Agmánd’s eyes bulged and István reached out as fast as his mind could move, blocking his daughter’s attempt to Heal the butler’s arthritic tail joint. The two males exchanged worried, and weary, looks.
“Please have Jirina stay with Erzsébet until Mistress Nagy is free,” István managed.
He got up and collected his daughter, picking her up and holding her as she beat against the shield.
“No, dear, you don’t do that without permission,” he scolded gently, trying to sound kind instead of terrified.
If she could do this now, at the age of six and a bit, what sort of power would she have as she grew older? And would she have the physical strength to match it? He shouldn’t have been able to carry her, had she been as strong and big as her mother and aunt at that age.
Agmánd vanished as quickly and quietly as he’d appeared. Did all butlers learn to teleport, or was it just done in the presence of toddlers and young children? The little girl pouted, and István bounced her a little, then carried her back to the nursery. She smiled and giggled, waving at the servants as they passed. If only all his troubles were so easily solved.
After dinner, and after confirming that Imre’s math work did indeed meet Magda’s standards, István took the boy with him on the trails, letting him run ahead and back this once, rather than insisting that he focus on reading the trail. István and Hans needed to talk, and the huntmaster sighed a little as Imre charged around a corner, eager to be out of sight of the lodge.
«My lord, I think I remember having that much energy. Perhaps.»
István leaned on his hiking stick, studying the deer browse in a clearing just off the trail.
“So do I, Hans. Perhaps we can have him lead the hunt this fall.”
The green-and-brown huntmaster considered the clearing and the idea in turn.
«If we station the hunters in Moravia, my lord, he could drive the deer to them from here. And we do need a hunt, my lord. On all the lands, not just the hectares around the lodge. Master Gellért should have no objections if we hunt last in years’ timber cuts.»
“We can hunt into Moravia, can’t we? So long as we stay on House lands and not the leased lands.”
Hans took a deep breath and let it out, his ears tipping back a little and the end of his tail wagging back and forth. He sat on his haunches and raised one forefoot, rocking it back and forth.
«Yes and no, my lord. Yes, we are legally permitted to hunt on House lands. But I do not have all the required Czechoslovak permits and licenses yet, even though we applied for them in January.»
Before István could do more than stare, Hans explained, «The government does not want former nobles hunting or exercising any privileges unless they are Bohemian or Moravian born, my lord. His Majesty excepted, of course. I think.»
Hans did not exude confidence. István looked up at the blue-white sky. Should he laugh or cry? He decided to laugh, or at least chuckle a little.
“So I have to poach my own deer and birds, in other words.”
Hans stuck the tip of his tongue out.
«Um, yes, my lord. It is rather foolish when you phrase it like that, my lord.»
They started walking again, looking for deer sign. István sighed to himself, We did not think about that when we divided the House lands in order to protect them. We just assumed that the laws would remain the same for the House. Even with a new country’s border between us. Blessed St. Hubert, what a foolish problem to have. Well, it was less of a problem than dealing with timber export tariffs on logs from House land in Hungary going to Czech mills and vice versa—and the falling value of the koruna against the Czech crown.
«My lord, will the House be expelling the True-dragons?» Hans asked out of the clear air.
István tripped on a root and barely caught himself before he fell.
“What? Absolutely not, no. Not just ‘no’ but ‘hell no,’ as the Americans say. Who says we will be expelling anyone who has not been found guilty of crimes against the House?”
Hans ducked a little.
«Your pardon, my lord, but there are rumors. House Schwarzenberg held a vote last month, and they are going to keep all members who wish to stay, but the vote was very close and there are bad feelings, or so I am told. With only half their lands and less than half their income, my lord . . .» He left the thought unfinished.
“So long as House Sárkány can hold, we will not turn anyone out because of their birth. And where is Imre?”
The two men stopped, listening. István lowered his shields and felt for his son’s mind. He sensed rapidly growing fear and physical pain.
“Shit.”
Moving as quickly as he could, István ran up the trail. Hans caught up to him and passed him. István pointed with his hiking stick. The huntsman disappeared into the woods, and two deer surged out of cover and fled. Damn, but they’re thick on the ground, István thought, distracted for an instant.
«I have him, my lord.»
István left the trail and followed the mental scent to a steep creek bank. The flattened ferns told the tale, and István stopped, going down on all fours and leaning over the edge. Imre sat on the ground two meters below in a streambed, his foot at a strange angle. He was trying hard not to cry or make much noise. Hans was with him, looking at the boy’s leg.
«I do not believe it is broken, Master Imre, just twisted badly.»
István stood up and followed the stream until he found a lower bank, climbed down, and returned to where his son sat. Imre looked up at him, blue eyes full of unshed tears, lips white with pain.
“I’m sorry, Pater. I know better than to run ahead without looking, but I saw bear tracks and wanted to follow them. I forgot about the hidden stream.”
István crouched down beside him.
“Yes, you do know better. And you won’t run ahead without looking anymore, will you?”
“N—no, Pater.”
Hans and István found two straight pieces of wood to use as a brace. István sat beside Imre in the mud and held him, blocking his son’s view of his ankle as Hans straightened and splinted it. Imre buried his face against his father’s shoulder, muffling a cry of pain. István felt as though his own heart would break.
Hans sent word ahead through the House, and more servants met them halfway back to the lodge, taking the weight off Hans and István.
“Frau Magda is not going to be pleased,” István warned.
Imre drooped even farther, if that was possible. “Frau Magda will make me do more math.”
“Worse. She will fuss over you, pile blankets on you, and insist that you stay in bed and rest. With no books.”
As István thought about it, he realized that was probably the worst punishment Imre could suffer.
They heard Magda’s voice calling from the deep verandah as the lodge came in sight. “My lord, Master Imre, what’s wrong?”
“May I stay in the shed, Pater?” Imre pleaded.
“Too late, young man.”
At least they knew where the deer and bear were, István thought. And Imre would not be roaming the woods unsupervised for the next week at least, assuming Hans was correct about the state of his ankle.
So much for the quiet, retiring life of the gentry. István shook his head and scraped the mud off his boots as the servants carried Imre up the steps. Attila Szombor, his valet, would have a fit about the mud on his trousers and jacket. At least that never changed.
I hope Barbara didn’t see that. She’d kill me.
“This is a hunting lodge, after all, not a country house with deer.”
István stood in the gun and trophy room, making certain that everything looked as it should before His Majesty’s arrival that afternoon. If he reminded himself often enough, he might believe it. House Sárkány had not hosted a full hunt since before the war began, and now that Nagymatra served as Count Eszterházy’s main residence, it felt strange to have guests descending on the place. Or ascending, in this case, since they would
be coming up from Eger. Thanks be they’d had three months’ warning!
Now he missed Barbara—oh, how he missed her—with her calm, quiet ways and her social training. Once his sister Judit had made it clear that she preferred to remain in Budapest, he’d leaned on Agmánd and Luka, the cook, and Tadeas, relying on them to go through the books of manners and make all the necessary arrangements. At least Rudolph wasn’t bringing a mistress, and it was not a full, old-fashioned shooting week, like the ones he recalled from his childhood. Imre would miss the event, which István regretted, but school came first, especially since none of the royal children would be coming, as it turned out. Erzsébet remained at home, despite thinly veiled demands from her grandmother that she come for an extended visit. Maybe remarrying wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if it meant the children saw less of Dowager Duchess Rozemberg. But then I might have two mothers-in-law, István reminded himself. He triple-checked that the trophy heads had been cleaned per his orders, then walked back to the main room, where he found Agmánd waiting.
«My lord, Their Majesties and His Grace are on the way. They had the train stopped at Eger, in order to shorten the overland journey.»
The butler gave his master a careful non-inspection before going on, from shoe top to jacket shoulder, his sideways look and crooked whiskers conveying the suggestion that Lord István might wish to consider changing into something more appropriate for royal visitors.
«It appears, my lord, that all is in readiness.»
István took the hint, since he could see Attila Szombor, his valet, lurking around the corner, a look of distress on his round face. Well, if István looked shabby, then people would say that his staff had not done their job, and Agmánd and Szombor could not allow that to happen. István might be Head of House Sárkány, but he knew very well who ruled Nagymatra.
“Good. I leave matters in your forefeet, then.”
Half an hour later, István studied his reflection in the full-length mirror. Szombor’s quiet grunt suggested that he was satisfied with his master’s appearance. István looked into the amber eyes in the mirror and wondered. He’d returned to being clean-shaven, his short brown hair now streaked with grey along the temples and at the back of his neck. Tiny lines around his eyes made him look older than his mid-thirties. István’s square face and strong cheekbones fit his square personality, at least in his own way of thinking. The green Tyrolean-style jacket and leather trousers acknowledged his connection and loyalty to Their Majesties and to His Grace the Duke of Inner Austria and the Tirol. Besides, here in the mountains, the loose clothing and bright colors of the Alföld felt out of place. They’d also probably scare the deer—at least, any that didn’t die laughing when he got caught in a bramble thicket.
“I am given to understand that large, fluffy fur coats made of washing-bear pelts are very popular in the United States, my lord,” Szombor observed from behind István.
“For men or ladies?”
“For men, my lord.” Szombor’s dry tone made his reservations about the style clear.
István tried to imagine such a thing. He shook his head and turned from the mirror.
“I believe there is something in the air of North America that causes collective insanity, Szombor.”
“No doubt, my lord.”
István retreated to his office to hide, feeling out of place in his own home. The staff could arrange everything better than he could. Hans had the actual hunting aspect well in forefoot, and without a lady of the estate to escort Her Majesty, there would be no socializing, or at least not as much as he recalled from before the war. He lit a cigarette and stared out the window into the woods.
Something stirred, and he lowered his shields, reaching for the House and the Power of the Matra. The Power responded, and he opened to it, his vision shifting as it turned inward and then out, perceiving what the ancient creature sensed. The mountains and their adjacent lands felt healthy, aside from the emptiness where once Galicia and Ukrainia had been. Had something moved into the gap? The Matra suggested not, and shied away from those death-haunted lands. It recalled all too well both creatures’ death spasms, and István crossed himself at the memory. He’d sensed it through two channels simultaneously, once through the Matra and once through Pannonia and Bohemia via his emergency link to His Majesty and Archduke Rudolph. The remaining Powers had built a wall of sorts around the empty region now. Pannonia had implied at the time that only more death would restore the land, and István shuddered, flinching from the very thought. Instead he looked north and west, and the Matra joined him.
The western lands felt healthier, despite the previous decade’s unrest and woes. The new Guardian in Bavaria had settled into his duties remarkably well, given his relatively young age. Well, he was no younger than István had been. And Brandenburg remained quiet. István did not try to read more, returning his focus to his own lands and duties. The Matra agreed, and he could feel it’s contentment at his remaining within the Power’s domains. Did it object to the coming of another Guardian? No, he sensed, although the feeling carried a touch of wariness about Pannonia. The Matra dismissed Bohemia as a minor nuisance. István soothed the being and assured it that he’d happily thump Rudolph over the head and send him back to the lowlands if it came to that. The Matra sent a skeptical reply, pointed out a pocket of forest that needed to be purged of excess deer, and released him.
István took a deep pull on his cigarette, let the breath back out, and shook like a wet dog. He glanced at the heavy clock: fifteen minutes had gone by while his mind roamed with the Power. Once again he wondered just how old the creatures were, and marveled at how little even the Guardians knew about them. Then he hurried, with great care, to his desk and tapped off the long ash before it could drop on him or the floor. Every month or so, usually when paying bills, he considered giving up the habit permanently—and every time he recalled that it was his one true indulgence and decided that he needed the comfort more than the little bit of money.
A flash of warning touched his shields. He hurriedly finished the cigarette, straightened his coat, and walked with unrushed dignity to the verandah, joining the line of servants as a carriage, followed by an open touring carriage and two baggage wagons, rolled up to the front of Nagymatra. Petr Klarfeld’s son, acting as footman, jumped down from the back of the heavy-sprung touring carriage and opened the door, lowering the iron step and bowing. A well-proportioned man with red hair and a luxurious mustache of a darker brown stepped out, offering a hand to a shorter woman clad in deep forest green. Behind them, a slight figure in brown-and-green tweeds followed, looking left and right as if he were sniffing the air. István walked down the four broad steps and bowed low.
“Your Majesties, welcome to Nagymatra.”
Queen Sophia Marie Odile Hildegard von Tarn und Würtenburg von Habsburg spoke first.
“Thank you, Count Eszterházy. It is a pleasure at last to see that about which I have heard so much.”
She held out her hand and he bowed again, kissing it.
“I entertain no hopes that Nagymatra can meet your expectations, but we will do our best.”
King, once Emperor, Josef Karl Anton Wolfgang Leopold Marie von Habsburg-Lorraine-de Este smiled, his rose-gold eyes dancing with laughter for the first time István could recall seeing. Josef Karl was the only human István knew who had a HalfDragon’s color-shifting eyes, but with round pupils instead of slits like HalfDragons and True-dragons.
“I should have asked you to join the Foreign Ministry, Count Eszterházy. Your golden tongue is wasted on domestic matters.”
“Such grace and beauty as Your Majesty’s lady queen brings to the mountains inspires eloquence, Your Majesty. Otherwise, I fear my words would cause more harm than good.”
Queen Sophia giggled behind her hand and Josef Karl chuckled, sounds heard all too rarely in recent years.
“But please, your pardon for keeping you standing after such a long journey.”
In truth, he’d be
en buying time for the servants, who had rushed to carry the guests’ baggage to their rooms and to take Their Majesties’ staff to the chambers. István bowed again, gesturing for Their Majesties and His Grace to enter. The double line of servants bowed or curtsied as the couple passed, and Agmánd bowed low as he held the great main door open.
As Archduke Rudolph passed, he snorted under his breath, a little smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. Rudolph Tomas Martin von Habsburg, the Emperor’s buffer, looked much better than in years past. He seemed more relaxed, and his odd, tan eyes glanced left and right, taking in the scene. He had visited Nagymatra before when he’d Tested István for the House, but hadn’t stayed longer than necessary.
“I trust you reminded the staff that I do not bite,” he said, voice pitched so only István could hear.
“I fear they took my assurances as seriously as they take mine insistence that I can tie my own ties, Your Grace.”
The eloquent snort warned that Rudolph’s strange sense of humor remained as strong as ever.
“My goodness, this is larger than I imagined,” Sophia’s exclaimed in a warm voice. “A small hunting residence, my lord husband?”
Josef Karl turned to his cousin and raised one eyebrow.
“Your Majesty,” Rudolph said. “It certainly felt small with more than sixty witnesses present for the Testing and accession.” István hid his own smile at Rudolph’s discomfort. “And it was at night, and the lights are . . . oh my. Was that shot here?”
He stared at the enormous elk head that hung above the fireplace in the main room.
“Yes, a century and a quarter ago, Your Grace, I regret to say. He left no descendants that we have found, and there are still rumors that he had fled here alone to escape Napoleon’s armies in Lithuania.”
“He was wise,” the king of Hungary, Bohemia, and Austria observed.
Before Rudolph could make some sort of smart comment, István felt Agmánd’s mind touch.
“Your Majesties, Your Grace, I am informed that your chambers are available should you wish to refresh yourselves before coffee hour.”
Against a Rising Tide Page 2
