The Dragon Horn

by Vaughn Heppner

  “If any bear-nets need mending,” Petor said, “you can fix them in the parlor.”

  “Are we going to be hunting bears soon?” Ivan asked.

  Petor took his time answering. “No, but maybe we’ll trap a few wolves.” With that, he arose and took his leave.

  “I don’t like all this talk about wolves,” Mary said from the washing basin.

  Ivan bantered with her a bit and then realized she was serious. With the wolves chasing Master Volok’s sleigh and those that had attacked Yury and Karlo, Mary couldn’t shake the idea that wolves would besiege the house.

  “That’s crazy,” Ivan told her. “Look, a pack of white wolves have come down out of the mountains. That’s all. They’re hungry. Yesterday two of them died. The rest are sure to high-tail it somewhere else now.”

  Yury had long ago infected Mary with his fantastic stories. She now lowered her voice and said, “What about storm wolves?”

  “Storm wolves? What do you mean?”

  “You know the old tales.”

  Sure he did, but they were tales that’s it. Then he got to wondering. Axe People existed. The Sisterhood taught magic to those with ‘the talent.’ Could it really be that long ago a vile lord had almost swamped the world with evil? That only with the gathering of all the good folk of the world, had the evil lord been pulled down from power? Maybe there were storm wolves, after all.

  Mary finished cleaning the porridge bowls. She wiped her hands on her apron and sat at the table. “After the moot I spoke with Nadia. We stayed up late. Finally, early this morning, Nadia told me that rumors of storm wolves have reached Pavia.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “You know what storm wolves are, don’t you?”

  Of course he knew. In the old tales, storm wolves were evil wolves. Well, they were more than that. Storm wolves served evil. In time that had changed them from normal-sized wolves to huge, slavering beasts noted for savagery and berserk courage.

  “What else did Nadia say?” Ivan asked.

  Mary lowered her voice. “She said that from the plains of the Avars have came rumors of wolf-riders and a race of warriors called Magyars.” Mary wiped her hands again, as if by her action she warded off evil.

  “Did anyone in Pavia actually see these so-called storm wolves?” Ivan asked.

  “What? You don’t believe Nadia?”

  “I believe people heard rumors, sure,” Ivan said. “But people are always hearing rumors.” He laughed. “You know how farmers are always running here to tell Master Volok about witches they’ve seen or nightmares who haunt their fields. The witches turn out to be old women who have lost their wits and the nightmares are simply horses that have become wild again.”

  “You don’t believe in storm wolves?” Mary asked.

  Ivan chewed that over. Dimitri and Feodor had seen Axe People. Axe People existed. Nadia practiced some sort of mystic art—magic was real therefore. That didn’t mean that every wild story had to be true.

  “Maybe storm wolves do exist,” Ivan admitted. “But all Nadia heard were rumors. And out of the Avar Plains, too. Everyone knows that the plains are a wild place. I bet people tell tall tales in Pavia just for the fun of it. Besides, even if the rumors of storm wolves were true, remember that they come from the southern plains. Our white wolves came out of the mountains, the north.”

  “How do you know that?” Mary asked.

  Rising, Ivan laughed. “That’s where white wolves always come from.”

  Once more Mary twisted her hands in her apron. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Sure I am,” he said, patting her on the shoulder.

  She gave him a weak smile. “I’m worried. What if those storm wolves come here? What if I’m trapped outside when they come?”

  “Mary!” he said. “Don’t worry. If there are storm wolves, they’re far away in the grasslands. Do you have any idea of how far away that is?”

  She gave him a hopeful look.

  “Far!” he said.

  Mary’s smile grew stronger.

  “Besides, my hounds will howl at the first smell of wolf. Then Petor, Feodor and I will chase them away.”

  “Or maybe Sir Karlo can kill them.”

  Her vehemence shocked Ivan. Hunting a wolf now and again was one thing. Killing packs of them...no, that didn’t serve any purpose. Nor did he like the way Mary looked to Sir Karlo to save them. Had she said that because of things Nadia had told her about the knight?

  “This is a hard winter,” he said. “You’ve seen how it’s snowed more than usual. That means it’s harder for the wolves to track prey. That’s the only reason we’re having trouble with them. When it warms up a bit, the wolves won’t bother us. Believe me, they like being near us as much as we like them near us. In other words, wolves are scared of people.”

  “Then why did Yury get chewed?”

  “No doubt he launched himself at them.” Ivan nodded. “I bet if we questioned Sir Karlo enough, he’d tell us that Yury came upon them as they devoured a kill. That’s not a good time to attack wolves. That’s when they’ll turn at bay.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry, Mary,” he said, patting her shoulder. “My hounds and I will make sure you’re safe.” Her smile of gratitude made him feel good. It also made him resolved to talk with Nadia. She should watch what she told people. Not everyone was as hardheaded as he was. Maybe that’s why he liked Dimitri and Feodor. They had a wide-open view of the world, meaning, they viewed the world with open eyes and saw what really happened. Yury viewed the world through a stained glass window. He saw strange colors and distortions.

  Ivan stepped outside. In the back of the kennel lay the rolled-up nets. One by one, he took out the bear-nets and unrolled them on the snow. Three needed work.

  Each net was made up of heavy ropes twined together to make hundreds of squares. Rabbit-nets had weights along the edges. But then one threw rabbit-nets. Bear-nets were dropped. Occasionally, one made a fence out of bear-nets, driving the animal into them.

  Ivan lay the three aside and brought the rest back into the kennel. Clouds hid the sun. A wind whisked snow through the yard. He shivered as he hefted the three rolled-up nets. Then he hurried to the house, glad that Petor had said he could work in the parlor. He ran down the walkway and entered through the front door.

  Karlo and a bundled-up Yury glanced at him as he stomped snow off his boots. The silver-haired knight sat back in a huge stuffed chair. Yury sat on a stool near the fire. A thick quilt blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. A fire warmed his back. A table stood between the knight and squire. Upon the table lay an ivory chessboard.

  “Whose winning?” asked Ivan.

  “The trainer shows interest,” Sir Karlo said in a faintly mocking tone.

  “He can play,” Yury told Karlo.

  Silver eyebrows rose.

  “I taught him,” Yury said.

  “As one teaches a bear to walk?” asked Karlo.

  Yury frowned before he nodded, saying, “Oh, I see. That’s a joke.”

  “But in poor taste,” Karlo said. “Forgive me.” He didn’t ask for Ivan’s forgiveness, though.

  Yury grunted. The board absorbed his interest.

  Ivan wiped his boots and rolled out the first net near the stained glass window. The shutters were open and admitted the muted sunlight. The stained glass had been imported all the way from Milan. It had turned the parlor into one of the holding’s best-loved rooms. It was a big room with several deer heads and one bear on the wall. Two boar-spears had been crossed over a polished plaque. Two woven tapestries, of hunters chasing elk, hung on the walls. Various chairs were scattered throughout the room, but now only the three of them occupied it.

  “It’s cold today,” Ivan said.

  “Don’t interrupt the game,” Sir Karlo said.

  Ivan scowled. He hadn’t been talking to the knight. He looked up from where he knelt, but both Karlo and Yury stared at the chessmen. Yury concentrated
in his usual way: eyes fixated, brow furrowed, right forefinger gently rubbing his cheek. Karlo sat back, his look hooded. Every once in awhile he sucked in his upper lip, chewing over it with his white teeth.

  Yury’s right hand hovered over a piece as his eyes roved across the board. He abruptly yanked the hand back, only to snake it out over another piece. Finally, hesitantly, Yury slid his chosen piece to its new spot. Karlo sank even further into his chair, becoming a statue. Suddenly, decisively, he reached out, picked up his piece and clunked it onto its new square.

  Yury had captured three of Karlo’s pieces. Karlo only had two of Yury’s.

  Ivan bent to his task. Where a strand had broken, he tied on new rope. Where a piece had frayed, he took out his kit and sewed thread around it.

  The fire crackled as chessmen slid across the board or were clunked onto a new spot. Once, Yury said, “This is Sir Karlo’s board. It’s made of Gronlandia ivory.”

  Gronlandia was a mythical land. It was supposed to be made up of ice and snow, an island surrounded by icebergs: floating ice mountains, if the stories could be believed.

  Magda entered and made Yury drink a steaming mug of chicken soup. “How are you feeling,” she asked quietly.

  “Tired,” Yury admitted.

  “Are you winning?” Magda asked.

  “He is,” Karlo said brusquely.

  “And how are you, Ivan?” she asked.

  “A lot warmer now,” he said. “Yourself?”

  “Quite fine,” she said.

  Karlo cleared his throat. He sounded annoyed.

  “This is an important game,” Yury said softly.

  “Oh?” asked Magda. “Are you wagering?”

  Yury paused, “I suppose we are.”

  Ivan perked up, listening more carefully.

  “What’s the wager?” asked Magda.

  “If we tell you, will you let us play in peace?” Karlo asked.

  Magda, who had been smiling, only smiled wider and more sweetly. “Why of course, Sir Knight.”

  Karlo said, “I wagered two silver pieces against that knife of his.”

  “His father gave him that,” Magda said.

  “Don’t worry,” Yury said quietly.

  Magda studied him, then the board. “The knife isn’t worth two silver pieces,” she said. “Why would you want one of his personal belongings?” she asked Karlo.

  That brought Karlo out of his chair. He towered over her. “Please, good woman, let us play in peace. If I chose to give him the better of a wager that is my business.”

  “Is it?” Magda asked, not backing down.

  Yury slid one of his chessmen. “Check,” he said.

  Both Karlo and Magda stared down at the board. Karlo grunted, slouching back into the stuffed chair. He took longer than normal, but finally clunked his king out of danger.

  Two moves later, Yury said, “Checkmate.”

  Karlo, with an irritated look on his face, handed two silver pieces to Yury.

  “Again?” Yury asked.

  “Two silver against two of mine?” Karlo asked.

  “Yes,” Yury said.

  “Done,” said the knight.

  Magda turned away and took her leave.

  The second game moved along as before. Ivan heard the slides and the clunks as he repaired the bear-nets. Whenever he looked up, Yury either rubbed his cheek or rubbed his fingertips above the piece he pondered moving. Sir Karlo reminded Ivan of a lazy eagle he’d seen once atop a dead tree, one barren of leaves. The eagle had puffed-out its feathers, preening itself, all the while keeping a sharp lookout at the rabbits below. Finally, when the rabbits had gotten comfortable, the eagle swooped down to strike.

  “Tired?” Karlo asked later.

  “I’m a little chilly,” Yury said. “It’ll pass.”

  “Perhaps we should adjourn and pick up the game later.”

  “No, I’ll see this through,” Yury said.

  “Ah, so speaks a true hunter,” Karlo said. “Yet sometimes a bit of prudence can work miracles. If you’re weary, why let me take advantage of it?”

  Ivan wondered that himself. Then he saw Nadia. She watched from the doorway. She turned abruptly and walked away.

  “You haven’t beaten me yet,” Yury said.

  “That’s true,” Karlo said. “Yet the advantage is mine.”

  Yury squinted at the board. Ivan recognized the look. He’d seen it the few times that he gotten ahead of Yury in pieces. Now grim stubbornness and determination would take hold of the Belgorod squire. He’d move more slowly, almost timidly, but never did he set more bitter traps then when ‘the look’ dropped onto his face.

  Curious, Ivan hurried with the last few strands. Thus, he pricked himself with the needle, muttered a curse and wiped the spot of blood on his breeches. He tied off the thread and rolled up the net. He threw it atop the other two and then pulled up a stool to watch the game.

  Karlo scowled, but said nothing.

  Ivan could see that Yury was in trouble. Karlo had his queen, although Yury had his castle in exchange. Otherwise, they had both captured six identical pieces from each other.

  “Does it look familiar?” Yury asked.

  “The game?” asked Ivan.

  Yury nodded. Karlo sighed heavily.

  Ignoring the big knight, Ivan said, “No. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Watch,” Yury said. He moved his castle.

  Ivan examined Karlo as the knight pondered his move.

  Karlo said, “Am I a lout or a stray dog?”

  “Milord?” asked Ivan.

  “You gape at me in a most boorish manner,” Karlo said, lifting his gaze.

  Ivan felt the menace in the big knight as the icicle eyes measured him. “Forgive me, milord,” he whispered, afraid that Karlo would lash out at him. At that moment, the Bavarian seemed quite capable of murder...nay, as those hard eyes bored into him Ivan knew that Karlo could cut out his heart for the mere infraction of displeasing him with his presence. He tried to look away, but found himself trapped by Karlo’s will. Ivan shivered as a feeling of dread iced down his spine.

  The tiniest of smiles played upon Karlo’s lips. It was a contemptuous smile. It seemed to say that he’d measured Ivan and found him wanting in some crucial and very important way.

  “Speak no more,” Karlo warned.

  Ivan barely managed a nod.

  Karlo clunked his queen out of danger.

  Ivan stared at the board. He feared Karlo, and he knew now that his hounds had been right. This was a dangerous man. The menace radiated from him. Oh, he could be charming, as he’d charmed Yury and Nadia, but underneath that lay...what, exactly? Ivan didn’t know, but he knew that he didn’t want to find out.

  Yury coughed. Sweat dotted his brow. Every once in awhile he shivered and tightened the quilt around his shoulders.

  Without a word, Ivan threw more logs onto the fire. He went into the kitchen and hurried back with a glass of water. Yury drank greedily and asked for more.

  “Bring me some beer,” Karlo ordered.

  Ivan brought back both. A glance at the board showed him that Yury still pressed the attack. It seemed like a stupid attack. He chased Karlo’s queen, but once the queen was out of danger, Karlo would be able to mount a vicious counterattack.

  “Do you ever defend?” Karlo asked.

  Yury didn’t answer. He coughed instead.

  “Hmm,” said Karlo. He sipped his beer and studied the board. A moment later he moved.

  Yury moved his castle and then he hissed between his teeth and looked up in alarm. “Can I take that move back?” he asked.

  “You took your hand off the piece,” Karlo said.

  “I know,” Yury said. “But...” He shook his head. “No, you’re right. Forgive me for asking.”

  “No, no, that’s quite all right,” Karlo said. “Normally I wouldn’t mind. But we wagered.” He smiled in a disarming way. “And you’ve already beaten me once.”

  “Yes, ye
s. I understand.”

  “I’m sorry. It was a good game.”

  Yury shrugged moodily.

  Karlo brought up his bishop. “Check,” he said.

  Yury moved his king to the only spot possible.

  Now Karlo moved his queen. “Check,” he said again.

  Yury moved a pawn into place, protecting his king. What that did, however, was open a path for Yury’s bishop. Because of how Karlo’s queen had moved, it now uncovered his king. The only place the king could move was covered by Yury’s castle.

  “Checkmate,” Yury said, with a broad smile on his face.

  Whatever blood was in Karlo’s pale face seemed to drain away. It made his silver hair shine and his pale blue eyes blaze with murder-lust. Yury didn’t notice because he drank his glass of water.

  Ivan almost leaped up in front of Yury, certain that Karlo would drive his dirk into his best friend’s chest.

  “You tricked me,” Karlo whispered.

  “Eh? What?” Yury asked, his broad smile still in place as he set down the empty glass.

  The transformation to Karlo stunned Ivan. He didn’t think anyone capable of such quick deception. The loss angered the knight. Now, however, Karlo smiled broadly at Yury.

  “Well done, Squire!” Sir Karlo almost shouted. “Well done, indeed. You tricked me with your question.”

  “You mean when I asked if I could take my move back?” Yury asked.

  “Yes.” Karlo stuck out his hand, the huge smile still on his face. They shook hands.

  “Do you remember now?” Yury asked Ivan.

  Ivan could only gape at his friend. Didn’t Yury realize that he was in deadly peril? Didn’t he know that Karlo seethed in hatred because of the loss? This was all show, a mask. A trick, Ivan told himself.

  “Oh, you’re a sly one, Yury Belgorod,” Karlo said. He pulled two silver coins from his pouch and tinkled them onto the board. “Here are your winnings.”

  “I feel a bit badly,” Yury said, although he scooped up the coins. “It was a trick and this is a gentleman’s game. Here, let me give you my dagger.” He began to unbuckle it.

  Ivan wanted to tell him not to do that.

  “No, no,” Karlo said. “There’s no need for that.”