The Dragon Horn Page 5

“What?” Ivan said. “Clawmen! You’re telling me there are such things as clawmen, too?”

  Dimitri coughed into his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Woodcutter Dimitri,” Ivan said. “It’s just that I thought clawmen were a singer’s invention. This is all very surprising.”

  Dimitri marched in silence. “Yes,” he said at last. “Clawmen are all too real. I stood with the gallant Axe People against them. They grieved after the battle at their losses, but they were pleased that I had fought with them. To show their pleasure they gave me this axe. It went ill against my pride that I couldn’t give them a proper gift in return.”

  “My father took me into the Old Forest the next time he went,” Feodor said. “Last winter we marched in secret to their camp. There, Father and I worked hard chopping trees for their mine.”

  “Their mine?” Ivan asked in bewilderment.

  “The Axe People dug into a mountain in search of ancient treasures,” Feodor said. “They needed lumber to shore up the crumbling tunnels. After many weary weeks, their king came to us and said that we should work no more without pay. Father supped with the king and told him that he was merely paying back an old debt. We left three days later.”

  Ivan could only stare at the woodcutters in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine these two solid men on such a wild adventure. They had actually trekked deep into the Old Forest. It was something he’d never heard anyone else in Belgorod Holding doing. And they had actually seen Axe People and their king. Ivan snorted softly. There had even been clawmen.

  “Why haven’t you ever told anyone else but Magda about this?” Ivan asked.

  Dimitri asked, “What was there to tell?”

  “Are you jesting? Yury would love these stories.”

  “Therein is the problem,” Dimitri said.

  “Yes?” Ivan asked.

  “The farmers trust me as a solid man of few words. That I am. They also trust my judgment. If I told them wild stories like a singer, the good folk of Belgorod Holding would laugh in their sleeves at me.”

  “Then why did you tell me?” Ivan asked.

  “You’re a good lad, Ivan, with sound judgment. My son has also told me that you can keep a secret. When I am in the woods or with my son, and now when I am with you, I can talk freely. Most men have little to say, and the less they have to say the more they say it. Therefore, I like to hold onto my words and live my own life.”

  “You still haven’t told me why you decided to tell me,” Ivan said.

  “I, too,” Feodor said, “would like to know.”

  “I have my reasons,” Dimitri said. “We will leave it at that.”

  “All right,” Ivan said. He mulled over his words. “And thank you for telling me.”

  Dimitri put his hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “No. Thank you for coming so often to my cabin. My advice to you is this: Beware of Sir Karlo, for I believe he tells but half the truth.”

  “That he truly hunts for rare coins?” Ivan asked.

  “No. That he searches for ancient relics.” As Dimitri spoke, they neared the old oak tree.

  In a moment, Ivan saw the great house below. Light shined from windows, while within the yard padded several shadows. Those would be hounds on watch.

  Ivan called a halt. “You have my word that I’ll tell no one about your adventure.”

  Dimitri nodded in approval.

  They tramped down the hill. The watching hounds barked in the darkness. A youth with a lantern jumped up from the porch and ran toward them. Two big hounds ran with him.

  “Who’s there?” shouted the youth.

  “It’s Ivan, with Dimitri and his son Feodor. Go tell Master Volok that his guests have arrived.”

  The youth raised the lantern, peering at them. It was Belsky the Cowherd. He grinned. “I’ll go tell Master Petor, Ivan. You’re to put up your dog and take your turn at watch.”

  Ivan groaned, but remembered his manners. Turning to Dimitri, he said, “You should go with Belsky. I need to put up Stribog and your dog as well, if you wish.”

  “That would be good,” Dimitri said.

  Ivan pulled Stribog and the other dog after him. The creatures on watch sniffed at the others, wagging their tails. The hounds soon went back to staring through the picket fence. As Ivan neared the house, he heard laughter, along with the sounds of eating people. Belsky must have eagerly awaited his return. He couldn’t blame him. Still, it didn’t seem fair. He was hungry and cold.

  Ivan sighed, trudging along the walkway. He soon put Stribog in his stall and the woodcutters’ dog in another. He threw them some meat and made a quick inspection of the other dogs. Each seemed well-fed and content. He put away the warspear and covered it with a hide. He finally hurried to the yard and relived Belsky.

  A lit lantern rested on a peg near the bench he sank upon. The hounds on watch prowled the yard. Although he was supposed to keep a sharp eye out, Ivan leaned toward the door. The walls were too thick, however. He heard little.

  He shivered and began to feel sorry for himself. Why did he have to pull watch duty on this particular night? He’d completely forgotten about it. By the time his turn was over, the dinner party would be over. He hadn’t even gotten a look yet at Sir Karlo’s servants. Were they as strange as the silver-haired knight?

  Ivan sighed again, rose and checked the lantern for oil. If it was low he’d have an excuse to go inside and fill it up. He’d catch a glimpse of the dinner party then. Of course, the oil pan was full.

  In a while, he heard the sounds of heavy feet. Sitting up, he peered keenly into the night in a show of alertness. The door-handled rattled. The hinges squeaked.

  “Ivan.”

  Ivan stood and inclined his head. “Yes, Master Petor.”

  Petor was a couple of inches shorter than Ivan, but much heavier. He had the typical knightly Moravian build: medium height, stout and with a large stomach. Petor ran thick fingers through his well-groomed hair. A thick mustache covered his mouth. He had merry eyes and a great lump of a nose. Tonight he wore his best finery. His thick fingers bore three rings, one of which had a red bloodstone set in gold. It was his prize possession.

  “You’ve been busy today, Ivan.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Petor crossed his hands behind his back and stepped onto the porch. Without looking at Ivan, he said, “I wonder if you’ve heard that I looked long and hard for my sword today.”

  “Ah...yes. Magda told me about it.”

  “Magda told you, eh?” Petor brought his hand to his mouth and belched. “Excuse me. The meal was excellent.”

  Ivan fidgeted, and finally managed to ask, “Ah, so did you find your sword?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, milord.”

  Petor turned to Ivan. “Even after chasing a white wolf near the woods this morning, you’ve trekked to Woodcutter Dimitri’s cabin. Yes, you’ve been busy indeed.”

  Ivan waited.

  “Now you’re finally home, wishing for a hearty supper, I suppose.”

  Ivan remained silent, not sure that Petor wanted an answer. Petor had always been something of a mystery to him. Most of the time it seemed Petor wanted nothing more than to quaff ale, eat good pork and discuss crop-yields with the farmers. More surprising, Ivan had seen Petor roll up his sleeves and take a farmer’s place behind his plow when the farmer was pale and shaking because he’d planted while sick. Yet Ivan had also been with Petor as the two of them stalked through the forest in a long chase of a sheep-killing bear. Then, when the moment of truth came, Petor ran faster than Ivan and struck harder than Master Volok. Yet Petor would never talk about his hunting skills and almost seemed embarrassed by them. Yury thought his older brother a sleepy-eyed knight who might have been better off as a tavern keeper beside the Old Roman Road.

  Petor knuckled Ivan on the shoulder. “Rest easy, lad. I’m no longer upset that Yury used my sword. For he wounded the white wolf, I overheard.”

  “You did?”

 
; Petor chuckled. “How could I not but overhear? Yury bragged endlessly to everyone but me.”

  Ivan shook his head at Yury’s indiscretion.

  Petor inspected Ivan, and then nodded. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “You must keep this secret to yourself. So be very sure that you can really keep it.”

  “I’ll keep your secret, Master Petor.”

  “I know you will, for you’re a man of your word. Both Mother and I approve of that.”

  “Thank you, milord.”

  “No. Don’t thank me. Rather, work to keep it so.”

  Ivan wondered at Petor’s mood.

  “I’m glad that Dimitri came, for there is more to the woodcutter than meets the eye.” Petor turned away and whispered, “And there is more, as well, to this Sir Karlo Aufling and his retainers.” Petor took a deep breath and faced Ivan again. “You’ve had a long day. It’s time you supped before all the food turns cold. As well, I want you to hear what Sir Karlo will say, for supper is over and the time of talking is upon us. The reason I want you inside is to hear the same words that Yury does. I’m afraid my younger brother sees Sir Karlo as one of his imaginary adventurers. You must be Yury’s counterweight, Ivan. Do you understand?”

  “I think so, milord.”

  Petor eyed him. “Yes, I think you do. Come, I’ll send Janek out to watch the yard.”

  “Master Petor?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure that Janek is big enough to be out with the guard hounds.”

  “You don’t, eh?”

  Ivan gulped. “No, milord.”

  Petor clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s good you look out for Janek. I approve. Sometimes, however, it’s also good for a young lad to have a mighty challenge to overcome. The guard hounds are leashed and they’re used to Janek. I deem that if he gains the confidence, Janek is big and old enough for watch duty. Now, come with me.”

  Ivan obeyed. They walked down a corridor lined with tapestries of farmers in the field, and tapestries of bright flowers and snowcapped mountains. They passed doors that led to different parts of the house, and they passed a wooden set of stairs and an archway into a wide room with a fireplace, butter-churns, looms and several rocking chairs. Finally, Petor opened the way into the Feast Hall.

  The warmth, the loud buzz of talk and the smell of cooked pork, corn and strong ale hit Ivan. The talk quieted as Petor stepped within the hall.

  Three trestle tables had been arranged in a wide U shape. At the middle table, which was the smallest of the three, and which faced Ivan, sat the highborn. In order sat Magda, Yury, Lady Belgorod, an empty, high-backed chair (Petor’s), Sir Karlo and three hunch-shouldered men with scarred faces.

  The three men had each tied their oily brown hair behind them. Each also wore fine red tunics with puffed-out sleeves. The tunics seemed out of place on the ruffians. Ivan wondered if they hid knives in their sleeves, for he had the distinct impression of highway robbers. They would be better suited in a rowdy alehouse, wearing torn tunics and clutching ill-smelling haunches of beef. The three whispered among themselves and at times broke out into bawdy laughter.

  The other two tables held farmers in holiday finery and the entire Belgorod household. Magda wore her best green dress. The taller and larger Lady Belgorod wore a yellow dress and had many rings upon her fingers. Her blonde/white hair had been fixed in a great bun. Clearly, Ivan was the worst-dressed among the happy-seeming throng.

  Petor pushed him gently. Ivan moved to the nearest table, sat on a stool and wallowed in the aroma of pork and steaming corn.

  “Eat hardy,” Petor whispered. He strode to the high-backed chair.

  “So, you found the urchin out in the cold,” Sir Karlo said. “Come, what is the urchin’s tale? Why is he late to the feast?”

  The talking died down as people regarded Ivan. Ivan looked up as he shoveled a forkful of corn into his mouth. He saw Sir Karlo staring at him and noticed how the hall had quieted. The pale, silver-haired knight wore a black tunic and a heavy silver chain. He was the largest man in the hall, and there was a princely quality to him. He seemed, well...regal and lordly. Beside him, Petor looked like a country bumpkin. The rest of the feasters seemed like grubby onlookers, except for Lady Belgorod with her wise brown eyes and confident bearing.

  “Well?” Sir Karlo asked Ivan.

  Ivan gulped down his corn, almost choked, and had to quaff a goodly amount of water before he could breathe. “I’m sorry, milord. I didn’t hear your question.”

  Lady Belgorod laughed, and said, “Sir Karlo, why not let this urchin eat his fill before you grill him. Meantime, you and Petor can talk.”

  “As you wish, milady.”

  Red-faced, Ivan glanced at Yury. Yury winked. As he began to eat, Ivan noticed Feodor and Dimitri at the other table. They wiped their plates clean with pieces of bread.

  “We are well supplied with provisions,” Karlo told Petor. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.” The feasters quieted, and like Ivan, they tried to listen in on the highborn.

  Petor toyed with his mug of ale.

  “Yes,” Lady Belgorod said, in her son’s stead. “I’ve noticed.”

  “I plan to journey to the Old Forest,” Sir Karlo said.

  “Indeed,” said Lady Belgorod.

  “I said as much to your king. He was curious and asked to what purpose.”

  Lady Belgorod nudged Petor. Petor looked up. “Like our king, I, too, am curious.”

  Sir Karlo glanced at the listening feasters. Imperiously, he snapped his big fingers. The nearest ruffian loosed the string at his wrist. He took out a rolled parchment.

  A low murmur of surprise and anticipation arose. Yury leaned forward to get a better look.

  With a flourish, Sir Karlo held up the parchment. “This shows where I wish to travel.”

  “Will you tell us what is written there?” Yury asked.

  “Do you truly wish to know?” Sir Karlo asked.

  The feasters held their breath. Yury smiled with delight. Lady Belgorod frowned. Magda watched the feasters. Dimitri plucked at his great beard. Petor quaffed ale.

  “Yes, I’d like to know,” Yury said.

  Sir Karlo lowered the parchment, untying a leather string. He cleared a space on the table between Petor and himself and unrolled the parchment. He put a saltshaker on the top and his hand on the bottom.

  “What do you see?” he asked Petor.

  “I see a map.”

  “A map?” Yury eagerly asked.

  “A map,” the feasters whispered to one another.

  “Here, I deem,” Sir Karlo said as he stabbed the map with his forefinger, “is Belgorod Holding.”

  Petor nodded. “Yes, such may be the case.”

  “This,” Karlo said as he moved his finger, “is where I wish to travel. To here, right here.” He stabbed the spot several times.

  “Tell us where that is!” Yury shouted.

  Lady Belgorod gave her youngest son a stern look. Petor studied the map.

  “Where did you find the map?” Lady Belgorod asked.

  Sir Karlo removed his hand. The parchment rolled up. “Perhaps the better question, milady, is what lies at my destination. That is the question which most intrigued your king.”

  “I am not the king,” Lady Belgorod said.

  “No,” Karlo said after a span of silence. “You’re not.”

  Petor looked up as his eyes narrowed.

  “Of course, I meant nothing by the observation,” Sir Karlo said.

  Lady Belgorod shrugged as she put her hand on Petor’s forearm. “It matters not.”

  Sir Karlo examined the feasters until his eyes fell on Ivan. “Ho, urchin, are you curious about what lies at my destination?”

  Ivan tried to catch Dimitri’s eyes for a clue as to what he should say. The big woodcutter seemed interested in his napkin, however. Ivan choose his words, raising his voice as he said, “Since you’re a hunter of ra
re coins and relics, I assume that such articles lie in wait for you.”

  Sir Karlo told Petor, “Your urchin is quick-witted. And more, he is right.”

  “Treasure,” Farmer Lech stage-whispered. His thin face broke into a smile.

  “Yes, but in the Old Forest,” said a more prosperous farmer.

  Lady Belgorod whispered to Petor. He banged his mug on the table. People gave him their attention. Petor asked Karlo, “Are you saying, sir, that treasure lies in the Old Forest?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your plan is to trek to this spot and dig up the treasure?”

  “It is,” Sir Karlo said. “What is more, I told your king this and he approved. Of course, the king told me that he would collect his royal third. And this is just, as the location lies within the jurisdiction of Great Moravia.”

  “It does?” Yury asked in surprise.

  Lady Belgorod touched Yury’s arm and shook her head.

  “What I ask of you, Sir Petor,” Karlo said, “is to allow the king’s writ its due and to give me your permission to hire farmers. They will help us dig up the treasure. Of course, they will be well paid.” Karlo snapped his fingers.

  The second-nearest ruffian reached below the table and lifted a heavy sack, placing it in his neighbor’s hands. That ruffian untied the sack and handed it to Karlo. Sir Karlo overturned it and dumped a pile of silver coins onto the table.

  “I pay in silver!” Sir Karlo shouted to the feasters.

  The feasters burst into loud voices as they turned to one another in wonder. Petor leaned toward his mother. They whispered together.

  Ivan watched Sir Karlo. The silver-haired knight leaned back as he studied the crowd.

  Petor banged on the table again. “Silence!” he said. “I ask for silence.” It took longer this time, but soon the people quieted. Petor told Karlo, “You state a generous offer, good sir. But I am unable to give you permission to hire Belgorod farmers.”

  Sir Karlo frowned. “Your king gave his permission.”

  “Master Volok, my father, is the first knight here. Such a decision you ask for is only his to give.”

  “When does he return?”

  “Perhaps this very night.”

  Sir Karlo smiled, tension easing out of him. “I can wait.”