Wolfbreed (31 page)

“Karl Lindberg.”

“Yes. What strikes you about that attack?”

“Aside from the vile way he was mutilated—”

“I see that Satan has done well distracting you. What about your beast? With that attack she told you all you need to know about her reasons.”

After a moment, Erhard said, “Perhaps you should explain them to me.”

“Your beast left here a naked animal. However, in the aftermath of Sir Lindberg’s ill-fated rape, you find a set of clothing. When you combine that with the fact that you have heard no news of mutilated men or beasts, no wolf-creature terrorizing the countryside, or so much as a rumor of naked women prowling the woods here, you are left with a single conclusion.”

“And what is that?”

“The creature has a protector here. Perhaps a whole coven.”

“This is a Christian town.”

“And who has clothed her? Fed her? You took this place eight years ago. Is that so long that you think there is no memory of when that thing was an embodiment of their own rough gods? You think none of these Prûsans have gone straight from baptism back to their wooded groves and idols and tried to scrub God off of their skins?” The bishop shook his head. “Even aside from this beast, there have been questions raised in Rome about how easily the Order here accepts professions of faith.”

“There is no truth to—”

“In the few hours I have been here, I have seen a distressingly lax attitude toward these Prûsan converts. Pagan names still abound. I greatly fear what I might hear if I questioned your priest about who has received the sacrament, or has confessed their sins and who has not.”

“These people have accepted Christ, Your Grace.”

“Brother Erhard, the facts remain to be seen. However, it is clear to me, as it should be to you, that within this demesne, those who honor the false gods of Prûsa have given succor to your monstrosity, and their presence here led to its escape.”

Erhard did not want to believe that, but the bishop’s logic had a fatal inevitability to it. After all, how could it be otherwise? Someone indeed had to be sheltering her, and how could any sane household do that unless it was in service to their gods?

“I will talk to those who witnessed the escape,” Bishop Cecilio told him, “and I will question the men individually. One may have set these events in motion.”

“You think there may be a traitor here?”

“And, Brother Erhard, I need to question the people. I mean to discover who has housed this creature.”

“I will send my knights out to question—”

“You did not listen,” the bishop interrupted. “I said that
I
must question the people. We will start by bringing every Prûsan who was present for the fall of the Mejdân stronghold here.”

“Your Grace, the farms are in the midst of sowing—”

“Brother, need I remind you of your vows?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“The sooner these Prûsans face my inquisitor, the sooner they can get back to their labors.”

ergeant Günter met Erhard in the great hall. The Landkomtur was alone, leaning against one of the rough wooden tables where the brothers prayed and took their silent meals. Erhard stared into the wood, not turning his head, and for several long moments, Günter was unsure if he knew that he had entered the hall.

Finally, Günter cleared his throat. “You wanted me, sir?”

Landkomtur Erhard nodded to the table. “How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been assigned—”

“I mean
living
here. You come from this village, don’t you?”

Günter nodded. “That’s why I was sent back here, I believe. Better for the people to see one of their own running things.”

“You were living here when Mejdân was sacked?”

“I was twelve years old …”

“But you
were
here.”

Günter frowned, wondering where this conversation was going. Was Erhard beginning to question his loyalty? “Sir, what are you asking me?”

“It’s a simple enough question. You were present when the Order breached the walls and took Mejdân. Am I correct?”

Günter closed his eyes. He had a brief memory, smoke and shouting, the sound of timbers breaking …

“Yes, sir, I was here.”

“You know then, what other Prûsans were present?”

“Do you know how few survived that bloodbath?” Günter whispered, questions about his own loyalty forgotten. Some things transcended allegiance.

“Then,” Erhard spoke quietly, to the table, “it should be a small matter to assemble those few for some questioning.”

“What?”

Erhard straightened up and turned to face Günter. His expression was cold, hard, and bloodless, his words slow and measured. “You and your men are going to bring me every man, woman, and child who survived.”

“Sir, the spring planting has just started. Many of the farms around here need—”

“Do not question this, Sergeant!”

The look in Erhard’s eyes made Günter take a step back. “Yes, sir.”

Erhard turned away. “Get moving. You have three days.”

uring the two days after Uldolf departed, Gedim’s mood oscillated between amusement and concern. Lilly came with him to finish the planting, and every time he looked at her, especially at the melancholy expression she wore, he couldn’t help but think of the way she had embraced his son when he had left.

Uldolf had always been an unusual child, always finding the capabilities to do something even when fate put massive obstacles in his path. Never quite satisfied with how he was doing, he was always striving to do better.

Burthe might have despaired sometimes at her son’s marriage prospects, but Gedim never did. He always knew that, somehow, Uldolf would persevere. Somehow, even though it was nothing that Gedim would have ever predicted, finding a maiden in the woods and having her fall in love with him, in retrospect, seemed very much like his son.

It was also obvious that Lilly’s affection was not flowing in only one direction.

He stopped the horse at the end of another furrow and turned to lead it around to follow where Lilly was casting the seed.

Should
have been casting the seed. Instead, she stared off in the direction of the road. At first, he thought she was looking for some sign of Uldolf. But something about the way her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared made him turn to look himself. He saw a glint of sunlight through the trees—a helmet, or shield. Now that he listened, he could hear hoofbeats. They stood on the far end field, and they weren’t in direct sight of the soldiers yet, but they would be in a few seconds.

He ran up to her and grabbed her basket of barley. “Hide!”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “B-but—”

“There’s no time.” He dropped the basket into the furrow, seed spilling out of the upturned basket. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward the wall dividing the field, about five yards away. “Hide yourself, now!” He gave her a shove toward the wall.

She looked over her shoulder at him, and the panic in his face must have broken any hesitation she had. She ran toward the wall, vaulting over and ducking behind it with only a few seconds to spare.

Gedim wiped his hands on his trousers, trying to compose himself as he walked back toward his house. He prayed that none of the soldiers had seen her. He kept thinking back to his son’s description of what those German bastards had done to her in the woods. He thought of the scratches on her neck and face, still fresh; the wounds in her temple and her shoulder, only just healed.

He asked the gods to grant him his son’s restraint. It was going to be hard not to throttle these men who were approaching his farm.

ünter was not enjoying his day.

The first day, going through Johannisburg to “request” the cooperation of the Prûsans who had survived the sack of Mejdân
eight years ago had been much better. Tradesmen weren’t tied to their shops as the farmers were to the soil. Most all of them had an apprentice or a spouse to run things in their absence. Those who had to close their business at least did not suffer losing days of business that were more important than any others.

Out here, in the countryside that fed Johannisburg, asking these people to leave the farm was like asking them to give up their children. Günter faced tears and curses, and twice today had to bear men off their land in chains.

On the return loop to Johannisburg, they stopped at their tenth farm, the horse team drawing a long wagon that usually carried bales of straw and hay. Today it was half loaded with men, women, and one or two children. It would be completely full when they returned to Johannisburg tonight.

When he drew even with the gate in the stone wall encircling the small homestead, he raised his arm and called “Hold!” to the whole procession. He looked over the farm, seven or eight acres of freshly plowed earth with low stone walls snaking around and through the fields. A horse stood in the field, the square framework of an old harrow dug into the earth behind the beast.

A man walked toward them from the field. A woman opened the door to the cottage, a young girl of five or six peeking at him from behind her skirts.