The Dragon Horn

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Of course,” Lady Belgorod said, “you are welcome in this house until then.”

  Sir Karlo inclined his head. “Thank you, milady. Yet I am reluctant to idly rest in leisure and feast off your bounty. Surely, I can be of service. I overheard several grooms say that Yury wounded a white wolf today. Perhaps tomorrow Sir Petor will permit me to help him hunt down this wolf.”

  “I have other tasks on the morrow,” Petor said.

  “I could go with Sir Karlo,” Yury offered.

  “Yes,” Karlo said, “let the hunter return to the field of honor for another try.”

  Lady Belgorod appeared uneasy.

  “I only ask one condition to the hunt,” Sir Karlo said.

  “Yes?” asked Petor.

  “I’ve become accustomed to hunting without hounds,” Karlo said. “I deem it less a challenge to hunt with hounds than without them.”

  “You hunt wolves without hounds?” Petor asked in disbelief.

  “I do.”

  Ivan saw that Dimitri appeared thoughtful.

  “What say you, Sir Petor?” Karlo asked. “Will you allow the hunt?”

  Petor knuckled his mustache.

  “My son and I would join you in the hunt,” Dimitri said.

  Karlo paused but a moment. “You would be most welcome.”

  “Wonderful!” Yury said. “Then the hunt is on. Is it not, Brother?”

  “Yes, of course,” Petor said.

  Sir Karlo slapped the table so cutlery jangled. “Good!”

  Many of the farmers nodded in approval.

  “I ask, however,” Lady Belgorod said, “for a show of hands of those farmers who will join the hunt? My son hunted without the aid of any wood wise farmers today. All here know that Master Volok and Petor always hunt with the help of sturdy yeomen.”

  Magda nodded.

  Several farmers raised their hands. Ivan raised his hand, too.

  “No, Ivan,” Petor said. “I need you tomorrow with me.”

  Ivan wondered what Petor planned to do. He shrugged, too tired to care. It wasn’t long, despite all the excitement, that he yawned.

  Lady Belgorod rose. “I believe that for me the feast is over.”

  Everyone rose as Lady Belgorod and her maidens walked out. Magda followed, as did Ivan. He wanted to check up on Janek and then on the hounds. Besides, Ivan felt dead tired. It was time to go to the kennel and get some well-deserved sleep.

  -5-

  A rough hand shook Ivan awake early the next morning. Bleary-eyed and sore, Ivan lifted himself with his elbow to peer at Belsky the Cowherd.

  “Master Petor wishes to make an early start,” Belsky said.

  Ivan grunted and fell back against his pillow. From the foot of the cot, Stribog, with his head resting on his paws, watched Belsky closely.

  “Did you hear me?” Belsky asked.

  “I did.” Ivan peered out the door as Belsky took his leave. He groaned. Darkness still held sway. Ivan almost pulled his covers back over his head. His legs were sore although without being stiff. Still, he felt drained from yesterday’s activities.

  “But I won’t get anything done lying here,” he told Stribog. He flipped off the heavy blanket and, because he could see his breath, he quickly put on his clothes. After he splashed his face with water, he grabbed a bucket and began his morning chores. The sun rose later as he ran his last batch of hounds into the kennel. After putting up Stribog and giving Janek his instructions for the day, Ivan found Petor in the kitchen.

  “Finished with your chores?” Petor asked.

  Ivan grunted as he sat at the table. Mary set a bowl of porridge before him and a hot cup of broth. Hungrily, he wolfed down both. Petor sipped a cup of broth as he talked quietly with Mary. Soon, Ivan pushed aside his bowls.

  “Bring the sleigh around to the mill,” Petor said.

  Ivan hustled to the barn. The stable boy waited with a sleigh and a harnessed, two-horse team. After a few brief words, Ivan climbed aboard and flicked the reins. Bells jingled as he drove to the stone-built mill. Petor held open the gate there and waved Ivan through. After locking the gate, Petor climbed in. He set his sheathed sword at his feet and reached back for two heavy blankets. As Ivan and he tucked their blankets around their legs and tightened their scarves, Petor told him to head to Farmer Danko’s house.

  It was a dreary day, full of cold cloud-cover and an icy breeze. Neither Ivan nor Petor spoke, content rather to keep their lips sealed behind their scarves. Seven miles later Ivan pulled into Farmer Danko’s yard. Danko had a well-built house. Three children hurled snowballs at each other in front of it. The oldest two did their morning chores.

  “Ah, Master Petor!” a cheery, heavily bundled man shouted from the barn. “Welcome! Welcome!”

  Red-nosed Farmer Danko doffed his hat to Petor. He told his eldest son, who was two years younger than Ivan, to look after the sleigh. Then Danko tugged Petor and waved for Ivan to join them in the house. Petor and Danko talked quietly while Ivan trailed behind. Soon they sat in the warm kitchen. Danko’s smiling wife ladled them hot porridge and handed each a steaming cup of broth. After eating his fill, Ivan went over to the fireplace, warming his hands and face.

  He wondered how Yury and Feodor fared. This was a bad day to be hunting. It wasn’t that great of a day to be sleighing across the countryside, either.

  “Ivan,” Petor called from the table. “Come join us.”

  Ivan put on his mittens and scarf, and followed them outside. Farmer Danko led them to the back of the barn and into a small area beside the pigsty. His oldest son held back a mother-dog with sagging teats. Five pups playfully yipped in the straw.

  Ivan grinned, but made no move toward them.

  “Take a closer look,” Petor said.

  The pups vied to be under Ivan’s hand and nipped one another’s ears. He laughed and tried to touch them all at once.

  “What do you notice most about them?” Petor asked.

  Ivan examined them closely. “They have wilding blood in them.”

  “Very good,” said Farmer Danko, who looked impressed.

  “What do you think?” Petor asked. “Would these make good guard hounds?”

  Ivan studied the mother-dog as she watched him. He could feel her desire to slash his hand, but she didn’t whine in anticipation. He tried to envision the pups as fully-grown hounds. He’d trained a half-wilding once. It had been a trying experience.

  Brushing his hands on his breeches, he stood and said, “They could be trained to attack, yes, but wilding-hounds can be dangerous. Usually, they’re only loyal to one person.” He considered. “If you want my opinion, Master Petor….”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t use these as guard hounds.”

  “What would you use him for?” Petor asked.

  Ivan hesitated but finally shook his head. “I’d be worried these hounds would run away and join a wolf pack. They might draw off the other hounds of the kennels. These would always have to be kept away from the others. I suppose they might become good bear-hounds, but only if you used them alone.”

  “I see,” Petor said.

  Farmer Danko thoughtfully inspected Ivan.

  Ivan backed away from the pups and nodded to the boy holding the mother-dog. Released, she went over to her pups, nudging them. She glowered at Ivan before she lay down. The pups yipped and crawled across her as they played.

  “Well,” Petor said to Farmer Danko, “I suppose my trainer is right.”

  “Yes, I suppose he is.”

  “Will you need bear-hounds, Farmer Danko?”

  Danko smiled wryly. “You’re a wily trader, Master Petor.”

  Petor tried to look abashed.

  “What will you offer me for the litter?” Danko asked.

  Petor studied the pigsty’s ceiling as if it contained the answer. “One of my father’s prize calves,” he said.

  Danko eyed the mother-dog. “I would wish for two piglets as well.”

  “Wou
ld that be a fair trade?” Petor asked Ivan.

  “If the hounds proved trainable, yes, more than fair.”

  “Could you properly train them?” Petor asked.

  Ivan knew his talents. Magda had taught him not to be ashamed of them and to speak truthfully when asked about what he could do. “I could train them,” he said.

  “Very well,” Petor said. “I accept your offer, Farmer Danko.”

  “And I accept yours, Master Petor. When will you pick up the pups?”

  “Ivan?” Petor asked.

  Ivan squatted and examined them. “In three weeks,” he said.

  “Three weeks it is,” Petor said.

  Danko said, “Now you must stay for lunch.”

  The two men walked around the farm the rest of the morning, exchanging the latest news. With his hands in his pockets, Ivan trailed them. In time, Danko’s oldest son asked him if he’d like to play checkers in the house.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Petor called back. “Go on, Ivan.”

  Ivan and the younger lad played several games before lunch. The generous meal of thick pea soup, brown bread with tasty butter and sweetmeat pie filled Ivan. After lunch, Petor said goodbye. The dreary weather continued. They both wrapped themselves in their thoughts and said little on the return trip.

  About a mile from home, Ivan asked through his scarf, “Do you think they found the wolf?”

  Petor hesitated, “I couldn’t hunt a wolf without hounds. Does that mean Sir Karlo cannot? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. In this weather, I’d be surprised if they stayed out long.”

  “Do you believe Sir Karlo?” Ivan blurted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you really think he searches for buried treasure?”

  Petor shrugged and he would say no more.

  When they returned home, Petor went inside while Ivan drove to the barn and gave the sleigh to the stable boy. Neither the hunters nor Master Volok had returned yet. Ivan went to the kennel and brushed the fur of a few hounds. Later, together with Janek, he ran some hounds.

  “I’m cold,” Janek said.

  “Go inside,” Ivan told him. “Ask Magda if you can give her a hand with something.”

  Janek ran out the door, then came bursting back in. “Ivan! Ivan!” he yelled.

  “What?”

  “Nadia’s home!”

  Ivan looked up sharply. “They’re really home?” he asked.

  “Yes! Come on!”

  Ivan followed Janek through the back door and into the central hall. Shouting, laughing people milled about. Several folk slapped Master Volok and Gruner the Blacksmith on the back.

  “Ivan!” Magda called. “Over here. Come see Nadia.”

  Ivan shouldered his way forward as his stomach knotted. Nadia, after three years, she was finally home. Once she had been his constant companion. They had laughed, played and kept secrets together. Then, to Magda’s delight, Nadia had shown signs of healing ability. Lessons had soon begun. They were simple lessons at first, but strictly given. Finally, four years ago, Magda and Lady Belgorod had decided that it would be best to send Nadia to the Sisterhood Chapter-House in Pavia. Letters were written. When the next merchant train came up the Old Roman Road, the Sisterhood letter had welcomed Nadia to join them. The little money Magda could afford had been quickly used up. After that, Lady Belgorod had shouldered much of the expense for Nadia’s lodging, food, teachers, travel and all the other sundry items needed by a young woman in a large city. The farmers’ wives had also agreed to shoulder a portion of the burden. Folkwin the Monk had surprised them all and given five silver coins for the cause. Where he’d gotten the money no one knew. That had been three years ago. Now Nadia had returned.

  Finally, Ivan reached Magda, who beamed with delight. Beside her stood a slender young woman with long dark hair braided down to her waist. She wore a costly-white dress tied with a golden cord. A golden-colored torque with a green gem circled her throat. She had smooth skin and straight white teeth. Her eyes glowed a happy green and her full mouth smiled to breaking at all the attention. What Ivan found the most surprising, besides the wonderful workmanship of her clothing, was the change to her figure. It was womanly, although not overly curvaceous. What she didn’t look like was somebody from Belgorod Holding. Instead, she seemed like a young princess full of courtly grace.

  The young woman turned. Her eyes alighted upon him. Impossibly, her smile widened. “Ivan!” She held out her hands. He blushed furiously, feeling clumsy and lumpish. He almost tripped as he advanced the last step. The greatest shock came as she gripped his fingers. Lightning seemed to course up his arms and slam against his chest. All moisture vanished from his mouth.

  “Nadia,” he rasped. He cleared his throat as fast as possible. “Nadia,” he said again, his smile almost reaching his ears.

  “You’ve grown so tall,” she said.

  He nodded awkwardly as he searched for words. Then he realized that he still held her hands. Reluctantly, he let go, and let his leaden arms swing stupidly to his sides.

  “You’ve changed,” he said.

  Lady Belgorod laughed as she stepped beside them. “Yes, indeed,” she said. “Nadia’s time has been well spent. Did you hear that a pack of wolves attacked them?”

  “What?” Ivan asked.

  Lady Belgorod told Nadia, “Master Volok was impressed how you drove off the wolves.”

  Nadia seemed embarrassed. “It was nothing, really. Wolves are easily tricked.”

  “Maybe it is a small matter for one with your skills, dear, but we here at Belgorod are proud that you’ve learned your lessons so well. I find myself bursting with pride.”

  “You’re most kind, milady.”

  Bewildered, Ivan asked, “How did you drive off wolves?”

  “Nadia is an initiate in the Sisterhood’s mystic arts,” Lady Belgorod said.

  “You drove them off with magic?” Ivan asked open-mouthed.

  “I’ve learned other things as well,” Nadia said, smiling. “But I’ve so much more to learn.”

  “Come,” Lady Belgorod told Nadia. “I wish to show you off to several of the ladies who helped pay your way.”

  Nadia moved in a courtly manner, following Lady Belgorod.

  Ivan watched Nadia, amazed at the change. She’d become a lady. It seemed as if she’d never lived here, but had grown up in a royal castle. Her bearing and rich garments made him feel loutish. Even more, though, he was amazed that she’d become an initiate in the mystic arts, as Lady Belgorod had said.

  From the front of the house, somebody swung the door so it banged loudly. Thumping feet pounded toward them. “Make way!” a loud-voiced youth bellowed.

  Everyone turned toward the shouting.

  “Here now,” a man said sternly. “What’s the meaning of this?” The man was almost an exact image of Petor. The differences were a bald dome, a longer and heavier mustache and an even bigger stomach than Petor’s. Master Volok wore a brown linen tunic and scowled fiercely.

  Fully booted and clothed for the cold, Feodor tromped into the room with muddy feet. “Make way!” he shouted. “Make way!”

  Dimitri bulled in after him. He held a bleeding and semiconscious Yury. The throng gasped. “Hurry!” Dimitri roared. “Make way!” He shouldered his way to the crackling fireplace.

  “Set him down!” Magda said in a commanding voice as she pushed people back.

  Ivan stood spellbound. Yury groaned as blood dripped out of his side. Feodor clutched his axe with a bone-white grip. He looked ready to faint. Dimitri, with ragged and bloody scratches across his face, set Yury near the fireplace. Magda used a knife that seemed to appear magically and she cut away the crude and bloody bandage swathing Yury’s torso. As she worked, Master Volok and Lady Belgorod urged the crowd out of the room. Ivan backed away into a corner as Nadia joined her mother.

  Volok turned a fierce face toward Dimitri. “What happened?”

  Before Dimitri could speak, Petor said,
“Yury went wolf-hunting with the visitors.”

  “Visitors?” Volok spat.

  “Yes, Sir Volok, visitors.”

  Volok turned and eyed Sir Karlo. The big knight wore a thick black jacket stained with blood. He gripped a gory spear. Behind him, his three brutish servants looked on.

  Volok glanced at his wife. Lady Belgorod whispered in his ear. He nodded and said brusquely, “Await me in the Feast Hall.”

  Sir Karlo, who was the very image of the masterful hero, eyed the overweight, bald knight. “As you wish, sir,” he finally said. He bowed to Lady Belgorod and then marched with his men to the Feast Hall.

  Still scowling, listening again to a whispering Lady Belgorod, Volok spotted his squire. He was a blocky knight’s son from a holding twenty miles distant. “Get my sword,” Volok snapped. “And Petor’s as well. And wear your own.”

  “Father?” Petor asked as the squire raced off.

  Volok brushed aside Petor’s words as Lady Belgorod stepped up to Magda. “How is he?”

  Magda’s sleeves were rolled back as she pressed a rag against Yury’s side. A frown creased her wrinkled forehead and her gray hair was disarrayed.

  Nadia, who had slid closer, spoke up. “Something is wrong here.”

  “Wrong?” Volok asked.

  Nadia fingered her torque as she studied Yury.

  Magda said, “Bring me boiled water and salt.” Lady Belgorod pointed to Petor. He raced out of the room. “Nadia,” Magda said, “take a look at this.”

  Nadia hiked up her costly-white dress and knelt beside her mother. “It isn’t deep,” she said.

  “But he bleeds freely,” Magda said. “Do you know why?”

  The green gem in Nadia’s torque seemed to glow for a moment. Slowly, she shook her head.

  Magda pressed a new cloth against the wound.

  Volok’s head snapped up and he glared at Dimitri. “What happened?”

  Dimitri frowned and plucked at his great beard. “Feodor saw what happened.”

  Master Volok turned to Feodor. “Speak, lad! Tell me what you saw.”

  Feodor didn’t stir. He stood transfixed, staring at Yury.

  Nadia gently pried Feodor’s white-knuckled hand from his axe. She handed the axe to Ivan, who set it on the fireplace mantle. “Feodor,” Nadia said, shaking him. “Master Volok asked you a question.”