, István ate well that morning. But he didn’t taste the meal, not really. Clear sunlight poured down on the Matra, birds sang, a light wind fluttered the trees and grasses, and any other day István would have been outdoors enjoying it all, stealing away to track game and “inspect” the hunting areas. Instead he stayed in the house and did his best to ignore the sounds of preparation. He retreated to the parlor and paced, as much as he could. Who would be the tester? Not Fr. Francisco, because clerical vows now forbade the shedding of blood, and blood had to be spilled as a sign of the Head’s willingness to put himself between the House and danger. So who would it be? István wanted to smoke, but also didn’t. Who would be the tester?

  Hans tapped on István’s shields. «My lord?»

  “Yes.”

  «His Grace Archduke Rudolph has arrived.»

  It took a moment for the words to register. István spun around, almost tripping over his own feet as he gaped at the new arrival. “Your—Your Grace?”

  “Who better?” A terribly familiar voice drawled. István’s hands started to shake as he saw Archduke Rudolph leaning against the doorframe. The pale man smiled, his red-brown eyes holding secrets that even his cousin and István couldn’t guess. “Someone who knows the House but is neutral, who has nothing to gain or lose.” Rudolph’s odd emphasis on the last word made István even more nervous. The archduke straightened up as István belatedly remembered to bow. “Shoo, István Eszterházy. I need to prepare and I can’t do it with you radiating terror every time I exhale.”

  He wasn’t joking.

  István triple-checked his shields and decided just to go, out into the woods, out of sight of everyone. He spent the rest of the day in St. Hubert’s chapel near Nagymatra, a small shrine maintained by the hunters and trappers in the House. His thoughts refused to stay on target, scattering like a covey of English quail, darting now here and now there. Prayer came only with painful effort, and at last he gave up pretending and let his thoughts roam as they willed.

  István didn’t want to be Head of the House, not anymore. Mátyás would do a better job. And he had a son, and Barbara, who needed his support and who would suffer if he failed. István tried to pray, but his thoughts kept circling back to the memory of Konrad lying dead in front of the witnesses, rejected by both House and Power. And everyone had been so certain that Konrad would be a great Head of his House, a wise leader with good connections to help the House prosper in these uncertain times. But no, something had gone wrong within Konrad, and he’d died, heart pierced by the tester’s blade. And if Konrad were unworthy, what about István? “I’m not ready, Lord,” he whispered to the image of God the Father above the small altar.

  A hand touched his shoulder and István jumped. Father Francisco shook his head and finger both. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings, even while meditating, my son. Had I been a bear or wolf . . .”

  Being eaten by wolves while praying in St. Hubert’s shrine would serve me right, István thought. “Thank you, Father.” He bowed to the altar and left, walking down the small trail until he came within sight of Nagymatra. He stopped, leaning against the rain-damp tree, just looking at the forest palace, filling his eyes and memory with the heavy gray stones of the foundation and ground floor, and the ornate logs and wooden upper floors. He’d spent wonderful hours on the deep porches, playing with his brother and sister and watching for the adults as they went out and returned from their hunts. He’d dreamed of being Head of the House, of giving orders and being the one who made all the decisions, of staying up late and doing what he wanted and enjoying all that the House could provide. Now . . . he wasn’t so certain. But he couldn’t refuse, not now. Or could he?

  Pater, I don’t want to lose Barbara and little Mátyás. Why didn’t you tell me what being Head meant? But Janos had tried, at least once. I thought I understood it all. Obviously I didn’t. And now I can’t back out without losing everything. What would István do without the House? He couldn’t find a job with the army, had no training, and to join the government after turning his back on his family would be unthinkable. And would he be allowed to keep his family? Little Mátyás? Surely the House would not deny István his son and wife . . . or would they?

  István’s hand groped in his collar and he pulled out the holy medal. Janos had given him two, István and Imré, father and son saints, Hungary’s protectors, stewards of Our Lady, the true patron of the nation. His fingers felt the image on the metal. King István had not wanted to crown, had offered it to the Blessed Virgin, but had taken up the duty all the same, as would his son have, had he lived. And there were no others trained and capable to act as Head should István refuse the test, unlike other Houses. His brother was not physically capable of serving in that capacity. And everything in his life had been directed to leading House Sárkány-Kárpátok.

  Maybe this is why Ludwig committed suicide, God grant him rest. He couldn’t face the testing and he couldn’t see any other honorable way out. István shuddered and crossed himself. If he died in the testing, his soul’s safety was secure. Self murder? No, not for this—not to escape a pledge and duty. He took a deep breath, pushed away from the tree, and went to the house.

  He dismissed Szombor, then bathed and dressed in his newest hunting clothes. They felt right somehow, unlike his uniform. Well, he could no longer wear his uniform honestly, and he did not have a Reserve dress
uniform. His evening dress seemed wrong. White tie and tails here, for this? If I’m going to die I want to look like myself when it happens, thank you.

  Fr. Francisco tapped on the door. István opened it. “Is there something you wish to say to me, my son, before the testing?”

  “Yes, Father. I seek absolution. My heart is sore afraid and my sins weigh heavily upon me,” István replied in Latin. The priest walked into the room and shut the door, and István knelt. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been five days since my last confession.”

  Fr. Francisco departed after hearing István’s confession and granting him absolution. István looked around once more and quashed the desire to flee out the open window. He pulled on his good leather hunting-coat and walked down to the main hall.

  The only light in the room came from the fireplace. Despite the open windows, the presence of so many witnesses heated the hall until István felt uncomfortable, sweating already before he even walked through the great doorway. At least three score humans, HalfDragons, and True-dragons stood shoulder to shoulder, watching as he stopped in the entry. Many people he knew personally, others by sight, and a few only by the “taste” of their House membership. Their silence weighed on him, a hushed expectation of . . . what? He couldn’t tell, and it unnerved him. Did they want to see him fail and die? Some likely did. Defiance stiffened his spine and he strode straight backed and proud into the center of the room.

  Father Francisco waited off to the side, prayer book and vial of holy oil on a small table beside him. Archduke Rudolph stood facing István, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The firelight turned his fair hair red, and his eyes swirled with the same color. Something inhuman looked out from behind those mad eyes, something greater than both men, something old and dangerous. István gulped before walking the last four steps needed to bring him within the circle. A rustle of motion sounded behind him as the watchers closed ranks, trapping him in their midst.

  “Let us pray,” Father Francisco began. As everyone sank to their knees, he began, “Holy Lord who knows all hearts, hear our plea for mercy and strength on this night. Be with your children, most mighty God, father of us all. Look favorably on our petitions and give us strength to serve You. Mary, merciful mother who knows our sorrows, pray for us. Saint Stephen, who trusted God to protect what he could not, and who gave Our Lady his crown, help us in our time of need. Have mercy upon us, most merciful God, have mercy upon us. Kyrie eleison.”

  “Christi eleison, Kyrie eleison,” the gathered witnesses intoned, István more fervently than any.

  “In nomine Patri, et Fili, et Spiritui Sancto, Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  István got to his feet, wincing at the pain in his back. He met Rudolph’s eyes without fear and dropped his shields, opening everything to the tester.

  “Will you, István, swear to put the needs of your people and your House before your own?” The words carried more meanings than any language should be asked to bear and they rolled through his mind into his heart and soul.

  “I will.”

  “Will you defend the House, even at the cost of fortune, honor, or life itself?”

  I don’t want to, if it comes to that, please holy Lord, but, “I will.”

  “Will you be true to your faith and your family, upholding them in honor and denying temptation?”

  That was much easier to answer. “I will.” His eyes stayed on Rudolph’s, even as he felt them boring through him, weighing the truth behind his answers.

  “Do you take this burden of your own free will?”

  Caught off guard, István hesitated. Was he, really? He’d always been told he was the Heir, groomed to be Head, but did he choose to take up the duties? He stopped, looking deep within himself. If he said no, the test would end and he’d be free to leave, although he’d lose his privileges and the connection to both House and Power. He took a steadying breath. “Yes. I come of my own free will.”

  “Then kneel Stephen Josef,” Rudolph ordered, drawing the old, old weapon.

  He took three steps forward and knelt. Rudolph lifted the sword and István watched the firelight flow down it, red as blood. The blade swept around in a deadly graceful arc before stopping at his bare throat. The tip of the blade touched his skin and he felt a tiny sting as it drew one bead of blood, no more and no less.

  Rudolph turned to look at the watchers, the blade remaining still. “Does any of House Sárkány have grounds to deny this man the Test? If so speak now.” Silence filled the room, a deeper silence even than before. Rudolph returned his attention to István, his cold, inhuman voice demanding, “Prove your intention, son of Sárkány!”

  Barbara I love you. God have mercy on my soul. Eyes locked, lost in Rudolph’s own, István leaned forward, trusting God and the House to take him. The pressure on his throat grew stronger and stronger until he began to choke, feeling the blade starting to pierce muscle and cartilage until it touched bone. Rudolph’s eyes swirled, pulling István in until he saw nothing but red.

  Red exploded into silver. Then black and green flooded his mind and filled the world, and mountains reared up, lined with silver and dotted with the lights of House members answering the summons. The Matra began to glow as light, and wind rushed into István, filling him. He saw the land, and the Power within it, the ancient creature that dwelled in the shadows and depths. He felt acceptance as the House reaffirmed its claim and support. Beyond that, he could feel darts of welcome from other Guardians, and a trebly strong push from the west, as Emperor Josef Karl acknowledged his accession. Everything spun, and István felt himself dissolving in the swirling light and wind. He touched minds with the Power of the Matra, letting it see through his eyes, hearing its voice for the first time, with the full weight of its hundreds of thousands of years. He felt the House, its health and strength. His mortal mind could tolerate no more, he was splintering, dissolving into the House and Power and Matra and black sky with silver stars and silvery moon over all.

  István came to himself in a rush. The stone floor hurt his knees, and hands held his shoulders, steadying him. “House Sárkány-Kárpátok, behold István Eszterházy, your new Head and war lord!”

  Not both! But it was so: István knew in that instant, and the weight of duty almost crushed him. The House supported him until he could breathe. He dimly heard Fr. Francisco’s “Let us pray,” and he bowed his head, but he didn’t hear the words for the rushing of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart. He felt as if he’d hunted the entire Carpathian Range on foot in a day.

  The hands helped him to his feet. Rudolph sheathed the sword. «You look like hell, Your Grace.» István ventured to say.

  «You’re no prize winner, little one.» Rudolph’s words came in another’s voice, and the archduke’s eyes retained a touch of wildness and age. «God help you. Because you are going to need it.» A servant shoved a chair under Rudolph as his legs gave way. István didn’t feel much better, but then he only had one Power looking through his eyes, not three? Four? He didn’t want to know. «We will speak more later. Now, enjoy this night, István. And you’d better serve decent liquor here, because I need a stiff one. My lady cousin-in-law shuns the evil drink, alas.» Rudolph’s mind voice became his own.

  «You have my deepest, most sincere condolences, Your Grace, and we have some excellent, pre-war libations for your pleasure.»

  «Thanks be to God.»

  István spent the rest of the evening meeting House members, eating excellent food, watching a few children tumble around, and enjoying the happiness of others. And savoring the giddy relief of not being dead. He slept so well that night that he missed His Grace’s departure, although he found a note reminding him that they would speak in the future.

  The next day, to his vast surprise, Barbara and little Mátyás arrived. “Your mother chased us out of Marianbad,” Barbara said. “She told me that the baby and I needed mountain air, presented me with train tickets for the nurses and I, and refused to
listen to any arguments.”

  “I’m very pleased to see you, my lady, my love, and far be it from me to stand in my mother’s way,” István assured his wife. I think that means she’s starting to recover. Or else there is something I do not need to know about. After all, everyone had heard the stories or read the carefully phrased hints about what passed between attractive widows and certain gentlemen of marginal repute during visits to the spas and casinos. He highly doubted that Lady Marie would engage in that sort of thing, but, well, he did not care to know.

  Instead he offered Barbara his arm and escorted her up the steps, the nurses following behind, and more staff trailing after with their luggage. Too late, he started to ask if Agatha and Rose had been told about the True-dragons on the staff. Instead he heard the older woman exclaim, “Well, by Saint Margaret’s girdle, I thought they’d be bigger!”

  Barbara blushed and ducked her head, the feathers on her hat shaking as she tried not to make a noise. István looked up at the ceiling beams and felt the House members’ amusement and Agmánd’s indignant surprise. And it’s too late to dive out the window and flee into the woods to live as a hermit.

  István had a few minutes yet until he could go inside, so he leaned on the wall and stared out at the quiet Danube and the busy town across the way. I can hardly believe it is almost November already. Where have the last two years gone? A few boats chugged up or glided down the grey waters far below the bastion, a few more waited along shore, ready to unload or waiting for cargo from Pest to carry upstream to Pressburg, Vienna, Passau, or beyond. The clouds refused to help the sun, instead clinging to the eastern horizon and dimming the sunrise into nothing but a gradual revelation of the details of the world. He relaxed for the first—and probably last—time in several days and lowered his shields. The encounter with the Powers and Houses at his testing had left István bruised in all new ways, and that sort of injury needed more time to heal than did mere flesh and bone. Staying shielded still required conscious effort, so he took advantage of the quiet and solitude to let his defenses down.