Chapter Twenty-Seven

Reinmar leapt back to give himself time to draw his own blade. Mercifully, this operation went smoothly, and his prospective opponent had been inconvenienced by the narrowness of the doorway as well as his own surprise. Brother Almeric, who was unarmed, had stepped back rather than forward, and by the time Brother Noel had moved into a striking position Reinmar’s guard was up. There was a brief moment when Noel seemed to be on the point of lunging forward, but then he thought better of it. Perhaps he had observed that Reinmar had been properly trained in the use of his weapon, or perhaps he was mindful of his own tiredness.

“You are full of surprises, Master Wieland,” the monk said, as he moved slowly, keeping the tip of his sword raised, as if to threaten Reinmar’s throat. “Have you come to spoil our plans all over again?”

Almeric was not so well composed, but he made no attempt to take a position beside his companion. “Kill him,” he said. “What are you waiting for?”

“Forgive my friend’s impatience,” Noel said, his eyes still fixed on Reinmar’s face in a hawk-like manner. “He is unused to violence. Like the men you attacked and slaughtered in the underworld he has been a lifelong devotee of tranquillity and patience—but he becomes fretful when things go awry.”

“But you are not unused to violence,” Reinmar guessed, stepping backwards warily in response to Noel’s forward movement.

“I came late to my vocation,” Noel admitted.

Valeria spoke over Reinmar’s shoulder then, her lips no more than a few inches from his ear. “Put up your swords and close the door,” she said, in the manner of one well-accustomed to being obeyed. Reinmar was about to object that the matter was not so simple, but the monks reacted more swiftly. Almeric came in and closed the door behind him, but did not bar it. Noel dropped the tip of his sword, although he did not return it to its sheath. Reinmar hesitated for a moment, but the odds were obviously not in his favour no matter how poor a fighter Almeric was. He lowered his own blade, but he kept it in his hand, ready to raise it again if he were threatened.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Almeric said to Valeria. “We tried to approach with all due discretion, but the two watchers were widely-spaced and overly vigilant.”

“They were one too many,” Noel added. “I wounded one, but both are riding to the town as we speak. Time is short, but I think we can guarantee you safe passage if you come away now.”

“Have you brought wine?” That seemed to be Valeria’s only concern.

“Of course, Lady.” Noel immediately reached into his pouch and brought out a crystal flask. Valeria relaxed as she saw it, as if a great anxiety had been lifted from her—but Reinmar saw that Albrecht tensed, as if confronted with a danger he had not expected to face.

Reinmar considered the possibility of attempting to break the flask. Noel was distracted and the weight of his blade had dragged its tip further down. The opportunity was there to knock the bottle aside and start a brawl—but Reinmar did not know whether he would be one against two, three or four, and if Noel was telling the truth about both sentries having gone for help no reinforcements would arrive for a quarter of an hour.

Valeria took the decision out of his hands by seizing the flask from the monk’s hand. She wrestled the stopper free, then raised the bottle to her lips and drank, deeply and avidly.

Valeria’s greying hair still had more than sufficient darkness in it to reveal that it had once been jet black, and the manner in which her fine skin sat neatly upon the bones of her face implied that she must have been exceedingly handsome in her youth. As soon as she had lowered the rouge-stained rim of the flask from her lips the turgor began to return to her cheeks. Her forehead became smooth and pale. Her hair darkened by degrees until it was as evenly black as a raven’s wing. Her eyes brightened until they were actually luminous, their irises flooded with radiant blue. Her lips became fuller, and the false colour seemed to fade into her flesh. The teeth that she was no longer ashamed to show became much whiter and more even.

The greatest change of all, however, was not in her appearance but in her presence, which seemed so greatly magnified that it filled and dominated the room.

Only a few moments before, Valeria had been one human being among five, a mere element of a greater company in spite of her assumption of dominance. She might have stood among a crowd of thousands now without seeming a mere particle of no unique interest. As soon as the wine of dreams had taken effect she became the obvious centrepiece of the assembly, the pivot around which everything else was arrayed, and upon which all attention had to be focused.

Reinmar felt that he could understand why a person—especially a woman, given the ordinary way of the world—might risk a great deal in order to obtain that kind of presence.

Valeria held out the half-empty flask to Albrecht—from whose point of view, Reinmar knew, it must seem half-full.

Albrecht hesitated.

Reinmar was tempted to say “Don’t”, as his father would certainly have wanted him to do, but the advice died on his tongue—not because he was afraid to voice it in such company but because he was afraid that it might not be the right advice. Albrecht knew far better than Reinmar did what price he might now have to pay for a draught of that quality, and death would only be a part of it—but what life had Albrecht left to lose?

Unwilling as yet to settle his hesitation, Albrecht took refuge in a question addressed to Brother Noel. “Was it Wirnt who summoned you?”

“No,” Noel said, keeping his eyes on Reinmar. “ft was another messenger who came to tell us that the lady would meet us here, and to inform our friends as to the increasing strength and defensive disposition of von Spurzheim’s forces. Do you know what this imbecile has done, my lady?”

The “imbecile” he meant was, of course, Reinmar—but Reinmar made no immediate protest.

“Albrecht says that he found the source,” Valeria said, absent-mindedly, “but that he was allowed to escape with his life.” She seemed intoxicated by the return of her strength, and she was studying the length of her right arm with obvious approval.

“Is that what you told them, Master Wieland?” Noel asked. “Did you tell them what a hero you were, because you killed a few old men who had never learned to wield a weapon skilfully and lacked the strength in any case? I suppose you think yourself a master of improvisation because you ran amok in our storeroom, and a master of deception because you stole the one remaining measure of the unadulterated nectar. You think yourself privileged by fortune because you escaped from the valley unhurt and because I have not run you through, although I have had every chance to do so. But what, if we examine the case more carefully, have you made of yourself by ignoring the offer we made to you? A thief, a murderer, a coward and a fool. Lady Valeria, we must be away from here before the Reiksguard comes thundering along the road.”

“Yes,” Albrecht put in, “go, Valeria, before you bring the witch hunter’s wrath down upon us all.”

Valeria did not appear to be listening. She was looking at Reinmar too. “Did you really take the nectar?” she asked.

Reinmar wanted to lie, but when he opened his mouth no sound came out. Valeria put her right forefinger into her mouth and sucked it for a moment or two. When she took it out again she reached out and touched it, still moist, to Reinmar’s lips. He wanted to draw back, but he could not do that either. Her bright blue eyes held him in thrall, and he knew that if she ordered Noel to strike him now, he would not be able to parry the thrust.

While the finger lingered on his lips he could not taste the wine of dreams, but he could smell it. The odour eased into his nostrils, and into his brain. It brought back the memory of both his dreams—not merely the dream of being taken up above the town to watch its destruction by fire but the earlier one, when he had fought a hostile wind to climb a mountain to a castle in the clouds, and there had been seduced by something quite unhuman and yet more desirable than any human woman ever could be. He reminded himself that that had only been a dream, whereas Marcilla was real, but with the intoxicating scent in his nostrils he could not entirely trust his judgement.

Valeria was very beautiful now—more beautiful, certainly, than Marcilla. But was she only human?

She smiled at him, and her smile was glorious.

She removed her finger from his lips, and he drew them in reflexively. He tasted the dark wine as soon as it touched his tongue, but it was only the merest drop.

“You may come with us, if you wish,” Valeria said. “Or stay, if you prefer. There will be fighting, and a great deal of killing, but I want you to know that that is nothing to do with us. Our part is very different, for we are scholars and honest tradesmen. Don’t be frightened by what you have done, for it will make little difference in the end. All significant choices remain to be made, and you are still free.”

“He won’t come with us,” Noel said, harshly. “Like father, like son.”

“Don’t be unkind, brother,” Valeria said. “We know no more of the final scheme than he does, and he may yet play his part far better than we.”

“Come away, my lady,” Almeric put in, his voice taut with alarm. “We have no time.”

“Of course we have,” she told him, negligently. “We shall steal the horses on which my dear cousins arrived, to prove our apparent wickedness—but you will understand in time, dear Reinmar, what virtues are ours.”

Almeric was already hastening the rejuvenated sorceress towards the door, and she consented to be guided although she still looked back at Reinmar. The monk let her go in order to open the door and look out, anxiously scanning the trees. “All quiet,” he said. “If there is another watcher still out there, he will not dare come into the open. We must beware of crossbow bolts, but if we move quickly we needn’t fear pursuit.”

“Fear pursuit?” Noel echoed. “We are not the ones who need fear pursuit.” Valeria had already passed from Reinmar’s view, and so had Brother Almeric—but Noel could not stop himself from pausing, as he left the room, to add to his farewell speech.

“Thank you for the horses, Master Wieland,” he said. “Given the shortage of our present supply, I think you’ll find the measure of the wine of dreams that your great-uncle holds in his hand more than adequate compensation. You’ll doubtless be contacted again about the one you stole.” Once he had finished, though, he wasted no further time before disappearing, slamming the door shut behind him.

Reinmar did not bother to go to the door to see which two of the three had claimed the two fresh horses, or what recourse the other had instead. He stayed where he was, staring at his great-uncle and the flask the monks had left behind.

Albrecht refused to be ashamed. “Is it true?” the old man asked him. “Did you bring wine out of the underworld?”

“The nectar of the gods itself, apparently,” Reinmar conceded. “I could not be certain that spilling the contents of the jugs and bottles would render them irrecoverable, but removing the most essential ingredient was bound to reduce their supply.” He told himself that it was not quite a lie, but failed to convince himself.

“And you hid it in the shop?” Albrecht queried.

“I hid it,” Reinmar admitted, refusing to confirm the latter part of the conclusion to which his great-uncle had jumped.

“Luther will probably find it,” Albrecht judged. “As soon as he goes to sleep he will be visited by a dream. If he does not, the two gypsies will. Reinmar, you have not the slightest idea what you are doing. Do you think that everyone else in Eilhart is as disciplined as your father, merely because they are careful to maintain that appearance in public? Are you really so certain that your father is exactly what he appears to be? Or the witch hunter? We are dealing with the ultimate temptation, and you have just seen one of the rewards that temptation offers. It is the kind of temptation that can all too easily set man against man, husband against wife, and father against son. This is war, Reinmar. Indeed, this is the ultimate war. Who can you trust with what you have brought out of the underworld?”

Reinmar understood that the last question cut to the heart of the matter. Who could he trust? Who did he trust? Von Spurzheim? Matthias Vaedecker? Godrich? Sigurd? Marguerite? Himself?

“What are you going to do, great-uncle?” Reinmar asked, as he finally resheathed his blade.

“I am going to mind my own business, for as long as I have the opportunity/ Albrecht Wieland replied. “If you ever had that option, you have lost it now. Do you have the least idea what kind of game you are playing?”

“I think so,” Reinmar said, speaking more honestly but still in some need of convincing. “I am a pawn, it seems—but I was not supposed to find my way into the underworld. They had no idea that I would care so much about the fate of a girl I had only just met, and they did not know that Vaedecker would see them dig her up as soon as they had buried her. I was supposed to return to Eilhart with Ulick, offering von Spurzheim a way to find the valley—but I suspect that his men would have been led to a different and more dangerous place, where they would have fought at a great disadvantage. Once Vaedecker and I had seen too much, the plan had to be recalculated. They still hope that I will serve their purpose, using our existing business to establish a new supply-route for the wine of dreams and its darker kin. They desperately need some such link with the Reik towns, and they will not kill me while there is a chance that I might provide it, no matter how I have annoyed them. Von Spurzheim guessed that my discovery of the valley was bait in a trap, and he would not have hurried into it in any case. He will build what defences he can within the town, and I suppose that his enemies will try to stop him before he gathers sufficient reinforcements. Eilhart has no choice but to help him, and pray to all the good gods for his victory—and because I am part of Eilhart, that is what I must do.”

Albrecht shook his head slowly and sighed. “Such is the nature of the wine of dreams,” he said. “Its promises always lead to nightmares in the end. Go back, Reinmar, as fast as you can, and make what preparations you can for the battle. It will be fierce, I think. Von Spurzheim and the Reiksguard will have to draw on every last vestige of their might and endurance.”

Reinmar would not have obeyed the injunction to leave immediately had his ears not caught the sound of hoofbeats, but he knew that he did not want to be standing in Albrecht’s house, watching the old man clutch a flask of the wine of dreams, when soldiers burst in, seeking revenge for the wounding of their comrade.

“Bar the door behind me,” he said, and immediately went out to meet the approaching troop.

He was very glad to see that the newly-arrived party was led by Matthias Vaedecker rather than some Reiksguard knight. The dozen men who were with him were all von Spurzheim’s followers—a rather motley crew, although Reinmar did not doubt that they knew their business very well indeed.

“It was the two monks who attacked the sentry,” Reinmar told the sergeant. “They came to meet a woman—a sorceress, I suspect. If you have not been tracking her from Marienburg, she has been tracking you. She was old until they gave her dark wine to drink, but she is younger now.”

“Did you put up a fight?” Vaedecker wanted to know.

“No,” Reinmar confessed. “Had they threatened my life, I would have done, but they took me by surprise. I had time to draw my weapon, but I was outnumbered, and they had no time to spare for a fight in which my great-uncle would surely have supported me.

Vaedecker had not dismounted, and he was looking about him as he listened to Reinmar’s reply, clearly uncertain as to what to do next. “Damn their insolence!” he said. “They’re taunting us—but if we ride after them, we’ll probably ride into a trap. Your great-uncle refused to go with them, you say?”

Reinmar had not said anything of the sort, but he had no objection to the sergeant leaping to that conclusion. “He’s an old man,” Reinmar said. “He can’t fight. He has no desire to do anything but wait at home for whatever transpires. He cannot see that anyone has any reason to hurt him.”

“I have not,” Vaedecker agreed. “But the enemies we have to face are not the kind to need reasons. Beastmen would rip him apart and dine on his flesh whether they were hungry or not. The best of their allies are no better, and the worst are far worse. But it’s not my job to defend him, or yours. You’d better come back to town with us. Von Spurzheim would not like me to leave you to walk unprotected. He thinks you might be useful to him—and the horses you’ve just lost weren’t his to begin with, although we might have made good use of them tomorrow.”

“You think the battle will begin tomorrow?” Reinmar asked, as he came forward to join the troop, ready and willing to walk between their two ranks if Vaedecker would not let him ride two-a-back.

“It has already begun,” the sergeant said, reaching down after only a moment’s hesitation to draw Reinmar up behind him.

“From now on, its fury will only increase. I doubt there’ll be an all-out assault today, but our adversaries will be busy nonetheless, and so shall we.”

Once Reinmar was safely installed, though, and the drumming of four dozen hooves on the dry ground had set up a secure screen of privacy, Vaedecker changed his tune.

“What went on in there, Master Wieland?” he whispered over his shoulder. “Why did they come to fetch her, when they could not have known that the sentries would be so ineffectual? Why didn’t they take you with them?”

“I don’t know,” Reinmar answered, knowing that it sounded weak, although it was only a little short of the whole truth. “Perhaps they did know that the sentries would be off their guard. Perhaps the sorceress had power enough for that, even when she seemed older. As for me—they still think of me as a pawn in their game, fit for baiting traps and running errands. So do you, it seems.”

“Not I,” Vaedecker contradicted him, implying that there were others who might. “I’ve seen you in action. Who is she, Master Wieland?”

“Her name is Valeria,” Reinmar told him. “My great-uncle knew her in Marienburg.”

“Ah,” the sergeant said. “We have heard of her. Von Spurzheim will probably be glad that she is here. He wants the battle to be conclusive as well as to win it. This has been a long and arduous campaign.”

“You don’t seem to be in wholehearted agreement,” Reinmar observed.

“Life is a long and arduous campaign,” the soldier told him. “I have always found it better to fight little battles, one at a time. Given that we never run out of enemies, it seems unnecessary and unwise to fight too many at a time. There’s more pleasure and profit in an endless series of small victories than in a single costly blaze of glory, believe me.”

Reinmar did believe him, but knew that the choice that Vaedecker had outlined was not his to make, and might not be von Spurzheim’s either.