“That’s sweet, Ivan.”
He hated how she said that. He plowed on, nevertheless. “So knowing how I feel, you’d have to know that I want you to stay. If you think you’ll be happier with Sir Karlo, though, then I’ll help you.”
The door opened behind him. It felt as if Death breathed down his neck. Nadia’s eyes became as round as coins. Ivan turned, and his blood froze. Karlo stood behind him in silvery chain mail. He held his sword. His mouth was set in a tight line. Mayhem danced in his eyes.
“So,” Karlo growled, “you’re interfering once more.”
“He’s not,” Nadia said.
The big knight, who made the room feel small, frowned at his ladylove.
“Ivan’s been telling me that he’ll help me escape.”
Karlo’s hard face showed surprise. Then contempt filled it. Even more quickly, he nodded as he sheathed his sword.
Ivan felt as if the Angel of Death had just flown by.
“But I can’t do it, milord,” Nadia said.
Karlo’s eyes narrowed.
“At least, not until you come back,” she said.
“Why the change of heart, my love?” asked Karlo.
“I-I need to think. I-I can’t slink off from my home. I have to leave in style.”
“Ah. Of course. I understand. Now I feel myself to have played the knave, milady. Forgive me.”
“No,” Nadia said, rushing into his strong arms. “It was my fault. I pushed this on you. Can you give me the weeks you’re away to think on what you’ve said?”
“Of course, my love,” he said, “although the parting will be painful.”
“As it will be for me,” she said, kissing him.
Ivan couldn’t believe this. It was worse than he’d thought. Yury’s plan had maybe bought them a little time, nothing more than that, however.
A board creaked outside.
Karlo let go of Nadia and moved swiftly to the window. His chain mail clinked softly.
“Nadia?” the escort said from the other side of the door.
“Help us,” Karlo whispered to Ivan.
Ivan knew it was a command. He nodded sickly and stepped to the door. As it opened, Karlo opened the window and leaped out.
The escort’s eyes rose in shock upon seeing Ivan. The stiff rebuke began at once. Before he fled to safety, the escort boxed his ears. Worse than any of that, however, was the look of gratitude on Nadia’s face. What a sick joke.
Luckily, he made it to the kennel without running into Karlo or Perun. He had a lot to think about.
-17-
Ivan couldn’t sleep. For what seemed like two hours, he kept staring up at the rafters even though it was too dark to see. Hounds whined in their sleep. A few paced back and forth. Their energy unnerved Ivan. He’d seen a caged lynx once that had paced like that. Hour after hour, the poor beast had lashed its tail and moved back and forth within the tight confines of its cage. Lord Mikulas’s chief herder had brought it in a cart, charging a copper a peek.
Ivan finally rose, donning his clothes and a heavy jacket. Flay was the worst of the pacing hounds. Despite his splint, the dog hobbled on three legs, back and forth, back and forth.
“What’s gotten into you, boy?” Ivan whispered.
Flay whined, but he didn’t stop pacing.
Ivan had never seen Flay like this. Did he have the foaming sickness? Last time Magda had checked, she hadn’t thought so. Still, it was too early to be certain. Ivan peered at the water dish. A dog with the foaming sickness kept drinking and drinking, never able to quench the terrible thirst that led to death. Ivan touched the water. Half full. That was about right for this time of night.
The hounds on either side of Flay nervously watched him. Suddenly, their ears rose as they cocked their heads. One shook its head as if someone had blown on its nose or in its ear. The second dog cowered, moaning softly.
“Stop that,” Ivan said.
Flay never missed a pace. To one end of his small stall to the other, then he turned around and began again. His ears twitched from time to time.
“Come on, now,” Ivan whispered. “You settle down.”
Flay didn’t even look up.
Ivan stepped into the stall. Flay simply paced around him. Ivan squatted and held Flay. The dog quivered. Suddenly his lips rose as a low growl rumbled from his throat.
That shocked Ivan, and hurt his feelings. He didn’t let go, though. “Easy now, fellow. What’s got you so upset, eh?”
Flay’s ears kept twitching. None of these hounds had ever backed off from a bear or wolves. Too many hounds died in summer when they hunted wild boars. The hounds didn’t have sense enough to be afraid of the tusks. Flay feared now. He trembled and began to pant.
“Easy now,” Ivan said. “You calm down, old Flay. There’s nothing that’s going to happen to you in here.”
Another of the pacing hounds stopped and lifted its muzzle. It howled in a mournful way. Flay tried to respond. Ivan shook him, taking the head and peering into an eye.
“What’s wrong, boy? What do you hear?”
The other dog howled. It was a low and eerie sound.
Ivan stood up. “Enough now! You quit.”
The dog obeyed, although it began pacing again.
“What’s wrong, Ivan?” Janek asked in a sleepy voice.
Yes, what was wrong? Something had the hounds spooked. Then Ivan realized that the pacing hounds were his best hearers. The noise from a cracked twig could unerringly lead these particular hounds to their quarry. Could these hounds be hearing something the others couldn’t?
“Ivan?” Janek asked.
“I’m going outside,” Ivan said.
“What for? Belsky and Jarred have guard duty.”
“Lock the door behind me,” Ivan said. “And re-rig the nets.”
“Should I wait up for you?”
“No. Go back to sleep.”
Janek sat up, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. He waited as Ivan collected a bear-net, club and Stribog. Ivan didn’t want to anger Karlo, not after such a close shave this evening. Stribog could keep quiet when ordered. And the back of the holding was his responsibility. If something strange occurred, he was supposed to check. Wends had made winter raids before.
“It’s probably nothing,” Ivan told Janek.
“Okay.”
Ivan stepped outside and heard Janek drop the bar into place. The full moon shined. Stars twinkled around it. Not a cloud could be found. By the house, smoke drifted from one of the chimneys.
“You hear anything?” he asked Stribog. His words came out with white puffs of mist.
Stribog yawned, sending up more mist.
Using the silvery moonlight, Ivan studied the landscape for tracks, but found nothing. He looked up at the moon again. It seemed eerie and baleful, almost like a watching eye. He couldn’t shake the feeling, nor was he able to leave the kennel’s perimeter. Therefore, he watched, waiting for something to happen.
At first, he hardly noticed the calf. Then he saw it out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, almost stealthily, the calf moved from the blacksmith shed and toward the mill. Whenever the icy breeze shifted, the calf froze. Then it would start up again, carefully taking a step at a time.
Why hadn’t Belsky noticed the calf? It was his responsibility to make sure the cattle were locked in the barn each night. How could the calf have gotten out?
Then Stribog noticed it. Ivan dropped his hand onto Stribog’s head. The dog understood, keeping silent.
Ivan watched the calf pass the mill and head to the gate. What did it plan? Ivan’s heart beat faster. With its nose, the calf nudged the latch in a determined way.
Ivan felt his heart hammering. The calf nudged until Ivan heard a click. The calf used its shoulder and pushed. The slow creak was audible in the darkness. It seemed, for a moment, that the calf looked around. Then it walked toward the sapling grove.
Ivan felt dizzy, although his lungs unlocked. He gasped a cold bite
of air. His knees wobbled as he sank against the kennel. Ivan peered at Stribog, half-wondering if the dog would speak. Inside the kennel, Flay gave a mournful howl. It was a lost sound, and it made the hairs on Ivan’s arms stand on end. Ivan didn’t dare look up. He was afraid he’d see a pupil in the moon watching him. Something evil, something malignant watched, or at least prowled near. In that moment, Ivan heard soft piping. The sound drifted from the sapling grove. Fire flickered there as from a torch.
“The crone.”
The calf bounded toward the sapling grove as if it raced to its mother’s milk.
“The crone is stealing the calf,” Ivan whispered in awe. He’d heard Yury tell a story about a piper leading all the rats out of a town.
He had to do something about this. Why am I afraid to move? His brows thundered as he gripped his club harder. I will move. Perun had thrashed him, but he couldn’t let himself fear for the rest of his life. The back of the holding was his responsibility.
Ivan forced his right foot, making himself take a step. In that moment, his rigid fear vanished and the soft piping faded. He still saw the calf frolicking toward the grove, however.
“Let’s go,” he whispered to Stribog.
With the bear-net over his shoulder and Stribog’s leash in his hand, Ivan hurried after the calf. Even though his innards twisted, he planned on capturing the crone and bringing her to Petor. That might clear up some things. Ivan didn’t know what, but his gut feeling told him that he was right.
His long stride ate up the distance. Only when he entered the sapling grove and realized that the calf bounded out of it did he grow more worried. He heard the piping again. Stribog’s hackles rose because of it. Then Ivan heard other sounds as well: loud groans and savage growls.
“Wolves?” Ivan whispered. No, wolves didn’t groan.
Stribog didn’t act as if wolves were out there. His hackles were up, but the dog didn’t strain at the leash the way he would have it he’d smelled wolves.
Ivan blinked sweat out of his eyes. That surprised him. It was too cold for sweat. Then he understood. His body knew things weren’t right tonight and had responded accordingly. Evil walked in darkness. He began to tremble as the groans increased. They sounded wicked, unholy, almost demented.
At the edge of the sapling grove stood an open area, then the beginning of the pines. In among the pines flickered a fire. That’s where the sinister piping came from, where the calf bounded toward and where the strange moans and groans emanated from.
Ivan tried to force himself to stop trembling. It only got worse. At last, he groaned and dropped to one knee. He bent his head and whispered a prayer to Hosar. He asked for courage, and he asked for strength to withstand the evil piping and the soul-numbing effect that it had over him.
Ivan clenched his teeth and drew cold air through his nose. The moon seemed to mock him. At the edge of his consciousness came the desire to cast aside his club and Stribog’s leash. He wanted to run, shout and cavort toward the weird music. He wanted to throw himself around the fire and dance and dance and dance. He wanted to gnash his teeth, slash his limbs and call out to, to…
“No!” he hissed, bending his head low. A shudder ran through him. His mind whirled. He let go of the club and reached down to steady himself. The music licked at his resolve. All he had to do was let go of the leash and twirl to the fire. Then he could join in the ecstasy. Then he could release himself to the madness. Then he could rend, destroy and sate himself upon innocent blood.
“Hosar,” he whispered. “Help keep these evil thoughts from me.”
The piping sounds threatened to drown his reason, to drown his very will.
Stribog’s worried muzzle pressed against Ivan’s cheek. That brought a moment’s respite. A flash of inspiration filled Ivan. He began humming one of the ancient battle hymns of Hosar, the God of Light.
The mad piping lost its grip. Ivan no longer trembled.
He thrust snow into his mouth, letting it wet his dry tongue. Now the sound didn’t beckon. Instead, it felt oily, repulsive and sinister. A portion of it still worked on his mind, however. It made Ivan want to destroy. He picked up his club, wishing to ram a nail through someone’s head.
As he continued to hum the hymn, a fierce resolve took hold. He must cleanse by washing with spilled blood. Even so, Ivan didn’t feel like charging blindly. The incidents with Karlo had taught him that much. Instead, he circled from boulder, to bush, to tree, to boulder, to bush again. He entered the pines three hundred yards away from the fire. He circled that, too, so he came toward the fire from the south. The crone would probably only suspect someone coming from the north, from the great house.
The piping had stopped. Men shouted, and the growling noises continued. Slowly, stealthily, Ivan and Stribog crept toward the fire. Finally, he pulled up at a rock, peering over it. The sight amazed him, even as he hummed ever so softly Hosar’s old battle hymn.
Perun and the other two ruffians cavorted around the crackling fire. They had taken off their tunics. Sweat glistened in the matted hair of their chests. Ivan had never seen such hairy men. One by one, the men took off their boots and then their breeches. Naked, the three hairy and over-muscled men twirled, howling at the moon, calling out names in a growling, savage language. The sight bewildered Ivan, shocked him and in a deep way angered him.
Something ancient and evil occurred here, but he didn’t know what. He saw Karlo standing to the side. The knight wore a dark cloak and his silver chain mail. His belted sword hung at his side. He smiled at his men as a father would at playing children. Licking the knight’s hand was the calf, Master Volok’s best. In Karlo’s other hand was a dark knife, curved and slender.
The piping began anew.
Ivan saw a small, cloaked being sitting upon a rock. A hood hid her features. This, Ivan was certain, was the same crone that he’d seen days ago. The crone held an ebony set of pipes. Her deformed hands seemed to have claws or very long fingernails, and they were hairy. She played an evil song, her head and shoulders bouncing and swaying to the tune.
Perun and the others danced in wild abandon. They howled and threw their heavy arms into the air. At times, they beat their chests and slavered as wild beasts. Once, Ivan thought, he saw the firelight gleam out of their eyes as it would a wolf’s.
Ivan gripped his club as he hummed. He wanted to join the dance. He also wanted to slay these evil men. It amazed him that none of this seemed to affect Stribog. The dog waited, as if willing to take his cue from him.
Karlo shouted the savage language. It seemed like an invocation, a prayer. He held the curved knife up to the moon. The piping slowed. The dancers stopped, and with expectant eyes, they watched the knight.
Karlo cruelly dug his fingers into the calf’s nose. It bawled in fear. Expertly, swiftly, Sir Karlo yanked up the nose. With a deft slash, he cut the throat. Hot blood sprayed. Steam rose in the icy air. Bodily, Karlo shoved the calf at the men. It stumbled with its last life and fell in a heap before Perun and the others. The piping exploded into a frenzy of sound.
Ivan had to look away as Perun and his fellows fell upon the calf. When he looked up again he saw that they were drenched with blood. They clawed at the fresh meat and tore off bloody chunks, bolting them down like hounds. Karlo looked on, with a wicked smile in place.
Nauseated, Ivan staggered away. He didn’t know what to do. Normal men didn’t do that. No, not even bandits did that. He wondered vaguely if his hounds had been able to sense this madness about Karlo. It didn’t matter. He had to run back to the holding and warn everyone. Sir Karlo and his men were wicked, evil, spawns of Darkness. Would this mean bloodshed? Probably. Who would die in the fighting? Ivan didn’t know. What he did know was that he had to make it back to the house. The farmers couldn’t go into the Old Forest with men like these!
Ivan stumbled and panted beside a tree. Sweat ran off him. What he’d just witnessed made his stomach roil. He thought again of Perun’s face smeared with blood as the
man clutched gory entrails.
Ivan retched into the snow. He had to keep moving, but he retched again.
Beside him, Stribog whined. The ghastly night had frayed Ivan’s nerves. He sensed Stribog’s rage and felt the tension. Ivan looked up.
Standing before him in his silvery mail, with his hands on hips, towered Sir Karlo. “You’re a busy lad,” the knight said in a neutral tone.
Ivan could only gape. Moments ago, Karlo had spoken in the bizarre growl-language. Moments ago, he’d pinched a calf’s soft nose and slit its innocent throat. There wasn’t a speck of blood on him.
“What are you?” Ivan asked.
Karlo chuckled in an approximation of a hearty manner. It came off false and forced.
“What are they?” Ivan asked, gesturing toward the firelight.
“Men,” Karlo said.
“Men don’t bury their faces into raw meat and feast like hounds.”
“So speaks the lad who has traveled the world. I suppose I must bow to your superior wisdom.”
Ivan’s shocked thoughts couldn’t cope with Karlo’s mockery.
“Or do you know the rites of the Bat?” Karlo asked. “Have you seen the blood sacrifices of the priests of Night? No? Then maybe you’ve penetrated the secrets of the Moon Lady. Surely this must be the case.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re a country bumpkin. All you know is the happenings of Belgorod Holding. Like most of your sort, you’re quick to judge others.”
Ivan straightened. He held his club and Stribog’s leash. The bear-net hung over his left shoulder.
“I’ll grant that the rite you just witnessed is a bit bloody.” Karlo shrugged. “I don’t hold to its tenants myself.”
“You slew the calf,” Ivan accused.
Karlo sighed. “Boy, sometimes you do things as a leader that you don’t approve of. It’s the way of the world. Perun and his men, they’re a primitive trio. Yet I’ve never found better woodsmen. And woodsmen are what I need. Therefore, I tolerate some of their disgusting habits. One of those habits is their bizarre moon-worship. As their leader I’m forced to act as the priest.” Karlo shrugged again. “A chore, I’ll grant you. Once I find the old horde of coins I can finally dispense with it.”
The Dragon Horn Page 14
