Blood Red (9781101637890)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Every word rang of conviction. More, every word sounded like something he actually had witnessed for himself.

  She blinked, taken a bit aback at his vehemence. “You are very eloquent in their defense,” she managed. She went from sitting cross-legged to hugging her knees, glad that her clothing allowed her to do so. She was feeling defensive, and was not used to feeling that way during a . . . discussion.

  Then again, she had never had a discussion quite like this one.

  “Because they deserve defending.” He shrugged, but she got the feeling that was a kind of habit, rather than an expression of indifference. “I want you to understand that the Nagys are the allies of humanity, not predators. I want you to understand that Markos in particular is a good, honorable warrior in the service of the right. That he happens to wear fur to go to war is irrelevant.”

  “This seems very important to you,” she observed. Which is odd, considering that we’ve only just met, and may never meet again . . . unless you know something I do not.

  His next words confirmed that guess. “Yes, this is important to me, because the reason he and I are here is that we need the help of someone from the Count’s White Lodge, a Lodge he can introduce us to, or your Bruderschaft—and that someone might well be you.”

  “Me?” She managed not to squeak the word, but it was a near thing. Was this a consequence of all those introductions the Graf had been making? Or was it something else entirely?

  “Possibly. We will not know until we speak at length with the Count and Master Gunther.” He shrugged again. He got to his feet and offered her his hand. She put out her good hand, he grasped the wrist, and helped her to her feet. He was as strong as he looked. She let go of his hand as soon as she was on her feet. “And we will probably talk about it for several days yet. As the Count said, this is not—as yet—an emergency or a crisis. In fact, we have reason to believe the situation has persisted for decades, so a few days more will be of no matter.”

  Well, that truly got her interest. A situation that had persisted for decades? She could think of a few things that the Bruderschaft had dealt with that matched that description. It seemed that the Schwarzwald liked to hide secrets that were revealed only when someone stumbled upon them. Once, it had been a colony of particularly nasty little goblins that had been invoked by a long-ago Master gone bad, and had been left behind to work as much undirected mischief as they cared to when he died. More than once, it had been an evil magician who was also cunning enough to keep his depredations at such a low level that he remained unnoticed until he happened to choose the wrong victim—someone or something that had been missed.

  That was the most likely scenario here. The most successful villains were those who kept their ambition and greed within bounds—who practiced self-restraint, and did not allow their emotions to get the better of them. Who, like wise predators, did not kill indiscriminately. Such were, thankfully, rare. But when they did occur, they were all the harder to find.

  Gone, thank the Good God, were the days when the likes of Countess Bartholdy could keep an entire fiefdom in silent and abject terror. But that only meant that great evil had to exercise great cunning.

  “I could eat another plate of sausage after that, I think,” Dominik said, abruptly changing the subject, and smiling at her with great charm. She usually did not care for men with moustaches, but she thought Dominik looked rather dashing. “I hope there is still some left.”

  “I am not in the least surprised that you are ravenous,” she told him lightly, sensing she would not hear another word out of him on the subject of why he and Markos were here until he was ready. “The healers of the Bruderschaft generally eat twice as much as the rest of us, and stay lean as a staff.” She gestured up at the terrace and the ersatz bierhalle. “Shall we go and let your cousin know he can pull his not-so-metaphorical tail from between his legs, and that I will not be hunting for my coach gun or my knives?”

  “So, have I persuaded you already that we are on the side of the angels?” He sounded surprised.

  “I would not go so far as that,” she cautioned, “But it is truce between us for now. It is not that you are not persuasive, Herr Petro. It is that I have much to overcome before I am trusting. The habits and fears of a lifetime are not overcome by a few words, no matter how well chosen.”

  “Point taken. Truce and at least the appearance of friendship will be enough.” He gestured to her to proceed. They climbed the steps to the terrace to find that the party had spilled out into the fresh air and the band had retired. Some servants were already dismantling the bierhalle and restoring the furnishings. Others were waiting attendance on the terrace. Since the terrace was supplied with summer furnishings, no comfort was lost in coming outside into the balmy night air.

  “Rosa, and Dominik, we were just discussing what should be the entertainment for tomorrow!” the Graf said as they climbed up onto the terrace and looked about.

  “Something not so strenuous as today, I think,” Rosa said feelingly. “Other than that, I fear I am at a loss to suggest anything. We tend to spend what leisure time we have in the Schwarzwald very quietly.”

  Really, whenever she thought of free time, the first thing that sprang to her mind was reading. A pile of cushions between the roots of a tree in summer, or warmly toasting by the fire in winter with a new book—this was her notion of a fine way to spend a few hours.

  “If I may suggest, my lord?” The butler, splendidly attired in old-fashioned livery that included knee breeches, was supervising the servants out here on the terrace, standing not far from the Graf, and interjected his few words diffidently and with profound respect.

  “By all means, Bergdorf, suggest away!” the Graf exclaimed.

  The butler bowed. “There is a band of gypsies camped down at the meadow you reserve for them. I could send to see if they would be willing to provide some entertainment on the morrow, in the evening.”

  Rosa perked up at that suggestion. The Bruderschaft and the Romany got along well together, as did most Elemental Magicians—magic ran strongly in the Romany blood, and while the Roma did not scruple to work their tricks on most gadjo, they never would do so on fellow magicians. That was probably why the Graf had a designated safe area for the Roma to camp in; it kept them secure from persecution, and discouraged mischief on the part of the Roma, who would not bring trouble to one who was willing to host them.

  “That is an excellent plan; please see to it, Bergdorf. And even if they are unwilling or have nothing to entertain us with, make sure you tender my respects, and deliver the usual provender.” Rosa smiled at that last, for the Graf was wise. Offer the Roma hospitality and they would confine themselves to gathering what they could find in the forest and setting snares for rabbits.

  She liked gypsies, and yet felt sad for them at the same time. Very few cared to host them. They were persecuted in nearly every land. And you could go on about “the romance of the road” all you liked, but the road was a very, very hard life and there was nothing romantic about being crammed, entire families, into a wagon the size of her bedroom. She hoped they would come, for she loved to watch gypsy dancing, and to listen to their melancholy, yet defiant, music.

  “Since the children were essentially deprived of their Hunt today, why not arrange some contests for them during the day?” she ventured to suggest, as she took a lounging chair near the Graf and Gunther. “Archery, perhaps. Croquet and shuttlecock. Footraces? That sort of thing? There could be prizes. That way they would get over not winning the Hunt prize.”

  “Another excellent suggestion.” The Graf nodded. “Wear the little creatures out all afternoon so that supper makes them sleepy and we can send them off to bed at sunset and get them out from underfoot.”

  “My dear Count!” exclaimed one of the mothers, half laughing and half in reproach, “You have such an unromantic view of children!”

  “Chil
dren are unromantic beings, my lady,” the Graf retorted, waggling a finger at her. “Little savages, in fact. There is not a sentimental bone in a child’s body, I do assure you. The best thing one can do for them on a daily basis is wear them out so they sleep well at night, and by way of education stuff their heads full of what you would like them to know in the fond hope they will actually retain some of it.”

  Evidently the lady in question knew the Graf well enough not to be offended, because she laughed. “A good thing you never had any of your own, then,” she retorted. “That is an appalling way to raise a child! Oh, fresh air and sunshine and a great deal of exercise, but if you wish a child to learn, you must find a way to make him love to learn. Stuffing their little heads full will only make them sick of learning and turn them into very dull adults.”

  Torches had been set up all around the terrace, and each of the little tables had its own lantern, so there was plenty of light. The Graf had remarkably comfortable outdoor furniture, not stiff wood or wrought iron, but yielding wickerwork with cushions. She wished she could whisk some of it away to the Lodge.

  The men were drinking port and smoking cigars now, while the ladies sipped sherry or coffee—thanks to Marie, Rosa knew that if this had been a “real” gathering, the men and women would be divided into two different rooms. The men would be smoking and drinking in exclusively male company, in the billiard room, while the ladies occupied the parlor. Perhaps some of the younger men—especially if they were interested in the young ladies—would adjourn to the parlor, but only after a suitable interval in exclusively masculine company.

  What a ridiculous custom! Marie said it was because men would use the opportunity to speak of “serious” topics, politics, business, and the like—as if women weren’t just as interested in those things as men! But there it was: outside of the circles of the Elemental Mages—or the circles of the bohemian artists and writers and musicians—such topics were not thought “suitable” for female minds.

  Rosa hoped profoundly that if she ever did need to operate in “Society,” it would not be for long. She wasn’t sure she could bear the boredom.

  One of the professor’s students, though only an Air Mage, had somehow persuaded some sylphs to send all the smoke away from the ladies, and a good thing, too. Although Gunther and some of the other men of the Bruderschaft enjoyed their cigars of an evening, Rosa could not abide the smell of the things and generally left for her own room when they lit up.

  She had found a very comfortable lounging chair, and the lassitude that usually came on her after a difficult fight made her disinclined to move. From here, the garden illuminations were quite beautiful, especially around the fountain, where the water sparkled in the light like a continuous firework display.

  “Are you longing for your forest, Master Rosa?” asked Markos diffidently. He was not smoking a nasty cigar, so Rosa beckoned him to come closer. He pulled up a wicker chair near her and took a seat.

  “Not at all at the moment,” she replied. “The Schwarzwald is more than a little intimidating by night, and I generally don’t venture far from the Lodge unless I have to. The forest grows so closely around the Lodge itself that we have no pretty view at all by night, much less an illuminated landscape like this one. I will probably miss the forest soon, but right now, there is a great deal to be said in favor of a tamed and domesticated garden.”

  “Not all that tamed.” He peered down below him. “The Count has made it a home for all sorts of our allies. I see an undine or three in the fountain, lots of small things scurrying in and out of hiding in the garden, and sylphs and salamanders playing about the lights.”

  She shifted over to mage-sight, and saw what he had, although the Elementals were being cautious about revealing themselves too much.

  “You have sharp eyes. Does that come with being a shifter?” she asked. She tried to keep her tone neutral so he would not take that as some sort of attack.

  “On the contrary, it is just practice at looking for the signs of our allies in any environment. Like most canines, the wolf’s vision is restricted; I tend to be able to distinguish movement better than a human, but that is all. Shifted, I hunt with my nose rather than my eyes.” He turned toward her, slightly, examining her expression. Probably looking for disapproval.

  “Your cousin spoke eloquently on your behalf.” She waited to see what his reaction to that would be. “On behalf of your entire family, in fact, but particularly for you.”

  “My cousin is a very good friend, and has been for all our lives,” said Markos. “I could not ask for a better. Although we are only distantly related, he was in and out of our house as much as his own. And that is despite a difference in rank and circumstances. His father is a wealthy merchant; mine is a sheep farmer. He persuaded my father to let me go to university in Budapest when he went.”

  “Oh really?” That was unexpected. Why would a werewolf wish to go to university? “And what did you study?”

  “Latin, Greek, and History.” Markos shrugged, an expression nearly identical to the one his cousin used. Rosa got the impression that they shrugged when they were at a momentary loss for words. “Not at all practical, I fear, but it was the knowledge that I craved. I attained a degree. Dominik studied medicine but didn’t stay long enough to be given a Doctor of Medicine degree, and I left when he did.” Markos smiled. “We were both homesick, we were both very, very tired of the city, and he said he had learned all a healer needed to know from ‘scientific’ medicine.”

  If he attained a degree, he must have been there three or four years at least. How could an Earth Mage live in a city that long? “I wonder that he tried at all. So much of what passes for medicine is torture under the guise of helping,” she observed. “In many ways we are no better than the ancients in how we treat injury and illness. But I am surprised that two Earth Mages could abide the city for any length of time at all.”

  “Budapest is pleasant, for a city.” Markos looked over the low wall around the terrace for a moment. “And the university is a green haven inside it. We had plenty of opportunities to go on short trips to inns just outside the city, thanks to his father. Although—” He paused for a moment, and laughed. “Well, you are no delicate flower. Many of those inns were used by wealthy men to entertain their mistresses, in the pleasant months. We often found our entire bills taken care of by gentlemen who feared we had seen something they didn’t want us to see.”

  “I don’t think I could bring myself to live there, regardless,” she replied, though she was highly amused at the confession about the inns.

  “I don’t know how Dom did.” He looked down into his port glass; the wine seemed to be mostly untasted. “I at least could always shift and run out into the countryside whenever things grew too oppressive. He didn’t have that escape. And he is a Master. It must have been terribly difficult for him, yet he never complained.”

  Her curiosity became unbearable. There was something she had always wanted to know, and never had the chance to ask, since asking questions of a beast that is trying to murder you is not likely to elicit answers. But here she had a “beast” captive, so to speak, so she asked it now.

  “What becomes of your clothing? When you change, I mean.” She looked into his startled eyes fearlessly.

  He blushed a bright scarlet.

  She was puzzled for a moment—then the answer hit her and she laughed out loud. Fortunately everyone else was so involved in their own conversations—many of which were eliciting laughter—that no one looked over at them.

  “You shift nude!” she chortled.

  He flushed even redder. “Well . . . er . . . yes . . . Wolves don’t wear clothing, after all,” he stammered.

  “But what do you do when you shift back?” she wanted to know. “Didn’t your cousin say you had run here as a wolf? I can’t imagine turning up at the Count’s door without a stitch on!”

  “I
would never be so rude!” he exclaimed indignantly. “There is a—a protocol for this. When we are just making a local run, we shift in private, such as in our rooms. If we are going somewhere, we carry a change of clothing in a harness on our back. If we are hunting, we arrange for a change of clothing to be with us—usually with our companions. We never hunt alone. That would be foolish.”

  Clearly, when he said “hunt,” he wasn’t talking about game-hunting. “But what if you—I don’t know—want to chase rabbits or something?” she asked.

  His color normalized, and his expression grew very serious. “Unless we absolutely must, we do not hunt for game,” he replied. “That is . . . it is not advised. The more we act like wolves, the more we allow the wolf instincts to run free, the harder it is to remain human within the wolf. Hunting—and especially killing—these evoke particularly powerful instincts. So we don’t risk it. I had money with me when I ran here. When I got hungry, I shifted, found an inn, and ate like a civilized man.”

  She remembered then what the alvar had said when she asked it for its opinion of Markos. “There is a danger. If the man runs as a wolf for too long, the man is lost forever in the wolf.”

  “Is the danger the same for those who shift by sorcery?” she asked.

  He nodded. “And the more closely entwined with blood magic the sorcery is, the more likely it is that when the shift happens, the wolf becomes the dominant personality. As for those poor souls who are infected—” He shook his head. “—the poor wretches have no chance. When they shift, because they have not been trained from birth the way my family has been, it is worse than just the wolf overcoming the man. It is the worst of both man and beast. Every violent thought the man has ever had is acted upon. The wolf has no fear of man, and only knows that such-and-so is an enemy and must be destroyed.”