A Mankind Witch (13 page)

Within the hour an Imperial messenger had set out for Copenhagen, with two letters in the Emperor's personal scrawl. One was directed to Milady Francesca de Cherveuse. The other was to be carried with all speed to Manfred, prince of Brittany. Other letters, in Trolliger's neater hand, went to the Abbot-General of the militant order of the Knights of the Holy Trinity, and to the monastic order of the Servants of the Holy Trinity. Requesting—in a fashion that was not quite an order, their assistance on the Empire's business.

It was thus that Brother Uriel, who had served Christ and the Servants of the Holy Trinity with distinction in Venice—when others, such as Abbot Sachs, had fallen into the snares of the evil one—found himself called to the study of the head of his monastery.

He listened in silence while the abbot read out the letter.

"Well, Brother?" asked the abbot, finally, as Uriel offered no comment.

The monk sighed. Shook his head. "You know how I feel, Father Abbot. You sent me to Venice with a pagan relic, nonetheless."

"And you did sterling work there. What little credit returned to the Servants of the Holy Trinity, and those of us of the Pauline persuasion, stem from that."

"We should have destroyed the pagan relic immediately, Father. Then that would not have happened," said Uriel, stiffly. "The same holds for this oath-ring. Such items are not consecrated to the use of the church, and should be destroyed, not retrieved for the pagans."

The abbot rubbed his jaw, thoughtfully. "While I agree with you in principle, Brother Uriel, there are two things to consider here. The first of these is that the Emperor may be right. The evil of the east may have seized this thing. If it is indeed powerful—he likes to gather the tools and symbols of power, Uriel. Chernobog has used the venerated idols and pagan holy places against the Church before. He will again. This may be part of the same thing—in which case it is vital that at least the church should know. The second thing is more secular—we are honor bound to assist the Emperor—especially as we are being entrusted with such a task after having unwittingly colluded with his, and the Church's foes." The abbot sat back in his chair, folded his arms and said, "Finally, Telemark is an area in which we are not permitted to do missionary work. We have, as you know, made some secret converts, but other than that, the kingdom remains committed to heathen gods. This is a Heaven-sent opportunity to display our strength and our faith, if we can do something that they have failed at."

"That is three things, Father," said Uriel.

The abbot raised his eyes to heaven. "I'll tell you a fourth thing, Brother Uriel.
You
are going to Kingshall in Telemark. I have thought, prayed, and even tried scrying about this. My last scrying sent you to Venice. This time I am sending you north. You are a skilled worker of finding magics. I have a letter here from the archbishop. We are sending Brother Ottar—who was a secret convert from Norway before his family were killed and he was forced to flee to Denmark—and also Sister Mary and Sister Mercy. They are all skilled in the workings of ecclesiastical magic, and at various forms of scrying. Brother Ottar is also a witch-smeller. You have been selected to act as the leader of this group."

Uriel stood up, shook his head, resignedly. "Very well. Will you at least give me your blessing on this, Father?"

"Of course." The abbot smiled. "And, Brother Uriel . . . try to open the way for God's missionaries, rather than close it."

So two days of travel later, Brother Uriel found himself in the company of Brother Ottar, a tall, serious-looking man, somewhat elderly and with a little paunch. Together they met up with two birdlike nuns—also of some antiquity. The four embarked on a church-owned river barge, going north. Brother Ottar had more specific details on travel plans. "We are due to meet Prince Manfred in Copenhagen. He is a confrere with the Knights of the Holy Trinity. They are providing an escort for us."

Uriel blinked. "Prince Manfred of Brittany? God moves in mysterious ways!"

Ottar smiled. "Indeed, Brother. I am going back to the lands of the Norse, from whence I was expelled thirty years back. With the blessing of the Empire."

"To find a pagan artifact."

Ottar nodded. "A very old and very powerful talisman, Brother Uriel. I have made a study of them, and of this one in particular. It could be put to use, evil use, in the wrong hands."

"It is an evil thing," said Uriel with finality.

Ottar shook his head. "Possibly not, in this case, anyway. It appears to be a wholly defensive object. It is entirely possible that some powerful neutral is bound to it."

"It does not seem . . . from what I have read," said Sister Mary, timidly, "to have been very well guarded."

Brother Uriel shrugged his shoulders. "That implies one of two things, Sister. Either it was assumed that no one would dream of stealing such a thing, or it was believed it had its own defenses."

"It did. Or does," said the other nun, Sister Mercy, grimly. The women were alike in size and shape, but Sister Mercy was as stern looking as the other was gentle. "There are records of an attempt to steal it. According to the chronicles of one Petrus Alberchtus, the thief was found screaming just outside the grove, desperately trying to remove the item and, according to the story, aged and died as they watched. Alberchtus also includes a very precise drawing of the arm-ring."

"Well, perhaps we can use that to authenticate anything we do find."

"A sword thrust will do that," said Sister Mercy. "They tried to kill the thief to get the arm-ring off him—and as fast as they cut he healed. The arm-ring itself was what killed the thief. By then he was in terrible pain. He begged them to kill him. They had to drag him back into their grove, and then help him to pull the ring off. He died before they could kill him. A very old man."

"A strange thing," said Uriel, fascinated despite his disapproval. "It sounds like a charm of healing—yet the pain?"

The timid-sounding little nun thrust her head forward like a curious robin. "Ah. But what if there were two conflicting magics at work?"

"A curse against theft, and a property of healing?" suggested Uriel. "I suppose that could be."

"I think not," said Sister Mercy, shaking her head. "The structure of such pagan charms and their sacred objects is my study. I think the healing is merely an aspect of what the arm-ring is supposed to be: a perfect circle. As such it is a symbol of immortality, and also of completeness. It did not 'heal,' it made whole. And the pain is quite possibly another side effect. It is a key symbol in the pagan community of that land, held in the religious center. It may well be geographically rooted—such things often are. The pain the wearer feels is merely a reflection of the pain the immaterial thing, which is the arm-ring, feels."

"Which makes the thief a very powerful magic worker, at the very least," said Brother Ottar, thoughtfully. "I think we need to ask for guidance, Brother, Sisters."

As the boat moved them downstream, they knelt and prayed. Uriel knew comfort that at least this group of Servants seemed less likely to stray than Sister Ursula and Father Sachs had in Venice.

Under Proctor Szpak's orders the column of knights made its way back to the chapter house, only pausing to collect Von Naid's strongbox from his main estate, and to seize certain documents in it. They arrived in the late afternoon. The proctor-general and the abbot both came down to the courtyard. "And now?" asked the abbot, looking at Proctor Szpak.

"We've caught and dealt with the miscreants," said the proctor, pointing to the men tied to their horses—with nooses around their necks, and the noose rope tied to the pommel of the horse next them.

The abbot blinked. "But there is some mistake, surely. That is Ritter Von Naid, who was a confrere here."

Manfred looked at the abbot, and then the proctor-general. "We need to inform you of certain things. It might be wiser if we did this in your office, Abbot Reuno." Mecklen had asked him to keep the matter as low-profile as possible. Personally he thought that it was a mistake. Mind you, it made no difference. There are few secrets in a monastic order. Before dark the story would have spread through this order's ranks. And then, Manfred thought, he could just end up defending these two and Von Naid and his accomplices from summary justice. There were some bad apples here, but the rot had not spread that far . . . yet.

"Later," said the abbot.

"Now," said Erik, who had dismounted.

They stared at him, open-mouthed. "What?" demanded the proctor-general. "Who are you to give orders?"

Szpak and Manfred had also dismounted. "I am the emissary of both the Abbot-General of the Order and also the Holy Roman Empire," said Manfred quietly. "And I am hereby telling Ritter Hakkonsen to take you both to the abbot's office. By force if need be. Dead if he sees fit."

The abbot had half drawn his sword. Erik hit his fingers with the flat of his hatchet. "Do you wish to die now?" he said icily. The abbot opened his mouth to yell—and obviously realized that the troop he'd sent out to take part in a massacre were all looking at him. There was no sympathy in their almost uniform glare.

A wilting abbot, wringing a sore hand, the proctor-general, and Von Naid were escorted to the abbot's office. "I think we will need that messenger who came with the news that sent these two off—if he is still here," said Erik to Szpak. "We will need to speak to him without any possibility of collusion. Hold him out here until we call."

The Pole nodded. "I'll see to it. And see that you are left alone to deal with this." He pursed his lips. "I haven't always seen eye-to-eye with the Order here. But there are some things my brothers will not tolerate." he said firmly, stilling a few of Erik's worries about the knights perhaps trying to "rescue" their abbot.

The door swung shut and the proctor-general blurted into angry speech. "What do you think you're doing? Just because you are the nephew of the Emperor . . ." He let it trail off. "The Order gives no deference to worldly rank."

"These Ritters have excelled in feats of arms in the service of God, the Order, and the Empire," said Mecklen, dryly. "That is why the Abbot-General was prepared to name them as part of his inspectorate here in Skåne and Småland. They act in his name and carry documents with his authority over anyone within the Order. I suggest you hold your tongue until you are told to speak."

It was a long time since anyone had told Proctor-General Von Tiblaut to hold his tongue. He looked ready to explode. But the abbot obviously realized what deep water he was in. He rushed into hasty speech. "But what is this all about? We have done nothing, sirs."

"Von Naid has told us what you conspired to do," said Manfred, gesturing at the gagged prisoner.

"I have never conspired in anything," said the abbot, waving his hands. "Whatever it was was entirely his idea. We knew nothing of it."

Von Tiblaut had still not entirely grasped his situation. "I am the senior officer of the Knights of the Holy Trinity! There are going to be very serious consequences for this."

"There are indeed," said Mecklen. "You have forgotten, Proctor-General Von Tiblaut, that the Order of the Knights of the Holy Trinity owes final deference to God, the Abbot-General of the Order, and to the Holy Roman Emperor, via our charter. You have offended in the eyes of all three of these. You are suspended from all offices of the Order and Church, pending final judgment."

Something about the way in which Mecklen said it dented even the confidence of Von Tiblaut. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Archimandrite Mecklen. I was abbot of Nordwand chapter house, and senior for the Waldenburg chapters, until the Abbot-General made me his Archimandrite-at-large in August." He pointed to the other three older knights. "These are my coassessors and assistants. We are here to lend the force of the Order to correcting what the Emperor has rightly called a mess. Even without this affair, you were due to be recalled and demoted, if not expelled from the Order. Now, I think the Empire and the Order will require more of you. Possibly your head."

Von Tiblaut—ruddy-faced with anger before—was now as white as new snow. "I have done nothing. I don't know what all this is about."

Mecklen looked grimly at him. "A system of payments for lands awarded to ex-confreres—monies the Abbot-General knew nothing about—would be a good starting point. We have spoken to a number of landowners and obtained documentary proof of this, while you watched Prince Manfred. And secondly, an attempt to involve Prince Manfred in a massacre of Christians, including a well-connected Danish missionary. We have a charter to lands—lands awarded to the Christian Götar chieftain Gustav, by the Danish crown—made out to Von Naid. They are signed by you, witnessed by the abbot here, and described as 'lands seized in a violent insurrection.' It is dated a week from now. You tried to get the Empire to take your side against the Danes, by getting us to participate in this act of murder."

The proctor-general shook his head. "I deny it utterly. Oh, the abbot here may have been involved. He gave me various charters to sign when I got here. I didn't check them. Why should I? He is the local authority."

"Liar!" screamed the abbot, seeing himself joining Von Naid as a sacrificial lamb. "I didn't know the money wasn't going to Prussia—"

Someone knocked. It was Szpak with a prisoner. "His name's Meuli. He comes from Copenhagen, or so he tells us. He is an ex-confrere, and has holdings in Skåne. One of the Ritters tells me that he is Von Naid's cousin."

"I had nothing to do with this," said the newly introduced Meuli. "I knew nothing about their plans."

"I think we can ungag Von Naid, and have him tell us what liars his companions are," said Erik.

As the four of them attempted to blame or incriminate each other the story emerged. Francesca's work in Copenhagen had not passed unnoticed, and her conversations with the Danish king's senior courtiers had, in a somewhat garbled fashion, come to Meuli's ears. It had included the information that Manfred was there to decide whether the Empire backed the Order or the Danes in the squabbles in Sweden. The details of the plot had been arranged by Von Naid. That they'd known it would include a massacre of a Christian village, they were all—except for Von Naid—vehemently denying. Then someone knocked on the door, and began to open it.