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                                              Impossible Odds



                                              By Dave Duncan



PROLOGUE



Awaken the Dead



 The night was unusually dark. The day had been hot and clear, but heavy clouds had rolled in after
sunset to blot out the stars. There was no moon. In Chivial such nights were calledcatblinders.

 The guard changed at midnight. In pitch darkness Mother Celandine, Sister Gertrude, and their escort
paraded through the grounds ofNocarePalace . Nocare’s gardens were de-servedly famous and
especially lovely now, at the start of Eighthmoon, except that they were totally invisible. Al-though Trudy
was catching enough scents of night-flowering plants—stock, evening primrose, possibly
moonflower—to tell her what she was missing, the lanterns carried by the two footmen leading the way
illuminated only the paved path underfoot and mere hints of shrubbery.

The four men-at-arms of the Household Yeomen marching noisily at the rear she considered an
unnecessary precaution, because any evil-intentioned intruder who glimpsed her and the majestic Mother
Celandine in their voluminous white robes and steeple hats was likely to run screaming off into the


2Dave Duncan

 darkness, gibbering about ghosts. Besides, one of them was wearing a talisman that jangled her nerves
like a tortured cat. In the few days since she had arrived at Court she had been appalled by the number
of people who put their trust in such quackery. Good luck charms would attract bad luck as often as
good, because chance was elemental. Educated people ought to know this. Other than that, midnight
prowling was rather fun. Sour old Mother Celandine must not be finding it so, for she had barely spoken
a word since they met.

 The White Sisters were rarely required to use their conjuration-detecting skills in the middle of the night.
Nighttime security was normally a male sport—the Yeomen guarding the gates and the grounds, the
Blades patrolling the inside of the palace—but now the King was entertaining an important guest and
either he or someone in his train had been tactless enough to include conjurements in his bag-gage.
Anyone else would have been reprimanded and made to turn them in, but a Grand Duke had to be
humored. So the White Sisters’ help was required, and Sister Gertrude was the most junior Sister in
attendance at Court. Tonight Mother Celandine would supervise and instruct. Thereafter Trudy would
have the night honors all to herself.

It was only a formality.
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 Two lights came into view and soon resolved themselves into torches set in sconces on either side of an
imposing doorway, the entrance to Quamast House. The Grand Duke had been lodged a long way from
the main palace, and Sir Bernard had assured Trudy that this was the Blades’ doing. Most visitors were
bunked in the West Wing, but the Blades never took chances with unidentified spirituality.

 Under each sconce stood a pike man in shiny breastplate and conical steel hat. The one on the right
stamped his boots, advanced one of them a pace, lowered his halberd, and pro-claimed, “Who goes
there?”


3Impossible Odds

 That was a very stupid question when he knew the answer already. The Royal Guard scorned such
folderol as pass-words, Bernard had told her, because they all knew one an-other and because they tried
to do nothing the Yeomen did, or at least never in the way the Yeomen did it.

 “The nightingale sings a sad song!” Sergeant Bates pro-claimed at Trudy’s back. That was not true,
because nightin-gales had finished singing back in Fifthmoon, and he said it loud enough for any skulking
trespasser to overhear.

 The man-at-arms resumed his former position, slamming the butt of his halberd on the stone. “Pass,
friend.”

 One of the footmen opened the right-hand flap of the dou-ble door. As Trudy followed Mother
Celandine through it, she caught a startling whiff of... of she was not sure what. She did not stop to
investigate.

 She found herself in a pillared hall that must take up most of the ground floor of the building. A very
inadequate light was shed by a pair of enormous bronze candelabra standing at the foot of a showy
marble staircase set in the center of the hall, which seemed an inefficient use of space. Much vague
sculpture loitered in the shadows along the walls. The marble floor supported some random rugs and a
few ugly sofas and chairs, poorly arranged.

A voice at her elbow said, “Good chance, Trudy.”

She jumped and turned to meet his grin. “Bernard!” He had not told her he would be here!

He smirked. “A last-minute roster change.”

 Obviously he had arranged this so he could surprise her— and embarrass her! Mother Celandine was
frowning, and three other Blades had emerged from the darkness to leer. All Blades looked much
alike—lean, athletic men of middle size, mostly in their twenties. The conjuration that bound them to
absolute loyalty to the King showed to her senses as an ethereal metallic glow, which she found very
becoming.


4Dave Duncan

“He’s a fast worker, our Bernie,” one said.
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“Gotta watch those rapier men.”

Horrors! Her face was on fire.

“That will do!” The fourth Blade was a little older and wore a red sash to show that he was in charge.
He tapped the cat’s-eye pommel of his sword. “Good chance to you, Mother Celandine.”

“And to you, Sir Valiant.”

 “Do you know Sir Richey? SirAragon ? And our expert breaker of hearts, Sir Bernard?” The men
saluted in turn.

Mother Celandine nodded crisply to each salute. “This blushing maiden is Sister Gertrude.”

Jealous old hag!

“Known as Trudy to her friends,”Aragon remarked in an audible aside.

“We asked for White Sisters, not red ones,” Richey coun-tered.

 Mortified, Trudy caught Bernie’s eye. He winked. She re-alized that he was showing off. The others’
crude humor was a form of flattery. She winked back.

“Why don’t you have more lights?” Celandine demanded, peering disapprovingly at the gloom.

 “Blades see well in the dark,” Sir Valiant said, “but the real reason is that the visitors took every candle
and lamp they could find upstairs with them. The Baron said some-thing about liking lots of light. We’ll
make sure we have more tomorrow.”

The old lady sniffed. “Well, let’s get it over with. Carry on, Sister.”

 Trudy led the way back to the door to begin. The lantern-bearing footmen followed, and the Blades
retreated to the staircase in the center, so their bindings would not distract the Sisters. Trudy closed her
eyes and listened. She inhaled, licked the roof of her mouth, queried her skin for odd sen-


5Impossible Odds

 sations... did all the curious things that promoted her sen-sitivity to the spirits, tricks she had been taught
at Oak-endown. She missed Oakendown and all her friends there, although it had been seriously
deficient in boypeople, who were turning out to be just as much fun as she had dreamed.

 “Nothing here, Mother.” She began walking around the edge of the hall, stopped at the first corner.
“There is some-thing above here, though! Mostly air, some fire and water. And love.” Except for trivia
like good luck charms, conjura-tions were forbidden within the palace.

 Celandine stifled a yawn. “Then we’re under the Grand Duke’s bedroom. He wears some sort of a
translation device.”

 “It’s a seeming, surely? I mean,” Trudy added before the old harridan could take offense, “it’s more like
a seeming than anything else I’ve met.”
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Mother Celandine pursued thin lips, wrinkling them more than ever. “I do believe you’re right! Yes.
That’s good. We missed that possibility. But it’s harmless, you agree?”

 Maybe, but the rules said... Trudy had been reprimanded twice already that day for talking back. The
Prioress was threatening to post her to uttermost Wylderland if she did not learn proper respect for her
seniors. “Yes, Mother.” She hoped the King did not sign anything when he was near that enchantment.

With the footmen in attendance, Sister and Mother pa-raded around the ground floor, through deserted
kitchens, a dining room, an office. Trudy detected nothing untoward until she was almost back where she
had begun.

 “There’s something here! Upstairs, I mean.” This one was much harder, and she struggled for several
minutes, but the jangle of elementals defied analysis. “There’s more than one conjuration. I can’t make
them out. A lot of them, all mixed up.” Her skin crawled. “I think we should go up and have a close look
at that!”


6Dave Duncan

 “It is Baron von Fader’s medicine chest,” Mother Celandine said. “Or, at least, that was what they were
in when they arrived. He is His Grace’s physician, as well as his Foreign Secretary and Treasurer and
spirits know what else. We scanned it carefully. The Prioress decided not to ask for the chest to be
opened.”

“Why not? There’s death in there!”

“Sister! There’s death in almost anything, as you well know. Were you never taken to an apothecary’s
when you were at Oakendown? Many drugs and simples are dangerous in large amounts. And Grand
Dukes are entitled to the ben-efit of small doubts. Now, have you done?”

“I am uneasy about this one, Mother,” Trudy said stubbornly.

“It was approved only this morning. But remember it care-fully. If you sense any change in it tomorrow,
or any other night, then tell the Guard right away. Don’t be afraid to ask for my help if you’re in doubt.
Come!”

She led the way back to the waiting Blades.

“You wish to go upstairs now?” Valiant asked.

 “No, we are satisfied. Anything really dangerous we could detect from down here. Of course we
located the Baron’s medicine chest and the seeming His Grace wears, but we were already aware of
those.”

“Are they dangerous?” Valiant demanded.

“Not unless you swallow an overdose of purge or sleep-ing draft.”

“His Nibs wears a seeming? What does that do?”
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“Makes him attractive to blushing maidens,” Trudy said. That was probably all it was for, but the
medicine chest still bothered her. Any job half-done bothered her.

 Mother Celandine was not amused. Mother Celandine wanted her beauty sleep. “You know where we
are if you need us, Sir Valiant.”

As they headed for the door, Bernard pulled another of his


7Impossible Odds

tricks. Right behind Trudy’s ear, but loud enough for every-

one to hear, he said, “Breakfast as usual, Trudy?”

“Of course,” she shot back. “My place this time.”

SirAragon said, “Oooooh, Trudy!”

“We will come and chaperone you, Trudy,” Sir Richey added.

 She had never had breakfast with Bernie. She had never been to bed with him, either, although tonight
after dinner had been a very close call. If she had not had to go on duty, who knew what might have
happened?

She did, of course.

But only by hearsay.

So far.

 Before her face could even think about blushing, she fol-lowed Mother Celandine into the dark
vestibule, then out-side. She went down one step and stopped so suddenly that Sergeant Bates almost
slammed into her. She looked inquir-ingly at the guard who had challenged them on their arrival. He was
playing statue again, but... but...

“Something wrong, Sister?” Bates asked.

“I’m not sure.” She was sensing something. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Answer her, Elson!” the sergeant said.

The sentry was very tall and had an untidy blond beard. He blinked down at her stupidly. “Right? Yes,
mistress, I mean, Sister.”

 Trudy shivered. She recalled noticing this same oddness on the way in, and now it was stronger. Very
strange. Noth-ing familiar. Air? No fire. No love or chance. Time, no water. Death. Yes, definitely quite
a lot of death.

“What is it?” Mother Celandine had returned. “Mm? Oh, that. Are you wearing an amulet, soldier?”
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Elson shook his head vigorously, as if trying to dislodge his helmet. “No, Mother.”


8Dave Duncan

“How about a ring, mm?”

“Er, yes, Mother...”

 Mother Celandine laughed harshly and took a firm hold of Trudy’s arm to lead her down the steps.
“He’s a young male, Sister.”

Trudy resisted the opportunity to say she had guessed that much because of the beard. “I don’t
understand, Mother.”

Bates barked commands; the procession formed up as be-fore and began moving along the path.

“Conjured rings are a common form of—ahem!—family planning, dear. Rings don’t get in the way when
you take everything else off. I admit that Man-at-arms Elson’s is un-usual, not a formula I recall ever
meeting before, but you’ll find such devices all over the palace.”

“I’m sorry.” She had made a fool of herself.

“I like your young Blade, Bernard.”

Trudy gasped. “Er... thank you.”

“It must tax a girl to keep up with that sense of humor.”

“I’ve managed so far.”

“I noticed.”

“Bernie’s fun. But you shouldn’t refer to him asmyBlade.”

 “He thinks he is.” The Mother sighed. “I used to lust after Blades quite absurdly, but their bindings
always gave me a headache at close quarters. Still do. Even tonight, just those few minutes with them.”

 If she had an aversion to Blades, why had she accepted a posting at Court? It was no excuse for
skimping on the in-spection.

“Bindings don’t bother me,” Trudy confessed, trying to imagine Mother Celandine forty years ago, a
demure maiden fresh in from Oakendown.Lusting?The mind reeled. “I quite like it, in fact.” It was sexy.

“Then you’re lucky. You do understand that other young


9Impossible Odds

men will stay well clear of you if you date a Blade? And everyone will assume you’re sleeping with him?”
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 “I do notsleepwith Bernard! I mean I do not, er,liewith him!” Justsittingbeside him was quite dangerous
enough.

 “Then you’re about to,” Mother Celandine said firmly. That was not a question. “Unless you drop him
completely, right away.” That was.

“I don’t want to dothat,” Trudy said.

“Then let’s talk about rings and things, dear.”

 When a stupid twigger asked you if you felt all right, the first thing that happened was that you startednot
feeling all right. Think about it for a while longer and you began to feel allwrong.As the night passed,
Junior Pike Man Elson grew steadily more unhappy. He was cold. He was sweating. His eyes hurt. He
had a flea, and fleas inside a breastplate were worse torture than the rack. He was really mad at his idiot
wife for starting another baby so soon. Already he couldn’t afford to feed all the gaping mouths that
greeted him when-ever he went home.

 Every quarter hour or so, Corporal Nolly gave the signal that meant, count three, then stamp feet
together, shoulder halberd, take one pace forward, turn inward, and so on. It ended with the two of them
having changed sides. That was better than being reported for fainting on duty, but it hardly classed as an
exciting evening.

It was the glare of the torchlight that made Elson’s eyes hurt.

His new girl was probably balling that redhead in Blue Company right now.

 Every hour or thereabouts, Nolly gave the other signal, so Elson shouldered his halberd and marched
around to the back door to relieve Blaccalf. Then he was all alone and could shiver all he wanted. He
could keep his eyes closed so


10Dave Duncan

 that torchlight didn’t pain him. He could run on the spot to try and warm up. He could scratch for the
flea. At least the mosquitoes seemed to have taken pity on him. He decided it was no great honor to
guard Grand Duke Whosit of Wher-ever, who was no doubt swiving some cute blonde in a feath-erbed
upstairs. He was screamingly mad at Sergeant Bates.

Tramping boots announced the return of Blaccalf.

 Elson went round to the front and took up his position. Just when had the spirits decreed that he must
stand out here freezing in the dark to guard some rich foreign slob he had never met, a stuck-up slob who
wouldn’t ever give him as much as a nod of thanks? That same slob was upstairs right now swingeing
some slutty twigger! Why didn’t Nolly just tell him to go off home, or go off and find his girl, whatever
bed she was in?

Nolly gave the signal again.

Count three...

For variety this time, as they were about to pass in the middle of the step, Elson pushed his dagger into
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Nolly’s left eye. Nolly dropped his halberd. He didn’t fall down. He just leaned forward and made little
whimpering sounds as he watched the thin stream of blood trickling off the hilt of the dagger and
splashing on his boots.

 The overhead light was too bright for the next bit. Elson walked unsteadily down the steps. Then he
swung his own halberd horizontal and held it with both hands so he could cut his throat. The process was
not as painless as he had hoped. He should have kept the edge sharper.

Nolly stopped trickling and stopped complaining. He stumped down the steps and headed around to the
back of the house, looking for Blaccalf.

Elson finished dying and walked back up, then in through the front door. ***


11Impossible Odds

 The Blades approved of Quamast House because they knew that any questionable guests billeted there
would not go sneaking out any secret passages. No assassins were going to sneak in, either. When it had
been built by King Ambrose, the Guard Commander had been the great Durendal, now Grand Master,
and he had made sure that it was built right. With the outer doors and windows securely barred, as they
were, Valiant and his little squad had nothing to do except stay awake at the bottom of the staircase.
From there they had a clear view of the upstairs balcony and the doors to all the bedrooms.

 It was an easy chore and tonight they even had a rookie with them, who must be introduced to some of
the fiendish dice games the Blades employed to while away their stints. No charge for instruction. IOUs
accepted without limit. Some recruits needed years to pay off their initiations.

 Of course Cub Bernard first had to be baited about that slinky White Sister he had acquired. It was
unseemly that a freckle-faced tyro, not two weeks into the Guard and barely through his orgying lessons,
should collect something like that when better men hankered in vain. They quickly dis-covered that young
Bernard was not the average run-of-the-mill Ironhall innocent. He could see that they were all as jealous
as stags with glass antlers. He gave back as good as he got, inventing much lurid detail.

 Abandoning that game as unwinnable,Valiant,Aragon , and Richey got serious. They found a massive
oaken dining table and, with some difficulty, dragged it to the bottom of the stair. They tried to move the
two colossal bronze cande-labra closer to it—however exceptional a Blade’s night vi-sion, in monetary
matters he liked his brothers’ hands well lit. Finding the monsters immovable, they settled for the ex-isting
illumination and got down to concentrated instruction.

“You know Saving Seven, of course?” Valiant asked.


12Dave Duncan

 The kid said he didn’t, so Richey demanded to see the color of his money andAragon produced a bag
of eight-sided dice. Each face represented one of the elements, he ex-plained, and you rolled them four
dice at a time. The object was to roll seven elements but not the eighth, death. Roll a death and you had
to start collecting from the beginning.

“First player has a slight edge,” he added, “so we’ll give you the honor. After that the winner starts the
next one. Put a farthing in the pot and roll four.”
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 On his first try the kid rolled two airs, a water, and a chance, so he counted three. Sir Richey paid his
farthing and rolled two deaths, which put him out of that game altogether. The other two scored four
elements apiece.

“Just keep going,” Richey said. “You can fold, pay the same price as the last man, or double it.”

 Nobody doubled on that round, which saw the kid roll love, time, and fire, while Valiant andAragon
added one el-ement each. Being ahead with six, lacking only earth, Bernard doubled the price, but failed
to improve his score. The others paid when their turns came, with the same lack of progress, so he
doubled the price again. He had spirit. With the pot starting to look interesting, he rolled a triple death.
Valiant andAragon exchanged angry glances. Richey guffawed.

Bernard brightened. “What does that mean?”

 “It means you win,” Richey explained quickly, before the other two could invent a new rule for the
occasion. “Roll aquadrupledeath and everyone who was in the game at the beginning has to pay you the
final amount of the pot. That’s called the ‘massacre.’ Another game, Freckles?”

“Why not?” Bernard raked in the coins.

 It is regrettable that skill, virtue, and experience are no match for fickle chance. The brat won four games
in a row, two of them with triple deaths. The next game turned out to


13Impossible Odds

 be a never-ender, where everybody kept rolling single deaths and no one could reach the magic seven.
With the pot grow-ing enormous and three sharpies’ reputations at stake, the betting grew desperate,
until eventually they had the kid cor-nered. They were all sitting on winnable arrays and he was back
down to two. All three of them in turn doubled the bet, expecting to price him out of the game. Perhaps
he was too dumb to see that he could not win from there in a single roll. Or perhaps it was just that he
was playing with their money and they were all writing IOUs. He not only stayed in, he doubled yet
again.

Then he rolled a quadruple death.

 The appalled silence was broken by a yell from Valiant, who had his back to the staircase and was
facing the main door. He leaped to his feet, whipping out his sword. “In-truder! Richey, get him. You two
come with me.” He ran seven or eight steps up and turned to survey the hall.

“You’re seeing things!”Aragon said, but he went to join his leader, blocking the way to the guests above.
So, to his credit, did Bernard, who might reasonably suspect a trick to cheat him out of half a year’s pay.

Sir Richey strode forward to the main entrance carrying his saber,Pain, at high guard. The little vestibule
was dark, but when he reached the line of pillars, he shouted, without turning his head, “The door’s still
barred!” He stopped. “I can smell blood! There’s blood on the—” Something stand-ing behind the
nearest pillar lurched out at him. Possibly the stains on the floor had distracted him, but he parried the
hal-berd thrust admirably, caught hold of its shaft in his left hand, and swungPainat his assailant’s neck.

A Blade had little to fear in such a match, and Valiant wisely did not send him reinforcements. The
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staircase was still the key. He said, “Aragon, waken the Duke and the Baron and get back here.”Aragon
went racing up the stairs.


14Dave Duncan

 Richey, having almost decapitated his assailant, let go of the halberd. That was a mistake, for the intruder
did not drop. Instead he swung the halberd at Richey’s midriff. Richey leaped back, parrying. His
opponent shuffled after, repeatedly stabbing at him. As they came closer to the stairs and the light,
Bernard cried out in horror. Now it was clear that the intruder was a walking corpse, for its head hung at
an odd angle and it was soaked in dried blood from cuirass to boots. The gaping wound Richey had
made in its neck was almost bloodless, but there was another, a crusted black gash. Its throat had been
cut twice, and it was still fighting.

 Nearer still, and Richey, incredibly, started to laugh, albeit shrilly. The apparition continued to thrust at
him with the point of its halberd, which he parried effortlessly, as if it were made of stiff paper. He tried a
few cuts of his own, knocking the apparition aside like straw. It kept coming back, but was obviously
harmless.

“It’s only a mirage!” he shouted.

Upstairs,Aragon was yelling and beating on doors.

 Another Yeoman wraith came into view around the stair-case, from the kitchen quarters. It moved with
the same awkward walk and it had a dagger hilt protruding from its left eye. When it reached the table it
dropped on all fours and crept underneath.

“Leave it alone,” Valiant said. “Ghosts can’t hurt us.”

 Richey had almost reached the stairs and his opponent was transparent, barely visible at all. He was
letting its clumsy strokes go, for they passed clean through him as if he were not there. Likewise,Pain
whistled through the shadow without effect.

 The table tilted, spilling dice and money. Valiant and Bernard watched in amazement, for all four Blades
together had barely managed to shift that monstrosity. For a moment it stood on edge, then tipped over,
impacting one of the can-


15Impossible Odds

delabra. They went down together with a crash that shook the hall. Most of the candles winked out.
Darkness leaped inward.

 Richey screamed as his opponent’s halberd impaled him.Painwent skittering off across the marble floor.
Richey fell; the corpse withdrew the halberd and stabbed him again. Then again. The second intruder
clambered off the fallen table and went lurching toward the other candelabrum with both arms held
across his eyes.

“Save the other candles!” Valiant yelled. He and Bernard went plunging back down the stairs.

Bernard got there first with a couple of giant, reckless, ankle-risking strides and made a spectacular
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lunge, thrusting his rapier into the armpit gap in the side of the dead man’s cuirass. He did not stop there.
Sword and Blade together went clean through the smoky figure. Bernard hit the floor in a belly flop and
slid past Sir Richey and the thing that kept stabbing at him. He lay as if stunned. His heroics had been
unnecessary, for the corpse he had been attacking had faded to almost nothing beside the candelabrum.

Upstairs, doors were flying open. Unfortunately, the light pouring out of them did little to brighten the
deadly gloom below.

 Valiant took station under the remaining candelabrum, parrying the efforts of the second shadow to
throttle him until he realized that it could not harm him. A third intruder shuffled in from the kitchens,
completely enveloped in a heavy carpet. Valiant waited until it was close and then charged it, thrusting
Quietusthrough the rug and feeling her jar against a steel cuirass inside. The occupant retaliated by tipping
the carpet over him and body-checking him. He was thrown over backward by the weight of a big man
in half armor, but by the time he hit the marble, the load on top of him was no more than that of the rug
alone.


16Dave Duncan

 He struggled free of it. Now two of the wraiths flitted around him, struggling to injure him with no more
success than he would have fighting mist.

 Voices upstairs shouted that help was on the way. Out in the shadows Richey lay on his back, obviously
dead. Bernard sat up. The first Yeoman corpse swung its halberd at him. Bernard rolled nimbly aside.
Steel rang on stone where he had lain. His move put him within reach of his rapier,Lightning. He grabbed
hold of her hilt, but was not quite fast enough getting back on his feet. Still off balance, he parried the
halberd aside with his left hand and droveLightningthrough the corpse so that two-thirds of her stuck out
of its back. That stroke would certainly have ended any living opponent, but the dead one ignored it and
fell on top of him. They went down together, with the corpse clawing at his throat.

 Valiant reached him, swingingQuietuslike a broadsword. He chopped the thing’s head off with one
stroke, executioner style. The helmeted head hit the floor with a clang, but the decapitated corpse paid
no heed and continued its two-handed throttling of the boy.

 The third wraith was going up the stairs, at first flitting like flying ash, gradually slowing and growing solid
as it reached the darkness. Aragon and the fat Baron were coming down to meet it, brandishing
candlesticks and lanterns, and it faded back to harmless, flickering shadow.

 Struggling to save Bernard from strangulation, Valiant went to work on the monster’s arms. He had
almost cut through one when he was hurled to the floor. He looked up to see the corpse with the dagger
in its eye. It lashed out with its boot. He tried to roll away and it followed, kicking him with
bone-breaking impacts. He couldn’t breathe; he was as good as dead.


17Impossible Odds

Then Aragon and Baron Fader brought their lights and it again faded to smoke.

“Quickly!” the Baron shouted. He was a gruesome ap-parition himself, with a voluminous white
nightgown bil-lowing around his great bulk and spikes of white hair and beard sticking out in all
directions. “Before they escape! We must pen the shadowmen in here. Come, come!”
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“Bernard?” Valiant croaked, gasping at the pain in his ribs.

“Bernard’s dead!”Aragon shouted. “Can you walk?” He had both hands full of lanterns, four of them.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” the Baron screamed in his squeaky voice. “They will escape. They will attack the
palace! Hurry!”

 Bernard was starting to rise, his eyes like blank white peb-bles. Valiant struggled to his feet and
recoveredQuietus.He tottered back to the stair between the other two men. The shadowmen followed,
five ominous, barely visible shapes at the edge of the brightness, one of them headless.

Wrapped in a heavy red robe, the Grand Duke was strug-gling to overturn the candelabrum. His two
manservants were coming down, half naked, but bringing more light.

“Stop!” Valiant shouted.

 “No!” the Baron retorted. “This must go.” He threw his great weight into the argument. The
candelabrum shivered. Only whenAragon joined in did it rock and then topple, hit-ting the ground with a
noise like a falling smithy and snuff-ing out most of the candles. The Baron stamped on the others,
dancing grotesquely while waving his many-branched candlesticks, in danger of going up in flames
him-self. Then the six living men hurried up the stairs together, leaving the lower floor to darkness and the
dead.

 They piled into the ducal bedroom and slammed the door. The Baron slumped down on a chair, which
creaked alarm-


18Dave Duncan

ingly. The Grand Duke fell on the bed and buried his face in the covers.

“We must warn the Palace!” Valiant whispered. His bruised chest was an agony.

“No, is all right!” Baron Fader proclaimed, wheezing after his exertions. “Schattenherrenare deadly in
darkness, but then they cannot pass through walls.”

“Can’t they just open the doors and walk out?”Aragon demanded.

 The fat man shrugged. “Hope they won’t. They want us and will stay close to us. Of course if someone
else comes or goes by too near the house... then they might. Daylight comes, they will die.”

Richey had died. Bernard had died. Valiant wished he had.

Sister Trudy would breakfast alone.




                                                      I
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                                            At the Break of Day

                                                     •1•

Enter!” Grand Master said.

 Sir Tancred did so and closed the heavy door behind him, moving with the feline grace of an expert
fencer. He had changed out of his mud-soaked traveling clothes into fresh, crisp livery, and no one could
have known from the look of him that he had spent the better part of a day and night on horseback. His
silver baldric marked him as Deputy Com-mander of the Royal Guard; his presence here at Ironhall, far
away from Grandon where the King was, meant that something was seriously awry.

“All bedded down?” Grand Master inquired dryly.

 “My charges are. Your two are falling all over themselves getting dressed.” Tancred’s thin smile was a
formality, not denying the underlying worry. “Unless they decided I was just a nightmare and went back
to sleep.”

 Grand Master grunted and turned back to stare out the window at the first glow of sunrise on the wild
crags of


20Dave Duncan

 Starkmoor. Early-morning chill dug into his bones, making him shiver and pull his cloak tight about him,
yet in fact his study was still warm from the previous day’s heat. Tancred was not even wearing a cloak
over his jerkin, and that dis-play of youthful vigor made Grand Master feel old. Hewasold, Lord Roland,
although he rarely had to admit it, even to himself. He was too old to be dragged out of bed in the
mid-dle of the night, too old to deal with unexpected, unwelcome visitors, and too old to tackle a
monstrous problem created by a fool of a king.

“I regret that I brought such trouble,” Tancred said quietly. This was their first chance to talk privately.

 “Not your fault.” It was Grand Master’s fault. Yes, the King was being totally unreasonable and Leader
was a wor-rywart, but the responsibility was Grand Master’s. If his du-ties required him to refuse direct
orders from his sovereign, then he should be prepared to do so and take the conse-quences. It was guilt
that gnawed at him this morning, not age. In a long life of service, he had rarely known such a sense of
failure.

“Exactly how many warm bodies does His Majesty ex-pect me to produce?”

 “Beg pardon... the warrant.” Sir Tancred stepped closer to hand over the baleful paper, a single sheet
that might dis-pose of many young lives. “He left the number blank. He said to tell you at least one, but
he knows you don’t like to assign less than three private Blades at a time. No more than three, he said.”

 “How considerate of him! As soon as possible, I assume? Ram the swords through the boys’ hearts and
throw the lot of them on the first ship out of country by this time tomorrow?”

 “Even sooner!” Sir Tancred smiled, although he must be shocked to hear such sarcasm from a man
renowned for his discretion.
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21Impossible Odds

 Idiot king! Athelgar certainly knew that Ironhall had no boys ready to graduate as Blades, because it
was only two weeks since he had made his semiannual pilgrimage to the school to harvest the latest crop
of seniors, binding them to absolute loyalty with the ancient, arcane ritual. Grand Mas-ter had wanted to
release six candidates and had reluctantly included another three to please Sir Florian, who was anx-ious
to build up the Guard’s numbers. The previous Com-mander, Sir Vicious, had preferred to keep it
lean—as Grand Master himself had, back in his own time as Leader, forty years ago. Florian saw safety
in numbers, which was his privilege.

 But then, just a week later, the King had decided on im-pulse to appoint a new ambassador to
Baelmark. The hap-less designate, Lord Baxterbridge, had arrived at Ironhall with a warrant for three
Blades. Grand Master should have dug in his heels then, but how could he condemn a man to go off to
that nest of bloodthirsty pirates without adequate protection? Diplomatic immunity carried no weight in
Bael-mark. Only steel and the skill to use it mattered there, and the season on ambassadors never
closed. So Grand Master had released three more candidates, very much against his better judgment.

And today another warrant. It took five years to turn an outcast rebel boy into a Blade and even Prime
Candidate Ranter had been in the school for less than four. Not since the worst days of the Monster
War, forty years ago, had Ironhall suffered such a dearth of trained, competent seniors.

“Eagledid look somewhat sparse,” Tancred remarked caustically.

 Eaglewas a dormitory with a dozen beds and only three occupants—Ranter, Ringwood, and Goodwin.
Two of them had not been billeted there a full week yet. A moment ago Grand Master had been feeling
sorry for himself because he


22Dave Duncan

 had lost half a night’s sleep. How much worse this morn-ing’s awakening must have been for Ranter,
being shaken awake by the Deputy Commander! He would have known instantly that his stay in Ironhall
was at an end, his adoles-cence over. Ringwood could still hope that he would not be needed, but both
of them had reasonably looked forward to another year of security and instruction, time to mature
per-sonally and physically, to perfect the deadly skills they would need as Blades. They were entitled to
all that, and Grand Master had failed them.

He realized that Tancred’s comment had really been a question about Candidate Bellman, who was
none of his business. Bellman was another worry, but this mess had nothing to do with him.

“Goodwin didn’t waken?” Grand Master asked.

“Still snoring when I left.”

 After a moment, Lord Roland’s anger erupted again. “Tell me, Deputy, was Leader not consulted about
this warrant? Did he not remind His Majesty that Ironhall presently has no candidates ready for binding?”

 Tancred squirmed and avoided his eye. “I’m sure he did, because I was sent to fetch your most recent
report on the seniors. What you wrote about Ranter was—”
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 “I know what I wrote about Ranter! I am not in my dotage yet, thank you.”I have promoted Candidate
Ranter to sen-ior. He is physically mature and shows promise with the heavier weapons. His
horsemanship is above average.Nothing about his use of the rapier or his social skills, which were
nonexistent. Nothing about brains, ditto. “Has His Majesty never heard of damning with faint praise? Did
Leader not point out that when I wrote those words there were a dozen boys ahead of Ranter in the
senior class and he was a full year from completing his training? Did he not ex-plain that there is a lot
more to a Blade than superlative


23Impossible Odds

 swordsmanship?” Tactical thinking? Political savvy? Work-ing with other people? “Surely Leader
knows that what I said about Ranter implied that he is destined to be a face in the ranks, a carrier-out of
orders from above, not the leader of a private guard expected to make decisions and win the loyalty of
subordinates?”

 “I was not present when Leader advised His Majesty,” Tancred said stiffly. “My opinion was not
asked.”

“Or volunteered, I gather!” Grand Master snapped.

 A good Commander must sometimes talk back to the King. There had been instances in the Blades’
long history when the Guard had literally kidnapped the monarch to move him to safety. When Grand
Master had been Com-mander Durendal, he had argued fiercely with King Am-brose a few times. Sir
Vicious had stood up to Athelgar when he had to. Perhaps that was why the King had chosen a yes-man
to succeed him. No, that was too hard on Florian. He would learn in time, but other people might have to
pay for his lessons.

 Ranter had been a borderline admission. Grand Master had made a mistake accepting him. Chance had
turned minor error into major disaster.

Knuckles rapped on the door again, unnecessarily hard.

 “Enter!” Grand Master turned and forced a smile to greet two scared faces. “Good chance, gentlemen. I
think you can guess the subject of this unexpected meeting.”

 The traditional wording was:His Majesty has need of a Blade; are you willing to serve?and only one
answer was acceptable.

 Ranter’s homely, stubborn face was reddened by the sum-mer sun, which had bleached his normally
sandy hair to tow. At nineteen he was hefty by Blade standards, but his strength and agility were
combined with the social skills of a mollusc. Popularity was often a reliable guide to a boy’s potential.
The


24Dave Duncan

finest Blades Ironhall produced—men likeBeaumont , say, or Kestrel, or Ivor—were almost invariably
worshiped by the youngsters following them. Ranter’s acid tongue and clumsy, even brutal sense of
humor had brought him very few friends.
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 Ringwood was the exact opposite: personable, often witty, dark and lean, with intense, whittled good
looks. As Second he was responsible for discipline and had made a good start in the last few days, in
spite of his youth. Lacking Ranter’s beef, he favored a rapier, and was developing re-markable speed
with it. Given the extra year he deserved, he might become one of the finest fencers in the Order, which
effectively meant in the whole of Eurania. And yet, closing the door, he tangled his sword in it. Grand
Master knew he could never justify binding a mere child under the present circumstances.

And he would not trap Ranter without warning him what lay in store.

 “Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, going to his fa-vorite chair by the empty fireplace, “this may
take longer than usual.”

 Unlike other masters and the moldering old knights in Ironhall, Lord Roland was independently wealthy,
and he had refurbished his study with quality and comfort, with style and fine art. After all, this was where
he had expected to spend the rest of his life. When he gathered the seniors there on winter nights for
strategy lessons—when there were seniors to gather—the second-best chair, in blue leather, was
traditionally reserved for Prime. Now Ranter made a beeline for it, perhaps with the thought that this
would be his only chance to sit in it. He should properly have left it for the Deputy Commander.

 Grand Master did not rebuke him. There were much worse worms in the salad than mere bad manners.
“Sir Tan-cred and ten other members of the Guard arrived here a few


25Impossible Odds

hours ago, escorting a distinguished guest. Will you list the

visitors, please, Deputy?”

“His Grace the Grand Duke Rubin of Krupina, Baron—”

“Krup what? Where’s that?” Ranter demanded.

 “It’s not my job to know,” Tancred replied smoothly—a nice riposte implying that it might soon be
Ranter’s. “He is accompanied by his aide-de-camp, Baron von Fader. His Nibs prefers to be addressed
as ‘Your Royal High-ness,’ but the King refers to him as ‘His Grace,’ so that’s what he is around Court.
He is a distant relative of the Pi-rate’s Son.”

“Nothing wrong with ‘Your Grace,’ ” Ranter said. “We say that to the Pirate’s Son.”

“Prime!”Grand Master barked. “The Guard may refer to our sovereign lord in that disrespectful fashion.
You are not so privileged.” And never would be.

Ranter glowered. “Beg pardon, Grand Master.”

“And if you had paid attention in protocol classes, you would know that you always begin with ‘Your
Majesty.’ Only after that is ‘Sire’ or ‘Your Grace’ permissible.”

“Yes, Grand Master.”

“Carry on, Deputy.”
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 Tancred leaned back on his inferior chair and crossed his ankles. “Wherever Krupina may be, or
however His Nibs is addressed, he has been overthrown by his uncle, Lord Volpe, and has been
scouring the courts of Eurania to find backing for an attempt to win back his throne. Or at least rescue his
wife and child. So far without success, apparently.”

 Ringwood and Ranter exchanged dismayed glances. In Ironhall, appointment to the Guard was regarded
as first prize, because a guardsman dwelt in royal palaces and was dubbed knight and released after ten
years or so. A private Blade remained bound until he or his ward died, so being bound to anyone except
the King ran a distant second. No


26Dave Duncan

 catalogue of desirable wards could ever include a dispos-sessed, penniless noble from some unheard-of
foreign fleapit dukedom.

Grand Master gave them a moment and then said, “I fear there is even worse news than that, Prime.
Deputy, will you please summarize the events of two nights ago?”

 Tancred’s expression turned flinty. “Sad events. The usurper, Volpe, is both a skilled spiritualist himself
and com-mands many others. He has been sending evil enchantments against the Grand Duke. I am
Returning two swords on this visit, Prime. The night before last, His Grace was attacked right
inNocarePalace . Five men died, three Yeomen and two Blades. Sir Richey and Sir Bernard.”

 Dismay turned to horror. Richey they knew as a member of the Guard, but Bernard was one of theirs.
Just two weeks ago he had been fencing with them, walking the halls, eat-ing at the seniors’ table.

 While listening for the second time to an account of the disaster, Grand Master planned his response to
the King’s absurd demand. Ranter would never have been Grand Mas-ter’s choice for Prime, who
should be a role model for all the other boys. Only seniority had landed him in this predica-ment. Grand
Master could not like him, but he felt pity for him. His youthful face was ashen as he listened to the
ac-count of the walking dead and the murders in Nocare. He would refuse binding, of course. He would
be insane to ac-cept this assignment.

 By the rules, the question must then be put to Second, which was why Second had to be present. If he
also re-fused, the process must continue until a candidate ac-cepted, but Grand Master had no intention
of binding a boy as young as Ringwood. He had to sacrifice Ranter, but after that he would tell this
incompetent Grand Duke that there were no qualified candidates available and send the man


27Impossible Odds

 back to Nocare with Tancred. Grand Master must submit his resignation at the same time, of course,
and Athelgar could decide then what to do with him. It would not be the first time Lord Roland had seen
the inside of a dungeon in the Bastion, and his would not be the first distinguished ca-reer to end in
disgrace.

Tancred had almost finished. “Yesterday morning the five corpses were found heaped together in the
darkest corner of the hall, where they had taken refuge from the dawn’s light. Two Blades and three
Yeomen. The Baron said we were for-tunate that Quamast has no cellar. Getting shadowmen out of
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cellars is almost impossible, he says. Questions?”

Ranter’s face was a death’s-head. “You say this was not the first attack?”

“The fourth or fifth since the Grand Duke fled Krupina, apparently. Not all by the same means.”

“And he didn’t warn anyone?”

Tancred nodded grimly. “Yes, he did. He warned the King that there might be more attacks. The King
warned Leader. Leader warned me. I warned Sir Hazard and Sir Valiant when I assigned them.
Somewhere in that chain the warn-ings became diluted, Prime.”

“Diluted?” Ranter snarled. “What the piss does that mean?”

 The Deputy Commander bristled. “It means there will be an inquiry and everyone is kicking dirt over
whatever they dropped. In the end no one will get blamed. It was no one’s fault! First, these shadowmen
only appear on extremely dark nights and we rarely get those in summer. Secondly, this is a very long
way from Krupina, and whatever foul enchant-ment is being used must originate there. Thirdly, they’re
not dangerous in bright light. I’m sure the Grand Duke played down the threat because he came seeking
refuge. Perhaps someone didn’t listen properly or explain properly. Spirits,


28Dave Duncan

Ranter! You think I’m happy to have two men die like that?

I’m sick as a dog. It’s a damnably imperfect world.”

Silence.

 Ranter shot a terrified look at Grand Master. Here it came, the terrible decision. Yesterday he had been
strutting around Ironhall as Prime, lording it over the juniors. Now his world had crumbled to dust.

“Prime,” Durendal said, “our Order is rarely involved in military matters. This case is exceptional
because His Majesty and Grand Duke Rubin are distant cousins. The King is distressed that a member of
his family should be in such danger. He offered him help and protection.” More likely meddlesome
Queen Tasha had talked him into it, for Athelgar was rarely moved by generosity.

 “I know you have not been introduced to foreign politics.” Master of Protocol inflicted those lectures on
the seniors in Twelfthmonth. “So you will not have heard of this Lord Volpe, who heads the Vamky
Brotherhood. I have. He not only commands fearsome enchanters, he himself is reputed to be one of the
greatest warriors in Eurania. In all fairness, I will say this. I have been Grand Master for eleven years.
Even before that, the Blades have been my life, directly or indirectly, since I was fourteen. I admit that I
have never heard of a man offered a harder posting than this one, but our King has commanded and we
must all do our duty.

 “There is nothing personal in this, you understand. I can-not pick and choose. Nor can His Majesty. It is
for this very reason that the Charter insists every candidate will leave Ironhall in the order he was
admitted. Only the fickle ele-mentals of chance have chosen you for this burden instead of someone
else.”
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Grand Master sighed and rose to his feet. Ringwood sprang up at once, followed an instant later by
Ranter. Tan-cred stayed where he was, watching glumly.


29Impossible Odds

“Prime, His Majesty has need of a Blade. Are you willing to serve?”

Ranter licked his lips. “What choice do I have?” His voice was a croak.

 “You were told the rules when you came here,” Grand Master said coldly. “For four years you have
eaten the King’s bread. He has given you shelter and the world’s finest instruction in swordsmanship, not
to mention asylum from any legal action that was outstanding against you. Now he expects you to fulfill
your side of the bargain.”He offers you an impossible assignment.

“Or the moor?”

 That was the official alternative for quitters. In practice expulsion was not the death sentence it seemed,
as Ranter must know. Some victualer’s wagon would find him on the road and give him a ride into
Blackwater or Narby, but he would evermore be a man without a lord, an Ironhall reject, and everyone
knew what sort of boy was admitted to the school in the first place. There would be no dancing at court
balls in Ranter’s future. The best he could hope for was life as a stablehand, but horse owners were wary
of thieves, so sailor, mine worker, or farm laborer was more likely.

Ranter glanced at the equally pale Ringwood standing rigid beside him.

 “How many? Just me, or both of us?” Solitary Blades often went mad trying to guard their wards
twenty-four hours a day.

 Grand Master said, “I will not answer that question until you have answered mine. Shall I put it again, or
do I take your silence to be refusal?” This was torture and he hated it, but he must play by the rules the
first time.

Strategy, Rule One:The most probable outcome of any plan is total breakdown.

Ringwood said quietly, “If Grand Master asks me, too,


30Dave Duncan

Prime, whether you’ve accepted or not . . . I just want you to know that I will accept.”

 That little speech should have been cause for Ranter to hug him and weep tears of gratitude down his
neck. In-stead he curled his lip in scorn. “Of course you say so! If I refuse he’s certain to ask you. If I
accept he may or may not want you as well, but then you’ll at least be one of a pair, won’t you?”

Ringwood shrugged. “I suppose so. Wasn’t what I meant, though.”

“Prime, His Majesty has need of a Blade. Are you willing to serve?”

Ranter swallowed hard. “I will serve,” he whispered.
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Tancred jumped up to thump him on the shoulder. “Bravo!”

 Astonished, Grand Master almost shouted,Weren’t you listening, you young fool? I was telling you this
mission is suicide!Instead he said, “Well done! Very well done! That is one of the bravest things I have
ever heard of. I did not ex-pect you to accept.” He offered a hand.

Ranter ignored it. “I’m just stupid!”

Even if he was, no cell door would slam on Grand Master now. In spite of his best efforts, he had the
Blade the King had ordered, so the problem was solved.

 Except that Ringwood had volunteered. All eyes turned to him. Nobody in the room would tattle back
to the King if Grand Master refused his offer, but ever since his own terrible experience as a private
Blade, he had always in-sisted that three was the absolute minimum number for a private guard. Even
two was infinitely better than one alone.

He owed Ranter a partner.

Ringwood was waiting for the question with eyes shining, like a dog straining at a leash.


31Impossible Odds

He was not old enough to make such a decision.

“Second... this is difficult. Because we are so short of seniors just now, His Majesty left it up to me
whether I would assign one or two Blades to the Grand Duke. I do ap-preciate your courageous offer,
but it isn’t necessary. If you wish to withdraw it, you can remain here as—”

“That’s not fair!” Ranter howled. “Why should he get that choice when I didn’t?”

 “Be silent! He tried to help you and you insulted him. He gets the option because I have the option to
give in this case. I did not in yours.” Grand Master turned back to Ringwood and saw dismay.
“Candidate, this is an exceptionally diffi-cult and dangerous assignment.”

 “Shadowmen?” The boy flushed. “I’m not afraid of shad-ows! If Bernard and the others had been told
about lights, they wouldn’t have died!”

 True, but what in the world was going through his young head? Lord Roland glanced at Tancred, who
shrugged, and then at the unfortunate Ranter, scowling as he waited to hear his fate.

 “Apart from the shadowmen, the Duke has lost his duke-dom. He is dispossessed. Powerful enchanters
are trying to kill him. You would be bound for life to an exile. Another year in Ironhall and a stint in the
Royal Guard is a much bet-ter proposition, lad.”

“With respect, Grand Master,” Ringwood said in shrill and not very respectful tones, “it sounds like the
Duke needs me more a lot more than the King ever will. Maybe I’m not as good a fencer as I could be a
year from now, but I’m a demon by anyone else’s standards. Sir Bowman told me that yesterday!” He
did not have much of a chin yet, but what he had he stuck out stubbornly.
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Unquestionably two half-trained, half-taught boys would be better protection for the Grand Duke than
one. Grand


32Dave Duncan

 Master also had a duty to defend the reputation of the Order itself, because that reputation was the first
line of defense. Reputation alone would often prevent a fight from starting. If word got around that some
Blade guards were incompe-tent, others would face more challenges in future.

“Very well.Candidate Ringwood, His Majesty does have need of a Blade, but if you do not want this
posting, you may refuse it.”

Ringwood grinned wildly. “I will serve!” It was almost a cheer. “Thank you, my lord!”

“Death and fire!” Tancred said. “You shame us.”

 “He’s incredible,” Grand Master agreed. “They both are. I am very proud of you both. You are living up
to the finest traditions of the Order!”

He offered a hand to Ringwood, who beamed and pumped it. “I will always try to do that, Grand
Master.”

“Just two?” Ranter sneered. “You always told us a guard needs three. Why not give me Goodwin, too?”

Grand Master resisted a desire to bark. He was in debt to this lout and the least he could offer in return
was patience. “Goodwin is too young.”

“He’s a month older than this one.”

 “I know.” Grand Master paused to wonder how Goodwin would cope as Prime; there must be twenty
candidates older than he. And how would Ironhall manage with no competent seniors to give the juniors
good practice? Goodwin was a better fencer than Ranter.

“Your future ward is resting, gentlemen, but the binding will take place tonight and he has been advised
of the need for meditation. Ringwood, find Master Armorer and tell him, please. I don’t think he’s even
begun making a sword for you. If he needs the Forge, we’ll find you somewhere else to meditate. Ranter,
break the news to our new Prime, please. Then I suggest you both go straight to the Forge, so


33Impossible Odds

the juniors don’t pester you. I will bring His Grace to meet you later. Ironhall will follow the King’s lead,
but you two have my permission to address him however he wants.

 “And finally,” Grand Master said with feeling, “I thank you on behalf of the King, and again I
congratulate you on your courage and sense of duty.” He could not bring himself to wish them luck.

“Come and meet your doom, jackass.” Ranter led the way to the door.

Ringwood followed, but he paused halfway out and looked back uncertainly. “Grand Master? Er . . .
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Candidate Bellman?...”

“Mind your own business! Bellman is not your concern.”

“Yes, Grand Master. Sorry...” Ringwood vanished, clos-ing the door.

The morning bell began tolling. Prime Candidate Good-win would waken to find himself alone—very
much so from now on, poor lad.

 Sir Tancred was regarding Grand Master with a wry, quizzical expression. He did not say, “Chance
smiles on you this morning, my lord!” or “How could you do that to those poor kids?” He did say,
“Bellman’s still around? The heal-ing failed?”

 Grand Master scorched him with the glare he had per-fected when he was Lord Chancellor. It had
worked then on everyone except King Ambrose, and it still had power to make a Deputy Commander
flinch.

“We shall deal with the Return right after the morning meal, Sir Tancred.”

“Certainly, Grand Master.”


34Dave Duncan

                                                     •2•

The bell tolled. Bellman opened his eyes.

 The usual chorus of complaint erupted all around him.Falconwas normally one of the seniors’ dorms, but
there were thirty-two candidates in the fuzzy class now, and they had overflowed their own dorms,Pard
andLynx. Beardless were being promoted to fuzzy all the time, but no one could move up to senior until
Bellman did. Bellman never would, because promotion, like binding, was based on seniority and fencing
skill, and he fenced like a palsied turtle with its shell on backward. He was the oldest candidate in
Ironhall, but that mattered not at all.

 He sat up and stretched, steeling himself for another day, another round of ignominious failure. His
ordeal must end soon. Grand Master had been incredibly patient, but he could not turn a blind eye
forever. The logjam must be bro-ken and Candidate Bellman’s feet set upon the long road over the
moor.

The door flew open and crashed against a wall. Candidate Mark was short of stature but long on
volume.“THE GUARD’S BACK!”he shrilled.“THERE’S GOING TO BE ANOTHER BINDING!”

 This announcement was greeted with a barrage of boots, pillows, and youthful vulgarities, but Mark was
already gone to spread the word elsewhere. Bodies piled up against the window, and yes, a pair of
blue-liveried Blades were walking across the quad. Where there were two, there would be more.

 Fierce debate broke out. Would Grand Master allow even one senior to be bound when he only had
three of them? Fuzzies were fanatical at keeping track of every candidate’s fencing skills and they knew
Ranter was still mediocre by
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35Impossible Odds

 Blade standards. He couldn’t even beat Sir Lewis, the worst lubber in the Guard. Ringwood was
Ironhall’s best, but Ranter must take precedence.

 Nobody mentioned the utterly inept Candidate Bellman, but there would be no new seniors as long as he
still ate the King’s bread. Seniors were very grand; they wore swords. Fuzzies salivated at the prospect.
They dreamed of it all night long.

 This had to be the end, Bellman decided. He rose and pulled his better hose from the hamper beside his
cot. He would shave, wash, and make himself as respectable as pos-sible for the final, painful interview.
The agony of waiting had gone on too long. If Grand Master did not kick him off the cliff today, he would
do the honorable thing and jump.

 Free! Free at last! Ringwood had trouble not breaking into a run as he went in search of Master
Armorer. He found him right away, stoking up a fire in the Forge. The big, echoing crypt was the mystic
heart of Ironhall. Eight anvils stood around the walls, each with its own hearth and a water trough fed by
the Forge’s own spring. Here the magnificent cat’s-eye swords were made, and this was where Blades
were bound, on the ninth anvil, a coffin-shaped block of steel at the center of the octogram inset in the
rocky floor.

 Tonight at midnight Ringwood would sit there with his shirt off so his future ward could ram a sword
through his heart. The thought gave him shivery feelings in his belly, but they were exciting shivery
feelings. He’d seen lots of bind-ings and nobody ever died. Release! Four years’ imprison-ment ending.

 Master Armorer was a cheerful young giant with a blood-curdling Westerth accent, two apprentices
older than him-self, and more skill at swordmaking than any other armorer in the entire world. He was
clad, as usual, in a pair of boots


36Dave Duncan

and knee-length leathers that exposed arms and shoulders speckled with ancient burn spots. His muscles
were the envy of every boy in the school, and his swords a state treasure. He frowned on hearing the
news.

“Prime are no hitch,” he declared, running massive fin-gers through his hair. “Give him an ax will do he.
Ain’t given little thought to you yet, pecker. You promise me you warn’t not be going to grow none
more?”

“I hope I do. Grow, I mean. Have you made a sword for me yet?”

“Narn. Give me a hint.”

“Rapier? I’m not much good with a broadsword.”

“You’re not bad with sabers. I seen. You comes with me, pecker.” Master Armorer set off across the
Forge.

At the far side he unlocked a chest and threw up the lid to reveal scores of rapiers and slender thrusting
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swords. He rummaged, taking them out one at a time, unwrapping them to inspect them, then replacing
them. “See if one of these might do. Call ’em ‘blacks’ on account of this.” He pointed to the pebble
forming the pommel of the one he was hold-ing. “Same weight as a cat’s-eye. Try an’ this fellow,
pecker.”

 Only Master Armorer ever called anyone “pecker.” After tonight people would call RingwoodSir
Ringwood, al-though he wouldn’t be a real knight. Never mind, he was more interested in that sword.
Thin, straight, and incredibly beautiful! The blade was double-edged near the point, single-edged
otherwise. It was not much heavier than a rapier and had finger rings for control. Even now he could
manage the extra weight, so he wouldn’t lose very much agility, and having an edge would be good if he
ever had to hack pieces off a shadowman.(Gulp!)He tried a few lunges, a cut or two. To have this for his
very own! Forever! Or as long as he lived, say a couple of weeks...


37Impossible Odds

Master Armorer took it from him and offered a rapier.

“No,” Ringwood said. “I think I need something with an edge after all. My ward has trouble with
walking dead.”

Master Armorer raised his eyebrows at that, but said only, “Try this ’un, then.”

 In a happy daze, Ringwood tried out more than a dozen swords. Time passed unheeded; he wasn’t
allowed to eat today anyway. Always he came back to that first one. Finally he raised it and kissed the
blade.

Master Armorer’s eyes twinkled. “Love at first sight, pecker? She’s a hair long f’r ye.”

“I’m still growing.”

“What’s her name to be, then?”

 “Bad News!”Seeing the armorer frown at this insult to his precious work, Ringwood explained, “Sir
Tancred woke us up this morning and said he was bringing bad news. Ranter thought so, too, but I
thought it was wonderful news if it meant I was going to be bound. So this sword is good news to me
and very bad news to my ward’s enemies.” He’d thought of that on the way to Grand Master’s study.

The big man laughed. “I like it! You know what that Ranter wants on his?”

“Invincible.”

The chest boomed shut, echoing through the Forge. The armorer scowled. “Then you’ll be telling me a
good way of spelling that, pecker?”

 Under the sky of swords in the hall, a white-faced Goodwin sat all alone at the seniors’ table, so the
whole school knew what was happening. Ranter good riddance, butRingwood? He’d been a senior less
than a week. The hall buzzed like a jostled hive.

 Bellman went over to wish Goodwin luck and shake his hand. He also asked him to tell Grand Master
that Bellman
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38Dave Duncan

 wanted to see him—meaning Goodwin would have com-pany at the table soon. Goodwin wished him
luck, also.

 And then the Returning. That ceremony was usually only a formality, for most Blades lived to a mellow
antiquity and octogenarians’ deaths meant nothing to healthy, overactive youngsters. It happened every
week or two. But when Deputy Commander Tancred spoke Bernard’s name, it was greeted with cries
of shock. Everyone had liked Bernard. The sobs were not restricted to the soprano tables, and
Tan-cred’s brief account of the shadowmen was certain to inspire many nightmares in the near future.

 Bellman had been close to Bernard, so he was as moved as any, and felt a burning anger as he strode
out of the hall. There had been a lot of very odd ends left untied in that yarn about these so-called
shadowmen. It did not make sense.

A finger poked in his ribs. “Want to talk with you.”

 He turned to view the gap-toothed grin and antler mustache of Sir Hazard, notoriously the worst gossip
in the Guard.

He returned the grin. “Absolutely forbidden to tell you! What about?”

“But you will exchange hints?”

“I don’t have anything to trade.” Bellman could think of no scandal he knew that Hazard wouldn’t. But
Hazard would certainly be his best source of information about the deaths. “Ask me.”

 They found a quiet corner in the quad and sat on grass browned and crisped by the summer heat. The
visiting guardsmen were trying to organize some fencing lessons, but most of the inhabitants were standing
around in solemn groups, discussing the bad news. Even masters and knights were gossiping.

“Now,” Hazard said intently. “A few months ago there was talk of you being our next champ. We’ll
need someone to keep those awful garlicky Isilondians at bay when Cedric


39Impossible Odds

gets senile. I even laid a little far-out money on you for King’s Cup in 408 or 409. I won’t tell you the
odds I got, but I was planning on buying a farm.”

“I was never that good,” Bellman protested. “I was just older than most when I was admitted.”

“Then Grand Master must have seen something special in you,” Hazard said triumphantly.

 What he had seen in Bellman had been a very early death, but that was another story and certainly not
one to share with Lord High Trumpetmouth. Age had helped, though. Bell-man had never been one of
the boys and by his beansprout year even the knights had been speaking to him as an adult.

“Then there came talk that you were slipping,” Hazard went on, “but the last time you and I crossed
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steel you beat me silly. Two weeks ago—they left me at home to clean the crown jewels, you may
recall—they had a big inquest over you, here in Ironhall. Leader, Tancred, Cedric, Grand Mas-ter, the
whole gang of scoundrels. Now there’s whispers on the wind that you’re going to be puked for
stumblebummery, but nobody’s talking! Why? What’s the matter?”

 Bellman laughed. “Is that all?” It was no secret around Ironhall. “My fencing stopped getting better, yes.
Then it started getting worse. Much, much worse. And nobody could understand why. That’s the only
secret—they’re all ashamed to admit that they missed something so obvious.” Including himself, who did
not like to feel he’d been stupid. “Cedric the Invincible? Grand Master, the greatest ever? Master of
Rapiers, Master of Sabers. Some of the old knights were great in their time, you know. They were all
there. They worked me over the whole day.”

“And?”

“And it was Cedric who finally saw it.”

“Sawwhat?” Hazard demanded, the ends of his mustache quivering.


40Dave Duncan

“Why I could still do well against some of the Guard but just about nobody above soprano in Ironhall.”

“And why was that?”

Bellman heaved a deep sigh. “I’m not allowed to say. Now, what’s all this about these shadowmen?”

 “The King is an idiot,” Ranter proclaimed, “giving us away like a brace of partridge to a threadbare
tinpot parasite! What good will that do for Athelgar or Chivial or the Guard? He has the brains of a
fungus. They cover for him all the time, you know. He used too many nails putting his crown on.” He
continued to pace restlessly around the Forge.

 If he talked like this about Athelgar now, how was he going to rant about their ward after they were
bound? Ring-wood was sitting on the floor, leaning against the great anvil, which was chilly against his
backbone. The Forge was never cold, because of the hearths, and in Eighthmoon it was snug going on
cosy. The thought of cold baths in those water troughs had a lot of appeal. That was part of the ritual.
Mas-ter of Rituals joked that it was a test of courage for candi-dates being bound in Firstmoon, but of
course the whole purpose of the ritual was to give a man enough loyalty and courage to die for his ward.

 He wished Ranter would shut up and sit down. They were supposed to be meditating. Meditating, for
example, about the wonderful prospect of freedom, of seeing something other than stone walls and
moorland all day every day, of not having to sleep in the same room every night. Travel. Ad-venture.
Bearing a sword and guarding a ward. Making his life mean something, as Dad had wanted.

 “And what sort of Grand Duke loses his throne and then gets chased all the way across Eurania by evil
conjurers?” Ranter continued bitterly. “What does he expect the Pirate’s Son to do about it? March the
Yeoman over there and arrest


41Impossible Odds
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that Volpe swine? The most he could do would be to give him money, and Baels don’t do that. He
won’t give the Duke the time of day.”

 “Grand Duke. Yes, he will. Now he will. Not much, but he’s going to toss him a purse of gold and ship
the whole gang of us out of Chivial so fast our feet won’t touch the ground.”

 Ranter kicked at an anvil, not hard enough to hurt his foot, but enough to scuff his boot. “Doesn’t want
any more shad-owmen, you mean? I suppose so. I ran into Sir Lewis on my way over here and he says
Krapina is two hundred leagues east of Fitain and smaller than Dimpleshire.”

“That’sKrupina, notKrapina.”

“Shut up! I’m your leader now, sonny, and I won’t have you standing around correcting me all the time.”

Ringwood looked up in alarm. “What?”

“Every guard must have a leader!” Ranter leered. “That’s a Blade rule. The ward chooses, although his
Blades can elect another if they disagree. This Duke can pick a man or a boy. Which do you think he’ll
want?”

Ranter as his leader? For the rest of his life?Vomit!Ring-wood didn’t want to meditate on that.

 Once again the quad rang with sounds of steel. Fencing les-sons were under way. Bellman lay on his
back, staring up at fake battlements against cloudless blue. Farewell to good times. This was the last day
of the happiest days of his life. Maybe soon his last day, period. How much of a start would they give
him?

“That’s him,” Hazard said. “On his way to see Grand Master, methinks.”

Bellman sat up. Four men, two of them guardsmen, were crossing the quad, heading for First House.
Activity stopped as they went by the fencing pairs, leaving a trail of staring eyes behind them.


42Dave Duncan

“The fat one?”

“No. The fat one’s Baron von Fader.”

“Just as well,” Bellman said. “I’d hate to think of that but-terball shimmying down a rope of bedsheets.
How did Rubin escape from Evil Uncle Volpe, anyway?”

“Not yet.” Hazard’s dark eyes gleamed. “First you tell me what was wrong with your fencing that
Cedric saw but everybody else had missed?”

Bellman sighed. “He noticed I cocked my head to one side.”

Hazard peered at him, copied him. “Mm. Like this, you mean?”

“Right. So then they tested my eyesight.”
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“Blood and guts!” The gleaming black mustache curled up in horror. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

 “Nothing wrong with the left one, and I can still see quite well with the right one. I can even read with it,
after a fash-ion. But bits are missing. It makes my reactions too slow. The change happened so slowly I
never noticed.” No one else had, either, but as he had gradually learned to compen-sate for the loss, so
had the rest of the school. Without real-izing it, all the people he fenced with regularly—fencing masters,
knights, candidates—every one of them had in-stinctively started taking advantage of his blind spots. The
guardsmen, who visited only rarely, had not known about it, so he had done better against them, which
was against all normal experience.

“But what caused it?” Hazard cried.

 “Rank stupidity. Mine. I came off a horse and banged my head. I saw double for a week or so. I’d been
fooling around and I was one of those real tough kids who never complain and never need help, see? So
I never told Master of Rituals and he never gave me a healing. Until two weeks ago, but that was far too
late.”


43Impossible Odds

“Horrible!” Hazard seemed genuinely concerned.

“I can see better to my left than my right,” Bellman con-tinued. “So Grand Master suggested they try
making a southpaw out of me. He’s been enormously helpful and supportive. Everyone has, but it didn’t
work.” Two weeks of hell.

“Just a silly little bang on the head?”

“Even chance can make justice.”

Hazard pricked up his ears and the horns of his mustache. “What does that mean?”

Bellman cursed under his breath. The man had the in-stincts of a wolfhound. “Just a proverb.”

“No, really.” Hazard peered at him suspiciously.

“Really just a proverb. Tell me about this enchanter who can hurl curses across the whole width of
Eurania.”

 “His Royal Highness prefers to be addressed as such,” Baron von Fader huffed, still breathless after
climbing the stairs to Grand Master’s study.

Grand Master bowed to him also. “I trust your brief re-pose was refreshing, my lord?”

Baron von Fader was one of the fattest men he had ever seen, waddling behind a grotesquely
overhanging belly. His rubicund face had sagged into pouches and sulky folds, his beard and hair were
white, wispy, and longer than Chivian fashion allowed. He bore a cumbersome saber on a baldric, which
he had to remove before sinking into his host’s fa-vorite chair, bulging out of it in all directions. How had
he ever managed the long ride from Grandon? How had his mounts coped?

Grand Duke Rabin was less extreme: middle-aged and portly, but not fat, with a face unprepossessing
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rather than ugly—eyes well bagged, mouth sensual, goatee streaked with gray. The fingers he had offered
to be kissed were


44Dave Duncan

 smooth and uncalloused, and he was unarmed. His jerkin and hose were simple in cut but of impeccable
quality, his only jewelry being a gold signet. Invited to sit, he chose one of the lesser chairs, which let him
sit very upright, knees to-gether and hands clasped, as if relaxation did not come eas-ily to him.

 “I cannot offer you refreshment other than water, Your Grace,” Grand Master said, “because you are
required to fast before the ritual.”

 “It is of no matter.” The Duke’s voice was light and tune-ful. “Your King is being most generous in
assigning me Blades of my own. You have found me some? Sir Tancred hinted that you were short of
suitable candidates.”

 “I can spare only two, I fear, Your Grace. They have not completed the normal course of training, so
they cannot match our usual superlative standards in swordsmanship. We expect a Blade to take on two
ordinary opponents at the same time. I would not ask that of these men, but one-on-one they will have
little to fear.”

“How about againstSchattenherren?” growled the Baron. His voice had the timbre of busy millstones.

“I was informed that a few candles are adequate defense against them,” Durendal said coldly. “Your
Grace, the binding ritual is dangerous and we insist on following it exactly. The actual binding will begin at
midnight and last about half an hour. Until then you are required to fast, to meditate, and to take ritual
baths, as Master of Rituals will direct.”

The Grand Duke nodded. “I understand.”

“I shall be present, sire,” said the Baron.

 “You may witness the binding,” Grand Master said, start-ing to bite his words. “But you will not be
admitted during the preliminaries. Your Grace has been informed regarding your own part?”


45Impossible Odds

“Sir Tancred told us,” the Baron said before his liege could open his mouth, “on the way here. I will read
over the text beforehand.”

 “That will not be permitted, but you may discuss it in gen-eral terms with Master of Rituals. Have you
any questions, Your Grace?”

 Rabin seemed more amused than annoyed at the way his underling was being trampled. “Sir Tancred
answered most of them, my lord. Except he could not tell me about names. I understand the candidates
swear an oath to me personally. My full name is Rabin Hans Ludwig Irmtrude Burhard Achim Lammert
von Krupina und Vargschloss. We should write it down for them? And all my titles?”

Lord Roland said, “Considering the strain the ritual puts on the boys, we settle for just one name and
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omit titles. The name is unimportant. What matters is whose hand holds the hilt of the sword.” And the
hand in this case looked as if it never had held one before. That was a worry Grand Master had not
anticipated. He had assumed that any minor noble-man from the wilder side of Eurania would be a
warrior, like the wicked uncle. “It is essential that the sword penetrate the candidate’s heart. They like
you to put it right through them, but that is not required.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Oh, just that they like to have two scars, front and back. It impresses girls.” Grand Master
himself had four and had bragged about them shamelessly in long-ago days.

“I will see what I can do to oblige them,” Rubin said with no sign of amusement. He kept his face and
voice under firm control.

 “Master of Rituals can demonstrate the stroke. If Your Grace wishes to practice, we can string up an
animal carcass in the kitchen.”


46Dave Duncan

“That is an insulting suggestion!” barked the Baron.

 “But a very sensible one when two men’s lives are at stake,” the Grand Duke said softly. “Please do
that, Grand Master.”

 Stringing up Baron von Fader would be an even better idea. Roland said, “I have a brief homily on the
care of Blades, which I recite to every new ward, Your Grace. Ring-wood and Ranter will not be your
servants. They serve King Athelgar by guarding you, even at the cost of their own lives if necessary. His
Majesty expects you to provide them with food and clothes...” And so on.

 The first of the victualers’ wagons came rumbling in the gate. Bellman glanced at the shadows and was
amazed to see he had been gossiping to Hazard for over an hour. He had many more good-byes to say.

“Must go.” He scrambled to his feet.

“Go where?” Hazard followed him up and brushed grass off himself.

Bellman nodded at the wagon. “Catch the stage to Black-water.”

The Blade’s eyes narrowed. “You got a job waiting?”

“No.” A job was the lesser of his problems. “I know some of the farmers.”

“We’ll find you better than that. You’ll ride the King’s horses back to Grandon with us and the Guard
will set you up with something worthwhile.”

For a moment Bellman feared a cruel joke. “You really mean that?”

 Hazard laughed. “You expected a smock and wooden shoes? You’re not being puked or running away,
friend. Yours is what the Yeomen call an honorable discharge. The Blades will see you land softly. Don’t
worry about a thing. You prefer blondes or redheads?”
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47Impossible Odds

“Virgins,” Bellman said, still adjusting to this sudden reprieve.

“They’re extinct in Grandon. Some post in the palace? You fancy heraldry? A clerk in treasury?
Conjury?”

“There is a complication.”

Hazard’s eyes gleamed. He twirled the points of his mus-tache in delight. “Let me guess. You arrived
here two steps ahead of the law?”

Bellman nodded. “Barely one step. The charter decrees an automatic pardon on binding. Otherwise
Grand Master has to send word to—”

 “Forget that bit! It doesn’t happen. Ever. Forget your old name, too. You can be Ethelbert Bellman or
Bellman Mead-owbucket and they’ll never find you. Everyone here has a past, even Grand Master,
although I never did manage to... What’s yours?”

“Can’t say.”

“I killed one of the King’s beasts,” Hazard said hopefully. “A nice five-point stag.”

“Worse than that. If you want to help me you mustn’t know.”

 Hazard’s scowl said he would find out one day if it killed both of them. “Was I imagining the horrible
apparition?” he asked loudly, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder at a skinny fourteen-year-old, who
was clutching a pair of foils and staring at his back like a demon of vengeance.

 “That is the dreaded Candidate Mark,” Bellman said. “He believes he is entitled to a fencing lesson from
a Blade of the Royal Guard and he will call down a terrible curse upon your descendants unto the
seventh generation if you do not satisfy his expectations. He’s not bad.”

 “I’ll spit him, you go and get an apple to put in his mouth.” Hazard clapped Bellman’s shoulder. “You’ll
ride with the Guard when we leave.”


48Dave Duncan

                                                     •3•

 The Forge was starting to prey on Ringwood’s nerves. He wanted to be out in the sun and fresh air—on
the open road to anywhere and taking forever to arrive, as Dad had always said.

 Ranter was ranting again, still pacing. “It’s not right! We were promised five years’ training. We got less
than four. They shortchanged us. Then I was threatened with death by starvation on Starkmoor. What
sort of a choice is that? Grand Master himself has always told us a guard needs at least three men...”

And on. And on.
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 Ringwood, sitting glumly on the edge of a stone water trough, was tempted to tell him to put his head
underwater and take three deep breaths, but then Ranter might slap him around a bit, as he often did
candidates smaller than himself. That very first day four years ago, the day Dad had brought Ringwood to
Ironhall, Ranter had been the Brat, big even then. Once Ringwood was accepted, of course, and Dad
had gone away forever, then he had become the Brat and Ranter had been free to choose his new name.
He had insisted on “Champion.” That name was not on the list, so Master of Archives had sent him back
to ask Grand Master, who had approved it.

 The sopranos and beansprouts had not.Ranter,they had named him, and Ranter he had been ever since.
Reminded of that now, he might decide to be Champion again for his binding, so it was better just to
ignore him. All those one-time sopranos and beansprouts were gone now. Gone to the Guard, or
Baelmark, or wherever. Just as he, Ringwood, was going! Who could say where he might be next week
at this time?

Dead, like Bernard?


49Impossible Odds

“Girls!” Ranter said. “Women! ’Course you’re too young to care.”

“Am not!”

 “You wait until puberty gets up to your chin, boy. Girls is what being a Blade is all about. Women can’t
resist bound Blades.” He leered. “Love ’em and leave ’em and onto the next one!”

 That seemed a strange definition of love, and he couldn’t know any more about girls than Ringwood did,
which was nothing. A lifetime working for Ranter was an appalling prospect, but to back out now would
look like cowardice. Worse, it would be going back on his word, and Dad had al-ways listed that as a
major breach of honor. So did Grand Master.

In a merciful reprieve, the door at the top of the steps opened, spilling more light into the crypt. A harsh
voice was shouting. Grand Master’s cut it off. Ringwood stood up. Ranter sat down.

 An elderly man came down, followed by Grand Master, who shut the door firmly behind him. The
newcomer peered around at the eight hearths, the troughs, anvils, and oc-togram, as he waited for his
eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. He was pudgy above the waist, with oddly skinny legs. Not glamorous
or virile. Ringwood had been imagining a much younger, warrior monarch.

Grand Master gestured angrily for Ranter to rise. “Your Grace, I am proud to present your future
Blades: Prime Can-didate Ranter, Candidate Ringwood.”

Ranter bowed. Ringwood made a full court bow, which was more elaborate and definitely called for
here. He sensed Ranter’s angry glare on him; he caught Grand Master’s nod of approval. “Gentlemen,
meet your future ward, His Grace Grand Duke Rubin of Krupina.”

“I am deeply honored by your offer of service,” the Grand


50Dave Duncan
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Duke said quietly, “and humbled by your display of courage.” He offered fingers to be kissed, first to
Ranter, then Ringwood.

“The honor is entirely ours, Your Royal Highness,” Ranter said. At least he got that bit right.

“And a pleasure, sire,” Ringwood added.

The door opened again. Grand Master swung around an-grily, but the man who came trotting down was
Deputy.

 “Pray excuse the intrusion,” Tancred said. “Your Grace, the Guard has fulfilled its mission, which was to
escort you safely here and see you provided with Blades. Our duty now lies back in Grandon. Will Your
Grace grant us leave to depart, or do you prefer that we remain to escort you back with us?”

 The Grand Duke smiled. “I shall consult the gentlemen who have assumed responsibility for my future
safety. Can-didate Ranter?”

Ranter shrugged. “Naw, we don’t need them. You’ll have to rely on the two of us from now on and
Chivial’s a lot safer than Krupina or any of those foreign places.”

That seemed a wrong decision. Why turn down a gift horse?

The Grand Duke said, “Candidate Ringwood?”

 “I’d say if Sir Tancred could spare even a few men, Your Highness, they would be a comfort for two
beginners still learning their duties. Ironhall is short of seniors, so they can help the juniors with their
fencing while they wait for you.”

The Grand Duke chuckled. “Diplomatically phrased! Sir Tancred, I am very grateful for your service to
date and shall be more grateful for any escort you feel you can reasonably leave here to see us safely
back again.”

“I’m sure the absence of five or six will not jeopardize His Majesty.” Tancred saluted and departed.

“Master of Rituals will be here shortly,” Grand Master said. “Otherwise you will not be disturbed.”


51Impossible Odds

“After the events of the last two days, a peaceful interlude is welcome.” The Grand Duke dismissed him
with a nod. He went to sit on the center anvil and waited until the door had closed before he spoke.

 No, he was not what Ringwood had expected. His man-ners were those of a cultured nobleman—as
described by Master of Protocol—and not those of a crude robber baron, which was what came to
mind for a tiny state in backwoods east of Fitain. His command of Chivial was faultless, but that could be
acquired by conjuration. He was soft-spoken, but too decisive to be called a fop. His voice was almost
feminine in its softness, but that was a real beard on his chin. He was tense, but he had good reason to be
so.

“Be seated, gentlemen. We have much to discuss over the next few days. Perhaps we should begin by
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getting to know each other. I am aware that Ironhall admits only the low-born, and I promise you that I
do not hold that against a man. Or a woman, either, for my wife is not of noble birth. Courage and honor
are what matter, and your willingness to be bound by this drastic ritual proves that you have both in
abundance. Ranter, will you tell me a little about yourself?”

“That’s all forgotten when we are admitted,” Ranter said. “The charter says so. New name, new person.
And I’m not lowborn! My grandfather had blue blood in his veins and was knighted by King Ambrose
on the Field of Wyldburn. That’s all I’ll say.”

Idiot!

Grand Duke Rubin stared at him in silence until he dropped his eyes.

“How about you, Ringwood?”

“I’m as lowborn as they come, sire, but I’m no criminal. My father was a tinker. He went around with a
donkey, mending pots for a living. I know nothing about my mother. He never discussed her, so now I
wonder if he was really my father. But


52Dave Duncan

 I know he didn’t steal me, or anything, because he was honest! Very, very honest! He always said his
reputation is all of him-self a man can leave behind when he goes back to the ele-ments. Honesty and
honor, he said, courage and grace. Those four are what make a man. That’s what he taught me, sire.”

“He sounds like a father to be proud of. Mine used to say much the same. What happened to him?”

 “He died.” Ringwood felt a sudden prickling under his eyelids and blinked hard. He must not cry! That
would be a baby thing to do now. Trouble was, he’d been thinking a lot about Dad today. Meditating,
hoping Dad would have ap-proved of what he was doing. “He got sicker and sicker, coughing and
spitting up blood. He said I wasn’t old enough to do what he did by myself and the donkey was too old.
So he brought me... brought me here.”

Ringwood had wept when Grand Master said, “He’s good. He has great promise, but he’s too young.
Can you bring him back in the spring?”

Dad had just said, “No, sir,” and all three of them had known what he meant.

“The weather’s turning nasty out there. You want to stay with us until it blows over?”

“No need to drag it, your lordship.” So the tinker had given his boy a last hug and gone off with the
donkey into the snow and the moors. Ringwood had never heard any more of him. He had cried then,
but he would not cry now.

 “He told me, sire, that Ironhall would teach me to be a real man, so my life might be worth more than
just a lot of mended pots, however good the patches.”

“Pots matter,” the Grand Duke said. “Any job well done brings honor to the doer. So far I think Ironhall
has done well by you, but we’ll see, won’t we? Now it’s my turn.”
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He thought for a moment. “You probably never heard of Krupina before today—”


53Impossible Odds

Ranter said, “No.”

“I expect Chivial has bigger counties. At one time the area was part of the Great Holy Empire, and the
Emperor Carlus IV created the duchy for a son-in-law. So my ancestors held Krupina from the
Emperor, but since the Empire is no more, they have held it against all comers. Fortunately it has very
defensible borders.”

 He put his fingertips together. “Imagine a fertile plain, a triangle like this. My hands are two mountain
ranges and the Asch flows down the middle, emptying into theSirilLakes in the south, where my thumbs
are. Siril is more swamp than lake, even in wet years. There are two towns, both on the river. Krupa is
the capital, and quite central. Zolensa is near the lakes, in the south. City folk mostly speak Fitainish and
country people Bohakian.

 “The dukes have always claimed to rule the hills and swamps as well as the plain, but they were usually
satisfied with a token allegiance, rather than wasting money trying to tax those outlying areas by force.
This works both ways. The people who live in the marshes don’t want foreigners in-truding on them and
mountain folk everywhere are doughty fighters. Foreigners have usually decided there isn’t enough left
over to justify a war of conquest. And that’s not even taking Vamky into account. The Vamky
Monastery defendsPilgrimPass at the north end, the apex of the triangle, where the Asch emerges from
the mountains.

 “That’s my homeland. It’s small—you can ride from Vamky to Zolensa in a few hours. It’s insignificant
and tries to stay that way, but it is beautiful. It raises cattle and horses. It exports conjurers, fine wines,
and even finer fighting men, which is better than importing someone else’s. It belongs to me and my son
after me, not my uncle. I want it back.”

“We’ll help you, Your Highness,” Ringwood said.

“Thank you.” The Grand Duke smiled approvingly. Or


54Dave Duncan

was he laughing at a loudmouthed boy? What could a cou-ple of half-trained Blades hope to do? “How
much do you know about the Vamky Brotherhood?”

Ranter said, “Nothing.”

Ringwood said, “Sire, Grand Master mentioned it as one of the famous spiritualist orders.”

“The oldest in Eurania. They are great warriors as well as great conjurers, and the monastery itself is a
major fortress. Unfortunately my Uncle Volpe rules Vamky.”

 Speaking of conjurers . . . The door squeaked and sunlight threw a doughty shadow down the steps.
With a distinctive sound of slapping sandals, Master of Rituals descended, clutching a pile of white towels
to his paunch. Unlike other masters, he was not a knight in the Order, but an adept of the Arcanes. His
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chubby form was enclosed in a full-length gray robe of heavy wool, although spirits knew how he stood it
in summer. His bald head was burned crimson by the sun, hedged in a horseshoe of salt-and-pepper hair,
and his face was even redder and shinier. He was the most constantly happy person Ringwood knew,
always humming little songs.

 “Bathtime!” he chuckled. “If Your Grace will forgive my saying so. Better now than Firstmoon, mm?
The order is very important. Start here . . .” He dropped a towel by one of the troughs. “Then here!” He
crossed over to another and dropped two. “Here . . . and finally, here!” He spilled the rest of the pile and
clasped his soft, plump hands. “A complete immersion in each is necessary, but splash around as long as
you like. Take all day if you wish. We shall assemble in the hall and then come to join you just before
midnight.” He beamed. “Any questions?”

“Are you suggesting,” Grand Duke Rubin inquired icily, “that I bathe in concert with these youths?”

For once Master of Rituals’s happy smile faded. He


55Impossible Odds

blinked. “His Majesty... King Athelgar has never objected,

Your Grace.”

“How about his mother?”

“Queen Malinda?”

“Does he have other mothers?”

 Grand Duke Rubin was displaying some grand-ducal temper for the first time. That was his privilege and
almost welcome, because it showed he had spark. His reasons did not matter. Ringwood was much
more worried by Ranter’s stupid leer. He was already unlacing his shirt to prove he was manly enough
not to have scruples about stripping in front of other men. Any minute now he would do or say something
appalling.

 “M-mothers?” Master of Rituals stammered. “Not so far as... I believe there are some screens in the
cellars that are brought up whenever a lady binds—”

 “Surely, Master,” Ringwood said, “if our ward wishes pri-vacy, Ranter and I can wait outside? And he
can go outside while we bathe in our turn?”

The tubby man was flustered now. “You are supposed to remain in the Forge until the binding!”

“If your ritual is as fragile as that,” the Grand Duke sapped, “then I want no part of it.”

“Er...”

Ranter dropped his shirt on the floor.

“The porch at the top of the stairs is part of the Forge,” Ringwood said hastily. “We shall wait in there
until Your Highness summons us. By your leave?” He turned Master of Rituals around and pushed him
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toward the steps.“Ranter!”

Ranter scowled and pulled his hose up again.

The stable was hot, acrid, and loud with the drone of flies. The hands were being ostentatiously busy,
pretending not to eavesdrop, but even the horses had their ears pricked.


56Dave Duncan

 “You may inform Leader,” Durendal said, “that I shall send him a report on the new seniors class within
the week.” He spoke softly, adding a glare for emphasis.

Sir Tancred, who had been checking his mount’s girths, leaned an arm on its neck to pat it and nodded
warily. “Yes, Grand Master.”

 “And you may tell him privily that there will be no more bindings until I report that we have suitable
candidates avail-able. That will be at least a year! Any request before that, even an informal inquiry, will
be answered with my resig-nation.”

Deputy nodded vigorously. “Certainly, Grand Master.”

“Good chance to you.”

 Tancred would tell Leader, but would Leader tell the King? Not unless he had to, likely. Grand Master
stalked out into the sunshine and headed for First House.

The new Prime, Goodwin, fell into step beside him. “Beg your pardon, Grand—”

“How many?”

“What? Promotions? I thought twelve?”

“I think fifteen. Fourteen if you have doubts about Spar-man. Not Bellman, of course.”

“Of course, Grand Master.”

“Tell them to move their kit. They’ll have to wait until to-morrow for swords. Go!”

And there was Bellman, waiting patiently by the steps for him, surrounded by sorrowful boys saying
good-bye.

“Come,” Grand Master said, not stopping. “We need to talk.”

 He felt old as he climbed the stairs. Lack of sleep was making him dull, fogging his wits. Perhaps he
could rest for an hour or two, because the binding could not start until close to midnight. The royal guest
was out of the way and Master of Rituals had orders to keep the odious Baron oc-


57Impossible Odds
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 cupied. Everything was under control at last. Almost everything. Bellman flowed along beside him in
respectful silence.

 “Sit!” Grand Master said when they reach his study. “You’ll have some wine with me.” Yes, he would
certainly take a nap. His gray hairs had earned it.

“Thank you, Grand Master.”

He handed his guest a glass and sat down facing him. “I drink to better chance in your future, Bellman.”

“Thank you, my lord. I blame no one but myself and my own folly. I am deeply grateful for your
patience.”

“The folly was mine. After all these years I should have seen right away you had a problem. You are a
great loss to the Order.”

 Bellman acknowledged the compliment with his usual grace. Wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, a deeply
tanned face that few people would call handsome—craggy or strong, perhaps, certainly not a face to be
trifled with. Broad-shouldered and imposing, he stood taller than Ironhall pre-ferred and had done so the
day he arrived. Conjuration had stopped his growth but not reversed it. He had stood out from the herd
for years because of his greater maturity. He made Ranter seem like a sulky child, although they were the
same age. One look at him and you thoughtcompetence.

“I have scanned the charter and the precedents,” Grand Master said, “and I can find no loophole, no
way I can bend the rules to let you stay. Nor can I give you a cat’s-eye sword when you leave. But we
will find you worthy employment. I am not without influence, even yet, and I will give you the strongest
possible recommendation.”

“You are very kind, Grand Master. Can you recommend a murderer?”

“I can recommend you.”

Bellman sipped wine without taking eyes off him. “On


58Dave Duncan

the day I arrived, you told me you had known a lot of appli-cants to arrive with the law on their tails, but
you had never had to close the gates on a lynch party before.”

 A wolf pack mob of young louts who’d thought they had an excuse to hang someone? “They were fools
if they ex-pected to find a tree on Starkmoor.”

“You threw coins for me to catch and I missed half of them.”

“Youcaughthalf of them with a noose waiting outside the gate if I refused you. That was good enough for
me. But tell me if you wish.” Obviously the boy wanted to get it off his chest, probably to test Grand
Master’s reaction.

Bellman smiled wistfully. “It is a brief, sad tale, my lord. I was apprenticed to my father, the locksmith in
Camford. He was called upon to repair a jammed lock at the Sheriff’s house, so he sent me to remove
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the lock and bring it to his shop. The Sheriff had forgotten or not been told, so he saw a man trying to
force open his daughter’s bedroom. Not im-possible, I suppose—I was fifteen and had designs on every
man’s daughter. The first I knew was this wild old man in a nightshirt screaming and dancing and striking
at me with a cane. I jumped up and tried to take it from him. I did not hit him, but he fell and did not rise.
I ran for help and was met on the stair by people coming to investigate. He was dead and they thought
I’d been running away. Which I then did.”

“He’d had a fit?”

Bellman sighed. “I think he banged his head on the edge of a table. Just a silly little bump on the head.
One got me into Ironhall; another is taking me out. Even chance can make justice.”

“I know a very reliable witness who says it was an ac-cident.”

“There were no witnesses.”

“There was one.”


59Impossible Odds

Bellman smiled. “Thank you.”

“You would repeat your story before an inquisitor?”

The youth’s eyes brightened. “Certainly I would!”

 “I can arrange that,” Lord Roland said. Commander Flo-rian would be due to retire in six or seven
years, and this boy would have been his logical successor if a certain Grand Master had not been so
incompetent as to overlook an obvi-ous injury. Alas! Now that could never be. “So . . . Employ-ment? I
am confident that you will succeed at anything you try. Is there any particular field you fancy? You handle
peo-ple well. You could be a steward, running an estate. Master of Rituals is very anxious to see you
enroll in the College to study conjury. Something more vigorous? A royal courier, if you enjoy travel.”

 The boy looked down at his hands and the goblet. After a moment he said softly, “The enemy of my
enemy is my friend.”

Flash!

 That was Roland’s secret name for the lightning bolt of opportunity, the momentary gap in your
opponent’s guard when your foil streaks in for a hit. He had seen those flashes many times in his days as
a swordsman. As Lord Chancellor he had sometimes experienced the same flash of recognition in
meetings when a logjam could be broken and a deal made. He had never met it here in Ironhall, where
the prob-lems were almost always routine.

Even Ringwood had seen this one, and he had slapped the boy down.

 So it had not been old age niggling at him all morning. It had been frustration, awareness of a problem he
could do nothing about. Old age was always frustration, but frustration was not necessarily old age.
Maybe he could do something about this one after all. Or Bellman could. Cancel the nap...
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60Dave Duncan

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, carefully keeping excitement out of his voice.

 The boy cocked his head in that curious way he had now. “Only that Bernard was my friend, and there
is something very odd about his death. I questioned Sir Hazard about it, but he knew nothing useful.”
And if Hazard didn’t, no one in the Guard did. “But someone sent those shadowmen who killed my
friend. That someone ought to pay dearly.”

 “I agree. I have played hunches all my life, lad. Not al-ways, although when I ignored them I was usually
sorry, and once in a while they were wrong and led me into error. Fol-lowed or not, hunches should
never be ignored, and I had the same hunch you did. There is something extremely odd about this vagrant
Grand Duke and his undead pursuers. I can certainly suggest that he add you to his train, for it is
pa-thetically small. Most dukes travel with dozens.”

“He may be suspicious, of course.”

So Bellman had seen that possibility, too.

 Grand Master nodded. “If he has something to hide, he will be very suspicious. He will refuse, in fact.
Suppose you discover that the Duke himself summoned the shad-owmen for some vile scheming
purpose—to win the King’s sympathy, perhaps. After all, candles seem to be an adequate defense. The
guards were improperly warned, but the Krupinese knew the facts and were safe enough. Sup-pose the
attack turns out to have been a fraud. What will you do then?”

Bellman shrugged. “Nothing. He will have two Blades to guard him, so he cannot be harmed without
killing them first, and they are my friends, too. It can never be easy to bring a Grand Duke to justice. I do
not even know why his subjects threw him out.”

“Nor do I. Did Hazard?”

A flicker of a smile. “No.”


61Impossible Odds

 “Then let us assume that our King knows what he is about and Rubin of Krupina is worthy of help. If he
hires you, I know that you will not betray his trust. But I should like you to do something else, a service
for me and the Order,subject to your loyalty to him.I will give you money. If the Duke dies, look after his
deranged Blades as best you can, will you? And if he fails in his quest and falls into total poverty, as he
may, bring him back to Chivial— exiled and friendless, with only his Blades still true. Then Athelgar can
keep and feed all three of them.”

Bellman nodded, smiling. “Even chance can bring justice?”

“Exactly!” Grand Master said. “But it never hurts to nudge it in the right direction.”

                                                     •4•

Hammers clinked the beat on anvils, trebles soared over tenors and baritones in the Blades’ dedication
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song, and the rich reverberation of the Forge added palimpsests of har-mony. From diminutive sopranos
to ancient Sir Bram, who was rarely seen except at mealtimes, all Ironhall had assem-bled around the
octogram. Light from the hearths behind the audience flickered dimly on the roof, making Ringwood
worry about shadowmen, but the sky outside was clear and the Duke had assured him that the curse
could not come on starry nights.

He hadn’t panicked and run away. Dad would be proud of him.

 Eight stood within the octogram, of course. Ringwood himself was at earth point, with Ranter on his left,
at death. And looking like it. Beyond him was Goodwin, not much


62Dave Duncan

 happier, for he faced a very long stint as Prime. Then the Brat, grinning wildly down upon the two naked
swords at his feet. This was his third binding in three weeks. He had three lines to say each time, and had
cheekily informed Ringwood earlier that he would be the fourteenth Blade he had bound and that was a
record.

The hymn ended. At fire point Master of Rituals began chanting Invoker. The Duke was at love point,
directly across from Ranter, and beside him was Master Armorer, who would be chanting
Dispenser—he had a stupendous bass and the lungs of a whale. Apparently elementals were not
bothered by his incomprehensible accent. Grand Master was Arbiter, at time point.

 Ringwood had witnessed more than a dozen bindings, and the ritual never palled. He was only mildly
sensitive to the spirits, but he was very sentimental. His eyes were already brimming over at the thought
that he might be gone tomor-row—the day after was more likely, his ward said—and would never
witness this again. Dad would surely be proud of him tonight. Oh, spirits! Here they came! Tears
cascaded down his cheeks. Try and think of the whole wide world waiting for him out there.

 A good man, Duke Rubin, in spite of his shopworn looks. Quiet, courteous, and steely. Guarding him
would be a pleasure and much more exciting than being low man in a guard of over a hundred mooning
around Athelgar. Ranter as Leader was not a cheering prospect. Ranter had his eyes closed and seemed
to be swaying, as if moved by a wind no one else could feel. What happened if he fainted and fell out of
the octogram? That might release the as-sembled elementals! There were horror stories of conjurers who
lost control of assemblages going mad or being turned into monsters.

Grand Master stepped forward to the central anvil and


63Impossible Odds

 scattered gold coins on it to make sure spirits of chance were not running riot. He peered suspiciously at
the results, but then nodded and backed away again.

Why did time rush by so fast when you wanted to savor every second of it?

 The elementals were assembled. Now came the Brat, clutchingInvincible. He was a very small Brat and
a long sword was, by definition, long. He laid it on the anvil with-out mishap, recited his piece in a series
of chiropteran squeaks, and went back to his place at chance point.
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 Ranter was looking anywhere but at that sword. Receiv-ing Grand Master’s signal, Goodwin went to
help him off with his shirt. Ranter did nothing to make it easier. After that Ringwood had to mark
Ranter’s chest to show where his heart was, which was not as simple a task as it would be in a good light
with dry eyes. He found the bottom rib, counted up, wielded the charcoal. Ranter had a fair crop of chest
fuzz already—why couldn’t he behave more like a man now?Just for once don’t bollix it!

 Ringwood backed away two paces and realized that noth-ing was happening. He went back, took his
future leader’s elbow and urged him forward. Ranter stumbled over to the anvil with Ringwood helping
and even guiding Ranter’s hand down to graspInvincible’s hilt. He was shivering and slick with sweat.

“Up!”

Ranter nodded, and heaved himself up on the anvil. He raised the sword in salute... It shook violently.
The only sound was the chattering of Ranter’s teeth.

“Upon my soul...” Ringwood whispered.

 No answer. Grand Master was chewing his lip. Could they stop the ritual at this point? Substitute
another man, another sword? Or would it all go awry and kill someone? Ring-wood, specifically.


64Dave Duncan

He poked Ranter in the small of his back and prompted again. “Upon my soul, I, Ranter...” This time it
worked.

“Upon my soul, I, Ranter...”He was barely audible.

“Candidate in the Loyal and Ancient Order...”

“Candidate in the Loyal and Ancient Order... of the King’s Blades, er, do irrevocably swear—”

 He had it now. Sweating, Ringwood went back to his place, but he twitched nervously at every breath.
Ranter fin-ished his oath, remembered what he had to do next, and managed to jump off the anvil without
falling flat on his face. He knelt to the Duke to proffer the sword, then backed away until he found the
anvil by falling on it. Goodwin and Ringwood were there to grab his arms and steady him for the stroke.

 The Grand Duke wasted no time. He strode forward three paces. “Serve or die!” He jabbed the sword
into Ranter’s chest, but not through it. Ranter jerked against his friends’ restraint, but by then the blade
was already out and the trickle of blood had stopped. He stared down disbelievingly as the wound
closed, then looked up with a big, proud smile.

“Hey!” he said.

Everyone else said, “Shush!”

 Ringwood saw him safely over to earth point and put him-self at death, thinking his own binding would
be a cinch after that. He watched with joy as the Brat brought forwardBad Newswith the bright gleam of
her new pommel. He whipped off his shirt without waiting for Ranter to remem-ber his duty. He was
relieved that it was Goodwin who marked the target.
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Then he jumped up on the anvil, holding that magnifi-cent sword aloft. “Upon my soul,” he shouted, “I,
Ring-wood . . .” This was a dream! For almost four years he had waited for this.

When he rose from his knees before his ward, he even re-


65Impossible Odds

 membered to sit on the anvil away from the damp patch Ranter had left. He spread his arms, felt
Goodwin and then Ranter grip them. Brace for the agony. . . . Here it came. Hewatched the sword rush
forward.

 It didn’t hurt as much as everyone had promised it would. It didn’t last long enough to be real pain. He
rose to acknowledge the wild cheers of the audience, accepted his shirt from someone, and struggled
vainly to put it on while people were thumping him on the shoulder and pumping his hand. Juniors were
“oohing” at his back, where they had found a scar matching the faint reddish mark on his chest.

The Duke was peering at the sword. “What does it say?”

“Bad News,sire. Bad news to Your Highness’s enemies, that is.”

Rubin laughed. “Good! Well done!” He returned her.

Ringwood’s heart’s blood on the steel looked disappoint-ingly like any other blood. He wiped it clean
with Ironhall’s shirt. Masters and knights came crowding in to shake his hand. He pushed past them so
he could keep his eye on his ward. He tousled the Brat’s hair in passing and said, “Thanks! Well bound.”

The Grand Duke shook Ranter’s hand, then turned.

“Sir Ringwood?”

“Sire?”

“I appoint you commander of my Blades.”

 For a moment Ringwood thought he had misheard, but the hubbub hushed in widening ripples of silence,
like waves on a pond.

“What?” Ranter roared. “He’s three years younger than I am!”

Two-and-a-half!

“That doesn’t show,” his ward said.

“Not fair! He’s baseborn and I’m not!”


66Dave Duncan

“That doesn’t show, either. He is Commander. Grand Master, I think you mentioned food next?”
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Ranter’s glower at Ringwood promised terrible retribu-tion for this insult.

 Candle flames by the score danced on all the tables in the hall and reflected back a hundredfold from the
famous sky of swords overhead. Yesterday had brought a Returning, a time for mourning, but now two
Blades had been bound, and that was cause for celebration. Ninety young omnivores were free to gorge
until they could eat no more and then go away and sleep as long as they wanted. The hall rocked with
noise.

 Sir Ringwood was at high table, standing behind his ward. No one had told him to do that. No one was
going to tell him what to do ever again. Although his appetite was notable even by Ironhall standards, he
just knew that all the rum-bling in his belly and the oceans of drool in his mouth could not be satisfied yet.
He had told Ranter—Sir Ranter, if you please—to go off and stuff himself in the kitchen, then come back
and relieve him. So far Ranter seemed to be succeed-ing better at the former than the latter, but that
hardly mat-tered. Ringwood was not at all sure he could take his eyes off the Grand Duke for any reason
whatsoever. The urgency would pass in a few days, they said. At present it was a pleasurable sort of
hurt, like the ache of muscles after a workout.

Rubin of Krupina was seated in the place of honor at Grand Master’s right. The odious fat Baron was
on Grand Master’s left, leaning halfway across him to eavesdrop on their conversation, feeding himself
with both hands as he did so. The seniors’ table was overflowing with sixteen more seniors and five
guardsmen. Sir Calvert, whom Deputy had left in charge of the reduced troop, was at high


67Impossible Odds

table. So, surprisingly, was Bellman, now officially a guest, no longer a candidate. He was laughing
happily with a cou-ple of the yackiest knights and showing no signs of bitter-ness or regret.

 “I am sure he is and he won’t,” Grand Master said. He poured a glass of wine and passed the decanter
on to his left, apparently not noticing that he was putting his elbow in the Baron’s eye. Then he failed to
let go for a moment, so his arm shut the Baron out of the conversation.

The Grand Duke half turned his head. “Sir Ringwood?”

Ringwood bent closer. “Your Highness?”

“Are you eavesdropping on what Grand Master and I are discussing?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Then will you tell me what you think of his proposition?”

“Not here, sire.”

His ward chuckled. “You win, Grand Master!”

 That felt good. Ringwood was merely following his in-stincts, and apparently they were correct so far.
Then he saw Ranter hurrying back in and decided he could run and eat something after all. A pair of
roast boars, say. Dying of star-vation would be a poor start to his career.

By the time Grand Duke Rubin returned to Main House with his Blades swaggering along behind
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him—trying not to bang things with their swords—the Royal Guard was al-ready on duty at the bottom
of the big staircase. Ringwood was surprised to see Bellman there, too, talking with Sir Calvert. Grand
Master must have pointed him out, because Duke Rubin knew who he was.

“You don’t waste time, young man, do you?”

Bellman bowed. His smile was perfect, neither insolent nor buttery. “I am available at Your Royal
Highness’s con-venience.”


68Dave Duncan

“Wait upon me tomorrow. Sir Calvert? Have you counted the spiders under the bed yet?”

 “No, Your Grace. I was sure Sir Ringwood would just count them all over again.” He raised an
eyebrow at Ring-wood.

Who nodded, meaning,Yes, I would like a lesson, please.

 “Let’s get it over with,” Rubin said and went up the stairs at a trot, letting the rest scramble to keep up
with him—or get ahead of him in the case of his Blades, who flung open the doors to make sure nothing
was lying in wait. Candles were hastily lit, many candles. By the time Baron von Fader arrived, puffing
and huffing, there were lights everywhere.

 Ringwood had never seen inside the royal suite before. The first room was lofty and large, with big
windows out to a balcony. “Presence chamber,” Calvert said, and led the way through to another.
“Dressing room... and lastly the royal bedchamber.” The furniture and decor far outclassed anything else
in the school—fit for a king, of course.

“Who sleeps in the dressing room?”

“Normally a valet. Now the Baron.”

 Ringwood regarded the royal four-poster distrustfully. It bothered him, somehow. There had been a cot
in a corner of the middle room, not big enough to hold all of the Baron at a sitting. “And we twiddle
thumbs in the anteroom?” He frowned at Calvert’s smug smile. “I think the dressing room should be the
guard room, next door to our ward. The Baron should sleep in the anteroom.”

“Then do it. You’re the boss now—Sir Ringwood.”Calvert grinned more warmly. “I like to go by the
book my-self, but Tancred didn’t make a fuss.”

 Having been a senior only a week, Ringwood didn’t know the book. It just felt right in his bones, the
same sort of in-stinct that was making Ranter stay out in the anteroom with


69Impossible Odds

 their ward. It was like having a pile of gold bars to guard. Having to make the decisions didn’t feel good,
it felt worri-some.

Baron Fader came lumbering in, huge and bad-tempered and drunk. “What’s going on? His Royal
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Highness wants to go to bed. So do I.”

 Ringwood looked at the four-poster again. Itreallyboth-ered him. “My lord, explain to me about these
shadowmen. They can go through solid walls?”

The fat man scowled at him. “There are no shadowmen here tonight, boy.”

“I still need to know.”

“Tomorrow for lessons, boy. Tonight for bed. Now!”

“The sooner you answer my questions, my lord, the sooner you’ll get to bed.”

 The bullfrog swelled with rage. “They can go through walls if there’s light, boy. When it’s dark, they’re
solid and dangerous. In light they are only shadows and harmless. Is that so difficult for you, huh?”

“What if there’s light on one side of a wall and dark on the other?”

 Baron von Fader shook his head as if to clear it of cob-webs; his jowls wobbled. “They can go from the
light to the dark, not the other way.”

“What’re you getting at?” Calvert said, frowning.

 “That bed,” Ringwood said, “is against the wall. My ward will sleep with candles burning, I expect. I’ll
insisthe sleeps with candles lit. So even if the night’s hot like this, he’ll want the bed curtains closed.
Suppose there’s light on the far side of that wall? Those undead things could reach through from that
room”—it was another guest bedroom, he thought—“right into the bed itself.”

Calvert gave him a cold stare. “You trying to tell me my job, shaver?”


70Dave Duncan

“No, Sir Calvert, but—”

“Well, you just did. Never thought of that. The Order hasn’t written the book on these shadowmen
horrors yet. I’ll see that notion gets in it. What will you do about it?”

“Move the bed away from the wall? Make sure there’s candles between them?”

“Don’t ask me, Ringwood. Don’t ask anyone. Command! You have seven men here who will obey your
orders and one Baron you can bully.”

“What?” the Baron demanded angrily.

“And we’ll also be moving your cot out to the anteroom, my lord,” Ringwood said cheerfully.

“What!?”

 “Sorry, I’m just letting power go to my head.” Even so, he mustn’t ask von Blubber to help move
furniture. “Bring in your oxen, Sir Calvert.”
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 That was not the end of it, of course. He had to look under the bed, and in every chest, wardrobe, and
drawer. He peered in the ewer, in the garderobe, behind the drapes, at the case-ment fastenings, into
every fireplace and chimney. Ranter was doing the same in the anteroom. The Baron frothed and
gnashed and bugled, but the Grand Duke waited patiently until his Blades were satisfied, making no
complaint. A good ward, Calvert whispered.

“Thank you for your patience, Your Highness,” Ringwood said at last, returning to the anteroom. He
must be covered with dust and cobwebs, and it was almost dawn. “Sorry to take so long.”

“It was your duty and I am grateful for your diligence.” Rubin headed toward his bedroom, gesturing for
Ringwood to follow. “Could you have done all that yesterday?”

“I could, but I wouldn’t have felt it was necessary.”

Rubin held the door until he was in and then closed it al-


71Impossible Odds

most in Ranter’s face, so the two were alone. “Can you lie

to me?”

“Yes, sire.”

“You can?” The Grand Duke had not expected that.

“But only if it is necessary for your protection, Your Grace. Only as a last resort. Never otherwise. I
need you to trust me.” That was soprano-class stuff.

“I see. Grand Master is quite insistent I should hire this half-blind failed student, Bellman. To do what is
a little vague.”

“He’s an excellent man, sire, and I’m not lying to you. I would trust Bellman with my life. Not with
yours, of course.”

The Grand Duke smothered a yawn. “He will be traveling to Grandon with us. We can decide there.
Good night— Commander.”

Ringwood bowed low. “Good night, Your Royal High-ness. And thank you for the trust you have put in
me.”

“Thank you for your life,” Rubin said.

Out in the dressing room sat Ranter, glowering, fuming, nursing the anger he had been stoking for hours.
Both doors were closed, and faint sounds of the Baron’s snores were al-ready filtering through the
massive oaken door to the anteroom.

Thank you for your life?An odd expression. But apt, in a way. Ringwood’s life belonged to his ward
now. How old was Rubin? Forty? Sixty? If he died of natural causes and slowly, so his Blades had time
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to adjust to the idea, then they should survive all right. It was only when a ward died by vi-olence that his
Blades went berserk.

 Ringwood wasn’t sleepy. Bound Blades never slept, or al-most never. But he was weary, and a few
hours on a bed would be nice. There was no bed here, but there were a cou-ple of half-decent-looking
chairs.

Ranter rubbed his knuckles. “We have something to dis-cuss, brother Ringwood.”


72Dave Duncan

“Not that I’m aware of.” Ringwood sat down and pulled off his boots. The left one was pinching after so
many hours.

Ranter grabbed the front of his jerkin and hauled him up-right. There was a crazy look in his eyes. “We
have to dis-cuss who’s leader here, Pimple.”

Ringwood had nothing to fear from Ranter now. “I’m Leader. Our ward decided.”

“We’re going to outvote him, you an’ me.”

 Ringwood shook his head sadly. “No.” Poor Ranter. It must be terrible to be wrong so often, wrong
about just about everything, every day and all day.

The big lunk balled a fist like a sledgehammer.

“Try it,” Ringwood said. “I’m your ward’s Blade. You can’t hurt me. Your binding won’t let you.”

For a long minute nothing happened, except that sweat began to sparkle on Ranter’s forehead.

 “See?” Ringwood said. “Accept it and relax. You got the easy job. I have to do all the thinking. If there
are mistakes made, they’ll be my mistakes. Then you can ask His Nibs to fire me and I’ll back you up, I
promise. If he dies, you can stamp me into mush. Now sit down. You didn’t bring any dice, did you?”

Then he remembered that Ranter had learned not to play dice.

 About half an hour or so later, Ringwood thought he heard something from the bedchamber and came
alert. Ranter had seemed to be dozing, but he looked up in-stantly when his companion moved. Putting a
finger to his lips, Ringwood moved to the door and opened it a lit-tle way, very slowly, very quietly. The
bedroom was bright and if the bed curtains were drawn, his ward should neither see nor hear him.


73Impossible Odds

He listened. After a moment he closed the door again and went back to his chair. Ranter looked
puzzled, so Ringwood just shrugged. He didn’t bother to explain that what he had heard was the sound
of a Grand Duke weeping.

                                                     •5•
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 Afew furlongs east of Ironhall, the Blackwater road dipped into a gully and twisted sharply to get out of
it. The top of that bend provided a fine view of the school, with its fake towers and battlements. Bellman
knew it would be his last sight of his erstwhile home. He twisted in the saddle to watch it disappear
behind the rocks.

“Regrets?” Sir Ansel asked at his side.

“One big regret and many happy memories.”

Horseback was a good place for private conversations and Ansel a good confidant, sensible and
discreet. He, Bellman, and Bernard had been a threesome until the King’s most re-cent visit. Ansel had
been the last man bound on that occa-sion, narrowly escaping being packed off to Baelmark with Lord
Baxterbridge the following week.

“There’s a rumor that you’re going to work for His Nibs.”

“It’s only a rumor so far,” Bellman said. “Oh, look at that!”

 Ringwood had claimed the right to ride alongside his ward. Ranter and the Baron were following close,
both try-ing to move up whenever the trail widened enough to allow a third horse in. The jockeying was
fierce, and Ranter had very nearly been thrown off into a patch of thistles. The spectators were laying
bets.

 The sun had barely cleared the tops of the tors and was al-ready hot. Somewhere aloft a lark was
singing, and off to the


74Dave Duncan

south a herd of the King’s deer fled in panic from the in-truders. Starkmoor in summer was
breathtakingly beautiful.

After a moment, Ansel said, “His Nibs’s visit has not been profitable. Ranter is a social slug and
Ringwood’s only a boy. They’re both untrained. Ironhall can usually do better than that.”

“The B Team? He has the option of hiring a blind man as well.”

“I did not mean that!”

“I know you didn’t. I think they’ll do all right. Ringwood has wits.”

 But did he have enough of them? Bellman was already re-gretting his promise to Grand Master. He no
longer trusted this mysterious Grand Duke and his bullfrog Baron. Yester-day he had knelt to the man
and asked to enter his service, but he had been relieved when he was not accepted on the spot. He had a
strong hunch that the man was not what he seemed.

 “Grand Master speaks highly of you,” Rubin had said, leaning back in his chair and frowning. “So do my
Blades, whose judgment I must and do trust. But you have no spe-cial skills other than swordsmanship,
at which I am told you cannot exceed any ordinary man-at-arms now. Sir Ringwood has said you would
be helpful to him in Grandon, where he has some tasks he wishes done. He cannot easily leave my side. I
understand that. But I do not expect to remain long in Chivial—”
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 “Language conjuration is expensive!” Baron von Fader interjected. “What can you contribute to offset
that expense every time His Highness crosses a border?”

 Seeing that he was expected to answer, Bellman said, “Honesty, Your Highness, and an eagerness to
serve. Al-though I am master of no trade, Ironhall has made me jack of several. I write a fair hand. I
know horses.” Also dancing,


75Impossible Odds

basic conjuration, court protocol, Chivian history and law— nothing relevant, in short.

“I have a hostler and a secretary already.” The Grand Duke shrugged. “Grand Master says you can
have the charges against you dismissed?”

“There were no formal charges, sire, but I am confident I can clear my name as soon as we reach
Grandon.”

“Do that. Assist Sir Ringwood as he requires, and then we shall see. I will pay you for your time. You
have our leave...”

Ansel broke into his reverie. “What did you name your sword?”

 Instinctively, Bellman’s hand sought the comfort of that hilt at his belt. The stone of the pommel was
black, for cat’s-eyes were reserved by law to the Blades. Even an anony-mous sword from the Ironhall
armory was an illegal gift, but Master Armorer had insisted with a straight face that this was just one he’d
found lying around. Obviously Grand Master had approved that happy discovery.

 “No name so far,” Bellman said. “I was tempted to call herBluff,orFraud,but I could not insult her so.”
Being hon-est with himself, as was his custom, he knew a flippant in-scription would reduce her value.
He might have to sell her just to buy food, and only gentlemen were allowed to wear swords anyway.
“Can you spare me a couple of hours when we get to Nocare? I’ll need a guide.”

Ranter had lost out in the jostling stakes again and was riding alongside the Baron. Pity that one’s horse!

“Can probably arrange it.” Ansel smirked. “There are better bordellos in Grandon itself. Thatiswhat you
have in mind?”

“No. Ranter has, though. He talks of nothing else.”

“How about Ringwood?” Ansel said thoughtfully.

“Let him wait. The kid has enough on his mind without starting that.”


76Dave Duncan

                                                    ***

With dry roads and days still long, aided by the new bridge over the Flaskwater, they pushed on into the
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night, reaching Nocare before the moon set. The Grand Duke’s party moved back into Quamast House.
Yeomen and Blades were dragged out of bed to guard it. Nothing molested them.

Next morning Ansel appeared at the door, come to collect his friend. Although Bellman was wearing the
best hose, jerkin, and cloak that Ironhall could provide, he was not dressed for a palace. Moreover, the
dispatch folder he car-ried marked him as a clerk, so he’d left his sword behind.

 “The Dark Chamber,” he said as they set off through the grounds. How huge they were! Far bigger and
grander than he had imagined, a parkland of trees and flowers and lawn. The palace itself was a small
city of marble and glass, of red tile and tall chimney stacks. He had long dreamed of living there, guarding
his king. And yet... Being older than his peers, he had mostly befriended boys ahead of him in the school,
and in the last year they had all flown the nest. Those who had visited since had raved about their
wonder-ful life in Grandon, and the girls; the King’s fine palaces, and the girls; balls and masques, and
girls. But when cor-nered they had also admitted that their life was mostly very boring—except for the
girls, of course. Ansel was a Blade, in fine blue livery, with a cat’s-eye sword. He could go al-most
anywhere in the land unquestioned. But what good did he do, really?

Bellman reproached himself for belittling what he could not have. That was mean-spirited. “You should
have brought a couple of horses.”

“For an extra fee I will carry you,” Ansel said cheerily.

“I’ll double your fee and it still won’t buy a beer.”

“I’ll buy the beer. Where else do you need to go, so I can plan our route?”


77Impossible Odds

“I need to see the Yeomen, the White Sisters, and Griffin King of Arms.”

“They’re all close together,” Ansel said, scowling, “but you’ll be kept waiting an hour at each, just on
principle. Three hours at the Sisters’.”

“No need for you to wait. Just show me where they are. I’ll find them again.”

“You may get challenged. Oh, look at those roses!”

“Gorgeous.” Bellman took his pass from his folder. “How’s that?”

 The paper identified the bearer as Jack Bellman, Esq.— legally so, since he was now on His Majesty’s
service. It was signed, “Ringwood, Companion in the Loyal and Ancient Order of the King’s Blades.”
That, Ansel agreed, ought to admit him to anywhere short of the royal apartments.

“I bet the kid enjoyed doing that,” he said enviously. As the most junior man in the Guard, he would not
be signing any-thing meaningful for years yet. “That’s the Blade barracks. Head there if you need more
help.”

 At the palace headquarters of His Majesty’s Office of Gen-eral Inquiry, a solitary black-robed inquisitor
sat reading at a desk heaped high with papers, a window at his back. A door ajar on his right admitted
faint sounds of voices from inner rooms. He looked up at Bellman with the fixated stare of a strangled
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fish. Young though he seemed, his pasty, bookish appearance cried out for fresh air and exercise, as if he
spent his entire existence in this dim and stuffy cham-ber, working his way through these reams of paper.
No doubt there would be new stacks waiting when he returned tomorrow.

 “Good chance!” Bellman said cheerily, thinking that few people would be pleasant to a Dark Chamber
snoop. “I need to have an affidavit certified as true testimony.”


78Dave Duncan

“We don’t do that.” The inquisitor’s voice was as thin and dusty as his appearance. He went back to his
papers.

Bellman reached in his folder. “I have here a letter from Earl Roland of Waterby.”

 The inquisitor laid down his reading and took the letter. He glanced at the inscription, broke the seal, and
dismissed the contents with a glance. Admittedly, most of that long text was a list of Grand Master’s
titles, honors, and offices, and only one of them mattered in this case—the two letters, “P.C.,” denoting
that he was a member of the Privy Council.

The snoop held out his hand again. “The affidavit!”

That, also, he gave the merest glance before handing it back. “You wrote this?”

“I did.”

 “You are the person named, known formerly as Jack, son of John Eastswine of Camford, known later
as Candidate Bellman of the Loyal and Ancient Order of the King’s Blades, currently calling himself Jack
Bellman?”

“I am.”

“Read it to me.” It was by listening to voices that inquisi-tors detected falsehood. “Faster.”

 That was easier said than done, with half an eye missing and the light in his face. Apparently the snoop
had memo-rized the entire text, because twice he corrected Bellman’s reading. When it was finished, he
took back the document, dipped a quill, and began to write on it.

“He should have stayed in bed,” he remarked without looking up.

“What? Who?” Bellman was feeling rattled and angry at knowing he was meant to feel rattled.

 “Sheriff Glover. He suffered an apoplectic fit the day be-fore, his second that month.” The snoop sifted
sand over his writing. “He refused to be bled and the doctors did not con-sider him well enough to be
transported to an elementary.”


79Impossible Odds

“How do you know all that?”
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 “He was a keeper of the King’s peace. A report on his death came through here that year... the fourth of
Eighth-moon, I think it was.” The clerk held wax and candle over the paper, pressed a seal on the
puddle. He handed the affi-davit back. “I added a note that the coroner attributed his death to natural
causes.”

“Thank you!” Bellman said, amazed. “That was kind of you.”

The inquisitor did not reply. He was back reading already. His world existed only on paper.

Bellman did not covet his job.

 The Household Yeomen’s guard room was a sunnier place and less menacing, despite the two rigid
sentries outside it, all shiny and plumed. The man-at-arms behind the desk greeted Bellman with a
cheerful, “Good chance!” and seemed well disposed toward him—until he read his pass, for it was
signed by a Blade. That old rivalry soured milk faster than thunder.

 No, Sergeant Bates was not available. He had no idea when Sergeant Bates would be available. It took
a lot of wheedling and all the humble charm Bellman could muster to win a reluctant agreement that the
deaths of three Yeomen on duty might possibly—but certainly not necessarily and this concession was
purely theoretical and without reference to the particular case that had been discussed earlier—result in
their immediate superior being subject to court-martial.

In other words, the unfortunate Bates was in a dungeon somewhere. Bellman decided he did not want to
be a man-at-arms, either.

The offices of Griffin King of Arms were tiny and hidden away in a neglected corner of the palace that
had not been


80Dave Duncan

 dusted since King Ambrose built the place, more than forty years ago. It contained one bored young
herald, with freck-led nose, thinning sandy hair, and ink-stained fingers. He became quite excited when
he realized he had a visitor who was genuinely interested in what he might have to say. Ringwood’s
signature was all the authorization he needed to spill information. Out came the great dusty tomes. Their
contents were not enough to prove anything, but they cer-tainly did not dispose of Bellman’s suspicions.

“Let me see if I have this right,” he said. “The Everard who was made first Duke of Brinton was the
younger son of King Ambrose the Third? Ambrose the Third also begat Taisson the Second, who begat
Ambrose the Fourth, who begat Malinda the First, who begat Athelgar the First, who so far has begotten
Prince Everard?”

 “May the spirits guard His Royal Highness. And we don’t usually start numbering a name until we have
two of it,” the herald murmured diffidently.

“I stand corrected. And on the other line, Ambrose the Third begat Everard the first duke, who begat
Lady Estrith, who married the Maréchal Louis de Montmarle, who begat Lady Yvette, who married
Grand Duke Hans of Krupina, who begat Rubin, also Grand Duke.”

“I believe he’s the seventeenth grand duke.”
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“Good for him. And does he have any children?”

 The herald opened a drawer and rummaged through a chaos of papers that would have horrified the
inquisitor. “Yes. I have this to add . . . a son, Frederik, Marquis of Krupa. A courtesy title, I imagine.”

“That’s recent news? Any idea when he was born?”

“Four hundred and two by our reckoning. I’m not sure what month.”

“Same age as our own beloved prince,” Bellman said, sensing his quarry drawing closer. “And the same
number of


81Impossible Odds

generations since Ambrose the Third. Remarkably tidy! But on one line we have three men and one
woman, and on the other two of each. The ladies usually marry younger. Isn’t Grand Duke Rubin a little
oldto have a three-year-old son? How old is he?”

The herald was aghast at not knowing. Soon he bright-ened. “If you would allow me a few minutes
down in the archives, Master Bellman, I would be able to answer that.”

Bellman went with him and spent two hours standing in a cellar. He decided he didn’t want to be a
herald, either.

He certainly couldn’t be a White Sister.

 Ansel had warned him about the White Sisters, after con-ceding that he was biased. Most White Sisters
found Blades’ bindings as attractive as warm carrion. Not all did, certainly, but Ansel had tried to date
one of the unlucky ones and had scars to prove it.

 Being unbound, Bellman was hoping for a better recep-tion when he knocked at the Fellowship’s door,
which looked out on a quiet courtyard behind the Treasury wing. The woman who answered it was tall,
thin, and colorless in her white draperies and steeple headdress. She recoiled omi-nously from him. He
explained his purpose and offered his pass, which she held with her fingertips as if it were rotten.

She returned it quickly. “Please wait.” She closed the door.

 He cooled his heels out in the courtyard, happy enough to watch courtiers and their minions stroll by. His
day had been a personal success, in that he was no longer a fugi-tive on the run. Both his record and his
conscience were clear at last, thanks to the worker-ant snoop. If he wished, he could even go home
again to Camford, that bucolic backwater, where he must still have family. The prospect appalled. His
mother had called him a murderer, his sis-


82Dave Duncan

 ters had fainted, his father had ordered him out of the house. Besides, since then he had caught the scent
of a wider, infinitely more appealing world, where the status of the hay crop was not the most gripping
topic of conversa-tion in town.
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 On his other quest he had failed. Ringwood had asked him to investigate several things without actually
mention-ing his ward’s background, but the kid had dropped hints. He was hurt that his ward had not yet
confided in him and smart enough to see that he might have been bound to an imposter. Sadly, Bellman
had failed to gather any real evi-dence either for or against Grand Duke Rubin. His suspi-cions were
stronger than ever, but he had nothing he could take back to justify his day.

Eventually the door opened to reveal an older woman, taller, thinner, paler, and even more refined,
under a hennin even higher. He assumed she was a Mother, although he couldn’t read the signals
displayed by the lace on her head-dress.

“Mother Celandine is unavailable,” she announced and tried to close the door.

 Bellman put a boot in it and began to talk. “I am here on behalf of Sir Ringwood, newly appointed
Commander of the Grand Duke’s Blades. He needs information on the attack that almost killed his ward
five days ago.”

 That was incontestable, and she pouted. “The Fellowship has already cooperated fully with the Blades,
the Yeomen, the Dark Chamber, Chancery, the Lord Chamberlain, and theCollegeofConjury . He
should consult the Guard.”

No doubt that was incontestable, too.

“But if the shadowmen attack again,” Bellman protested, “Sir Ringwood and Sir Ranter are likely todie,
Mother.”

 With poor grace, she said, “Mother Celandine has been granted leave to return to Oakendown to
recuperate. In point


83Impossible Odds

of fact,” she conceded, “the reverend lady suffered a nervous breakdown.”

“Very understandable. I offer my deepest sympathy. How about Sister Gertrude?”

The Mother drew herself up so sharply that her hat almost skewered the lintel. “Sisters of her rank are
not authorized to speak to outsiders.”

Bellman continued to plead. Eventually the door was closed again.

 The wait this time was even longer. Despite his promise to Grand Master, he could not in good
conscience enter the Grand Duke’s service if he suspected the man of being a fraud. Obtaining two
Blades under false pretenses was at least grand larceny and would mean disaster for Ringwood and
Ranter. The law did not hold Blades responsible for their ward’s actions, but that was no help, because
neither did it recognize their compulsion to defend him from arrest. Spirits! If Athelgar had fallen for some
confidence trick-ster’s spiel, then the mess was well beyond Bellman’s pow-ers to unravel. Even to
disclose it would be lese majesty.

 But if Rubin was not who he said he was and Athelgar knew the true story, then Bellman was
trespassing in state affairs, a dangerous labyrinth.
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The door opened. The ancient Mother who appeared was emaciated, elongated, and so ethereal it was
hard to believe she continued to exist at all. In ghostly tones she announced that Sister Gertrude would
have no statement to make and Master Whatever-his-name should consult with the Blades or Grand
Wizard. The door was then closed and noisily bolted.

Baffled and furious, Bellman walked around the corner, heading back to Quamast House.

A laurel bush said, “Hey! You!”

The rightful owner of the voice stood up. She wore the


84Dave Duncan

 white robes of a Sister and a hennin with almost no lace on it at all. She was probably no older than
Ringwood, and completely unlike the women Bellman had just been fight-ing with. Her face was plump
and wide, unfashionably tanned, with a nose indubitably snub, eyes dark as coal and shiny as gems.
Ethereal she was not. Sturdy, more likely. He thought of dairy maids or farm girls plucking chickens. He
tried desperately not to stare at the fascinat-ing curve of her robe over her breasts.

 She put her fists on her hips and regarded him with suspi-cion. “I’m Sister Gertrude. What do you want
to know?”

Many things, like where can I find you this evening... “My name is Bellman, Sister. Until yesterday I was
a candi-date for—”

“You were at Ironhall. I can see a faint shimmer on you, but you’re not bound.”

 “No, and never will be. I injured my eye,” he explained quickly, seeing her frown. “But my best friend at
Ironhall was a man called Bernard, who—” Her expression stopped him.

“What about Sir Bernard?” she snapped.

 “Just what I said, Sister. He and I were close friends. The King bound him about three weeks ago. He
came to Grandon, I stayed behind. I just got here. Last night, very late.”

 She gnawed her lip for a moment, although it was already a gorgeous ruby shade. Plump, soft, moist
lips... “Did you hear from Bernard at all after he came to Court? Did he ever mention me?”

 Ah! “I heard not a word from him, Sister Gertrude, I swear. Blades don’t write letters much. Were you
also his friend?”

She turned her back on him. “I was,” she told a holly tree.

“Then we have both suffered a very great loss.”

She continued to stare into the shrubbery. He waited.


85Impossible Odds
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At last she said, “What do you want?”

“Justice for his murder.”

“So do I.” Sister Gertrude glanced up at the windows of the building. “I mustn’t be seen talking with
you. Follow me.”

 She pulled off her hat, spilling out a flood of raven-black hair, then plunged into the bushes. Bellman
followed, hard put to keep up with her, even when they reached a cleared path. She barely came up to
his shoulder, but she could move like a racehorse. She stopped abruptly on the edge of a pool overhung
by willows. Golden fish moved between the cold underwater stones.

There she turned to look at him. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me all about yourself!”

He told her.

“And who did send those monsters?”

 “I was hoping you could tell me, Sister. The shadowmen multiplied, turning their victims into horrors like
them-selves. But who or what started it? Where did it come from, and where did it go to after it killed the
first Yeoman?”

 She walked over to a stone bench almost hidden in the fo-liage, sat down, and started brushing leaves
and twigs off her robe. She had left room beside her, which he took as an in-vitation. He had understood
that women did not normally choose such secluded places for meetings with men they did not know.
Sister Gertrude seemed quite oblivious to such concerns. She also looked capable of breaking his arm if
he misbehaved.

“I don’t know,” she said, pouting. “And I cannot find out what the Mothers or the College are thinking.”

 “I was told that one of the Yeomen was slain with his own halberd and his dagger killed another. I was
also told that you detected conjuration on one of the sentries as you were leaving.”

“I have done nothing but answer questions about that


86Dave Duncan

 since it happened,” she said grimly, staring at the pool. “It was a fluke that I happened to pass very close
to him and happened to be sensitive to that particular combination of el-ements. Mother Celandine
misinterpreted it, but that’s not why she’s . . .”

“She’s what? Don’t stop there!”

 Trudy pouted. “Prostrate with guilt, poor old bat. No, where she went wrong was inside Quamast. I
wanted to in-spect something suspicious, and she wouldn’t let me, be-cause the reverend ancients had let
it pass earlier in the day.” She shrugged. “Of course she may have been less than usu-ally sensitive to
whatever I detected, but she should have given me the benefit of the doubt. That’s what the Sisters are
trying to cover up, Master Bellman—incompetence! What followed was a monstrous, horrible crime.”

Did she mean the danger might still be there? Ringwood must hear this.
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“Vile,” Bellman said. “I cannot even think of a motive.”

“But you have a theory! Tell me.”

 Surprised by her insight and a little amused at her vehe-mence, he said, “It is bizarre. I keep wondering if
the attack was a fake to enlist His Majesty’s sympathy for the apparent victim. If so, it succeeded,
because Grand Duke Rubin now has two Blades.”

“Have you met this Grand Duke?”

“A few times. Briefly.”

“Describe him. What sort of person is he?”

“Middle aged, not plump, exactly, but he has a sedentary look to him. Not quite debauched... well
used? But he’s also courteous and patient. Ringwood’s very happy with him. A bad-tempered,
unreasonable ward can make a Blade’s entire life a hell.”

“Except what?” she demanded, looking around.

“Except nothing.”


87Impossible Odds

“No, you meant to say more. What?”

She might look like a buxom farm girl, but she had the mind of an inquisitor.

 “Blades never gossip about their ward’s affairs, even to their friends. But Ringwood asked me to find the
wit-nesses—you or Mother Celandine, and also Sergeant Bates. The Blades of the Guard have told him
all they can, but it’s reasonable that he should want to talk to the other people who know something
about his mortal enemies, for that is what they are, whoever did this.”

“And?” she said.

“You will not repeat what I say?”

“I promise.”

 Bellman had already decided that Trudy would start a riot long before she would ever stoop to lying.
“He also hinted that he wanted me to see what I could learn about the Grand Duke’s background.”

“You’re joking! You mean Rubin is keeping secrets from hisBlades?”

“Seems so. That makes no sense at all. They’ve had plenty of time to speak in private. Even the Guard
doesn’t seem to know how or why he lost his throne, or what he plans to do about it. Nothing. It’s
unusual for the Guard not to know what’s going on.” He felt disloyal saying that, although the Order was
nothing to him now.
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“The Sisters don’t seem to, either, which is even stranger. We usually have sources the Blades don’t.
And Baron von Fader?”

“You are taking more information that you are giving, Sister. Let’s hear your opinion of the Duke.”

 She flashed a smile. It was gone in an instant, for this was not a happy discussion, but it had made her
look like an apple-cheeked child. “Fair enough! He wears a seeming.”

“Spit!” Bellman said. “Fire and death! You mean he isn’t


88Dave Duncan

what he seems to be? But surely he would not be allowed near the King if he has been conjured?”

“I gathered he is not enchanted personally, it is something he wears.”

“Even more, then. He should have been made to take it off.” What had the Guard been thinking of ?

“He may remove it when he is granted a private audience. In other words, Mother Superior and
Commander Florian may know the truth.”

“But they don’t talk?”

 “Correct. We were told it was a translating device, but it isn’t. I don’t know what it does exactly, but I
think it proba-bly changes his appearance.”

“So do I!” Bellman’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Why?” Sister Gertrude twisted her hair into a pile and slid her hat on top of it. “No, not now. I must
go.” She surged to her feet. “Are you staying at Quamast House, Master Bellman?”

 “Yes.” He stood up. He didn’t want her to go. “I wish you’d just call me Bellman. I’ve gotten used to
that name.”

“Call me Trudy, then. I’ll see you at midnight. I’m back on duty there. They took me off it, but I really
want to have a close look at that medicine chest, so I told them it’s like a horse.”

“The medicine chest is like a horse?”

 “Naw!” She grinned mischievously, displaying a fine set of teeth with one missing. She pointed to the
gap. “See? You have to get right back in the saddle after being thrown.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m an
expert at putting a horse over ninety percent of a hedge.”

 “My speciality is three-quarters of a ditch. Did they argue?” This story of incompetence—or even
treachery?— in the Fellowship was worrying. Although the Guard rarely


89Impossible Odds

had good words to say about the Dark Chamber or the Yeomen, Bellman had never heard them speak
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ill of the White Sisters. He liked puzzles, but there were too many clues missing in this one.

“I can be loud when I want to be.”

Very likely. Sister Gertrude’s starched superiors must find her quite a handful and would not tolerate her
unless she had real ability to back up her freewheeling ways. Hiding in bushes!

“The Duke is supping with the King,” he said, “but they’ll probably be back by then or soon after. I
know Ring-wood will want to talk with you.”

“I’ll bare my soul.” With a grin and a slap on his shoulder as if he were a horse, she strode off along the
path, swing-ing her arms.

Bellman headed the other way. Now he had to go back to Quamast and tell a pair of Blades that their
ward was a fraud. That was not the safest procedure imaginable.

 Yeomen were thick around Quamast House. They insisted on seeing his pass and then called for a Blade
to vouch for him. Out came Sir Clovis, one of the senior members of the guard, wearing a gold sash, no
less, which meant at least ten men. He regarded Bellman suspiciously.

“What’s above the royal door?”

“Grand Master’s bedroom.”

Only then did he smile. “Pass, friend.” He was showing off for the Yeomen. He knew Bellman perfectly
well; they had fenced dozens of times.

The big hall held at least two dice games and several ar-guments. Even the King was not guarded so
ostentatiously. Ringwood stood at the top of the stairs, so he must have been looking out the windows.
He beckoned impatiently. Bellman ran up.


90Dave Duncan

“Well?”

 “It’s not good news,” Bellman said cautiously. Al-though Ringwood had been ahead of him in the
school, he had always been too young for friendship, a boy to Bell-man’s youth, a youth when Bellman
reached manhood. Recent changes had brought them closer together, and re-sponsibility had already
aged him. It had also made him dangerous.

He grinned. “I can see that. Go on, I won’t kill you.”

“Your ward wears a conjurement, a seeming. He is not what he seems.”

Ringwood’s eyes narrowed. He thought for a moment. “Do you know who he is or what he is?”

 “No, but I think he’s much younger than he pretends. I got suspicious the other night when he ran up the
stair to the royal suite. It was the small hours of the morning and he’d had a grueling couple of days. The
real Grand Duke is fifty years old! Men of that age don’t behave like that. And he put his hands down to
his thighs before he did it.”
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“Any more?”

 “Yes. Next morning I snooped a little. After you all came down, I asked the Blades watching the stair if
anyone had gone up, anyone at all. They said no. The Baron wears a full beard. Ranter was stubbly, but
he’s fair and doesn’t bother to shave every day. Nor do you. Your ward looked fine. Did he shave in
cold water, when all he had to do was pull a bell rope and ask for hot? If he’s a fraud, then who is he?
He can’t be thenextGrand Duke, he’s an infant.” Bellman real-ized how weak it all sounded. “None of
it’s proof, but it wor-ried me. Then I learned about the seeming from Sister Gertrude.”

The Blade brightened. “I must speak with her!”

 “She’s forbidden to speak with you. Fortunately she was so charmed by my profile that she promised to
come here at


91Impossible Odds

midnight. Sergeant Bates is being kept under wraps, un-available.”

 “You’ve done very, very well. Follow me!” Ringwood headed to one of the doors, knocked, and went
in.

 The knock might have been intended to avoid startling Ranter, who was standing by the window, being
fussed over by an elderly man with pins in his mouth. The Grand Duke sat patiently on a stool. The Baron
was perched on the edge of the bed, half-enveloped in the feather mattress, barrel legs dangling, flaccid
face working in anger.

Bellman bowed to the Duke.

“He passed,” Ringwood said. “Brilliantly. He worked it out and even discovered how you do it.”

“Silence, fool!” the Baron shouted, pointing at the tailor.

The Duke ignored him, as he often did. “Congratulations, Master Bellman. You must give me lessons in
where I went wrong.”

“I... I had not realized I was being tested!” Bellman said coldly.

“Testing was not the original purpose. Sir Ringwood and I had a chat this morning. I asked him what you
were doing for him and he confessed. We agreed this might be a fair judge of your abilities. Tailor,
measure this man, also.”

The tailor dropped a length of tape and took the pins out of his mouth to say, “I am most grateful to
Your Royal Highness.”

“Sire!” the Baron growled. “I have asked you what use is a blind swordsman, but you do not tell me.
Your fi-nances are already strained.”

Rubin snapped out a sharp retort in a foreign tongue, then smiled again at Bellman. “But I am presuming
you still want to enter my service. I promise you that King Athelgar is aware of what you discovered
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today and knew it when he so generously deeded me Blades.”

Ringwood was grinning. Ranter was not, but Ranter often


92Dave Duncan

 scowled like that. Ringwood knew the truth, whatever it was, and he thought it was something to laugh
at.

“In that case,” Bellman said, much relieved, “I am indeed eager to serve Your Royal Highness.”

                                                     •6•

 Later, after Bellman had sworn to be true and been ap-pointed the Grand Duke’s equerry, a suitably
vague title, he met the two servants who had accompanied their master into exile. Manfred was
coachman and hostler. Harald served as secretary, valet, or footman as required, and sometimes
man-at-arms before Ringwood and Ranter joined the team. Ringwood referred to them as Indoors and
Outdoors, and made jokes about how miscast they seemed. They looked like a woodcutter and a clerk,
but Harald Indoors was the amiable young giant, even beefier and blonder than Ranter. Manfred
Outdoors was older and smaller, with a bookish stoop and a face like dried clay, cracked in worried
wrinkles. Neither understood Chivian, so conversation was limited to smiles and handshakes.

 At sunset Duke, Baron, and Blades went off to the royal supper and the guard was changed. The new
Blade con-tingent was led by Sir Cedric, who had now won the King’s Cup for fencing three years in a
row and seemed to be the only Chivian capable of holding off challengers from Isilond. He had probably
asked for this assignment just so he could check on Bellman. However fine his in-tentions, the world’s
best swordsman was a little too aware of his abilities, and Bellman was tired of being a medical curiosity.

“Go and get your sword, lad.”


93Impossible Odds

“I have abandoned swordsmanship and taken up em-broidery.”

“Then go and get your bodkin.”

 Seeing he could not escape the ordeal, Bellman fetched his sword and proceeded to let Cedric show
him again how very bad he was as they danced back and forth in the big hall—Cedric forth and Bellman
back. The moon was up to keep away shadowmen and the guest the Blades had come to guard was
absent, so all the rest of the squad used the big staircase as a grandstand and watched in disgust and
worry. They did not enjoy being reminded how easily their own skills might be destroyed.

 “You’re no worse,” Cedric declared at last. “But you’re certainly no better. Let’s try it over there where
there’s less light.”

Bellman said, “No! This is ridiculous. It would be suicide for me to wear this. Somebody see that it goes
back to Iron-hall.”

He was answered with a chorus of protest.
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 “Nonsense!”Ansel’s voice prevailed. “Bluff it, man, bluff it! Youlooklike a swordsman. Youmovelike a
swordsman. Your stance, your wrist... The moment you draw, your op-ponent is going to change his
mind and back down. Even if he doesn’t, you are still a better-than-average fencer. Stay away from
Blades and Sabreurs and you should have no trouble.”

Bellman looked longingly at the superb weapon he held. “What do I name her?Crutch? White Cane?”

“Bravado!”Ansel shouted.

 Everyone joined in the laughter and Bellman let himself be talked into hangingBravadoon his belt. He
was only humoring his friends, after all. Soon he would be gone from their world and likely would never
see any of them again.

                                                    ***


                                              94Dave Duncan

Midnight sent Cedric’s squad home and brought in others and a new flood of painful commiserations.
The sash was around Sir Valiant, who evidently believed in Sister Gertrude’s theory about getting back
on the horse that threw you. He was faring better than Sergeant Bates of the Yeomen, but then Valiant
had taken part in the battle and re-quired a healing after it; that made a difference.

The newcomers had not even brought out their dice be-fore a platoon of Yeomen delivered Trudy
herself, who came marching in like a drill instructor. The resemblance did not end with her walk. Her
dark-eyed appraisal made every man there wonder if his hose were wrinkled or his codpiece laces
untied.

 She spotted Bellman at once and flashed him a tri-umphant wink. He soon saw that her friendship with
Bernard was widely known, for the ribaldry was subdued and a couple of remarks that went too far
resulted in the speakers being savagely elbowed. But Trudy herself seemed determined to avoid
sympathy or maudlin re-grets, for she flirted with four men in rapid succession and cracked a couple of
off-color jokes that made Bell-man blink. He had not known young ladies behaved like that. He
suspected from the Blades’ delight that few did. Obviously Trudy was bluffing, for any man in her life
other than Bernard would have been mentioned right away. Had she been warned that flirting with bound
Blades was wrestling lightning? Most of them regarded their enhanced power over women as the best
part of their wages. It was not the part they saved for their old age, either.

Watched by admiring eyes, she made a circuit of the hall, ending at the base of the great staircase, where
Bellman was playing watchdog, determined to challenge anyone who tried to go up. He did not suspect
Blades of stealing, but he


95Impossible Odds

knew some of them were nosey. She grinned at him, show-

ing her missing tooth.

“His Grace is not back yet.” That was not a question.
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“What makes you think so?” Bellman countered.

“I could sense him if he were. But there is something up-stairs that I need to inspect.” That was her duty.

“I shall be happy to escort you, Sister.” As the group of Blades surged forward, he added, “She must
not be crowded, Sir Valiant.”

“The rest of you stay here.”

“Race you!” Trudy said. She gathered up the front of her robe and sprinted.

 Bellman and Valiant let her win, but would have had trou-ble doing otherwise. She marched confidently
around the balcony to the door she wanted.

“In here.”

Valiant looked to Bellman.

“The Baron’s room,” Bellman said.

Valiant was unhappy. “Sister Gertrude’s testimony should be adequate excuse to search it.”

 Bellman chuckled. “You expect me to fight you over it?” He had no desire to see his friends or himself
turned into killer corpses. His duties for the Grand Duke did not include sheltering a murderer, if that was
what the Baron was.

 “Extraterritoriality!” Valiant looked even more miserable. “A visiting head of state? This building may
legally be Krupinese territory at the moment. There has been nothing official from the Council, but I was
warned to be careful.”

 Bellman weighed loyalties—to his new employer, his king, his friends... “His Majesty has not awarded
the Grand Duke royal honors so far. His Highness did not in-struct me to claim immunity from the laws of
Chivial. I might draw the line at letting you search his own room, but the fact that he has accepted you as
guards means that he ex-


96Dave Duncan

pects you to perform your duties. If I get fired for this, I will be sorry, but I’m doing what I see as right.”

 “Thanks. Master Bellman,” Valiant said formally, “the Royal Guard has reason to believe that there are
illicit con-jurements on these premises and will now exercise its right to inspect them.”

Bellman grinned. “As the Grand Duke’s representative, I reserve his right to lodge a complaint about this
harassment.”

“Oh, a pox on yours! No, let me open it, in case it’s booby-trapped.”

“You think I wouldn’ttellyou if it was booby-trapped?” Trudy said indignantly.
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It was locked.

 Valiant shouted down to his men and East came running up with a huge ring of keys. On the third try,
Valiant found one that worked and threw the door open. The room was vast enough to hold a
four-poster as large as a haystack, two palatial sofas, four chairs, a couple of tables, a washstand, a
desk, and a bookcase, and still seem spacious. The carpets were thick, window drapes sumptuous,
tapestries intricately patterned. Without hesitation, Trudy strode across to a pair of studded cowhide
traveling boxes, shabby and well-used, seeming strangely out of place amid such luxury.

“This one. Don’t touch it!” she added quickly as the men arrived beside her.

“Warding cord?” An innocent-looking rope had been tied around the box that interested her, secured
with a very sim-ple knot.

“Definitely. It’s not the same conjuration the inquisitors use, but there’s enough death in it to hurt you.”

“I do believe this trunk was inspected when His Grace ar-rived,” Valiant said, uncomfortable again.

 Trudy flashed her big grin at him. “But not opened. And now we have five deaths to explain. I’m
surprised thecoro-


97Impossible Odds

 ner hasn’t impounded this box as evidence. Move that one out of the way, please, Bellman. And lift this
one away from the wall, butdon’ttouch the rope.” Then she dropped on her hands and knees to peer
along the top and sides of the box, moved around it to try the same thing from other angles. No wonder
the Sisters were known as sniffers.

 “There’s a lot of odd stuff in here,” she muttered. “All mixed up together. That is a way of hiding death
elementals, of course. Can’t make anything dangerouswithouta death component. Hard to make almost
anything without at least a trace of it.”

Now Valiant was even more uneasy. “I thought you said last time that you could detect anything really
deadly from downstairs?”

 Trudy sat back on her heels, looking frustrated. “Mother Celandine said that, and now she’s catatonic.
But I sensed this box from downstairs far more readily tonight than I did a week ago—I don’t think even
she would ignore it now. And it’s not as simple as she said, anyway. What I’m de-tecting in there is
several small conjurations. Yes, those may be jars of pills or ointments. Or purges,” she added with an
unladylike leer. “But there’s at least two that feel scary,reallyscary. They’re also very localized, very
small. That makes them hard to analyze at a distance, of course. It is not impossible to make something
very small and very deadly! A poison pill conjured with fire to speed up its action is dif-ficult to sense. I
know, because they tried to trick us with that one on a test at Oakendown and I was the only one in the
class to get it. We’re taught exceptions like that and then tend to forget them when we don’t meet them in
real life.”

 She couldn’t have more than a month’s real-life experi-ence if she had arrived at the palace about the
time Bernard did. Trudy certainly did not lack confidence in her own abilities.
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98Dave Duncan

Bellman said, “Were you told to examine this box closely tonight?”

She looked up with a conspiratorial grin. “I was told to be thorough.”

“How tactful of them!” Valiant said furiously. “Are they having cold feet or second thoughts? Or both?
Have you any idea what the next session of Parliament is going to say about spiritual murders inside the
King’s palace?”

“That’s why the old dears are flapping like chickens,” Trudy said, grinning.

“What do you want me to do, Sister? Is this box danger-ous enough for me to order it removed at once,
or will it wait until the Baron returns to open it? Or,” he added hopefully, “will it wait until tomorrow?”

 She shrugged. “I think it will wait until the Duke returns. And so will I. Why don’t you put a guard on it
for now and inform my escort that they needn’t wait for me?”

 Valiant’s eye settled on Sir East lurking in the back-ground. After delivering the keys, he had remained
to snoop with a nosiness worthy of Hazard himself.

 His commander smiled. “Good of you to have volun-teered, brother! Stay in this room and let nobody
touch that box.”

East pouted. “All by myself ?”

“Read a book. Exercise that mess you call a mind.”

“You’ll soon have the Baron to keep you company,” Bell-man said helpfully. “You can read him a
bedtime story.”

East glared at him.

“What’s in here?” Valiant crossed to a second door and threw it open.

Voices yelled in outrage. Little Manfred came storming into the room. Harald, the pale ox, loomed in
behind him without his normal smile.

Valiant tried to explain—in Chivian. Shouting and gestic-


99Impossible Odds

 ulating, the two servants were obviously ordering the in-truders out. Harald looked ready to start picking
them up and throwing. Bellman tried to mediate, pointing to the royal insignia on the Blades’ livery.
Everyone got louder and louder.

                                                     •7•

 Sister Gertrude, however, was enjoying the confusion. Her new supervisor, Mother Evangeline, had
approved Trudy’s request to be returned to the Quamast night patrol with al-most no argument at all.
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When her friend Sister Seamist had heard this news, she had been instantly suspicious.

 “They’re setting you up!” she said. Seamist had been Trudy’s best friend all through Oakendown and
was still her best friend here in the palace—very supportive and great company, even if she couldn’t tell a
love potion from a vom-itive at arm’s length.

Trudy was suspicious, too, but didn’t care much. “Pos-sibly. Not bothering to open the medicine chest?
Calling a seeming a ‘translation device’? I ask you! Pull the other one.”

Seamist’s eyes opened very wide. “Sister Gertrude! Surely you are not suggesting that the Reverend
Mothers are covering their ethereal asses?”

“Do Reverend Mothers even have asses, Sister Seamist?”

They sniggered in unison.

“Just what are you trying to achieve?” Seamist asked.

“I want justice for Bernie! But at least I’ll get to meet a Grand Duke. And a lot of slinky Blades.”

Seamist shuddered. To her Blades stank worse than rot-ten eggs.


100Dave Duncan

“Besides,” Trudy added, “it’s the only bear-baiting in town. All I ever do is stand around watching other
people have fun. I never thought palace life would be soboring!”

Now it wasn’t. That traveling box was definitely unbor-ing. It made her skin crawl.

 Adventure loomed. And so did young men. Although he lacked the shine of a bound Blade, Master
Bellman had a quiet, nonspiritual sparkle of his own. Seamist would say he was obviously dependable
and dependable just meant dull, but he was good company. As for Sir Valiant’s current gag-gle of
Blades, they were entertaining, although none could compare with Bernard. Trudy had just reached that
melan-choly conclusion when she detected the glow of two more Blades beyond the outside door, and
then the Grand Duke’s seeming. She could sense a Blade binding at thirty-three paces. She’d measured
it.

 The moment the Duke and his train entered the hall, tu-mult broke out. The big servant, Harald, began
shouting from the balcony in whatever language he used. The Baron roared back. Then the smaller
servant, who had been keep-ing watch on the Blade keeping watch on the box, appeared and joined in
the shouting. The Duke looked to Bellman, who explained.

“We must discuss this, Sir Valiant,” His Highness said, and led the way upstairs to the audience room.

Trudy was not impressed by the Grand Duke so far. If his seeming could manage nothing better than that
worn-out, decayed look, then his real appearance must be gruesome indeed.

 Nor did she think much of the audience room, which was smaller than the Baron’s bedchamber, and
unpleasantly stuffy, with crazy insects hurling themselves around the can-dles. The tapestries were heavy
and faded, moth-eaten in
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Impossible Odds101

 places, and the ceiling frescoes had suffered water damage. The Duke settled on a raised chair of estate
on a low dais at one end, which gave him a royal heft he had lacked before. A dozen or so ordinary
chairs were set around the walls, but he did not invite anyone else to sit, so they stood around in a
half-circle facing him: Bellman, Sir Valiant, the gross Baron, one servant—the big blond one—and Trudy.
The lit-tle wrinkled man had gone back to guarding the guard guarding the box. The Duke’s new Blades
were also there, one on either side of his chair. They were an odd couple, one short, dark, and
surprisingly young, the other fair and husky. He winked at her. Before she could decide whether his
blondness and beefy calves justified such brashness, she was pulled into the discussion.

 “Sister, er, Gertrude,” the Grand Duke said. “That atroc-ity last week was only the latest in a series of
attacks di-rected at me. I have been hounded across Eurania by them, and I have no doubt that they
originate back in Krupina. I even know who is behind them, although I cannot prove it. Now you are
suggesting that they are local in origin. You are accusing some member of my entourage of five attempts
to kill me and the deaths of more than a dozen people! These are serious charges.”

Oh no! It would make an interesting start and even more interesting sudden end to her career, but Trudy
was not going to be trapped that easily. “Your, er, Grace. With respect, I did not say any such thing! I
merely report that there are many conjurations inside that box and some are dangerous. Even deadly.
They should be properly inspected. That’s all I say.”

 “The box was approved by the White Sisters when we ar-rived. It was inspected on the very night of
the attack.”

 “That was me that night, Your Grace. Five men died soon after. Nobody opened it, either time. Nobody
even went close to it. And it has changed since then.”


102Dave Duncan

The Duke frowned. “And were you told to reexamine it tonight?”

“No, Your Grace. I was merely told to do my duty.”

“Did you not do your duty the first time?”

 “I was not in charge that night. I wanted to inspect the box more closely and was overruled. Sir Valiant
can support my testimony.”

Sir Valiant nodded, but the Duke kept his frown aimed at her.

 “You are certainly implying, even if you are being careful not to say so, that something in that box can be
used to sum-mon shadowmen. But the only people who have access to the box were all in this building
that night. The perpetrator would have drawn danger upon himself.”

She had never crossed swords with a head of state before, but nor did she let Mother Superior
browbeat her, and she was not about to kowtow to old Baggy-eyes.
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 “I am not a conjurer. I don’t know how to summon shad-owmen, although I suspect you’d start by
using some special sort of contagious poison to kill the first one. That would be easier than shooting a
conjured arrow all the way from Krupina, wouldn’t it? All I am saying—”

“She says too much!”the Baron roared. “Sire, this is in-tolerable insolence!”

 Grand Duke Rubin nodded as if agreeing, but what he said was, “I may have been listening too much
and think-ing too little. Continue, Sister.”

 That was flattering. “It’s late, Your Grace. If I’m wrong and everything in that box is harmless, then the
Fellowship will certainly discipline me and apologize to his lordship. Why don’t you let the Blades guard
it until tomorrow, and then we can bring in more Sisters and take a look? I am very good, but having
more opinions is always a smart idea in sniffing.”


Impossible Odds103

“Your Majesty knows very well that everything in that box is harmless!” the Baron shouted.

“You’re lying,” said Trudy.

Hm. Not diplomatic. Everyone was staring at her in shock. The Baron was turning purple, about to set
his whiskers on fire. Even the Grand Duke was frowning again, and he’d almost been on her side.

“I shouldn’t have said that, Your Grace.”

“No, you certainly should not!”

 “But not because it isn’t true! It’s just that we’re not sup-posed to claim truth-sounding powers. The
inquisitors do that. Most White Sisters can do it, too, because words are made of air, obviously, plus
wisdom, which means light, which is largely fire. So words are air and fire plus a little earth for solidity.
But lies also contain death and water. Water for shapelessness. So a lot of Sisters can truth-sound as
well as the snoops do, but it’s not part of our claim, so I’m not supposed to mention it.” She pouted at
the fat old Baron. “Hewaslying.”

“Your Highness!” the old man screamed.

 The Duke raised a hand for quiet, smiling gently. “Re-member, Baron, you said I knew very well that
everything in the box is harmless. Obviously I do not, because I did not pack it and have very little idea
of what’s in it. I know only what you have told me. Had you asserted that you knew the box contained
nothing harmful, then your statement would have been strictly true.”

Everyone waited for the fat man to accept that invitation, but he didn’t. He fumed, “It is still intolerable!
My honor has never been questioned before. For full ten generations my forebears have born arms for
Krupina. All my life I have served. And now you submit me to this! The wench should be whipped. King
Athelgar must apologize in person!”

The Duke sighed. “It is late. Sir Valiant, please guard the


104Dave Duncan
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box until morning. His Majesty waived inspection of my baggage, but to clear all suspicion in this matter,
we shall do as Sister Gertrude suggested.”

“Intolerable!” the Baron roared. He spun around with re-markable agility for a sack of custard and
waddled rapidly to the door. The big fair-haired servant ran to open it for him and followed him out.

 After a moment, the Grand Duke said, “What you’re all thinking is impossible. Ernst von Fader is no
conjurer. He cannot have been behind those murders, never! I have known him for years and no one has
been more faithful to me. He has lost everything in my cause. Am I lying, Sister Gertrude?”

“No, Your Grace.”

He smiled at her. There was something lacking in his smiles. He did not smile at her the way most men
did. Not like that lecherous leer coming from the taller Blade, or even the boy’s shy yearning. Bellman
wasn’t smiling at all. Nor was Sir Valiant.

It was to him that the Grand Duke spoke next. “We thank you for your service. I assume you can
provide the Sister with an escort when she leaves? We do need a final word with her first, though.”

Sir Valiant took the hint. Saluting, he withdrew, and when the door closed the company was down to
Trudy and four men. Interesting odds, Seamist would say.

The Grand Duke took a moment to study his signet ring. Then he said, “Do you sense conjuration upon
me, Sister?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“What is it?”

“A seeming of some sort. It probably changes your ap-pearance in some way.”

He nodded. “I will be leaving Chivial soon, to continue my quest for justice, my mission to overthrow the


Impossible Odds105

 usurper. It may be a long and painful campaign. When King Athelgar offered me Blades, he said that I
needed some White Sisters to go with them. Without Sisters I would have only half a team, he said, but
he could not command the Sisters, he could only ask. Tonight he told me that Mother Superior had
canvassed the entire Fel-lowship and no Sister wished to volunteer.”

What!?

He smiled at her expression. “You were not asked?”

“No, Your Grace! I didn’t hear of anyone else being asked, either.” The more she saw of the workings
of the Fel-lowship, the more it seemed like a toothless gaggle of in-competent old women.

 “Well, keep it in mind.” Rubin rose and stepped down from the dais. Everyone else shifted, sensing an
end to the meeting. “I have been promising my Blades and Master Bellman that I would tell them the
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whole story. I have de-layed too long. If you will give me your word not to repeat what you hear, then I
invite you to stay and listen.”

 She hesitated, wondering if her oath allowed her to keep secrets from her superiors. Mother Evangeline
was a terrible gossip. She thought, too, of that veiled invitation to enter the Grand Duke’s service. Palace
life wasdull,just endless standing beside doorways as visitors trooped in and out, or against the walls at
parties, watching other people enjoy themselves.

“I swear, Your Highness.”

 He noticed the honorific and nodded acknowledgment. “Then let us make ourselves comfortable, and I
will tell all four of you. Lock the door, Sir Ranter. Mine is a sad tale, but you can testify to the others
later, Sister, that it is a true one. Now sit, all of you.”

He pulled a chair around to face two others, and Bellman quickly dragged in two more to make a circle.


106Dave Duncan

                                                    ***

 Bellman had watched the Trudy-Baron match with amuse-ment and no little admiration. From all he had
been told about the White Sisters’ prim and stuffy ways, she must be a mammoth-sized gadfly for them,
and the fact that she was tolerated at all suggested that she must have considerable ability.

“Master Bellman?”

“Sire?”

 “Sir Ringwood said that you had penetrated my disguise. I want to hear where I slipped up. I have been
living my role for months and thought I was close to perfect.”

“I suspected nothing, sire, until you ran upstairs in Main House. Under the circumstances, that surprised
me in a man of your apparent years. This evening I watched Trudy do that, and she first lifted the front of
her robe so she would not trip over the hem. You made the same gesture, although you were wearing
hose. I snooped and learned that you ei-ther did not shave or were content to do so in cold water.”

The duke laughed. “Well done! Sir Ringwood inspected my baggage that night and discovered some
garments not normally worn by dukes, grand or otherwise. As my Blade, he told no one except Sir
Ranter.”

Ringwood grinned. Ranter pouted.

 “I told them today... that’s yesterday now. Now I will show them, and you. Everything I said was true,
except I switched identities.” He reached both hands to the back of his neck and fumbled. “I wear a
locket containing a minia-ture of Grand Duke Rubin of Krupina. It is a conjurement to make the wearer
look like him.” He lifted the ends of the chain and pulled the locket free of his collar. “In fact I am his
wife, Grand Duchess Johanna.”

 His image shimmered and blurred, startling Bellman, who blinked until he decided his eyes were not at
fault this time.
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Impossible Odds107

The Grand Duke had gone and in his place sat a girl. She was slender and radiantly beautiful, despite her
unflattering male garb, and the way her golden hair had been crudely coiled up and pinned on top of her
head.

Trudy let out a yelp. The others just stared. The Grand Duchess smiled as she surveyed their reaction,
yet her plea-sure failed to cover a deep sadness in her sapphire-pale eyes.

 “Sir Ringwood, Sir Ranter, now you see your ward. The conjuration is very effective, but it has its limits.
It changes my face very well, my upper body fairly well, but it cannot make my feminine calves look as
manly as my husband’s and I dared not trust it to deal with communal bathing. Did my modesty in the
Forge start the juices of suspicion flow-ing, Sir Ringwood?”

Ringwood was glowing with joy at the transformation. “Not at all, Your Highness.”

“No regrets, I hope?”

 Ranter muttered a surly, “No.” A lifelong binding was less attractive when his ward was his own age,
instead of thirty years older.

 Ringwood said, “Oh, no, Your Highness! I mean, I thought His Highness was... I am sure His Highness
is a very fine Grand Duke, but you’re . . .” He blushed scarlet and his voice trailed away. Ringwood was
smitten already.

 So was Bellman. Oh, spirits! She was gorgeous. Trudy disappeared in her presence. He felt like a boy
compared to her. Now he understood the “Grand Duke’s” curiously gen-tle manners. She should learn
to use more bad language.

 “I thank you both.” She sighed. “Master Bellman, your oath is revocable, as theirs is not. Do you wish to
leave my service now?”

 “Never, Your Highness!” He was tempted to say that he would serve without pay forever if he could
just have one of those smiles each day. The pain that lurked behind them tore


108Dave Duncan

at his heart. “I trusted you when I knew you were not what you seemed and I certainly trust you now.”

But she could never trust him as she trusted her bound Blades. He could swear absolute loyalty and
mean it, but without the conjuration it could never be the same. Human fidelity could fail.

“Sister Trudy?”

“Just what Bellman just said, Your Highness! This is won-derful!”

 “Is it? Is it truly? Nay, it is worse than before, for I am still an exile and now you see I am of common
stock. I lack rank and breeding. My husband is dead or a prisoner, I know not which. My infant son is
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dispossessed and in mortal danger, for he will certainly be murdered if his uncle finds him. My efforts to
enlist support from the rulers of Eurania have met with no support, at least until now, here in faraway
Chivial, where your King and Queen have been wonderfully kind. But even they will be glad to see me
go.”

“Why?” Ranter snapped.

 “Because death follows me everywhere. Also—although less in their case than elsewhere—because I
am not of noble birth. That was why your King refused to grant me the royal honors he would have
shown the real Grand Duke. My fa-ther was a mere knight, Erich von Schale. He owed knight’s service
to the lord of Fadrenschloss, Baron von Fader, as his forebears had for generations. He followed the
Baron’s ban-ner in his youth, but when I knew him his fighting days were long over; he was a farmer who
shoed his own horses and helped bring in his own hay. I barely remember my mother, for she died trying
to give me a brother. Sir Ringwood?”

“Your Highness?”

“I was much moved by your story. How old were you when your father brought you to Ironhall?”

“Almost thirteen, Your Grace.”


Impossible Odds109

 “I, too, lost my father when I was twelve. He cut his foot and the wound festered. Had he asked the
Baron for help, the Baron would have sent him to Vamky with gold for a healing, but he was too proud
to beg. When the Baron heard the news and rode to our cottage, my father was on his deathbed. Ernst
swore he would take care of me. That was his duty as liege, but he meant it, which matters infi-nitely
more. I moved into his house and he was wonder-fully kind to me. Fadrenschloss was a rambling old
place, part ancient castle and part modern timber house, comfort-able but still defensible. He had no
family left, so it would revert to the Grand Duke when he died. I lived there for two years. Of course I
mourned my father, but they were two wonderful years.

“But I must tell you also of the villain in the story, Lord Volpe. He is Rubin’s uncle, but only a year older.
They grew up together in the palace in Krupa and I have heard hints that they disliked each other in those
days. Volpe may have re-sented that he was not Grand Duke Hans’s heir although he was the elder.
Rubin may have been frightened of Volpe, for he is prone to wild rages and Rubin is... peaceable. My
husband would rather outfox a foe than fight him. I do know he would sometimes accuse his uncle of
being illegitimate, for Volpe was born eight months after his father’s death and thirty years after his only
brother. By the time I came on the scene, they had long been reconciled. Rubin obviously trusted his
uncle, for he had appointed him Provost of Vamky, which made him the most powerful man in the realm,
more dangerous than the Grand Duke himself.

 “You know that highborn families everywhere have trou-ble dealing with younger sons. Dividing an
inheritance weakens it, so in most of Eurania the firstborn takes all. Rulers have this problem more than
any, and none more than the Grand Dukes of Krupina, for their realm is too small to


110Dave Duncan

support numerous royal offspring. Letting them die nobly in battle is usually the preferred solution, but
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Krupina has his-torically avoided war as much as possible. Krupina’s solu-tion is to enroll surplus sons in
the Vamky Brotherhood and send them off as mercenaries to die in other people’s wars.

 “The brethren are sworn to poverty, celibacy, and com-plete obedience to their abbot. Their fortified
monastery at Vamky controls thePilgrimPass , the northern gateway to the realm. Contingents of its
knights are always in demand as warriors, usually supported by conjurers, for the brethren know more
than anyone else about the use of elementals in warfare. All the money from these contracts flows into the
coffers of the Brotherhood, so it is very rich. It has the only standing army in the realm, so obviously
whoever controls the brethren can control Krupina, and the Abbot is a man of enormous power.
Successive Grand Dukes have sought to control him by appointing a provost as a sort of co-ruler. In
theory the Provost controls the military side and foreign contracts, while training and discipline are the
domain of the Abbot. The division of power is complicated and does not always work, but by appointing
his heir to be Provost, Rubin was only following tradition.”

“Celibacy?” Ranter said. “That means they don’t do it with women?”

 “It means they are forbidden to marry. They are supposed to have no dealings at all with women, but of
course no one is perfect. Their discipline is strict and the punishments dire.” His ward looked around the
meeting with another of her wistful smiles. “It is almost morning. Do you want me to stop?”

“Certainly not, Your Grace,” Ringwood said. “We must know these things if we are to help you.”

“Very well, I will be as brief as I can. The Baron’s Fa-drenschloss is close to Vamky, in the north of
Krupina,


Impossible Odds111

 where the land narrows between the ranges. You could see the monastery from the top of the tower.
Most of the hills are wooded, home to deer and wild boar, even bears. Eagles ride the winds there and
the mountains keep their winter plumage until high summer. One shining fall day when the hills were
golden, Grand Duke Rubin rode through the area. He was hunting.

“What he found was me.”




                                                     II

                                          From a Find to a Check

                                                     •1•

Ah, what have we here? A forest primrose?”

 Johanna wheeled in surprise to locate the speaker. Having spent the day helping the hands with the
harvest, she had come home to find the bailey full of horses and unfamiliar men, some of them liveried
swordsmen, others in the green garb of foresters. The Baron’s grooms were rushing around, trying to
cope with this sudden invasion of loud, impatient strangers. The Fadrenschloss hounds had scented the
visit-ing pack, and both were baying furiously.
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 The man who had addressed her was portly, of middle years, and must be the noble whose train this
was, for his rid-ing garb of lovat leather outclassed anything else in the court-yard, from his spurs to the
feather in his cap. He carried a falconer’s glove tucked in his belt and a silver hunting horn hung on a
jeweled baldric. She ought to curtsy to a visiting lord, but something about the way he was looking at her
froze her to the spot.


Impossible Odds113

 The evening sun blazed in a sky as vast and blue as sum-mer. She was weary and happily sweaty, for
harvesting was joyful work involving every able-bodied soul living in or near Fadrenschloss, from
toddlers to elders. The boys all worked bare-chested, leading to much chaffing and hinting, flirting and
promises that might or might not be kept when the day was done. Girls no older than herself were being
se-riously courted.

“Well?” asked the nobleman. “What is your name, little primrose?”

 Her green linen shift was a better-quality garment than the peasant girls wore, but very far from being
ladies’ wear. Her hair, tied back with a ribbon, had been bleached by summer to flax, so the thought
flashed through her mind that she was more fittingly a daisy than a primrose. She found her man-ners and
bobbed a curtsy.

“Johanna Schale, my lord.” At once she guessed that she had given him the wrong title.

 “A pretty name for a very pretty girl. Such lovely brown arms!” He must be joking, for only peasants
were brown. Fashionable ladies had very pale skin, the paler the better. His finger snaked out to lift the
edge of a shoulder strap and he added, “and pale shoulders.”

“My lord!” She recoiled, knowing he was thinking of more than shoulders.

He frowned reprovingly at her reaction. “Who is your fa-ther, Johanna?”

 “My father died two years ago. I am the Baron’s ward... my lord.” Horses and men were moving
around, but none of them looked in her direction, as if she were invisible, or hid-den in some dungeon far
away, locked up with this man. They could not, would not, see her.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen, my lord.”


114Dave Duncan

“You live here, in the castle?”

She nodded, seriously frightened now.

“Then we shall get to know each other during my stay.” His heavy lips shaped a smile. “You don’t know
who I am, do you? Let me show you a picture. There! You know me now?”
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Finger and thumb, he held up a coin, a glittering golden kru. She had seen krus before, although even the
Baron rarely had need to use them. This one looked fresh-minted, but bore an old image, a much
younger Grand Duke.

“I beg Your Highness’s pardon!” She attempted a ball-room curtsy in a peasant smock.

 He bent to raise her, soft hand closing about her upper arm. “You are forgiven already, Johanna. I do
hope we can be friends while I am here, enjoying your guardian’s cele-brated hospitality. Perhaps I will
leave you that picture of me when I go, mm? As a memento of our happy hours to-gether?” He did not
release her, holding her close, smiling.

 What sort of happy hours had he in mind that he was of-fering her gold for them? Was she some gutter
trollop to be so insulted?

 Before she could think of a suitable but polite response— and maybe there was none—the Baron
himself came wad-dling at high speed across the bailey, obviously hastily garbed in his best, for the laces
on his jerkin were undone and his hose wrinkled. “Your Royal Highness!” He doffed his cap to make a
courtly bow and display scanty white hair all awry. “This indeed is an honor! Had Your Grace only
warned us, Fadrenschloss would have prepared a fabled feast to celebrate—make yourself presentable,
girl—such a historic occasion. But if Your Highness will doubly honor us by extending his visit for a few
days...”

Johanna jerked her arm free and fled.

***


Impossible Odds115

 A ducal visit required only the best, but Johanna’s best was very ordinary. In two years, maybe three,
she would be launched onto the social stage. The Baron had promised her that, and a rich dowry to win
a fine husband, too. When the time came, she would have gowns and jewels and perfumes. But not yet.
At the moment her best was a simple brown linen with puffed shoulders and hand-me-down lace over a
square décolletage. Heidi, who was her lady’s maid when she wasn’t being chambermaid, plaited her
hair in a tail for her. Johanna pinned a discreetly feathered toque on top of her head, and set off in search
of her guardian. She needed guidance in how to handle a rutting ruler.

 The living quarters at Fadrenschloss were known as the New Wing, but were themselves ancient and
much muddled by repeated attempts to improve them. The Baron would certainly have conducted his
visitor to the guest suite so His Royal Highness could refresh himself after his journey. When Rubin had
completed his toilet, he would likely mo-nopolize the Baron for the rest of the day, and perhaps sev-eral
days to come, so Johanna must consult him before he was caught up in the duties of being a host.

She hurried first to the solar, up a narrow stair from the banqueting hall. Finding the door ajar, she
peered in and saw it was empty, only a dusty bottle and two crystal goblets on a silver tray giving lonely
warning that the visitor would be entertained here shortly.

The only other door at the stair head led to the Baron’s own chamber, and that was closed. Since he
had already changed, he was unlikely to be in there, but she knocked anyway. A voice already familiar
bade her enter, just as she saw von Fader plodding up after her, filling the stairway from wall to wall. Oh,
horrors! He had given up his own chamber to his royal guest and she was knocking on the Duke’s door.
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116Dave Duncan

 Again he called for her to enter, perhaps expecting his valet or baggage or shaving water or something.
What a de-lightful surprise he would find if he came to investigate! The Baron made heavy work of stairs
and had not noticed her. She plunged into the solar to hide. It was a small room, full of large, shabby
chairs, one desk, and a couple of muniment chests. Those were kept locked, because this room also
served the Baron as a countinghouse, so the only possible refuge was the fireplace, whose blackened
stonework was concealed in summer by a tapestry screen. There was just room for Johanna to crouch in
behind it, among the soot and cold ashes, well aware that she had already ruined her best dress.

Voices outside the door...

Then inside it. Oh, spirits! Could they hear the thunder of her heart?

 “. . . partridge galore up there,” the Baron said. “Early in the season for boar, but if Your Grace fancies
that excite-ment—”

The Duke laughed. “No! I leave such nonsense to the young and foolish. These roe deer you
mentioned...” A chair creaked under someone’s weight.

 For a while the two men talked game. It sounded as if the Duke planned to use Fadrenschloss as his
hunting lodge for several days. As the Baron’s liege, he could claim such priv-ilege. Glasses clinked.
Johanna was convinced that she was about to vomit from sheer terror. She should not be eaves-dropping
on the Grand Duke and her guardian! If they dis-covered her, the Baron would have no option but to
order her whipped, or even just handed over to serve Rubin’s pleasure.

“That girl I was talking with, Ernst? A pretty thing.”

“When she grows up she will be a great beauty.”

“She’s one already. Skin like porcelain! Lowborn, though?”


Impossible Odds117

 “Her father was the best of my knights, a most fine man. I swore to him on his deathbed that I would see
his daugh-ter well and honorably married.” The Baron’s voice had taken on its stubbornest tone. “Of
course she is too young to be thinking of marriage for years yet.”

The Duke’s laugh was metallic, unpleasant. “I’d wager you would find girls her age suckling babes in
your own kitchens, my lord baron.” Pause. “Of course I would make a generous donation toward her
dowry. I know of several young men of promise in need of a wife.”

 “Your Grace is most generous, but shortage of suitors will not be a problem, and I have already made
provision for Jo-hanna’s dowry. I confess that I have grown attached to her over the last couple of years.
She is a great comfort to me in my old age. There is no need for Your Highness to worry on her
account.”

A longer pause, while Johanna frantically wondered what signals were being exchanged by eyes and
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eyebrows and silent lips.

The Duke broke the silence. “She must be a remarkable comfort?”

“Sire!”Von Fader’s roar might be audible down in the bailey. “That is an unworthy slight upon my
honor.”

 “Oh, Ernst!” The Duke yawned. “We are both men of the world. You know what I want. If she is not
yours, she can be mine to cuddle for a few days. A little experience will help prepare her for marriage
and do her no harm. No one need know. Name a price.”

“My life!”

Pause again. Johanna heard a goblet being set down.

“You are being foolishly dramatic. I claim your alle-giance!”

“I am Your Highness’s man in the ways of chivalry and always have been. I have risked my carcass
many times for


118Dave Duncan

you and your father. I am loyal to you in all things, except this: I willnotpimp my ward to any man’s lusts!
An honor-able liege would not ask this.”

The chair creaked again. When the Duke spoke, his voice came from farther away.

“Do not provoke me, von Fader! I have ways of getting what I want.”

“I will go to the scaffold before I surrender.”

A harsh laugh... the door closing... the Baron’s heavy tread across the floor... a bolt being shot...

“You can come out now,” he said.

He lifted the screen away, and Johanna crawled out in a shower of ash. Still on hands and knees, she
peered warily up at him. From that angle he looked like a gigantic storm cloud, and his face was purple
with fury.

“Disgusting! I should have you sweep the chimney while you look like that. Stand up and don’t come
near me!”

“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, rising. “I don’t want to cause you trouble.” She had never seen
Ernst von Fader so enraged.

 “Youare no trouble!” He spun around and marched to the far side of the room. “You will swear me an
oath now, Jo-hanna Schale! You will swear me the most solemn oath of your life. You shall not give in to
that disgusting lecher. No matter what he offers you or what he threatens, you shall re-fuse and keep on
refusing.” Back he came, still blazing, glar-ing down at her. “You will be polite and respectful at all times,
but youshallrefuse him.” He loomed over her. “Swear!”
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She swore as he dictated.

He turned to fill a wineglass, leaving her still shedding ash by the fireplace. His tone became flatter,
duller, more guarded. “He is not a bad ruler, Rubin. Better than his father or grandfather. But he does
have a weakness for young girls.


Impossible Odds119

 Everyone knows about it, and it probably does little harm if both the girl and her parents are agreeable.
He cannot marry.” The Baron handed her the goblet without meeting her eye. This conversation must be
intensely painful for him, for he would never normally criticize his liege lord or dis-cuss carnal matters with
a young woman. Johanna knew much more about those than he realized, just from listening to the palace
staff.

“Normally,” the Baron growled, “he confines his attentions to the lower classes, and he is reputedly
generous. In Krupa they use girls as bribes to win contracts, promotions, prefer-ments, or high office.
But a nobleman’s ward is not for sale!”

 “Why? I mean why did you say His Highness cannot marry?” The wine trembled unheeded in the goblet
she held.

 Ernst wheeled his bulk around and stomped back to the window. “Because Grand Dukes of Krupina
have always married royalty—usually minor royalty, to be sure, but roy-alty. Rubin was married twice,
when he was very young, and both wives died in curious circumstances. That is enough to shut the ruler
of a wren-sized dukedom out of the market for princesses. His debauchery doesn’t help, for it is well
known. He has an adequate heir in his uncle and seems content to leave matters so.” The old man turned
to scowl at Johanna. “I can’t send him packing, as I would any other man who spoke to you as he did. I
can’t send you off to some neighbor’s—that would be insult now he has met you. We’ll just have to put
up with him until his eye lights on someone else. I’ll pass the word among the servants, and hope some
lass gets ambitious. Meanwhile you will sleep in the foxhole, and by day you must never go around
without companions.”

For two weeks Johanna was never alone, except at night, when she slipped away to sleep in the foxhole.


120Dave Duncan

 No one knew who had made the foxhole or when. Had it been able to speak, it would doubtless have
told many hair-raising tales of fugitives, escapes, and betrayals, some of them centuries old, others not.
Even searchers who had rea-son to believe such a place existed would need weeks to find it, for it was
cunningly concealed within the thickness of the tower wall. Ernst himself had never had need to use it, but
he kept it in good order—the secret door, the warning bell, the cunningly placed spyholes that let
occupants keep watch on events outside. Cramped though it was, it was set high in the tower and did not
trigger Johanna’s lifelong dread of being underground.

Mealtimes were bad, when she had to sit beside the Duke and endure his wiles, but most days he went
hunting. Evenings were the worst, because then she had to attend him in the solar, and his propositioning
became much more bla-tant, provoking outraged protests from the Baron. For a no-torious seducer,
Rubin was curiously inept. Spotty-faced farm boys could spin a far better line than he could, as she knew
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from experience. He offered her wealth and jewels, dropped hints of land and a baronetcy that she could
pass on to a son when she had one. She should be flattered, but she felt soiled instead. He never thought
of taking her hunting, or inviting her to Court, or trying anything other than straight bribery. He ignored the
pretty servant girls who flit-ted and flirted around him.

 He could hardly hope to bribe the Baron, who was rich and very old, but he could threaten him, and did
so. Another fifty retainers swarmed in from Krupa and ate like locusts, emptying the castle larders and
forcing Seneschal Priboi to buy supplies from far and wide, at great expense. Ancient land claims and
lawsuits were mined from the state archives and brandished over von Fader’s wealth and even his title.
These tactics terrified Johanna, so that she privately begged


Impossible Odds121

 to be allowed to submit and get it over with, but they merely made the old man more furious, more
stubborn. He swore he would never surrender.

Then the Duke did.

 Rumor said the chase had gone badly that day, which meant he would be more persistent than
ever—after a good hunt he was usually more ready to settle for a couple of bottles of wine and an early
night. As soon as his train had been ob-served riding up the road, Johanna had headed for the safety of
the kitchen, where she tried not to get in the way of the frantic dinner preparations. Soon the tattlers
reported that Duke and Baron were closeted in the solar. She waited for the usual summons. And
waited. The food was ready. Then the food was spoiling. Whatever was going on?

 At last a page came for her, but when she reached the solar she was surprised to find the Baron alone,
staring out the window. He did not turn when she shut the door.

“You sent for me, my lord?”

 “Yes,” he told the little diamond panes. “I did. I have news. We have lost, my dear. Or won, I do not
know. Or his lust has won.” His voice was slurred and two wine bottles lay empty on the floor. “My liege
lord has asked for my ward’s hand in marriage, and I can see no honorable way to refuse him.” Then he
did turn, to see what she thought.

She was so startled that the words made no sense to her.

“Marriage?”

The fat man nodded gloomily. “Full legal marriage, no mor-ganatic nonsense. Grand Duchess Johanna.
He has decided the succession matters after all. Hesayshe wants an heir. Your son will inherit the
dukedom, my dear.”

 If the sun had reversed course and come storming up over the hills again, she could not have been more
surprised. “But is that not wonderful news, marvelous news, my lord?”


122Dave Duncan

He grunted. “Rubin is forty-six years old and not a very glamorous lover. I suppose women can put up
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with that, or there wouldn’t be so many of us around. He will not give up his philandering, I am certain.
You do know what happened to his first two wives?”

The sun quickly ducked out of sight. “Not really, my lord.” There had been hints.

 “The first died of a fever. So did many others that year, al-though the rich were mostly able to afford the
necessary heal-ings. Unfortunately the Grand Duchess was sensitive to spirituality and put off summoning
the conjurers until too late. So it was reported. His second was even younger. A month after the
wedding, she had a dizzy spell and fell out a window.”

“Oh, no! That’s horrible!”

 “Of course it is. You can understand,” the Baron said, “that evil-minded persons said she was pushed or
jumped. Even if she did kill herself, a woman may do that either be-cause her husband abuses her or for
reasons that have noth-ing whatever to do with him. Believe me, my dear, if I had the faintest trace of
suspicion that Rubin bore any blame at all in those two tragedies, I would not entertain his suit for one
instant. If you have doubts, then say so now, and I will inform His Highness that you decline his
proposal.”

Johanna knew that the Baron’s code would force him to give his sovereign the benefit of the doubt. “He
was already Grand Duke when this happened?”

“He was. If there had been any evidence of foul play, there would certainly have been talk of deposing
him and putting Lord Volpe on the throne. There wasn’t. None at all.”

 Johanna tried to imagine Duke Rubin hurling a wife out the window, or deliberately keeping treatment
from another when she was deathly ill. She couldn’t. He was a foolish, be-sotted lover, not a monster.

“I can see why he was offered no more princesses,” she


Impossible Odds123

said. “But even if he did kill two wives, he won’t ever risk killing a third, would he? That would be too
much for any-one to swallow!”

“The choice is yours, my dear.”

She laughed aloud. “But this is a fairy tale! Me—Grand Duchess?” Her ambitions had never gone
beyond some husky young farmer, perhaps a forester or a prosperous mer-chant. Suddenly she was
being offered jewels, gorgeous gowns, people groveling to her? Crowds would cheer her as she drove
by in her gilded coach! “How can I possibly re-fuse? Oh, thank you, thank you, my lord!” She threw
herself into the old man’s arms.

 Relief like sunlight drove the last shadows of doubt from his face. “I am so happy for you, my... But you
aren’t ‘my dear’ anymore, are you?” He released her so he could bow. “From now on I must address
you as ‘Your Royal Highness.’ ”

Johanna squealed with excitement and embraced him again.

                                                     •2•
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Yet she did not really believe what was happening until a few minutes later, when her sovereign lord was
kneeling at her feet and offering her a gold ring bearing a sapphire the size of an acorn.

 “I wanted it to match your eyes,” he said, “but they make it look so dull! Oh, my dearest, most
wonderful Johanna, if I have frightened or offended you these last two weeks, then I am deeply sorry.
My earlier experiences with marriage were so painful for me that I swore I would never remarry unless I
could find a woman who was beautiful, courageous, chaste, and honorable. In more than twenty years,
you are


124Dave Duncan

the first who has qualified. Will you grant me your forgive-ness and do me the honor of becoming my
wife and consort, to rule at my side?”

 She was so tongue-tied that all she could do was nod. It was enough. Rubin smiled, put the ring on her
finger, and rose to kiss her. His kiss tasted of wine, but it was surprisingly gentle.

 The engagement was announced in the hall soon after, and won a tremendous ovation. The display of
affection went on and on until the Grand Duchess Elect made a fool of herself by starting to weep.

 Rubin the fiancé was as charming as Rubin the suitor had been repellent. He had won the race and all
that remained was to claim the prize, so there was no more urgency. Ex-cept that he did have important
affairs of state to see to. Jo-hanna was free to make any wedding arrangements she pleased, he said,
regardless of cost. Brass bands, a parade of cavalry, fireworks—anything she wanted. She could invite
the entire duchy if she wished. Certainly the ceremony could be held there at Fadrenschloss. His only
stipulation was that it be held the day after tomorrow, heedless of the scandal and inconvenience such
haste must cause.

The Baron summoned Seneschal Priboi and told him to organize a state wedding and banquet for five
hundred two days hence. The stooped old man barely flinched.

 The following morning Rubin was off early to Krupa to collect his finery and attend to the formalities of a
sovereign taking a wife. He promised that seamstresses would arrive at Fadrenschloss before dark and
complete Johanna’s wedding gown before dawn. He was ruler, and his wishes were not subject to
argument. He kissed his bride again and promised to hasten back.

Johanna found herself at a loss. Everyone else was in a frenzy, but she had no duties to perform.


Impossible Odds125

“This is really your last day here,” the Baron said. “How will you spend it?”

“I’d like to go riding with you, my lord, and store up some last memories of Fadrenschloss.”

 She ran off to change. When she came down to the bailey, she found him standing with the mounts
saddled and a groom in attendance, but no one else in sight. His face was grim.

“We are about to have visitors,” he said.“Argent, a pile azure from the chief.”
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A knight’s daughter must know something of heraldry. A blue V on white was the blazon of the Vamky
Brotherhood, symbolizing thePilgrimPass.

 No one could approach Fadrenschloss up the long road-way without the lookouts seeing. With the land
at peace, to close the gates would have been grave insult, and already hooves thundered in the barbican.
Into the yard poured a troop of knights wearing full panoply of helms, plate mail, lances, and shields. The
Brotherhood still trained in such ar-chaic armor and used it for show, but even they rarely fought in it
anymore. While his followers formed up in a line across the whole width of the bailey, the leader rode
close and reined in, peering down at Johanna from his great warhorse as if he were looking between the
slats of a second-story shutter.

The Baron bowed. “My home is honored by your pres-ence, Lord Provost.”

“This is the slut?” Volpe glared at her as a tethered hawk eyes a mouse.

The Baron bristled. “My dear, may I present—”

 “Trash!” he roared. “Peasant strumpet. What sty did you find her in? From what lineage does she
spring?”

“Her father was a knight in my—”

“Baseborn! Spirits of death! What is a lord of your rank


126Dave Duncan

 doing pimping gutter wenches to his sovereign? Where isyourhonor, if you won’t respect his? Don’t try
and tell me that marriage was my nephew’s idea. I know him much too well. He loses interest in a
woman the moment he rolls off her. A coin and a pat on the rump and on to the next one, that’s his
style.”

Von Fader was steaming. These insults came on top of two weeks of torment. If the two of them had
been on equal terms, he would likely have struck the Provost. As it was, he tried to issue a challenge.

“My honor required me to see my ward honorably mar-ried, my lord, just as it now requires satisfaction
of you.”

“Old fool! I don’t fight with geriatric pimps. You have po-litical ambitions, I suppose, selling bedstuff to
your betters? Good luck with them. For centuries the rulers of this land have sprung from royal loins and
you want to put a strum-pet’s get on the throne of Krupina!”

 Johanna intervened then, for it was her character that was being blackened and she feared the old man
would suffer an apoplexy. “If I were what you call me, my lord, I would not have been chosen as your
future Grand Duchess.” She was pleased to hear her voice sounding so steady. “By insulting me you
insult your sovereign lord.”

 The tercel eyes returned to her. “Half a day’s notice of a state wedding? I have known stallions take
longer to cover a mare. You know what happened to your betrothed’s previous wives, don’t you? Or
didn’t this sleazy old fleshmonger think to warn you?”
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That jibe struck at her secret fears, and her own temper flamed. “And who gained by those women’s
deaths? You will not dispose of me as easily as you did them, Lord Volpe. I intend to live long enough to
give Krupina an heir who does not have blood on his hands.”

There was a momentary pause before he responded to that


Impossible Odds127

 accusation. “You are more of a fool than I thought. I won’t wish you long life and happiness, because
you won’t get ei-ther. Don’t boil up too many cabbages for the wedding feast, old man. There won’t be
any guests. Just the local scum.”

One of the knights behind him shouted a warning. The Baron’s men were coming into view along the
battlements, carrying crossbows. It was certainly a bluff, but there were a lot of them and the seneschal
had mustered them with im-pressive speed.

 The Baron returned to the fray. “Better a ruler of honest peasant stock than a gutter-mouthed hireling.”
No matter that the Provost truly was a mercenary, to use that word to his face was insult. “It is clear this
land will be better off without you wearing the coronet, my lord—a professed sol-dier who will not even
fight a man nigh twice his age. Leave my house. Go drop your vomit in your own kennel.”

Volpe turned his horse and led his men out through the barbican.

 His prophecy about the wedding guests was fulfilled. No grandiose coaches rolled into the bailey.
Johanna’s sister, Voica, arrived on a lathered donkey with minutes to spare; the Baron’s vassals and
bondsmen from far and near brought their families to cheer the happy couple; but no one came from
Krupa.

The Baron conducted the ceremony and declared his liege and his ward to be man and wife.

 Trestle tables had been set up outdoors in the fall sun-shine, with a backdrop of the ivy-garbed tower
and gold-tinted hills. The humble who had come to stare were invited forward to help consume the feast
prepared for their betters, delicacies they had never even heard of. While the servants were carrying out
the scores of dishes and others were carv-ing the ox, the bride and groom—a lividly furious groom—


128Dave Duncan

 stood under a massive beech tree, accepting the respects of the guests as they trooped by. Had Johanna
been marrying a man of her own rank, they would have been heaping gifts at her feet—knitwear, pots,
pewter, furs, spices—but they all knew that she would have no need of those in the Agathon Palace, so
they had nothing to offer except shy good wishes.

 Then a youth of about sixteen summers sauntered up to the head of the line, obviously a young
gentleman, because his red, green, and gold riding costume must have cost a for-tune, and a jeweled
sword hung at his side. No one contested his claim of precedence. His confidence and arrogance sprang
from both rank and awareness of remarkable per-sonal beauty—straight nose, clear dark eyes,
clean-shaven face marred only by a few acne zits and the dust of the road. He bowed low to the Duke
and then appraised the bride, raising both hands in amazement.
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“Exquisite! Perfection! The face of a child and the body of a woman. Krupa will swoon at your feet,
Cousin.”

Annoyed at this crudity and even more annoyed to feel herself blushing at it, Johanna looked to her
husband for an explanation.

 Rubin seemed, were it possible, even more angry than be-fore. “The black sheep, my dear. I am
embarrassed to pre-sent my cousin, Lord Karl. Undoubtedly the only reason he has come here today is
because I did not invite him.”

 “Not so!” Lord Karl said with a pout. “It was mostly be-cause my father forbade it.” He flashed a smile
at Johanna as if she would understand. “I could not pass up a chance to annoy both of them. Sorry I’m
late. My dear father has set up pickets on every road. I had to ride all around the duke-dom to get here.
But I look forward to the rest of the party. May I have the second dance?”

Father? He could only mean Lord Volpe, but Johanna had


Impossible Odds129

always understood that the Vamky knights were sworn to celibacy. Karl must be illegitimate.

“No,” Rubin said, speaking quietly because of all the on-lookers, but looking as if he meant it. “No
dances! Stay away from this libertine, my dear. He is a wastrel and a sponger.”

“Ah,thatreminds me!” Karl declared, fishing in a pocket. “A wedding gift for you, Cousin.” He pulled out
a string of pearls and moved as if to hang it around her neck.

Rubin snatched it away and glared at it. “Stolen, I sup-pose?”

 Karl feigned hurt. “Of course! Where would I get the money to buy something like that? But I took it off
the lady’s dressing table and she’ll never admit I was in her bedroom, so it will be quite all right for you to
wear it, Johanna dear.”

“It will not!” Rubin was seething. “And you address our wife as ‘Your Royal Highness’!”

“Verily!” Karl shrugged, flashing Johanna a look that plainly commented on the impossibility of dealing
with old folk.

Now Johanna was having trouble not smiling, which would be an unwise act. She wondered if this Karl
might be an asset to life in a stuffy old palace. On the other hand he must have a claim to the throne, and
his eyes were missing nothing. His cloak of antics might hide a dagger of mean-ness.

He did not get the second dance that night. There was no dancing. Right after the banquet the Grand
Duke declared the party over and took his wife upstairs to teach her some of the realities of life.

Nine months and one day later, she was delivered of a son.


130Dave Duncan
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                                                     •3•

 AGrand Duchess was never alone. Even taking her son out for some fresh air one fine morning,
dawdling along a corri-dor at Frederik’s erratic pace, Johanna was attended by three bored
ladies-in-waiting and, farther back, his nurse Ruxandra with a bag of necessary supplies. Frederik, being
two-going-on-three, insisted on exploring everything and threw tantrums if his mother tried to carry him
or hold his hand. Progress was achieved only by negotiation, supplication, and distraction. He slowed the
business of the palace, because servants must bow or curtsy and then stand aside until the Heir Apparent
had passed. Few members of the nobility were around at that hour, but those who were swept by
without a glance, as always. Johanna was used to that. As far as the aristocracy of Krupina was
concerned, she still did not exist.

The fairy tale had not worked out as planned.

 The Marquis of Krupa, busily banging his little fist against a suit of ornamental armor, paid no heed to
sounds of marching boots and jingling spurs as a troop of a dozen or so Vamky knights came around the
corner ahead. The man in the lead had a slight limp, identifying him instantly as Volpe. At that moment
Frederik noticed his favorite stuffed horse on the other side of the corridor and went trot-ting across to
inspect it. Johanna did not believe even Volpe capable of trampling a child to death, but she swooped
any-way, snatching Frederik up and moving them both to safety against the wall.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed to forestall his inevitable scream of fury. “See the soldiers!”

“Soldiers!” Frederik agreed. He liked soldiers.

 Vamky brethren were a common enough sight in theAgathonPalace . They usually went about in twos or
fours,


Impossible Odds131

 gliding along in their white robes with the blue Vamky V over the heart, going about spirits-knew-what
business, hands tucked in sleeves, faces hidden in hoods. Less often they would appear in military mode,
clad in anything from antique plate mail to leather riding gear, but even then they usually managed to
conceal their faces to some degree, and invariably they bore swords. Today’s fashion comprised
brimmed hel-met, cuirass with tassets, and leather breeches tucked into long boots. They were well
spattered with spring mud, as if they had just ridden in. Their helmets lacked the usual cheek pieces and
nose guards, leaving their dusty, wind-burned faces exposed.

 To Johanna’s amazement they did not go matching straight past her. Volpe barked, “Squad . . . halt!
Left... face! Pre . . . sent arms!” Steelswooshedagainst scabbard and she found herself staring at thirteen
swords held in ver-tical salute.

 She was so astonished she almost dropped Frederik. The brethren were forbidden to speak to, or even
look at, women unless absolutely necessary. Although that rule did not apply to Provost Volpe, for his
own reasons he had never ac-knowledged her existence since their first meeting. It was his lead that the
lesser nobility followed in snubbing her, his authority that gave them courage to defy their sovereign.

 The Provost had the same heavy, solid build as Rubin, but in his case it seemed all bone and muscle. His
face had been hewn from oak—jaw, cheekbones, heavy brow ridges—and the weatherbeaten skin
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glued on without any intervening flesh. He was clean-shaven, which was unusual in Krupina, and no hair
showed under his helmet, as if he shaved his scalp also. His eyes were extraordinary, jet black and very
round, frozen in an intense stare.

He regarded her in silence with a faint sneer, pretending to be amused at her surprise.


132Dave Duncan

“Good chance to you, Uncle,” she said. “I presume you honor the Marquis, not myself ?”

“A reasonable assumption but not necessarily correct. He is a big, strong boy.”

Little thanks to Rubin, she thought. “My father could hold his halberd extended at arm’s length with one
hand.”

 “I saw him do it more than once. And so can I. Still.” The predatory glare did not soften, but Volpe
clearly thought he had won that round.

“I did not know you ever met my father!”

“Why should you?” Point two.

Frederik was staring with interest at the warriors, yet con-tent to remain safe in his mother’s arms.

 “Greet Lord Volpe, Frederik.” She expected him to bury his face in her collar, but he could surprise her
as well as Volpe could.

“Good chance, my lord!” he recited in his sweetest best-behavior voice.

 “And may chance always favor you, Your Highness,” Volpe responded solemnly. “I hope that soon I
may wait upon you at leisure, but now, by your leave, I must be about your father’s business.” He
snapped orders, the men shot swords back in scabbards, turned ninety degrees, and re-sumed their
progress along the corridor.

 Several servants had witnessed the incident, as well as the three harpies-in-waiting. All mouths hung
open, and the story would be everywhere very shortly. On the face of it, Volpe had granted Johanna a
vital concession by acknowledging the heir apparent. Having survived the most dangerous years of
childhood, Frederik could no longer be ignored, and Volpe could hardly give him due respect while
snubbing his mother as a parvenu commoner. Yet somehow she did not feel as if she had won a victory.
A man as devious as the Provost could easily throw a battle to win a war. What was he up to?


Impossible Odds133

                                                    ***

 TheAgathonPalace was a maze, a mad assemblage of addi-tions, restorations, and renovations whose
original nucleus had been lost centuries ago. Successive Grand Dukes had improved it beyond all reason,
elaborating it into an archi-tectural nightmare, the sort of nightmare that involves end-less running going
nowhere. Staircases plunged through halls, corridors doubled back on themselves, stable yards di-vided
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dining rooms from kitchens. It was Johanna’s prison. Right from the start, Rubin had forbidden her to
leave it, lest she be hissed or pelted by the crowd. She had never walked the streets of Krupa.

 She knew the labyrinth as well as anyone, for exploring it had been her main occupation during the first
months of her marriage, before Frederik was born. She knew the win-dows that offered views over the
roofs of the city to the dis-tant hills she missed so much, and others where she could see down into busy
streets and watch real people living or-dinary lives. She cherished its two private little gardens and hated
the gloomy, musty rooms, the twisted stairs; above all she hated the throne room where she was
some-times required to sit beside Rubin and suffer the resentful glares of an assembly. Yes, she occupied
the consort’s throne beside the grander ducal throne, but she had never been formally installed on it,
never crowned with the silver coronet, never hailed by the people.Fraud!their eyes said.Intruder!
Upstart! Peasant!

 Disturbed by the encounter with Volpe, she changed her mind about taking Frederik to play on the grass
and went in-stead to her favorite place, a gallery overlooking the main courtyard. It was narrow and went
nowhere, so only she and the pigeons used it. On sunny days she could sit there and watch the business
of the palace ebb and flow below her in a vast gavotte—horses, wagons, carts, men-at-arms, bakers’


134Dave Duncan

helpers, footmen, chambermaids, minstrels, buskers, couri-ers, and dozens more whose purpose and
occupations she could try to guess. Frederik could safely play there, for the iron balustrade was tightly
woven. Furthermore, she was in plain view and that mattered. Never let them forget they had a Grand
Duchess!

 She arrived to see Lord Volpe and his troop making ready to depart, causing much shouting and
hoof-stamping down in the courtyard. Bystanders bolted out of the way as the brethren took off. The
timing surprised her, because it meant they must have already completed their business be-fore she met
them, yet they had been seriously mud-splattered, so she had assumed that they had just arrived and had
not had time to clean up. If their visit had been so brief and their business so urgent, why had Volpe
taken time to stop and greet Frederik? Most curious!

 As usual, she ordered a chair placed at the far end of the gallery for herself and took her son and a bag
of toys with her, leaving the hags-in-waiting to attend to their crochet work and character assassination
beside the door. Smaranda, Eupraxia, and Cneajna were all older than she, sullen burghers’ daughters
with ambitious mothers, all ugly enough to need promoting as matches and willing in the cause of husband
acquisition to attend the fraud duchess, which the noble ladies of the realm flatly refused to do. Jo-hanna
wished she could help their efforts, dreaming private fantasies of hanging price labels on them. The faster
she could move her stock, the more choice she would have for their replacements. She might even find
some congenial companions. Alas, only too often her ladies succumbed to the temptations of the palace
and had to be sent home in dis-grace. That did not encourage other mothers to put their daughters
forward.

Speaking of debauchery... Johanna had just made herself


Impossible Odds135

comfortable and Frederik was still contentedly peering through the ironwork at the activity below when
Cneajna, Eupraxia, and Smaranda dropped their handiwork and jumped up so they could curtsy to the
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most eligible bachelor in the dukedom as he strolled out onto the balcony.

 Maturity had not improved Karl. He had just turned twenty, yet those startling good looks were already
sagging and the most expensive raiment in the country could not quite mask the start of a potbelly. His
tailors’ bills would be crippling if he ever paid them. Even that day, when there was no special reason to
shine, he was a startling vision of rainbow impracticality in brocade and taffeta, puffed, padded, and
slashed. Spurs jingled on knee-length, tight-fitting kidskin boots; his gloves had cuttes on the fingers to
show off his rings; fur trim edged his cape; his beard was carefully curled; and the apparition was topped
off by a tall, crowned soft bonnet. None of the three ladies was attractive enough to delay him long. He
strolled on toward Johanna.

 His morals had not improved, either. That pose of indo-lent sensuality concealed at least some of his
father’s feroc-ity, for he had fought two duels and killed his opponent each time. Outraged husbands no
longer challenged him. Women who valued their reputations kept well away from him.

 Frederik, too young to know better, doted on him. Now he went happily trotting to meet him,
chirruping, “My lord, my lord, my lord!”

 Karl scooped him up and tickled him as he continued to advance. Admittedly there had been times when
Karl had been amusing company for a lonely duchess, but Johanna had always been careful to give no
grist to the scandalmon-gers’ mills. Lately his efforts to flirt with her had taken on a more intense tone that
infuriated her. He had started pester-ing her with notes and flowers, even sending her gifts, al-though he
knew as well as anyone that there were no secrets


136Dave Duncan

in a palace. He had never intruded on her privacy out here before.

 “What are you doing here?” She tried to keep her tone threat-ening and her face noncommittal. Even to
raise her voice to him would start gossip.

 “I sorrow!” Karl somehow contrived to strike a dramatic pose while balancing Frederik on one hip.
“Ask first the bee why it haunts the blossom. Ask the ocean why it seeks the moon.” He put his mouth to
Frederik’s neck and created a noise that no one else in the palace would dare make:Ph-wurp!“Ask the
lark why he sings so melancholy. You know I cannot stay away from you.”

Frederik squealed with glee. “More!”

 “Your attentions are neither welcome nor credible, my lord!” Johanna knew what a lustful look was and
Karl’s did not convince. He did this just to frighten her. It was a pulling-wings-off-flies thing. “Did your
father put you up to this?”

Phwuurp!“My father is insane. Too much sun on his hel-met, you know? He considers you a despicable
gold-digging slut and me unworthy to kiss your shadow.”

“In that last opinion he is correct, but he would love to see you expose me as a wanton.”

 “Oh, so would I!” Karl sighed. “I could play your body like a harp, woman. Drown you in floods of
ecstasy. I long to caress your breasts with my lips. Like this.”Phwuuurp!
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Frederik screamed with glee.

 Johanna remembered a hysterically weeping Helga, one of her first ladies-in-waiting and even younger
than she, who had fallen prey to Karl within a week of arriving at Court:I thought he was just joking,
Your Highness! Then suddenly it was too late.

“You are not welcome here. Release my son and go away.”

Phwuuurp!“You know I am drawn by your fatal beauty.”


Impossible Odds137

 “Go away! I shall complain to my husband.” But Johanna had seen Rubin order his errant cousin to
leave the palace and never return. Karl had gone out into the streets, admit-tedly, but he had returned in
a few minutes with a trollop on each arm. Volpe was known to rage at him, too, but Karl went on being
Karl.

 “Rubin? Why should he care? He never spares you a thought, my beloved. You really think he would
mind if you were to drop your futile resistance and stop torturing both of us? Admit your passion for me,
my honeycake, and find surcease in my arms. The old porker will be happy to see you happy again,
instead of mooning around unrequited.”

“My lord!” Frederik squealed. “Again!”

“You are an incorrigible pest!” Karl said cheerfully.Ph-wuuuurp!

“Again!”

 Karl blew a strident fanfare on Frederik’s neck as he sank to his knees and set the boy down. “That’s
all! Johanna, my beloved, don’t you see we were made for each other? Two lonely orphans in an
oversized cattle barn? I have mooned around this awful slum of a palace all my life and never known—”

His levity annoyed her. “You are not an orphan!”

 “You think not?” Suddenly he was looking up at her with an intense stare almost comparable to Volpe’s.
“You call my father a father? After what he did to my mother?”

 He had a point. Karl was, as Johanna had long since dis-covered, a legitimate son, eligible to inherit.
Although Vamky brethren were sworn to celibacy, affairs of state took precedence, and Volpe had been
heir presumptive. He had been given a special dispensation to marry, but after Karl’s birth he had
abandoned his wife and kept the baby.

“Perhaps he was just obeying orders when he sent your mother away?”


138Dave Duncan

 “No,” Karl said confidently. “My mother never existed and my father is sworn to chastity. I am a mirage,
an illusion. I was created out of nothing!” His bitterness soured into mockery again. “Let me describe
how I will make love to you. First, I caress your nipples with my tongue. Then as they flush and rise, I
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start gently nibbling...”

Johanna gasped, partly at his vulgarity, partly from relief as she saw rescue in sight. Gripping the railing
hard enough to hurt her hands, she said, “Speak louder.”

Karl was too wily to be trapped so easily. He rose and turned and bowed in one smooth flow.

Rubin himself was parading along the balcony. Johanna had never known him to come out here, either.
Where had her precious privacy gone? And was he about to reprimand her for Karl’s public flirting?
Frederik fled to safety behind his mother. Compared to Karl, Rubin looked old and dissi-pated, which
he was, and even shabbily dressed, which he was not.

Johanna curtseyed. “Your Grace does me honor.”

“I find you in bad company, my sweet. You have our leave, Cousin.”

Karl remained unabashed. “Then I wish Your Highnesses good chance. I shall see you in Trenko, if not
before.” He withdrew without explaining that last remark, pausing for a final word with the three
watchdogs, who were agog at this parade of royal visitors.

 “I assure Your Grace,” Johanna said, “that he was not here by my invitation.” She staggered as Frederik
tried to climb up her skirts. She stroked his hair to let him know she had not forgotten him. As always,
Rubin ignored his son. She often wondered if he would be able to pick Frederik out in a random pack of
two-year-olds.

“Even if I doubted you, my dear, which I do not, I would expect you to have better taste in men.”
Rubin’s smile was


Impossible Odds139

transient and mechanical. He had other matters on his mind. “Ion has died, Ladislas’s son.”

 Ion she had never heard of, but Margrave Ladislas ruled the March of Trenko, the land beyond
thePilgrimPass. Now Volpe’s hurried mission was explained, but what in all the world did it have to do
with her?

“I am unhappy to hear it,” she said hesitantly.

 Rubin shook his head sadly. “We must all be. He was very young. I propose to attend the funeral and
hope that you will consent to accompany me and brighten my journey.” He raised well-trimmed
eyebrows inquiringly.

 Had she fallen off the balcony and suffered concussion? Release from jail at last? Probation, anyway. “I
regret only that an occasion so sad should bring me such happiness, Your Grace.” He appreciated
well-turned phrases.

“You can ride, I believe?” Three and a half years they had been married and he had to ask!

 “I ride well, sire.” But she was certain that none of her burgher maidens did. Would that ill chance snatch
away her unexpected joy? If Rubin did not mention the problem of providing proper companions for her,
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she would not.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said airily. “Leaving at dawn, we shall ride to Vamky and spend the night there
before at-tempting the pass. We may not be able to risk a crossing if the weather sours, but the courier
had no trouble.”

“I look forward to it greatly. Will Lord Volpe be accom-panying us?”

Rubin smirked wet, painted lips. “If he behaves himself. Till then, my love.” And off he went.

Frederik peered around her to see if it was safe to appear.

Well!This was the most interesting day his mother had known since he was born. She left him with
Ruxandra. She solved the attendants problem by ignoring it and taking only her senior maid, Arghira,
who was a country girl like herself


140Dave Duncan

 and knew horses outside and in. The rest of the day and half the night flew by in frantic preparations.
Johanna felt she had hardly slept before she found herself riding out the palace gate at her husband’s side.

                                                     •4•

 The day was blustery and sunny. City folk cleared the streets ahead of them, men uncovering and
bowing, women curtsying. Rubin chose to cross the river and go by the west road, setting an easy pace.
There were two women and thirty men in the procession, for no grand duke ever traveled with-out
heralds, servants, and troopers of the Palace Guard. Most of the time he rode in silence, thinking
unknown thoughts, but from time to time he would rouse himself to make conversation, and then he could
be charming com-pany. They discussed the countryside, lambs frolicking, peasants ploughing and
sowing. He was knowledgeable about agriculture, his main tax base.

 Rubin was never deliberately cruel to his wife, he just could not relate to someone so much younger and
lower on the social ladder. They shared no friends, no background, no interests. He was usually generous
when she asked for something, but the aristocracy’s rejection of a commoner duchess meant that he
never took her to balls or banquets, and she suspected he was glad of an excuse to stay away from them.
His only real interest was his obsessive pursuit of young girls, and that wooing was done by bribing or
bul-lying their parents. Johanna had always been careful not to protest his infidelities, because they
obviously mattered to him more than anything else did.

Now he had found something he could share with her, a


Impossible Odds141

 state visit to Trenko. He had no qualms that she might be re-jected there also, he said. That would cause
a serious diplo-matic incident. She did not ask what sort of incident he might create by taking a lowborn
wife to a state funeral.

“Will you instruct me about Trenko, Your Grace?” she asked.
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 He shrugged. “About the same size as Krupina, but a re-cent creation compared to our long history. We
have little in common—different language, different crops, different cli-mate. The two states have been
united under one ruler a few times, but never for long. We do better going our separate ways,
cooperating to keep the pass open for trade and closed to armies.”

 Gradually the hills crept in on either hand, bringing vine-yards, then pasture, and eventually forest. Late in
the day they passed by Fadrenschloss. Johanna did not comment, but she knew its tower was visible
from a few places on the highway, and she was waiting to blow it a mental kiss. Happy memories!

Her husband noticed it also. “Do you correspond with von Fader?”

“We exchange letters once in a while, sire.”

“You haven’t seen him since your wedding day?”

“The morning of the day after.”

“Of course.” The Duke smiled as if he, too, enjoyed happy memories. “We cannot delay now, but if you
would care to visit him on our way back, I would have no objection.”

Do mares eat oats?

 They crossed the Asch onOldenBridge , built by the Empire long ago, and from it saw the looming mass
of Vamky to the north, set against a backdrop of snowy peaks.PilgrimPass was one of the great trade
routes of eastern Eurania, and no-body crossed it without passing under those sinister towers.


142Dave Duncan

 Very soon the west road joined the east road and began climbing steadily through forest, parting
company with the Asch, which grumbled to itself in a deep canyon. After an hour or so, the road
emerged from the trees and angled steeply up a treeless slope. The monastery beetled on cliffs above.
Johanna had never realized how colossal it was— dark stone walls, minatory battlements, and towers
with pointed roofs clad in lead, a gloomy complex outstretched along the crest of a ridge that almost
blocked the valley.

“You do know,” Rubin said abruptly, “that the brothers are forbidden to speak to women?”

“I do, sire.”

 “You and your maid will be welcome guests, and you may ask for any comfort you require that is not
already provided, but you will be answered only with gestures or, in extreme cases, with a written note.”

“I understand.”

“Abbot Minhea will make you welcome, of course.” The Grand Duke smirked. “And so will the
Provost, we shall see.”

Emboldened by her newfound freedom, Johanna said, “Lord Volpe did stop and speak a few words to
me yester-day, sire.”
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 “Ah, good. When word of Ion’s death arrived at Vamky, my uncle rode posthaste to Krupa to tell me
and offer to rep-resent me at the funeral. He seemed curiously eager to visit Trenko, suspiciously eager,
in fact. I told him I would go myself, but he could accompany us provided he treated you with the respect
your rank requires.”

“I am grateful, sire!”

 “You have been very patient, my dear,” Rubin murmured. “But I must move to secure recognition of my
heir, and that means that his mother must be recognized as my consort. Once I bring Volpe to heel, the
rest of the fools will knuckle under.”


Impossible Odds143

 She wondered if she had passed some sort of test, perhaps an endurance test. She had not jumped out a
window, so he was going to make the best of the situation. No doubt she ought to feel ungrateful for
thinking so, but she didn’t. All she felt was resentment that she had not been given her due long since.

 Weary horses brought them to the crest of the ridge, a stony plain with breathtaking views of mountains
ahead and Krupina behind. North, south, and west, the ground plunged steeply. To the east stood a
great barbican, with the rest of the monastery behind it, rising gently to where the ridge merged with a
spur of mountain. An honor guard of mounted knights in plate mail flanked the road to the gate, their
lances grounded and vertical, as regular as the teeth of a comb. Johanna could not imagine how they
endured the shrieking, freezing wind. To keep horses facing into that must require incredible training and
skill, but neither man nor beast moved a muscle as the visitors rode slowly along between the two lines.
Why didn’t their armor rattle?

 She was stiff and sore from unaccustomed hours in the saddle. In the great and gloomy bailey she slid
with relief onto a mounting block, and Rubin himself handed her down. They proceeded together over to
the welcome party, where eight sword-bearing brethren waited, all wearing white robes with cowls and
the blue Vamky V. The wind whipped their skirts around so hard that once in a while a man would
stagger slightly; otherwise she might have thought them scarecrows stuffed with straw. Six stood with
their heads bent and faces hidden, hands in sleeves. Two had their hoods back and dared to look the
guests in the eye. One, of course, was granite-faced Volpe. Yes, he did shave his entire head. It was
smooth as a building stone except for two patches of black moss, the bushy brows above the staring
eyes.


144Dave Duncan

 The other man was Abbot Minhea, older and shorter. The stubbly white fringe around his tonsure was
white, the face below it smooth, unweathered, and utterly bland. His bows were slight, his smiles barely
skin deep, his words almost in-audible in the gale. “Your Highness does us honor. Vamky is yours to
command. And your dear lady is also most wel-come.”

“We thank you, my lord Abbot,” Rubin retorted.

 Then it was Volpe’s turn. “Welcome, dear Nephew.” His bow was respectful and respectable. “And
Your Royal High-ness, also.” He bowed low to Johanna, and when he straight-ened up he even gave her
a small, ironic smile, as if conceding defeat.
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Triumph!She curtsied, slightly.

 The rest of the welcoming committee were not intro-duced. By that time scores of white-robed brethren
had ap-peared to assist both visitors and honor guard dismount—and Johanna realized that helping an
armored knight safely down off an armored horse must be no mean task. Rubin’s heralds cut the valets
and servants out of the confusion and shepherded them over to him, Arghira in-cluded. The guests were
led off to their quarters by anony-mous, white-robed guides.

 The way was long, climbing by gentle ramps up the slope of the ridge, rarely going straight for long. The
arched cor-ridors were cold and dim, and the curve of the ceilings was reflected in the tops of all the
windows and doorways, giv-ing an odd effect of tunnels. High as the monastery itself was, and high as
they seemed to have climbed within it, Jo-hanna could neither stop the tremble of her hands nor relax the
knot of terror in her belly. This was like being under-ground, and all her life she had been terrified of that.

Her guide brought her eventually to a large room with a barrel ceiling and shuttered windows. The
plaster on the


Impossible Odds145

 stonework was whitewashed, the plank floor covered with straw, the furniture starkly plain. Although the
bed was large enough for two, its mattress was thin and lumpy. To offset those discomforts, a huge log
fire blazed in a massive fire-place, making even that sparse chamber warm and cosy, and a big copper
jug on the hob offered copious hot water. She hurried across to open a shutter, just to convince herself
that she was high on a mountain, not down in a crypt. The air struck at her like an ax of ice, but she filled
her lungs with the cold, sweet stuff.

Arghira was impressed, but worried by the solitary bed. “Do I share with you, my lady?”

 “I doubt it,” Johanna said. Rubin might have had more than one reason for bringing her along, but she
could guess the main one. Besides, her two hooded guides were waiting just outside the open door,
gazing patiently at the floor. “Where will my attendant sleep?” she asked.

 The taller brother stepped across the corridor to a smaller chamber, with a smaller fire. It would do. He
opened another door to reveal a garderobe. More brethren arrived with lug-gage, which they set down
and stared at, waiting to be told which were Johanna’s. These faceless puppets were starting to make her
skin crawl.

Once she had freshened up and changed and sent Arghira off to do the same, she found herself at a loss.
She missed Frederik, for she had never been apart from him before. De-ciding to test the system, she
opened the door. A hooded swordsman stood on either side of it—guardians or jailers?

“I wish to write a letter,” she announced. “I need paper, ink, pens.”

 The shorter one bowed to the opposite wall and made a gesture. The other bowed also, then strode off
along the cor-ridor. Ten or fifteen minutes later, something thumped hard against the door. Johanna,
opening it, was handed a tray


146Dave Duncan
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 bearing paper, quills, knife, inkwell, sand shaker, and even a stick of wax. She penned a note to the
Baron, telling him where she was and that she hoped to visit Fadrenschloss in a few days, on her return
from Trenko. No light was show-ing through the shutters when she finished, so the message could not go
until morning. Nevertheless, she sealed it, ad-dressed it, and went back out to the corridor to ask that it
be delivered as soon as that was possible. The brother who took it had age-spotted hands. The one who
had brought her the paper had had the hands of a boy.

Soon after that who should walk in but the Grand Duke himself, shaved, changed, and beaming happily.

“Everything satisfactory, my dove?” He peered around.

“The brethren have made me feel most welcome, sire.”

He nodded, looking around. “Good, good! I will dine in the hall. It would be more seemly if you ate
here.”

“I shall be happy to do so.”

 He nodded. “Till later, then?” And off he went. He always warned her when he planned to come visiting.
It happened rarely, only when he was between mistresses or his current favorite was indisposed, but
clearly tonight was one of the times his wife would have to do, old though she was. She was sore after
the long ride, but would make him welcome. He was always tender—spirits knew he was well
prac-ticed!—and tonight she thought he had earned his reward.

 The following morning Johanna’s breakfast was handed in on a tray, along with a reply from the Baron,
promising she would be welcome. There was no moon so early in the month, so someone had ridden all
the way to Fadrenschloss and back in pitch darkness.

The travelers departed soon after dawn, fighting an icy wind. The Palace Guard was left behind at
Vamky, replaced by Provost Volpe and a score of the brethren, wearing sensi-


Impossible Odds147

 ble leather and fur garments, armed only with swords. The path descended almost as steeply on the
north side of the ridge as it had risen on the south, rejoining the Asch as a much smaller stream of milky
water babbling through for-est. Gradually the land rose again. Trees dwindled and dis-appeared. At the
crest of the long climb the way ahead was a V of blue sky between great peaks draped with glaciers,
thePilgrimPass.

 The stony plain still bore winter snows, and in places the road narrowed to a single file through a maze of
boulders. When the riders doubled up again, they often exchanged part-ners, and eventually Johanna
found herself alongside Karl.

“How brightly the glaciers reflect your glory, Oh Pearl of the Mountains.”

“I didn’t know you were with us, my lord.”

 He was so wrapped up against the wind that his customary sneer was barely visible. “Now is your joy
transcendent.”
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“Now is my trip ruined.” His father had acknowledged her. Her husband was including her in a state
visit. She was a real Grand Duchess at last and need not endure this wastrel’s mockery.

“Nay, you should savor every moment, Fairest One. When you return to Krupina you will be back to
wiping dishes and scrubbing floors!”

Was he hinting that Volpe would revert to form once he had achieved his purpose in Trenko, whatever it
was? She did not reply.

“Let me take you away from your scullery duties, Beloved! Fly with me to farthest Skyrria and let your
beauty outshine the fabled jewels of Orient.”

“If you won’t talk sense, go and bore somebody else.”

“Ow, it scratches! You expect me to beserious?”

“Yes. Tell me about your mother. All I know is that her name was Tatjana. She died when you were
young?”


148Dave Duncan

“If she ever existed.”

Johanna rode on in silence. He tried a few more stupid re-marks and she did not respond.

 “Oh, very well! But it is a waste of a fine morning. My fa-ther wasn’t provost then. He was heir
presumptive, but un-married and sworn to remain so, and Rubin wasn’t capable of staying married long
enough to breed a legitimate son. But Krupina needed another heir. So it got me.”

“How?”

“The usual way, I expect.”

 She rode on in silence and when he spoke again his voice held a snappishness so unlike his usual
flippancy that what he said was probably genuine. “Vamky knights do as they are told. There was a nice
war brewing and the King of Drasia needed help badly. He had a widowed sister, Princess Tatjana, who
was too old to make a decent royal match but not too old to pop one royal brat with the proper
assistance. Volpe was ordered to marry her, breed me, and win the war. He did all those things with
dispatch. Then he came home and brought me with him. Aren’t you sorry you asked?”

“Ordered by whom?”

“I don’t know. Ask him.” Karl put his horse into a narrow gap between toothy boulders.

 Johanna followed, deciding that for once she believed her scoundrelly cousin-in-law, mostly because the
horror of the story explained why she had never heard the details before. If he had been reared by
servants in the inhuman warren of theAgathonPalace , his bitterness was understandable.

He was waiting for her where the trail widened.
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“I can understand the first part,” she said. “A country needs a ruler. But taking you from your
mother—didn’t your father have any say at all?”

Karl shrugged. “I expect it was his idea. She was a lot


Impossible Odds149

older than he was. Anyway, she’s dead now, so it doesn’t

matter, does it?”

“It would matter a lot to me if she had been my mother.”

He did not comment. They parted to go either side of a large rock.

“What causes this sudden attraction to Trenko?” she asked when they met again. “Why are you and
Lord Volpe so eager to attend a funeral?” Rubin, too, for that matter.

Karl looked at her in surprise. “Didn’t your husband tell you?”

“No.”

 “Then you think my father would tell me?” Smirk. “There must be something more. He never travels just
for pleasure.”

He was back in his sarcastic mode again, but she was see-ing him in a different light and willing to make
a few al-lowances. “Don’t you have any ideas?”

 “Lots of them, but you keep refusing me, my rosebud, my honeycake. I suspect the succession troubles
them. The Mar-grave has no more sons and his health is poor. Who will hold the north end ofPilgrimPass
after he has rejoined the elements?”

“And your purpose, my lord?”

“Business, also.” He sighed. “As thou spurnest my troth, I go to woo the sweet Margarita!”

“Who?”

 “Ah! You were not warned? How unfair!” Karl’s sneer was barely visible but clearly audible.
“Ladislas’s only sur-viving child is his daughter, Margarita. Her brother is barely cold, but I imagine offers
for her hand will be flooding in. I thought I would enter the lists.”

 “I wish you good chance, my lord.” And bad chance to the heiress. May she sweep him off his feet and
keep him there! He would be a logical choice, though. Matchmaking might explain Lord Volpe’s
eagerness to make the journey.

“And what can your dear sovereign lord and husband’s


150Dave Duncan
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purpose be, do you suppose?” Karl mused. “We cannot re-call him ever going to a funeral before. He is
usually too busy to attend his wives’. Business or pleasure?”

“Being neighborly is good business for a ruler,” she said brightly, but she had guessed what was coming.
She could feel the pain already.

 “No, I think it must be pleasure,” Karl said judiciously. “Margarita is said to have tresses whiter than flax
and breasts like sweet cherries. Thirteen she is, and a right dainty royal morsel.”

 Where the long descending trail curved around a spring-fed pool and a bank gave shelter from the wind,
Lord Volpe called a halt to rest and water the horses. The mounts all had to be inspected, of course,
especially their hooves. Jo-hanna was quite capable of doing that, but it was not a task for a grand
duchess, so she waited to see who would assist her. Her husband was already inspecting the
refreshments, leaving his horse to the junior knight who had been ap-pointed his custrel for this journey.

For a while she was ignored, but when that same knight had finished with the duke’s horse, he strode
over and set to work on hers without a word or a glance in her direction. She found being invisible to
young men a disconcerting experience.

“Knight-brother Nickolaus, isn’t it?” she asked sweetly.

He ignored her. He had an admirable profile and no doubt its sudden flush was caused by the cool wind.
As he released the first hoof, a voice spoke behind her.

“I will attend Her Highness, Nickolaus.”

“Sir!” The youngster saluted and walked away.

Lord Volpe patted the mare’s neck and bent to lift its right forefoot.

“Again I am honored,” Johanna said. “Good chance to you, my lord.”


Impossible Odds151

“And to you, Highness.” He gripped the hoof between his knees.

“Your newfound courtesy is very welcome. Complete abasement is not required.”

 Volpe scratched snow from the horseshoe with the quillon of his dagger. “It is no abasement for a knight
to tend a horse.”

“My husband will be pleased to see what you are doing.”

“You do not appreciate the military mind, girl,” he told the shoe. “I am the greatest, most renowned
warrior in Eurania. States have retracted declarations of war when I signed with their foes.” He ducked
under the reins to inspect the left foot. “I have never surrendered and never will. Tactical with-drawals I
have made many times.”

“I see. So after you have negotiated your son’s betrothal, it will be back to studied rudeness, will it?”
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Volpe released the hoof he had been about to lift and straightened up to stare at her. “After I have done
what?”

Evidently Johanna had revealed a secret. With anyone else she would have backtracked, but a flash of
wicked joy drove her on.

“Lord Karl informs me that his purpose in coming is to woo the Lady Margarita. Are you not backing
his suit?”

 Volpe snorted, a sound perilously close to a laugh. He bent to his work again. “He has not mentioned it
to me. I was even considering courting her myself. No, my main ob-jective in coming along was to
prevent my nephew from making a total idiot of himself.”

Was he mocking her, or did that remark hint at his real purpose in staging this conversation? She did not
know him well enough to guess his motives. She would never outwit a warrior of his stature.

“Then we are allies on this mission,” she said. “What can I do to help?”


152Dave Duncan

“Keep him well exercised, although I truly believe he is insatiable, even now. At seventeen, he... Never
mind. Was Karl serious, for once?”

“I do not know, my lord.”

Volpe straightened and tucked his dagger back in its sheath. His raptor eyes stared at her over the
mare’s neck, making her feel like a mouse about to die.

“I hear he has been pestering you, back in Krupa.”

“Yes he has.” Had Rubin complained, or did the Provost have spies at his nephew’s Court? Of course
he did. Did they spy on his son? Why wouldn’t they?

“Is he just amusing himself tormenting you, or does he plan real trouble for you?”

“Explain ‘real trouble.’ ”

“Getting you with child to disgrace you.”

“If he tries that he will not succeed, I assure you!”

 Instead of starting on the mare’s saddle and girths, Volpe scanned the hollow, studying the travelers.
“Our family is the oldest in Eurania, did you know?”

“I know it is very distinguished,” she said, puzzled.

 “It is also well documented. Over the centuries it has pro-duced many odd characters and several
crazies. Even a few warriors as renowned as I. Rubin’s predatory ways recur every few generations.
One grand duke acquired a retinue of over two hundred dwarfs. Another set out to father a thousand
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children. Our ancestors have all shared one trait, a mark as distinctive as a malformed lip or a white
fore-lock.” The midnight eyes fixed on her again. “Lazy and cowardly as your husband is, his success
with women is ex-traordinary, would you not agree?”

She wondered where this harangue was leading. Volpe trying to be pleasant was almost worse than
Volpe spurning.

“ ‘Disgusting’ would be a better term.”

He shook his head, sneering. “Not as long as he confines


Impossible Odds153

his attentions to people who cannot cause trouble. My pur-pose in going to Trenko is to ensure he
makes no obscene ad-vances to Margarita. When he got trapped in marriage with a baseborn floozy,that
was disgusting. We are descended from fourteen generations of rulers. Your son is a peasant’s child.
Nobody worthwhile will ever marry that one. Our web of royal alliances will wither and Krupina will be
put at risk.”

“An outcross strengthens the breed,” she said furiously. “It may reduce the number of crazies in future.”

He ignored her comment. “A Krupina always succeeds, you see. Whatever it is he sets as his life’s goal,
he will achieve it, without exception.”

“Even the one with the thousand children?”

 “He made a good start, but died young. That is why Karl annoys me so. At his age I had fought in three
major battles. His only aim seems to be to have no aim and I find that in-tolerable. If he has set out to
seduce you just to annoy Rubin, he will have to be spanked. And he should not be babbling of marriage
without my permission. Inspect this saddle yourself.” Lord Volpe limped away.

Frederik was the only sane one in the whole family.

                                                     •5•

 Trenko was a jewel in a mountain setting, a pearl of many-colored buildings where forested slopes
swept down to the shores of a jade green lake. With city and state in mourning for their young prince,
there were no festivities during Jo-hanna’s brief stay, but it was a happy time for her. The palace was so
crowded that she and Rubin had to share a room. Rubin made the best of it, giving her hope that
Fred-erik would gain a brother or sister from this rare opportunity.


154Dave Duncan

 Representatives of many neighboring states had come to the funeral, most bringing their wives. The men
tended to collect in corners, like cobwebs, spinning alliances and plotting the dismemberment of rivals.
The women, likewise, exercised their claws in small groups, rending reputations and plotting the future
matrimonial geography of Eurania. Johanna found herself accepted into genteel company for the first time.
The gossip would soon have palled on her, but for a short while it was an interesting change. The wine
and cakes were delicious.
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 Lovely Margarita stood at the head of the agenda, of course, but was not on display. She was
incommunicado, distraught at her brother’s death and the importance thus thrust upon her. Competition
for the damsel’s hand was going to be ferocious. So the good dames said, frequently.

Detecting glances in every direction but hers, Johanna learned to go on the offensive at this point in the
masque. “Very wise! The child is far too young for public duties yet.”

More glances. Just thirteen, the harpies would agree. And promising to be a great beauty!

 “My husband was interested,” Johanna would announce then, pretending not to notice the reaction,
although obvi-ously Rubin’s reputation had preceded him. Then, “But we agreed that the age difference
is far too great.” More shock. “Frederik is not yet three.” Ah!

 “But there is Lord Karl, isn’t there?” a henna-haired hag inquired once. “Your husband brought him
along?”

“No, he followed us here,” Johanna said cheerfully. “We forgot to tie him up.”

“I heard he had an accident on the journey?”

 “Nothing serious. He took a tumble off his horse.” Johanna had not witnessed that accident, but she had
seen Karl arriv-ing at Trenko with a very muddy cloak and his face so badly bruised that he had gone
straight to the town elementary for a healing. No one had been crass enough to ask how he had


Impossible Odds155

 managed to muddy the back of his cloak while landing on his face. Life was full of little mysteries like
that. The same first evening, during the formalities of welcome, she had been standing beside Lord Volpe
and wondering how he had grazed his knuckles so badly. Perhaps he had fallen off his horse also. She
did not discuss those family matters with the harpies.

 Their next gambit usually went: “Her father dotes on her. The Margrave is insistent that Margarita
choose for love.”

 To which Johanna would respond that she thought that was an excellent procedure. She was sure it
would rule out Rubin and Volpe, and probably Karl also. Karl did have looks and birth, of course, and
might stand a chance if he could mend his manners. Unless he was being favored above the other suitors,
he had no opportunity to try his wiles on the young lady during that visit, because the fair Margarita had
still not made an appearance when the time came for Grand Duke Rubin and his retinue to return to
Krupina.

                                                     •6•

Good news and bad news flew together, so they said.

 The good news had arrived nine days earlier, setting Fa-drenschloss agog and atwitter—the Grand
Duchess coming to visit, their own fledgling returning at last. The cooks planned a great feast, the
minstrels and musicians rehearsed interminably, and Seneschal Priboi organized the greatest clean-out
and pretty-up the old castle had known in cen-turies. Ernst himself stumped around, inspecting,
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interfer-ing, approving, and generally having a wonderful time. Life had been boring for too long, and he
could not expect to see many more happy occasions in whatever years he had left.

The bad news followed Priboi home. With preparations


156Dave Duncan

 all complete, Ernst had been happy to grant the old seneschal a few hours’ leave. It wasn’t as if he
asked for it every decade, Ernst told him, but he mustn’t make a habit of it. When he returned and
reported what he had learned at Vamky, joy gave way to terror. There was nothing Ernst could do
before Johanna arrived, except swear Priboi to se-crecy and order him to make sure the foxhole was
clean and well stocked.

 The following morning the lookout saw her procession approaching, two women and a contingent of the
Palace Guard. The entire staff assembled in the bailey to greet her, their cheers almost drowning out the
fanfare from the bat-tlements. Ernst himself lifted her down from her mount, and then tried to kneel to
her, but she caught him in a hug and would not permit it. She was both laughing and crying as she greeted
all the old familiar faces.

The terrified child who had disappeared into the ducal coach three and a half years ago was a woman
now, a poised royal beauty. She told him he had not changed at all. Just fat-ter and uglier, he said,
priding himself on being as spry as ever. It was wonderful to be home, she said, but the look she gave
Ernst after that first happy moment told him she had al-ready guessed that something dire weighed on his
mind.

 It was an hour before all the reminiscences and pleas-antries were over and he could get her to himself.
The two of them settled comfortably in the solar and the talk turned to serious matters. He confessed
how much he still missed her. He complimented her on growing up so beautiful. She admitted that she
was no longer as homesick for Fadren-schloss as she had once been. She did not tell him how far her
married life had fallen short of what it should have been, but she did not have to. Although he was no
longerpersona grataat Court, he still had friends in Krupa, mostly sons or grandsons of men he had fought
beside in his military days.


Impossible Odds157

 He knew how she had been humiliated and shunned. She had never complained in her letters, but her
face glowed with happiness as she spoke of Trenko—the people, the houses, the land itself, all new to
her—and especially how she had shared in the royal honors paid to Rubin.

The timing began to make sense. “So Lord Volpe de-ferred to you at last?”

 “He was cool and correct the whole time.” The wry little smile he remembered flickered momentarily.
“He hinted that this state of affairs might be temporary, though.”

 “He is a strange man.” Ernst remembered Volpe as a child, a bitter, tight-wound, melancholy child. Even
then, it had been obvious that he would make a much better Grand Duke than Rubin, his nephew and
playmate, ever could. By the time the boy had gone riding to war with the Brotherhood, Ernst had been
ready to hang up his lance, so their military paths had crossed only briefly. Even as a stripling, Volpe had
gained a reputation for courage and ruthlessness.
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“The greatest warrior in Eurania, he told me.” Johanna’s tone asked confirmation.

 “The most sought-after mercenary, certainly. Most hirelings take their pay and never earn it. They march
and maneuver and dance gavottes with their opponents; do any-thing rather than risk their skins. Volpe
was never like that. With him it was a point of honor to go on the offensive as soon as possible. With the
might of the Vamky conjurers be-hind him, he never lost a battle, never failed to take a strong-hold. Few
rulers could afford his prices, but he did give good value.”

“ ‘Did’? He has retired?”

“It seems so. He did not campaign last year or the year be-fore.” The man must be fifty! Incredible!
Where had all the years hidden themselves?

“Why does he limp? An old injury?”


158Dave Duncan

 “Deformed foot,” Ernst said. “It was more obvious when he was a child.” And that flaw had mattered
infinitely more to the sensitive orphaned boy than it did now to a veteran of many battles. “It shows less
when he is wearing a sword.”

“Now, my lord!” Bright azure eyes were missing nothing. “I have talked enough. Tell me what is wrong.”

“Ah, women! We poor simpleton men can never keep se-crets.” And must not keep this one. “Yes, my
dear. But please remember that this is third- or fourth-hand informa-tion and may have no truth in it.”

“Go on!” She had learned the tone of command. “You remember Harald?” “Which Harald?” “Priboi’s.”
She nodded. “ ‘Teensy,’ we called him. How is he?” They

were of an age.

“Turned out the biggest of the litter. He is a novice in the monastery. He is allowed one visitor every six
months. His father went to see him just yesterday and found him quite upset.”

“So would anyone be who had to live there. What of it?”

 “This may be a test,” Ernst warned. “They test the novices in strange ways, and it would be easy to pass
along a rumor just to see if the boy told his father. Harald did tell, so he may turn up here at any time with
sore feet—rejected, expelled.”

“What rumor?” she snapped. “A coup being plotted.” Color drained from her face. “Volpe? How?
When?” “I don’t know,” Ernst said. “No details. It would be easy!

 He can muster four hundred knights without even calling in troops from foreign service. He could just
ride down to Krupa and take over. A few hours would do it.”


Impossible Odds159
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 “The Palace Guard would fall flat on its face,” she agreed. “What was it you used to say—‘Throw down
their arms and put up their hands’?”

 She knew it was no laughing matter. She was playing for time to think. Although Rubin ruled
competently enough, a man with his moral shortcomings could never be popular. The people would not
rise if the military hero took the coro-net from the libertine.

“Rubin will abdicate if Volpe holds a sword to his throat?” Ernst asked.

 “He would pass out cold.” She shivered, hugging herself, staring at the floor. “The wonder, I suppose, is
that Volpe has not tried this long ago.”

“Mercenary’s honor again, I think. Oaths are sacred to him, and he is Rubin’s sworn vassal.”

 Johanna looked up—two sapphires set in white marble. “So what was negotiated at Trenko, I wonder?
My lord, I hardly mind what happens to my husband. I care nothing at all for my own place and title. But
I willnotlet my son be cheated out of his birthright!”

Had she thought of murder yet? An unwanted widow might be tossed in the gutter, but legitimate heirs
were prone to nasty accidents. Again and again in his career Volpe had proved that he was ruthless. If he
now chose to set aside his fealty, Frederik would have to die.

“When will it happen?” she asked.

Ernst spread his hands. Fat, soft, useless old man’s hands. “Soon, I imagine, if even a novice has heard
of it. Remember, this may not be true!”

“Nevertheless, my husband must be warned.”

“I would have sent word to Court if he had been... He has gone back to Krupa?”

 “I think so. He left the monastery before I did this morn-ing.” She bit her lip in sudden doubt. “So I was
told.”


160Dave Duncan

“That does not sound like him.” At Fadrenschloss he had regularly slept till noon.

Johanna sprang up. “I must go to my son!”

This was not the hesitant, uncertain child the Duke had married.

Von Fader heaved himself to his feet. “Volpe may be there before you.” And the babe dead?

“I must know he is all right!”

“Or the story may be false. Rubin may be there, carrying on as usual.”

 “And if he isn’t? Suppose Rubin has heard the news and fled? Advise me, my lord!” Fury shone in her
eyes like sun-light. Why did the spirits of chance persecute some people?
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 Ernst had thought about this all night. “Your son’s safety must come first. Can you smuggle him out of
the palace?”

“I can try. It will be dark by the time I get there. The gates close at sunset.”

 “And the guards are more alert at night. If Rubin is there, warn him. If he is not, wait until morning. Dress
in servant clothes, put a basket on your arm and Frederik in a sling on your back. Walk out chattering to
someone and the guards won’t look twice at you.”

She nodded.

“I can drive you down there now in my—”

“No! A horse is faster.”

 He sighed. “Then all I can offer is refuge. You remember Hunyadi, who used to work here? He runs a
hostelry onCoppersmiths Street , just before it bends. You can trust him, and probably his men also, if he
is not there. He can get you to Fadrenschloss. Here you will be safe.”

Aldea had first come to Fadrenschloss at the time of Johanna’s betrothal, a trooper in the Palace Guard.
Now he was a captain but had not learned much. A large, dull man, he turned surly


Impossible Odds161

 when the Grand Duchess announced her change of plan; he started arguing that his orders said she was
to stay for three days. Ernst watched with amusement as she brought him to heel. Even lacking the status
and authority Rubin should have granted her, she knew how to get her own way now—

 “Must I complain to my husband that you defied my express orders?... By what right do you question
my decisions?... I’m sorry you are not eager to get back to your family, Captain. Don’t your men want to
return to theirs? If we do not leave at once we shall still be on the road at nightfall.” And so on.

 The bailey was full of dismayed people. The feast, the music, the decorations... Her Royal Highness was
leaving?

Aldea argued again when Johanna told her maid to remain behind to look after the baggage and that
Ernst would arrange for her to be escorted home the next day. Ernst had agreed to no such thing. He
would be happy to do so, of course.

 Johanna fussed and fretted while the horses were brought out and saddled. When all was ready at last
she gave him a farewell hug and protested when he cupped hands to help her mount. He insisted.

Her mount skittered and she brought it under control.

“Can we be there by sunset?” she demanded.

Aldea glanced at the sky. “Wecould, Your Highness.”

“Then I can. Ride!”
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Even with less imagination than a walnut, Aldea was starting to wonder at this urgency. “Something
wrong?”

“I am anxious to see my child, is all. I just meant you needn’t hold back for me. I can ride you all into the
ground.”

An outburst of coughing all around her conveyed wide-spread skepticism. She glared at them defiantly.

“Watch me!” she said, and went out the gate at a gallop.

 They were big men all and wore half armor. She was much lighter and had a superb horse. Just after
sunset they turned


162Dave Duncan

 onto the Krupa bridge and she knew where she was. Her im-patience drove her to kick in her heels for
a final spurt; out-stripping the men, she thundered up to the gates alone. They were closed. No one
answered her hail. She had to dismount to haul on the bell rope and then the stupid, hairy face that
peered out the wicket refused to understand who she was. Grand Duchess? He called her a drunkard
and spat at her. Only when a furious Aldea rode up would the guards open the postern.

 If she had been in any doubt, that incident proved that she could never smuggle Frederik out of the
palace by night. In daylight it should be easy. She had watched all sorts of shady-looking people wander
in and out unchallenged.

 His Royal Highness had yet not returned from Trenko, but even to establish that took much effort and
self-control. By itself, Rubin’s absence meant nothing. He often vanished for days at a time when he had
cornered some dainty nymphet. This time, combined with what she had been told at the monastery that
morning and what von Fader had told her, the news knotted her with terror.

She fled in search of Frederik and found him in the capa-ble hands of Ruxandra, being made ready for
bed. Frederik took one look at her and flew into a screaming tantrum.

 “He’s just punishing you for going away,” Ruxandra said reassuringly, and cuddled him. “Where’s a
good boy, then?” She was a dumpy, grandmotherly woman, as respectable as a snowy owl. Having
spent her life rearing other people’s chil-dren, she knew a lot more about babies than Frederik did. If she
had a fault it was that she thought the Grand Duchess spent far too much time with her own child than
was good for either of them. At the moment, Frederik seemed to agree.

 In the end he lost the battle, though. His crib was moved back into Johanna’s room, he grudgingly
allowed his mother to hug him, and eventually he lost his nightly battle against


Impossible Odds163

 sleep. So did his mother. Worried as she was, haunted by fears that Volpe and his killers might already
be on their way, she had spent two hard days in the saddle. She fell into bed and followed her son’s
example.
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 She was awakened by a voice calling her name from what seemed a very long way away. Light on her
face... bed cur-tains open... moonlight pouring in through opened shut-ters . . . a man standing beside
her, holding a lantern... Illuminated from below, his face seemed bizarre and weird until she identified the
goatee and the heavily pouched fea-tures of her husband.

“Johanna, awake! My violet, my faun! Waken!”

Bewilderment. “My lord! You’re back!”

“I should say the same to you. You were supposed to be safely out of the way at Fadrenschloss.”

“Safely? Oh, yes, yes! There’s a plot! Von Fader warned me. Lord Volpe—”

 Rubin chuckled. “I know all about my foolish uncle’s mischief, my rosebud. It will not prosper, I promise
you, but we must leave the palace for a while. I came back to rescue Freddie. I did not expect to find
you here as well. Come, my turtledove. We must hurry. There is some danger.” He sounded
extraordinarily cheerful. Those foolish endear-ments were what he called her while making love.

Sleep fell away. She sat up, clutching the covers to her. Rubin was wearing a traveling cloak with a
hood, and surely a sword under it. She had never seen him armed before.

“My evil uncle is on his way, turtledove. Dress and bring our precious. We must fly.”

 She slid from the bed and stumbled across the room. She had never dressed in front of him before and
was absurdly conscious of his eyes upon her, but modesty would be an in-sane luxury when their very
lives might be at risk.


164Dave Duncan

In his cot in the corner, Frederik whimpered at the distur-bance and then fell silent.

 “Ruxandra!” Johanna said, fighting with stockings. “No, better let me get her.” Laces streaming, she
sped to the ante-room and then the nurse’s bedroom.

 Ruxandra gaped and gasped as her mistress shook her awake and shouted at her, but even ravings
about revolution did not ruffle her. “Don’t move him yet, Your Highness,” she said, as calmly as if
discussing colic. “I’ll pack a bag for him first.” She started stuffing clothes in a pillowcase. Johanna ran to
fetch her jewelry.

 They rushed along dark corridors, their lantern making mon-strous shadows dance around them. Rubin
went first, with his hood raised—because, he said, the sight of him flying by night might start a panic.
Johanna clutched her son bundled in blankets, trying to soothe his sleepy grumbles, terrified he would
erupt in screams of rage. Ruxandra followed, carry-ing the bag and spare blankets. Down back stairs,
across a deserted kitchen... when they emerged into the chill of the stable yard, they found men
harnessing horses to two car-riages. Breath smoked in the torchlight. A fat moon sailed among
silver-trimmed clouds.

Johanna headed for the great eight-horse ducal coach.

Rubin caught her arm. “No! We will take the other.” He guided her over to the smaller coach and
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climbed in first, so he could take Frederik. The Marquis of Krupa took fright and screamed. Johanna
scrambled up to take him and com-fort him. He screamed louder. Ruxandra was helped, almost heaved,
in by a groom, and the door was slammed. A voice shouted, a whip cracked, and the state coach began
to move with much clattering of horseshoes and creaking of cold axles. Iron-rimmed wheels rumbled like
thunder on cobbles, fit to waken the whole city. Then the second coach followed.


Impossible Odds165

Frederik continued to howl. Johanna handed him to Ruxandra to let her try.

 Her husband put his arm around her. Startled, she drew away until he removed it. Not much light
entered through the horn-paneled windows, but the interior was not totally dark. Intimacy in front of a
servant was unseemly.

“Now, Your Grace,” she said. “Pray tell me what is hap-pening.”

“Volpe has turned traitor, my lovebird. He has been plan-ning this for some time. Fortunately Abbot
Minhea is loyal, so I have been kept informed. Now Volpe and several hun-dred knights are on their
way from Vamky, intent on depos-ing me. We should be clear of the city before he arrives, but we shall
be back, never fear.” The coach rumbled and clat-tered along narrow lanes where moonlight could
hardly pen-etrate.

“And where are we headed now?”

“Wait and see. I have plans.” His voice was smug in the darkness.

 The carriage rocked and bounced sickeningly on the rough roads. Johanna wished fervently that they
had gone on horseback, although Frederik was too big now to carry eas-ily in a sling. He did not like the
coach. No sooner had he howled himself to sleep than it would lurch and jostle him awake again, so even
Ruxandra could do nothing with him. The roads grew rougher and steeper, up and down. At times rain
pelted on the roof and trickled in around the windows.

 Eventually Rubin took his son to hold, which he had never done before. Frederik perversely stopped
yelling. Either he appreciated the honor or he was just too astonished to object. He whimpered a few
times and slid into a sound sleep at last. Moments later, Johanna realized she was doing the same.

                                                    ***


                                             166Dave Duncan

 She wakened with a start, uncertain where she was. Rubin was still holding his son. Ruxandra was
snoring. The car-riage was climbing a steep hill.

“We are going north?” she said.

“We are. The other coach went south, to Zolensa, and I hope my wicked uncle chases it in person until
he falls off the edge of the world.”

“But where? Not back to Trenko?” Even much later in the year, crossing the pass in this contraption
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would be a feat. They would certainly need fresh horses. And they would have to go by Vamky, the
traitor’s lair.

 Rubin uttered his strange chuckle again. “I hope not that far, but the Margrave did promise me support if
this hap-pened. No, I told you that Minhea is loyal. We shall turn the tables on the turncoat. Volpe can
have the palace. We shall reign secure in the monastery!”

 “Wonderful!” she said, amazed at his confidence. This calm courage was a side of him she had never
suspected. “Didn’t something like this happen in your grandfather’s time?”

“Everything imaginable happened in his time. Don’t worry, my honeycake. All will be well.”

Ruxandra had wakened. “Here, woman,” the Duke said. “The boy needs attention. Take him...
What?—”

 The carriage had picked up some speed again, but sud-denly horses screamed, the coachman hauled on
the brake, gravel scrabbled under locked wheels, the whole world tilted. Johanna cried out, reaching for
her child just as Rubin fell on top of her, and then baby and nurse on top of them both. The carriage
rolled upside down, fell, crashed into trees, rolled again, bounced, and burst apart, spilling its con-tents
down the cliff face.


Impossible Odds167

                                                     •7•

 After a long age the sky began brightening over the ranges to the east. The world was dark and wet and
very cold. Jo-hanna had no memory of being thrown clear of the wreck. Either she had caught hold of
Frederik before it happened or she had found him later in the darkness, but she remembered doing
neither. She was huddled against a spindly pine tree, which was all that kept her from rolling down a very
steep slope and vanishing over the lip of the cliff. Frederik was asleep in her arms, wrapped in a filthy,
grass-covered blan-ket. He had mud and blood on his face, but he was breath-ing. She had too many
aches to think of trying to catalogue them. A trail of snapped trees and wreckage and dead horses above
her showed where the carriage had rolled down the hill. Its remains were jammed against a tree some
distance below her, with one wheel and a dead horse suspended over the final drop to the Asch,
rumbling in its canyon.

She must find help. It took her a while to work that out. She had lost her shoes. She was shivering
uncontrollably. The familiar skyline told her that she was not far from Vamky monastery, on the west side
of the river, downstream fromOldenBridge . She must be close to Fadrenschloss, but she would have to
walk there in bare feet, carrying Frederik.

 Before she reached the road, she heard voices shouting. She did not bother to reply, because her son
was already making all the noise necessary. Two men came clambering down through the scrub and
trees. One young, one older. Father and son. Woodcutters. Help. The old one took Frederik, the
younger lifted her into his arms as easily.

Later she was in a cottage, women tending her, more peo-ple, and eventually even the Baron, huge and
haggard, his
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168Dave Duncan

 face pale as his beard. Just a few bruises, she insisted. They told her she had several cuts, the worst
being on her leg, but she would not scar anywhere visible. They had both been very lucky. Frederik had
escaped almost completely. In-fants’ bones bend like green twigs. She gathered others had not been so
lucky. There was something important she ought to be telling the Baron. It escaped her.

 Ernst sent for his coach and packed her in it. Frederik ex-pressed his feelings about coaches very
forcefully, but was overruled.

 By the time they reached Fadrenschloss she was starting to come out of her daze and the horror was
rising in her throat like vomit. The Baron fancied himself as an herbalist. He brought out his mother’s old
box of simples and concocted a draft with the impact of a woodsman’s ax.

They put her to sleep in her old bed.

 At first light Frederik’s wails triggered her maternal instincts and wakened her. She found him in the next
room before the woman sleeping with him had opened her eyes. The Baron had left orders that he was to
be called as soon as Johanna awoke.

 When she had soothed the boy back to sleep, she joined the old man beside a pinewood fire in the
solar. There she sipped mulled ale from a silver goblet and gobbled bread, cheese, and sausage as if she
had not eaten for a month. She had a wonderfully swollen face, several bandages, and enough aches to
torture an army, but no time to care about any of them. The old man looked as if he had not slept at all.

“It is good to have you back, Johanna,” he said. “I wish the circumstances were happier.”

“Me too.”

So much for pleasantries. Ernst seemed at a loss for words, and she did not want to speak at all.


Impossible Odds169

 He sighed. “Are you well enough to talk, Your Highness? I don’t want to bully you, but there are . . .
there are impor-tant things we must discuss.”

She nodded. “I’m still shaky, but please go ahead.”

He clawed at his beard as he did when he was worried. “Tell me if it becomes too much of a strain!”

“I will. I don’t remember much about the accident.”

 “Yesterday you were babbling, not making sense. Petre and his son found you climbing back up the
slope, carrying the Marquis. The body of the driver was near the road. He had been thrown clear and
crushed when the coach was dragged over him. We also found an elderly woman in ser-vant garb. Dead
too, I’m afraid. Who else was in the coach?”

“Only my husband. Lord Volpe launched his coup, just as you predicted. Rubin woke me and told me
we must fly at once. And we did.”
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The Baron grunted and tore his whiskers again.

“Where is Rubin?”she demanded. Why had she not asked that before?

“We found no other bodies, my dear.”

The cliff! Her husband. The duke. Frederik’s father and protector.

 Von Fader’s flabby face had taken on the stern expression she remembered from watching him sit in
judgment here in Fadrenschloss. Having right of justice over his tenants and vassals, he took pride in
being an honest and impartial judge, punctilious in collecting all the facts before rendering a verdict, even
ruling against his own best interests when law or custom required it—something most lords never did.

“Johanna, my dear, are you certain that the man in the coach was your husband?”

 Such a question must be a joke. She resisted laughter because laughter would be easier to start than
end. “Of course I am certain, my lord! How could I not be? He had


170Dave Duncan

known about the plot for weeks, he said, and had made plans. Alas, it seems chance favored Volpe. He
has won and I must flee into exile with Frederik. This is what you are saying?”

 Von Fader shook his head. “It is more complicated than that. First of all, chance was not involved. The
crash was no accident, but deliberate murder.”

“No!”

 “I beg Your Highness to hear the evidence before you say that!” Sometimes she was the Grand Duchess
and some-times just the child he had fostered, the years between for-gotten. He leaned sideways to haul
on a bell rope. “That is a very dangerous corner for anyone who does not know it. The bend is
unexpected and the surface slopes outward. Mud washes across it and makes it slick. That can be turned
to our advantage. Enter!”

 The heavily wrinkled monkey face that peered in around the door belonged to Manfred, the Baron’s
forester, of whom it was said that he could follow a crow’s tracks across a lake. He must have been
awaiting the call. Johanna knew him of old and tried to smile at him, but smiling hurt.

“Close the door,” the Baron growled. “Tell Her Highness what you saw.”

Clutching his hat with both hands, the forester said ner-vously, “It had been raining, Your Royal
Highness, and then stopped. Marks were very clear. Someone had put a wagon there, blocking the road.
Driver didn’t have a chance.”

Wagon? She said nothing, refusing to accept the implica-tions.

 He squirmed under her stare. “A wagon and a man on a horse, Your Royal Highness. They came from
the north. The horseman led the way coming, and when they left, he led the way again.”

“They left after the crash?” the Baron said.
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Impossible Odds171

“Yes, my lord. His marks were both under and over the coach tracks. The wagon stood there quite a
while, waiting.Lot of drip marks.”

“And his horse?” the Baron prompted.

“Very big horse. A warhorse, likely, a destrier. It still wore winter shoes, with cleats.”

Von Fader studied his former ward, waiting to see if she were taking this in.

“The Brotherhood?”

He nodded approvingly. “That’s a very reasonable guess. We can’t be certain he came from Vamky,
but it’s very likely. There are few destriers in Krupina, and only the brethren’s would be shod with cleats.
They patrol the pass. Tell her what happened, Manfred.”

 “Wagon and horseman, Your Highness... horseman rode around a bit, driver turned and backed the
wagon to where he wanted, about halfway across the road, so there was a gap, but not wide enough for
a team to pass. And the horse-man dropped some caltrops.” Manfred produced a caltrop, which he
must have been holding in his hat, because anyone who put a caltrop in a pocket would be stabbed by its
spikes. Nasty, evil little thing! “Not many. Just enough to panic the team, make sure it wouldn’t stop in
time. I took this one out of one of the horses’ hooves.”

“All the horses died?” Four beautiful horses!

Manfred nodded. “Horseman went around after the crash to pick up caltrops left over—his prints were
on top. He wore riding boots, not sabotons.”

“Armor,” the Baron explained.

She shuddered, trying to comprehend such cold-blooded evil being directed at her and her child. She
was a widow. That idea was too big to fit anywhere . . .

 “Someone knew you were coming,” the Baron said. “A fast horse will outrun a coach. Could have gone
from Krupa


172Dave Duncan

to Vamky by the east road, come around by the bridge. Might have been time to set up the ambush.
Tight, though.”

“Rubin sent his state coach south to draw off pursuit. He was betrayed!”

“Not necessarily.” Von Fader sighed wheezily. “I’m afraid there is more, my... Your Highness.”

“No!” she said sharply, and stood up. There must not be more! She had not caught up with murder yet.
She limped over to the window, seeking escape, wringing her hands. The sky was bright, not much short
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of dawn, with early fo-liage outlined like black feathers on the trees. This room was familiar, unchanged,
home. But she couldn’t stay. Someone had tried to kill Frederik. They might try again. The future was a
blank wall across her path. Where could she go? Who would give her refuge? Nothing in her life or
upbringing had prepared her for such a dilemma.

She turned to see the Baron’s eyes on her, full of concern, but was thatpityon the wizened forester? She
would not concede pity. She went back to her seat.

“Very well, my lord. What more horrible news have you for me?”

“Manfred found this locket. Tell her where.”

 She had taken her jewel box with her. Not the state jew-els, just a few trinkets Rubin and the Baron had
given her and beads that had belonged to her mother. The Asch could play with the pretty things down in
its canyon.

 The forester was talking. “. . . a bush on the edge of the big drop, Your Royal Highness.Lot of branches
broken, some blood, bits of damask and silk, some hair.” He pro-duced a couple of wisps from his hat.
She did not take them. She could not remember what Rubin had been wearing. Nothing special, nothing
she would recognize.

“So a body was thrown into the bush and then fell through, into the river?” the Baron prompted.


Impossible Odds173

“Looked that way, my lord.”

“Could it have been faked?”

 The little man hesitated, but only to choose his words. There was no doubt in his voice when he spoke.
“I do not believe so, my lord. No footsteps on the mud there after the bush was crushed. Don’t see how
it could have been faked.”

 Johanna knew his reputation, and obviously the Baron ac-cepted Manfred’s opinions as infallible. He
flickered her a reassuring smile, which did not work.

 “So the question before the court, my dear, is who went into the Asch leaving this locket behind? His
Highness? Gold locket, heart-shaped, on a golden chain. Expensive. Was it his? Is it yours?” He passed
it to Johanna.

 “I’ve never seen it before,” she said. The portrait inside was a flattering one of Rubin, head and
shoulders. “No, it’s not mine.” Rubin had probably given it to some lady friend in the past, but to say so
in front of Manfred would be dis-loyal. One should not speak ill of the dead. Why was the Baron pulling
faces?

 “I doubted it belonged to either of you. You see, Your Highness, it is a conjuration, the sort they call a
seeming. Brace yourself for a shock, my dear. Manfred, put it on. Show the Grand Duchess what it
does.”

It turned Manfred into Rubin. When Johanna tried it and peered at her image in her goblet, now she was
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Rubin.

She must have cracked her head in the fall and gone crazy.

Someone else had died? Rubin was still alive?

Von Fader’s doughy face was congealed in misery. “Thank you, Manfred. In thirty years you have done
me no greater service.”

When the forester had gone, Johanna said bitterly, “You think I was trying to elope with someone.” That
was what the world would think. She was ruined.

“I know you better, my dear. I had seen you earlier that


174Dave Duncan

 day and you were not plotting any such nonsense then. You would not cheat your son out of his
birthright.” He scratched his beard again. “But that may be how others will interpret it. Oh, death! I
cannot make sense of all this evil! Surely only Vamky is capable of conjuring that trinket, and the
am-bush was set up by men from Vamky. If that had been your husband in the carriage, then the
murderer had a good chance of killing both him and his son, leaving Volpe as un-questioned Grand Duke
and Karl his heir. Men have been hanged on weaker evidence.

 “But the locket changes everything! Someone was mas-querading as your husband. What was the
imposter trying to achieve? Abduction, most likely. But was he abducting your son, or you, or both of
you? Did two conspiracies defeat each other? Did he say where he was taking you?”

 “He said Vamky.” Would she ever have emerged from that gloomy keep? “Or was he just planning to
compromise me? If I ran away with another man Rubin could divorce me.” And be free to marry sweet
Margarita of Trenko.

“He could have found easier ways of arranging that!” the Baron protested.

 Johanna avoided his eye. “The imposter knew certain in-timate endearments my husband bestows on me
sometimes. Only he could know what they were!”

 The Baron harrumphed. “Pardon my crudity, Johanna dear, but you may not be the only woman he has
so ad-dressed.”

“Of course!” Hundreds of them. She should have seen that. With the locket, the imposter might have
been anyone, even a woman. Margarita of Trenko, perhaps? One of her own ladies-in-waiting. “He held
Frederik!”

“Does Rubin not do so?”

“I have never known him to touch his son since Frederik’s naming ceremony.” And his laugh. That had
not been


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Rubin’s laugh. People’s laughs were often distinctive. Had

she met that laugh before?

“Your husband would not put his own son in danger.”

“Oh, never. He told me just a few days ago he wanted to see Frederik acknowledged as his heir.”

 After a moment’s silence, she realized that the Baron had really been asking her a question. Because she
was now the expert in Rubin’s marital behavior. Rubin would not harm his sonunless? Unless he had
already murdered two wives and wanted to dispose of a third so he could bed the fair Margarita, who
was of noble blood and thus available only in legal matrimony...? Staring at the old man, Johanna saw in
his eyes the horror that must not be spoken. No one would suspect a man of killing his own son just to
dispose of an un-wanted wife. Not to mention three innocent companions. But if the Grand Duke had not
been in the carriage, could he have been the man on horseback?

 “You are saying,” she said, although Ernst was deliber-atelynotsaying, “that the purpose was to kill me
and Fred-erik?” No, that wasn’t right... Ernst had had a whole day to work on this. “Just to kill
Frederik? That I was supposed to be here in Fadrenschloss and not in the coach at all? That it was a plot
by Volpe to kill Frederik so that Karl could be second in line again?”

 Surely that was nonsense. If Volpe’s code forbade him to depose his nephew, how could he murder an
innocent child to promote a dissolute son he despised?

Then wasKarlbehind it? He had the most to gain if Fred-erik died. He would be second in line again.
Ridiculous! Karl wasn’t capable of organizing anything beyond a shoddy seduction.

So?

 So it came back to the fact that Johanna had been present only by accident, when she was not supposed
to be, so the


176Dave Duncan

 fake Duke had been forced to take her also. It was Frederik who had brought the threat of revolution.
Restore Volpe to his former place as heir presumptive and the coup danger would fade away. Rubin was
not the bravest of men. He hated anything that interrupted his quiet life of studied promiscuity, and what
happened to Krupina after his death interested him not at all. From that point of view, Frederik had been
a mistake, perhaps a mistake that could be cor-rected. The fake duke had not known of the ambush, of
course.

She shook herself to banish the nightmares. The Baron was studying her. He looked ten years older than
he had two days ago.

“Advise me, my lord,” she said.

 “I cannot,” he said angrily. “I am too old to straighten such a tangle. There are so many possible
explanations! Were there two conspiracies? Or was it a double bluff? Who was the in-tended victim?
Perhaps Rubin did know of a plot to overthrow him. So he sent you and your son off to safety, not
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realizing that Volpe would go so far as to ambush the carriage. Then where is your husband now? Who
rules in Krupa?”

And dare she go back there?

“I am not fit to travel yet,” she said.

 “Of course not.” The Baron heaved his mass off his chair and waddled over to stare out the window.
“Daylight!” He sighed. “Neither the coachman nor the woman could be identified. The coach was
firewood. But the horses carried the Grand Duke’s mark. By the time we had collected the bodies
yesterday it was too late to send word to Krupa, you understand? So I can claim, anyway. But I dare
not delay longer. I must send word to the palace today. Now! Some-one will be here before dark. If
your disappearance is al-ready known, another someone may be here even sooner. This is the first place
they will look for you.”


Impossible Odds177

She saw that she was not merely in danger herself. She brought danger with her like a plague. “You must
not take risks for my sake, my lord.”

 The Baron remained at the window, a monolith staring out at the mountains. “No risk. Very few people
know you have come back, and I swore all of them to secrecy. You could be wandering in the woods or
sheltering in some char-coal burner’s cottage.”

“No!” She rose, and was at once reminded of her aches and bruises. “You must not take the risk!”

He turned to frown at her. “Do not be foolish, Johanna. It is no risk for a few days. Your husband told
you that rebels were about to seize the palace. You were abducted by some-one unknown. Your
husband is dead. He tried to kill you. His uncle tried to kill you. Not all of those statements can be true,
but any one of them is enough excuse for you to remain in hiding until you know it is safe to emerge. I
ordered the foxhole made ready.”

“But hiding the Grand Duke’s wife from him must be treason at the least!”

“Nonsense. Hiding her from rebels is true fealty. Fadren-schloss will give you sanctuary, and I will hear
no argument.”

She was back to being a child again. She went to him and hugged him.

                                                     •8•

 The foxhole had not changed. It had been her refuge be-fore her marriage and now was to perform the
same service again. Frederik found the strange, curved, dim little room very interesting to visit—but only
for long enough to walk to the cot at the far end and back again.


178Dave Duncan

 “We are going to stay here for a while, darling,” his mother told him. “See how nicely it has been cleaned
and prepared for us! Are you hungry? Thirsty? There’s food here. And I think there are toys in this box.
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There is every-thing we can possibly need here.”

“Need go potty,” the Marquis said firmly.

Johanna stared around in panic.Almosteverything.

 Once that emergency had been dealt with—it was under the bed—he was reasonably content to have
his mother all to himself and not be in a coach. His bruises and scrapes bothered him, but he found her
swollen eye very amusing. He kept trying to punch it. Small boys are like that.

“I do hope you grow out of this,” she told him, fending him off.

 About the only thing that might betray the foxhole to its enemies would be a two-year-old’s temper
tantrum, which no stone wall in the world could muffle completely. How-ever, after an hour or two of
throwing the toys around, Fred-erik settled down on his mother’s lap to hear a story and went to sleep
before it was finished. This was good fortune. Johanna had barely laid him on the bed and covered him
with a blanket when the bell tinkled and she rushed to the nearest squint. There were three such spyholes,
one over-looking the roadway up to the barbican, one the bailey, and another the Great Hall. Since none
of them currently showed any activity at all, she returned to the driveway view and stayed with that,
waiting.

 There had not been time for the morning’s courier to reach Krupa, let alone for a response to arrive at
Fadren-schloss, but Vamky was only a couple of hours away. Who-ever was coming now must be
specifically hunting for the missing Grand Duchess, as von Fader had said, and this was the most likely
place. Soon a cavalcade appeared in her field of vision: heralds, standard bearer, a troop of the Palace


Impossible Odds179

Guard escorting a man in civilian dress. No armor, no blue on white. Soon she recognized the ducal
banner in front. So it was Rubin. She felt a great surge of relief. Her married life had been far from
perfect, but had the newcomer been Volpe, her lot would have been exile and penury.

 The procession disappeared out of her field of view, and she shifted over to watch the bailey. The Grand
Duke rode forward to the steps. The Baron was waiting to hold his reins. In a moment the two men went
indoors together.

 No doubt Ernst would lie his head off to start with. He would not admit that Johanna was there until he
was certain that her husband’s intentions were honorable. That would be tricky. He could not ask about
coups or imposters or con-jured lockets without revealing that he knew more than he should. Johanna
must wait for his signal. The guards were dismounting, handing over their horses to the Baron’s men, and
there were a lot of them, a big escort.

 No doubt host and guest had gone to the solar for a pri-vate chat and she would learn nothing more until
after Rubin had left. If he was really suspicious, he might stay a week or two. Or have his men search
Fadrenschloss. That would be a deathly insult to the Baron, of course, equivalent to calling him a traitor
to his face, but Rubin was capable of that. With little hope, she crept halfway down the narrow stair to
the spyhole overlooking the Great Hall. Her view was again re-stricted, covering little more than the
throne on the dais at the far end and the approaches to it. Shafts of sunlight an-gled down, turned to
silver by dust motes. Ancient banners hung motionless from the rafters.
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Then the two men came into view below her, heading toward the throne. The Baron thumped along on
his cane, grotesquely foreshortened.Rubin was limping slightly on his right foot!Oh, spirits! She stared in
horror, trying to will that limp away, but it just became more evident as her angle


180Dave Duncan

 of view improved. Where there was one enchanted locket, there could be more. Had the Baron
noticed? If he hadn’t, would he notice in time? Frederik moaned and Johanna raced up the stair to
comfort him before he discovered her absence and erupted.

 But now she knew how the Grand Duke had managed to ride from Krupa to Fadrenschloss so quickly
this morning— he hadn’t. He had come from Vamky. And he wasn’t the Grand Duke.

 It took some time for the entire staff of Fadrenschloss to an-swer the summons and assemble in the
Great Hall. When they had done so, Johanna could only watch what happened. She could not hear. The
Baron introduced the Grand Duke, although just about everyone in the castle had been em-ployed there
long enough to remember him only too well. They cheered politely, no more.

 The disguised Lord Volpe then made a brief speech. Jo-hanna could supply the words for herself,
except that she did not know how much she was worth and had to guess at the numbers. Soon the two
nobles departed and the audience dispersed to go back to work. How many people knew of the
foxhole? How many would sell out? One would be enough.

By then Frederik was awake again, wanting to be fed.

“You should be proud of yourself,” she told him as she buttered his bread. “Here you are, not yet three
years old, and already you have a price on your head.”

Grinning, he patted his curls with both hands, trying to find the price, whatever that was.

It would not be called a price, of course. “Reward” would be the word used, but blood money was
what it was. Find the poor little heir lost in the woods and win a fortune. Whether you ever collected
would be another gamble altogether. A fake Grand Duke need not worry about his reputation for


Impossible Odds181

honesty, because he would not be using that reputation for long. Once the loose ends in the succession
had been tidied up, he could arrange for his predecessor’s official death and start to rule in his own name,
his own face.

 She wondered if Rubin were dead already. More likely, she decided, he would be kept locked up
somewhere safe until his son could join him. The strength of monarchial government was that you solved
nothing by striking off a crowned head:The Grand Duke is dead, long live the Grand Duke!Frederik must
die before or right after his father. Also, since there was a slight chance his mother might be carrying a
brother or sis-ter, she had better be sent off too. Tidier that way.

 About noon the imposter rode off down the road with his guards, but the alarm bell gave no all-clear
signal. Johanna had expected that. If Volpe had posted a reward for her cap-ture, as she surmised, then
he would have left some men be-hind to wait for snitches to take the bait. Then they could secure the
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prisoners. Wishing she had counted his entourage when it arrived, she reconciled herself to a day alone
with a screamingly bored Frederik, perhaps several days.

 The tantrums would stop when he turned three, Ruxandra had promised, but he had still had a few
months in hand and tantrums were his only way to express dissatisfaction. He could not understand that
bad men might be prowling the castle listening for a baby yelling. He did sense that temper fits were
attracting more attention than usual that day, so he used them more often. There were times when
Johanna thought her son would drive her crazy. She also knew she would have gone crazy already if he
were not with her.

 When darkness came at last, she closed the shutters on the squints so it would be safe to light a candle.
Frederik went to sleep to dream of another day of mayhem ahead. She tried to read a book, gave up,
and lay down fully


182Dave Duncan

 dressed with a lantern still lit, knowing that the summons might come at any hour of the night. To her
surprise, she was asleep when it did. She came awake instantly, caught up the lantern, and hobbled down
the narrow stairs, winc-ing at the aches in her stiffened muscles.

The entrance to the foxhole was through the top of a closet. She knelt to slide the bolts and lift the trap,
which was so narrow that the Baron could not have climbed up there at any time in the last forty years.
He could still stand on a stool, precariously. His head appeared at her knees.

“All right, my dear?” He spoke in a whisper.

“We’re very well. It was Volpe! You noticed his limp?”

“I did. He offered a reward of a thousand Hyrian ducats for each of you.”

“Is that all?” Johanna said indignantly. “A dukedom cheap at the price!”

“But it is a great fortune to a drudge or a turnspit.”

“Of course,” she said sadly. It would have seemed a great fortune to her not long since.

“He left six men here,” said the disembodied head. “We have girls distracting them, but I mustn’t stay.
Anything you need?”

 “Tomorrow, if we’re still here—more toys, fresh water, and a fresh slop bucket.” She did not suggest
throwing in a gag for her son; this was no time for humor.

 Frederik wakened her. He was whimpering, not howling, and with luck would go back to sleep.
Grunting at her aches and bruises, she rolled over and was about to stuff her head under the pillow when
she realized that the bell was jan-gling. It was a very small bell, emitting a very quiet tinkle. On and on.
One ring for alarm, three for all clear—that was the agreed-upon code, but now someone was jiggling
the cord continuously. She sat up.


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From far away came a sound of hammering. She surged out of bed, uncovered the lantern, and ran
down to investi-gate. Someone was banging on the trapdoor, trying to waken her.

Then she smelled smoke.

 Fadrenschloss was ancient; it would burn like tinder. Bruises forgotten, she hurtled back up to the
room... gath-ered cloak, shoes, and her son in his blanket... back down the stairs in the dark... Frederik
began wailing at yet another rude awakening. The noise was louder now, jarring strokes of a sledge that
she could feel through her feet on the stonework. Before she could even start to struggle with the bolts,
they tore loose and the trap flew up with a blaze of light and a gush of acrid, eye-biting smoke. The
amount of coughing going on down there suggested a sizable reception committee waiting.

“Take him!” she cried, thrusting her son into the arms that appeared. Even if those belonged to Volpe
himself, being burned alive was not an option. Heedless of the indignity, she slid her feet out through the
gap and felt many strong hands grab her and lift her down. She wore only a night-gown and a cloak and
her shoes; the hands lingered a little longer than necessary.

“Captain Aldea, Your Royal Highness,” said a satisfied voice.

Tall, solid, stolid, with the imagination of a gnat. Useless to explain to Aldea that the man he thought was
his sover-eign was a usurper wearing an enchanted locket. She had a matching locket with her, but she
would solve nothing by suddenly turning into Rubin now. She coughed as the smoke bit her lungs.

“Come!” Aldea said. “We should get out of here. This is getting dangerous.” He grabbed her arm and
hustled her out into the corridor.

She resisted. “Let go of me!”


184Dave Duncan

“No.” Aldea did have enough imagination to see that she might try to escape in the resulting confusion.
He forced her to keep moving. “Baron says the whole castle will go up very shortly.”

 She hurried along with his fingers around her arm like steel bands. She could hear Frederik’s howls amid
the coughing ahead of her. She could also hear a terrible roar, a waterfall noise, which she feared might
be the fire itself.

“Did the Duke give you authority to put Fadrenschloss to the torch?” she raged.

“Not our doing, Highness. Baron thinks there’s a firefly loose. Oh...death!”

 They had reached the door to the Great Hall. All one side of it was a wall of fire, glowing through dense
smoke.

“Can’t go in there!” another man cried.

“You know another way out, Highness?” Aldea asked.

“Yes. Let go of my arm.” She waited until he did. “Now follow me!” She squirmed through the crowd,
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grabbed a lantern, and led the way, listening for Frederik’s howls to be sure he was coming. At the door
to the cellar she hesitated just for an instant, dreading the thought of going down there, of the whole
weight of the castle above her, but she could not leave her son to be burned alive. She stumbled down
the stair with a tattoo of drumming boots following her, into cool, breathable air. When she struggled with
a door, male hands reached past her and almost tore it off its hinges. Back up again. She emerged into
the bailey and cried out in dismay.

 The night was bright as day under the pillar of fire going up from New House, which was far from being
the youngest part of the complex. Even at that distance, the heat of it was unbearable. Despite the
stablemen’s efforts, several horses had panicked and broken free; now they were stampeding madly
around the yard, endangering everyone. Behind her


Impossible Odds185

the Great Hall exploded in a huge cloud of flame, balls of fire bursting from every window, spewing
debris.

 “This way!” She grabbed at the man who was carrying Frederik, and clutched his arm tightly as they all
ran for the Lesser Barbican. At times they had to flatten themselves against the wall while the terrified
herd went thundering by. The ground was littered with glowing and smoking debris. She held up her
hems with her free hand, frightened of being set alight.

“Stop!” someone screamed. “There it is! Freeze! The fly! Don’t move.”

The men ahead of her stopped instantly and she bounced off their backs.

“Go! Go! Go!”

“No!” Captain Aldea roared. “Everyone stand still. Don’t even talk.”

 “What madness is this?” Johanna yelled. The fugitives had all frozen into statues around her. Frederik
was sobbing. She tried to squeeze through between two men, and Aldea’s steely fingers closed on her
arm again.

“Stand still!” He sounded as if he were trying to speak without moving his mouth. “It’s the firefly.”

 She looked where everyone else was looking and saw... a spark? A star? Whatever it was, it outshone
even the great blaze of New House behind it. Its glow was so intense that it hurt the eyes, circling above
the bailey as if it were being spun on an invisible rope. It was hard to track, scrolling lines of brightness on
her retinas. Was it alive? Living fire enjoy-ing the mayhem it had created?

“How do you kill that thing?” a trooper muttered.

“You can’t,” Aldea mumbled, not moving his lips. “Baron says they don’t live long.”

 They didn’t need to. For no apparent reason the firefly went spiraling down to the horses, which had
trapped


186Dave Duncan
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 themselves in the corner by the servery and were plunging and kicking madly. It spun over them as if
taking aim, then plunged into the herd. A horse exploded in jets of steam and fire, and a shower of
burning flesh. Where it had been the firefly danced again. It struck at another, with similar results.

“Move!” Aldea snapped. “Slowly. Don’t run. We have to get out of here.”

 That remark needed no repeating. The smoke and heat and falling debris were becoming unbearable.
There was no air. Johanna edged in close to Frederik, who was still screaming inside his blanket, as the
whole party crept along the wall, all watching the terrible massacre of horses. After five or six had been
destroyed, the firefly seemed to tire of the game. It rose, hovered, and then circled into the servery,
straight through a wall. All the windows lit up.

The roof of the Great Hall collapsed, sending enormous clouds of sparks sailing to the stars.

 “Now!” Aldea barked, but everyone was running already. They jammed up in the postern, then let
Johanna and the man carrying Frederik go ahead. She staggered out into darkness and crisp, clean air.
There she reclaimed her son, hugging him and muttering comfort to soothe his terror.

“Come, Highness,” Aldea said. He wasn’t holding her anymore, but he was staying within grabbing
distance. “We’re still too close.”

 He and his five supporters closed in around her and shep-herded her over the grass to the road. No one
else went with them. A row of fruit trees beyond the road was lit up as if caught in a brilliant sunset.
Many people were standing there, watching the death of Fadrenschloss, although flam-ing fragments
were falling even at that distance and the trees lacked enough foliage to provide shelter.

When she reached them, she turned to stare back at the


Impossible Odds187

 disaster. The ancient tower stood within a forest of flames. Had she stayed in the foxhole, she would
have been baked like bread, even if it did not collapse, which it probably would. The whole of
Fadrenschloss was ablaze, and now more roofs were falling in, each new collapse sending fiery clouds of
sparks skyward in the night.

 The Baron must be around somewhere, and she shrank from the thought of trying to offer sympathy for
such a crushing disaster. It was fortunate, in a way, that he was so old and had no heirs.

“You swear this was not your doing?” Johanna demanded.

Aldea glanced down at her—he was a very tall man. “You saw the firefly, Your Highness.”

“And where do fireflies come from?”

He twisted his mouth in a strange sort of smile. “From conjurers, so they say.”

“Lord Volpe, perhaps?”

“Didn’t say that.”
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“I say that! And whose orders do you follow?”

“Grand Duke’s, Your Grace.” His eyes narrowed with sus-picion, perhaps just because he found her
question puzzling.Crack!Aldea said, “Huh?” and fell over.

A ragged tattoo of crossbows, a couple of cries, and six men lay on the ground, some of them sporting
bizarre quills of death. Frederik had his face in her collar, so he had not seen and would not understand if
he had. Johanna knew vaguely that she ought to be shocked, but she was numb from too many shocks.

 One of the victims was struggling to rise to his hands and knees. The Baron stepped forward with a
two-handed broadsword and struck off his head as neatly as any headsman.

“They were only obeying orders!” Johanna protested weakly.


188Dave Duncan

 “And they would have continued to obey orders!” The Baron was a wild, hatless figure, half dressed in
mismatched garments. His wispy white hair and beard stuck out in all di-rections; his eyes glowed madly
in the firelight. “They would have followed us. We must go. Vamky will have seen the fire. Go now!”

“Go where? They will be watching the roads.”

 “They have roadblocks set up,” von Fader snarled. “They were smoking you out. But no one catches
me in these woods! Manfred, bring the child. Gunter, put these bodies in the fire somewhere. Come,
Johanna, we rescued clothes that should fit you.”




                                                     III

                                          From a Check to a View

                                                     •1•

 Apanicky moth swooped around a candelabrum and came within reach of Ranter. His hand flashed out
and caught it, crushed it. “I never heard of fireflies,” he said.

“Why would you?” his ward asked wearily. “You are not a soldier.”

 She was courageous and determined and honorable, and now Bellman could add patience to her
catalogue of virtues, for this was at least the sixth time Ranter had interrupted her story. The others had
seen that she preferred to tell it in her own way and had respected her right to do so, but not Ranter.
Subtlety worked no better on him than Ringwood’s threats did.

 The windows were still dark, but morning was near. Bell-man’s eyelids felt as heavy as boots; even the
Blades looked as if they could use a rest, and Sister Trudy was limp and un-focused. Ringwood took
advantage of the break to rise and attend to some smoking candles, snuffing them and replac-ing them
with new ones.
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190Dave Duncan

 “If you were a king or a prince, Sir Ranter,” the Duchess said, “besieging a castle, your best option
would be to hire the Vamky Brotherhood. It has many secret military conju-rations. One of them is the
firefly. How could any stronghold withstand fireflies?”

Ranter said, “Oh. And that’s what shadowmen are for, too?” He was not stupid, just thoughtless. “How
do they put shad-owmen inside a castle?”

“We don’t even know how they got them into this place,” Ringwood said. “Please carry on, Your
Highness.”

 Bellman thought of being shut up in a besieged fortress haunted by shadowmen and then tried not to.
Castles had dungeons and cellars where the wraiths could lurk forever. As for a firefly, that would work
like a ferret in a rabbit war-ren, sending defenders leaping out of every window. He wondered how much
the brethren charged for their deadly services.

 “We are tired and the hour is late,” Johanna said. “I just wanted to take the chance while the Baron was
not present to explain why you must not suspect him of betraying me. Sometimes he still treats me as a
child, but that is just his way. He is very old, remember. He has lost everything. Dis-possessed, exiled,
and proclaimed a traitor after a lifetime of honorable service! I forgive his little tantrums.” She smiled. “I
have talked too much and you have listened too long. Later today I’ll tell you about our journey from
Krupina, and we can discuss how I can get back there.”

“Don’t bother,” Ranter said. “You are not going back there.”

Bellman had been waiting for something like this.

The Duchess’s smile thinned and then vanished. “You will not speak to me like that, Sir Ranter!”

 “If I have to I will. Ringwood and I are sworn to keep you safe. We won’t let you go stumbling back
into that snake pit.”


Impossible Odds191

Johanna rose to her feet, face flaming. “You will do as I say.”

 Bellman stood also. Ringwood turned from the candles. Ranter just leaned back on his chair and
smirked.

“No, you will do as we say! Our loyalty is to our King, not to you. We serve the Pirate’s Son by
keeping you safe. Didn’t Grand Master explain that?”

“Be silent, Ranter!” Ringwood said. “This is neither the time nor place.”

 “It’s as good a time as any!” his ward snapped. “Under-stand that being a duchess brought me no joy
and my hus-band is almost certainly already dead. Volpe can have Krupina so far as I am concerned.
But my son lives. I left him in a safe refuge and my first duty now is to go and re-cover him. My second is
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to see that he comes into his inher-itance, for he is either the rightful heir or already the lawful Duke. For
his sake, the traitors must die. That is my mission and you two will assist me. I will accept no argument on
that. If I must ask King Athelgar to issue you the necessary orders, then so be it!”

“Blades don’t take orders from anyone,” Ranter said be-fore Ringwood could speak. “Your baby is not
our concern. Send Bellman to fetch him if you like. We’ll ask the Pirate’s Son to grant you a small
pension and find you a safe cottage somewhere, and that will be that. The Baron and his two flunkies can
go boar hunting blindfolded if they want, but you stay here in Chivial. Incognito.”

 She turned to Ringwood as if expecting him to deal with this insubordination. Bellman wondered which
of the two he pitied more, ward or Blade, both of them bound for life to that oaf. Poor Ringwood had
been growing more and more gloomy and hangdog as her story unfolded. He must have known from the
start that he was a boy being sent on a man’s mission, but now he knew he needed an army, and what


192Dave Duncan

 army in Eurania would be willing to challenge the fearsome Vamky Brotherhood on its home ground? If
he were years older, if he had completed his Ironhall training and com-manded a team of a dozen
first-class Blades who all fenced like Sir Cedric, the odds would still be impossible. The Duchess was
deluding herself.

 Then she looked to Bellman for support, making him want to howl—in sorrow and frustration and rage.
He wished desperately that he had some comfort to give her, but everything Ranter had said was correct.
Even if her Blades personally wanted to help her with her quest, their bindings would probably force
them to block it. That was a problem for another time, when they were not all so tired. Meanwhile the
best he could do was to distract her.

“I have some questions about the Baron, Your Highness, which I’d prefer to ask while he is still absent.
These previ-ous attacks on you, after you left Fadrenschloss and before you came here, to Chivial.
Where did they occur? Were they all made by shadowmen?”

She frowned, puzzled. “One was—in Blanburg. In Brikov, Cosanza, and Château Bellçay they tried
other methods. Why?”

“You said earlier that those attacks were sent from Krupina, implying that the conjuration was being
performed in Vamky. Master of Rituals told me he had never heard of spirituality being effective at such a
distance; it’s almost al-ways confined within the octogram, as you know. Most likely somebody nearby
was responsible, he said. They might have brought a conjurement that they could activate, but someone
would have to release it close at hand.”

“You are an expert in conjury, Master Bellman?”

 “No, Your Highness. But the weather is not the same everywhere. Starkmoor can suffer a blizzard when
the sun is shining in Grandon. So how could Lord Volpe or his helpers


Impossible Odds193

 back in Vamky have known the sky was dark enough for shadowmen that night, here in Chivial? Who
suggested to you that the attacks were beingsentfrom Vamky?”
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 She hesitated before saying, “I don’t remember.” That meant she was defending the Baron. “You mean
someone’s been following us?”

No, he did not mean that. “Did you not try to cover your tracks?”

“Of course we did.”

“On your travels, how many rulers have you asked to help your cause?”

The lady had not been born to wear a coronet, but she had learned not to expect interrogation by her
own servants. She flushed. “What is the purpose of these questions?”

 “I’ll show you in just a moment, Your Grace. Believe me, they are very important. Let me rephrase the
last one. How many times did you receive a sympathetic hearing, and where?”

She flinched, confirming his suspicions. But then her doubts were suddenly directed at him, and even
Ringwood was eying him darkly.

“Who have you been talking to?” the Duchess said. “An-swer me!”

 “No one, Your Highness. It was only a guess. One thing that surprised me was how readily you
accepted the im-poster’s story when he came barging into your bedchamber in the middle of the night.”

“Master Bellman!...”She reined back her anger and continued in steadier tones. “I told you that the
Baron had warned me that very day that such a coup was possible.”

 “Yes, you did,” Bellman said unhappily. “And without his warning, how would you have reacted?
Another thing. Man-fred found a locket. The baron identified it as a conjuration. How? Did he try it on in
front of a mirror? A woman might


194Dave Duncan

do such a thing; why would a man? Does he suspect every-

thing he sees of being enchanted?”

“What are you implying?”

“You told us the Baron fancies himself as an herbalist, but that he is no conjurer.”

“He isn’t!And neither are you. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

 For a moment it seemed she would not answer that veiled accusation. “Ernst is well informed about
spiritualism,” she admitted. “He had two younger brothers in the Brotherhood. They both died on
faraway battlefields, long ago. Just be-cause he’s an aristocrat and a soldier does not mean he is
ig-norant! He lost one of the finest libraries in Krupina when his home burned. He’s a clever, educated
man. He isnota conjurer.”
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 “But someone close to him is, Your Highness,” Bellman said. “Wasn’t it curious that the coup came so
soon after you had been warned? And even more curious that the report reached you at all—via the
Baron? That the imposter’s body disappeared but the locket was conveniently torn off his neck by a
bush just as he fell? That the Baron thought to check the locket for enchantment? Who knew about
fireflies? Was that him, too? Was he the someone who has been encouraging you to believe in
long-distance conjuration? You almost ad-mitted that every time you found a ruler willing to listen to your
story, like King Athelgar, you were spiritually attacked. Coincidence? Or betrayal?”

“No!” The Grand Duchess’s shout startled Trudy, who was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

 “I am truly sorry, Your Highness,” Bellman said, truly meaning it, “but there are too many flies in the
soup. One or two I could swallow, but not so many. Someone close to you is working for your
enemies.”


Impossible Odds195

“That’s obvious,” Ranter said. “Tomorrow we’ll get the inquisitors to question all three of them—Baron,
Manfred, and Harald.”

Ringwood flashed Bellman a smile. “Well done, brother! Tell us about Manfred, please, Your
Highness.”

 “Manfred?Oh this’s ridiculous!” She spun around and stalked over to the dais, as if to mount the throne.
Then she turned again. “Manfred is devoted to the Baron, devoted! He’s worked for him all his life. He
told me his family has served the von Faders for four generations. He left his wife and—”

“And?” Ringwood prompted.

“He left his wife and family behind.” She looked around the worried faces. “But his children are
grown...”

“Harald, then?”

 She sighed and looked down at her hands. “If it has to be anyone, then it must be Harald. His father is
the Baron’s seneschal, as his father was before him, but Harald is one of many sons, all of them huge. He
was a novice in the monastery, following his older brother, Radu. Harald told his father about the plot,
and Priboi told the Baron. When Fadrenschloss burned, the fire was visible from Vamky, but the
brethren were forbidden to ride over and help. Discipline is so strict in the Order that a knight may not
even adjust his stirrup without permission. The first thing a novice does is swear absolute obedience.
Harald learned later that there had been brethren at Fadrenschloss already, blockading all the roads out,
and they had done nothing to help. They just waited, hoping to catch me. Harald was so upset that he
walked out of the monastery. He quit.”

The Ironhall men exchanged glances. “That’s allowed?” Ranter asked.

“It’s quite common,” the Duchess said. “Very few recruits make it all the way to knighthood. Once
Harald had made
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196Dave Duncan

sure all his family were safe, he came after us and caught up with us at Brikov. The Baron took him on.
He’s educated, well-spoken, and strong as a bull. I’ve rarely seen him with-out a smile on his face.” She
glared around at the accusing faces. “You think he was sent to spy on us, don’t you? Well, I don’t! The
Baron would trust him with his life.”

“Frankly, that does not seem wise at the moment, Your Grace,” Bellman said. “Did he arrive at Brikov
before or after the attack on you there?”

She hesitated, considering the implications. “Before.”

“Harald must be questioned, but we won’t need to bring in the inquisitors. If the Sister here is willing to
help and... Sister Gertrude?”

 Trudy was holding one hand against her neck as if she had frozen solid in the process of rubbing it. She
was staring fixedly across the room at a tapestry of a lutist and a danc-ing woman. So far as Bellman
could see, there was nothing wrong with the tapestry. Beyond it, on the far side of the great stairwell,
would be... the Baron’s room. And the ser-vants’ room next to it.

“Trudy?” Ringwood said. “Sister!”

“Death,” she whispered. “And fire! Fire, fire, fire!”

 The Blades jumped like crickets. Ranter bounded from his chair to the wall and grabbed a heavy
tapestry of pea-cocks and flowers as if he wanted to climb up it. Ringwood yelled, “The locket!” looking
ready to grab his ward and shake her. “Put on the locket!” Bellman was already un-locking the door.

 He peered out, resisting a temptation to draw his sword. No fire in sight. He emerged on the gallery and
blinked in the dimness. No emergency. Below him, Blades were rolling dice in a pool of candlelight, but
they had heard him and every face looked up. False alarm? Everything seemed very innocent.


Impossible Odds197

“Fire!” he yelled. “Probably deliberate.” He began run-ning around the gallery to reach the far side. “If
you see a bright white... dancing flame... don’t move! Just freeze. It’s alive.”

 A thin sliver of light showed under the Baron’s door, shin-ing through trails of smoke trickling out. He
slid to a halt. If there was a firefly in there—or even just a burning room hot enough to glow like
that—then he would die if he opened the door. The fire would explode the moment it was given air. But if
only the medicine chest had burst into flames and the Baron was still asleep, then there might just be time
to rescue him. Sir East was supposed to be in there, too, guard-ing the chest, and he would not be
asleep.

 Bellman’s momentary hesitation saved his life, because it gave him time to realize that the door itself was
about to fail. The panels were starting to glow faintly red, becoming transparent, with spreading streaks
of fire shining through. Sir Valiant was coming up the stairs at the double with three other men at his
heels. Before the wood dissolved com-pletely in a gush of ash and smoke, Bellman yelled a warn-ing and
dived into the room adjoining, just in time to escape the unbearable rush of heat. For a moment he could
see nothing except the afterimage of that ghastly brilliance, but the roar of flames was obvious now.
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Smoke bit his lungs, made him cough.

 The room seemed dark compared to the brightness out-side. It held four servant beds—just cots, not
the four-posters of gentry. Manfred lay on the floor, wearing only breeches. A window stood open.
Smoke was streaming in under the connecting door. This was no place to linger.

Shouts of alarm made him spin around. Ringwood and Ranter had just emerged from the audience room
with Grand Duke Rubin between them, wrapped in a tapestry. If neces-sary, they would throw a fold
over their ward’s head and


198Dave Duncan

 carry him out like a parcel, but they had stopped at the sight of the tiny white brilliance hovering above
the stairs. Valiant and the others must have understood Bellman’s warning, be-cause they had halted
also.

 Then the heat became too much for them. “Back!” Valiant shouted. They all turned to run—and the
firefly swooped.

 Bellman turned away in time to avoid witnessing the re-sults. He closed the door and surveyed his
immediate problem.

 Manfred was alive, with a swelling bruise on his chin and a cut on his head still oozing blood, suggesting
he had been knocked down and had struck the corner of the bed. A rope tied to the bed led over to the
open window, showing how the killer had made his escape. The trees and shrubbery of the park were
illuminated by the glare, meaning flames al-ready had broken through the roof. Where were the Yeomen
who supposedly guarded the place? Bellman could feel heat from the wall and connecting door. Quamast
House would collapse in ashes in a very few minutes.

 The window was too high to risk dropping an uncon-scious man, but he pulled up the rope and
confirmed that it had been knotted at intervals to make a crude ladder. He dragged Manfred close, tied
the free end around his chest, and heaved him up on the sill. Then he sat down, braced his feet against the
wall, and nudged Manfred out. It was fortu-nate that Manfred was small and Bellman well above
aver-age Blade size. On his first day as the Brat he had been taller than anyone in Ironhall except Master
Armorer, and he had grown meat on his bones since then. Even so, he could not have managed without
the knots, both to grip onto and to ratchet over the sill, braking the descent.

 By the time the rope went slack, his hands were cramped and he was choking in the smoke. He
scrambled out and began to climb down.


Impossible Odds199

Halfway down he pushed free and dropped the rest of the way to the lawn. He cut Manfred loose and
dragged him a safe distance from the inferno just moments before a blast of fire from the window they
had left rained debris over the ground beneath.

Bellman made sure the forester was breathing, then sprinted around to the far side of the building.
Everywhere seemed bright as day. He arrived in time to see Ringwood jump and land safely in the
outspread tapestry being held by a rescue team of Yeomen and Blades. He was the last. Ranter, Trudy,
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and the Grand Duke were all safely down al-ready.

Bellman went to the closest Blade, who happened to be Silver, and poked him in the back. “How
many?”

Silver turned and gave him a sick look. “Valiant, Yorick, East, and Clovis.”

“There’s an unconscious man around the far side. He needs a healing right away.”

Silver said, “Done!” and started shouting, no doubt glad of something to do.

 Unwilling to let their ward stay close to the inferno or be silhouetted against its light, Ringwood and
Ranter were hur-rying the Grand Duke over to a decorative gazebo. It was an ugly latticework thing
containing a bench and a marble table. The Duke flopped down on the bench and doubled over,
sobbing. Trudy was there already. Bellman joined them.

Ringwood looked a question at him and he shook his head.

“Your Highness,” he said, “I regret to inform you that Baron von Fader must be counted among the
dead. Manfred had been stunned, but he is safe and will be all right, I am sure. I saw no sign of Sir East
or of Harald, except that someone climbed down from the window on a rope. I sug-


200Dave Duncan

gest that the Watch be informed right away and every effort be made to find Harald Priboi. He should
be described as very dangerous.”

The Grand Duke straightened up and wiped his eyes with the bank of his hand. “Dangerous?Harald
dangerous?”

 “I believe we must issue that warning,” Bellman said. It did not feel right to him either, though. “He is big
and he does have military training.”

 “Do that, then. Sir Ringwood, will you, please? Warn them he does not speak Chivian.” As Ringwood
ran off, Rubin gasped a few times, as if breathing had become diffi-cult. “How did it happen?”

 Bellman told what he had seen. “I assume Manfred woke up and saw him at his foul work,” he
concluded. “I do not know how he killed the Blade on watch, but he must have done so. And King
Athelgar will certainly want to know how he climbed down a rope and ran away without the Yeomen
seeing him.”

“Conjury?” Trudy said angrily. “It is my fault! If I hadn’t been half asleep I would have sensed all that
happening. I could have given more warning.”

 “You were not asleep,” the Grand Duke said. “You saved all our lives, for if you had not been there we
should have had no warning at all. But your King was right. I do need a White Sister or two with me on
my—” He looked at Bell-man. “Do I have a quest?” he asked softly. “Will my Blades let me go back to
my son?”

Ranter was standing in the doorway, apparently intent on watching the fire, but possibly eavesdropping
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as well. Walls were cracking. The last of the roof went down with a roar. Trudy moved over to the
doorway to see better.

 Bellman sat down beside the Grand Duke on the little bench. “You still have a quest, Your Highness,” he
said qui-etly. “Now, if your Blades balk, I can talk them into it.”


Impossible Odds201

“Thank you. His Majesty will be eager to see the last of me after this.”

“I fear so.” The toll was mounting—four more guardsmen dead made six, plus three Yeomen and the
Baron made ten, and a mansion destroyed. Also a desperate killer on the loose.Good-bye, Duke, and
good riddance!

“You will come with us, or do you want to be released from your promise?”

 “I’m with you all the way, sire,” Bellman said. It was his memory of the Duchess that sealed his loyalty,
though.

Ranter wrapped an arm around Trudy and hauled her close. “You’re sort of cute,” he said.

                                                     •2•

 It was almost noon before Trudy located the Krupinese contingent, and by that time she was ready to
strangle some-one. She had been interviewed three times by teams of in-quisitors—an even worse
experience for her than most honest folk, because she sensed the snoops’ enchantment as a nauseating
stench of week-old fish. She had done battle with Mother Evangeline, who maintained that Sister
Gertrude should have called for immediate inspection of the suspect medicine chest instead of waiting
until morning, should not have stayed on in Quamast House, and should not now be refusing to answer
questions about what she had learned from or about the Grand Duke. A tour of duty on the west coast of
Nythia would be arranged to encourage her to mend her ways.

 Trudy had refused to be made scapegoat for the latest tragedy and the Fellowship’s overall
incompetence. The bat-tle had continued with Mother Tranquility, Reverend Mother


202Dave Duncan

Meadowglory, Very Reverend Mother Lettice, and other an-cients up to and including Mother
Superior. In the end Trudy had given that worthy lady very specific instructions on what she could do
with her antique robes and stupid pointed hat. As a result, Sister Gertrude was no longer Sister any-thing,
nor was she employed.

 Since even a career in cadging or turnspitting would be preferable to going home and having her brothers
tell her they had told her so years ago, she had decided to seek a po-sition with the Duke. He might be
pompous and fleshy, but he was also his own charming and admirably tough-minded wife. That personal
ambiguity seemed an excellent arrange-ment, offering endless possibilities. The poor woman could
certainly use Trudy’s talents. Herconsiderabletalents. No one had ever accused Gertrude of modesty,
especially her brothers, and she had always known she far outshone her classmates at Oakendown, but
one of the bleating crones that morning had let slip just how high she scored on the Sis-ters’ rating. It had
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surprised even her.

 Besides, the Duke-Duchess was now accompanied by two shiny new-minted Blades and the intriguing
Bellman, who would not be distracted by ward problems as Blades were. A long journey with that
threesome should prove educational.

 Trudy’s first problem was that she was no longer author-ized to dress as a White Sister and was
required to leave the palace forthwith. Fortunately those edicts cancelled out, be-cause she owned no
alternative costume. What could they do about that?

 The second problem was finding the ducal person. Qua-mast House was a stinking ruin, still oozing
smoke. The Krupinese had been moved to parts unknown and were being held incommunicado, no
doubt with inquisitor trou-bles of their own—her inquiries were met with blank stares or smiles of
apology, although she did learn that her quarry


Impossible Odds203

 was still within the Nocare Palace complex. Searching that would be a lifelong task without something to
go on, but she had lots to go on. Although the Duke’s seeming was not es-pecially detectable, a Blade’s
glow was, and Blades in large numbers glowed brighter still. Inquisitors likewise showed up well when
they swarmed, or clotted, or whatever the cor-rect expression was.

 Even so, she walked the corridors for an hour before she detected a constellation of Blades. Homing in
on that spiri-tual signal, she climbed two flights of stairs to an area she had never visited before and there
found a room full of them, a dozen or so sitting around a table rolling dice. They looked her over with
interest, as Blades always did. The one who rose and came to the door to speak with her was Sir
Tancred, the Deputy Commander, which showed how seriously the Krupinese affair was now regarded
around Nocare.

He was too old for her, and married, but he had a lovely smile. “A pleasant surprise, Sister Gertrude.
How may I help you?”

 “What?” Baskets of rolls and cheese on the table were shouting reminders that she had not eaten all day.
“Oh—I came to see the Grand Duke.”

“May I ask on whose business?”

“His business. I work for him now. Didn’t you know?”

 That was hardly a fair question when the Grand Duke himself did not, but it worked. Tancred led her to
an inner room, where Mother Violet was reading poetry to Mother Giselle. Trudy wondered how they
could stand the reek of inquisitor, for the snoops must have been using the place very recently. Perhaps
these two could not detect that resid-ual taint. They looked up suspiciously as Trudy’s cheerful smile
went by, but they obviously had not yet heard of her dismissal.

Tancred rapped on another door. A moment later it was


204Dave Duncan
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 opened by Bellman, looking extremely dapper in a gold and green jerkin, with cap, hose, and short cape
in darker green. His eyes lit up gratifyingly at the sight of her.

 “There has been a mixup,” Trudy explained hastily. “The Guard has not yet been informed that I work
for the Duke now.”

“Paperwork takes forever here!” Bellman said. “I’m sure I told Sir Florian. His Highness has been
waiting for you. Come in.”

 “In” was yet another anteroom, empty of people this time, but the far door did lead into the ducal
presence. A typical palace bedroom of tennis court size, with windows on two walls, a garderobe door
in one corner, and too much flesh tint on the wall tapestries and ceiling frescoes, had been fur-nished with
a long table and high-backed, gilded chairs to make a council chamber.

 The first thing she noted was food on the near end of the table. A heap of clothes occupied the other,
and Manfred sat unobtrusively near the middle, munching a bread roll and a chicken leg, wearing the
bemused look of someone who had recently been through a healing. She could sense it on him. The
Grand Duke stood in a window embrasure, staring out. Ringwood, in crisp new blue and gray, was
buckling a shoe. Ranter, stripped to his shirt and hose, was pulling yet more garments from a bag.
Clothes were heaped everywhere.

She went to the Duke and curtsied. He . . . yes, it had to behewhen they had a beard. They turned his
head and smiled at her.

“No ill effects I hope, Sister?”

“None, Your Highness. You wanted to hire a sniffer? I can recommend myself highly.”

“Indeed I do.” His face looked tired and worried, even baggier than usual. “At least, I think I do. In fact
your ar-rival is very timely, because we have just seen off the in-


Impossible Odds205

 quisitors and the tailors and now I must decide what to do next. I have an audience with His Majesty
very shortly, so the matter is urgent. If Sir Ranter is going to carry out his threat and lock me up in a cell
in a swamp somewhere, then no, I don’t require your services. I hope I will, though.” His smile was
smarmy, nothing like his wife’s. “Mother Supe-rior has agreed to lend me your services?”

At last sight, Mother Superior had been fain to swoon, but the details were unimportant.

“I am a free agent.”

 Grand Duke Rubin noticed her evasion but did not waste time on it. “Your professional skills will be
invaluable, of course, and I would enjoy having another woman in my party.” Unconsciously, he fingered
his beard.

“Are you nearly done, Sir Ringwood?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I am, sire. Ranter isn’t.”
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Trudy looked around just as Ranter hauled off his shirt and then pretended to notice her for the first time.
He puffed up his chest. “Oh, beg pardon, Sister! I hope I don’t shock you.”

 “Not at all,” she said. “I used to have a sheepdog with a coat like that.” Had she been honest, she would
have said his glow was blinding and the scar over his heart shone like the sun, but Ranter needed no
encouragement.

 “Make yourself respectable!” the Grand Duke snapped, leaving the window. “Gentlemen, and you also,
Sister. This morning I lost my closest friend. He was a second father to me, as you know, or grandfather,
and also my most trusty councillor. I rely on your advice now, al-though I intend to make the final
decisions myself.” That was an obvious slap at Ranter. “Always tell me what you truly believe, not what
you think I want to hear.” He pulled a chair nearer to the door, but behind it, where he would not be
visible from the anteroom.


206Dave Duncan

 Ringwood looked fatally worried. He was going to be the one who made the decision, however much
the Grand Duke and Ranter might pretend otherwise. If Ringwood insisted that Rubin stay in Chivial, his
views would almost certainly carry the day. Whichever way he decided, he might regret his choice for the
rest of his life. He caught Trudy’s eye and smiled wanly. “Have you eaten, Sister?”

“Not today.” Grateful that somebody had thought to ask, she said, “Nice outfit. I like your hose.”

 Apparently this was not a judicious compliment to offer a young man. Ringwood blushed scarlet and
turned his atten-tion to the food, taking a platter and loading a whole roast duck on it. If men didn’t want
their legs admired, why did they flaunt them so?

 “Please help yourselves!” the Grand Duke said. “We have no time for formality. One thing I have
learned on the road is to eat whenever I can.”

They all gathered around the table. Still buttoning his doublet, Ranter sat himself next to Trudy.

“Don’t you know men with hairy chests make the best lovers?” he asked in a coarse whisper.

“Not in my experience.” True! There were no lovers in her experience. She reached for the bread
basket and pulled out her belt knife to attack the butter.

“Counselors!” The voice was that of Grand Duchess Jo-hanna. She had removed the locket and all the
men perked up. “I am sure His Majesty is furious at these new deaths. I fully expect him to evict me from
his realm as fast as possi-ble. Assuming this will be my last audience, what do I ask of him?”

 Trudy glanced around at all the worried, drawn faces. None of them had slept. Without the seeming,
Johanna looked much more exhausted than before. She was also mourning a lost friend.


Impossible Odds207

 “I am sure the Baron was a wonderful counselor.” Bell-man’s lie clanged like an iron bell in Trudy’s
ears, shocking her, but no one else seemed to notice. “Your Highness will feel his loss forever. We,
though, need some additional in-formation if our advice is to have any merit. We know noth-ing about
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your adventures between the fall of Fadrenschloss and your arrival in Chivial. Where else were you
attacked and how? Where is your son, the Marquis? Who—”

“I will not tell you where Frederik is,” she said, flashing anger at him. “He is safe. Let that be sufficient.
Nor have I time to relate an adventure saga.”

Bellman laid big swordsman hands on the table and stared down at them. “As I am ignorant of the
dangers involved, I regret that I am unable to advise Your Grace.”

She did not like that. “Very quickly, then. The Baron knows the forest around Fadrenschloss as no
one—”

 Knuckles rapped on the outer door. Murmuring an apol-ogy, Bellman rose and went out, closing the
anteroom door behind him. In a moment he returned, leaving it open again.

 “The Guard is ready to escort you to the audience, Your Grace. I asked for more time, but they cannot
allow us much.”

Trudy started eating even faster, although no one had said she would be going to any audiences.

 Johanna nodded, thin-lipped. “We escaped the brethren’s attempts to catch us, with Manfred’s aid.”
She added some-thing in a foreign tongue for Manfred, who had heard his name mentioned. “And
another of the Baron’s men, Bogdan. We made our way up into the hills, to a place called Brikov, the
seat of Count János. Officially we were still in Krupina, but few Grand Dukes have seriously tried to
impose their rule in those mountains. János made us welcome because he is a lifelong friend of Ernst von
Fader. That was where Har-ald caught up with us. We seemed to be safe there, but after


208Dave Duncan

 three days the brethren struck at us. The house where we had been given sanctuary was suddenly
invaded by vermin— rats, mice, flies, fleas, spiders, roaches, snakes, centipedes. They came in
everywhere, under the doors, down the chim-ney, through the thatch, and they seemed to multiply while
we watched. We were driven out.”

 Snakes and spiders, six- or four-legged things never both-ered Trudy, butcentipedes! Yug! Did
everyone have a weak-ness like that, a private horror?

 “The Baron told me,” Johanna said, “that this was a weapon the brethren had used to good effect
decades ago, in his own campaigning days. They called it a ‘swarming,’ and it will turn a military camp
into madness. The only cure is to burn down the infected buildings.”

“But it isn’t really dangerous?” Ranter said. “Not like shadowmen?”

 “It can be if you have enemies waiting for you outside. Snakes can be dangerous. Could you sleep if
your bedding and pillow were infested with creepy things? We were for-tunate that only one house was
struck, not the whole settle-ment. It was a warning, or so we took it. Count János begged us to stay, but
not convincingly, and we wanted to bring no more trouble upon him.

 “From Brikov we went by secret ways through the mountains to Blanburg, for the Prince there is a
cousin of Rubin’s. It was at Blanburg that the first shadowmen attack came. Bogdan was killed, also four
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of the Prince’s guards. Again we fled. We visited many, many places, too many to list now. At Cosanza,
in Ritizzia, and at the Château Bel-lçay in Isilond, we were again attacked by swarmings. As Master
Bellman guessed yesterday, the attacks seemed to come whenever I gained a sympathetic hearing. So
we were being betrayed. Harald would not have needed to know the details, even. Our faces would
have told him.”


Impossible Odds209

Her Highness sighed. “I cannot imagine why we did not suspect treachery!”

 Trudy could. The traitor had convinced the Baron, the Baron had been too old to let facts change his
thinking, and Johanna had trusted him too blindly. Bellman had seen that right away.

 “There are still too many loose ends,” Bellman said. “Even if Harald is working for the usurper, the
attacks them-selves do not make sense.” He was interrupted by more knocking and went to answer it.

 Ranter spoke up, with his mouth full. “Why’d you go around pretending to be your husband? You got
looks and a nice body. You ought to be able to twist men ’round your lit-tle finger.”

 Trudy considered stunning him with a wine bottle. On the far side of the table, Ringwood closed his eyes
and shud-dered.

“But a woman is accorded much less respect than a man,” the Grand Duchess said straight-faced.

Ranter shrugged. “Suppose so.”

“And I will have more of it from you, Sir Ranter, or you will sing for your supper.”

“Just trying to help,” Ranter said sullenly. “I know I say the wrong thing oftentimes, Your Highness.
Don’t mean to give offense. I’ve tried to change, but it never helps.”

“Try harder!”

 He should start by learning to think before he opened his mouth. Trudy could see a dozen reasons why
the Duchess had chosen to take advantage of the locket. A sovereign would re-ceive a better hearing
than a lowborn consort. Lord Volpe’s as-sassins might hesitate to kill a head of state, whose death
would attract much attention. Women’s clothes put them at a horrible disadvantage on horseback—the
White Sisters regu-larly masqueraded as men when they traveled. A woman wan-


210Dave Duncan

dering around without her husband was a social pariah, any-way. It was indecent behavior.

She said, “May I ask Your Grace what Manfred was able to tell you about the Baron’s death?”

 “Nothing,” the Duchess said. “He was asleep. He heard strange noises, started to get out of bed, and
the next thing he knew he was in the elementary, being healed. His as-sailant must have been Harald.
Anyone else would have had to break in, and the house was tightly guarded. The Blades were watching
the doors.”
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But even Blades could die. Sir East had been guarding the suspect box in the next room.

Bellman ran in and resumed his seat, this time closing the inner door. “Highness, we have only a few
minutes. Please tell us what you know of the present situation in Krupina. Has Lord Volpe proclaimed
himself duke yet?”

 Trudy watched in fascination as the Duchess wrung her hands. Real people actually did that? Not just
characters in romances?

 “It is very hard to find anyone who has ever even heard of Krupina, let alone had recent news of it.
Births, marriages, and deaths in the ducal family attract some attention in aris-tocratic circles, and that is
all. The latest word I had was no word. I must assume that Volpe continues to masquerade as my
husband and the rest of the world sees nothing wrong. That is why I have had so much trouble being
believed.”

 She was meeting that problem again now. Trudy watched the men exchange glances. The Duchess was
telling no lies, but she could be honestly mistaken in her story.

 “The murders confirm your tale, Your Highness,” Bell-man said, and only a faint doubt shadowed his
words. “Someone is persistently trying to kill you, cutting down by-standers like thistles. But with all
respect, you offer no proof that Lord Volpe is the culprit!”


Impossible Odds211

 “He has the motive!” Johanna said hotly. “He has the means, for he controls the conjurers who made the
locket. Vamky men were blockading Fadrenschloss when it burned. Are you suggesting that my husband
tried to kill his own son? Explain how he obtained the conjurements or the knights who set up roadblocks
around Fadrenschloss!”

Bellman opened his mouth, and then a thunderous knock on the outer door stopped whatever he had
been about to say.

 “Your Highness asked my counsel,” he said quickly. “I think you are in grave and immediate danger.
The swarm-ings, as you called them, were not designed to kill you, but merely to deny you help from
those who might have supported you. They also served to drive you far, far away from Krupina, and I
suppose Chivial was always a logical destination for you, the realm of your husband’s cousin. There is
nowhere farther for you to go. Now, suddenly, the traitor has turned vicious and people are dying again.
In one sense this is encouraging for you, because if your hus-band and son were both dead, you
would—pardon my put-ting this so crudely—you would be much less important. It does seem that the
chase has ended, you cannot run far-ther, so it is time for the kill, and the killer escaped last night. We
must assume he still has some devilish conjura-tions to use.”

Again the Guard thundered a summons.

“Put the locket on, please,” Bellman said. “My counsel is that you disappear immediately, this very day.
Ask His Majesty for funds and a trusty guide who can see you safely aboard a ship. Your first priority
must be to elude Harald. We are fortunate that he cannot speak the language and has no accomplices.”

That was not quite a lie, but Trudy sensed reservations. TheythoughtHarald could not speak Chivian and
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he had no accomplicesthat they knew of.


212Dave Duncan

Hooking the amulet around her neck, Johanna became Rubin again. He stood up, so everyone else did.

Ringwood was pale but happy. “I agree with Bellman, Your Highness. We sail away.”

Ranter sneered. “Sail away where? If you’re planning to run home to unmask Volpe or whoever is
behind the killings, then you’re out of your minds. All of you are. If you’re going to hide, then hide here in
Chivial where the King’s on your side.”

 “Cowards’ thinking!” Ringwood said. “Caution is good, but Blades aren’t jailers. If the Guard thought
that way it would keep the King locked up in a dungeon.”

The door opened. Sir Tancred peered in, furious. “His Majesty is on his way to the audience chamber,
Your Highness.”

“Coming!” the Duke said. “You are outvoted, Sir Ranter.” He hurried out with his two Blades at his
heels.

Bellman perched on the edge of the table and said, “Whoof!” His face could never be called handsome,
but his smile was honest and reliable.

“Whoof to you,” Trudy retorted.

“Manfred, this is Trudy. Trudy, this is Manfred.”

The wizened forester smiled and muttered,“Viel Glück!”

 “Good chance to you,” she responded. “I think you’re right,” she told Bellman. “We must go, but where
to?”

 “To wherever she left her son.” He grimaced. “We need to know if the kid’s really safe or if the killers
found him after she left.”

Trudy found that possibility too nasty to think about, but poor Johanna must be thinking of little else. “I
need clothes. Who negotiates wages around here?”

 Bellman laughed and reached for the pouch on his belt. “Nobody. We don’t talk about money at all. I
think Her Nibs knows nothing about it and is terrified of the subject. She did


Impossible Odds213

give me a purse for expenses, but most of her funds were in the Baron’s keeping and got melted this
morning. How much do you need?”

“Who paid the tailors?”
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“Nobody yet. We haven’t finished choosing. ’Sides, Grand Duchesses are notorious for skipping town.
Here, take the lot and give me back what’s left.” He handed her his purse. “Another thing, Sister...”

“I’m not a sister. I told Mother Superior to climb a tall tree and lay eggs.”

 He smiled. “Interesting image. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life in
Krupina. We may all die there, of course, but I’m not bound like the Blades. Whether this thing has a
happy ending and Her Nibs is restored to the bosom of her dear husband or everything falls apart, I
intend to come home to Chivial in a year or two. I’ll be happy to escort you if you feel the same.”

“That’s reassuring. Thank you.”Veryreassuring. She hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. And Bellman had
no ulte-rior motives that she could detect.

Then she sensed a glow and looked to the anteroom. Bell-man took her cue and stood up.

 A distinctive mustache peered in from the corridor. See-ing that he was noticed, its owner followed it in
and strolled toward them. Trudy had been warned about the notorious Sir Hazard on her first day in the
palace. He knew more scandal than the Dark Chamber, the Sisters said.

 “Good chance to all!” he proclaimed. “I hear you are leaving.” That was a lie to start with. He was
fishing. “Head-ing home to Krupina?”

“Skyrria for the bear hunting,” Bellman said. “What real news have you heard?”

“I have heard some you will findmostinteresting.” He eyed Trudy speculatively. “Am I telling the truth,
Sister?”


214Dave Duncan

“Why ask me?” she said, angry that he had put her on the defensive so easily.

 “Because most Sisters can truth-sound as well as inquisi-tors and you are the first eleventh-rank Sister to
come out of Oakendown in forty-two years. Now, do I lie to you?”

“Keep talking.” How dare he know what she had learned only an hour ago! Forty-two years, mm? She
was also annoyed to see that Bellman had edged around behind Hazard so he could make faces at her
over the smaller man’s hat.

“I might be prepared to trade,” the Blade said.

“Trade for what?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t.

He shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “Maybe a hint or two on the Trudy Stakes?”

 “Manners, Sir Blade!”Grin vanished, Bellman gripped the back of Hazard’s neck, putting his thumb
threateningly on the pressure point below the ear.

 Hazard ignored him. “Well, if you don’t want to trade, sweet Sister, you don’t have to trade. Pity. It is
important news. Truly, Trudy.” He was not lying. “How about a short list? The top three contenders,
maybe? One-third my win-nings at no risk, pay half my losses if you change your mind at the last minute.”
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 Now Trudy knew what the Trudy Stakes were and felt her face blush madly. “Who are the favorites?”
she asked, curi-ous in spite of herself.

Hazard leered. Bellman released him with a shrug.

“Ansel, Hector, and Bloodhand.”

“Bloodhand?That blowhard?” Trudy made a noise not approved in Oakendown. “I assure you that it
will be none of those three.” She was going away, or Ansel would cer-tainly have been in the running.

“Sir Silver?” Hazard asked quickly.

“No comment.”


Impossible Odds215

He chuckled. “And when do you anticipate awarding the prize?”

Behind Hazard’s back, Bellman raised a clenched fist, looking to Trudy for a signal to use it.

“Soon. I have narrowed the field to a short list.”

 Hazard rubbed his hands. “Thank you, thank you! Do re-member I am available if you decide to put
skill ahead of youth.”

“The news?” Bellman demanded.

The Blade turned to him, eager to spread his latest scan-dal. “You know that even a bonfire as hot as
Quamast can-not destroy bones. And you know that five men died there—four Blades and the Baron?
Wrong! The coroner’s men have turned up six skulls. Who was the sixth, mm?”

It had to be Harald, didn’t it? Who else could it be?

 “I don’t know,” Bellman said coldly. “I can’t see how an intruder could have sneaked in through the
Yeomen cordon, but then I couldn’t see how Harald had escaped unseen. Was he found in the same
area as the Baron?”

“That I do not know.”

“I expect the King will tell His Highness. Have you any new news?”

 Hazard pretended to take that question as an insult and huffed off, no doubt eager to hedge his bets on
the Trudy Stakes.

Trudy had lost all appetite for lunch. “But if Harald was not the traitor, who was?” Everything connected
with the Krupinese seemed absurdly obscure.

 Bellman sighed. “You tell me. The inside and outside of that suite were being watched. If an intruder flew
in or made himself invisible or disguised himself as a bat, you would have sensed that much spirituality,
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wouldn’t you?”

“Likely.”

“Then the bones were Harald’s. He arranged the rope for


216Dave Duncan

his escape and killed himself loosing the firefly. That would

be possible, wouldn’t it?”

“I’d think so.”

“Or perhaps Sir East killed him, but too late. I’ll ask Grand Wizard’s opinion. I have other things to ask
him for Ringwood. Can you direct me?”

“I’ll take you there,” Trudy said. “I must find a dress-maker.”

 Manfred was working his few remaining teeth, frugally scavenging the duck that Ringwood had not had
time to fin-ish. Bellman turned to him and indicated in mime that he wanted the forester to stay and guard
the clothes. The old man grinned and nodded, gesturing that he would continue to look after the food,
too.

 Bellman offered Trudy his arm and they went out together. She must not let Hazard see her like that,
although she would be long gone from Nocare before the Trudy Stakes were de-cided. The winner
would not be a member of the Guard. Even odds he would not even be a Blade.

                                                     •3•

 The open road! With a strong horse between his thighs andBad Newsslung at his saddle, Sir Ringwood,
Commander of the Grand Duchess’s Guard, was thundering along a country trail and loving every minute
of it. There had been trouble and there would be more trouble, lots of it. One day he would die, because
everybody died, and it might be soon in his case, but today he was alive and young, and life was very
sweet. Ahead of him the trail wound through the ripening late-summer countryside. It carried little traffic,
which was why they had chosen it, but a few minutes ago their cavalcade


Impossible Odds217

 had swept past a tinker and a skinny boy leading a donkey. Ringwood’s eyes had prickled as hard as
the poor man’s would when the dust settled on him.It’s me, Dad! I’m a man now, agentleman, and what
I’m doing is important.

 He was doing it quite well so far, he thought. Better than most people had expected of him, he
suspected. Certainly better than he had feared. It could not last, of course. He was good enough with a
sword, but he lacked all the strategy training Blades normally received. Sooner or later he would make
some monumental blunder.

The Grand Duke rode at his left, although now he was merely Sir John Schale and would revert to being
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Mistress Johanna Schale as soon as they got rid of their guide. Their guide, riding on Johanna’s far side,
was Sir Rivers, recently released from the Guard and hired by Leader to help out the greenhorns. No
doubt he was competent and would see the Krupinese party safely to Brimiarde and aboard a ship, but
there was something about Rivers that rankled. Although he was not such an all-over scrag as Ranter, he
was smarter, so the way he put people’s backs up seemed more deliberate.

Behind them rode Ranter and Trudy, who was a surpris-ingly convincing boy, and then Manfred, who
was obviously an expert on horses.Must learn from him.Bellman was bringing up the rear, leading a pair
of sumpters.Remember to spell him off.Remember, too, not to let Ranter monopo-lize the best company.
And here came a chance, for the trail ahead narrowed to cross a cornfield; unkind to trample the crops
by riding three abreast.

Ringwood dropped back. “Take over the string from Bell-man, please, Sir Ranter,” he said sweetly.

Ranter scowled and reined back without a word, which was both relief and surprise.

Ringwood smirked at his new companion. “That’s better. Much better!”


218Dave Duncan

“Are you telling me or asking me?” Trudy said.

“Telling you. I wouldn’t dare ask.”He won a smile!“I just can’t tell you how happy I am to have you with
us, Sister. You saved our lives last night, I’m sure, and you will again. Or I’ll come back and haunt you!”

 “Don’t call me Sister,” she said. “And yes, you are a wel-come change. What is it about Ranter? He
seems to have wasps in his doublet all the time.”

 “Ranter is always the lowest bat in the cave. He’s sore be-cause he had older brothers who dumped him
in Ironhall to cut him out of the inheritance. It wasn’t very fair.” Ringwood did not want to talk about
Ranter.

“I had older brothers, too. I don’t go around irking peo-ple, do I?”

He gave her a soulful look. “Oh,no,my lady!” Big sigh. “Quite thereverse, my lady!”

“Idiot!” She was amused! She filled that male jerkin in in-teresting ways.

“Yes, my lady.” Be businesslike, now. Stop smirking like an idiot. Manly. “I do have a query, my—”

“Call me True.”

 “Yes, True! My friends call me Ringworm and I hate it. In Brimiarde we’re going to be conjured to
speak Fitainish and probably Isilondian. I just wondered... I know some Sis-ters can’t stand conjuration.
Will you be all right?”

“I’ll tell you when the time comes and I know what it smells like.”

“Is that true, True? Do you smell spirits, sniff them?”
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 She had a lovely smile. Her face was not remarkable nor-mally, but her smile made him think of stars
and blossoms and violins. “Depends on the conjuration and the sniffer. I can smell an inquisitor at fifty
paces. Like bad fish.”

“How about Blades?” he asked carefully.

“For me Blades glow.”


Impossible Odds219

“Really?”

“Really,” she said.

“You can see us in the dark?”

“Certainly. Ranter’s pale yellow. You’re sort of bronze.”

She was teasing him. She must see him as a mere boy compared to Ranter. Ranter had muscles and fur
on his chest—as he had been careful to show her that morning.

“Could be handy if you ever wanted to read in . . .” Oh,horrors! “. . . bed.”

Why, why, whyhad he said that?

“I doubt if you’d be bright enough unless you took all your clothes off.”

 “Happy to oblige,” he said quickly, but it was no good. She had done it to him again. What sort of
swordsmanblushed?

 They spent two nights at the home of Sir Martin, another former guardsman. He had married so well that
he owned two villages, but both he and his fox-faced wife were dis-creet, asking no questions. A royal
courier caught up with them there and delivered passports, bankers’ drafts, and let-ters of introduction
that the King had promised Johanna. Most of the documents were genuine, but some were Dark
Chamber forgeries. Kings were handy friends to have.

 The next day they reached Brimiarde and put up at the Sign of the Turtle, which just happened to be run
by another former guardsman, Sir Panther. Brimiarde’s elementaries had a reputation for language
conjuration, as would be ex-pected in a major port. Sir Rivers handled the negotiations, with Bellman
watching, and successfully haggled one group of brothers into including Bohakian at no extra charge.
Trudy declined Bohakian and Isilondian, accepting only Fi-tainish, but even that put her to bed for two
days with headache and nausea.


220Dave Duncan

Then everyone could speak with Manfred and include him in the group. He turned out to be taciturn,
with a cyni-cal view of the world and a dry sense of humor. He mourned the Baron deeply, and admitted
he was happy to be going home to his wife and family.
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 By good chance a suitable ship was in port, a squat little cog namedConquerorthat specialized in
shuttling back and forth across the Straits and had facilities for passengers. As soon as terms were
agreed and entered in the log, with Bell-man’s signature alongside Captain Howie’s, Sir Rivers had
completed his mission and could ride off with good wishes ringing in his ears. He did, but no one was
really sorry to see him go. Trudy just wished he had taken Ranter with him. Ranter fancied himself as
front runner in the Trudy Stakes. He was certainly trying hardest. Very trying.

 Conquerorneeded another four days to finish loading her cargo of wool, pickled fish, and cider. After
that the weather was reluctant to let her go, but one morning the sun rose in a clear sky and the summons
came. Six men left the Turtle; four men and two women boarded the ship.

                                                     •4•

It is wonderful to be a woman again!” the Grand Duchess announced dramatically.

 Trudy was not so sure. The two of them were standing on the aft castle near the helmsman, staying out
of the way of the crew as Captain Howie bellowed orders through a speak-ing trumpet.Conquerorleaned
before the wind, heading for open sea. Landward the view was spectacular, with hills showing the golden
tints of harvest and morning sun gleam-ing on the roofs of Brimiarde, but the ship itself was


Impossible Odds221

 cramped and shabby and stinky, as Sir Panther had promised them it would be; all ships were. With
luck they would reach Isilond in a couple of days; without it they might take weeks, or drown. Every
sailor wore at least one good-luck charm to rattle Trudy’s teeth whenever he came close; she wondered
if she would ever be able to sleep in the midst of so much spirituality.

“You have been deprived of that pleasure much longer than I have,” Trudy said tactfully.

 Grand Duchess Johanna had good reason to celebrate her true appearance. She was a spectacularly
feminine woman, slender and golden, even if sorrows had shadowed the fine-cut lines of her face. With
the wind tugging her burgundy gown tight over her breasts and often whipping up the hem to reveal her
ankles and calves, she was a shipping hazard. Captain Howie and the helmsman could not keep their
eyes off her. At the far side of the deck, Bellman, Ringwood, Ranter, and Manfred were all leaning on
the rail, but they had their backs to it so they could savor the view in this di-rection.

Trudy secretly preferred the freedom of being a man. Shelookedlike a man. No classical aristocratic
beauty she, just a big-boned country wench with too much jaw and not nearly enough nose. Years of
milking cows as a child had given her oversized hands and forearms like a blacksmith’s. The Mothers at
Oakendown had always been after her to keep her elbows in and stop walking as if she were wearing
boots.

 Johanna would probably have made a good White Sister, because an eye for people was usually a good
clue to sensi-tivity. She caught Trudy’s reservation and looked quizzically at her. “You have another
freedom, one that I lack.”

“I do?”

“You can let the moths circle your flame. I am a married
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222Dave Duncan

woman and must behave as one.” She was almost certainly a widow, but no one said that.

“I just wish my flame burned as brightly as yours,” Trudy said.

 “Nonsense! It is fortunate that my Blades’ bindings force them to behave, or they would be at each
other’s throats over you. I would be down to one bodyguard.” Undertones of de-ceit jangled like bells.
Johanna was after something.

 “With respect, mistress, I believe you are mistaken. They only notice me when you are hidden by your
locket.”

“Oh, no. I have seen how they look at you.” Johanna chuckled, pretending to be playful, which she was
not. “Leaving Manfred out of consideration, how do you rank the others?”

“For looks? Ringwood is the best looking. No argument. Then Ranter. Bellman’s jaw’s too big.”

“I would agree with that ranking.”Clang!A lie.

 “Below the neck,” Trudy said, knowing she would never shock Johanna as she so often managed to
shock Ringwood, “the reverse. Ringwood’s a stripling, Ranter’s much too meaty, but Bellman’s about
perfect, wouldn’t you say?”

 “Perhaps,” Johanna sighed, love elementals caroling like larks. “But as enjoyable company? Poor Ranter
would come last on any woman’s list, and most men’s, too, I fear. Ring-wood can be witty, but he lacks
confidence. Bellman? Do you find him amusing?”

“Dependable.”

“Is that a fault?”

“Dependable at twenty will be a bore at thirty.”

“Shame! Cynic!” The Duchess’s laugh tolled Trudy’s alarm bell again. “And what do you care what he
will be like at thirty? We are talking flirting, not marriage.”

“We women must be practical. How do we rank their fi-nancial prospects?”


Impossible Odds223

Johanna sighed. “None of them has any real prospects at all. Ranter and Ringwood are bound to a
penniless exile, so even their lives are at risk. Bellman has a much better chance of being alive a year from
now than they do. He has consid-erable talent. He should do well in the world.”

Now Trudy saw the problem clearly. “But he is so homely.”

 “Not at all. Bellman may not be strictly handsome, but there is a rugged strength to his features.” No
clangers. The love elementals soared to a crescendo.
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Bellman was bewitched by her, and she knew it. Just what did she think Trudy could do about that?
Bellman was not the type to be distracted by a heifer like her throwing herself in his path with a dahlia in
her teeth. He had his heart set on Johanna, and Johanna’s own response was driving her close to panic.

Crossing the bar,Conquerorbegan to roll and pitch. By the next day she was bucking like a mad horse,
with the wind still rising and the largest swells coming aboard amidships, washing through the waist. The
world was gray, filled with mist and spume-flecked waves. Bellman, Manfred, and the Duchess had
disappeared below to the cabins. At least a third of the crew hung over the rail on the forecastle.

 Trudy was gratified to discover that she was quite im-mune to this fashionable distemper. She wrapped
herself up warmly and stayed on the aft castle, where the air was at least fresh, even if present in
excessive amounts. Unfortu-nately Blades were immune to anything, and guarding their ward at sea did
not require two of them. Ranter had Trudy to himself.

 “Your body really excites me,” was one of his better lines, although “Girls can never resist Blades,”
came close. “Blades make the best lovers,” was reputedly true, if you believed


224Dave Duncan

Blades. And, “You know you cannot refuse me much longer,” was horribly credible. Even in oilskins,
Blades glowed for her, and she kept remembering how he had blazed without his shirt. If she leaned
back against the rail he stood in front of her, cutting her off from the rest of the ship. If she faced the sea
he put an arm around her and squeezed.

“Is your Leader feeling seasick?” she asked, meaning,I wish you were.

“No, he’s looking after Her Nibs.”

 Trudy already knew where Ringwood was, because she was standing directly above the poky cabin the
two women shared. Ringwood and his ward were certainly not doing what Ranter had in mind, not while
the Duchess remained the bright green color she had been an hour ago.

“So he’s busy,” Ranter added. “Me ’n’ you can go down to our cabin and not be interrupted.”

“Why does he have to stay with her? No one’s going to hurt her here.”

Ranter scowled. “He holds the bucket. She might choke.”

“I didn’t know Blades were nurses.”

“For our wards we’re anything we have to be. For pretty girls we’re great lovers.”

She hoped desperately that help would arrive soon. Bellman would intervene if he saw what was going
on, but Bellman was prostrate, too. The sailors would not intrude on a Blade.

“Sir Ranter, it is midmorning in a howling gale. I am not in the mood for romance.”

“Come downstairs with me and I’ll put you in the mood real quick, I promise. You’ll love it. The girls in
Brimiarde all said how good I was.”
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“No!”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He was genuinely puzzled by her refusal.

“Yes I do. I’m a farm girl.”


Impossible Odds225

“There’s hay in my mattress.”

For Ranter, that was a very good line indeed, and she laughed.

Error! He leered. “Then you agree?”

There were no love spirits caroling around Ranter. Red flames of lust, yes.

“I need time to think about it.”

“Let me help.” He tried to kiss her.

 She doubled over backward to avoid him. She considered screaming. She was starting to wonder if this
fight was worth the effort—give up, let him do it, and maybe he’d leave her alone for a while. But that
was just the binding conjuration eating away at her resistance. Next time surren-der would be even
easier, and in a couple of days she’d come running if he wiggled an eyebrow at her. No woman ever
could resist a bound Blade. Why else would men con-sent to be bound? Why struggle?

Ringwood! His glow had moved, left the cabin.

“Stop!” she said. “Your Leader’s coming.”

 And so he did, emerging from the hatch and staggering across the deck in the teeth of the gale. Ranter’s
scowl should have hurled him overboard all by itself.

Ringwood grabbed the rail. “Take over for a while, brother. I need a break.”

Ranter stamped away, cursing into the wind.

“Good chance,” Trudy said with feeling. She was shaking. About one more minute would have done it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She turned away, looked out at the waves.

“Tell me. Please, True?”

“Nothing.”

 He laid a hand on hers where she held the rail. Nothing like Ranter’s savage hug for him and no fires of
lust, either. Not even birdsong, just a very distant, plaintive note like the
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226Dave Duncan

cry of a curlew on a moor. “Is there anything I can do?” His

hand was warm on hers.

“Ranter was coming on a bit strong.”

Ringwood thumped his spare fist on the rail. “I’m sorry, True! I had him under control in Brimiarde, but I
have no hold over him out here.”

“Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t know I could take care of myself, I’d have stayed up a tree in
Oakendown. There’s worse around than Ranter.”

“But most men will take no for an answer. No woman can resist a Blade.”

 She thought she’d done very well these last few days, even if she had come to the end of her tether now.
“That’s true of all Blades, is it?”

“So they say,” he muttered, staring out at the ocean.

 It was no use dropping hints, because he invariably started blushing, which just made the problem
worse. In that wind it was hard to tell if he was blushing now, but the curlew’s call grew even fainter,
even sadder.

“I think what Ranter’s doing is despicable,” he said.

 Try it and see how it goes, sonny.How did one handle a shy lover? If she came right out and asked him,
he would be utterly humiliated. The curlew refrain showed that there was interest there. He was
suppressing it, denying his longing, afraid even to dream.

 “Just how did you keep him in line in Brimiarde?” she asked, knowing perfectly well. “He was almost
civilized most of the time.”

 Ringwood grimaced. “If he could get through the day without making a fool of himself, he got time off
and money to go out and buy, you know, a few drinks.”

“I thought Blades didn’t drink much.”

“He wouldn’t be drinking them. Death, True! You know what I mean!”


Impossible Odds227

“Your ward told me and I couldn’t believe it. It is the most childish thing I have ever heard of. I stopped
being bribed with cookies when I was about five years old.”

Ringwood looked surprised and then grinned at the ocean. “I suppose it is.” He had been thinking of
himself as the child, not Ranter. She sensed him bracing himself. “What do you like being bribed with
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now, mostly?”

“Sweet talk.”

 He turned to stare at her. She stared right back. The curlew’s cry swelled to lark song. Whatever he
was seeing, the pupils of his dark eyes were growing enormous. She wondered if hers had dilated, too.
Bellman and Ranter had both taken themselves out of contention for the Trudy Stakes, but she had no
regrets. She knew the one she wanted now. He was just proving a little more work than she had
expected.

“That’s all?” He was surprised. He hadn’t known.

“That’s often all it takes.”

 Suddenly nightingales were screaming love songs right overhead—he was a swordsman, trained to act
instantly. There were even hints of red flames in the vicinity, too, but he was not ready to admit that yet.

“You mean like I tell you I love you? Would that be sweet talk?”

“If it’s true it would be.” The elementals were deafening her. Maybe some of them were hers.

He drew a deep breath. “I suppose I could tell Ranter you’re my girl and he’s to take a long walk.”

“Why don’t you?”

 His pinkness was not from embarrassment now, just a fine healthy desire. “Then I would have the right
to kiss you.” His grin was almost a leer. “It would be an obligation!”

She’d heard of Blade reflexes, butwooo!“It certainly would be.”


228Dave Duncan

 “I’m freezing out here.” He put an arm around her. He was blazing like a furnace, and she was
astonished at how catching his excitement was. “You want to come below, True, and I’ll tell you how
much I would like that?”

This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it?

“Love to!” she said.

Love, too? To love? Two love? True love? Love True?

                                                     •5•

 The storm took them to Furret.Conquerorhad been aim-ing for Boileau, but Furret would do. Bellman
flashed King Athelgar’s passports and dropped coins on palms presented. That took care of the
formalities.

Over the next few days, Manfred bought horses, with help from Trudy, who could signal when dealers
were lying, even though she knew no Isilondian. The cost horrified Bellman. Six mounts, six spares, three
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sumpters, and the required tack ate up much of King Athelgar’s donation to his destitute cousin. They
would have to travel fast if they wanted to keep eating all the way to Krupina. Days were growing
shorter, soon there would be weather to worry about, and there was a war on—Dolorth had invaded
Bohakia. Although hostili-ties so far were reported only in the north, not close to Trenko or Krupina,
ripples would be driving up prices and making people suspicious of strangers. They must press on with all
possible speed, yet still husband the horses.

Whenever possible they traveled with merchants or other honest wayfarers who welcomed the company
of three well-spoken young swordsmen. They stayed in inns, barns, or cottages, anywhere a few coins
would buy them shelter. Four times they were able to claim hospitality in


Impossible Odds229

 the homes of rich persons to whom they had been given letters of introduction. Three of those were
designated Chiv-ian consuls and one of those three was not only a Chivian himself, but a knight in the
Order, the legendary Sir Beau-mont, who had won the King’s Cup five years earlier and still gave such
fine instruction that the swordsmen insisted on tarrying there for days—to rest the horses, they said.

 Commonly they rode in pairs, most often Ringwood and Trudy out front, then Johanna and Bellman, and
Manfred and Ranter bringing up the rear. Manfred was the only one of them who could stand Ranter for
long. The old man just chuckled around his tooth stumps and said, “Had a horse like him once. Nip? All
the time! Take your eyes off him for a moment and he’d nip you. Curry him, give him oats, be as nice as
you like and he’d nip. No warning. Hitting him did no good. Just had to put up with him. But spirits, he
was a strong ’un! He’d run forever.”

After that they called Ranter “The Strong ’Un” behind his back.

Similarly, “The Lovebirds” meant Trudy and Ringwood, who could barely keep their hands off each
other. Usually it meant them. Soon Bellman realized that sometimes the term was used otherwise.

Three days out of Furret, one baking hot afternoon, when he

was riding alongside Johanna...

“Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” he asked, startled.

“Like you are in love with me!” Then she blushed and looked away.

 He said, “Surely you realize I’m just reacting to my re-lease from Ironhall? I’ve been let out into the stud
pasture at last. I have to fall in love with the first woman I meet. It’s in-evitable. I’m just rutting. Pay no
attention.”


230Dave Duncan

 He had already decided that this hurt too much to be that. If his agony was mere lust, would he not
chase after all women equally, as Ranter did? Why pick on one who was already married? She was
practically a queen, probably one of the greatest beauties in Eurania, and he was nothing at all.
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“You’re very unkind,” she said.

“I am your servant, Your Grace. If I offend, dismiss me and I will go away.”

Silence.

 “Johanna,” he said, “I swear to you that I will do every-thing I possibly can to help you recover your son
and re-store him to his rightful place. If your husband is still alive, I will likewise do all in my power to
reunite you with him. Then I will ask to take my leave, for I cannot live in torment forever.”

It felt as if several years went by before she whispered, “And if Rubin is not alive?”

“If you are ever so desperate that a penniless, homeless lover is of use to you, then you will at least have
one of those. He will be true.”

“And in the meantime?”

“We do nothing,” he said. The words did not come easy. “We must not, for Frederik’s sake.”

“What is Frederik to you?” she said angrily.

“Nothing, except that he is everything to you and your happiness is everything to me.”

She said, “Thank you,” and did not speak again for a long time.

 A couple of weeks later, in a crowded, raucous tavern reeking with tallow smoke, Bellman went to the
bar to re-fill his beaker and there met Ranter with his arm around a blowsy woman. Ranter was as close
to drunk as a bound Blade could get, which wasn’t very, but in his case was


Impossible Odds231

enough to reduce his already tiny social skills to absolute

zero.

“Bellman!” he said. “Bellboy?”

Bellman eyed him with disgust. “What do you want?”

 The Blade laughed. “Same as you do. Difference is I’m going to get it and you’re not! I get it every night
and you never do. What’s the matter with you, Master Jack? Bell-man no ball man? My wardwantsyou.
Talks in her sleep about you. Maybe I’ll have to give her what she needs, if you can’t. One word from
you and she’d have her clothes—”

 Blades were superhumanly fast. Bellman was not a Blade, but only his sight had failed him, not his
reflexes. His fist impacted Ranter’s jaw with an audible crack, and only a bulwark of a dozen men behind
the Blade stopped him from sprawling flat on the spittle-spotted floor. No one could knock out a Blade,
of course. “Unconscious Blade” was an oxymoron. The men behind him crumpled under the impact, but
Ranter himself bounced back upright instantly, withInvinciblein his hand.
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 A score of throats screamed in alarm and the crowd ex-ploded away, leaving an open space around the
combatants. Bellman reached forBravado—and froze . . .

 “Stay away from Blades and Sabreurs,” Ansel had warned him. He had meant,Stay away from fights.
Bellman should not be armed at all, but experience had quickly taught him the difference it made. Without
a sword at his thigh he was only a clerk or servant; with one he was a gentleman, ac-corded respect and
thus better able to serve Johanna. Now he was trapped. He had begun the fight; if he drew, Ranter could
kill him and claim self-defense.

Then Ringwood was between them. “Put up your sword!” he screamed at his deputy. His voice lacked
mature sonorous authority. In fact, it was positively shrill, but he prevailed.


232Dave Duncan

Ranter complied because he could not endanger his ward by

committing public murder.

Shamed, Bellman slunk away.

“Coward!” Ranter shouted. Now that the crisis had passed, the onlookers jeered in disappointment.

 Later, when his blood was off the boil, Bellman sought out Ringwood and apologized. By then
Ringwood had put Ranter on duty, leaving himself free to wedge Trudy in a corner and feed her
sugarplums he had bought. He shot the penitent a dark glance.

“It won’t happen again?”

“No, Leader,” Bellman said. “It won’t happen again.”

“All right.” The Commander went back to his foreplay.

                                                     •6•

 From Isilond they cut south into Ritizzia, and from Ritizzia northeast into a patchwork of petty
principalities, most of them nominally parts of Fitain, all of them capable of mak-ing Bellman’s purse
bleed at their borders. He was seriously worried about finances by the time they came to Blanburg. He
still hoarded the bankers’ letters Grand Master had given him as return fare, but now he knew that they
would not be enough to see everyone back to Chivial, if that was ever required.

 Most days they took a break at noon, to rest the horses and themselves, and that day they settled in the
shade of some oak trees on a knoll carpeted with shrubs and close-cropped brown grass. The golden
valley was hazed with the smoke of burning stubble. Grapes and grain had been har-vested; herds were
being driven down from the hills for culling. The war had not come here yet, but the clouds were


Impossible Odds233

no longer the clouds of summer, and early snow had dusted the summits that towered ahead of them. To
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the north, on a hillock not too far from the river, stood a castle with a walled town draped around it like a
skirt of lime wash and terra cotta.

Trudy and Ringwood lay side by side, almost indecently close. Ranter, too, was stretched out on his
back, although strategically so, blocking the approach to his ward. Bellman and Johanna were sitting with
very little space between them. Manfred chewed steadily off by himself, keeping an eye on the horses.
Bees bumbled and hummed in the under-growth.

 Johanna gestured vaguely. “That is Blanburg town, capi-tal of Blanburg the principality. The palace is the
seat of Rubin’s cousin, the Prince.”

 “So finally,” Bellman said, “we should be able to find out some news. We’ll learn what’s been happening
in Krupina if we have to go and ask the Prince himself.” Not that they would, of course.

 There followed a thoughtful silence, almost nostalgic. A chapter of their lives was about to end. They
were all lean and brown as peasants, and in the case of Ranter and Jo-hanna, weeks of sun had bleached
their hair to silver. The fancy clothes they had chosen so hurriedly that last morning in Nocare were faded
and threadbare—except for Ring-wood’s, because he had grown out of his originals and al-most out of
their replacements, too. Back in Ironhall, Master of Rituals would have hauled him off to the octogram
and conjured him to stop sprouting.

 Manfred, who had worked miracles with the horses, was grinning toothlessly at the thought of being
reunited with his family soon. The swordsmen were silent. Now the feinting was over and they might have
to die. The Grand Duchess, sometimes Duke, who had curried her own horse and done


234Dave Duncan

 her own laundry without a word of complaint, might very soon be reunited with her husband. It was not
impossible. The very absence of news about Krupina suggested that Rubin had hung onto his coronet
after all. Then Bellman would have to bow low and withdraw, leaving only his heart behind.

Or her husband might be dead, but he refused to torment himself with hope.

“How far to Krupina?” Trudy asked sleepily.

 Johanna shrugged. “Depends how we go. South and around the Siril Lakes to Zolensa would take at
least a week. Or we can continue north from Blanburg to Trenko and come in by Pilgrim Pass. Maybe
five days, yes, Manfred? I’d rather not go past Vamky. Straight in through Brikov would be quickest, if
Manfred can find the way for us. Can you, Manfred?”

He chuckled. “With my eyes shut, my lady.”

 “You see,” the Duchess continued, “there are only two real possibilities. One is that my husband still
rules, in which case I collect our son and go home to him. More likely he is dead, Volpe is Grand Duke,
and Karl is Marquis of Krupa. In that case I collect my son and go back to Chivial to accept the
sanctuary Queen Tasha generously offered.”

 This was the best of all futures for Bellman. Johanna had finally accepted that she could not overthrow a
usurper sin-glehandedly, and that a dispossessed son was better than a dead one. The dark side of that
future was that she was still nominally a duchess, and Queen Tasha might cut costs by marrying her off to
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someone.

“What if Duke Rubin is alive and in jail?” Ringwood asked, rising to one elbow.

Johanna shrugged. “Or if the nobility rejected Volpe’s usurpation and civil war is brewing? Every
possibility, how-


Impossible Odds235

 ever unlikely, requires me to visit Brikov, because that is where I left Frederik. Count János is an ally
and he will know what has been happening these last seven months.”

 “I can tell you that,” Ranter told the sky. “Talked with a band of merchants from Krupina last night. Got
all the news.”

Ringwood said,“You what?”and sat up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Telling you now. If you want to hear.”

“Where did this happen?” the Duchess asked sharply.

Ranter yawned, still prone. “In the cathouse. Bunch of us were sitting around in our—”

“Ranter!” his leader shouted. “Tell us now!”

 “Yes, Leader.” He sat up, smirking. He countedoneon his fingers, glancing around to watch reactions.
“Grand Duke Rubin still rules.”Two. “Grand Duchess Johanna died in an accident last spring.”Three.
“Three days from now, Grand Duke Rubin is going to marry Lady Margarita, daughter of Margrave
Ladislas of Trenko.”

“If this is your idea of a joke—”

“He speaks the truth,” said Trudy. “Doesn’t mean the mer-chants did.”

Bellman took Johanna’s hand. She was shaking.

“A stepmother for my son?” she demanded. “Where? I mean the wedding. In Trenko?”

“I asked that,” Ranter said smugly. Somehow he was even more obnoxious when he was right than
when he was wrong. “In Krupa.”

“Weddings are usually held at the bride’s home.”

 “But there’s going to be an enthronement right after, see? The last duchess never got enthroned, so the
Margrave insisted on it this time, they said. I think they were just gossiping about that, but the big affair’s
in Krupa on the fourth of Tenthmoon. That’s three days from now, isn’t it?”


236Dave Duncan
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“Three days!” Johanna whispered.

“Say!” Ranter said. “Wonder what’ll happen if you turn up at the wedding?”

Ringwood groaned. “Idiot! It would be over our dead bodies. Good report, but you should have told
me the mo-ment you got back last night.”

“Too tired.” Leer.

“We’ll discuss that later.”

 Silence. Bellman deliberately said nothing. He had been leader ever since they left Chivial, mainly
because Johanna deferred to him, but from now on Ringwood must carry the burden, whether he wanted
it or not. They were in the bat-tle zone. They had just gone on war footing.

 But it was to Bellman that Johanna turned. “Was I wrong? Was it Rubin who came to Fadrenschloss
after the accident, not Volpe? Has Rubin been trying to kill me all this time?” Her voice rose shrilly. “And
kill his own son? Is that it? If he has no heir, he’s a better marriage prospect for Ladislas’s girl, so she
can breed him another? Is he such a monster? Did he plot to put us both on that coach and then drive it
off a cliff ? With two other people? Just to marry that . . . child?”

“Shush, love! You were married to him for years. Is he such a monster?”

“No! Never. I know he has faults, but he’s kind, and gen-tle, really.”

 “And,” Bellman said, “even if he did murder his first two wives, he wouldn’t dare risk killing you as well.
Three in a row would be too much. And his own son as well? No, Volpe’s the family killer. Volpe had
the motive and the means. I still think he’s behind it all.”

 “Then why is he still masquerading as Rubin?” Ranter de-manded. “You saying that’sVolpemarrying the
child bride?”

 Bellman said, “I don’t know. I do intend to find out. The Margrave was said to want a love match for his
child, so he


Impossible Odds237

 would hardly agree to marry her to a serial wife-killer. We know things he doesn’t, so what does he
know that we don’t? And Volpe is forbidden to marry while wearing his own face. It would make more
sense if Volpe pretended to be Rubin and gave himself permission to marry again, but that isn’t what the
merchants said.” Or the margrave might be in on the deception. The news was another clue in the most
fascinating puzzle Bellman had ever encountered, but so far it led in too many directions. He looked to
Ringwood. “What do we do now, Leader?”

“Suggestions welcome.” Ringwood was learning.

 Ranter yawned and stretched. “Sounds to me like now we have to start fighting for our supper. Where is
this Brikov place?”

“Other side of that.” Manfred pointed east, at the wall of rock holding up the sky.
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“You’re joking!”

 “No, he isn’t,” Johanna said. “We came over that pass in springtime, didn’t we, Manfred? I swear we
forded a thou-sand freshets. Officially there’s no pass there. Maps don’t show one. But there is a
smugglers’ road, which is held on the Krupina side by Count János, and on this side by a brig-and named
Sigmund, who usually cooperates with him, but may just cut our throats to get our horses. Manfred
knows the way now and can get us through, can’t you, Manfred?”

Ringwood squeaked. “Wait a second! How many men does this Sigmund have and what’s his price
going to be?”

 “We ignore Sigmund,” Manfred said. His wrinkles multi-plied into a grin. “His men are miners and
charcoal burners, a few herders. A village he does not have.” The forester leered at all the worried
expressions. “They live far away.” He spread his arms. “Given time he can bring in many men. But smile
and wave as we go through, yes? Then he has no way to object.”


238Dave Duncan

“And we have no time to waste,” Johanna said, reaching for the boots she had shed. “Three days!
There’s a cave, a shelter. Manfred can find it. We’ll overnight there. If we start from there at first light,
we’ll reach Brikov by nightfall. Right, Manfred?”

The old man turned and studied the western sky. “I worry more about the weather than about Sigmund.”

“It looks fine to me,” Ranter said.

“Sigmund will not catch us. He uses mules.”

Ringwood pulled a face. “Shouldn’t we use mules, then?”

“No time to arrange that!” Johanna said, pulling on her sec-ond boot. “We ride for Brikov immediately,
Commander!”

“I hear your instructions, Your Highness.” Ringwood looked around the group. “But Brikov sounds like
a trap—a thwarted brigand behind us and a murdering en-chanter ahead of us. I wish I’d taken some of
Grand Mas-ter’s strategy lessons. What sort of person is this Count János?”

 Johanna sprang up. “Short of stature, but big in every-thing else. Loud. Cruel, because he rules a harsh
land. Loyal to his liege, the Grand Duke, but determined to defend his own rights first. He hates the
Brotherhood because it is the only possible threat to his independence. I trusted him enough to leave
Frederik there, didn’t I? If Volpe came look-ing for my son, János said, he would hang him from the
ridgepole.”

“How many men does he command?”

She gathered up the blanket she had been sitting on. “I’m just a little woman, how should I know? Stop
wasting time!”

Ringwood looked to Manfred for an answer.
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“Fifty would answer his war horn,” the forester said. “Two hundred within a couple of days. One
hundred for operations outside his borders.”

“And Frederik is in Brikov?”


Impossible Odds239

“He is in the Count’s territory,” Johanna said, “not at his court. Come!”

Ringwood sighed. “All right. The expedition will now move out and make tracks for Brikov. But if I say
we go no farther than Brikov, Your Royal Highness, then we go no far-ther! Is that agreed?”

Nothing was agreed so far as Johanna was concerned. Still muttering, “Three days!” she saddled her
horse, mounted, and might well have ridden off alone had Bellman not caught hold of her bridle.

 “Steady, Your Grace! We have to overnight in this cave of yours. A few minutes sooner or later getting
there won’t make any difference.”

That seemed to calm her, although she continued to mut-ter, “Three days!” while she waited for the
others. She was still muttering it when they were trotting along the road and only he could hear her.

In just three days the torture might be over. Either she would be restored to her husband or Bellman
would claim her for his own.

 They left the Blanburg road and continued east by a maze of local tracks, climbing through vineyards that
a few weeks be-fore might have bustled with harvesters and carters, but were now deserted. Above
those they emerged on bare hills, grazed by goats or sheep. Although the old forester had come this way
only once in his life, and going in the opposite direction, he seemed to know the path he wanted,
following the dry streambeds and never hesitating when they divided, as they did constantly.

 Few of their present horses had been with them since Fur-ret. Any that weakened or needed a rest had
been traded off for better, and some of the present string were not going to cope with the next two days’
exertions. By choice, Bellman


240Dave Duncan

 would have exchanged them all for mules in Blanburg. At one of their rests he suggested some be set
free, and called for a vote on which were the weakest.

 Manfred disagreed. “Chance rules in the hills,” he said. “A strong horse with a pulled tendon is good for
eating, naught else. We may need them all.” His view carried the day.

 By late afternoon the expedition was back under trees, but Manfred continued to lead the way
confidently. Although every oak or beech looked much the same to city-bred Bell-man, he could
recognize trees that had been pollarded or coppiced, and knew that this was cultivated woodland, not
primeval forest. The climb grew steeper.

Manfred began hunting something. He pointed to tracks, droppings, wood chips, and eventually even the
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others caught a faint odor of smoke. Heading upwind, they located a clearing where a group of charcoal
burners were plying their trade. They were probably all one extended family, about a dozen people from
elderly to toddlers, and without exception they were black. Their clothes were black. Their mule, their
tools, and even their hysterically barking dogs were black. Spectacularly white eyes in black faces stared
warily at the newcomers.

 Their homes were makeshift tents of branches. Their mound was a giant beehive, covered with turf and
soil to contain the fire within, drifting wisps of white smoke into the evening air. It looked simple enough,
but Bellman knew that its construction called for real skill and that it would not burn properly without
constant attention.

 Manfred hailed them in a dialect that baffled Bellman’s conjured comprehension. He gathered only that
trading was in progress. In the end the forester exchanged a horse for in-formation about who else was in
the neighborhood, a load of cut firewood that would save the travelers much labor


Impossible Odds241

later in the day, and a haunch of “goat” that was certainly illegal venison. In monetary terms, the burners
had the best of the bargain, but both sides were happy, which was all that mattered.

“It’s a life, I suppose,” Bellman said as the travelers resumed their climb.

“They are good people,” Johanna agreed with surprising emphasis.

“They were not afraid of us.”

 “They do not fear thieves, for they have nothing worth steal-ing except their mule, and few brigands
would stoop to steal-ing a charcoal burner’s mule, because charcoal is a necessity for many things. They
are proud folk. They value their free-dom.” She had recovered her good humor

“I sense a story.”

 She smiled for the first time since she had heard of the forthcoming wedding. “I have a sister, Voica,
older than me. She ran off with a charcoal burner, much against my father’s wishes. She visited me
sometimes at Fadrenschloss. She was there for my wedding and I promised her I would find her man a
better job. She refused, saying that they enjoyed their liberty too much to leave the hills.”

 This was the first time she had ever mentioned family. “Do they live in the demesne of Count János, by
any chance?”

 Johanna laughed. “You aretooclever, you hear me? Yes, Voica is strong and her husband is a bull, yet
they have no children. The spirits can be cruel! So I loaned her Frederik. Who will look in a charcoal
burner’s camp for a marquis?”

And who would recognize him with his face all sooty?

The cave served them best by hiding their fire. It would be invaluable if the weather turned bad in the
night—as Man-fred still stubbornly predicted, although he could not or
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242Dave Duncan

 would not explain his reasons. Since the weather remained fair and generations of smugglers had fouled
the shelter with their refuse, old bedding, and probably vermin, everyone elected to sleep under the sky.
The Blades kept watch, as al-ways, but there was no evidence that followers of the sinis-ter Sigmund
were on their trail yet.

Bellman lay and watched stars and clouds for a long time. He had spread his blanket a respectable
distance from Jo-hanna’s, but not so far that he could not hear her soft breath-ing. He heard much
heavier breathing for a while from Trudy’s direction, while Ranter was on watch and Ringwood was not.
He envied the lovers their happiness.

 Was the bridegroom-to-be really Rubin, or was he Volpe in disguise? Had Bellman come all this way
just to return the woman he loved to her husband, who might or might not have tried to kill her? Would
Rubin even take her back? Six months’ absence would ruin any wife’s reputation, let alone a Grand
Duchess’s. What then of Frederik? Would he still be dispossessed? The problems outnumbered the
stars. What was young Karl up to all this time? If Frederik was presumed dead like his mother, then
Volpe’s son was heir presumptive again, and would not approve of his cousin’s remarriage. Karl, it was
worth remembering, had always had motive but no means. Abbot Minhea had means but no motive.

 Johanna wakened at the first trace of brightness and roused everyone else. Breath smoking in the
predawn chill, the wayfarers gulped a hurried meal and prepared for a hard day. Obsessed with the need
for haste, Johanna would rather have skipped the meal, and yet she would not say what she thought she
could do at Brikov. There might yet be time for her to go on and reach Krupa before the wedding, but
her Blades would be crazy to allow it.

The road offered no easy warmup. Within minutes they


Impossible Odds243

 were forced to dismount and lead the horses. They went up unstable screes, through dense pine woods,
along boulder-strewn streambeds. After an hour or so they emerged on stony slopes naked to the sky,
with ice-clad peaks glaring down at them, seeming almost overhead. Bellman knew he was not the only
one wondering if Manfred truly remem-bered the way or was simply guessing. They were mites doomed
to creep over the face of the world forever.

Around midmorning Ringwood suddenly shouted, “Look!”

 He was pointing at a band of a dozen or so mounted men in the very far distance, two or three ridges
back. Yes, they might be pursuing some perfectly innocent business of their own. It was much more likely
that they were pursuing the trespassers. Johanna shouted for more speed, but they were already going as
fast as they could.

 Manfred started taking shortcuts and, incredibly, the going became even worse. They tied tow ropes to
the sad-dles so the horses could pull them up screes that looked fit to baffle a goat. Twice a horse
slipped and lamed itself and had to be slaughtered. Ranter was appointed butcher, since the task did not
seem to bother him, but a couple of unfor-tunate animals actually fell to their deaths, rolling helplessly
down the hillside, out of reach. The pursuers were closing, albeit very slowly.

Bellman dared not wonder what would happen if Count János did not make them welcome. They would
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have no way back and no money to replace the missing mounts and bag-gage. A more assertive Blade
than Ringwood would have kept his ward out of such a trap.

 Soon it seemed that they had no way forward, either, for the forester was leading them up a nearly
impassable talus slope to the base of a vertical cliff. There, surprisingly, he mounted his horse again.
When the others arrived, they


244Dave Duncan

 found a faint path winding around a spur to enter a canyon like a saw cut in the mountain. The made trail
was now more obvious and quite passable. So Manfred had not been guess-ing after all. This, he
explained with his toothless grin, was the divide, the boundary, and Sigmund’s men would not fol-low
them into the domain of Count János.

And so it was.

 The canyon widened into a narrow valley, and that joined a wider. At the first open water, Manfred
called a halt to rest the horses and let them drink. High peaks towered all around them.

“How far to Brikov?” Bellman asked.

The old man shrugged. “Should do it by nightfall.” He glanced at the sky. “If the weather holds.”

 So they had a long way to go yet, but at least they could now travel on four feet, not two. The range’s
eastern slope was less steep than the western, and drier. The trail de-scended to rocky moorland, then
sandy valleys dotted with bristly pine trees, and by midafternoon the travelers were back in pasture and
cultivated woodland. Manfred pointed out traces of herds and game, even of humans, but it was late in
the day before they were challenged.

 The young horseman who accosted them was hardly more than a boy, but he did not seem as nervous
as he should be if he were waylaying armed intruders all by himself, and the flat they were traversing was
well provided with cover. His dialect was even murkier than the charcoal burners’, but he and Manfred
were soon jabbering away incomprehensibly. Satisfied, the boy waved an all-clear signal to the bushes
and copses. After that he accompanied the group to Brikov, chat-tering to Manfred all the way. If there
were archers in the shrubbery, they remained out of sight.

                                                     ***


                                            Impossible Odds245

The sun had slid behind the hills when Johanna said, “This is Brikov!”

 “This?” Bellman had expected a small town or at least a castle, but here he saw little more than a bare
and stony val-ley, with cattle penned in dry stone walls and cottages scat-tered along the hillsides. Being
much the same color as the landscape, the houses were hard to make out in the dusk.

 “Why?” he asked. “I mean, why here?” Settlements should have a reason for being where they were: a
ford, till-able land, or a good harbor.
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Johanna smiled faintly. She was drooping with fatigue, as they all were. “Mining. Ernst explained it to
me. They built their homes from the tailings tipped out near the tunnels. The hills are honeycombed with
old adits. No one’s ever tried to conquer Brikov, Ernst said—it would be like invad-ing an ants’ nest.”

 And as pointless, Bellman thought. Cattle were the only wealth in sight, and they could be moved
elsewhere readily enough.

 The trail the guide had chosen angled up the side of the valley, going close by some of the cottages and
letting Bell-man see that they were mere kennels, walls of stones and roofs of turf. Indeed, some of the
men watching the visitors’ arrival stood taller than their own houses. Many were armed and looked like
another good reason for not trying to invade the valley.

 The lord’s residence was a group of several larger build-ings, more like a fortified farm than a traditional
fortress. The one-story walls were mortared and the roofs tiled. Guards with halberds stood by the main
gate, but it was not clear whether they were guarding the house or the three workmen busily erecting a
gallows.


246Dave Duncan

                                                     •7•

 If János called in his two hundred mountain men, Ring-wood decided, it would be standing room only in
his baro-nial hall. With glazed windows, a timber floor covered with sawdust, and woollen weavings on
the wall to keep out the winter chill, it was more like a wealthy farmer’s dining room than a heroes’ hall
or a mess for a castle garrison. That evening it was almost empty—no oxen on the spit above the bare
hearth, no plank tables and benches for feasting, just a chair for the Count himself and one for his guest,
Frau Schale. The massive walls still held the day’s heat, although now the light was fading fast.

 Spirits! It had been an exhausting day. Ringwood’s knees trembled with fatigue. He wished he had been
given a seat and was much annoyed that True had not. The trav-elers were filthy and starving, yet
Johanna had refused all offers of refreshment, insisting on an immediate audience with the Count. Ever
since Ranter had told her of the forth-coming wedding, she had been behaving oddly, muttering to
herself, scowling at her Blades. Ringwood worried that she was going to ask János to give her an escort
so she could attend the ceremony. If János agreed, two Blades were going to be in serious trouble,
arguing with two hun-dred mountain men.

 The Count’s throne was ornately carved, had once been gilded, and was high enough to require a
footrest. Perched up there, János could look down on the Duchess, whose chair was too low for
comfort. “Short of stature,” she had called him, but his legs must be the problem, for his shoul-ders were
a league wide and his head as big as a beer keg. He had a beetling brow with ferocious eyebrows, a bald
scalp, and a beard like a bushel of tangled iron wire. Jewels


Impossible Odds247

glinted on his thick, hairy fingers, yet his clothes were homemade leathers, plain and well-worn.

 Johanna’s insistence that her three swordsmen would not surrender their weapons had resulted in delay
until three of the Count’s sons were located and brought in to stand be-hind their father and match the
Ironhall men. They were shorter, wider, and much older than the Blades, but Ring-wood had only
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contempt for the mighty broadswords they bore. He would gambleBad Newsagainst one of those any
day. Although they could not manage to emulate their fa-ther’s fearsome glare, they made it plain that
they did not ap-prove of this upstart Frau Schale who brought armed men into their father’s hall. Clearly
János had not taken them into his confidence enough to explain who she was.

After the bare minimum of formalities, she said, “How goes Krupina, my lord? Duke Rubin still reigns, I
hear.”

“It seems so. But where is my friend Ernst?” His voice rumbled and echoed.

 His glare grew ever more fearsome as she described von Fader’s death and the various attacks made
upon her since she left Brikov. It softened only slightly when she men-tioned the King of Chivial’s
hospitality and his grant of ex-pert swordsmen—he looked over the expert swordsmen with undisguised
scorn. The three woodchoppers in the background were wide-eyed. Probably they had never been
outside Krupina in their lives.

János made only one comment. When Johanna mentioned that Harald had turned out to be a traitor, he
grunted and said, “Not surprising!”

Ringwood found that surprising. The Baron had trusted Harald and had taken him on right here in
Brikov. If János had considered the man unreliable then, why had he not said so?

Of course, Johanna had one paramount question to ask,


248Dave Duncan

but it was a tricky one when the meaty sons were unaware

that their father was hiding the missing Marquis.

“And my darling... sister? And her family?”

 “I assume she is well. But I do have disturbing tidings to pass along.” János turned his oversized head.
“Enough of these games. Off with you all. Go and be useful. See to the skinning.”

“Father—” one began.

“Go!”the Count roared. “And send in a bench for our guests. And wine.”

 The three bears trooped out like banished children, scowl-ing. János hunched his great shoulders and
looked over True and the swordsmen. It did not take a White Sister to know that he was seriously
worried.

“These boys are in your confidence, Highness?”

“Absolutely.What is wrong?”

 “Many things, frankly. Many, many things. First, your husband reigns in Krupina and is about to marry
the Mar-grave’s daughter.”
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“I heard that.”

 “But he is not your husband. He is an imposter, just as you told me. Frankly, I did not believe you. Even
Ernst I did not really believe. I thought that locket of yours was a moun-tebank trick. Well, there must be
another like it. I was wrong.”

That changed matters!

Johanna’s voice jumped half an octave. “You know this for a fact?”

“Almost a fact.” János sounded evasive and looked shifty. “I have an independent witness, although I do
not believe everything he says. You can talk with him if you like, but it is fortunate you arrived today. I’m
going to hang him in the morning.”

“How is my son?” the Duchess demanded.


Impossible Odds249

 The Count was saved from having to answer by two men bringing in a long bench, which they placed
alongside the chairs. The others sat down gratefully, with Ringwood claiming the place next his ward.

 Meanwhile, their host could talk of safer things. “You are aware that our beloved Grand Duchess
disappeared in tragic circumstances last spring? It became a considerable scandal after a wrecked
carriage was discovered not far from Fa-drenschloss. The driver was identified as a palace coachman
and one of the passengers as the Marquis’s nurse. Both of them dead. Much of the wreckage had
fallen—”

Servants brought in wine and goblets and a table to put them on. Ringwood neededfood,not drink.

 “—witnesses agreed that she entered the carriage volun-tarily, taking the child. Nobody was able to
identify her male companion—”

 The servants closed the door. Instantly Johanna was on her feet, level with the little man on his elevated
chair.

“Where is my son?”

 He screwed up his ugly face. “I warned you he should be left here, right here in the valley, under my
eye.” His great voice boomed even louder, drowning her out. “But no! You insisted on hiding him away
in the woods with no one to protect him.”

“Where is he?”

János pouted. He did not admit failure easily. “I don’t know. About a month after you left, a troop of
brethren came and got him. They took—”

Johanna leaped at him and might have clawed his eyes out, had she not run into Ranter’s arm. Ringwood
was an-noyed to be a tiny fraction slower.

“Easy, Your Grace!” he said. “That won’t help.” The two Blades pushed her back down on her chair.
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 “Give her some wine!” János growled and took a long draft himself. “They took your sister and her man
as well. I


250Dave Duncan

didn’t hear about it until it was all over and they’d gone. They were taken to Vamky.”

Johanna accepted a sip of wine. Her face was so pale it seemed to glow in the gathering gloom.

 “If it helps,” the Count added, “I have the man who did it. Tomorrow you can watch him dancing ten
feet up on a three-foot rope.”

“So officially Frederik and I are dead?” she muttered, not looking at him.

Frederik more than just officially, Ringwood suspected.

 “You are. Officially. Rubin held a public inquiry. The ev-idence was very convincing. Some of your
effects were found a league downstream. The only thing not known for certain is the identity of your
presumed lover. The Grand Duke himself was at a birthweek party in Zolensa that night, a very
respectable affair with lots of witnesses.”

Silence.

Bellman said, “My lord? Who ordered the coaches made ready in the middle of the night?”

 János scowled at the upstart flunky. “I don’t know. I have better things to do than attend inquiries
packed with tattling scandalmongers. I imagine there was a forged note, or some-thing. If you want to
conclude, as the inquiry did, that the Grand Duchess and her son perished in a tragic accident, there was
plenty of evidence that way. If you prefer to be-lieve that she was running off with a man not her
husband, that’s all right, too. All loose ends are well tied. Only the identity of the hooded man remains a
mystery.”

 “Who,” Bellman persisted in the quiet, deadly voice he used when he was in this mood, “do the
scandalmongers say it was? I’m sure they put a name on him.”

János snorted. “Guess?”

“Prince Karl?”

The Count nodded and took another drink.


Impossible Odds251

Johanna looked up in surprise. “Why do you think so? Who told you that?”

Ringwood had never considered the possibility. If Rubin and Volpe hadbothhad sons in that coach, then
who had forced it over the cliff ?
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 “You did, Your Grace,” Bellman said. “Or your son did. From what I remember of my sisters, the last
thing you do to calm a screaming baby is hand it to a stranger, especially a man. Yet you told us the
imposter took Frederik and he stopped crying. I assume Karl has not been seen since?”

 “Obviously,” János said. “Hints were dropped at the in-quiry that he had been observed making
advances to Her Highness, that she had been leading him on, and so on. Those remarks were struck
from the record, of course.”

 “Of course.” Bellman glanced at Johanna, but she did not look up or speak. “You said earlier, my lord,
that you be-lieved that the man posing as the Grand Duke is an imposter. Why do you believe that, and
when do you think the switch was made?”

“You ask a lot of questions, sonny.”

 “He’s asking them for me,” Johanna told her hands. “Bellman will ask them faster and more clearly than
I can. You owe me answers.”

 “Do I?” the Count growled, reaching for the wine bottle. “As to when the switch happened, I don’t
know. If it hap-pened. You told me you thought the Rubin who turned up at Fadrenschloss was actually
Lord Volpe wearing one of those lockets. I didn’t put much stock in that then. I’m not sure I do now, but
a week ago one of the brethren walked in here looking for sanctuary. Said he was never going back to
Vamky. Offered to swear fealty to me—which takes nerve when you’ve just confessed to breaking one
oath of alle-giance. The reason he gave was that he’d seen Grand Duke Rubin locked up in a dungeon
there.”


252Dave Duncan

 Nobody commented. Probably everyone was too busy try-ing to make sense of this. Ringwood couldn’t
even start. Only Bellman had enough brains for such conundrums. Why should Volpe lock up the Duke
and take his place? There would never be a safe time to release him, so why not just kill him right away?
And why go through a marriage ceremony pretending to be the rightful duke? Someone was being either
incredibly devious or incredibly stupid.

 The Count chuckled, a sound like bouncing rocks. “And it’s pretty hard to explain how he can be rotting
in chains in Vamky at the same time as he’s dancing around Krupa or-ganizing his wedding, now, isn’t
it?”

“Tell us about the wedding!” Bellman used a tone gentry rarely heard from the lowborn, but János was
now enjoying himself too much to notice.

“The day after tomorrow, at sunset. In Krupa. Lady Mar-garita, the Margrave’s daughter.”

 Marrying Volpe. Believing he was Rubin. Ringwood felt a thumping headache coming on. If the Marquis
and Karl had both disappeared, then the only heir left was Lord Volpe and he, if their theories were
correct, was masquerading as the Grand Duke. No matter. Whoever’s butt was on the throne needed an
heir, and the Margrave’s daughter would inherit all Trenko. A child of theirs could rule both states.
Wearing a conjured locket in bed would be kinky but not impossible. (Which father would the baby
favor?)

“Has Lord Volpe also disappeared?” Bellman asked.
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 The Count shrugged and drained his goblet. “Not my job to keep track of the Provost. If he has a
conjured locket like Her Highness’s, he can come and go as he wants. You plan-ning to take in the
wedding, Your Grace? I must attend. I have no choice, but it’ll be a lot more interesting if you show up.”

“If the Duke is locked up in Vamky,” Bellman said, “is his son there also?”


Impossible Odds253

 The room was almost completely dark now, which Ring-wood considered a fitting symbol of his own
mental state, but not good for ward protection. He waited for a break in the talk so he could ask for
lights.

 “Told you, sonny,” János said. “Brethren took him there, and that was the last anyone heard of him. His
arrival in Krupa was never announced. Sounds bad, mm?”

 “But they also took his aunt and her husband, you said,” Bellman countered. “That doesn’t sound as if
they intended to kill him.”

The Count scoffed again. “If I wanted to terminate a cute little curly-haired brat like that, sonny, I
wouldn’t tell the men I sent to fetch him. I’d attend to it personally—later, when no one was watching.
There’s such a thing as morale, you know. Not the same as morals, but one affects the other. Auntie may
be dead in the woods or at the bottom of the Asch.

 “And don’t assume that the knight-brethren work only for Volpe. Their oath is to the Abbot, who takes
orders from the Grand Duke, so it says in the book. Abbot Minhea always struck me as a slimy fish. Not
as cold-blooded as Volpe, though.”

 “But this—” Bellman began. He glanced over to the Duchess. “Sorry, Your Highness... Frederik’s
disappear-ance is one more reason to believe that the present Grand Duke is an imposter. If he is the real
Rubin and did get his son back, surely he would have announced it? He wouldn’t have to explainwhere
the boy had been found. ‘Wandering in the woods,’ would do. It would be more ev-idence that Her
Highness was dead and he was free to re-marry.”

“I think he’s Volpe,” the Count agreed, and emptied his goblet.

“Yet you’re going to hang the man who told you so?”


254Dave Duncan

János glared. “That’s not why I’m hanging him. He be-trayed the boy.”

“Who did?” the Duchess asked.

“Radu.”

“Radu Priboi?”

“That one. The old man died here about ten days ago— never really recovered from the burning of
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Fadrenschloss. A few dozen sons turned up for his funeral and one of them was Radu, knight-brother in
the Vamky Brotherhood, family hero. When everyone else went home he stayed behind and asked me to
take him on. But he confessed that he’d hunted the boy down right after you left. He knew what he
looked like, he said. Not many of the brethren did.”

 “It’s possible,” Johanna said hoarsely. “Volpe came to the palace often enough and he always had a
retinue.”

 “He knew your sister, too, Radu said. So he found the boy and fetched a squad of brethren. How many
knights in armor does it take to arrest one two-year-old, I asked him? Now he knows what we think of
sneaks and thieves. He stole a boy who was under my protection. His brother Harald was a killer, you
tell me, and he’s a spy and a turncoat. That’s why he’s going to hang tomorrow. You come and watch.”

“No!” Johanna struggled to her feet. “I want to talk with him.”

Let’s leave it until after supper,Ringwood thought. How hungry could a man get and still live?

“Talk to him in the morning,” János said, “when we put the collar on him. Cheer him up.”

“No!” Her Highness was wearing her stubborn look. “I knew Radu before he went to Vamky.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing once they’ve taken their oath,” János said. “Look how Harald lied!”

“I still wish to question Radu.”

The Count shook his big head like an angry bull. “He’s


Impossible Odds255

 been well questioned, very well. He can’t stand much more. Don’t want him to die before we get the
rope on him.”

 Belying her exhaustion and distress, Johanna unleashed her Grand Duchess voice.“Sister Gertrude! Has
the Count spoken the truth?”

“Mostly, Your Highness,” True said calmly. “He did go to the inquiry.”

“You call me a liar?” János roared.

“Sister Gertrude has the power to detect falsehood. Try her. How many sons do you have?”

“Six.”

“Not true,” True said. “Do you even know how many sons you have?

“Certainly!”

True sighed. “Wrong again. When you went to the in-quiry, did you speak with the Duke, or whoever
was pre-tending to be the Duke?”
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“No.”

“That’s true! Did you try not to be recognized?”

“Of course not.”

“Untrue. What—”

“All right, you’ve convinced me.” Unwilling to take more risks with his personal secrets, János slid down
off his chair. “You can see the prisoner.”

Ringwood’s stomach rumbled disapproval.

 Two of the lord’s sons led the way with lanterns; János and Johanna followed, with her Blades treading
close behind; Bellman, Trudy, and two other men brought up the rear, car-rying more lanterns. The
Count’s house was a strange, ram-bling affair, some parts of which held delicious food odors that
Ringwood dearly wanted to investigate but couldn’t. When their way began slanting downward, he
realized that they were underground. No natural cave could be so regular,


256Dave Duncan

and the walls were clearly man-made. The air was cool and

stale.

Johanna stopped. “Can’t you have him brought to us?”

“No,” the Count said. “You want to see him, you go to him.”

“Lead the way, then,” she said reluctantly, but she looked around for Bellman. He slipped past the
Blades and took her hand.

If the house was a maze, the mine was a warren, branch-ing and sloping, damp in places and dry in
others. Some branches were closed off by solid timber doors, others were littered with ancient junk. The
guides brought them to a waist-high wooden barricade, a few steps back from a rocky wall marking
where excavation of that particular adit had been abandoned.

“Priboi!” János bellowed, and his great voice echoed eerily.

Squeezing in beside his ward, Ringwood almost tripped on a wooden ladder lying on the floor. When he
peered over the barrier, he saw down into a pit, a shaft about ten feet deep and barely wide enough for a
man to stretch out. The walls shone wetly in the lamplight, but the floor was shadowed.

Gaining no reaction, János bellowed again, and still noth-ing happened.

“Radu?” the Duchess said. “It’s Johanna Schale. I need you to tell me about my son.”

Ringwood could feel her shaking. He sympathized. He, too, disliked confined places. He added the light
of another lantern.
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 Something down there twitched, slowly began to move. It gasped a few times, the sort of noise a man
may make when he is suppressing cries of pain, but eventually he man-aged to look up and raise an arm
to shadow his eyes from the light. Chain rattled. To Ringwood’s horror, the prisoner


Impossible Odds257

seemed to have no clothes except a blanket and only straw for bedding. He could be Harald’s brother
or anyone else’s brother, for that matter. His own mother would not have recognized a face so battered.

“Your Highness?” he croaked. “You are safe?”

“So far I am. I am sorry to hear about your father. He was a very kind man.”

 There was a pause, then the prisoner mumbled, “Thank you.” The words seemed incongruous, almost
illegal, in such a place of horror and pain.

“I am told that you were the one who took away Voica and my son.”

“I am sorry.”

“By whose orders?”

“My superiors’.”

“Tell me about it, please. I want my son back.”

“I was sworn to loyalty, Your Grace.” Radu had a memo-rably tuneful voice, a clear tenor at odds with
his wretched appearance. He must be frozen in this dungeon.

“So you bear no guilt. I understand. But I beg you to tell me of my son.”

“I was told you had left Krupina, but had left the boy somewhere, probably in Brikov. I was asked if I
knew where you might have taken him, and I thought of Voica... If I am to talk I must have water.”

Water was ordered. One of the servants hurried away, his light dwindling along the tunnel.

“Open this gate!” Bellman said. “I’m going down there.”

 “More fool you,” János growled, but he opened a section of the barricade. Bellman and Ringwood
lowered the ladder into the pit, being careful not to land it on the prisoner. Bell-man went down, taking a
lantern. He gagged a couple of times.

The light showed Radu’s arms and shoulders black with


258Dave Duncan

bruises and welts. His hair was cropped short and his beard little longer; both might have been originally
golden like Harald’s but were too caked with blood and filth to be sure. An iron collar around his neck
was chained to a staple in the wall. He tried to sit up, but even with Bellman’s help the effort was too
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much for him, and he sank back on the straw.

“Who ordered you to look for Frederik?” the Duchess said.

“The Provost, Lord Volpe.”

The water arrived and was handed down. Bellman held it to Radu’s damaged mouth.

 The prisoner continued his story, pushing every word painfully through broken teeth and swollen lips.
“Lord Volpe told me your son was in worse danger than you had realized and he could find a safer place
to hide him. I was to find the boy and bring back word of where he was. He said he knew that this might
not seem like honorable work. It didn’t, Your Highness, but I had to obey him, just as he must obey the
Abbot, and the Abbot His Highness. His Highness had ordered this, the Provost said. I said I would
obey.”

“And did you lead the men who abducted my sister and my son?”

“I guided them there, Highness,” he mumbled. “I told your sister that she had to come back with us and
bring the boy.”

“Or?”

“Or we would use force.”

“And where did you take them?”

“To Vamky, Your Grace. I don’t know where they went from there.” Again he drank.

“Radu, I fear I have more bad news for you. I am almost certain your brother Harald is dead.”

It was impossible to read expressions on the prisoner’s face. “He died well?”


Impossible Odds259

“I don’t know. He seems to have been trying to kill me. Could he have been doing that?”

“If he was ordered to do so.”

“So when he swore loyalty to the Baron, he perjured himself ?”

“If he was ordered to perjure himself, he would. The oath has no limits.”

“And when you told the Count a week ago that you were leaving Vamky? Were you also lying?”

The prisoner tried to shrug and gasped at the result. “No, I meant it. I was a fool to expect him to
believe me.”

“Why would you break this irrevocable oath?”

“Because I saw the Grand Duke in a dungeon in Vamky. The Provost has broken faith. He is a traitor.”
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“Count János refused you. Will you swear loyalty to me instead? And will you mean it?”

“Gladly. I will mean it. I fear my service will be brief.”

Ringwood knew he was witnessing a feat of rare courage. The Count’s brutality would have broken
most men. Radu was apparently still capable of making a joke.

“You are not going to die, not tomorrow. The oath I de-mand is lifelong. Do I have it?”

“I swear. Willingly.”

“I need you to help me rescue my husband.”

“Your Highness!”Ringwood said, and heard Ranter mut-ter an obscenity.

“Be silent! Sister Trudy?”

“The prisoner speaks truth, Your Grace.”

 “You would be insane to trust him.” János’s voice rum-bled like thunder. “How can he break an
irrevocable oath and expect you to trust him?”

“I do trust him,” Johanna said wearily. “I will take you into my service, Radu, if you will pass a test.
Reveal a secret for me... How do the brethren create shadowmen?”


260Dave Duncan

For a moment it seemed the turncoat would not answer. Then he shivered and said, “With a flea, Your
Highness. A conjured flea. Just one will start the death-beyond-death.”

“Trudy?”

Ringwood had heard True’s gasp and knew what she would say.

“Truth.”

“Very good. Count János, get this man out of here. See that he is tended and taken to the octogram for
healing. You will not hang him. Tomorrow he will tell us many things we need to know.”

                                                      •8•

 Radu strode along the dark corridor, going fast but not running, for the summons had beenexigent,not
instant.If he arrived out of breath, he might be disciplined for exceed-ing orders. He still had the
vulnerable, hollow feeling that came from being shaken awake in the small hours, but a man grew used to
that in Vamky. His hood was raised, and the sword at his side hung on a shiny new brown sword belt.
He was a belted knight, and that felt very good.

 In effect he was navigating by stars, for burrows stretched endlessly ahead, level or sloped, lit by solitary
lamps at the hubs, placed high so that their glow would not be blocked by other people. At that hour
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there were no other people. Once in a while he would pause to run his fingers over the numbers on a
door and confirm that he had not gone astray.

 When he located the door he needed, he drew a few deep breaths, then pounded the pommel of his
sword against it three times.Boom, boom, boom. The wood was battered to


Impossible Odds261

ruin where generations of swords had performed the same task.

 Only a minute or so crawled by before a voice bade him enter. He closed the heavy door behind him,
took two steps to the simple plank table, threw back his hood, and waited to be acknowledged. Without
moving his eyes, he could see that the cell was no larger or grander than any other. It in-cluded the
standard bed, table, and chair, and a shelf where all personal belongings must be exposed to view. The
muni-ment chest was extra, a mark of high rank in the Brother-hood, as were the two oil lamps that
made it all seem bright as day to him.

The resident set his quill in the inkwell and looked up from his papers. He set back his hood to reveal a
hard, scarred face and a silver-streaked beard.

Radu saluted. “Sir! Junior Knight-brother Radu reporting to Banneret Dusburg as commanded.”

“At ease, Radu. Congratulations on your belting.”

“Sir! Thank you.”

Both men replaced their hoods. Radu felt naked without his now.

“Less than three years?”

“Sir! Only one month less.” Two years as novice, three as squire. It was a good record.

“Better than ten years over,” Dusburg agreed. “You en-joyed your trip to Trenko?”

 “Sir. It was memorable and most gratifying.” As junior knight in the ducal escort, Radu had seen more of
the Mar-grave’s stables than his court, but it had been a welcome cel-ebration of his new status all the
same.

Dusburg went back to writing. The man was something of a puzzle in Vamky. A banneret commanded
military groups in the field, but Dusburg was clearly well into his forties and too old for that. He had not
made the usual transfer to the


262Dave Duncan

 conjuring arm, nor the rarer one to administration, so his du-ties were mysterious. There was even doubt
as to whether he was an Abbot man or a Provost man, a distinction rarely in doubt. Radu had never
spoken with him before.

After ten minutes or so, a sword boomed against the door, just once. Novices were normally left
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waiting—it was not unusual to see three or four of them lined up outside a door—but the banneret
shouted “Enter!” right away. Radu heard the door open and close but did not turn.

 The man who sank to his knees alongside him was un-usually large. Dusburg ignored the interruption and
contin-ued writing, so Radu risked a downward glance to confirm that the newcomer was indeed Harald,
although he had guessed that just from his size. Their father always claimed that he had gotten better with
practice, and Harald, the youngest of his sons, had been the largest of them all be-fore he was sixteen.
He was eighteen now and still grow-ing. Radu saw him around the monastery sometimes, but they rarely
had a chance to speak.

 Harald was panting like a dog, with sweat shining on his shaven scalp, as well it might if he had sprinted
all the way up from the novice cells wearing a broadsword. Radu hoped his brother’s summons had been
instant,but it probably had, because Dusburg had called him in right away just to see that sweat.

 Suddenly he laid down his quill, still ignoring the new-comer. “Radu, I have a disciplinary problem to put
to you.”

 Radu snapped, “Sir!” but his heart sank. His own con-science was clear. What had the kid been up to?
It would break Harald’s heart to be thrown out, as so many recruits were. Novices were the workhorses
of Vamky, drudges doing all the menial work in kitchens and stables that kept the monastery running.
Some men remained novices all their lives, some were expelled, some gave up. Very few


Impossible Odds263

 displayed the absolute obedience, dedication, and self-abasement required for promotion to squire, the
first step up the ladder. Every one of Priboi’s sons had tried to achieve knighthood, and Radu was the
first to succeed since Fritz, the eldest, who had done so many years ago and then died on his first
campaign.

 “A certain novice,” said the banneret, “qualified for visi-tation privileges and his father came to see him.
The novice passed on to his father an item of gossip alleging that cer-tain members of the Brotherhood
were plotting treason. You know that to repeat such a story to anyone except one’s im-mediate superior
is cause for disciplinary action from the third list. What do you feel should be done to this novice?”

 The question was so easy that Radu dared to smile, know-ing his brother would not look up. He kept
the amusement out of his voice, though. “Sir! A few weeks in solitary would teach him the virtues of
silence. Unless, of course, he had been ordered to pass on that information.” It was six months since
Harald had enlisted, so he would have been due for his first visitation.

Dusburg nodded. “He was so ordered.”

“Sir, I believe he should be congratulated on passing a test.”

 “But this information was false, Radu. He knew it was false. He lied to his own father, and we have
evidence that his father was deceived. Is he not a nasty sneak, an ingrate, a foul-mouthed liar?”

 “Sir, he did even better than I thought. Especially if the fa-ther in question was anything like my own
father, who is an extremely skeptical and sharp-witted old man.”

The banneret’s hard eyes twinkled. His voice stayed icy cold. “Then you approve of his deceit?”
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“Sir. Wholeheartedly.”

“Then consider the following mission. The Abbot needs a


264Dave Duncan

 man who will pretend to leave the Brotherhood and rejoin the laity. He will be required to tell lies to
explain why he has apparently reneged, also to perjure himself by swearing loyalty to an outsider with the
firm intention of betraying that oath in any way required by his fundamental loyalty to the Order. He will
also have to undertake certain operations that could result in death to other people and certainly his own
death if he is caught. It will be a solitary mission, lonely and dangerous, and entirely outside the normal
bounds of honor as the world judges. What would you say to such a mission?”

 Radu felt nauseated and ashamed because of it.A warrior does whatever is required to win.“Sir! I
should be honored to be assigned such a mission.” Honored but horrified. Surely they would not put a
youngster like Harald through such an ordeal?

“Why?”

“Sir. Because a solitary mission is always a great honor, and one so taxing would imply that the council
puts enor-mous trust in me, a man who has been a knight-brother less than a month. Also, because I
know that the Brotherhood does not cause death without reason, this mission must be important for the
welfare of us all. Sir.”

Dusburg thought for a moment. “The perjury would not bother you? The betrayal?”

“Not if I was obeying orders, sir.”

“And if your orders were to avoid detection at any cost, would you willingly break the rule of our order?
Would you steal, kill, even fornicate if necessary?”

“Sir. I will obey any order, as I swore on the day I en-listed.” That day he had been told the
Brotherhood’s three requirements—obedience, obedience, and obedience.

The banneret nodded. “The novice may rise.”

Harald stood up. And up.


Impossible Odds265

“At ease. The novice may greet his brother.”

Harald turned to look down at Radu with an eight-horse grin. “Sir! Permission to congratulate you on
your belting?”

 “Granted,” Radu said. “And congratulations to the novice! If he really pulled wool over the old man’s
eyes he’s a bet-ter man than I can ever hope to be.” He gave his brother a hug and instantly wished he
hadn’t. He thought he’d lost half his ribs.
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 “The novice will be pleased to hear,” Dusburg said, “that his promotion to squire will be announced at
the midday meal.”

 Harald gasped, looked at Radu with disbelieving joy. Then he fell into the age-old trap and reached up
to raise his hood.

“The promotion will be effective when announced.”

“Sir!” Harald dropped to his knees again. The back of his neck was pink with excitement, though.

Radu hoped that what he was feeling was amazement, not jealousy. Squire in six months? Incredible!
Surely that did not happen every century?

“The novice will open the shutters and report what he sees.” Dusburg picked up his papers as if to read
over what he had written.

Harald jumped to obey. “Sir. Just the dark.”

“He will look to the left.”

He leaned out. “Sir! A fire! A huge . . .”

“Can the novice judge where it is?”

“I think... Sir! I think it must be Fadrenschloss, seat of Baron Fader.”

“Radu, go and see if you agree.”

It was, of course. And there was worse to come, when the shutters had been closed, when the brothers
were back be-fore the table, one standing, one kneeling.

“Radu, Fadrenschloss was your childhood home?”


266Dave Duncan

“Sir.”

“You still have family there?”

“Sir.”

 “Radu, there are presently contingents of brethren on every road leading in and out of Fadrenschloss.
They have been there since sunset. They have done, and will do, noth-ing about that fire. What say you
to that?”

 Cold as a corpse’s, the banneret’s eyes stared up at him. There were questions he could ask, of
course—had brethren started the fire? They must have known it was coming, or somebody had. Were
they stopping people going in, or peo-ple going out? But ill-judged questions brought harsh disci-pline,
second list.
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“Sir. I fail to understand the question.”

“You do not wonder why they are there or what they are doing?”

“Sir. It is not my place to wonder.”

Dusburg nodded as if satisfied. “Dismissed.”

Radu saluted and went away, leaving his brother still there, on his knees.

He did not see Harald around anymore, but that did not mean the boy had accepted the solo mission.
He might have refused it and been expelled in consequence. Or locked up in solitary if he had learned too
many secrets.

It was less than a week later that Radu was again sum-moned in the middle of the night, but this time he
was sent for by the Provost himself, which was an astonishing ex-perience for a junior knight-brother.
Furthermore, Volpe assured him that the orders he now issued had originated with the Grand Duke
himself. Even granted that Radu had unique qualifications for this particular duty, it was a breathtaking
honor for a mere junior to be assigned a mis-sion so vital without supervision. He was amused to won-


Impossible Odds267

der if Harald’s skillful lying had given the family a good name.

 Radu did not go back to bed after that interview. He went straight to the quartermaster’s store, where
the pass the Provost had given him let him draw all the supplies he would need. He dressed in forester’s
leathers on the spot, replacing his gown over them, then went across to the sta-ble to requisition a palfrey
and a down-at-heel packhorse. He turned his pass in at the gate, taking careful mental note of the
operation name Volpe had given it,Jewel Case.He rode out at first light, followed by a squire from the
guard. A furlong or two down the slope, Radu reined in. Keeping his back to his companion, he removed
his robe and dropped it. Then he rode away, leading the sumpter. The squire would return the garment to
the quartermaster, but even he had not seen the face of the man he had es-corted out.

 Radu resisted a gnawing temptation to visit the shattered shell of Fadrenschloss on his way, but only
because he might be recognized, which had been forbidden him. Comforted by the knowledge that he
would have heard by then if any of his family had perished in the blaze, he headed up into the hills, along
trails familiar from his boyhood, heading for Brikov. He avoided the settlement itself, though, for Lord
Volpe had warned him that many of the Baron’s people had sought refuge with Count János, including
his own father.

How to locate one particular charcoal burner? If the Count’s servants noticed him wandering the
Count’s lands, they would have questions to put and rough ways of putting them. Fortunately, the
younger Radu had learned his wood-craft from Master Manfred, Baron Fader’s forester, and left no
more trail than a trout.

In practice his task was not so hard. Burners had no in-


268Dave Duncan
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 terest in tall timber trees or inaccessible mountain slopes. Woodlands were harvested on a cycle of
about eighteen years, so Radu could concentrate on areas where under-wood had grown up again from
the coppiced stumps. The sound of axes carried a long way. In a few days, he located a man chopping
down branches and recognized his com-panions—a woman and a toddler, who screamed with
mer-riment as he ran from her on very short legs. None of them saw Radu, yet he could easily have been
an enemy seeking to do the child harm! Lord Volpe had not been mistaken when he said that there were
safer places to hide the heir apparent.

 There was no sign of a burners’ mound yet. The man was still constructing shelters, obviously preparing
for a larger group to arrive. The sooner the child could be seized the bet-ter, but Radu’s orders did not
allow him to try.

He walked out to where he had tethered his horse and rode off, reaching Vamky at midnight. The name
ofJewel Casewon him admittance. He reported his return to the Provost’s adjutant and within minutes
was standing in front of Volpe himself, who looked as if he had just been wakened, although the blanket
on his cot was neatly folded.

“Well done indeed, brother. I agree that haste is advisable. Can you manage a night without sleep?”

Radu said, “Sir.” What other reply could there be?

 Two hours later he rode out with a troop led by Senior Knight-brother Báthory. At dawn the cordon of
grim mounted knights closed around the burners’ camp, although there were still only the two adults there
with the child. Radu dismounted and approached. The woman Voica snatched up the boy and sought
refuge close to her man, who was not far short of Radu himself in size and had an ax, although he was
letting the blade rest on the ground and


Impossible Odds269

being careful not to raise it in threat. Pale eyes stared out of

soot-black faces.

“I know you, Voica,” Radu told her.

“And I know you, Radu Priboi,” she retorted. She must have recognized his voice, for his helmet’s face
plate, cheek pieces, and bevor concealed all his face except his eyes.

 “My name does not matter. I know the boy also, for I have seen him at Krupa. He is not safe here.
Others may find him as easily as I did. We will take him to a safer hiding place. You are welcome to
come with him.” Seeing her eyes flicker to her man, he said, “He, too, if he wants. You will all be well
treated.”

“You swear that?” the man growled.

“I swear it.”

“And if we refuse?”
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 That was what Radu dreaded. These rootless hill folk cher-ished their freedom fiercely. Would they be
insane enough to defy the Brotherhood?

“Wewilltake the boy. Whatever else happens is up to you.” And he exceeded orders by adding, “Please
don’t re-sist. If we must use force, we will leave no witnesses.”

“We will trust you, Radu,” Voica said.

So the mission was accomplished without violence. That afternoon Radu saw the boy and his two
guardians enter Vamky, but where they were taken or what happened to them he had no idea.

He had barely dropped onto his cot that night before he was again summoned to Banneret Dusburg.

“Excellent work, Radu. You are promoted to senior knight-brother, effective at once. Congratulations.
You are making fine progress.”

 Radu could only gasp, “Sir!” Of course, he had been lucky, but chance played a part in every man’s
career. Now


270Dave Duncan

he was two ranks ahead of his spectacular young brother again. He doubted he would hold that lead
very long.

 “Deliver this letter,” Dusburg said, “with all reasonable haste—‘reasonable’ in this context meaning you
are not to injure the horses and preferably not yourself, either. Ban-neret Catavolinos has been advised.
Check with Operations regarding your route.” Before Radu could say a word, he added, “Dismissed.”

 The letter was addressed to Preceptor Oswald, on assign-ment at the court of the Tzarina Regent of
Skyrria, but Radu knew that the real message was intended for him, and was simply that he must not talk
with anyone around Vamky be-fore midsummer at the earliest. Kiensk, the Skyrrian capital, was far to
the east, at least a month away.

 For a lively young knight, such a mission was both reward and good training. He could see the world,
perfect his horse-manship, and experience something very close to freedom for the first time in five years.
He wore half armor with the Brotherhood blazon on his surcoat, so honest wayfarers saw him as a
welcome companion, a deterrent to footpads and highwaymen, and the dishonest were not inclined to
inter-fere with him. Furnished with expense money and protected by conjuration from travelers’ flux and
hostelry vermin, he met with few troubles. The worst were the tavern girls who enjoyed mocking a man
forbidden even to notice them. He had only his willpower to defend him against them, and many times it
was severely tested.

He had to detour around Bohakia and Dolorth, since both were negotiating with Vamky for knights and
battle conjur-ers and he might have found himself stranded on the wrong side in a war. He arrived in the
Skyrrian capital of Kiensk early in Sixthmoon and reported to Preceptor Oswald. Two hours later, the
Preceptor handed him a letter addressed to Banneret Valentin, presently commanding brethren on cam-


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paign in Gevily. Radu saddled up and rode west, across the entire width of Eurania.

 Valentin refused Radu’s plea to be allowed to share in the fighting, but did have the grace to ask if there
was some land he particularly wanted to visit. Radu chose Distlain and wondered why the onlookers
grinned. He discovered the an-swer a few weeks later when the southern sun almost cooked him in his
cuirass.

 He duly delivered the letter Valentin had given him and was given another, but his Distlain visit was not
entirely wasted. Riding alone through an orange grove one fine morning, he was shot at. One quarrel
missed him and an-other went through his shield, but was slowed enough to do no worse than dent his
breastplate. He drew his sword and charged the highwaymen without even thinking to count them.
Fortunately there were only three of them, and he gave them no time to rewind their crossbows. He left
their bodies for the crows and took their horses to sell in the next town. The honor of the Brotherhood
was upheld.

 After a six-month tour around Eurania, Radu homed in at last on Vamky. Seen by moonlight high on its
ridge, the monastery was ethereally beautiful, towers and walls of dream and cobweb, so insubstantial
that he looked for stars showing through them. And yet, riding his horse up the long incline, he could not
deny that this felt like re-turning to a prison. He should have overnighted in Krupa, but honor had
impelled him to press on and complete his journey instead of loitering and making two easy days out of
one hard one. However weary, he might be sent right back out again if the Marquis’s whereabouts were
still so great a secret.

He had often wondered on his long trek whether Volpe and Dusburg really believed he was an
untrustworthy blab-


272Dave Duncan

 bermouth, or were merely withholding information from someone within Vamky itself, someone so high
in the Broth-erhood that he could compel Radu to talk. Minhea, maybe? Gossip was a list three offense,
but it was common knowl-edge that Abbot and Provost did not always agree.

Vamky never slept. He gave his password,Heron Flight,and the clerks found his card as fast as if he had
been gone only a day, not half a year.

 He rode over to the armory to shed the steel he had worn for so long. The squire who helped him
emitted a quiet whistle when he saw the dent on the cuirass, but knew bet-ter than to ask who had paid
for that and how much. Radu stripped from the neck down, donned the white robe he was given, then
turned his back to remove his helmet and pull up the hood. Faceless he left and faceless he returned.

 Men from the stables and quartermaster’s arrived to re-lieve him of everything else. He walked into the
monastery proper with only his robe, sandals, and sword, and even those were not his to own. The guard
would inform Banneret Dusburg that his minion had returned, and Dusburg would either send him out
again or advise Banneret Catavolinos that he could have his subordinate back. Radu’s only imme-diate
duty was to deliver the letter he had brought from Meistersinger Groningen in Ritizzia to Cantor Samuil
and get a receipt for it. Cantor was the lowest conjuring rank, outranking banneret within the monastery.
Radu did not know the man, but would be very happy to drag him out of bed. Six months’ saddle sores
cried out for satisfaction.

He went next to Housekeeping, a dusty, musty room where novices stood at writing desks all day,
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copying lists into enormous tomes. Like all brethren, Radu had many un-pleasant memories of this
boredom. He asked for Cantor Samuil’s cell number. The solitary novice on duty, who looked both
sleepy and stupid, fumbled back and forth


Impossible Odds273

 through the directory for a while, then disappeared out a back door. Just before Radu exploded and
started breaking rules by going in search of him, he returned with a man wearing the brown sword belt of
a junior knight-brother, who lifted down another volume and consulted that.

“Sir. That information is not available.”

“Brother, I have urgent business with the cantor.”

“Sir. I do not have authority to release his whereabouts.”

“Brother, I killed the last three men who tried to stop me completing this mission. I order you to tell me.”

 “Sir. I have my orders,” the man said sullenly. He sounded old to be only a junior and not nearly
arrogant enough to be sure of his ground.

 No doubt the dispatch Radu bore was of no importance whatsoever, but his duty was clear and an
inquiry would up-hold him. Following procedure, he threw back his hood and drew his sword halfway
from its scabbard. “Brother, I will see your face!”

The novice went chalky white, perhaps imagining himself being sent to drag very senior officers out of
bed to adjudi-cate the conflict.

His superior capitulated. “Blue 1, A 5.”

“Say that again?”

“Sir!Blue 1, A 5.”

“Brother, I didn’t think there was a Level 1 in Blue Hub.”

“Sir. It says here to go to a door marked ‘Brooms’ in Blue 3, J 6. You will need a lantern,” the junior
knight added in a belated frenzy of cooperation.

 There were seven hubs in Vamky, and Blue was as far from the main gate as it was possible to go,
where the monastery abutted the mountain. Radu knew Blue 3 quite well, because that was where
squires received basic conjuration training. Octograms must be sited at ground level, where air and earth


274Dave Duncan

elementals met, and the ridge rose steeply there, so Level 3 rested right on bedrock. Hence his surprise.

 When he arrived at Blue 3, he found the J corridor dark, with no guiding star at the far end. All Vamky
lanterns were the same, a glass bottle constricted in the middle to a waist narrow enough to hold. He
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removed the chimney and raised the lantern itself to the hub lamp to light the wick. As soon as the flame
was steady, he replaced the chimney and set off in search of J 6. He found the big eight-sided room
empty and silent, creepy with remnant spirituality like odors of an-cient cooking. What seemed to be a
cupboard door opposite opened to a staircase descending into the rock. The only staircases he had ever
seen in Vamky were up in the towers, so curiosity tempered his fatigue as he began his descent. No
doubt he was trespassing in territory reserved to the conjur-ing ranks, but he had an excellent reason to
snoop and that was always a pleasure. Straight and dangerously steep, the stair eventually brought him to
a hub where three corridors met, and there the walls were of ashlar again, not living rock. Numbers on
the walls confirmed that he was on Level 2 and this was still Hub Blue. Another stair, even steeper, went
on down.

Vamky was enormous. Even in winter, when most of the expeditionary forces returned to base, the
monastery never ran out of space, so why was Cantor Samuil quartered so far away from everyone else?
By the time he came back from the mess hall it would be time to eat again.

 The second stair cut through a spur of bedrock and back into masonry, turned sharply to the left once,
then twice, and continued down to end at a barred gate, beyond which there was light, much light. It
would seem that Blue Hub Level 1, Corridor A, was a jail, and it was certainly not the hoosegow used
for errant novices and squires. Radu knew that one only too well, and a busy, nasty place it was.


Impossible Odds275

 Standing on the bottom step, he peered through the grille in growing astonishment. The extravagant
lighting was the first surprise. Oil was never wasted, yet a dozen or so hang-ing lamps made this place
almost dazzling. It was apparently the end of the road, with no obvious way out. Six doors ar-rayed
along the right-hand wall looked like entrances to standard monastic cells, similar to Dusberg’s Red 7, A
17, or his own Green 5, F 97. He was too far away to read the numbers burned into the wood, but if
one of those was A 5, then Cantor Samuil was a jailer required to live close to his charges.

 The opposite wall held four doors of metal bars, dungeons for prisoners. If one of those was A 5, the
idea of handing the letter to Samuil personally was devilishly tempting and utterly stupid.

 Most surprising of all, a plank table in the center of the long room held a few books, two arms, and a
head, the body parts belonging to a white-gowned swordsman whose but-tocks rested on a bench
alongside. He was snoring vigor-ously. There was enough light for Radu to make out that the man’s
sword belt was violet, meaning he was a preceptor, no less, but what sort of prisoner required a senior
master to guard him? Knight-brothers caught sleeping on watch were summarily executed. If Radu
reported this offence, he would put the sinner in grave danger, but he might compromise himself also. He
knew he had stumbled into matters that did not concern him.

 He backed up the stair until he was out of sight, then coughed. The snoring continued. He stamped his
feet, but sandals made only wimpy noises. Giving up, he went down again and clinked his sword hilt
against the bars. The snor-ing never wavered, but the gate moved.

He had assumed it was locked, and no doubt it was sup-posed to be locked. Did loyalty to the
Brotherhood require


276Dave Duncan
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him to report this sloppiness? Giving the miscreant one last chance, he pushed the rusty door wide. He
had expected the hinges to squeak, but in the subterranean silence they shrieked like banshees, making
him jump.

The guard stopped snoring... snuffled a few times... and started again.

 This was ridiculous! Radu was nearly asleep on his feet and would be lucky to catch two hours’ hay time
before he had to start writing a report or take up weapons training again or undertake whatever torments
his superiors could imagine. He marched into the jail, swinging his lantern. The first solid door was A 1.
So Samuil was a jailer, not a pris-oner, and his door would be right along here: . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . Three
thunderous impacts on those timbers ought to give the sleeping guard a heart attack.

“Brother!”

 Radu spun around, almost dropping his lantern. He knew that voice from somewhere. Only one dungeon
was occu-pied, and the prisoner was standing just inside the gate, clutching the bars and peering out.
Radu strode over to him, and for a moment the two of them stared at each other in si-lence. Faces were
a rare sight in Vamky, and that face in this place was beyond imagining.

 “Radu!” the prisoner whispered. “Help me!” He was teth-ered to the back wall by a long chain attached
to a heavy brass collar.

“Your Highness!” This was madness! Why would the Grand Duke be—

“Death and fire!”roared another voice.“Who the pus are you?”

 The shout came from a newcomer, a large, flabby man, very likely Cantor Samuil, because he was
standing in the doorway of A 5 holding a sword. The sleeping guard grunted, sat up, and grabbed for his
own sword. Samuil


Impossible Odds277

moved toward the entrance to cut off the intruder’s escape.

 Radu shot past the table like a crossbow bolt and up the precipitous stairs as fast as he could go. Angry
shouts behind him warned that pursuit was on its way. Elementals of pure terror drove him on, around the
first corner. Rubin a prisoner in the monastery? High treason! Abbots and Grand Dukes had been known
to quarrel in the past, but never in all his-tory had it come to open revolution like this. Heads must roll.

 Around the second corner . . . He was a dead man if the conspirators caught him. And who could be
behind this but Provost Volpe? Possibly Abbot Minhea, but it had been Volpe who had sent Radu to
find the Grand Duke’s hidden son. The memory hit him like a kick in the stomach—Volpe had claimed to
be speaking for the Duke, authorizing the kidnapping of his own son! So the Provost was the chief
trai-tor, and Radu was now witness to two acts of treason, ac-cessory to the abduction and no doubt
murder of the infant Marquis.

 He stumbled onto the Level 2 landing and stopped. He glanced at the stairs going up and the three
corridors leading spirits knew where. Then he turned and hurled his lantern back down the way he had
come. Glass shattered, and a cho-rus of oaths turned into screams as burning oil splashed over Samuil.
Radu hurried through the darkness, waving his arms before him. To run up the stairs would be too
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obvious. Where the corridors led he had no idea. The novice barns were on Blue Level 2, as far from
anywhere civilized as pos-sible, but the fact that he had been directed to come via Blue to 3, J 6, strongly
suggested that this section did not connect with them. Besides, nobody would put a secret like that jail
within reach of nosy novices.

He walked down the central passage of the three, running


278Dave Duncan

fingers along the wall. When he reached door 2, K 1, he de-cided he had come far enough.

 A few bladder-testing moments later, three men carrying lanterns and swords scurried up from Level 1
and on toward Level 3. If one of them was Samuil, he had taken time to dress. Radu fumbled his way
back through the darkness to the hallway—ignoring a faint stink of burned wool—and started up the long
stair to the broom cupboard. He had no way to rescue the Grand Duke; rescuing himself would need all
the wits he owned.

 From octogram Blue 3, B 6, he knew where he was going, even in the dark. Where had the others
gone? One to find help, almost certainly. Another to report to the Provost, likely. One to fetch a stretcher
for the burned man, maybe. Radu cut through octogram B 5 and took the ramp to White. He walked at a
standard knight-brother pace, head down, one hand on his sword. If he were seriously challenged, he
would fight, he decided, but the few other men he encoun-tered paid him no heed. Lamps were
glimmering, faint light showed around the shutters, but all thoughts of bed and sleep must be discarded.
He had to get out of the monastery and out of Krupina before he was cut to pieces.

How, though? Nobody left Vamky without a pass, and those came down from the highest levels. Every
window in the place looked out over a fatal drop. You couldn’t let a horse down on a rope, anyway, and
without a horse he would be caught inside an hour.

 Would denial work? Suppose he destroyed the letter so there was no visible connection between him
and the spy? If Dusburg asked about the trip, he could say that Mei-stersinger Groningen had just told
him his vacation was ended and he could go home, period. No letter. Would Dus-burg believe that? Had
Samuil heard the Duke say his name? Could they beat it out of the Duke? The clerk brother in


Impossible Odds279

 Housekeeping would not voluntarily tell anyone that he had given out a confidential address, and why
should the traitors think to ask him? They had no way of knowing that the spy they had so nearly caught
had just returned to Vamky that night.

 Radu had reached about that point in his thoughts—his feet were climbing the ramp from Red 4 to
Green 5—when he realized he no longer had the Groningen letter. He re-membered holding it when he
pushed the barred gate open. He had tucked it in his belt to free up a hand when he was about to knock
on Samuil’s door. That was the last he re-membered of it. They would find the letter—might have
al-ready done so—and run down to the gate to ask who had come in that night. They might very well be
waiting for him already in Green 5, F 37. He was dead.

 Lacking other instructions, his feet kept walking on the same path, and his mind revolved in the same
terrible cir-cles, like a moth around a balefire. His fingers located his cell number. No guards were
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waiting in the corridor. They might be inside. He had no real reason to go in there, no pos-sessions
beyond a comb, and there might be a death squad lurking inside, and yet this was his home until the day
he died, which might well be already dawning out there in the world. Somehow it felt like a refuge, which
it most certainly was not.

 He raised the latch and went in. Nobody put a sword to his throat. There was nobody there, no change
in six months except a list-three layer of dust. His blanket lay neatly folded on his mattress exactly as he
had left it when the novice bringing Dusburg’s summons thundered on his door. He opened the shutters
and let in the light and fresh moun-tain cold. He was dead, dead, dead.

Three letters lay on his bed. They had been opened, of course. Letters were always read and not always
delivered.


280Dave Duncan

 No, only two were letters. One was a note from his father congratulating him on his birthweek, five
months ago. The other was from Franz saying the old man had died and they were going to put off the
funeral until the twenty-fifth to let the family gather. At Brikov, of course. And
hope-you-can-make-it-he-was-so-proud-of-you.

The twenty-fifth ofwhat, you big, dumb farmer?

 The third document was a pass,Westering Song, for ten days’ leave, signed by Banneret Catavolinos
and dated the twenty-third of Ninthmoon. He was a straight sword, Catavolinos. Few commanders
granted leave for any reason at all, and he must have brought this pass here personally and left it on the
bed just in case Radu returned in time. After a few minutes’ counting and recounting, Radu decided that
today was the twenty-fourth. The pass was still valid. If he went now, he might just make it out of
Vamky.




                                                     IV



                                          From a View to a Death

                                                     •1•

You have no doubt that the man in the dungeon was my husband?”

 “None, Your Highness.” Radu’s voice was raspy after so much talking, but he was a new man since the
healing, noth-ing like the battered derelict they had rescued the previous evening. Ringwood could see a
likeness to Harald now, Radu being darker and not as huge. Still big, though. And he impressed. He did
not need True’s testimonial to be a con-vincing man. Even his throwaway mention of the three
high-waymen had been believable.

 Fed and rested, Ringwood felt much more cheerful this morning, and so did the Count’s hall, with a log
fire blazing on the hearth, sometimes puffing smoke when the wind gusted. Rain hissing in the chimney
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fulfilled Manfred’s pre-diction of bad weather. The travelers could not have made it over Smugglers’
Pass today.

They were gathered on two benches before the fire-


282Dave Duncan



place—Ranter, Johanna, and Bellman on the left, Radu, Ringwood, and True on the right, with János on
his throne between them. They had all been spellbound by the glimpse Radu had given of the inner
workings of secretive Vamky. Now the questions were starting as people mulled over what he had said.
The big one was going to be,What do we do now?but no one had gotten to that yet.

Bellman said, “Tell me how the Grand Duke knew your name.”

 “When he visited Trenko last spring,” Radu said, “I was junior knight-brother in the escort, so I was
assigned to be his custrel. His Highness is invariably courteous to subordinates.”

“He is,” Joanna said, “but he’s notorious for not remem-bering names.” She frowned. “And his attendant
was some-one else. A longish name...”

“Knight-brother Nickolaus on the outward journey. I in-herited the honor for our return.”

“I do not recall seeing you on that trip at all!”

Radu smiled. “I saw you, Your Highness.”

“I expect it was the beard. And I used to be taller than you, too!”

He laughed. “You’re thinking of Franz.”

“Oh? Maybe. I can’t keep track of you all.”

“Franz dreamt of kissing you as soon as he wouldn’t have to stand on tiptoe.”

Johanna flickered him a smile of the sort that Ringwood had learned to avoid. She looked up at the
Count. “When do you leave for Krupa, my lord?” Here it came.

“Soon.” He had a great face for scowling with, had János. “In summer, on dry roads, I can do it in one
day. In this storm, I’ll overnight at Donehof and go on in the morning.”

The wedding was tomorrow at sunset and no one had for-gotten that, least of all the Grand Duke’s wife.

“And where will you be staying in Krupina?”


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“I rented a house for the week of the festivities. My bur-sar thought I’d bought it when I told him the
price.”

 Ringwood noted that no offer of hospitality followed. János was probably skilled at avoiding trouble. He
chose his battlefields, and squiring the previous Grand Duchess to the enthronement of the next one
would greatly displease his liege lord the Duke.

“When did you do that?” she asked, and the tension in the room tightened a notch.

János could have said he had sent his steward, but True might have called him on it. “When I went to
watch the in-quiry into your death. Your first death, Your Grace.”

“Did you see Rubin at that time?”

He nodded. “Not to speak with.”

“Was he limping?”

“Not that I noticed, but I wasn’t looking for it.”

“Well?” she demanded of the whole assembly. “I think he’s a fake! I believe Radu, and my husband is a
prisoner in Vamky. How are we going to rescue him?”

The Count made a derisive noise.

“He is your liege lord!” Johanna’s words cracked like whips. “You will not go to his aid?”

“Get him out ofVamky,girl? You’re out of your mind!”

Everyone else was shooting wary glances at Ringwood, but he just smiled. He had already warned his
ward that she could organize any sort of rescue she liked, or any sort of disruption of the wedding, but he
would not let her become personally in-volved. She and her Blades were going no farther than Brikov,
where they were now. End of journey, end of discussion.

“Why bother?” Ranter asked. “Why would you want him back?”

Even the Count winced.

 Johanna dug in her claws, arched her back, and spat. “Be-cause, you thick oaf, Volpe stole my son and
I will see him


284Dave Duncan



 chained on the rack for it! I will gladly turn the screw until I get Frederik back, or forever. The louder he
screams the louder I sing.”

“The kid’s dead. You know that.”
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“I do not know that!Keep your mouth shut. My lord, today I will come with you as far as Donehof.”

Ringwood yelped. “Your Highness! You agreed—”

“Don’t be an old woman!” Johanna said. “I suppose that’s your job, being an old woman. It doesn’t suit
you.”

“Why do you want to go to this place, wherever it is?”

 “For safety! Smugglers’ Pass is impassable in this weather, isn’t it, my lord? So Brikov is a dead end
and very dangerous for me if Volpe has any more spies around here, and I’m sure he does. Donehof will
be much safer.”

“What’s Donehof?” Ringwood asked, knowing he had lost this battle. She had found the only argument
he could not ignore, security.

 “A place I own not far south of Fadrenschloss,” János said. “One of Radu’s brothers runs it for me. It’s
time I got started.” He edged forward on his throne.

 “It’s on the west road,” Johanna said, “so if there’s trou-ble you can spirit me out to the north or south
as you please. Much safer than here.”

“Why do you want to go there?” Ringwood asked, know-ing her answer would merely eliminate one
possible lie. Why had chance not given him a nice, malleable ward, one he could bully?

“So I can wave when the bride goes by! When does the dear child arrive, does anyone know?”

“She was due in Krupa three days ago,” János told her.

“Oh, well.” If Johanna had really had plans to disrupt the bridal procession, she showed no signs of
disappointment. “Radu? You know the situation in Vamky. How can we res-cue His Highness?”


Impossible Odds285



 The knight-brother shook his head. “I am your man, Your Highness, and will be loyal to the end of my
days. After the crime I committed against your son and sister, the least I can do is to dedicate my life to
your service. But I cannot see how what you suggest can be done. No nation in Eurania would attempt a
siege, and storming those walls is unthink-able. The security on the gate has worked perfectly for
cen-turies, so we cannot hope to sneak in. And if we did, how in the world would we get him safely out
again? I couldn’t think of a way of escape for myself alone, one man, when my life depended on it.”

Ringwood’s ward was nothing if not stubborn. “You im-plied that the Brotherhood was divided into
Abbot’s men and Provost’s men.”

 “So I did,” Radu admitted. “Historically that is true, and historically the dukes have always played off
abbot against provost and vice versa. We humble serfs were convinced that Minhea and Volpe detested
each other, but we were guessing. We had no evidence. I have been gone half a year, remember, so I am
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not up to date. It may be that I should have run to the Abbot to report what I had seen, but...”He
shrugged. “I couldn’t believe such a prisoner could have been kept secret from him. His aides and
Volpe’s must spend half their time keeping watch on each other. Would I even have been given a
hearing? The Provost himself sent me to capture the boy, so the Abbot’s faction must regard me as one
of his.”

 “You don’t think the Abbot and the Provost may have ganged up on the Duke this time?” Bellman
asked.

 “Even that’s possible.” Radu was clearly suspicious of this flunky who sat so near Johanna on the bench,
too close for a servant or even a social equal.

 Bellman pondered for a while, and everyone else waited expectantly. The Count frowned but did not
interrupt. Jo-hanna’s eyes were bright as she studied her lover’s profile. It


286Dave Duncan



was quite obvious how those two felt about each other, yet Bellman could never have shared her bed
without her Blades being aware of it. Knowing how crazy he felt if he was away from True for very long,
Ringwood marveled at their self-control.

 Then came Bellman’s next question. “You said, Knight-brother, that you thought the gate on the
guardroom should have been locked. I assume the dungeon doorwaslocked, since the prisoner did not
try to come out?”

“He was tethered, chained by the neck.”

 “Yes, and that’s curious. Are the locks in Vamky like the locks here in Brikov? Just ordinary old iron
locks? Not con-jured?”

 “I haven’t noticed . . .” Radu peered across at the hall door. “Nothing special that I know of. There are
almost no locks in Vamky. Nobody owns anything except the right to food and clothing. Why?”

“His father’s a locksmith!” Johanna announced tri-umphantly.

Bellman nodded without taking his eyes off Radu. “Is your pass still valid, Knight-brother?”

“It may be.” Radu looked at him incredulously. “Issued on the twenty-third. Um... odd month, odd
days... this is the third?” He counted on his fingers. “It’s good until midnight tonight.”

“We could make it to Vamky by then, couldn’t we? What’s written on these passes?” Bellman rushed
on without waiting for an answer. “The date issued, commanding offi-cer’s signature, an operation name?
What else? Expiry date?”

 “The number of men leaving. Not an expiry. Mine had ‘Ten days’ written on it, but that was an
instruction to me, not the guard. Nothing else. Vamky is very concerned about security.”
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Impossible Odds287



Vamky sounded like a total madhouse to Ringwood. Give him Ironhall any day. And hold the celibacy.

 “The idea is that the men on the gates don’t know who’s doing what or why or going where,” Bellman
agreed. “Like-wise the men coming in. There must be a way to take ad-vantage of that.”

Radu stared at him. “You areraving!In centuries nobody has ever broken the Brotherhood’s security!”

 “How many have tried? I gather you can ride out in full ceremonial plate mail or half armor or peasant
rags, de-pending on your mission, but indoors everyone wears those white gowns?”

“Yes.” Radu was openly contemptuous now. “I hope you’re not suggesting we try to sneak an army in
on my password?”

“Just you and a prisoner,” Bellman said.

“Men on leave do not go around collecting prisoners.”

 “That’s my point—the guards don’t know what you’ve been doing. You could have been on leave or
serving with an army somewhere, they don’t know. How do they process prisoners?”

“They would give me a receipt for you and march you away in chains. Catavolinos would be told about
you when he was notified of my return.” Radu shook his head. “Itwon’twork! There may even be a note
on my pass that I’m to be arrested on sight.”

Bellman grunted, looking angry and baffled. “I doubt that. With this obsessive secrecy, they wouldn’t
want the guards wonderingwhy. If you do return you can’t get out again, so why should they worry?”

 “Exactly.” Radu’s smile indicated that the conversation was over and that the smarty young foreigner
should stop trying to second-guess the Vamky Brotherhood.

“So you need two passes,” True said.


288Dave Duncan



“Of course!” Bellman cried. “Why didn’t I see that?” He looked angry, not grateful.

“See what?” Ringwood, Radu, and János demanded with one voice.

Bellman gestured that True could have the honor.

“Truth-sounding,” she said. “If Her Highness was right when she suggested that Vamky has spies here in
Brikov, then I can ferret them out for you.”

“No time for spy hunts,” János said uneasily. “My men are ready to leave.”
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“I’d almost swear that the Brotherhood will have an in-former here, my lord,” Radu said. “Some man
who’s arrived since Her Highness passed through in the spring, I’d guess. Or some Fadrenschloss man
who moved here, because I’m certain Vamky kept watch on von Fader. Any man who’s ever served in
Vamky, even briefly? Remember, they turned my brother into an assassin in half a year.”

The Count scowled ferociously. “Wolfgang Webber, the wheelwright’s oldest. Three years in Vamky.
Gave up about five months ago because he couldn’t get past novice grade.”

“I’d bet a ducat he’s a squire or even a knight-brother, my lord.”

 “That’s the first thing to ask him,” True said. “Even if he just answers a simple, ‘No!’ I will hear a
falsehood.”

“Then we beat his password out of him!” Ranter said with zest.

“You, boy, pull on that bell rope,” János told Ringwood.

“You have a locksmith?” Bellman asked. “I’ll need lock picks.”

“Blacksmith does that,” János said. There was excite-ment in the air now.

“Stop!” Johanna said suddenly. “Stop! Stop!” She jumped up. “This is far too dangerous! I forbid it.”

She should have changed her mind sooner, Ringwood


Impossible Odds289



thought. It was too late to call off the chase when the hounds had scented the game.

 Trudy and Johanna were hastily packing in the bedroom, stuffing dirty clothes in with others not yet dry,
when they were interrupted by a thunderous hammering on the door. Trudy opened it and discovered
four large men and a boy, a slight, fresh-faced kid who looked understandably alarmed and much
younger than she had expected.

 “Fraulein Gertrude?” said a monstrous red beard. “This is Wolfgang Webber. Count says you have
some questions to ask him.”

 Feeling ill already, Trudy forced herself to meet those in-nocent eyes. “I understand you spent two years
in Vamky.”

Angelic smile. “Nearer three years, fraulein.”

“And why did you leave?”

He was easy—his pupils contracted. “Because they wouldn’t promote me.”

“That’s a lie.”
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“Right!” said Red Beard.

 “No, wait! Wolfgang, I know when people tell lies. You want to give me the truth now, or wait until
these men hurt you?”

“You’re wrong!” he said shrilly. “I am not lying.”

“Bring him,” Red Beard said. “We’ll call you when he’s ready, fraulein.”

 Trudy closed the door. Her hands shook so hard she could barely lace up her saddlebags. She struggled
to put on the fine kidskin rain cloak and hat that Ringwood had given her.

 “Don’t feel guilty!” Johanna said harshly. “They kid-napped my son. They killed Bernard. They’re spies
and mur-derers and traitors. What you are doing is right.”

That was easy for her to say—she hadn’t sensed the death spirits already closing in on young Wolfgang.
Trudy


290Dave Duncan



 followed her downstairs, escorted by the Blades, who had been standing guard in the corridor. Having
sent porters to fetch the baggage, they plunged out into the rain, which was falling in solid sheets, misting
the ground, cascading off eaves, winding in rivulets over the ground. Men made room for them in the
stables. There they stood and shiv-ered, listening to the rain roaring on the slates. Out in the yard, two
dozen or so men in helmets and breastplates were saddling up. When that confusion ended, with all the
escort mounted and the packhorses laden, bedraggled boys still held a few unclaimed mounts. Thunder
echoed through the hills, on and on.

Bellman appeared in half armor, wet as pondweed. “What’re we waiting for?”

“Wolfgang,” Johanna snapped. “He must be tougher than he looked.”

 “Do you think a daffodil would last three years in that madhouse? A question, Trudy—was Radu telling
the truth when he said he was present on the Trenko expedition?”

She said, “Yes. Why?”

He managed to shrug his breastplate. “I don’t know why. That seems to have been the start of this affair.
What hap-pened to the first groom, Nickolaus?”

 Johanna chuckled. “You are the most infuriating man!” she said fondly. “I haven’t the faintest idea! How
can that possibly matter now?”

“I don’t know,” Bellman said, “except it feels as if it may. It’s sort of like picking a lock—poking around
until it makes sense. I’ll ask Radu.”

A helmet with a thick red beard appeared in the doorway. “Ach, there you are, fraulein! He’s ready for
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you now.”

Sick at heart, Trudy went with him. Rain pounded on her hat and shoulders. Sensing red flames behind
her, she twisted around to peer out of her hood. It was Ringwood, of course.


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“You stay here, love,” she said. “You’ll distract me.” Why had she ever volunteered for this?

Wolfgang was a muddy heap against the rough stones of the rear wall of the barn. She could have found
him just by homing in on the death elementals that were feed-ing his pain and terror. His guards’ hatred
was palpable. They would not be feeling like that if they had enjoyed what they had done, but they had
done it. One of them held an iron bar.

“On your feet, spy!” one said, giving him a kick.

 The boy whimpered and struggled to rise without using his arms. Trudy turned her eyes away, but not
soon enough to avoid seeing what they had done to his face. Count János was there, looking like a very
big man kneeling.

“How long where you in Vamky, Wolfgang?” she asked

 over her shoulder. “Thirty-three months, fraulein.” He had trouble speaking. Could she detect lies in all
this spiritual racket? She

needed to make him lie again so she could judge the levels. “You’re going to tell me the complete truth
now, no matter what I ask?”

“Yes, fraulein.” That would do nicely. “What rank were you?” “Junior knight-brother.” “When did you
get that promotion?” Pause. “The day I left, fraulein.” “You were sent here to spy?” “Yes.” “To learn
what?” “To look out for the Duchess, the Baron, or the Marquis.” “That’s all?” “Anything else I thought
might interest... them.” “Who gave you these orders?” “Preceptor Oswald.”Clang!went the first wrong
note.


292Dave Duncan



“Think again.”

A man in a helmet and cuirass said, “I met Preceptor Os-wald in Skyrria.” She recognized Radu’s
voice.

 She did not see what happened then, but the boy started screaming. Her stomach knotted so tight she
thought she would vomit. Why had she ever suggested this atrocity? Why hadn’t she stayed in Chivial?
But then she would not have Ringwood’s love. Could he still love her after this?
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The screaming died away into sobs. Someone told the prisoner to stand up.

“Don’t make them do that to you again, please!” she said. “Who was it?”

Came a whisper, “Abbot Minhea.”

Bellman’s voice said, “Aha!”

“And what is your password?” Trudy asked.

“Cobweb watcher.”

She shuddered. “No, it isn’t.”

“Twist both of them,” said the Count.

 Trudy put her hands over her ears, but the spy could guess why they wanted that information, and it
took many terrible screams and pleas for mercy to drag a true answer out of him:Spinning wheel.

“Is that all?” she asked.Please let it be all!

“Not quite.” Radu stepped forward. “Who’s your command-ing officer?”

 “Cantor Samuil,” Wolfgang mumbled. His teeth were chattering, and Trudy could sense the despair and
cold drowning his will to live. If they didn’t get him to a healing soon, he would die of shock.

“His cell?”

“White 5, D 21.”

Radu glanced in Trudy’s direction, but that was the truth as Wolfgang knew it, so she did not speak.

“And yours?”


Impossible Odds293



“Green 2, G 55.”

“How did you know what the Duchess looks like?”

“Saw her when she came to the monastery. Fetched writ-ing paper for her.”

“How many other spies are there in Brikov?”

Silence.

“Don’t be a fool!” Radu barked. “There’s lots worse things they can do to you. Answer.”
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“None I know of.”

Everyone looked to Trudy, who nodded. It was close enough to truth.

“So when you saw Her Highness here yesterday, who did you tell?”

“No one.”

“Hit him some more,” said the Count.

Trudy yelled, “No!” as Wolfgang shouted, “It’s the truth!”

“Why not?” Radu asked. “Who were you supposed to tell and why didn’t you?”

“Carter Franhof. I give him notes to deliver. He’s not back yet. He’s not Brotherhood, just does it for
money.”

The Count’s wordless snarl boded ill for the carter.

“And what did you write about me?” Radu asked.

“I can’t see.”

“Senior Knight-brother Radu.”

“Traitor Radu?”

 Radu raised a hand to stop the man with the iron bar. Wolfgang cowered, waiting for more pain. The
rain was washing the mud and blood off him and what it was uncov-ering was even worse than Trudy
had imagined. She turned away again.

“Just answer the question, brother,” Radu said. “And don’t bother lying.”

“I wrote that you came for a funeral and the Count put you in a cell.” The spy’s voice rose from a hoarse
whisper to


294Dave Duncan



a croak. “So they’ll come to rescue you and rescue me in-

stead! You’ll all pay for this.”

Radu shrugged and turned away.

“Too late for you, scum,” the Count said. “But at least you’ll get out of the rain. The gibbet won’t be
wasted after all. Hoist him.”

Trudy started back to the stable, then sensed Ringwood walking at her side. She stopped and grabbed
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him in both arms. He crushed her tight and held her as she added tears to the rain running off his
shoulder.

 “You did right,” he said in her ear. “Very important things are often the hardest to do. You may have
saved all our lives with that information.”

She couldn’t stop the sobs long enough to get words out.

 “He’s as guilty as the rest of them,” Ringwood said. “He killed Bernard and the others. He wasn’t
looking for Her Nibs’s baby just to play patty-cake.”

But now she was just as bad. She hated herself. How could Ringwood possibly love her?

“He knew what would happen if he was caught,” he per-sisted. “He swore that terrible oath knowing it
might cost him his life.”

Was it any worse than the Blades’ oath? Ringwood might be next.

                                                     •2•

 A rmor was terrible stuff. Ironhall owned some examples, even plate mail, and all candidates had to try
fighting in it a few times, but Blades were duelists, not warriors. Bellman’s protests having been
overruled, he rode inside a cuirass like a barrel with rain dribbling steadily down his neck; steel tas-


Impossible Odds295



sets rested heavy on his thighs, and hardened leather sleeves pinched every time he bent an arm.

 Rain blotted out half the world, too, driving in clouds over the bare green hills. The entrance to the valley
was a nasty canyon. The counts had held this pass for generations against all comers, Radu told him, but
conversely, it was a fine place for an ambush. Everyone seemed to breathe more easily when the
cavalcade emerged onto open moor. Bellman can-tered forward to where Johanna rode alongside the
Count.

 “My lord, Manfred says this is where we leave you. Radu begs you to keep in mind what Wolfgang said
about a Vamky attack. Not to rescue Radu, but to silence him. It’s amazing they haven’t come for him
already, since they know where he went.”

 “Think I haven’t thought of that?” János said grumpily. On horseback he looked big. “Means the
traitor’s first mes-sage got through. They think I already solved their Radu problem for them. No fear, I’ll
keep eyes peeled when I get back from the wedding.”

Bellman drew his sword to salute. “By Your Highness’s leave?”

 “You’re not doing this for me, you know!” Johanna said, too loudly. She’d already tried tears, terror,
derision, martyr-dom, intimidation, appeals to reason, and outright bribery. She was not making a hard
job any easier.
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“Yes, I am,” Bellman said. “You are never going to be safe while the killer is at large, so I want to stop
him. But also I hope to help a mother find her son.”

“Truly?” The agony in her eyes was only hope.

He shrugged. “I do think he’s alive, love.”

“Why?”

“Just something that was said. And don’t worry about us. Radu and I have hours to talk this over on the
way. We’ve agreed we won’t go in unless we’re sure it will work.”


296Dave Duncan



 Leaving her and knowing it might be forever was purest torture, but Bellman could see the Count’s sneer
in the back-ground. He had already said too much, and he dared not em-brace her in public. In a day or
two she might be reunited with her husband, and scandal would be deadly for both her and himself. He
kissed the icy fingers she offered and turned his mount aside.

 Manfred led Radu and Bellman over rocky uplands in a blinding storm as if he knew exactly where he
was going. They could have ridden with the Count down to the plain and followed the highway north to
Olden Bridge, but Bell-man had sought out the wiry old forester, who had agreed he could show them a
shortcut. “Happy to,” he’d said. “My sad-dle sores are healing too fast.”

The weather was appalling, cloudbursts mixed with downpours. They had hours to go yet and the only
part of Bellman still dry was his head, inside his helmet. He would freeze to death before he saw the
notorious monastery.

 At first they went in single file, but eventually better ter-rain let Radu pull alongside Bellman and ride
knee-to-knee. The two men eyed each other curiously. They had met only a few hours ago and already
they were partners in a mission that seemed close to suicidal. The man was impressive and Trudy had
vouched for his veracity, but he had changed sides once. How far could he be trusted?

Radu was obviously wondering much the same of Bell-man. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Her
Highness is not good at disguising the way she feels about you. I would not pry, but I am curious to know
why you would risk your neck to try and rescue her husband. This would seem to be con-trary to your
personal interests.”

 Bellman’s laugh emerged more strident than he intended. “So it is, but duty drives me. I originally agreed
to serve her


Impossible Odds297



 because I have friends to avenge. The personal interest came later, and I do not deny it. Mainly, though,
I want to untangle this web of evil and make the killers pay for their crimes.”
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 That wasn’t all of it. There was also arrogance. Puzzles fascinated him. The temptation to try and bring
the monster or monsters to justice had been irresistible, and now the thought of outwitting the Vamky
Brotherhood had become almost an obsession. He knew this was folly and could not resist it. Curiosity
killed more than cats.

 “And you, Knight-brother? Your former brethren are more likely to embrace you with a hempen noose
than open arms. May I ask you to name your own motives?”

 Radu nodded, making water dance off the brim of his helmet. “I am horrified at what the Brotherhood
has be-come. The power it wields must be ruled by honor if it is not to be perverted into evil. Ultimately
its loyalty must go beyond Provost and Abbot to the Grand Duke of Krupina. I obeyed orders to kidnap
a child because those orders came from the child’s great-uncle and he told me they had origi-nated with
the boy’s father. When I find that the father has been imprisoned and an imposter wears the coronet, then
I feel my oath and loyalty have been abused. My conscience forces me to try to make amends as best I
can.”

Which was what he had told Johanna, but it was a weak reason. He had been indoctrinated for years to
put obedience ahead of everything else, and had done so repeatedly, by his own testimony. He was
probably sincere now, but a man who rats once may rat twice. His estrangement from the Brotherhood
had been an accident; he had discovered a dan-gerous secret and panicked. Offered a pardon and a
wel-come back, he would fold like a collapsing tent.

And he would have good reason to do so if he discovered that Bellman was not being completely honest
with him. Which he wasn’t.


298Dave Duncan



 The road dipped into a hollow and a pine forest, forcing them to ride in single file. They picked up the
conversation on the far side.

 “Also, like you, I seek revenge,” Radu said. “My brother died. Those who ride the warrior’s road know
that slaugh-tering and slaughter may be their lot, but this was no honor-able war. My brother was
perverted into a murderer. Where is the honor in that?”

 “I don’t think he was the monster Johanna described,” Bell-man said. “I hardly knew him, just a few
hours. After the fall of Fadrenschloss, he came to Brikov and persuaded the Baron to take him on. He
must have capitalized on your father’s long service, and he must have deceived your father as much as he
deceived the Baron. He certainly concealed some dangerous conjurements in the Baron’s medicine box.
None of that is honorable behavior. Yet I do not believe Harald was a killer. You told us the shadowman
conjuration was carried in a flea. I assume that the one that attracts vermin, the one called a ‘swarming,’
is equally easy to conceal?”

 “I believe so,” Radu said guardedly. “My training had not proceeded into the higher realms of military
spiritualism.” Meaning:Do not pry!

“It is hardly a murderer’s weapon.”
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Radu frowned. “Harald used aswarmingagainst her Highness? It is said to be effective against towns
under siege. What purpose did it serve for him?”

 “It kept her moving. As well as being a revolting experi-ence, it was a warning that her enemies knew
where she was. It drove her out of Brikov, and of course Harald went with her. As soon as she showed
signs of settling in one place for more than a few days, he would send another plague of ver-min and her
hosts would panic and force her to move on. You see, Knight-brother, there is more than one villain in
this af-fair. You believed you were saving the boy, Frederik, from


Impossible Odds299



 possible future harm. Your brother was performing that ser-vice for the boy’s mother. Other men sought
to kill her. They came close in Fadrenschloss with the firefly. She fled to Brikov, but before they could
attack her there, Harald evicted her. She went on to Blanburg. Not only was it the closest town, but
Duke Rubin’s father’s mother was of the House of Blanburg, and she could appeal to the Prince for aid.
Her en-emies struck at her there with shadowmen, killing Bogdan. She fled again, but after that they lost
her, which may have been Harald’s doing. It was certainly his purpose. Remember that your brother was
in her confidence! Had murder been his intent, he would have had a thousand opportunities. He could
have snapped her neck with one hand.”

 Radu rode on for some time in silence, then said, “Thank you for telling me this. But surely he could have
just warned her?”

 “Not if she would have refused to believe whoever sent the warning,” Bellman said. “Tell me this. A
swarming is not especially dangerous. Shadowmen are deadly unless you know to stay in a good light.
Fireflies are utterly fiendish. Would a man of Harald’s experience have been allowed to train with those?”

“Of course not. A firefly could destroy Vamky itself.”

 Which confirmed Bellman’s guess that the Brotherhood must do its spiritual experimentation somewhere
else. “So only very senior brothers are allowed to use them?”

 Radu studied him for a moment. “Normally no man below the rank of cantor is trusted with lethal
conjurements. You do not believe that Harald was slain by his own firefly when he lost control of it?”

 Bellman was both enjoying himself and despising himself for showing off. If he could impress his partner
with his cleverness, he would have more success steering their joint efforts the ways he thought they
should go, but he could see


300Dave Duncan



 that Radu Priboi was a man of action with a limited appre-ciation of mental agility. Also a pompous
jackass.

“I guessed that fireflies were dangerous to the user, be-cause Johanna’s story of the destruction of
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Fadrenschloss suggested that the conjuration had been planted and set to take effect some hours later.
Am I right?”

“Probably,” Radu conceded. “The conjuration is called the ‘egg.’ In theory the hatching may be set for
hours later or even days. I have heard that it is unpredictable and haz-ardous to the user.”

 “So Johanna escaped from Blanburg in Thirdmoon and the villains lost her. In Fourthmoon, Wolfgang
Webber was posted to Brikov to keep watch in case she returned that way. Someone else was sent
ahead to Chivial, because Rubin was also related to the royal family there. The rela-tionship was more
distant, but King Athelgar is a potent monarch and has much less reason to fear the hand of Vamky than
rulers of petty states like Blanburg do. She duly arrived there in Eighthmoon, and the other attackers
loosed their shadowmen against her again.”

“Does Her Highness know all this?” Radu asked.

 “No. I was never sure enough of my reasoning until we heard Wolfgang Webber’s confession this
morning. He said he was told to look out for JohannaandFrederik, but that was in Fourthmoon. You had
captured the boy in Thirdmoon. There must be at least two factions in the Brotherhood!”

“That could have been just a careless briefing.”

 “Does the Brotherhood brief spies carelessly? Giving an agent an impossible task must increase his
chance of detec-tion. Male strangers investigating children invite suspicion.”

Radu grunted. “You are right. I apologize.”

 That was another point to Bellman, but it might be a point against him if Radu played him false. He might
regret tak-ing the man so far into his confidence.


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 “After the shadowmen attacked, Johanna rode off to Iron-hall to bind Blades, leaving only Manfred and
Harald in Quamast House. The residence was very tightly guarded when she returned, but may not have
been so while she was away. After Johanna’s return, Sister Trudy detected more death elementals in the
medicine chest than she had sensed earlier. How could that have been Harald’s doing? That box held his
store of conjurements, so how could he have in-creased it? Clearly someone else managed to gain entry
and meddle!

“Harald did not understand that, but he did know that the box was to be inspected the next day, and he
had learned that Chivian inquisitors can detect falsehood, so he would be exposed. He tried to escape.
He probably had no money, could not speak the language, and must have been truly des-perate. He
knocked out old Manfred when he awakened, to stop him raising the alarm. Again, as with Johanna,
your brother could have killed the old man with his bare hands. He didn’t. He did the minimum
necessary. He very nearly did get away. So why didn’t he?

“The Baron and a Blade, Sir East, were in an adjoining room. Harald’s strength would have been
useless against a Blade. The only thing that could have killed East before he could even raise an alarm
was the firefly itself, so he must have been sitting close to the box and died instantly when the firefly
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hatched. Harald heard it or saw it and rushed in to try and save the Baron. I do not believe your brother
was an as-sassin.”

Radu transferred his reins to his left hand and reached across to offer a handshake. “I am much in your
debt for this. You are a clever man, Herr Bellman.”

“I may not seem so by this time tomorrow.”

“And who is the villain who seeks to kill Her Highness? Who is behind it all?”


302Dave Duncan



 “We are on our way to find out, are we not? With these conjured lockets around, anyone may seem to
be someone else. You say that Lord Volpe himself gave you orders to abduct Frederik. You cannot be
certain that the man you saw was the Provost.”

Radu nodded. “I have thought of this ever since I heard the Duchess’s story. And Wolfgang may not
have been dispatched by the Abbot.”

 But whoever was locked up in the dungeon knew the truth, if he was still alive. They rode on in silence
for a while, until the knight made an admission that was a sur-prising concession from him.

 “I have never heard of these lockets. They must be a dev-astating military conjuration, as long as their
existence is kept secret. To be able to impersonate your enemy’s commander-in-chief, say!”

 “Difficult to apply in practice. In Grandon I asked Grand Wizard about them. He had seen examples of
similar en-chantments, but nothing so effective, nothing that would create a likeness capable of deceiving
anyone. He grew quite excited! He did point out that it was the necklace that carried the conjuration, not
the locket—it works when you close the necklace around your neck. And he said that such an
enchantment would require the original to be present. Both locket and Grand Duke must have been
inside the oc-togram, in other words. I cannot see how one would go about arranging that in a war.”

“But why . . . ?” Radu thought for a moment and then laughed. “From what I have heard about our
Grand Duke, he probably had it made so he could send a double to represent him at boring social
occasions and be free to go about his private business. A dangerous contrivance if it were stolen.”

Or if the conjurers had secretly made two lockets, not just one. “Tell me about Knight-brother
Nickolaus.”


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Radu said, “Death and fire! I cannot see that he is any business of yours!”

“Nor can I. I am merely playing a hunch, but if we two cannot trust each other, then we had better turn
back now.”
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 Radu sulked in silence for a while, but eventually said, “There is nothing to tell. He and I are friendly
rivals—class-mates, you could call us. Men never talk of their back-grounds in Vamky, but Nickolaus is
obviously gentle born. He’s popular, competent... He was sworn in a few days be-fore I was, but I was
belted a week sooner, so I had the edge in seniority. On any assignment the low man gets the menial
tasks, like watching over the horses.”

Bellman chuckled. “And mothering the Duke?”

 “Especially mothering the Duke. As soon as we reached Trenko, Nick was assigned some other duty,
so I inherited the currycomb and bootlicking. I have not heard of him since. Of course I have been away
for months, and even if I had not, there would be absolutely nothing unusual or sinis-ter about that! Are
you satisfied, Your Nosiness?”

“It feels relevant. You came back one man short?”

“Yes, we did. So?”

“So nothing. All I can do with hunches is let them hatch in their own good time. Thank you.”

This one was chipping its shell, though, and what was emerging looked very much like the truth at last.

 The track descended a rocky slope to a rivulet now swollen by the rain. Manfred, a tiny, swaddled
shape in the saddle, was letting his horse drink.

“You’re here, my lords,” he said hoarsely. “Follow this and you will meet the Asch just below Olden
Bridge. I am going home to enjoy a nice bout of pneumonia.”

 They laughed appropriately and thanked him. He rode back up the hill, vanishing into the murk. The
swordsmen


304Dave Duncan



turned downstream and Bellman switched to practical matters.

 “We have planning to do,” he said. “You must have seen keys in Vamky. I want to know exactly what
they look like. How big are they?”

“As long as my finger, maybe longer. A handle, a shaft, and a sort of flag on the end.”

“Bow, shank, and bit. Are the shafts hollowed? Do they have holes in their ends to fit over a pin?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Then describe the bits. That’s what I need to know.”

“You’re not doing very well, you know, Squirt,” Ranter said.
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“What do you mean?” Ringwood countered, although he had been thinking the same thing.

 “As Leader. To start with, Blades have to know the terrain, we were told. You got any idea where we
are right now?”

They were on horseback. They were following directly behind their ward and the János brigand, with a
dozen or so armed men riding ahead and about as many behind. Apart from that . . . No, Ringwood had
very little idea where he was beyond “Somewhere in Krupina.” Rain had been falling steadily all day, and
now dusk was falling, too. Donehof was said to be halfway between Fadrenschloss and Krupa, and they
had ridden past the charred ruins of Fadrenschloss some hours ago. They were still on the highway,
which was a long, thin swamp of mud today, but if he understood the geography correctly, which was
doubtful, they should be turning off to the west very shortly.

“We’re about an hour from Donehof.”

“You’re guessing. And why are we here anyway? You’re supposed to keep our ward out of danger,
Squirt. You’re not doing well there, either.”

Because Ringwood had been upbraiding himself for this


Impossible Odds305



all day, he did have a few answers ready. None of them were very good. “And what would you have
done differently if you were Leader—other than locking Her Nibs up in Chivial somewhere?”

“I wouldn’t have let her leave Brikov. You know spittin’ well that she’s going to try and gate-crash the
wedding to-morrow.”

 “She won’t. We’ll see to that. And we couldn’t stay in Brikov. She was right. With only one way out,
any peabrain could see it was a trap.”

 “I wouldn’t have let her get in there in the first place,” Ranter ranted. He was wet and tired and frozen
and scared, with Ringwood his only available target. “Charging in over that Smugglers’ Pass, losing
horses, making the local robber baron mad at us. That’s burning bridges, that is.”

 Ringwood, too, was wet and tired and frozen and scared. Also hungry. “The reason we had to go over
the pass,brother,is that you went and spewed out the news of the wedding. If you’d reported it to me in
private, as you should have done, I wouldn’t have told her. We could have taken the slow, safe way
around by Zolensa, not going through Brikov or Trenko, and by the time we got here it would have been
too late! She’d have given up and we could have escorted her back to Chivial to live.” Not a bad rant,
he thought, and some of it was true.

 “Bah! Second-guessing! And she’d have insisted on going to Brikov to collect her brat. The
Brotherhood would have heard about her being there and come and got her. And if they hadn’t she’d be
running around screaming looking for him, ’cause he wasn’t where she’d left him.”

“Now who’s second-guessing?” The trouble was, Ranter’s complaints were all justified. Ringwood had
blun-dered, just as he had always feared he would. He had let his ward slip ever further into danger until
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now he could see no


306Dave Duncan



 way out. His most recent and worst mistake, which Ranter had not discovered yet, was that in the rush
to leave Brikov that morning he had forgotten to ask Bellman for the money. He had no money. The
Duchess never carried any. They were entirely dependent on Count János now, until Bellman came back,
and the odds that Bellman would ever come back were not much better than the odds that Count János
would prove to be a generous benefactor.

The vanguard was turning off the so-called highway. “Here’s the Donehof road now,” Ringwood said.

 “So now we’ll have the rain right in our eyes and the wind’s getting up. The going will be even worse
than this, and I expect we’ll arrive at a cold house with no food ready. Let’s just hope we get there soon.
It’s going to be a very dark night.”

Yes, it was, Ringwood agreed. A very dark night.

 Daylight was fading on the peaks, and down in the gorge it was already night. Still the rain fell. Radu
reined in at Olden Bridge. Bellman halted beside him, and the two peered at each other.

“A good night for shadowmen, Herr Bellman?”

“I don’t recall ever being wetter or colder in my life, Knight-brother.”

“This has been a better day than some I spent in the Count’s dungeon,” Radu said, “but not by much.
Now we must choose.”

“I thought we had already chosen.”

“There is no shelter between here and Vamky. If we wish to turn back, cottagers near here would give
us shelter for a copper or two. Tomorrow we could hasten to Donehof and rejoin your lady. You
decide.”

 Bellman shivered and patted his mare’s neck. The poor brute would be lucky to escape bronchitis after
such a day,


Impossible Odds307



 but her rider might have much worse problems even sooner. “Answer me one question, Knight-brother.
I can see ways around almost any pitfall we have discussed ex-cept a few of the extremely unlikely ones,
and those I will dare when the stakes are so high. I see only one exception, just one, and you first
suggested it yourself. When the doorman pulls your pass out of the box, will it be tagged for your
immediate arrest? Will it ring alarm bells, or will it be dealt with by standard procedures? You dropped
the letter, so the traitors can have no doubt that you were the intruder who discovered their secret
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prisoner. They cannot seriously expect you to return, but will they have taken precautions in case you
do?”

“You rest your decision on that alone?”

“I do. If you will take that risk, then I will brave all the rest.” Bellman was determined not to be first to
quit. He des-perately hoped that Radu would do that for him.

“You are a fool, Chivian,” Radu said harshly. “You expect to outdare a Vamky knight?”

Arenegadeknight? Bellman was tired of the man’s airs. “Well, yes. We locksmiths’ apprentices have our
pride, too.”

“I should cut out your tongue for that.”

“The light is poor for surgery. If you want to run away, say so, otherwise move your ass out of here
before mine freezes to my saddle.”

Without a word, Radu dug in his heels and rode forward, onto the bridge.

Bellman followed.See what you just did, idiot?

 The horses knew when they were close to Donehof, whin-nying and picking up the pace. Soon the
expedition passed under the walls of a high, drum-shaped tower, barely visible in the last shreds of
daylight. Close beyond that stood a mansion with lights glowing in upper- and lower-story win-


308Dave Duncan



dows. Already it was a much more imposing residence than János’s seat at Brikov, and surrounded by
numerous out-buildings, workers’ cottages, and livestock paddocks. Ring-wood was impressed and
Ranter must have been, too, because he turned sarcastic again.

“Why does he live up there in his mountain squalor if he owns a palace like this?”

 Probably the Count felt safer back in his ancestral strong-hold than he did down here on the plains within
reach of his ducal overlord. Ringwood did not say so, because János was still alongside the Duchess
close ahead and might be listening.

 The visitors dismounted gratefully, then gasped and blinked as they followed their host indoors, into a
blaze of many candles and seductive warmth. Fires crackled on two great hearths, and high walls hung
with hunting trophies soared up to galleries and hammer beam ceiling. Ranter’s fears proved unfounded,
for the seneschal had been expect-ing the Count and had everything ready. Flunkies came run-ning with
steins of spiced ale to take away the chill. Ringwood managed to down a surprising amount of his be-fore
his binding turned it to lye in his mouth; the heat flowed straight into his veins and raised goose bumps all
over him.

Max Priboi, the seneschal, was presented to Frau Schale. He was an older, balding, and much bulkier
version of Radu, with an easy smile reminiscent of the turncoat Har-ald. He bade the visitors welcome
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and conducted them up-stairs in person to show them their quarters. Those were close to perfect—a
large and imposing chamber for the women, reached through an anteroom that would house the Blades
nicely.

 Bucket-bearing servants were already filling an oaken tub with hot water. Johanna and True waited
impatiently while Ringwood hastily inspected the accommodation. Hasty did


Impossible Odds309



 not mean slipshod to a Blade, though, and he hunted duti-fully for potential trouble. He emerged from
peering under the bed convinced that there was none. He opened his mouth to say so, then took a
second look at the love of his life.

“What’s wrong?”

True frowned. “Nothing’s... Well, there’s something. I haven’t tracked it down yet.”

“What sort of something?”

“Ask me again when I’m warm and dry and well fed.”

“True!”

She nodded, tight-lipped. “True! Now go away.”

 Unhappy, Ringwood went out to the guardroom to towel off and change. She was tired, as they all
were. Worse, he hadn’t been able to spare her any time all day. Not that True was jealous or anything!
She understood how his binding worked. But a Blade should never fall in love, especially a Blade bound
to another woman.

 They dined in a small, elegant room: Duchess, Count, seneschal, two Blades, and True. Servants hurried
in and out, bringing a collection of mouth-watering roast meats, fish, stews, soups, cheeses, hot bread,
poultry, vegetables, peppery sauces. Ranter overate as always, and Ringwood topped him handily, but
the other men were close behind. Even the women tucked in well, sampling one dish after an-other, so
there was very little conversation for the first half hour or so. Meanwhile a man sitting in the corner played
the viol and sang sorrowful Krupinese songs. When he had finished, János praised him highly and sent
him off clutch-ing gold coins. That was a surprising view of the barbarous chieftain who had so callously
tortured and hanged a man that morning.

 By then the dishes were being removed and a second course brought in, offering a similar variety, with
eels and salmon instead of loach, pork instead of beef, and so on.


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With the sharp edge of his appetite blunted, Ringwood could eat while returning to his duty, which was
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to worry about everything imaginable—what had True detected that had bothered her, and was that what
was still making her squirm now? He had never seen her so fidgety. Did the seneschal’s odd glances at
the Duchess mean that he had guessed who Frau Schale really was? And what was going to happen
to-morrow when János rode off to the wedding and there was no sign of Bellman and the money?

 Chivian inquisitors had a conjuration called the Question, which forced the victim to confess everything.
Even if the brethren had no similar means of interrogating prisoners, they could always resort to
thumbscrews, and then they would come straight to Donehof to find the lost Duchess. That was assuming
they managed to take Bellman alive, of course. Ringwood was starting to appreciate how much he’d
come to depend on the man’s good sense.

 Talk sprang up. For a while the Count cross-examined the seneschal about farm accounts, the output at
some mines he supervised, and other business matters. János had been drinking steadily, so his ugly face
was now very flushed, but the wine had not dulled his wits yet. Then the conversation turned to
tomorrow’s wedding, the enthronement ceremony right after, and the days of festivity to follow.

“Krupa’s never seen anything like it,” the seneschal said.

“You mean the Duke didn’t celebrate his other marriages so lavishly?”

“I’m too young to remember them.”

“Or do you mean the gentry approve of this wife more than they liked the last one?” Jánoswasdrunk.

 Big Max waited until a last footman had left the room, then said with great deliberation, “I do remember
the late Grand Duchess Johanna, my lord. The old man and I rarely got along, as you know, but I did
visit Fadrenschloss once


Impossible Odds311



when she lived there. She was incredibly beautiful and uni-versally adored.”

Johanna exploded in laughter. She had been drinking, too. “I told you he’d know me! It is good to see
you again, Max! How are your family?”

His family, he said, were all well and visiting at some place called Werfurt. “And they will be honored to
hear that Your Highness asked after them.”

 Ringwood shuddered. Why not send heralds with bugles to Krupa and Vamky to proclaim that she was
here now, come and get her, and this time kill her properly? How many other people in this house had
recognized her? This was all his fault. He must be the most incompetent Blade in the his-tory of the
Order.

 “Of course,” Max said, “if in ‘family’ you include my brothers, sisters-in-law, nephews, and nieces, Your
High-ness, then I would have to go on all night. Almost all of us managed to meet in Brikov at my father’s
funeral last week, and we saw him off in a style he would have approved. We even have a fully-fledged
Vamky knight-brother in the fam-ily now! Radu? You remember him?”
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“Yes, I do,” Johanna said with a sideways glance at the Count.

Was János about to admit how he had treated his seneschal’s brother?

No, he wasn’t. He said nothing.

Max missed the sudden tension. “And even Harald, our teeny baby, is a squire already!” he said
proudly. “It is won-derful to see that the terrible stories of your death were un-true.” And so on.

 After a while Ringwood realized that everyone else had finished eating. Regretfully he wiped his knife on
his sleeve and tucked it away in his belt. He caught Trudy’s eye and she nodded. He pushed back his
stool.


312Dave Duncan



“By your leave, Your Highness, my lord?”

The Count interrupted himself to turn and glower. “Where you think you going?”

“A brief look around the house, my lord.”

“Don’t trust my hospitality, huh?”

 “My lord, if I did not trust you completely my ward would not be here, but I am required to inspect
security.”

“Required by who?” János was turning puce with anger.

“By my oath, my training, and my binding. I did no less in King Athelgar’s palace when there were a
dozen other Blades on guard duty.”

“Sit down! Max will show you around later.”

When Ringwood’s ward did not speak up in his defense, he sat down. Blades should be seen and not
heard, Grand Master said, and if possible not seen, either.

 The principals continued their chatter. Max was given most of the Duchess’s story. Told that Harald had
tried to kill her and was almost certainly dead, Max just frowned and shook his head sadly. He did not
ask what the resurrected Duchess intended to do about the wedding, although he must be wondering.
Did Johanna herself know? And what could Ringwood do to stop her? He let the conversation trickle
along in the background while he went back to worry and guilt.

It was late. Suddenly János yawned. With a clumsy at-tempt at subtlety, he inquired if he would find his
bed warmed the way he liked it, and Max assured him he would.

“Sleep well, ladies,” the Count said and waddled out the door.

Johanna frowned, True smirked, and then everyone rose to follow him. The house was quiet and dark.
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Most of the servants had gone to bed; fires were banked. Ringwood es-corted the Duchess to her room.
He told Ranter to inspect it and then stand guard.


Impossible Odds313



Now, at last, True could hunt down whatever had been bothering her all evening. Carrying a lantern, she
wandered along the upstairs corridors, with Ringwood and the seneschal following. Max must have a
vast capacity for liquor, because he showed no ill effects from the ale he had been quaffing all evening.
He watched True curiously, but spoke of other things.

“I’ve heard of the Blades. Bound by enchantment?”

“Yes.”

“For life?” He was not as tall or broad as Harald had been, but he would have outweighed him.
Ringwood felt like a child beside him.

 “In our case, yes. The King can release his own Blades. And you? Radu said all his brothers had joined
the Brother-hood.”

“Except a couple who died in childhood. You want to look in the attics, fraulein?”

 True had reached one end of the house and was retracing her path. “No,” she said, smothering a yawn.
“Servants sleep up there?”

“You finding anything?” Ringwood asked. That was what mattered.

 “Only the usual good luck charms and what my former Fellowship politely calls ‘family-planning
conjurations.’ ”

Max chuckled. “In there?” He pointed at the Count’s room.

“Yes.”

“I loaned her one. Don’t tell his lordship, because he still has ambitions to outdo my old man.
Downstairs, then?”

They headed for the stairs.

“So how are the brethren bound?” Ringwood asked. “Or rather, how are the brethrenunbound?”

Max took a moment to answer. Treads creaked under his weight. “You do not trust me, Sir
Ringwood?”


314Dave Duncan
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“I’d like an answer.”

 “The useless are kicked out. Those that want to give up— novices, mostly, and some of them quite old
men—they go to their commanding officer and declare that they consider themselves unworthy to belong
to the Order. They’re es-corted to the gate and sent away.”

Following True through to the kitchen area, Ringwood said, “So you never are formally unbound?”
Bellman had suggested this possibility, months ago. “Once a brother, al-ways a brother? Does the
Brotherhood ever come calling in after years, bidding you to start honoring yourirrevocablevows again?”

“It has happened.” The seneschal smiled. “Never to me, though.”

“But the Count cannot rely on your allegiance ab-solutely?”

“Count János never trusts any man absolutely.”

That evasion was confirmation: Once a brother, always a brother.

“How are the brethren sworn? Is your oath backed up by conjuration as ours is?” That was another of
Bellman’s sug-gestions.

“I will not answer that question, Sir Ringwood. Yes, fraulein?”

 A few skivvies were still cleaning up in the kitchens, but True had gone by them, into an area of larders
and pantries, a realm of bales, barrels, and boxes, bedecked with dangling hams and strings of onions.
There she had come to a halt just short of what was obviously the back door of the house, heav-ily
bolted and barred at this time of night, but her attention was on another door close to it, an imposing
barrier of iron-strapped timber.

“Where does this lead?”

“To the cellars, fraulein.”


Impossible Odds315



 “I need to look down there.” Perhaps it was only a trick of the light from their lanterns, but she seemed
so tense that Ringwood wrapped an arm around her. She was shivering.

“No, fraulein,” Max said. “That door is boarded up, as you can see.”

“You have shadowmen down there!”

The big man sighed. “Let us go to the hall and talk about it.”

 Hand in hand, Ringwood and True followed him to the great hall that had greeted them when they first
entered Donehof. Max led them to benches alongside a fireplace and settled wearily on one. They sat
opposite him. Ringwood had one arm tight around True, but his other hand kept tak-ing hold ofBad
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News’s hilt all by itself, no matter how often he told it to let go. His binding was screaming at him to get
his ward out of there as fast as possible.Shadowmen!

“When you arrived, did you see the keep?” the seneschal said.

“The old tower?”

“Yes. It is very ancient, pre-Imperial. Private fortresses are forbidden in Krupina, so it has been blocked
up for cen-turies. To occupy it would be an act of rebellion.”

“So why was this house built so close?” Ringwood asked.

 Max chuckled. “It makes a good windbreak, maybe?” He was an infuriatingly likable man. “You’re
thinking that a tunnel through to the castle cellars would be a good escape hatch, son? That if the Grand
Duke ever plays him foul, János could take refuge in the keep and wait until his moun-taineers come to
his rescue? That is the way he thinks, cer-tainly, and his brother before him was worse. It was his
brother, Luitgard, who bought the land and started building the house. János completed it.”

“Where do the shadowmen come into this?” True asked, still shivering.


316Dave Duncan



 “The point is that they don’t come in, fraulein. Luitgard did tunnel into the crypt under the keep, and
shadowmen were what he found. Or they found him. Only one of the miners with him escaped, and he
later died of his wounds. Luitgard and the rest are still in there.”

“Who were they?” Ringwood asked. “These shadowmen?”

 The big man shrugged. “Who knows? The last garrison of the keep, possibly. There are also stories of
barons who keptschattenherrenin their dungeons as unpaid execu-tioners. They are reputedly not
dangerous as long as you are forewarned and have a good light. Since there is no light down there, they
cannot pass through the door to at-tack us. And if the Count of Brikov is ever seriously threatened here,
he could still seek refuge down there and dare his foes to follow him.”

“That’s crazy!” True said.

Max gave her a fatherly smile. “No. Anyone as rich as János cannot be crazy, just eccentric.”

“If shadowmen aren’t dangerous, what killed Count Luit-gard and his men?” Ringwood asked.

 Max Priboi shrugged. “I do not know, Sir Ringwood. I never met a shadowman. I hope I never will.
Fraulein, I was afraid you would discover ourschattenherren. I did know about them, I swear. I have
lived here almost ten years with my wife and children, and I assure you that they are not a danger. It is
late. Please, can we go to bed and forget about gibbering wraiths in the basement?”

“One last question, Seneschal,” Ringwood said. “Have you told me any lies this evening?”

Max’s face darkened. “Not that I recall. No. Why?”
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“No offense intended. It’s just that we Blades always double-knot our laces.” Once a brother always a
brother, but True wasn’t shouting foul. Apparently Max Priboi could be trusted.


Impossible Odds317



                                                    ***

 It was an insane venture Bellman had embarked on, and only its very insanity gave it a chance of
succeeding. Mosquitoes might bite where wolves could not, and it was possible—just barely
possible—that Vamky had failed to take adequate pre-cautions against a two-man suicide mission. Also,
Bellman re-minded himself for the millionth time, the raiders were not up against the entire Brotherhood.
If worst came to worst and they were apprehended, they could always cry treason and hope that their
captors were not in on the conspiracy. Radu had not been pursued to Brikov, which suggested that the
traitors’ power might be limited within the Order.

 By now many senior masters would have left to attend the ducal wedding, and anyone of rank would be
abed and asleep. That might help, too.

 Good shadowman weather indeed! Radu was a superb horseman, even by Blade standards. Bellman
had given up wondering how he found the road and was relying on his mare’s ability to follow. The hill
grew steeper and rougher, where rain had eroded it. It went on forever. Once in a while he jerked awake
just as he began to slide out of the saddle. At such times his mind threw up strange fancies.

“None I know of.”

 None what? Who had said that? He worried through his memories until he remembered Radu’s question
to the doomed Wolfgang: “How many other spies are there in Brikov?”

“None I know of.”

 That, he saw now, had been an evasion. Trudy had not cried foul, but the word pattern was wrong.
Speaking at all had been an effort for the poor kid, and all his other answers had been more direct.None
I know of, but I suspect...Sus-pect whom? Many factions within the Brotherhood might have spies in
Brikov. Wolfgang had failed to report that the


318Dave Duncan



Grand Duchess was back from her travels, but the unknown other might have done so.

Bellman wished he had thought of that in time to warn Ringwood.

 A faint clinking from one of his saddlebags was a con-stant reminder of the lock picks that János’s
blacksmith had reluctantly contributed to the cause. John Eastswine of Cam-ford would have spurned
them as clumsy junk, and it would be nice to think that all Krupinese locks were as primitive as those
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Bellman had seen so far, but the wealthy, distrustful Vamky Brotherhood might have higher standards
than back-woods Brikov. Radu’s descriptions of keys he had seen had been vague, for he knew nothing
about the mechanics of locks. Back in Quamast House, the keys had been burglars’ nightmares, with
cuts for seven or eight intricately shaped wards. Bellman would need hours of uninterrupted
concen-tration to open such brutes, even if the picks he had with him would fit, which he doubted.
Tonight he would be lucky to have a few minutes without a knife at his throat. He was also four years out
of practice.

 It felt as if four more years went by before he saw two misty lights in the distance and Radu outlined
against them, turning to wave him forward. He urged the exhausted mare alongside.

Radu said, “Last chance to change your mind,Spinning Wheel.”

“Last one in’s a big fat hen,Westering Song.”

“Then we ride together, talking of nothing important.”

“Unless you say, ‘Scarper!’ ”

“Don’t even think it,” Radu muttered, staring at the arch-way looming ahead.

 “Scarper” was their signal to run. They had planned every-thing they could think of, everything except
sheer terror like icy hands in the belly. Bellman’s teeth were chattering, but


Impossible Odds319



 they had done that all day. The wonder was that he had any teeth left. His hands were so numb that if he
tried to fight, he would probably drop his sword and cut off his own toes.

 The lights were two great lanterns flanking a high arch. Be-yond it stretched the barbican, a tunnel lit by
smaller lights. Hooves rang on paving. It was a great miracle to be out of the rain at last, into sudden
peace. Instinctively glancing up, Bell-man saw a dark gap spanning the barrel roof from side to side and
knew that the slightest suspicion of anything wrong would bring a portcullis slamming down. He noted
loopholes high in the walls, where bowmen might lurk. Run by the finest soldiers in Eurania, Vamky was
probably the best-held castle on the continent. And he was hoping to crack it!

 Straight ahead, a seeming very long way into the trap, the road ended at a massive timber gate. It looked
about a fur-long thick. Radu reined in just before it, where a faint light showed through a lancet window,
tall and narrow.

“Gate!”he bellowed. “No, brother, black olives and green olives come off the same tree.”

Bellman tried to keep his voice from quavering. “Is it the pickling that changes their color, then?”

 “Password?” The voice came from far away, beyond an immense thickness of wall. A head obscured
the slit of light.

“Westering Song,”Radu said. “Yours, brother?”
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“Spinning Wheel.And we’re frozen. Be quick or I’ll file a complaint.”

 The face disappeared. Radu continued to babble. “Wine is quite different. Red grapes make red wine
and black...”

 This was the moment of life or death. More than a mo-ment... several minutes. The highest
demonstration of courage, Grand Master had once remarked, must be to die of fright. Curiously, that
remark now began to make sense.

“Gate!”Radu bellowed again.“Are you all dead in there?”


320Dave Duncan



Were they dead out here? When it was his turn to babble, Bellman found his mind blank on wine. “What
do they do with the ordure?”

“Novices take it out in wheelbarrows and put it in wagons to be sold to farmers. Why?”

“Just wondered.” He had wondered whether he had over-looked a way to pass in and out of the
monastery unseen, but evidently the Brotherhood had thought of that one, too. All supply wagons were
unloaded into hand barrows outside, Radu had told him. “Why such precautions in a land at peace? Who
do they fear?”

“It is training for other places. Talk of lesser matters.”

More agony. Surely it should not take so long to find two cards in a drawer?

“In Isilond they have a delicacy called ‘truffles,’ ” Bell-man said. “Dug up by hogs—”

 Radu’s nerve broke. “Too long! Scarper!” He wheeled his horse, but he took the exhausted beast by
surprise and it al-most stumbled.

 At that point Bellman had to decide whether to go with him or stay and try alone. They had agreed on
that—the decision whether to run or stay and play a lone hand would be his to make at the time. But he
was so startled that he reacted like a Blade and whipped out his sword. That committed him. “What’s
wrong?” he yelled. He turned the mare, but held her back from trying to follow. “Where are you going?
Come back here!”

Radu had his mount moving and was raking it with his spurs, but it could not rise above a trot, which
was not fast enough. With a thunder that shook the monastery and the mountain, a wall of timber crashed
down across his path, sealing off the exit.


Impossible Odds321
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                                                     •3•

 It was a bad night, full of rain and wind and worry. Ring-wood kissed Trudy good night and told Ranter
about the danger downstairs. Then he left his deputy on guard outside the bedchamber and took himself
back downstairs to keep watch there. Max had assured him that even in this weather a night watch was
patrolling the grounds with dogs, so no intruders could sneak in undetected. Fine, but a Blade took
nobody else’s word for anything where his ward’s security was concerned.

 The drudges had finished their labors in the kitchen and dis-appeared, so he had the house to himself.
He walked through the great hall a few times, but mostly he stayed close to the back door and the cellar
of horrors. The thought of what lurked behind that door oppressed him. It was hinged to open into the
corridor and barricaded by balks of timber bracketed to the frame. It seemed secure enough, yet why
would anyone keep such a danger in his house instead of bricking it over? The slim chance that the Count
would ever be desperate enough to use the haunted cellar as an escape route seemed trivial by
com-parison with the risk that some busybody would decide to go treasure-hunting.

 The next door in, a few paces along the corridor and on the opposite side, led to a large pantry holding
barrels and large crates, heavy items stored near the entrance. There Ringwood laid in a supply of
candles and lanterns, prepar-ing to make a night of it. There he could keep watch on both cellar and
back door, which was a more likely target for an intruder than the front. He realized after a while that a
would-be assassin could break into the keep instead, come through the tunnel, and just shine a light on
the far side of the door. Then the shadowmen would do the rest. All


322Dave Duncan



Blades are slightly mad—that was one of Master of Rituals’ homilies.

 Nights were bad, all nights except the great ones when he and True could have time alone. Otherwise he
had no com-pany except Ranter. At least tonight he was spared that. He explored the various pantries,
but could not force himself to stay away from that ominous door very long. He did have an unlimited
supply of snacks available—seven different types of cheese, to start with. He had tomorrow to worry
about, which must be today already. He and Ranter would have to keep their ward chained up, which
would need careful plan-ning and cooperation from Count János.

 János? János, who was totally unpredictable, who had completed this magnificent house but preferred to
live in a barren mountain valley? János, who had barred the way to the cellar where his brother died and
yet not gone so far as to brick it up. János, who could torture a man and appreci-ate music. János who
had inherited his lands and title from his brother, Luitgard.

Oh, cesspits!

 Ringwood resisted a temptation to charge a stone wall with his head. Why hadn’t he seen that right
away? The Duchess herself had told him that nobility put younger sons into the Brotherhood. Once a
brother, always a brother. János was the last person he should be trusting! János was one ofthem!Now
Ringwood had trapped his ward here in Donehof, with dogs patrolling the grounds, with no money for an
escape; with no way, even, to reach the stables. Fail-ure, failure, failure! Why had he been such a stupid,
arrogant imbecile as tovolunteerfor this mission? And then allow his ward to appoint him Leader? Ranter
could have done no worse than this. Ranter had been right when he said Johanna should stay in Chivial.
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His torment was interrupted by a crash of breaking glass


Impossible Odds323



 and an impact that shook the house. Before the echoes died, he was on his way to the great hall, lantern
in hand.

 The hall was dim, but there was enough glow from a few candles and the banked fires to see that one
high leaded win-dow lay in ruins. Wind wailed through the gap, stirring tap-estries, bringing rain. The
rock that had shattered it was the size of a bushel basket, far beyond the means of any man to lift. It had
smashed furniture as it rolled.

 As he started up the stairs, another window exploded and another missile shattered flagstones and
ricocheted into a fireplace. Paintings and stag heads tumbled from the walls. A ballista was not accurate
enough and could not be re-wound fast enough, so this was conjury at work. The Vamky equivalent of
Chivial’s Destroyer General was assaulting Donehof. A trumpet blew outside. This was no sneak attack.

 The door to the women’s room stood open and Ranter was in there, shouting. Other voices were raised
in the corridor, and footsteps drummed overhead. Ranter came out with a bundle of cloaks over his arm.
Ringwood told him what he had seen. The trumpet blew again, fainter here.

“Dogs?” Ranter said. “Guards?”

There had been no barking. “Dead, I think. Or chained up. We’ve been betrayed, brother.”

 Lights showed in the corridor as doors flew open and men stumbled out. Count János appeared, roaring
furiously, clutching a naked sword and almost naked himself, seem-ingly clad only in boots and a fur
cloak. Then Max’s great bulk materialized out of the shadows, shouting orders.

 Johanna and True were next, dressed but unfastened, trail-ing laces. The Blades wrapped cloaks around
them and shepherded them downstairs within a torrent of János’s guards, a mob of half-dressed,
sword-waving maniacs. Somewhere beyond the shattered windows someone was bellowing through a
speaking trumpet. The words were in-


324Dave Duncan



distinguishable, but Ringwood could guess that the terms of-fered would start with the surrender of the
Duchess—per-haps not by name. “Women and children” would suffice. There was one person who must
not be allowed near the state wedding and enthronement.

 Crossbows and halberds had mysteriously appeared. János climbed onto a table and began screaming
orders. He probably had a nasty hangover, but he knew what he wanted—everyone to assemble here in
the great hall, around the fireplace, and lots of light.
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Ringwood worked it out and understood. “Quick!” he said. “This way.”

“No!” Johanna protested. “The Count wants us to stay—”

 “This way!”Ringwood grabbed her arm and dragged. “Youneverargue with your Blades, you hear me?”
(Not even a Blade who had never finished training and made mis-takes?) He ran his shocked ward into
the corridors that led to the back of the house, looking back only to confirm that True and Ranter were
following. They had only one light be-tween the four of them, but he led them through the kitchens to the
pantry where he had set up his stock of candles and lanterns.

“Light!” he said. “We must have lots of lights, too.”

“Just what do you think—” the Duchess began.

 “Quiet!” He leaned close, so they were eye to eye. “Do not speak a word! János is a traitor and there
are killers out there looking for you. Say nothing and do exactly what I say.” Johanna recoiled in
amazement. True grinned at him as if this were great fun. Ranter was lighting lanterns, not ar-guing at all.

 They were all depending on Sir Ringwood of the Blades to keep them alive, and so far he had failed
their trust mis-erably. He had better do better this time, or he would never get another chance.


Impossible Odds325



 He placed himself by the door, keeping it open a crack so he could see along to the other door, the
cellar door. He wasn’t totally blocking the light behind him, but the Count would certainly bring lights with
him, and would probably not notice the knife-edge of brightness coming from this door.

Ranter whispered, “Who’s attacking?”

 “Vamky,” Ringwood answered, just as softly. No one else would be using military conjuration on that
scale.

“And whose side is János on?”

“His own. He’s Vamky, too, but this is a double-cross.”

 Another impact shook the house. Muffled battle noises from the great hall suggested the attackers were
starting to move in, so if János was planning what Ringwood thought he was, he would have to move
soon.

 And he did. Two voices arguing came first. The darkness of the corridor began to brighten, slowly at
first, then sud-denly, as the source of the light turned a corner.

 Ringwood pushed the door to and turned to smile encour-agingly at the others’ frightened faces. He said
“Draw!” and Ranter blinked in surprise at seeingInvinciblein his hand, as if she had jumped there all on
her own.

The argument went past and ended. The Count had won, of course. Ringwood opened the door just
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enough to peer out with one eye. They were not opening the back door, which he had expected them to
do first. Max was standing in front of it, a lantern in each hand, two more at his feet, while the massive,
low slung János worked on the cellar door with a crowbar. Wood creaked and splintered.

“I wish I knew where Johanna and the Chivians went!” Max said.

“They can fend for themselves!” With a mighty heave, János snapped off the last of the bars. “Ready?”
He jerked the door wide and at the same time moved backward to the


326Dave Duncan



safety of the lanterns. The shadowmen must have been packed in on the other side, because they came
pouring out of the cellar like smoke.

 “Stay where you are!” Bellman roared, pointing his sword at the would-be fugitive. His voice echoed
through the barbi-can. “And dismount.” Drawing a real sword on horseback was strictly forbidden in
Ironhall. The irrelevance of that thought made him want to giggle, and he realized he was balanced on a
knife edge of panic. He drew deep breaths.

“Put up your sword!” said a voice from overhead. “Both of you dismount and move away from your
horses.”

 Bellman slidBravadointo the sheath on his saddle and dropped clumsily to the ground, almost falling. He
hobbled to the far side of the barbican, feeling the usual illusion after a day on horseback that his legs had
shrunk. Must be how Count János felt all the time.

 Metal clattered, hinges squeaked, and a postern gate began swinging open. It was high enough and wide
enough to admit a man on horseback, but the squad of men-at-arms who entered came on foot. They
wore padded cotton armor and carried halberds with evil, shiny points. The gate closed behind them.

They took Bellman first, perhaps just because he was nearer, but hopefully because he was not the one
who had triggered the alarm. Their leader consulted a card in his free hand.

“Password?”

“Spinning Wheel.”

“Signed by?”

“Cantor Samuil.”

“Cell?”

“White 5, D 21. And don’t bother asking me the date be-cause I don’t remember exactly. Early in
Fourthmoon.”


Impossible Odds327
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“Do you know the man you rode in with?”

“No. We met on the hill.”

“Then welcome back, brother. Excuse the delay.”

 Was the man a “sir” or a “brother”? The badge on his hel-met must denote his rank, but Bellman
couldn’t read it. For-tunately his own rank was a mystery, because he was wearing no insignia. “It’s been
that sort of day,” he said.

 Without a backward glance, he led his horse to the postern, which opened to admit him. Almost
certainly he and Radu would be reunited in adjoining dungeons before very long. Radu had briefed him
for this disaster as well as he could, but he must have overlooked many, many things.

Beyond the barbican is the bailey and you ride over to the quartermaster’s store . . . to your right...

 It didn’t look like a bailey and he was already dis-mounted, standing bewildered in an arcade where a
few lanterns burned, shedding light on bare stonework and arches curtained by rain like shimmering white
lace. The yard was out beyond that. How far did he have to go? Should he remount or lead his horse?

 A man in an ankle-length white gown came running— an adolescent, face and scalp shaven.Hood down
and white belt mean he’s a novice. Call him “Novice” or noth-ing at all.

“Sir!”

 “Take her,” Bellman said. All he had to do then was fol-low. They went to the right, came to a big door
with lantern light inside, obviously not a stable. He hoped it was the quartermaster’s, not the bakery or
the apothecary’s. “Wait a minute!” He began to fumble at the saddlebags with frozen fingers.

“Sir! I will bring them for you.”

He could overrule a novice—assuming this was a novice and not some higher rank sent to watch over
him. “I need


328Dave Duncan



 something out of this one, is all. But I want that sword.”You can ask to keep the same sword. You’re
allowed a favorite sword unless your commanding officer doesn’t like the look of it.

The novice said “Sir!” and opened the bag for him. “I will bring the sword, sir.”

 “Do that.” Bellman lifted out the bulky wallet of lock picks. In Chivial a man could be hanged for owning
those without good reason. The kid led the horse away. What sort of sadist made stablehands work in
white gowns?
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The hall was large and dim, rows of shelves visible at the back, open-fronted cubicles to the left. This
was the right place. By the time he reached the nearest cubicle, two more novices were running to help.

“Sir. Towels, sir?”

 About to begin by removing his helmet, Bellman recalled the rules about not showing faces and left it for
last. Eager hands unfastened his cuirass and lifted a ton of steel off of him. If they noticed his trembling
they would attribute it to the cold. It was a great joy to chafe himself with the rough towels.

He was handed a white gown. His sword was laid on the bench. “Sir. What color?”

What color what?

“Er, orange.” He donned the gown, removed his helmet, pulled the hood forward. “Oh . . . Novice! I
need a lantern.”

 If the powers were watching over him, he had just signed his own death warrant, but the ladSirredhim
and ran. Obe-dience, obedience, obedience.

 He accepted an orange sword belt and girded onBravado,which he had certainly not misnamed. The
sandals fit quite well. He remembered to keep his head lowered as he walked out of the cubicle and
accepted a lantern, unlit. Carrying that in his left hand and the lock picks in his right, Senior


Impossible Odds329



Knight-brother Bellman strode out of the store to begin his

hunt for the mysterious prisoner.

And nobody challenged him.

 He found the start of the ramp Radu had described and took his time walking up it, letting his eyes grow
accustomed to darkness again.There are seven hubs, roughly in two rows back from the entrance—Red,
Green, White, Blue to the north, Yellow, Orange, Violet on the south, but they cross-connect. Mostly
they do. They can have up to six levels. You go from one hub to another by a ramp, usually. And usually
from one level to another by going across to another hub and back. Corridors are level. But it’s a lot less
regular than I’ve just described.

 He retrieved Johanna’s conjured locket from the wallet where he’d placed it, fastened the chain around
his neck, and tucked the locket itself inside his gown. The face it gave him might or might not be instantly
recognized around the monastery, but if he ran into trouble he would be able to change his appearance
very rapidly.

 Momentarily, something passed under the light far ahead. In a minute his heart started beating again,
even faster than before. Two men were coming down toward him. They were armed, of course.If anyone
asks you anything, just say you have your orders. That even goes for your hair.He needed to look behind
him more than he had ever needed anything in his life. Two opponents might be manageable, but one
against four or more was not worth the sweat.
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They swished by him without looking up.

 He continued shakily up the ramp to the next light. He ought to be in Red Hub now, but he did not stop
to confirm that. He had a choice of one ramp up, two down, and several corridors, which were smaller
and narrower. He chose the up ramp, hoping it would lead him to Green. It was steeper than the last one.
At the top he walked a few paces along a corri-dor and stopped to wait.


330Dave Duncan



Nobody came after him. A follower would have to stay close, very close, but there was no one. He ran
his fingers gently over a door as Radu had described, and found “G 2, C 1,” which made sense. He
headed for what he hoped would be White.

 It wasn’t. It was Orange 4, which confused him. The only comforting thing about this labyrinth was that
they would never find him before he starved to death. Next hub ought to be Violet 3.

It was White 3. He had a choice of two upward ramps.

Blue 4. Back to White 3 and try the other. Violet 4.

Now he understood why the brethren hid their dirty se-crets on Blue 3—there was no Blue 3. He went
back to White 3. Then Blue 4 again and a down ramp. Violet 3. Keep going...

 Blue 3! Got it. Corridor H and Corridor K. No Corridor J. Playing hard to get. The maze was even less
regular than Radu had said. H and K were dark, no speck of light at the far end. He was about to light
his lantern from the wall lamp when he heard voices and light appeared at the far end of K.

 He fled along H as fast as he dared go in the dark, trailing one hand on the wall, until he came to a dead
end and stopped in panic. He had passed several doors. There were two beside him now, but he had no
idea what lay behind them—harmless old books or insomniac knight-brothers. Lanterns turned the
corner into Corridor H, shining on white gowns. He was just reaching for the nearest latch when they
stopped and the first man opened a door.

 He counted them going in—two brethren, Radu with his hands tied, four more brethren. The guards on
the gate had been relieved of their prisoner, who was too important to be entrusted to low-ranks.

 They had left the door ajar. Bellman sprinted. It was door Blue 3, K 1, and it led into an octogram with
another door


Impossible Odds331



 open at the far side. The outside of that one was numbered B 3, J 5. Perhaps this maze was a smartness
test for novices. He saw the last of the escort vanish into what he assumed was the fake broom
cupboard, opened B 3, J 6, opposite, and found the octogram Radu had mentioned, dark and empty. He
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left his lantern there, but kept the wallet of lock picks. Hoping he would be safe enough following the
brethren as long as he could keep their lights in view, he started down the stairs.

 He reached the hub at the bottom without breaking his neck, but then he was in pitch darkness. This
would be Blue Level 2. He tried to remember Radu’s story—another stair-way and several corridors?
He found the stair the hard way, wrenching an ankle but saving himself before he pitched headlong. He
thought he could hear voices now, so he worked his way down to a landing, found a turn. From there he
saw light, filtering around another corner.

 Just as it had been described, the second flight descended to a barred gate, which presently stood open,
and the room beyond it was so bright that Bellman hesitated to go any closer. He could hear voices
beyond, many voices, but he could not make out the words. Six guards had delivered Radu, and the
other prisoner would not have been left unat-tended. There might be a dozen brethren down there, all
warriors trained to use the swords they bore. Even a Duren-dal would not take on those odds. And if
anyone else came to inspect the spy, Bellman would be trapped with nowhere to go.

 He retraced his steps to Level Two and explored the hub, confirming the two stairs and locating three
corridors. He walked along one until he thought he would be invisible from the stairs, then flopped down
and leaned back against the cold stonework. Exhaustion sifted over him and engulfed him like a
wagonload of sand.


332Dave Duncan



 How many hours until the monastery awoke to a new day? People would come trooping along this
corridor and find an intruder snoring on the floor. That would certainly attract suspicion. He didn’t think
he could stay awake any longer.

 To sleep was to die. He dragged himself upright and began staggering up and down the corridor just to
stay awake. His whole body ached and quivered with fatigue. Physical ex-haustion he could deal with,
for about another hour maybe, but he needed his wits now as he had never needed them be-fore, and he
knew they were failing. If he had Radu with him they could find a safe place to rest, keep watch by turns,
find food and drink to sustain them—and that thought gave him a raging thirst. By himself he was close to
helpless as long as Blue 1 A was held by so many brethren.

Voices and lights... men coming up the stairs . . . grum-bling as if their sleep had been broken for no real
pur-pose... carrying on up to Level 3, not noticing the watcher in the dark. Six of them. Silence and
darkness returned. Radu remained below with however many guards had been there before. On the night
he had discovered the prisoner there had been at least four, possibly more. When no one else appeared,
Bellman went to the stairs and started down.

 The Count and seneschal were well illuminated and hidden behind the flap of the open cellar door.
Ringwood, similarly, had only one eye showing and even more light behind him. The walking dead
ignored them all and went scuffling and shuffling along the corridor in search of easier prey. Solid and
lethal in the near darkness, they emitted foul odors of corruption. There were more than a score of them,
some bearing weapons or tools, a few clad in antique armor, oth-ers ragged or almost naked, and even a
couple of women. Many showed death wounds horrible enough to turn Ring-wood’s stomach.
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Impossible Odds333



“That must be all,” the Count said, emerging. “No, wait. I can hear something else coming.”

“Leave it! Why bother?” Max demanded.

“Because I want them all out and then I’m going to shut the door so they can’t find their way back in.
Daylight kills them, or didn’t you know that?”

“This is a terrible thing you have done!”

“I am defending my house!” János roared. “Those brigands attack me by night, without warning? Smash
my property, slay my dogs, my guards—”

“You don’t know that!”

“Then why did I get no warning? Serves them right. Lis-ten! It’s started.”

Distant screams echoed faintly through the mansion as the attackers discovered their peril. However
perverted the Count’s strategy, Ringwood had to admit that it was worthy of the Brotherhood. János had
ordered his own people into a well-lit area and loosed the shadowmen on the attackers, who were
outside in the darkness of this especially black night. The cellar of death had never been an escape route,
only a secret defense.

 “Come, then!” Max said. “We must make sure people don’t panic. And we must find the Schale woman
and the Chivians.”

“Why bother? Dead is dead.”

“Not always!” Ringwood threw the door open and emerged withBad Newsin his hand. Ranter was at
his back and the corridor grew brighter as the women followed with more lanterns.

 The Count’s pry bar lay discarded at his feet. He was still wrapped in nothing but a fur cloak that
displayed his hairy chest and forearms. He wore his broadsword on his left and his right hand held a
lantern he would have to drop before he could draw, giving Ringwood plenty of warning. The big


334Dave Duncan



seneschal was unarmed. The back door behind them was barred and bolted.

Ringwood had the upper hand for the moment. Could he keep it against two Vamky men?

“Oh, there you are, Your Grace!” the Count said. “We were worried. Put that sword up, sonny. It’s
bad manners to draw on your host.”

“It’s worse to sell a guest to her enemies.” Ringwood walked closer. Insectile rustling and clinking
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sounds from the cellar indicated thatsomethingwas still scrabbling up the steps, but he ignored that. “Did
you hang Wolfgang Web-ber, or just pretend you were going to?”

Lamplight shone back from the Count’s eyes. “What filthy business is that of yours?”

“Just tell me you didn’t leave orders that he was to be taken to the octogram and healed after we left.”

“Sir Ringwood!” the Duchess protested at his back. “This is absurd. I told you how Lord János helped
us after Fa-drenschloss burned. He has been a loyal friend to me, and he was a lifelong friend of Ernst
von Fader.”

 Ringwood kept his eyes on the Count. “He’s also an apos-tate Vamky knight, Your Highness. He left
the Order after Luitgard died, but that didn’t free him from his oaths. Yes, he helped you and the Baron.
Then Harald arrived with or-ders for him. That was why János recommended Harald to the Baron, and
why he hinted you ought to leave before Har-ald loosed any more swarmings on him. And he got other
or-ders later, didn’t you, my lord? When Radu turned up for his father’s funeral you arrested him. Why?
You said it was be-cause he’d left the Brotherhood, but that was exactly what you’d done yourself.”

“He kidnapped a child who’d been left in my care!”

“And who told you that? Was Radu so stupid? He took care not to be seen, he said.”


Impossible Odds335



“What business is this of yours, sonny?”

 Ringwood was almost enjoying this. Bellman would be proud of him. “It certainly concerns your
seneschal here. Did you tell him how you battered Radu to jelly and caged him in a pit like an animal? He
knew no secrets you cared about. You were told to interrogate him because Vamky wanted to hear how
much he’d discovered. Then they told you to hang him. And you would have done so if we had not
arrived in the nick of time.”

Max made the sort of “?” noise a bear would make on being kicked awake in midwinter.

 “And when Her Highness showed up two days ago,” Ringwood persisted, “you sent word to Vamky
and promised to bring her in, as you had been instructed. Max knew we were coming, didn’t you,
Seneschal?”

Max said carefully, “I knew he would be bringing guests.”

“So his lordship sent two messages he didn’t tell us about. Unfortunately his friends didn’t go along with
his plan. Or they got impatient. They decided to drop in this evening and help themselves. What went
wrong?”

“You tell me, lad,” János said in tones that would scare off a wolf pack. “You’re the one spinning yarns.
Why would friends of mine wreck my house, kill my dogs, kill or dis-able my guards?”

The sounds of tumult were growing louder. Were the at-tackers outside fleeing into the house to find
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safety from the shadowmen? If so, the Count might have outsmarted himself.

“That I’m not sure of,” Ringwood admitted. “Were you asking too much for her?”

“And why,” the Count inquired, as he casually shifted the lantern to his left hand, “would I have turned
on Wolfgang, if I am still loyal to the Brotherhood?”

“I didn’t say you were loyal. I said you take orders, and


336Dave Duncan



 I’m sure you were furious when you realized that Wolfgang was spying on you. Besides, what harm did
it do? The boy had a nasty hour or so and his arms were smashed so badly they may never heal
properly, but a knight-brother must ex-pect to suffer a few hard knocks for the cause, yes? Did you hang
him, though? In my Order that would be seen as going a little too far. Tell me you know he was hanged.”

 “I will not. Now stand aside while I see to my house and my people.” János advanced a pace and halted
when the glinting point ofBad Newsdid not budge. He knew of True’s truth-sounding skill and had been
very careful to speak in questions, avoiding direct statements. So Ringwood still could not be absolutely
sure.

He was pleased how steady his sword was, though, and the Duchess had stopped arguing. “I will let you
pass and apologize, my lord, if you will state that you have received no orders from Vamky in the past
year. That you hanged Wolfgang. And tell us why you tortured Radu.”

“I will do no such thing! Stand aside!”

“Drop your sword,” Ringwood said, watching the Count’s eyes.

The Count threw the lantern at him with his left hand and drew his broadsword with his right. He swung
a cut to kill his impudent tormentor. His sword clanged to the ground and he screamed in pain.

 Much, much too slow! Ringwood had appealed for assis-tance with a quiet “Starkmoor,” batted the
lantern aside withBad News,and parried inward. Steel screeched. The old man’s power in engagement
was incredible, but Ringwood turned to his right, throwing all his weight into it, and that opened room on
his left for Ranter to step in and crack the Count’s elbow with an upward blow of the flat of his blade.
The broadsword fell. Match over.

Felt good.


Impossible Odds337



Very, very good! First real fight. (The less blood you shed the better, Grand Master said; lawyers feed
on it.)
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“Thank you, brother,” Ringwood said. “Seneschal, I do think you should go and see what’s happening
out front. If I were you, I’d be worried that the attackers will set fire to the house. The rest of us are
going out through the cellar and we will take your lord along as hostage.”

 Max Priboi, former Vamky novice, was staring very hard at him, as if seeing him for the first time.
“There may still be shadowmen down there.”

 “Quite likely. But I know for certain that there are two liv-ing factions up here who wish my ward no
good, and they are more dangerous. If you are still alive and in control in the morning, you may be able to
ransom this creature with some horses and a light breakfast.”

János roared, “I am not going down there for all the—”

 Max’s great hand slammed him back against a wall. “So that’s why Radu disappeared right after the
funeral with-out saying good-bye to anyone?” Again he hurled the Count back, shoving with two hands
this time. “Beat him to jelly, huh?” Obviously he would switch to fists, given any excuse.

“Until the sun turns to water and the moon burns!”János roared.

The seneschal growled angrily and backed away. The sec-ond fight was over.

“What does that mean?” Ranter demanded.

“Part of their oath, I’d think,” Ringwood said. “They’re both Vamky men.”

“No more!” János shouted. “I spared Radu, didn’t I? I didnotreport that the Duchess had come back.
Am I telling the truth, girl?”

True nodded. “He is, dear.”

“So he ratted again?” Ringwood said. “He turns like a weath-


338Dave Duncan



ercock. Seneschal, you are excused.” No need to make any more enemies right now.

“You’re crazy to go down there, lad. At least wait here until...”Max paused to listen.

Voices were shouting not very far away.

“Quick!” Ringwood shouted. “They’re coming.”

“Sir Ranter,” Ringwood said loudly. “We’ll send Count János ahead with two lanterns. Follow him. You
may need to prod him along withInvincible,and he doesn’t understand gentle. Take a lantern, too. Your
Highness, you must trust me. Follow Sir Ranter, True. I will bring up the rear.”

“If you think,” the Grand Duchess said, “that I am going down those stairs under any circum—”
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“You think lights will protect you?” János yelled. “Then what killed my brother and the miners?”

“Ignorance or panic,” Ringwood said. “Move him, brother.”

 Ranter had years of practice at bullying and had been lug-gingInvinciblearound for months without a
chance to use her. In no time he had the Count yelping with pain and start-ing down the steps, a lantern in
each hand and minor flesh wounds in his buttocks.

“Let me past!” Max said.

Taking no chances, Ringwood backed into the pantry to let him go by.

 The big man raised a fist in salute. “Good chance, Sir Blade. If I’m still in charge in the morning, I’ll try
to help.” He sighed. “But if that’s Vamky out there, then you’d better not trust me.”

“Thanks. I understand. Better hurry.” The sounds of bat-tle were coming closer.

True retrieved the Count’s broadsword. “Onward and downward!”

“You can’t use that!” Johanna protested.

“Oh, can’t I? You think I don’t have the muscle? I can take


Impossible Odds339



Ringwood two falls out of three. Let’s go.” She disappeared into the stairwell with sword and lantern.
Wonderful woman!

Fortunately the Duchess did not seem to have noticed True’s brag, which was untrue, if not totally
without basis. She was staring in horror at the gloomy doorway. “This is madness!”

Ringwood handed her a lantern. “It is necessary. We have to get you to the wedding, Your Grace.”

“You do? But you were arguing—”

 “—the other way yesterday. But now they know you’re back, they’re out to kill you. Attacking a
count’s house in the middle of the night? They’re desperate!” He gave her an-other lantern. “We have to
display you in public as soon as possible to show the world you’re alive. Or very soon you won’t be.
Please, Your Grace! I can’t carry you and fight off shadowmen at the same time. Which is it to be?”

 Obviously his ward had an unreasoning dread of darkness or underground places or something similar,
but he knew she had courage, and now she proved it again by doing as he asked. He followed her in,
awkwardly pulling the door closed behind him. He doubted anyone would come after them. It would
depend how desperate the enemy were, whoever they were. Fine Blade he was, not even knowing the
identity of the foe who had been trying to kill his ward for half a year!

Four steps down Johanna cried, “Eek!What’s that?”
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 “Just a shadow-thing,” True said cheerfully. She had waited below the obstacle. “Hold your light low
and walk right through it.”

 “It” had once been a man who had died in chains. It had no legs, which was why it had taken so long
climbing the stairs after its fellows. In a good light it became transparent and immaterial, so its efforts to
grab ankles were ineffectual.

 “Wait for us, Ranter!” True shouted. “Don’t get too far ahead. We’re coming.” Her voice echoed down
into the cellars.


340Dave Duncan



                                                      •4•

 Bellman crept down the stairs until he reached the second corner, and from there he could see down to
the barred gate, which was shut. He could hear voices and something else:Crack!And then again,Crack!
He went on, one fearful step at a time. A man spoke. Someone laughed. Then a voice he knew—

“Stop that!” Johanna shouted.

 His heart jumped, but that was only her voice when she was wearing the locket. Someone growled a
reply he could not make out. It sounded like a threat.

 He went on down until he could peer through the top of the gate below him. The room was much larger
than he had imagined, but otherwise just as Radu had described: bright lanterns, six timber doors on the
right, a heavy table in the center with two benches (one tucked in close, one pulled back), and four
barred doors on the left.

And five men.

One of them was heavyset, almost portly, clad in a shabby, dirty robe, and if it was not Grand Duke
Rubin him-self, it was his exact double. At the moment he was standing inside the second dungeon,
holding the bars of the door and shouting at what the other men were doing. As Radu had de-scribed, he
was also restrained by a long chain attached to a metal collar.

Another man was crouched on his knees in front of the third barred door, with his wrists tied to it. His
gown had been pulled down below his waist and one of his captors was swinging a whip.Crack!Another
bleeding cut joined the weave across the prisoner’s back. Two more brethren were watching.

No. If Bellman just crept away and let that go unchallenged,


Impossible Odds341



 his conscience would torment him for the rest of his life. No matter that the alternative would probably
reduce the rest of his life to a matter of minutes, he must do something to stop that. Three against one?
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To a real Blade those were frightening odds, but not impossible. Grand Master in his youth had once
over-come four, but Bellman was not a real Blade; his hands shook with fatigue; he had never finished
training; he had only one good eye . . .

 Stop that!It had been the candidates in Ironhall who had consistently bested him. He had beaten plenty
of Blades from the Royal Guard at their first or second attempt. It was only when they discovered how to
come in on his blind side that they had made him look like a turtle. The brethren could not know about
that.

 “I said stop it!” Rubin shouted. “You are disgracing the Brotherhood! This man has not been tried or
convicted of anything.”

 “And I said to keep your mouth shut or I will push your balls in it and nail it shut!” said the larger of the
two specta-tors. “We are interrogating a spy.”

“He is a knight-brother, entitled to a trial.”

 Bellman chose a couple of picks, rolled up the wallet again, and moved down to the gate as quietly as he
could.

“I have already told you everything I know,” Radu said, his voice unsteady.

“Tell us more!” the larger spectator said. “Achim!”

Crack!

Radu gasped. “I dropped the letter somewhere.”

“You dropped ithere! Again, Achim.”

Crack!

 Bellman applied pressure and confirmed that the gate was locked. He slid the pick into the lock,
working by feel, keep-ing his eyes on the brethren. Fortunately the lock was on his right, so if one of
them looked his way they would see some-


342Dave Duncan



 one waiting to be admitted, or just a nosy parker spying. Un-fortunately his hands were shaking. He
found a ward...

Crack!

Radu cried out that time. “No! I couldn’t find this place. I dropped it somewhere else. I knew someone
would find it and see it was delivered. Then I learned my father had died, so I went to his funeral.”

“You are lying. You were identified.”
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Crack!

 “Identified by me!” the Grand Duke shouted. “At first sight I thought it was Radu, but I made a mistake.
It was another man. I was wrong.”

 “And I told you to keep your mouth shut!” said the large man. “What are you waiting for, Achim? Keep
laying them on until I tell you to stop.”

Crack!

Radu choked down a scream. “Would I have come back if I had done anything wrong?”

“You will pay for this, Samuil!” the Grand Duke shouted.

 So the big one was Samuil. The lock was simple enough, with only two wards to circumvent. Bellman
could touch the bolt now, could even make it move slightly, but the pick was too short to push it far
enough. He tried the other.

Crack!

Radu cried out. “Please! Oh, please stop!”

“Sir,” said the other spectator. “It is true that the prisoner is a knight-brother, so under the rule of our
order, he is enti-tled to a trial. He should not be interrogated without—”

“Shut up, Gerlach!”

Crack!

“I’ve told you everything!” Radu yelled.

Crack!

Either Bellman was overlooking something, or this pick was still not long enough. Or was the bolt set too
heavily in


Impossible Odds343



the detent? If he applied more pressure and broke the pick, then he would have lost any chance of
opening the door.

“I don’t care if you have told us everything, Brother Radu,” Samuil said. “You have not paid for my eye
yet. Get on with it, Achim! Or paid for these scars on my face. We have a long night ahead of us.”

Crack!

Radu moaned.
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Click!The gate was free.

 But both Samuil and Gerlach had heard. They turned to look. Bellman waited, keeping his head lowered
as the brethren did, his face shadowed.

Gerlach strode over. “Who are you? What you want?”

Bellman gave the first name that came into his head. “Knight-brother Harald delivering a package for
Cantor Samuil.”

 He held up the leather roll holding the picks, but he kept it outside the bars. Gerlach reached through for
it. Bellman grabbed his wrist with his free hand, heaved Gerlach for-ward, and slammed his arm down on
a crossbar, throwing his weight on it in an effort to break it. Judging by the re-sulting scream, he had at
least come close.

 He shouldered the gate open, taking the unfortunate Ger-lach with it, and jumped through, drawing
Bravado. Two more swords hissed from their scabbards. Three against one, six eyes against one and a
bit. The moment of surprise had worn off. Samuil advanced to meet the intruder, but he came cautiously,
so maybe Ansel had been right when he said Bellmanlookedlike a swordsman.

 Achim, the torturer, instead of blindly following his supe-rior into the fray, started around the far end of
the table. He clearly hoped to take Bellman from behind and that was sol-dier’s thinking, a reminder that
these were trained fighting men—not Blades, but sure to be good. They would want to


344Dave Duncan



take the spy alive. That did not mean uninjured. This was going to be very dicey.

 Bellman ran forward and kicked over the bench in front of Samuil, making him jump back. No, only five
eyes! One of Samuil’s was milky white, and his face was patched with white scar tissue. Healings could
not heal everything, espe-cially flesh destroyed by burns.

Leaving the one-eyed man for later, Bellman ran back around the table to meet Achim. Gerlach was still
upright, struggling to draw his sword with his left hand, but a fast slash at his neck in passing put him
permanently out of the fight. No quarter asked or given...

 Achim was big, but in spite of that and his floppy white robe, he moved like a skilled swordsman.
Having been ap-pointed torturer, he was probably the youngest and strongest of the three. He
brandished a bastard sword, a hand-and-a-half broadsword, which he swung in a wide slash that would
have cut Bellman’s head off had he waited for it. Bellman parried it with the pick bag he still held in his
left hand—he would lose fingers if he tried that very often—and raised his head. Achim saw the Grand
Duke’s face inside the hood. Distraction!Bravadostruck his left wrist, sending the broadsword clanging to
the floor.

“Behind you!” roared the Grand Duke.

 Bellman spun around and recovered, parrying a cut from Samuil. He recovered again, backing away
from a murder-ous series of slashes until he was almost pinned against the timber doors. He slipped away
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to his left and recovered back the way he had come. The one-eyed brother was good, but he was going
to wear himself out very soon. Bellman was al-most back where he had started, near the door, and just
as he remembered that Gerlach’s body was somewhere there, he stepped on an arm and almost
stumbled. Samuil followed, teeth bared in a grimace of hate. The traitor was fighting for


Impossible Odds345



his life, too. Only the winner would survive this battle for long.

 Right! The brethren were warriors, not duelists. They were edge men, trained with longsword or saber
against armor or on horseback.Bravadohad an edge, but she was lighter, more nimble, and had a point
as well. Bellman went on the offensive, lunging and thrusting, keeping his distance as much as possible.
Samuil deserved credit for trying to fight at all with only one eye, for he could not know his op-ponent
was in almost as bad a shape. He was also aging, al-ready out of breath, but there could be no mercy or
surrender in a treason case. Bellman deliberately turned him and drove him along the line of cells, jabbing
Bravado’s deadly point at his face.

 When he had put the Grand Duke in the dungeon, Cantor Samuil should have chained his ankles as well
as his neck, be-cause Rubin was now sitting on the floor with both legs ex-tended through the bars of the
dungeon door. Unaware of this trap behind him, Samuil tripped and lost his balance. Bellman killed him
with a thrust through the heart. Before he could free his blade, the Duke yelled, “Look out behind!” and
Bell-man leaped around, parrying Achim’s scythe stroke.Clang!

 The big kid had followed him and was whipping that bas-tard sword about almost as well with one hand
as he had with two. Now it was Bellman recovering, being steadily forced away from the door, trying to
catch his breath and measure this opponent. The last of three was bound to be cautious. And desperate.
Achim’s left arm was running blood, but he would need a long time to bleed to death. He was still the
best of the three. He had Bellman level with the fourth dungeon and was about to drive him back against
the end wall.Clang!

Bellman knew he was very close to the end of his strength. “You’re good, Brother Achim!”Clang!“Drop
your


346Dave Duncan



sword—”Clang!“—and I’ll give you a—”Clang!“—royal

pardon.”

Achim laughed.Clang!“I’ll give you a state funeral.”

“My jailbird twin will confirm—”Clang!“—the offer! Won’t you, brother?”

Rubin said, “Absolutely.”
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Clang!

 Even Radu was into the fight now. He had scrambled back on his knees, pulling the dungeon gate with
him until it stood wide. In a last desperate spurt, Bellman rushed Achim, whirlingBravadoin a silvery mist
to drive his foe into the trap. Achim recovered—one step... two...

 And Radu hurled himself forward as if to close the gate, swinging it at Achim’s back. The brother heard
the squeak of hinges, or just sensed it coming. He managed to dodge but he was too distracted to parry
the thrust that went through his eye and into his brain. He fell with a thud and thrashed a few times, but it
was all over.

 The silence was broken only by Bellman’s desperate gasping for breath and some quiet clapping from
the Grand Duke in his cell.

                                                     •5•

T he stairs descended about twenty steps between damp stone walls to end in a wide blackness.
Ringwood, coming last, found his companions standing in unhappy silence, holding lanterns high and
peering around. The air was dank and fetid, but it told of vegetable rot, not animal; it held no trace of bad
meat or rodent-hunting cats. Square stone pil-lars marched in rows ahead, to left, to right, every one
branching upward into four arches, but there were also many


Impossible Odds347



 stubby small pillars, of uneven height and spacing. This was an incomplete cellar and those were piles of
flagstones wait-ing to be laid. The existing footing was uneven, wet, and rubbly. Shadows lurked
everywhere, as did junk, at least here beside the exit—upturned wheelbarrows, rotted bas-kets, masons’
trowels, hammers, shovels.

Lanterns could illuminate only so far, but he could see walls in the distance. Certainly there was a
masonry ramp off to the right.

“Where does that go?” He pointed with his sword.

“Barrel ramp,” Ranter suggested. “To the yard?”

 “Bricked up.” János seemed as lost as the others, but he had probably never been down here before,
either. “I’m going to see you hang for this, you Chivian scum. And that’s nothing to what my sons will do
to you if I die.”

“Naw, they’ll be too busy fighting among themselves,” Ranter said. “Which way to the secret passage?”

“Find it yourself.”

“When did your brother die?” Ringwood asked. “How long ago?”

“Ask him. He’s still around here somewhere.”
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Thirty years? Longer. János had sons older than that, and they must have been born after the disaster.

 The Duchess whimpered. She looked frozen, although the air was not especially cold, just damp and
rank. She needed Bellman to comfort her. The big fellow would comfort them all, or he might have seen
the trap sooner and saved them from having to be here. Ringwood mostly wanted to hug True, but
hugging was not an option when every hand held a sword or lantern.

 “Don’t let him scare you, Your Grace,” he said. Only a fool would not be scared here. Things kept
moving in the corner of his eye, making tiny shuffling noises. He felt a mil-lion dead eyes watching him,
could see a million places


348Dave Duncan



where shadowmen might be hiding from the lanterns. It would be folly to assume that they had all been
waiting by the door. “You’re in this with us, your lordship. Which way to the keep?”

János answered with an obscenity, yelped when Ranter jabbed him.

 “Keep that for when it’s needed, brother,” Ringwood said. At least he need not worry about their
hostage running away. János must be as scared as the rest of them, just more expe-rienced at disguising
the fact. “Let’s go exploring. This way first.”

He headed over to the abandoned barrel ramp and a con-ical hill of rubble beside it. Also more rotting
wheelbarrows.

“There’s one!” True yelped and everyone turned to stare where she was pointing. There was nothing
visible by that time.

“Can you sense them, love?” Ringwood asked.

She shivered. “Oh, yes. They’re around. I can’t pinpoint them, though.”



“We’re safe enough. We have lots of light. Don’t let the Count get too close to you.” He wished she had
not brought the broadsword. If the former knight-brother grabbed it away from her, things might turn
nasty.

Oh, they’re not nasty now?

 The heap was mud and pebbles, not builders’ waste. “I think this,” Ringwood said, “is what they dug out
when they were tunneling over to the keep. They piled it here so other men could take it up the ramp to
wagons in the yard. But if they weren’t able to complete the tunnel, they’d just put most of it back. Does
that make sense?” Would Bellman have agreed?

Ranter kicked at a pile of rotting timber. “This was to shore up their diggings?”

“Good man! Of course.” But was that tunnel still open?
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Impossible Odds349



 The builders would not have installed permanent walls and roof until they knew their efforts would serve
some purpose. There were no stacks of building stone waiting. Work must have stopped the moment
they broke through to the castle crypt, and how big a hole did a shadowman need? Would the air be so
stale here if there was open access to the keep?

 “Here’s the trail,” True said. On the far side of the tip the floor had been paved, and muddy tracks
showed where the barrows had come forty years earlier. “This way!”

“Wait!” Ringwood said. “The Count first. Stay in order. And keep together.”

 Menaced again by Ranter’s sword, János stumped off along the ancient trail. At the first pillar, a figure
lunged out at him, hands clawing for his face. He screamed and stag-gered back, dropping both his
lanterns as he tried to defend himself. Glass shattered, darkness surged in. János went down under the
attacker’s weight.

 Ranter roared and attacked the wraith with light and sword. He would have done better with one or the
other, not both.Invinciblepassed harmlessly through an apparition. Fortunately he had stabbed
horizontally, for a downward cut might have killed János. Other lights arrived; the mirage scuttled away
on all fours, joining a collection of other shapes at the edge of darkness. The enemy was in view now, a
lot of them.

 The intruders’ seven lanterns were down to five. Ring-wood tried to count the watching shadowmen, but
they kept shifting. More than a dozen, certainly. Their silent hatred oppressed him. If they would moan or
shout abuse they might seem less dangerous.

“You all right, my lord?” Johanna asked, going down on one knee.

János was huddled in a heap on the flagstones. He didn’t look all right. He looked big, because he
wasn’t standing,


350Dave Duncan



but he was mumbling, gasping, almost sobbing. A man of his age could die from a shock like that.

 “Did you see what I saw?” Ranter said. “Youngish lad, old-fashioned clothes, tattered but originally
quite fancy, I’d think. Those others out there, see? Most of them are half-naked workmen. This one was
special. And his legs—”

 “That’s enough!” Ringwood barked. His legs were short? That had been Luitgard himself. Oritself,now?
Poor old János had been attacked by his brother of forty years ago. Ringwood shivered. “On your feet,
Count! We have to find a way out of here. Give him a light, Your Grace. One lantern for each of us. You
lose it, you do without. Hurry!”
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Johanna helped the old man rise. He wasn’t the bully boy of Brikov anymore; he had shrunk and aged.
His beard had lost its bristle.

 Two more pillars brought them to a wall with alcoves in it, and in one of those alcoves some ashlar
blocks had been re-moved. As a doorway, it was small, barely head high and only just wide enough to
admit a wheelbarrow. Here the long-dead Luitgard had begun his illicit tunnel over to the keep.

“We’ll take turns looking inside,” Ringwood said. “The rest of us must keep light around the entrance.”

 He waited until last to make his inspection. The tunnel sloped down gently, no wider than the entrance,
with a shadow at the limit of his sight that might be a branching tunnel. The roof was framed with timber,
but some of the planks had sagged badly, and the props looked unsafe. In places the shoring had
collapsed, heaping debris on the floor. What a pathetic, incompetent Blade he was to bring his ward to
this!

He emerged to consult the others. They stood in a half-circle, facing the shadow-infested darkness.

“Don’t say you wouldn’t go in there if your life depended on it,” Ranter said cheerfully, “because it
does.”


Impossible Odds351



“It slopes down,” Ringwood said, “and the floor’s wet. Seepage.”

 “Wood’s all rotten,” the Count growled. He kept rubbing his throat as if it hurt. His brother’s corpse had
tried to stran-gle him.

 “Yes, but there must be drainage somewhere. I know it may be no bigger than a mouse hole. We just
can’t be sure unless we go and look.”

“I can’t go in there!” The Duchess was hugging herself, as if she felt very cold. “I just can’t.”

 “Nor I,” János said. “I won’t. I’m going back and you’ll have to kill me to stop me. I think you should all
come. Let the boy go if he wants to.”

Commander Ringwood faced his first mutiny. “Tell us the truth, then, my lord. You sent word to the
Brotherhood that you had Her Highness in your power and would sell her for a suitable price?”

 The Count’s attempt to shout emerged as a painful croak. He coughed. “Fool boy!” he whispered. “No.
And you don’t bargain with Vamky! Yes, I was a knight-brother until . . . this.” He jerked a thumb at the
tunnel be-hind him. “Forty-four years ago I left the Order. For forty-four years I never heard a word
from them. They left me alone. Then orders came. Not by Harald. You were wrong there, too. After
he’d gone, about Fifthmoon. Obey or else!”

“Else what?” Ranter asked, as if really wanted to know.

“Else anything you can imagine. I was ordered to lock up the Duchess or any of her companions if they
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showed up. I was to send word to Vamky.”

Ringwood said, “But that was months after she’d left! Why did they wait until then?”

“Idon’tknow!” the Count yelled. “I didn’task! Finally,lastweek, I was told to arrest Radu and question
him about


352Dave Duncan



what he had seen that he shouldn’t have. I did. I reported. I got orders to hang him.”

 “But you didn’t,” Ringwood said. “You waited, hoping he would do the decent thing and die quietly in
the hole so you wouldn’t have to hang a brother. You freed Radu when Her Highness turned up. You
didn’t lock her up, either.”

 “Because you convinced me he was telling the truth,” János said. “Volpe is engaged in high treason, him
and the Abbot. I want none of that. I hold my lands from the Duke, not Volpe. So I defected. I didn’t
report that Her Highness was back. Well, girl? Am I lying?”

True said, “No, my lord,” and shot Ringwood a worried glance.

 Ringwood’s laugh startled even him. “That was why you were so hard on Wolfgang! You hadn’t
realized he was spy-ing on you. Did you hang him?”

The Count shook his big head. “I told them to heal him and leave him in the pit till I got back. I agree
with you on that, kid. Brother shouldn’t hang brother.”

“Who’s your handler at Vamky, my lord? Who did you send the message to?” Why did that matter? It
didn’t. Ring-wood just needed time to think.

“Dunno. I write to a cell number. He knew the password they gave me when I left, that’s all that
mattered.”

“And now someone’s smashing your windows? Who? And how did they learn Her Highness was here?”

“I dunno.”

“That may be my fault,” True said. “Wolfgang said he didn’t know of any more spies in the valley. He
didn’t say there weren’t any. I think he suspected someone, maybe even the Count.”

“It doesn’t matter!” János roared. “They’re on to us. We have to get out of here before they burn the
house down on our heads, and there’s nothing for us in the keep. We go back.”


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“We’ll take a vote,” Ringwood said unhappily. “Go back or explore the tunnel. True?”

“I vote with you, love.”

He’d sheathed his sword, so he had one arm free to hug her.

“We go back!” the Duchess said. “I’m choking down here. There’s no air!”

 “Brother Ranter, you have the deciding vote.” And would probably have the command from now on,
too, if the Duchess had lost confidence in the present Leader.

Ranter shrugged. “You’re Leader. I’m with you.”

“Then I... Youare?” Ringwood wondered if he’d mis-heard.

“All the way. You think I want to be in charge of this dis-aster? You got us in, brother, you get us out.”
Ranter could do the right thing sometimes, he just could never say it.

“Thank you, brother.”

“ ’Sides, I don’t think we’d make it back to the stairs alive.”

János said, “That’s the truth,” and disappeared.

He lay on his back, spread-eagled, while a rock the size of a baby’s head rolled away into the passage.
A sizable dent had appeared in his forehead. His lantern, amazingly, had not shattered.

 “Inside!” Ringwood roared, and grabbed the Duchess. She screamed and struggled, but he wrestled her
into the tunnel over the Count’s body. True followed with the Count’s lantern. Ranter came last, dragging
the Count himself, who was no mean burden in such a confined space.

 Rocks came flying in after them. Why had they never re-alized that the shadowmen could use real
weapons? Even if everything they had with them when they died—like the Yeomen’s halberds—shared
in their curse and faded away in brightness, shadowmen were solid enough in darkness, and a stray rock
remained a rock. That must be how they had de-


354Dave Duncan



stroyed Luitgard and his workmen. Another miscalculation, Sir Ringwood, and probably a fatal one!

“Don’t jostle the pit props!” True shouted. “Keep going, love.”

 Ringwood led the way along the burrow, stooping and stumbling. The floor was littered with pebbles
that had fallen from the walls. Those would make perfect missiles for the shadowmen if they followed. In
places the sides had crumbled, spilling heaps of clay or sand as well. Ranter, being rearguard, was
holding a board up as a shield, and Ringwood could hear rocks rattling off it like hail. They reached the
branching he had noticed earlier and it was merely an alcove where two barrows might pass, not deep
enough to provide shelter. He could see the ancient wheel tracks.
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 He paused there, though, to take stock and fight down a rising panic that said he was going to die now
and his ward with him. The barrage of rocks had slackened, most likely because the passage did not
offer enough room to throw things.

“Where’s the Count?”

“He was turning transparent, Leader,” Ranter said in a small voice.

 So Boy Commander had now lost a man, caused a death, lost his innocence, proved himself a useless
dung beetle. He should have stuck to mending pots. What’s the use of doing something with your life if
it’s the wrong thing?

The barrage had stopped. “Are they following us?”

 Ranter peeked around his makeshift shield. “Yes, Leader. Lot of the buggers. Creeping closer all the
time.”

“Then let’s keep going. Can’t be much farther. They wouldn’t be following us if there wasn’t a way out.”
Ring-wood didn’treallybelieve that, but perhaps someone would. Five lanterns and four people left.


Impossible Odds355



 As he stumbled along, he wondered what made the shad-owmen so aggressive—were they jealous of
the living? Did they seek revenge for a violent death? He decided it must just be the way the spiritualism
was concocted. One of the Yeomen at Quamast had cut his own throat. They didn’t want revenge;
didn’t want to make you suffer; just wanted you dead like them.

Suddenly his feet were splashing in water and there was no more passage.

 The pool was shallow, ten or twelve paces long, filling the space from wall to wall. It ended in a sandy
slope. This was the end of the road, and stones were still pinging off Ranter’s shield. Once in a while he
would curse as if one had hit him instead.

Glass shattered. “Oops!” Ranter said. “Need another lantern!Quick!”

Four lanterns left. Here we stand and fight. Here we die.

 The shoring stopped short of the tunnel end and some balks of timber lay at Ringwood’s feet unused, so
this had been the active face of the mining operation, not just a later collapse. In forty-four years the
unsupported stretch of roof had crumbled, dumping sand and clay into the pool. The pool was seepage
collecting at the low point of the tunnel. How far underground were they? Ringwood waded forward and
raised his lantern to see if there might be a way out over-head, but there wasn’t, just a dome going
nowhere.

Why had the workmen stopped here?

Why didn’t the whole tunnel fill with water?
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“Hold this!” He thrust his lantern to True and started in on that sandy slope like a dog digging for rabbits,
hurling muck through between his legs. In moments he found clay and pebbles that tore his hands. “Give
me that!” He took the broadsword from her and began using it like a pick, digging away the detritus. It
was strenuous work, but he drove him-


356Dave Duncan



 self hard, still hearing those vicious rocks bouncing off Ranter’s shield.I don’t want to die down here in a
rathole.

 The sides of his dig became unstable and collapsed. He kept on digging. True came to help him with a
scrap of plank to use as a shovel. They dug side by side, ferociously. Above them loomed the unsafe
roof of the cave, trickling sand.

“They’re coming closer, Leader!” Ranter said calmly.

In a few minutes Ringwood would have to change places with him. He couldn’t keep this up much...
There it was!

 “We’ve found rock!” he shouted. “It’s a wall.” Ashlar blocks, rough and unfinished on this side, set in
mortar. Now he had to dig lower and his narrow trench kept trying to close up. “This is the wall of the
crypt! Chisel marks! The opening must be here somewhere.” Down near the water, of course.

“Back, vermin!” Ranter shouted. He was striking at shad-ows and a little more than shadows, for
Ringwood could hear faint metallic sounds.

 But the opening was in view now. The workers had smashed a block completely, but only one, and the
gap was plugged with sand and clay. Ringwood tore at it with his bare hands, scooping it out. Could a
living person squeeze through that? Shadowmen had come through, but they might have had light to make
them intangible.

 He drewBad Newsand dropped on his belly. His shoul-ders were too tight a fit, but he wriggled his
head and one arm into the gap, so his chest rested painfully on a surface of rough mortar studded with
sharp fragments of rock. There might be legions of shadowmen on the other side. Suppose something
grabbed hold of his arm and pulled?... He waved his sword down, up, every way, and encountered
nothing. There was a big space out there, but how far to the floor? There might be a lake, or a thirty-foot
drop onto spikes.

But the air smelled fresh and clean.


Impossible Odds357



 He squirmed back into the passage. Trudy and Johanna were standing in the mud and even Ranter had
retreated into the pool now, fighting off swords and pikes. The shadowmen were much closer than
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before, and horribly visible, a mass of writhing giant cockroaches, mummified wraiths, filling the tunnel to
the roof. Most of them were ragged or naked, and the first dozen or so were transparent. Only the
narrow-ness of the tunnel kept them from swarming all over Ranter. They were trying to smash his
lantern, but its light turned their weapons to nothing; if they tried to strike with planks their hands faded
out and the planks fell to the ground. They should just move back into darkness and throw rocks again,
but Ringwood wasn’t about to tell them so.

He tossed a pebble through to the crypt. It hit something and bounced. The drop did not sound very far.
There was still hope.

“Lantern!” he said. “I can’t find a floor. True, you go and look. We’ll pull you back.”

 She didn’t argue, wonderful woman! She said, “If I get stuck halfway I’ll never forgive you,” but she
flopped down in the mud, put both arms and a lantern ahead of her, and wriggled headfirst into the nasty,
rough space. Ringwood gave her a few seconds, then grabbed her dress and hauled her back. He heard
her dress rip.

She howled. “Ow! That hurt! But it’s not very far. I can do it.”

“You first, then,” he said.

 “This will not be dignified,” True said, but she was al-ready covered in mud from her chin to her toes.
She kissed him. “I want no fancy heroics from you, my lad!” she whispered. Again she heaved herself
into the opening face-down, but now feetfirst. Her gown bunched up; her hips gave her trouble. She
swore, squirmed, and then swore again as her legs flailed helplessly and her shoulders were


358Dave Duncan



 crushed against the top of the gap. When only her arms were visible, Ringwood gave her a lantern and
she pulled it in with her.

Then even that vanished.

 “True!” he screamed, and hurled himself down to follow. He stopped when he saw the glow of the
lantern coming from below the opening.

“All right, love!” she said, and her voice reverberated in a larger space. “Nothing here but me. Wait a
minute, though.” The glow faded away and his heart began tying itself in knots. Then a horrible shriek.

 He screamed in panic and banged his head against the top of the gap. Almost before he stopped seeing
stars, he heard her voice.

“That sounded bad, didn’t it? It’s a door. Just making sure it would open. Send Her Grace through. I
want to see it done gracefully.”

 A door? But how many other doors were beyond it? Would there even be a way out of the crypt and
the keep when they got there?
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 Ringwood wriggled out of the hole and then back in again, still one-armed, so he could pass True
another lantern. She could not quite reach it standing on tiptoe, but he dropped it to her and she caught it
without mishap. He had a brief glimpse of an apparently empty chamber and the door she had mentioned
on the far side. The keyhole open-ing was grating him like a carrot.

 Then Johanna. She said nothing and he noticed she had her eyes shut as she lay down to get in position,
feetfirst, facedown.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Trudy can help you.”

 Still without a word, Grand Duchess Johanna went squirming into the sewer and disappeared. That must
take tremendous courage from someone with her dread of being


Impossible Odds359



 underground. There were only two lanterns left, so the cor-ridor was dangerously dim. It was time for
fancy heroics.

“Right!” Ringwood said, drawingBad News.“You next, brother. My turn to hold off our admirers.”
Oddly, saying it was easier than he’d expected.

“No,” Ranter said. “I won’t fit through that. You go.”

 The attackers had found some poles long enough to threaten his lantern. He was chopping at them and
stamping on them. Some were so rotten he could break them. Others weren’t. It was hard work, and he
was dancing around so much that Ringwood couldn’t squeeze past him to take his place.

“No!” he said shrilly. “I’m Leader and I’m ordering you to go!”

“I won’t fit. Stop wasting time.”

“At least try! If you really can’t fit, then I’ll go, but youmusttry.”

“No! Take the other lantern and go, Beanpole. You rapier types have all the luck. Us saber men make
better lovers. Now get in there and look after our ward!”

The thought of Johanna down in the crypt with no protec-tion and possibly shadowmen prowling threw
Ringwood into near-panic. No heroics, True had said, but he was Leader, it was hisdutyto be last out. It
made things no eas-ier to know that Ranter was right. The big oaf would never squeeze through that tiny
gap. Ringwood was not at all sure he could make it himself.

“Please!” he screamed. “At least try!”

“Fine pair of onions we’ll look if I get stuck in it with you on this side.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“I’ll try, I promise. Now go,” Ranter said. “Quick! I can’t hold them much longer.”
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A faint, distorted scream echoed out of the hole in the


360Dave Duncan



wall. Then two screams. The women were being attacked. No! No! No!

 Whimpering, Ringwood sat down, put the third lantern close to hand, and slid his legs into the burrow.
He sentBad Newsthrough ahead of him, hilt first so he wouldn’t kill any-one. Then the broadsword. He
rolled over on his face and started. Assuming he didn’t castrate himself, his hips would be the problem.
He had to twist and struggle to force them through, and the rocky claws seemed to be cutting him to the
bone. Ranter swore loudly, as if he’d been hurt, but at that moment Ringwood thought he was
permanently stuck and could go neither forward or back. His shoulders were wider than his hips, but
more flexible. Then he was through, his legs were dangling, and he had to hang on while he got a grip on
the lantern.

Hands gripped his legs, and he suppressed a wail of fright, frantically trying to convince himself that they
were trying to help, not drag him through to his death.

“I’m gone,” he said. “You come now!”

“Be right there,” Ranter said.

 Ringwood slid agonizingly over the edge, tearing belly and shoulder blades both. He wanted to bring the
lantern with one hand and hold onto the edge of the opening with the other and didn’t succeed. Trudy
was trying to take his weight on her shoulders and she failed, too. They collapsed together. He hit the
flagstones hard enough to knock all the breath out of him. The lantern shattered.

He struggled to sit up. “You all right?” Nothing seemed to be broken.

“Yes, yes!”

They had been lucky. “What’s wrong? Why were you screaming?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said.

“We could hear you arguing, Commander,” the Duchess


Impossible Odds361



said, “doing the manly thing, and we had to get you moving. We need you, both of you.”

He stood up shakily, smelling his own blood. “You all right, Your Grace?”

“I’ve been better, but I’m not injured.”
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He was surprised to see how far he had dropped. The hole was a rectangle of faint light. He could just
hear Ranter swearing at the shadowmen.

 “Ranter!”he roared, and the chamber reverberated.“Come now!”He turned to give True a hug. “Any
shadowmen here?”

“I don’t think so. Very faint. But I’ve been sort of numbed by their stink, so I may be wrong.”

“Ranter!”

The light winked out.

“Ah!” the Duchess said. “He’s coming!”

Ringwood looked at Trudy. Trudy looked at Ringwood.

“I don’t think so, Your Highness,” he said hoarsely. “I think they broke the last lamp.”

Silence. There was no noise from the tunnel.

“Ranter?”

More, terrible silence.

“If I climbed on your shoulders,” True whispered. “And held a lantern to the hole?”

 Ringwood put an arm around her again. And then the other one round Johanna. All three of them hugged
for a mo-ment. If Ranter were alive, he would be telling them so.

“He wouldn’t have been able to get through the hole,” True said. “Would he?”

“I don’t think he would.”I wish I was certain. I wish he’d tried.

 So Ranter’s name would be added to theLitany of Heroesin Ironhall, and it would be Ringwood’s duty
to write the ci-tation: “Abandoned by his leader, he fought on undaunted against impossible...”


362Dave Duncan



Some other time. His own name was still heading in that direction. Just as well, perhaps, that there would
be nobody to write about him. NeitherBad NewsnorInvinciblewould ever hang in the sky of swords.

Now they must go. To stay and mourn would be folly and a betrayal of Ranter’s sacrifice. Running
would not be cow-ardice, only brutal common sense. He was bruised, abraded, and exhausted, and the
women were in no better shape. Three people and two lanterns. He looked down at the one he had
dropped and was dismayed to see how little oil there was in the splash of broken glass.

“Let’s move our lanterns away from that opening,” he said. “I don’t think the monsters can get through
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there in the dark.” But he didn’tknowthat, and he had underestimated the shadowmen before. “Let’s go
and see the sunrise.” The first ray of daylight would make them safe.

The chamber was muddy, but not littered. It had no win-dows, only a small and rusty iron door in it.

“This looks like a jail,” he said, heading for the exit. The others followed, bringing the lights.

“I was thinking that,” Johanna said. “Chain someone up in a place like this with a few candles and let him
watch the shadowmen for a while. Then you come back when the can-dles start to run out and ask if
he’s ready to talk yet.” That was the longest speech she’d made in hours. Her voice held a hysterical
brittleness, but at least she was talking.

“That’s not a nice thought, Your Highness.”

“Unless the someone was Lord Volpe,” True suggested. No one disagreed.

 She had managed to push the door open a handsbreadth. Leaning on it, Ringwood was surprised by the
effort he needed to move it farther. She must be even stronger than he had realized. The hinges screamed
again. When all three of them had squeezed through the gap, he and Trudy between


Impossible Odds363



them managed to shut it, and once again the crypt rang with

the cry of tortured iron.

There was a lock, but no key. He didn’t mention that.

“I can smell rain!” True whispered.

“I can hear it!” the Duchess said. “And the wind!”

 They were in a corridor, facing a similar door that proba-bly led to a similar room. To their right the
corridor ended, so they set off to the left to find the source of the fresh air. Trudy still carried the Count’s
broadsword. The flagstones were carpeted with soft loam where dirt had washed in.

 Very soon they came to a rockfall. Huge masses of ma-sonry blocked the corridor from side to side and
as high and far as their pathetic puddle of light could reach. The keep was a ruin, fallen in on itself, and
stored in its own crypt. There was no sky, but rainwater was trickling and dripping in somewhere.
Fungoid vegetation lurked in corners and tree roots twined between mossy relics of arches and pillars.

True said wistfully, “I could use that rain. Be nice to get rinsed off.”

 “Morning must come soon,” Ringwood said. “We’ll find a way out of here as soon as there’s some
light.” He did not believe that. Only mice would ever find a way through that heap.

Whether the others were deceived by his bravado was not established, because at that moment a groan
of rusty hinges echoed in the corridor behind them. True raised her lantern and peered back along the
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passage. Whatever was coming was not visible... yet.

“I think the trumpets have sounded for the third passage of arms,” she said.

With the score at Shadowmen two, Humans zero.

 Ringwood said, “Find a niche to hide in. I’ll hold them off.” He had no Ranter to help him now. His turn,
and soon he would be fighting in the dark. How long would the oil last?


364Dave Duncan



“We can do better than that, I think,” True muttered, mov-ing closer to the rock pile. “The shadowmen
have a way through this. I can smell it.”

 Miracle woman! She meant White Sister smelling, of course, not real smelling, but he didn’t care. “Lead
the way, then. Quickly!”

True scrambled up the heap and wriggled into a badger-sized gap under a slab. After a moment her
voice echoed back out: “All clear ahead.”

“Your Grace?”

 This was going to be much worse than the tunnel or the hole in the wall had been. Even if True was right
and could find the road of the dead, there was no reason to believe that living bodies could follow. The
Duchess knew that. She had her demons back, but she said nothing, just fol-lowed where True had
gone, tracking the glow of her lantern. Ringwood went close behind her, ready to lend a hand if she had
trouble, staying close to her light so he did not get lost. He kept expecting icy hands to close around his
ankles.

 Progress was terrifingly slow. The tunnels and cracks seemed to get smaller and smaller as they climbed
higher. At one point, when True had been forced to backtrack and was hunting for a way through, he
found himself jammed in a very awkward bend, not at all sure he would be able to get past and unable to
try because his ward’s feet were right in front of his eyes. He could hear her breathing. It was too fast,
too irregular. She must be close to panic.

He said, “I am deeply sorry, Your Grace, that I have been such a disaster as a Blade. I have failed both
you and my Order.”

After a painful silence she said, “I think you have done marvelously, Sir Ringwood. You saw through
Count János. I’m sure he would have turned me over to Lord Volpe if you


Impossible Odds365



hadn’t spirited us away. You and Bellman and Ranter were all
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wonderful, and I am not ready to give up yet.”

“You are very brave!”

“If women were cowards, there wouldn’t be babies, Sir Ringwood.”

Silence again. Ringwood was listening to tiny noises be-hind him and trying to convince himself they
were only his imagination, or rain dripping.

 Johanna laughed harshly. “It isn’t difficult to be brave when you have no choice. I don’t mean that I do
not ap-preciate Sir Ranter’s sacrifice. He had no choice but to defend both himself and the rest of us this
night, but he made that decision back in Ironhall. I saw him overcome his fear on the night he was bound,
and that memory has given me courage to do what I have had to do this evening. He was not an easy
man to like, but he had some admirable qualities.”

 “Yes,” Ringwood said. “He supported me tonight when he could have settled an old score. He gave me
a chance to live when he knew he must die. Above all, he did his duty. If I sur-vive this I will report his
heroism to his brothers in the Order.”

“If I do I will raise a statue to him.”

 Then Trudy called down an all-clear, and the Duchess re-sumed the climb. At the cost of some more
skin, Ringwood wriggled past the tight place and followed.

A moment later a cry of triumph came echoing down. “Moss!” And then, “I’m at the top!”

 Soon he emerged beside the women in a rockbound hol-low. Cold, wonderful rain drizzled from the
blackness over-head and pattered on leaves of shrubs and spindly trees that had sprouted amid the
tumbled and mossy masonry. The sky remained as black, but a very faint glow from somewhere
il-luminated the enclosing curtain wall of the keep, an empty drum pocked with blind black windows.


366Dave Duncan



“There’s a light up there!” True pointed. Why was she whispering all of a sudden?

It was firelight, not daylight, a star twinkling through the foliage.

“Should we shout?” Ringwood asked.

 “No, love! Let’s have a better look first.” True led the way up a long, canted slab, still using the Count’s
sword as a staff, for the mossy surface was slippery. Shadowmen might not be the only peril around, but
the lanterns would give them away soon enough. At the top they had a better view, but the source of the
firelight was still hidden by trees.

 Ringwood pointed to the left. “Can you see what I see?” The others could not, but Blades’ night vision
shamed cats. “That’s a staircase!”

They had more rock climbing to do to reach it, but now they were under the sky and not squirming like
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worms in a sand-pile. The staircase clung to the curved curtain wall of the keep; once there had been a
wall on the inner side of the staircase also, but little of that still stood. The narrow steps were well worn,
surprisingly clear of rubble, certainly easier going than the jumble of precariously balanced masonry the
fugitives had just left. This might be the answer. Ringwood could hold a stairway against a whole army of
shadowmen if they had to come at him one at a time.

“Onward and upward?” he asked, instinctively whispering.

“Certainly,” Johanna said. “Freezing to death is no im-provement.”

“True?” Ringwood asked. “What’s wrong? Can you still sense the shadowmen?”

“Yes.” She turned to stare up at the fire. “And something else up there, too. Don’t know what.”

Unidentified conjuration meant Vamky.

“You lead,” he said. “You next, Your Grace.”

The ancient treads were worn and cracked—half fallen


Impossible Odds367



 away in places—but someone had cleared the debris off them. That unknown obsessive housekeeper
must have lived long be-fore his time, Ringwood decided, for many treads had since collected enough
leaf mold to sprout grass.

 After a short climb they topped the trees and paused to study their first real view of the nightmare terrain
they had just left. The center of the stronghold had collapsed into a jumble of shattered stone, now
inhabited by vegetation. The great curtain wall itself was almost intact, with remnants of the interior
structure still clinging to it like shattered honey-comb—fragments of floors, walls, even rooms. The fire
burned in one of those dollhouse half-rooms, up in what had been the uppermost story. Its glow threw a
very faint illumi-nation over the inside of the keep, and now Ringwood could almost persuade himself that
there was a trace of sky show-ing above the jagged upper edge of the wall. It was not yet bright enough
to dissolve shadowmen, though. The only safe place to be was close to that fire.

The Duchess’s lantern flickered and went out. She gasped in dismay.

“I’ll carry it,” Ringwood said, thinking it might make a missile. “Onward?”

“Follow me!” True said unnecessarily, and resumed the climb.

 The footing was tricky, and soon there was a very long drop on the right-hand side. Once Ringwood
heard a pebble roll behind him and spun around so fast he almost fell off. He could see nothing down
there.

“Pigs’ blood!” Trudy said, and stopped.

Lacking any sort of railing, the steps were strictly one person wide. The Duchess peered around her,
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and Ring-wood struggled to see past both of them.

 They had come to the end. The stairs stopped, cut off cleanly with its top step level with a long-lost
timber floor,


368Dave Duncan



for the curtain wall beyond it showed a horizontal line of holes that had once supported beams.

 Eight or ten paces away—but as utterly out of reach as the moon—a squarish ruined tower remained
adhered to the curtain wall, a column of chimneys that had stood when all else rotted away. Fragments of
floors and walls still stuck to it, creating the illusion of small rooms. The uppermost of those held a great
stone hearth, facing the watchers at the top of the broken staircase and level with them.

 Beside the cheerful blaze crackling there, two men sat on stools. They seemed comfortable—warm, no
doubt, and protected from the drizzle by a canted overhanging fragment of slate roof. One of them wore
a white robe emblazoned with the blue V of Vamky, his face hidden by his hood. The other, resplendent
in fur and brocade and cloth of gold, was Grand Duke Rubin of Krupina.

                                                     •6•

 Seniors at Ironhall often fenced without padding or masks. While practice weapons did have dulled
edges, they were capable of inflicting injury, and every week or so someone would be rushed to the
octogram for a healing. The risks could be justified because a dangerous profession required rigorous
training, and the prospect of sudden pain was a strong incentive to develop a strong defense. But even
that tough apprenticeship had not prepared Bellman for a real fight against real foes trying to mutilate him
with real weapons. He had no binding to inspire him, either.

 He was amazed at the reaction that followed. He shivered so violently he had to lean against the table to
stay upright, his breath rasping in his throat, and dark flames swirling be-


Impossible Odds369



hind his eyes. He had been driven very close to his limits.It was over!And it had been a worthy battle for
a man with half an eye missing. Even a real Blade would not have been ashamed of that one, and he
would hold his head higher be-cause of it. Better than carrying it under his arm.

 “A remarkable display of swordsmanship, young man,” said the person in the cell. “I have never seen a
finer.”

 Bellman nodded thanks. He could detect real authority in that calm remark, as if the speaker knew
exactly what the battle had cost him.

He took control of his breathing. “You know, Your Royal Highness, I do not recall having a twin. I
believe one of us must be a fake.”
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“You think you are acting in character?”

“I wish I’d had a better seat for the show,” Radu said, re-minding them of his predicament.

Bellman wiped the shockingly red blood off his sword with the hem of his gown, which was already
bloody, and knelt to cut the thongs holding Radu to the gate. “You ought to stay away from dungeons,
my good man. They are bad for your health.”

“I’ll try and remember that.” The knight swayed when Bellman helped him stand. His face was ashen
with pain, and when he clasped his rescuer’s hand with both of his, they were icy cold. “My apologies if I
belittled you, friend. You made a legend here tonight.”

 Bellman set the bench on its legs again. “Sit. We’ll get you to an octogram as soon as we have tidied up
a few other matters.”

 He went to face his mirror image inside the bars. They studied each other for a moment, then Bellman
removed his locket and looped it around his belt for safe keeping.

“I don’t know you,” the prisoner said. “You are not of the Brotherhood.”


370Dave Duncan



“No, I’m just a locksmith’s apprentice. Radu told me you had some lock problems hereabouts.” Foolish
humor could warn of hysteria. “Who has the keys?”

“Samuil,” the Duke said. “Most of them.”

Bellman removed a bundle of keys from the corpse’s sword belt and returned to the cell door. “Jack
Bellman is my name, my lord.” He chose a key and held it up thought-fully. Fatigue was washing over
him in waves, yet he must stay alert for the toughest negotiation of his life.

“He’s one of the King of Chivial’s Blades,” Radu said.

“Ah! Then their reputation is not overblown after all.”

“Don’t judge them by me, my lord. I failed the course.” Bellman tried the key in the lock. He knew it
wouldn’t fit.

“So she made it as far as Chivial, did she?”

 “There and back again, my lord.” Another wrong key? “Tsk! It was she who sent me, so you know who
to thank for your deliverance. Where did you say her son was?”

Long pause. Bellman tried and discarded three more keys. “Mm?”

“He is safe.”
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“You may trust him,” Radu said, and added uncertainly, “Your Highness?”

 Bellman frowned at the key ring. “I am sorry to take so long, my lord. I seem to be having trouble
finding the right key.” Was it wise to provoke a tiger just before releasing it?

“The boy is in the care of the Dowager Countess of Bad Nargstein.”

Click!

 “There it is!” Bellman said cheerfully, opening the door. “Now let’s see about that collar.” He should
perhaps have asked for an oath on the information, but instinct told him that trust would work better with
this man. Assuming he was who logic said he must be.

“Samuil did not have the key for that,” the prisoner said.


Impossible Odds371



 “Then I shall have to pick the lock. If you would be so kind as to sit on the bed, my lord. Excuse my
familiarity, but it will be easier if I sit beside you. I’ll be as fast as I can.” He spread the battered remains
of the wallet beside him.

“I am grateful to the Duchess for sending you, if indeed she did, but my debt is still to you. What reward
may I offer?”

“I am sure I will think of something soon, my lord,” Bell-man muttered, concentrating more on finding his
way around inside the lock. He feared the Brikov tools were too coarse for it.

“Why do you call him that?” Radu asked. “You do not be-lieve he is the Duke?”

 “Oh, no,” Bellman said. “Never. He recognized you when you first saw him in here, or so you told us.
Duke Rubin has a poor memory for names, his wife said, and he would not address you as ‘Brother,’
would he? Surely he would call you ‘Knight-brother’ or ‘Brother Radu’? Ah! There.”Click!It was an
absurdly simple lock.

 The brass collar swung open and he lifted it from the pris-oner’s throat. The face above it blurred and
transformed. Radu gasped.

Happily Bellman said, “Lord Volpe, I presume?”

 The solid, bony face was just as Johanna had described, strong and monumental, except that the scalp
and heavy jaw bore several weeks’ graying stubble. Prison had not lessened the ferocity of the
extraordinary, perpetually staring eyes.

“You really guessed who I was just from that?”

 “That and some even wilder guessing, my lord. The divi-sions in your Order had to go right to the top,
so there were not many people you could be. Radu told us you were chained by a collar but you could
still reach the door of your cell. That is an inefficient way to secure a prisoner, a waste of chain, so I
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suspected the collar might be there for some


372Dave Duncan



 other reason. The conjuration to make a necklace like the one I was wearing must be difficult and very
secret, but it might be possible to enchant two of them at the same time. I wasn’t quite certain, because I
could see no reason why the conspirators should have chosen to make you look like the Duke instead of
some anonymous peasant. Why did they?”

 “It is not so crazy as it seems,” the Provost said, rubbing his neck as if he was glad to have it back, “if
you know the Brotherhood. Granted, our rule is based on absolute obedi-ence. There is no republic. The
brethren never vote. But the Abbot’s powers stop short of throwing the Provost in jail without a trial. If
Radu had seen my face in that dungeon he would have rushed off to tell his commanding officer or his
friends. The news would have been all through Vamky in no time.”

 Volpe rose and stretched. He was a big man, and his dirty robe no longer suggested it was concealing
flab. “As for why the Duke’s face. Well, several of the men involved, like that Achim brute, believed I
was who I seemed to be, so they thought they were committing treason. They obeyed, but they were
very careful, and they did not go around blabbing about it! Besides, Minhea had the conjurement to
hand, the illicit copy of the one he had made for the Duke. It would have taken time to make another. I
want to know how you did this. How did Radu even get you in? Come along.”

Bellman followed him out of the cell. “We learned a valid password by very foul means. No matter how
we gotin.The question that matters now, my lord, is whether you can get us safelyout. Even better, can
you regain control of your troops in time to block the marriage?”

“Has Abbot Minhea gone to the wedding?” The Provost looked from Radu to Bellman and back, but
both shook their heads.

“Sir. We do not know.”


Impossible Odds373



 Volpe examined Samuil’s sword and chose Gerlach’s in-stead. “Then let us find out! And yes, we must
stop that wed-ding at all costs.” He clasped Bellman’s hand in a rock-crushing grip. Their eyes were
level. “I thank you, Herr Bellman. I owe you my life. But saving my life was not your motive.”

 Bellman was having trouble focusing, let alone thinking. His tongue weighed so much that even talking
was an effort. “I have friends to avenge. And you have a worse loss than that. Can you call the killer to
account now?”

“I must,” Volpe said. “I should have done it years ago.”

 Johanna reeled back in amazement. Ringwood caught her to steady her. The lantern he had been
carrying shattered on the rocks far below.
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Hearing the noise, Rubin turned to peer across the gap. “Johanna, my sweet! You made it at last. That is
you, isn’t it? That really is her, isn’t it, Kuri?”

And that really was her husband. What a fool she had been!

 The hooded knight-brother glanced down at something he held on his lap and nodded. He had his back
to the fire, so his face was invisible inside his hood.

 “Kuri’s been tracking you, you see, my dear. When we discovered you weren’t in the house, Kuri
located your bag-gage, all full of things with memories of you. He has a cun-ning little contrivance to
track you from that. When we saw you were going along the Luitgard tunnel, we decided to come on
ahead and make sure you arrived safely. You lost János, I see. No great loss there. And one of your boy
swordsmen? Ditto, I’m sure.”

 She found her voice. “Are youyou?” That bizarre perch in this dangerously haunted ruin seemed such an
infinitely un-likely location for the husband she remembered. “The real Rubin? Not another imposter?”


374Dave Duncan



 He laughed erratically. She had rarely seen him drunk, but perhaps he was merely very tired. It was
almost dawn, after all, with traces of brightness in the sky above the jagged coronet of the keep. Or
maybe she was the one who was crazy. Certainly she was ready to drop with fatigue.

“Of course I’m me, my sweeting! Who else did you ever think I was? You, maybe? Kuri tells me you’ve
been playing at being me all summer, running around Eurania. I hope you didn’t damage my reputationtoo
much, my dear, mm? Did you have fun? Was she having fun, Kuri?”

“Great fun, Your Highness,” the other man said.

 “Oh, that’s good.” The Grand Duke sighed. “Because the fun is over now, dearest. This is Cantor
Kuritsyn, by the way. He will be proclaimed Provost of the Brotherhood during the enthronement
assembly this evening. My nephew met with a serious accident. I am grieved you must miss all the
festivi-ties, sweeting! You would have enjoyed them so much.”

 “But you are going to rescue us, aren’t you?” Johanna said. “Get us out of here? That was why you
came?”

 Her husband sighed. “No, my sweeting, I’m afraid not. Quite the reverse, in fact. My wedding is just too
important to me. You simply cannot imagine how I’ve suffered all these months while you were gadding
about the continent having fun. The waiting! The burning desire! It’s very unhealthy for a nation when its
head of state cannot concentrate on his work properly. I pined until half my wardrobe doesn’t fit me
any-more. But that’s all over now. Tonight she will be mine. I’ve set aside an hour between the
enthronement and the state ban-quet for the deflowering.”

“He’s mad,” Trudy muttered. “Raving, foaming, gibber-ing crazy.”

Johanna ignored her. “So what are you going to do with me?”
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“Me? Nothing, my love. Didn’t János explain about the


Impossible Odds375



keep? Maybe he didn’t know! What do you think, Kuri? Did János know?”

The hooded man shook his head and said something whose only audible word was “Luitgard.”

“Yes, he must have,” the Duke agreed. “It was virtually suicide. You see, my dear, the keep at Donehof
belongs to me. For centuries it has been a convenient solution for em-barrassing problems, a private
midden where the Grand Dukes can dump their refuse. I’ve never had need of it be-fore, and my father
not often, I think. My grandfather was a rogue, though. Anyone who peeved him at all was shipped out
here to the Keep. Theschattenherrendid the rest. Very convenient, very economical, never any awkward
bodies to explain. They don’t even need to be fed.”

She had been wrong all along. That was Rubin, not Volpe. Volpe would never speak in that mincing,
gloating fashion. He wouldn’t sully his honor by pretending to be Rubin at all. She should have seen that
half a year ago. It had been Rubin all the time and she had been a blind fool, refusing to believe the
unbearable obvious.

“You’re just going to leave me here to die?”

 “I have no choice, my dear. I can’t have you making a scene at the wedding, embarrassing everybody.
You have been very lucky, you know. Kuri here is the most successful assassin since Silvercloak and you
escaped him not just once but three times!”

 Trudy was peering at her . . . or past her. “Don’t look around, Your Grace,” she said softly. “Just keep
the madman talking until Ringwood gets there.”

Only now Johanna realized that her one surviving Blade was no longer at her back. Gets there? Gets
where? Past the shadowmen? The keep was still dark. He would never make it.

“Keep him talking!”Trudy repeated in an urgent whisper.


376Dave Duncan



 “That wasn’t luck!” Johanna shouted. “If that man’s your hired killer, then he isn’t capable of stomping
earthworms.”

“No! No! No! You were lucky, that’s all. Chance playing absurd tricks! Tell her how lucky she was,
Kuri.”

 Cantor Kuritsyn stood up. “We should leave, Your High-ness. We promised to be back before dawn
and we don’t want men coming to look for you, do we?”
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“It isn’t close to dawn yet! Where are the shadowmen? You said the shadowmen would follow her.”

“They will, don’t worry.”

“Are you so certain?” Johanna yelled. “You tried to kill me with shadowmen before, didn’t you? Twice
you tried. Once at Blanburg, but we had Harald with us and he knew what to do. What an incompetent,
brainless way to try to kill someone!”

“They came close,” Kuritsyn said. He had a harsh, un-pleasant voice. “And even closer in Grandon.”

 “Never! You think I was fool enough to sleep in the dark? They killed a bunch of innocent men, is all,
and if King Athelgar had listened when the Baron and I warned him, they would have done no damage at
all.” Then Queen Tasha would not have talked Athelgar into sending her to Ironhall, so she would never
have met Bellman, and where was he, now? Dead or captive in Vamky? No Bellman and no Blades.
Ranter dead. Ringwood...

The silence of the night was broken by the ring of swords in the darkness below.

 The moment Ringwood decided that the fat man over there by the fire was the real Grand Duke Rubin,
his binding sent him plunging headlong down the stair. On the face of it, he was abandoning his ward in
the face of danger, but if Rubin was the spider in the web, the cause of all the trouble, then he was
responsible forallthe deaths, even tonight’s, and


Impossible Odds377



 should pay the penalty. More important, putting a sword at Rubin’s throat was the most likely way to
extract the Duchess from this trap. At least, that was what Ringwood assumed was happening. Bindings
worked like instincts and had no need of logic.

 Anyone with lesser reflexes than a Blade would have fallen off those greasy, irregular treads by the third
or four stride, but Ringwood hurtled down them about ten times faster than he would normally have
dared in daylight and dry weather. He even managed to draw his sword, which was no easy matter when
the curtain wall was flying by him on his right-hand side. He had barely done so when he come to the first
shadowman pursuer.

 The figure loomed out of the night below, climbing doggedly and carrying a halberd in both hands. Even
in the darkness Ringwood recognized the short-legged wad-dle of János. Trudy still had the Count’s
sword, but a hal-berd would be just as deadly in these impossible fighting conditions.

 Sir Tancred had said that Shadowmen seemed to have su-perhuman strength but sluggish reflexes.
Gambling on that and using his velocity, Ringwood leaped over the halberd and rammed the János
corpse with both feet. He hit the wall with his shoulder, slid down it, and landed on his seat with a crack
that seemed to lift his skull off his neck, but the shadowman pitched backward and impacted another
behind him. Together they toppled, rolled outward, and were gone. The corpses themselves fell with no
sound. He heard their weapons clang on rocks and could tell that the drop was still too far to risk a jump.
It would be like jumping onto iron spikes, anyway.
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The jolt of agony as he stood up made him wonder if he’d broken his pelvis, but he was more worried
by the broadsword coming straight down at him. He parried it out-


378Dave Duncan



 ward with all his strength, clutchingBad Newstwo-handed. Engagement with the massive weapon gave
him leverage to push himself safely back against the wall.Clang!But the corpse’s strength shocked him.
Again and again it chopped at him and he parried.Clang! Clang! Clang!Then at last he found enough
leverage to force the broadsword outward; the corpse lost its balance and went over the edge. Third
man down, this time with a crashing of small timber.

He started downstairs again. He’d known since the night he was bound that the binding had improved
his night vi-sion. Ironhall had several legends of Blades fighting in pitch darkness, although few were well
documented. He wasn’t aware ofseeingat all in this battle. He was just behaving as if he could see. He
knew where and what things were.

 Like that fourth shadowman ahead, a great hulking car-cass that could not possibly have come through
from the tunnel by any normal means. How many of the monsters were there? Was he going to have to
fight the entire corpse population of the keep before he could get off this accursed stair? And what good
was he doing anyway? The monsters could fight on after their heads were cut off, Tancred had said, so
broken bones wouldn’t stop them. Only dawn. Until then they would just keep coming back for more.

 The fourth one took him with the same ploy he’d used successfully against the third. It lunged to his right
and he was forced to parry toward the wall. The shadowman flipped him out like a pancake.

 He turned a complete somersault on the way down. He wondered how the shadowman conjuration
worked and whether the fall cancelled out the contact in some way, or if he was now doomed to haunt
the keep through all eternity. He even had time to hope he would land on his head and smash his brains
out, not just lie there broken and suffering for hours or days until he died. Then someone caught him.


Impossible Odds379



                                                     •7•

 Three men in stained white robes strode through the Vamky labyrinth. Bellman supported Radu, who
was in even worse shape than he was, and both struggled to keep up with the impatient Volpe. The
Provost knew exactly where he was going, but it involved a long, circuitous trek. He threw open cell
doors and marched in, snarling orders. Startled brethren jerked awake and hastened to obey, grabbing
up sword and robe, but he had to rouse his most trusted subordinates first, and there was no system in
the locations of their cells. Only when he had set his counterrevolution in motion could he spare a moment
for his two rescuers.

“Cantor Isidor!”

A white-haired, scrawny man opened his eyes in bewil-derment, blinked up at the Provost’s lantern.
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“Sir!”

“Brother, I am suppressing a mutiny. Call only on men you can trust absolutely and beware of betrayal.
The pass-word is ‘Morning light’ and the rejoinder ‘Justice and retri-bution.’ Got that?”

“Sir.” The old man sat up. “Morning light. Justice and ret-ribution.”

 “You may arrest or kill anyone who does not know this. We urgently require a healing. Senior
Knight-brother Radu, here, has been injured. This man is a valuable ally and the finest swordsman I have
ever seen, Sir Bellman of Chivial. Both men need anklets. Then feed them, dress them in highway
informals, and have them ready to ride at first light.”

“Sir.”

 The door closed with a bang. Cantor Isidor just sat and stared after the Provost for a moment, then
looked to his two guests. His scraggy mouth folded into a smile. “I hope you


380Dave Duncan



two can remember all that better than I can. Pass me my gown and sword, brother. Repeat what the
Provost just said.”

In seconds the old man was ready to leave. A cantor’s belt was green. “Have you ever used anklets?”

“Sir,” Radu said.

“There’s some on the shelf there. Wait here until I send for you.”

“Sir.”

The door closed.

Radu tried to raise an arm and winced, for his gown had adhered to the wounds on his back. “Give me
one and take one for yourself. Wear it next to the skin. Either foot will do.”

 The anklets were strips of leather with thongs at one end. Bellman wrapped one around his left ankle,
above his san-dal, and at once felt a pleasurable tingle spreading up his leg. He knelt to help Radu.

 “Fatigue relief,” Radu said. “They’re good for about a day. Try to eat often, or you may need weeks to
recover your strength. When the anklet starts to hurt, you must remove it. It should be destroyed then,
because the power has gone out of it. And after that you must sleep. You will have no choice. That can
happen suddenly, and a second inspiration before you have recovered from this one could kill you.”

 “I feel better already!” Also hungry.Reeeeeeeallyhungry. Tingling all over now, Bellman began to pace
restlessly. He sneezed.

The door was opened by a hooded figure wearing a blue sword belt. “Morning light.”
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“Justice and retribution,” Radu responded. “Sir.”

“Brother, I am to take you and your companion to the octogram.”

The dark corridors of Vamky were busier now, with brethren running in twos and fours. Somewhere
bells were tolling. Bellman waited impatiently on the sidelines while


Impossible Odds381



eight men chanted to heal Radu of a beating for the second time in less than two days.

After that it was Radu who set the pace. He led Bellman at a trot to the quartermaster’s, where they
were outfitted in fresh traveling clothes of white leather, simple in style and of exceptional quality. The
breeches were supple, the jerkins hard as armor. Bellman was given a sword belt checkered in blue and
white, a blue cloak of soft wool, and a shiny steel helmet. Novices and squires fussed around, brushing,
pol-ishing, checking the fit.

Then—at last!—Radu led him to a huge refectory and let him eat. He gorged, mostly on meat: beef,
goose, sheep liver, washed down with pitchers of buttery milk. He could have eaten even Ringwood
under the table. Radu not only kept up but surpassed him. Other men were hurrying in, eating hastily.

He sneezed several times.

Radu frowned across at him. “You caught a cold!”

“Hardly surprising after yesterday.”

“Yes, but the anklet will make it worse. You have the choice of fatigue or a bad attack of sniffles.”

 “Restored, I see? Do not rise.” Volpe stood at their side, shaven, shorn, and clad in much the same
costume as they. He was a big man, conscious of his power and authority, al-though his only symbols of
rank were a silver sword belt and a horn hung on a baldric. “You have only a few minutes, and you will
need that food. Remember you are borrowing strength from future days. No matter how sprightly you
feel, you must try not to overdo it.”

 “Sir,” Radu said with his mouth full of pheasant, “my ex-perience has been that consorting with Bellman
leaves a man no choice but to overdo it or be utterly shamed.”

“Baldertwaddle!” Bellman exclaimed. “You were the one who got me into trouble. I am ready whenever
you are, my lord. Vamky is secure?”


382Dave Duncan



 An eagle glare warned him of his impudence, but he was still in favor. “It is,” the Provost said. “Thanks
to you. And justice is about to be done. The boy is safe until we need him. Where is Her Highness?”
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So Johanna was now Her Highness, was she? That title boded well.

 “She went on to Donehof with Count János, my lord.” Bell-man’s euphoria faltered under the Provost’s
scowl. “Not good?”

 “Probably not. János is a deferred brother.” The Provost smiled thinly at Bellman’s alarm. “He asked to
be relieved of his duties for family reasons. That is known hereabouts as ‘breeding leave,’ but only the
obligation of celibacy is with-drawn, and he may be recalled to duty at any time until the hour of his
death. There are thousands of men in and around Krupina similarly bound. When the Fadrenschloss
refugees took shelter at Brikov, we looked for János’s file and could not find it. I sent Radu to retrieve
the boy. If Minhea’s men have located János’s records since then, he is theirs.”

 Bellman wondered again how much free will the brethren had, whether their oaths were spiritually
implanted, like the Blades’, but he dared not ask.

“Sir?” Radu said.

“Speak.”

“Sir. János knew I had been behind the child’s disappear-ance. I hadn’t told him, obviously. He
questioned me very severely about that.”

“Almost killed him,” Bellman said.

 “But he also asked why I had come to Brikov and he would not accept my father’s funeral as my
reason. Eventu-ally I told him I was apostatizing, my lord, because of what I had seen . . . or thought I
had seen. He... he redoubled his efforts after that.”

 Volpe shrugged. “Of course the board will ask what you revealed under torture, but expect it to be
lenient about that.”


Impossible Odds383



“Sir? Board?” Radu lost color.

 “You should have reported your suspicions of treason to your commanding officer, of course. The fact
that you re-turned voluntarily will offset anything you said about apos-tatizing. Expect to be demoted and
given a chance to reaffirm your oath. The Duchess may be in very grave peril, but our mission cannot
become any more urgent than it is al-ready. You ride well, Herr Bellman?”

“Yes, my lord.” He wasn’t as good as Radu, but he would uphold the honor of Ironhall if it killed him.
He had more motive than any of them.

Lord Volpe’s smile was disbelief and challenge. “You will ride on my left. I want to hear your story in
detail. Knight-brother Radu, Banneret Dusburg will assign you your place. Dawn approaches!” The
Provost put the horn to his lips and made the hall ring.
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 Ranter was not breathing. At the moment of death his eyes had rolled up and the lids were partly closed,
revealing only slits of white. He stank of death and the indignities of death. He was cold. He . . . it . . . no,
hewas making no aggressive move. He was not moving at all. Not breathing.

Ringwood was breathing, gasping for breath, heart drum-ming like all the world’s woodpeckers. He was
not dead, not yet, but he was helpless as a baby in the shadowman’s arms.

“Put me down, brother?”

 Ranter set him down. Now it was clear that he had been stabbed and slashed half to pieces. He had
several black-crusted wounds in his chest, and his throat had been cut. Blades never died easily. His hips
and shoulders were abraded to the bone, cloth and flesh torn away where he had come through the hole
from the tunnel, but those wounds had not bled.Invinciblehung at his side.

A dozen other corpses stood around in the darkness,


384Dave Duncan



 watching, motionless. Was this sudden loss of aggression a sign that dawn was near? Or... like Sir
Bernard and Sir Richey?They became shadowmen, too,Sir Tancred had said,and we found their bodies
with the others in the morn-ing. But they did not attack the living, the way the dead Yeomen did. Perhaps
they didn’t get the chance, but Grand Wizard thinks their binding may have given them some im-munity,
at least for a while.

Ringwood forced some spit into his mouth and pointed up at the fire. “The man up there wants to kill our
ward, brother. I must go up there and kill him. Will you help me?”

 Ranter turned and stepped out into space. His foot landed unerringly on a jagged boulder a long pace
away and lower. The other swung over to a foothold on a jagged spike of stone, and his hand reached
for a grip... he was doing all that in the dark, and Ringwood was seeing it in the dark. The moment
Ranter’s boot cleared the first stepping-stone Ring-wood put his own there in a long half-stride, half-fall.
There was no way to do this slowly. He must keep up his momen-tum just to remember the moves. He
followed his dead guide across the deadly labyrinth, up and down, over six-foot gaps, under overhangs.
Ranter plowed through stands of shoulder-high thistles and jumped down eight-foot drops without a
care. Yet he did seem to know what his companion was doing, because once Ringwood found himself
dangling by one hand and unable to find a second grip or haul himself up by the one he had. An icy fist
closed on his wrist and lifted him like a trout in a net.

“Thanks, brother,” he gasped, but Ranter was already on the move.

 Ranter never spoke. Ranter’s throat had been ripped open, after all. Ranter, face it, was very dead.
Perhaps his corpse would play foul and turn on Ringwood without warning, but until then Ringwood
could not refuse its help. Some of the


Impossible Odds385
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other shadowmen were following, making just enough noise that he knew they were there.

 Crossbowkept niggling at him. Even leaping out into blackness to find a toehold that he knew was there
only by some sort of spiritualist faith, he kept thinkingcrossbow. He had seen no crossbows, smelled no
crossbows, tasted no crossbows. No one had mentioned crossbows. His binding was sending him
hunches. The way Johanna had described her husband, Rubin should not be here in person. To stay in
character he should have stayed home and read about it to-morrow in the comfort of his study. No, he
had come to see with his own eyes that this time she died right and died real, and he would keep her
there on that staircase until there was light enough for Knight-brother Kuritsyn to use a crossbow.
Johanna was at point-blank range, and even a near-miss could kill someone perched on that staircase.

 When the nightmare journey ended, there was no doubt that the sky was brightening. The rain had not
stopped, but clouds alone could not keep the world dark forever. Voices came drifting down in the wind,
the words inaudi-ble, Johanna pleading with Rubin. The ruined chimney block rose from its bed of rubble
to tower to the sky. If one thought of the jagged fragments of former floors and walls protruding at all
angles as blades, then it became a gigantic mace. The shadowmen didn’t expect Ringwood to climbthat,
did they? They expected something. There were a lot of them there, standing around like thirsty men
outside a tavern.

 Ranter climbed a tilted slab, turned his back against the wall at the top, and cupped his hands. Shivering
with dis-taste, Ringwood took hold of his dead friend’s jerkin, placed a boot on the step offered, and
climbed. When he was stand-ing on Ranter’s shoulders he was still not quite high enough to reach the
doorway above him, so he reluctantly used the


386Dave Duncan



top of his former friend’s head as one more step. The corpse did not object.

 Ringwood caught hold of the sill and hauled himself up. He was on a stair landing, with one flight going
up from there and another down. Straight ahead of him was a tunnel with only darkness beyond it, but he
could feel wind on his face and decided it was a passage through the thickness of the curtain wall. At the
end of it he found a heavy door propped open by a lump of stone. He peered out, seeing campfires with
men standing around on guard. He was about one story above ground level, but there was a ladder at his
toes. For the first time in many hours, he felt the siren call of hope. The soldiers were a problem, but
there might be a way out of this mess after all.

 He retraced his steps to the stairs. Several shadowmen were standing on the downward flight, blocking
it—so he wouldn’t go the wrong way, perhaps? How stupid did they think the living could be? The other
had to be the route the Duke and his henchman had taken. He drewBad News.

 “You are going to be very bad news for somebody, my sweet!” he whispered. He had not taken two
steps before a hand like an iron glove closed on his shoulder. He squeaked in alarm, then realized that it
belonged to Ranter, who had followed him up. Many other shadowmen were scrambling up after him.

 “What’s wrong, brother?” His voice came out more shrill than he had expected. “This is the way up,
isn’t it?”
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Ranter’s dead face did not change. His grip on Ring-wood’s shoulder became unbearable.

 “What? What’s wrong? Stop! What are you trying...” He crumpled under that relentless weight. Even
alive, Ranter had enjoyed showing off his brawn, and now he folded Ringwood small, crumpling him
down on his knees and farther, until his nose was almost on the first tread.


Impossible Odds387



There he spied a thin golden thread, spread across from side to side.

 “Ah! This is your problem?” He had been brought here just to remove that? “Is this a sort of warding
cord?” He was talking to himself. “You can’t cross it?” There was no one there to answer him, only dead
people, but the idea was log-ical, because there must be some sort of conjuration to keep the walking
dead from leaving by that door he had found. “I go first, all right?” The hand did not move. He could not
even twist around to see Ranter’s face, but it would not tell him anything anyway. “I promise you I’ll let
you and your companions have them before daylight.” The chill hand was lifted from his shoulder. He
stood up.

He lifted the cord on the tip of his sword and nothing ill happened. Up the stairs he went, bearing it
before him, and Ranter led the army of the dead at his heels.

 Two flights up Ringwood heard voices and went more cautiously until he found himself looking out at the
Duke’s aerie; the Rat’s nest. Nothing had changed. The fire had dwindled but was still a powerful blaze,
bright enough to neutralize shadowmen. The two evildoers had their backs to the doorway—paunchy
Rubin perched on his stool and the white-robed, sword-bearing brother standing beside him. Both were
facing out into the rainy dusk, looking across at Johanna and Trudy, still over there on the stairs, but
sitting now, huddling together for warmth. Still talking. The crossbow and a quiver of quar-rels stood in a
corner behind the fireplace, where they would not be visible from outside.

There was enough light to start shooting now.

“I assure you that I even spoke to you!” the knight-brother said. “I was dressed as an inquisitor and
nobody looks very hard at inquisitors, or speaks to them unless they must. Not even other inquisitors!”


388Dave Duncan



If Johanna had noticed that her Blade had just joined her husband’s party, she give no sign. Yet her next
question might have been designed for him.

“So that wasafteryou planted the firefly in Quamast House?”

“I have already said so.”

 Another golden thread lay across the doorstep. Ringwood slid his sword point under that one, too, and
stepped forward to flip both of them into the fire. The other men felt the floor sway and heard his
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footsteps crunching on the rubbly sur-face. They turned. The swordsman drew—fast, but not fast enough
to be worrisome.

“There he is,” the Duke said. “Oh, the poor thing is hurt. Put him out of his misery, Cantor.”

The two swordsmen eyed each other carefully, and Kuri edged away from the Duke, giving himself
more room.

 “No,” Ringwood said. “I am a Blade, so I am in charge here now. He slew six of my brothers and
another died tonight because of him—and you, too, Duke. You are just as guilty. Now I will do the
killing.”

 After all those hours of failure and self-blame he ought to be exulting at the smell of vengeance, but he
could feel no emotion. He was an execution machine, an insentient instru-ment of justice. Numb, and
implacable as a shadowman.

“Be careful!” True yelled across from the stair. “Kurit-syn’s a conjurer. He may have tricks.”

 There was no room to stage a showoff fencing bout. Since Ringwood had promised these two jackals to
the shadow-men, just driving them off the edge would be a breach of faith. Duke Rubin jumped to his
feet and grabbed up his stool to use as a weapon.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Ringwood said wearily.

 But even a stool could be dangerous. He flashed forward at Kuritsyn, feinted, parried the riposte, and
sweptBad News


Impossible Odds389



around to strike the Duke’s arm. He had recovered two paces before the stool even hit the floor or the
Duke screamed. The platform swayed unnervingly.

 “First royal blood to me,” he said. Kuri came for him, saber flickering firelight in a series of fierce cuts.
His was a showy technique, not one to impress a Blade. Ringwood played with him for a few passes,
then riposted to cut his shoulder.“Bernard!”He parried the next pathetic lunge and opened a gash down
his ribs.“Richey!”

 The cantor cried out and recovered perilously close to the edge. Ringwood needed three or four careful
lunges to move him away from it and turn him, so he could be driven back to the door:Clang! Clang!
Clang!For the first time he glimpsed the face within the hood—fortyish, lean, twisted in a rictus of terror.

Then—“Valiant!”That was a nasty cut on the thigh, spilling blood like a black tide.

The knight-brother threw down his sword and raised his hands. “Stop! Mercy!”

 “Mercy? You showed no mercy!” Ringwood putBad Newsat the end of the wretch’s nose. He could
cut the man to straw now, but there was no joy in this. “Back with you!”
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Terror-stricken, Kuritsyn backed away andBad Newsfol-lowed him, step by step, until he was at the
doorway.

“You are judged guilty and sentenced to whatever you did to my brothers,” Ringwood said. “Ranter!
You and your friends can take this one now.”

 A dozen dead hands reached out and dragged the knight-brother back into darkness. He screamed
several times, each cry shriller than the last.Yorick, East, Clovis... Ranter.

 It had been obscenely easy! Not even winded by the bout, Ringwood strolled over to the crossbow,
carried it to the edge, and hurled it off. He had been expecting the Duke to intervene, perhaps rush him in
the hope of overcoming him


390Dave Duncan



with his vastly greater weight, but Rubin was clutching his

wounded arm, trying to apply pressure with a silken kerchief.

“Take off your cloak!” Ringwood said.

 “What?” The Duke looked up in terror. “I’m sorry your friends had to die, young man. It was all my
wife’s fault, you see, but husbands should keep their wives under better con-trol than that, so I’m willing
to pay some sort of compensa-tion if that—”

“Take off your cloak!”The sky was getting bright. There was little time left. As the shivering Duke
obeyed, Ring-wood looked across to the audience. The jury, he thought.

“Your Grace, Sister Gertrude? Have you any more ques-tions to put to the accused, or know you any
good reason why I should not pass and carry out sentence?”

“No!” It sounded like both of them together.

“NO!”The Duke fell on his knees. “Killing me will solve nothing.”

“It will make the world a better, cleaner place,” Ring-wood said, scooping up the cloak. As he walked
over to the hearth, he sheathed his sword to leave both hands free. “Ranter! This one’s yours, brother.”

 Ranter emerged from the darkness of the doorway, but his feet made no sound on the gritty floor and he
cast no shadow in the firelight. The Duke screamed and scrambled to his feet. Wailing, he backed away
until it seemed he would pitch off the platform.

“Do you want to do it?” Ringwood asked, just to be certain.

The wraith nodded. Its cut throat made moist noises.

Ringwood draped the great cloak over the fireplace arch and held it there to cut off the light.
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 Ranter solidified. He shuffled across to the Duke, took him by the neck, and forced him down, first to
his knees, then onto his belly. He bent his head back until his neck snapped, then released him and
straightened up.


Impossible Odds391



 The cloak was smoldering, so Ringwood tossed it into the hearth. The dead Blade became smokily
transparent as the light blazed up more brightly. He turned and headed for the door, blank eyes and
frozen features conveying nothing.

 “Brother?” Ringwood’s throat was so tight he could barely speak. “That was well done! Wait!” He
caught the corpse’s arm. It was flimsy, insubstantial, yet he could feel the chill of death through the
sodden, tattered cloth. Ranter detected the contact and stopped.

 “Don’t go, brother! Stay here. You’ll die at first light, but you’re already dead. Don’t go down to the
cellars, please! Don’t be a shadowman. Get it over with and die properly. I’ll stay with you, I promise.
I’ll hold your hand until the sun comes up, if that will help. And afterward we’ll return you to the elements
with a proper funeral.”

Ranter resumed his walk, pulling right through Ring-wood’s fingers.

“Brother!Invincible?At least send her home! Let me take her so she can hang in the sky of swords.”

The shadowman showed no sign that he heard. Ringwood watched him vanish into the dark of the stairs.
Dead Rubin went shuffling after his killer, head hung at an odd angle.

 Ringwood fought back sobs. None for Rubin. Most for Ranter. A few for himself. He had won, but he
should have done better. Why was victory so hollow? Had the fight, when it came, been too easy? Or
was it just that killing off the evil did not restore the good?

 When the women started shouting for him, he walked as close to the edge as he dared. He yelled his
words to the world. “The shadowmen are gone! The villains are dead!” The keep echoed for him.
“There’s a way out of here below me. Go back down the stair and find shelter from this ac-cursed rain.
I’ll come and get you.”

“I love you!” True shouted. “You’re my hero always!”


392Dave Duncan



“That goes for both of us!” Johanna said.

 He watched them start down, and then surreptitiously went to the fireplace and tried to warm himself,
but his clothes were so wet that the heat just seemed to make him shiver harder. After a few minutes he
decided that the day-light was now bright enough to banish shadowmen, and he had better leave before
the soldiers outside came looking for their lost leaders. At the bottom of the stairs, he stum-bled on a
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sheathed sword lying across his path. It bore a cat’s-eye gem on the pommel.

                                                     •8•

 When the Provost of Vamky rode out, he rode in style. Bellman was astride a black, seventeen-hand
stallion that would have turned the King of Chivial emerald with envy, and every man in the company was
mounted as well or bet-ter. Yet this was not an elaborate turnout as Vamky judged such things—just a
standard-bearer in the van, Volpe with his Chivian guest, and fifty steely-eyed young swordsmen
churning along the sodden roads like a tidal wave, other traf-fic be damned. Fortunately there was no
other traffic in the cold dawn light. Plate mail would be more impressive, but today Volpe wanted speed,
and speed he was getting.

The rain had stopped. The Duke might yet get a fine day for his wedding.

 Volpe overwhelmed, irresistible as a landslide. The only man Bellman had ever met to compare with him
was Grand Master, but Grand Master was a thrusting sword, with both point and edge. Volpe seemed
to be pure broadsword. He began flashing questions when they pounded out the monastery gate, and by
the time they crossed Olden Bridge,


Impossible Odds393



he knew everything Bellman had seen or done since Johanna arrived at Ironhall.

 After that he fell silent, leaving Bellman free to chew on his own worries. Johanna—assuming she had
not already been betrayed by János to her odious husband and mur-dered in the night—Johanna would
recover her son, so Bellman could count his expedition a success. Her happi-ness was what he wanted.
But Volpe was obviously deter-mined to nullify Rubin one way or another, which would leave Volpe
running the country, so then what happened to Frederik? In a sense his mother would lose him again, for
he would be state property. And Bellman? Even if Volpe allowed the Grand Duchess a significant role in
rearing the new Grand Duke, Krupina would never tolerate her marry-ing a penniless lowborn foreign
adventurer. If she had to choose between Bellman and Frederik, Bellman would lose.

 And that was not even the least of his worries, because he still did not know the true story of how Volpe
had landed in a dungeon in his own fortress. Betrayal, was all he had said. But suppose he had been the
traitor? Suppose he had tried to kill Rubin, Frederik, Johanna, and even his own wastrel son, and Rubin
had imprisoned him because of it? Suppose clever-clever Bellman had intervened on the wrong side and
released a monster? Rubin might be remarrying because he genuinely believed his wife and son were
dead. The brief mourning might seem callous, but he was fifty and must be impatient for an heir.

“That’s Fadrenschloss,” Volpe said, pointing.

Bellman saw only hills and trees, but nodded wisely.

 “As a child,” the Provost went on, changing the subject without warning, “he was always a perfect little
gentleman as long as there were adults around. But the kitchen sluts were terrified of him.” Was he about
to volunteer his side of
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394Dave Duncan



the story? That would be a surprising courtesy, but he would have some hidden reasons, no doubt.

 “The family married him off as soon as it was half-decent and hoped that would be the end of it. When
his first wife died we could not be sure.” The gathering daylight caught a rueful smile that seemed to be
directed only to the road ahead. “One lesson I learned early in my military career, Jack Bellman, is that
pessimists live longer!Good news is much easier to believe than bad. Give your enemy reason to believe
that you are far away and nine times out of ten he will believe it right up to the moment you kick his door
in. It is true in ordinary life, too. We all find reasons to accept sugary fables and ignore unwelcome
tidings. The family did notwantto believe that the girl’s death had been anything but an unfortunate
misjudgment.

 “He threw the second one out a window. This time there was no doubt. One of the wineglasses reeked
of poppy, so much so that he must have had to carry her across the room. He was Grand Duke and I his
sworn vassal, but obviously something had to be done. I told him there would be no more marriages. He
agreed. He didn’t like what happened, either, he just couldn’t help himself. He promised to stick to the
lowborn and pay them off as soon as he tired of them, and that scheme worked for more than thirty
years. Even when I was away campaigning, he kept to our agreement. Apart from that one weakness he
was a good Duke—frugal, prudent, and too lazy to go looking for trouble as so many rulers do. The girls
did well out of it. They had to endure de-grading carnal abuse for a couple of weeks, but afterward they
went off with enough money to buy a decent husband. A few days’ rest and most of them were as good
as new and perfectly happy again.

 “Then that idiot von Fader! He knew the game but he wouldn’t play. If she had been any sort of blood
relation I


Impossible Odds395



could have understood it, but she was nothing to him. By the time I heard of it the marriage was being
proclaimed. I tried to frighten the girl out of it, but that didn’t work.”

The Provost turned his intimidating stare on Bellman, who assumed he was expected to comment.

“Her Highness does not scare easily, my lord.”

 “Obviously. I underestimated her.” Again that grim smile came and went. “Women are not my forte. I
warned Rubin I would tolerate no more violence, but you can’t reason with him when he’s in heat. I
arranged for the Court to boycott her and hoped he would quietly put her away when he came to his
senses.

 “Unfortunately, she behaved perfectly. She did as she was told, caused no trouble, never complained,
even when he went back to bedroom minuet again. She dropped a son right on the legal deadline, and
after that putting her away was out of the question. The commoners worshiped her because she was one
of their own and they dreaded me inheriting. They certainly didn’t want Karl. Frankly, I couldn’t see Karl
as a duke, either. Rubin never let her out of the palace. He told her he was concerned for her safety, but
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he just didn’t want to hear her cheered, because he never got cheered. He is not a cheerable sort of
duke.

 “This spring the Margrave’s son died and we all realized that his daughter would inherit the March. Even
before I broke that news to Rubin I knew what was liable to happen. I tried to mend a fence or two with
the... with Her High-ness, but of course she wouldn’t trust me.

 “I suspect that Rubin had already decided to dispose of her. He was tired of seeing her around, maybe,
or he just can’t stand being married. I don’t understand how his clock ticks, but he knew he would need
something more subtle than defenestration to satisfy me.

“He began by bribing Abbot Minhea, which wasn’t diffi-


396Dave Duncan



 cult. Abbot and Provost never get along. That’s always been the idea behind the joint rule, and we two
were no exception. Rubin swore he’d let Minhea arrange a vacancy and name a crony as my successor.
The old fool agreed and so Rubin gained the spiritual resources of Vamky. That’s where the locket came
from.

 “He also enlisted my no-good son, which was probably even easier. I tried to bridle Karl by keeping
him on a short purse string, but he had become very skilled at sponging off women. Rubin twisted him
like yarn. ‘Seduce Johanna,’ he said. ‘Get her with child, then I’ll pack her off in disgrace and that brat of
hers with her, and you’ll be second in line again.’ The young fool accepted the challenge, of course. He
didn’t see that getting rid of two heirs might be twice as good as getting rid of one. He also discovered he
wasn’t the slick seducer he thought he was when it came to women his own age.”

“You don’t suppose,” Bellman snapped, “that Her High-ness might deserve some credit for not being
deceived?”

 Volpe shot a sour glance at him. “I suppose it’s possible. At any rate, Rubin tired of waiting on Karl. On
the way to Trenko, he arranged for the Baron to be told I was plotting a coup. He knew the old man
would tell Johanna and she would hare back to Krupa to defend her child. Rubin him-self went off to
Zolensa that night to establish an alibi. He announced that his wife was at Fadrenschloss and of course
everyone believed him. Karl, armed with the locket, did the rest. Spirits know where he was taking her.”

“He told Johanna they were headed for Vamky.”

 Volpe grimaced. “Then I’m glad I don’t know what he thought was going to happen when they got
there. Minhea sent Cantor Kuritsyn to set up the ambush. The man’s a vir-tuoso assassin. It worked
well, but not perfectly. Perfection would have been all the bodies in view and identified.


Impossible Odds397



“Rubin suspected that von Fader was hiding the girl . . . Duchess, I mean. So he burned Fadrenschloss
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to smoke her out.” Volpe barked a laugh. “I’m supposed to be the warrior in the family, but I have more
scruples than he does. Minhea had set up roadblocks to catch her when she tried to escape. I suppose
her body and the child’s would have been retroac-tively found in the wreckage of the coach.”

 The conversation was interrupted then. The standard-bearer signaled a turn and led the column off the
highway onto a tree-flanked avenue. Volpe blew a warning call on his horn. In a few moments the troop
arrived at a stockade set within paddocks and fenced pasture where, to Bellman’s amazement, about
sixty fresh mounts stood waiting, already saddled and tethered in lines. Some hands were hastily
tight-ening girths and others were still tumbling out of the build-ings to assist. The Royal Guard was never
so organized.

“Take your pick,” Volpe said as he dismounted.

 Needing no second invitation, Bellman beelined in on a four- or five-year-old chestnut who looked as if
he could run all the way to Chivial without drawing breath. A brown-belted junior knight-brother had
made the same choice. They met on opposite sides of the stallion’s head and for a moment there was
challenge in the air. Then the knight glanced down at Bellman’s sword belt, saluted without the least
change of expression, and walked away.

 “What do you think of that, big fellow?” Bellman asked as he reached for the stirrup buckles. The
chestnut rolled his eyes and said nothing.

There was a slight delay in departing. When everyone else was in the saddle, waiting, the Provost stood
deep in con-versation with two men, one of whom was Radu. Checking on Bellman, perhaps?

 Volpe picked up his story again as soon as the column was back on the highway. “I was taken in like
everyone else


398Dave Duncan



 at first, I admit. I believed in the accident.” The big man laughed. “More wishful thinking! I assumed I
had been right after all and the gold-digger commoner had run off with a lover. It even crossed my mind
that he might be my idiot son.

 “When Fadrenschloss burned, I guessed that Rubin was back to his old tricks. I sent Harald Priboi to
investigate, be-cause he was a Fadrenschloss boy and known to the Baron. If he found Johanna was still
alive, he was to worm his way into her confidence and keep her out of harm’s way until I could straighten
things out in Krupina. Having been a Rubin agent first in this affair, he then became one of mine, just by
doing what he was told. He did a fine job if he chivvied her all the way to Chivial.”

So far Bellman had learned almost nothing he had not worked out in his head, which was dangerously
gratifying.

 Volpe continued, “He sent back word that she had left the boy somewhere in Brikov. Minhea had men
rummaging like mad through the archives for the password that would reac-tivate Knight-brother János. I
dispatched Radu to locate the child, and we moved the boy to safety. I’ve sent word to Bad Nargstein
and we’ll see his mother gets him back today.”
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“That’s very considerate of you, my lord. Her Highness will be overjoyed.”

 “She has earned that much.” The Provost fell silent for a while. Hooves beat the mud with a steady beat.
“Tell me,” he said at last. “One thing still puzzles me. According to Harald’s reports, the Duchess has
been absolutely convinced all this time that I tried to depose Rubin, or even that I had already done so
and was masquerading as him. I can see how the locket might inspire such mad notions, but surely she
must have had more reason than that?”

“She saw Rubin arrive at Fadrenschloss,” Bellman ex-plained, “and he was limping.”


Impossible Odds399



“Seven save us! That was all? His horse stepped on his toe?”

Bellman risked a smile. “Possibly it was just chance, but he may have been testing. He must have been
worried that the fake Duke had been found in the wreckage. If so, and the Baron was not shouting
miracle, he must know about the locket, which was damning evidence. Sure enough, the old man was
deceived by the limp. The Duke detected his distrust and knew he knew. You following this? The answer
was to burn the place down and hope to eliminate Duchess, Baron, and locket all at once.”

Volpe muttered an oath.

 “Your nephew, my lord, is a cunning man! As for Jo-hanna, I believe your pessimist principle came into
play again. Any woman would be reluctant to believe her own husband was trying to kill both her and
their son. Also, you had cast yourself as the villain long ago, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”

 “Under the circumstances,” Volpe said, “I will. Ensign! Signal a trot! Of course, when the fire failed to
kill his wife, he sent Kuritsyn after her. He failed to kill her in Blanburg and then lost her, thanks to
Harald. Rubin has no patience when he’s in estrus, and he decided to settle for second best. He unveiled
the scandal he had set up. He did a good job of it, I admit—shows what a capable man he is when he
can be bothered. Soon the whole country knew that the Duchess had eloped with an unidentified man
and both she and her child had gone over a cliff.

 “It worked. The old Margrave needed a husband for his daughter, and was greedy for a grandson who
would inherit both realms, so Frederik’s death made the match more at-tractive. He agreed to the
marriage but insisted on six months’ mourning for his son. Now the time is up.” He looked to Bellman.
“Have I left out anything?”


400Dave Duncan



 Conscious that the question might be unwise, Bellman said, “Margrave Ladislas doesn’t happen to be
another de-ferred Vamky knight, does he, my lord?”

 The Provost’s glare almost blew him off his horse. “Are you suggesting I used an oath sworn fifty years
ago to force a man to prostitute his own daughter to my homicidal nephew?”
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“No, my lord,” Bellman said hastily.

“Then why ask?”

 “Because otherwise I do not understand why Ladislas agreed. I suspect Abbot Minhea had fewer
scruples than you.” He knew he should stop at that, but he must know if he had the rest of it right. “I
think your approach was more subtle. Trenko being right on Vamky’s doorstep, Vamky would love to
see another Vamky man succeed Ladislas. I think you checked through the roll and picked out a
promising wellborn younger son to take with you when you went to the funeral. You would not have used
any sort of compulsion, I suspect, and no threats. But you could have dropped hints that this young man
would make a good military advisor or aide-de-camp or something. Knight-brother Nickolaus, my
lord?”

The predator eyes studied him as if measuring him for a larder. “You are adangerouslyastute man, Herr
Bellman.”

 “Thank you, my lord,” Bellman said uneasily. Had he overdone it? He wanted to impress the man, not
antago-nize him.

“How did you find out about Nickolaus?”

“Talking with Her Highness, and with Radu. All I know is that he stayed behind in Trenko and is of
gentle birth. The rest was guesswork, truly.”

“Originally Prince Nickolaus, third son of the King of Microsia. Now personal equerry to the
Margrave’s daughter. What other secrets have you pried out of Vamky in the last two days, Herr
Bellman?”


Impossible Odds401



“None, my lord. I do have one more question—how you came to be locked up in your own castle.”

 The mercenary’s face darkened. “I waited too long. I couldn’t be certain that Karl had been the fake
husband in the coach, and I was frightened he would turn up alive and make a fool of me. I waited for
Rubin’s inquiry to convene, hoping I’d glean some more evidence from that. Before I made my move, I
was betrayed. Rubin thinks I’m dead, by the way. I look forward to seeing his face when I turn up at the
wedding. Minhea told him I was dead, but kept me alive as insurance. I was his hold over Rubin, partly
because I’m officially his legal heir now, partly because I know where the real heir is. Naturally I
wouldn’t say. They worked on me a bit, but they could afford to be patient. Any man will talk
eventually.”

 They rode on for a while thinking their own thoughts. The fields were steaming in the sunlight. Autumn
trees shone like beaten gold. Somewhere ahead was Donehof, but was Johanna still there? Had János
taken her into Krupa with him? Or had he betrayed her to Rubin? Was she even alive?

“So what will you do now, my lord?” Bellman asked.
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 Again Volpe studied him, taking time to plan his words. “I don’t know. Depose my nephew, certainly.
Have him certi-fied insane, most likely. Possibly execute him. Proclaim Frederik and declare myself
regent, maybe.” Again that sin-ister, craggy smile. “And certainly find out what you’re up to, Herr
Bellman.”

 If you sat perfectly still in wet clothes, the parts that touched you eventually became warm. The trouble
came when you moved and rediscovered all the other parts. Johanna and Trudy had found a nook near
the bottom of the staircase and huddled there, close together for warmth, trying to keep still and not even
shiver. Waiting for Ringwood.


402Dave Duncan



 Daylight was seeping into the keep, a new day. A very strange new day it would be. Johanna was now a
widow. She had watched her husband killed by one of the shadowmen his own evil had created. Volpe
was also dead. Frederik, if he lived, was Grand Duke, so who would run Krupina for the next fifteen
years or so? Most certainly not the daughter of Erich von Schale—not if the aristocracy had anything to
do with it. She would be very lucky to be allowed any access to her son at all. Where was Bellman?
Who was the prisoner he had gone to rescue, if not Rubin? And inevitably doubts crept in. Rubin visiting
a haunted ruin in the middle of a stormy night was a mind-bending improbability. Had he really felt an
obsessive need to watch his wife die and know she was really dead? She struggled to believe that itmust
have been Rubin. Volpe would not have tried to fight a Blade with a stool. Did Frederik have any blood
relatives left? That cousin in Blanburg? He or King Athelgar would be the new duke if Frederik was
dead.

 Sometime in her worrying she drifted off to sleep, in spite of her cold and hunger and the pain of her
wounds, for she was an all-over midden heap of cuts and bruises. Some pro-tector Sir Ringwood had
turned out to be...

“Time to rise and shine,” Trudy said. “I want to watch the shining bit.”

Johanna started awake, bewildered. “What?”

“They’re here.”

The sky was bright, scraps of blue between the clouds. Three men were placing a ladder across a gap
only a few feet away from her, while others stood watching in the dis-tance—Vamky brethren and
Ringwood, who was tattered and bloody and snow-white with exhaustion.

Johanna’s first efforts to move discovered a million aches and cold, wet places, and she shivered
violently. Ringwood laid a plank on the ladder, carried another to the middle, ac-


Impossible Odds403



cepted a third from one of his helpers, and in moments had built a bridge. He stepped off the near end,
bowed curtly to his ward, then grabbed Trudy in what started out to be a pas-sionate hug and at once
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became an explosion ofOo!s andOuch!es, and finally happy laughter—happy because pain is a sign of
life. The dead feel nothing.

 One of the knight-brothers steadied the far end of the squeaking, groaning bridge while the other
followed Ring-wood across. He saluted Johanna.

 “Your Royal Highness, I am Banneret Helmut Schwartz, sent to help you out of this wilderness. I am
instructed to ex-tend the deepest sympathy of the Order upon your—”

She nodded. “Who is in charge?”

 His eyebrows rose to the brim of his helmet. “Abbot Min-hea has taken personal command.” His gaze
flickered over her shredded, bloodstained clothes. “If you will come with us, we shall see you receive
proper care, Your Grace. We can set up a field elementary to treat your injuries without delay. You may
start planning what you would like for breakfast.” For a man forbidden to speak to women except in
emergen-cies, he knew exactly what to say.

 She accepted the hand he offered, a powerful soldier hand, well calloused, and he led her across the
shaky bridge. Ringwood came close behind her, leading Trudy but ready to grasp his ward if she needed
him. It took a long while to move the ladders and planks, leapfrogging gaps across the rock pile to the
tower where Rubin had died. The men chopped thistles out of her way, steadied ladders when she had to
climb up or down. They led her to the base of the chimney tower, and up yet another ladder.

 At the far end of a windy tunnel she paused beside a thick timber door, looking down at a pasture where
campfire em-bers still steamed. A couple of dozen Vamky knights were forming up as a guard of honor,
and at least as many were


404Dave Duncan



 following behind her now, their work in the keep completed. Rubin’s huge eight-horse ducal coach
stood ignored in the background. Beyond it lay the paddocks and outbuildings of Donehof, with a
backdrop of fall hills and snow-capped mountains. The main house was out of sight, behind the tower.
Although the final ladder waiting for her feet ought to look like escape from a deathtrap, she could not
shake the il-lusion that she was leaving freedom behind. For half a year she had been making choices
without having to refer them to some man for his approval; now she would be taking or-ders again. All
the beauty of the morning could not quite make up for that.

 Muttering, “By your leave,” Ringwood squeezed past her to go first, as if a Blade’s duties included
acting as soft land-ing for falling wards. He was doubly laden, for somewhere in the last few minutes he
had acquired a second sword. Both of them had cat’s-eye pommels.

She turned around and began her descent.

 Her worry-faced Blade was waiting at the foot of the lad-der. “Your Grace,” he murmured, eyes flitting
everywhere except in her direction. “I think there may be trouble now. Insist on your royal honors.”

The honor guard no longer looked much like an honor guard. A dozen men were lined up on one side, a
dozen on the other, and a twenty-fifth stood at ease in the center, waiting for her. She had never seen the
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Abbot in military garb before, and might very well have failed to recognize that bland, unremarkable face
under the helmet. He was not fat, no worse than chubby, and his features were as smooth as a boy’s,
their apparent youth belied by gray-flecked shrubby eyebrows. She did not trust a face with-out worry
lines.

He smiled as she approached with Ringwood on her right and Trudy on the left, Trudy carrying the
Count’s


Impossible Odds405



broadsword as if it were a personal souvenir. Last survivors of an interesting evening, Johanna thought.

“Good chance, Frau Schale. I gather you have had an un-pleasant night.”

“Minhea, isn’t it?” she said. Ernst van Fader had admired Volpe in some ways, disapproved of him in
others, but he had never had any use for the Abbot. “Where is Lord Volpe? Has he been notified of his
nephew’s death?”

The Abbot’s smile persisted. “Of course you have been away... Lord Volpe predeceased his nephew
by some weeks.”

Trudy coughed a warning.

“And his son, Lord Karl?” Johanna asked.

“Ah, yes. You will be asked about Lord Karl’s disappear-ance.”

“So there can be no doubt that my son is now Grand Duke. Where is he?”

Minhea’s eyes seemed to glaze. “If you don’t know, then it doesn’t matter, Frau Schale.”

 Too late she saw her error. She should not have admitted her ignorance. “I am Dowager Grand Duchess
Johanna and will thank you to remember it.”

 Minhea shook his head, sending rays of morning sunlight streaking from his helmet. Suddenly his smile
seemed more genuine, as if he had discarded some trifling doubts and was free to enjoy himself. “Were
there a Grand Duke Frederik of Krupina here to confirm your status, lady, then that would be so. We
could see your injuries healed, provide food and clean clothes. Then your coach would rush you without
delay to Krupa to attend to the formalities attendant on the death of your lamented husband,
proclamation of national mourning, and so on. Absent the child or proof he still lives, you are nothing but
a suspect in a sensational murder case.”

Twelve men on either hand and another score or so de-


406Dave Duncan
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 scending the ladder from the keep forming up behind her. What odds on a Blade and two women with
three swords amongst them? After all she had been through, must she ac-cept failure now?

“All three of you are at least material witnesses,” the Abbot said. “Banneret! Disarm the prisoners.”

“I am a Chivian Blade!” Ringwood said sharply, too sharply. “I cannot submit to disarming. I beg you
not to throw away lives by making the attempt.”

Minhea laughed softly. “I have fifty lives to throw against your one, boy. Your bravado jeopardizes these
girls as well as yourself. Drop your sword on the grass, boy.”

“Never!”

The ground trembled.

A horn sundered the peace of the morning.

 Around the mass of the keep, which had concealed their approach until that moment, thundered a
column of Vamky knights. They and their foam-flecked horses were gray with mud, but their blue cloaks
streamed in the wind and sunlight flashed on their helmets. As they curved around and came to a halt in a
double line behind the Abbot, Johanna recognized the leader, the one with the horn.

She had never thought she would be happy to see Volpe.

 The horn spoke again. The riders’ swords flashed from their scabbards. Echoes died. So, perhaps, did
the hopes of Abbot Minhea.

“You were telling fibs, my lord,” Trudy told him.

 He had his back to them now, so Johanna could not see his face, but something about the way he was
standing sug-gested that there was no longer a smile under the brim of his helmet. When he shouted a
command, his voice sounded slightly off-key, even to her.

“Troop, sheath swords! Prepare to dismount!”

“As you were!” the Provost countered. “Disregard that man.”


Impossible Odds407



“I have overall authority in the Brotherhood, Volpe!” Minhea screamed. “They will obey my orders.
You will be brought to trial.”

“You are a murderer. You confined and tortured me with-out authority.”

In almost perfect simultaneity, Abbot and Provost pointed at each other and shouted, “Arrest that man!”

The Brotherhood stood divided.
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 Ringwood’s hand went to his sword as if he were about to intervene. Johanna caught his wrist. “Wait!”
The num-bers were about equal, but a swordsman on foot was no match for one on a horse. And if it
came to a battle, she was going to be caught right in the middle of it.

 She heard the squelch of approaching boots and did not turn. Banneret Schwartz went tramping past
her, all the way to the Abbot. In silence he relieved Minhea of his sword and carried it across to offer it
to Lord Volpe. The revolution was over. Wild cheers erupted from Minhea’s men, and they rushed
forward to mob their resurrected Provost.

“This is starting to smell suspiciously like a happy end-ing,” Trudy said.

“Not yet,” Ringwood retorted. “We’re still one man short.”

“Two,” Johanna said.

 A chestnut-and-mud-colored stallion pushed through the throng and walked across to the forgotten
Dowager Grand Duchess. The rider reined in, swung his leg over the saddle, and dropped to the turf at
her feet. Dust and mud made his face unrecognizable until he unfastened his chin strap and threw away
his helmet, uncovering a familiar tangle of wavy brown hair sorely in need of a barber. He took her hands
in his.

“Frederik is safe,” Bellman said, and the world vanished in tears.


408Dave Duncan



                                                     •9•

 Ringwood found the Brotherhood’s field healing station impressive, not least because Banneret Schwartz
seemed to call on men at random, the closest seven, as if every knight-brother was an expert conjurer. In
minutes they threw up a tent and laid out a small octogram with strips of canvas, and then the eight of
them chanted the conjuration entirely from memory. The Vamky ritual must be designed for serious
wounds, yet it banished scrapes and bruises at least as well as Ironhall’s did. The brethren also handed
out anklet band-ages conjured to postpone fatigue. These perked up the two women, but Ringwood’s
gave him such violent cramps that he had to remove it and do without—apparently his binding
disapproved of the enchantment, just as it disapproved of sleep and wine. No matter, he was cantering
along nicely on sheer excitement.

 Fresh, dry clothes were another joy, and when the seneschal produced garments belonging to his eldest
son and these proved to an almost perfect fit, even the accompa-nying jokes about beanpoles could be
overlooked.

 None of those pleasures could hold a candle to eating, though, and when the women finally tired of
primping and preening and paraded down to the dining room, they found that Max Priboi had laid on for
them a feast as fine as the previous evening’s dinner with Count János, which seemed a long lifetime ago
now. Ringwood consumed a dozen schnitzels and six spicy sausages before he even finished planning the
rest of his meal.
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 Provost Volpe had left word that they were to start with-out him, so only the Duchess and the three
surviving Chiv-ians assembled around the table. Johanna sent the servants away to have privacy. She
offered a brief tribute to Ranter.


Impossible Odds409



 True summarized the shadowmen adventure and the death of the Duke for Bellman, who then recounted
his adventures rescuing Lord Volpe. He obviously left much unsaid, but he was coming down with a bad
cold and reluctant to speak much.

Ringwood was too busy to talk, and he was not just being greedy. Time to eat and attend to his toilet
would be precious from now on, because a solitary Blade was on duty every minute of every day. Life
would be much harder without Ranter to share the burden.

No one was speculating on what was going to happen next, except that Bellman repeated Lord Volpe’s
promise to see Johanna reunited with her son before nightfall. Only Volpe himself knew what else would
happen. He was now sole ruler of the Vamky Brotherhood and also head of the ducal family until
Frederik came of age. He held all the power in Krupina.

 The moment the Provost walked in he dominated the room, as he would dominate any room he ever
inhabited. He was a big, powerful man with a very unsettling, wide-eyed stare. Ringwood was relieved to
see that the former wicked uncle was on his best behavior, bowing to Johanna, asking her leave before
he joined the company. He even attempted a battle-ax joke about prison diet, yet he ate frugally and
wa-tered his beer. He wanted more details about the shadowmen and the night’s deaths, so that story
had to be told again. When it was done he tucked his knife back in his belt and pushed his stool away
from the table.

He offered Johanna a smile that made the back of Ring-wood’s neck prickle, although apparently it was
well in-tended. “Your Highness is prepared to travel to Krupa to swear allegiance to our new, small
Grand Duke now?”

“If I have to crawl!”

“Not necessary. You can ride or go in the coach, as you


410Dave Duncan



 please. Either should get you there before His Royal Highness can arrive from Bad Nargstein.” He gazed
around the table as if he wanted to fight someone, before returning his attention to Johanna. “I am
heading to Krupa now and my first duty will be to inform Lady Margarita that her wedding is canceled. I
do not anticipate that she will die of grief.”

“I never met the child,” Johanna said acidly, “but she was reported to be young and flighty, not insane.”

The Provost glanced at Bellman, who said nothing.
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 “After that,” Volpe continued, “Rubin’s death and Fred-erik’s accession must be publicly proclaimed.
Both wedding and enthronement will be cancelled. I fully realize that you were never formally enthroned,
Your Highness, and I accept the blame for that, but now that you are Dowager Duchess, an
enthronement is out of the question.”

 Johanna said, “I understand. I will bear no grudges, my lord, as long as you continue to recognize and
respect my son’s status as Grand Duke.”

 These negotiations were sounding very much like the making of a peace treaty, and Ringwood was able
to relax a little. He took a second helping of pickled eels to celebrate.

Volpe nodded. “I will swear fealty to your son in your presence. I have never broken an oath in my life.”
The terri-ble gaze settled briefly on her Blade. “I am thankful that the spirits of chance saved me from
having to take action against a nephew who was also my liege lord.”

Thanks for the murder. Ringwood thought it safest just to nod. He had his mouth full anyway.

“There will have to be an inquiry into his death, of course,” the Provost added.

Ringwood choked.

 Bellman thumped him on the back. “Don’t worry, Brother Ringwood. He won’t want any public
testimony about His


Impossible Odds411



Late Highness’s recent activities. Some fish are better left in the sea. Take a drink.”

 Volpe frowned. “The matter of most concern is who will rule Krupina until our new Grand Duke comes
of age. I need to provide guardians and tutors for him until then. I must ap-point either a regent or a
council of regency—there are precedents for both.”

 Johanna’s eyes had grown almost as wide as Volpe’s. “I trust that I may act as mother to my son, my
lord?”

Volpe nodded. “Certainly.”

“And you will have the courtesy to consult me on these other matters?”

“I will consult you, certainly, and acknowledge you as Frederik’s mother, but frankly—pray excuse my
bluntness when time presses—I cannot see Your Grace as regent.”

 That was a nice way of saying she was a commoner and a woman. It was also a load off Ringwood’s
shoulders.

Johanna seemed surprised and uneasy. “I assumed you would hold that office yourself, my lord?”
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Volpe sighed. “Government bores me. I will oversee from the wings, but I will find a deputy for the
day-to-day trivia.”

Grand Duke Rubin coughed. “May I volunteer?” he asked.

 True squeaked like a trampled cat. Ringwood bit his tongue. No one had noticed Bellman putting on the
locket.

 “Youdare?” Volpe roared. “You evendaresuggest such a thing?” He leapt to his feet, sending his stool
flying. “A low-born foreigner masquerading as head of state, assuming royal honors?”

Ringwood grasped his sword hilt.

“Granted it is an unorthodox solution,” the imposter said mildly. He spread his hands—small, soft hands,
not Bell-man’s. “But is it not also the simplest? It would save a lot of awkward questions. The Margrave
may be upset at see-ing his daughter jilted. At least he will have to pretend so


412Dave Duncan



in public,but in private...?”He looked meaningfully at Volpe.

“Insolence! What training or abilities do you have for run-ning Krupina?”

 “Oh, none. But you said yourself,Nephew,that the less rul-ing a ruler does the better, or words to that
effect. You obvi-ously would prefer to remain at Vamky. What harm can I do? You can depose me at
any time just by taking away the locket.”

“It is unconscionable! Deceiving the child and the entire country?”

“People believe what they want to believe, you told me.”

Volpe shot a furious glance at Johanna, as if wondering whether she was party to this blasphemy. “You
would expect to sleep in the Grand Duchess’s bed, no doubt?”

 “Tsk!” said her late husband. “Surely Her Grace should be allowed to decide her own sleeping
arrangements? Of course His Royal Highness would have to be informed even-tually. Or perhaps not?
We can discuss that nearer the time. Did I not warn you, my lord, that I might call in a favor sometime?”

Aha! If personal gratitude came into it, then Bellman held the high ground.

 Volpe leaned on the table to shout across at him. “This is madness! How could you possibly even get
through this af-ternoon? You would have to return to Court and announce that your wedding is canceled.
You would be apologizing to hundreds of guests, people you are expected to know.”

 Bellman’s answer was a severe attack of coughing. “My memory for names is notorious,” he croaked.
“And I do be-lieve that my laryngitis is getting worse.”

Volpe’s rage vanished as suddenly as it had come. He righted his stool and sat down. “You are
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remarkably con-vincing,” he said calmly. “And you continue to impress. Very few men retain their
composure when I yell at them.”


Impossible Odds413



“You hadn’t already thought of this yourself?” the im-poster inquired hoarsely.

“Certainly not!”

 True smirked from ear to ear. The others followed her ex-ample, one by one. Volpe frowned
suspiciously at their un-explained amusement.

“The laryngitis is fortuitous. What do you think of this in-sanity, Your Highness?”

Johanna’s face was answer enough. “Oh, love!” she said. “Would you dare?”

“For you I would dare anything,” Bellman said gallantly.

 Volpe snorted. “How sweet! I will require an oath of se-crecy from each one of you. And an oath of
loyalty from you, Herr Bellman, if I am to put my country in your hands.”

“I will gladly swear to serve Grand Duke Frederik with all my heart and strength until my dying day.”
The imposter smiled at Johanna. “And his lady mother also.”

 “Even sweeter, but let us be practical. You are overlooking a major problem. The enthronement could
proceed, I suppose, with the former Duchess in place of the new, and the other planned festivities to
follow, but not the wedding. You do not expect to marry Lady Margarita as well, I hope? Whatever she
may think of the news, her father and all Trenko may well see this as a grievous insult. How are you going
to explain your previous wife’s miraculous return from the dead?”

 Around the table the smiles faded. How indeed? Ring-wood chewed thoughtfully.She fell out of the
coach, landed in the river with the Marquis in her arms, and they were washed away downstream? It has
taken her half a year to walk back.But why had she been in a coach with another man to start with?
Grand Duke Rubin had slyly branded her an adulteress to win sympathy for his betrothal to the
Mar-grave’s daughter. Even if she had survived, why would he take her back now? No, it was
impossible.


414Dave Duncan



The dream popped like a bubble.

 The Duke coughed again, painfully. Unless Bellman was a much better actor than Ringwood had ever
suspected, his voice was fading fast.

“It is usually best just to tell people the truth,” he whis-pered. “Or almost the truth. Why don’t we all go
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for a ride in that great monster coach and make up our story on the way? Are we ready to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” True said fondly, “when Sir Ringwood stops eating.”

 After that the day broke up into a few hard peaks of wonder towering above a rolling fog of fatigue. To
relax in that ter-rible bouncing coach was impossible—it was hard enough not to be thrown right off the
benches—but Ringwood wedged Trudy in a corner for safety and comfort and con-centrated on
enjoying her closeness and his own digestion. He drifted as close to sleep as a Blade ever did, ignored
the others’ plotting, coming alert only when Trudy nudged him.

 He flicked back a few seconds... Trudy had said, “Happy to, my lord” . . . answering a question from
the Provost, “You two will witness?”

“Happy to, my lord,” he said. Witness what?

Oaths: Volpe, Johanna, and Bellman swearing loyalty to the infant Grand Duke, who was to remain
officially only the heir. And then, astonishingly, Bellman and Johanna were led through a brief exchange of
marriage vows by the Provost.

While bride and groom were sharing a kiss, Ringwood re-alized that he wasn’t quite a solitary Blade
now. Bellman was not bound by conjuration, but love was a potent binding in itself.

“Well, that takes care of the formalities,” Johanna said happily. “Except for one thing.” She frowned at
Trudy.


Impossible Odds415



 “Krupina is not Chivial. Nor is it the open road. Krupa is a stuffy, old-fashioned, straight-laced town,
and only married couples share bedrooms. Sir Ringwood will be an important person at Court. You
cannot continue sleeping with him un-less you’re married.”

Trudy glanced sideways at Ringwood, then turned a de-ceptively innocent gaze upon Johanna. “And the
problem is...?”

 Ringwood shied like a shooed chicken.Married?Shad-owmen were one thing—his binding gave him
courage to face them—butmarriage? At his age? For the rest of his life?

“You haven’t told him your news?” the Duchess said.

Trudy shrugged. “I thought he had enough worries.” She patted Ringwood’s knee. “No matter, hon. If
you don’t want to, you don’t want to. I must have misunderstood some of that love talk.”

 What news? Ringwood gave up wondering why they were all grinning at him and forced his mind to be
practi-cal. Even with Bellman helping on night shift, being a soli-tary Blade was going to leave him no
time for romancing girls. He’d never find another like True anyway. The thought of her leaving and
stranding him here in Krupina did not bear thinking about. No, if marriage was what it took...

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to!” he protested. “But you threw it at me too suddenly. Marriage? Sure.
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Well, that’s no problem. You want to tie the noose . . . I mean knot... that’ll be great. Er, do you have
any particular date in mind, dar-ling?”

True sighed. “Yes, love. Once again, please, my lord. With feeling.” The Provost said, “Do you,
Ringwood, take . . .” ***


416Dave Duncan



 The ducal coach rolled into the palace yard soon after noon, causing a mad flurry of activity and no small
relief, for the wedding guests would start arriving soon. Flunkies ran off in all directions to summon court
officials. The yard was al-ready crowded with delivery carts, and the Palace Guard’s efforts to line up
were not assisted by the escort of Vamky knights, who innocently contrived to back their horses in the
wrong direction as often as possible. Stable hands and the ducal band added to the confusion.

 Inside the coach, Lord Volpe said, “You areabsolutelysure you want to go ahead with this?” Even he
looked nervous.

 Bellman and Johanna smiled at each other and said, “Yes!” with one voice. Probably neither of them
could be-lieve that all this was really happening.

 A guardsman opened the door. The unknown swordsman who emerged first caused some surprise.
Then came Lord Volpe, who had not been seen around the palace for weeks. He turned to offer a hand
to His Royal Highness. The band director raised his baton... and then dropped it in his amaze-ment. A
universal cry of astonishment raised pigeons from the rooftops as the Grand Duke in turn handed down
thelateGrand Duchess. He looked around the yard uncertainly, then nodded to the band. Never had the
Krupinese national an-them been worse played.

The ducal party proceeded into the palace, smiling regally to the ashen-faced spectators bowing or
kneeling.

 “Adulation at last!” Bellman whispered in Chivian. “This could become habit-forming.” Johanna did not
answer. Was her hand trembling on his arm or was his arm trembling under her hand? Both, likely.
Behind them walked Lord Volpe and Sir Ringwood—and Trudy, who would be hope-lessly lost if she
became separated from the ducal party. Be-hind them, in turn, a whirlwind of whispers. News of
Johanna’s resurrection would be everywhere in minutes.


Impossible Odds417



Fortunately, the imposter had no need to ask the way or be prompted by Volpe, for every possible
wrong turning was blocked by gaping onlookers, leaving only the path to the ducal quarters clear. Two
guards on the door stared open-mouthed as the couple approached.

“I m-m-must go and get r-ready, my dear,” Johanna said. “You will break the news to
What’s-her-name, won’t you?”
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“As gently as I can,” Bellman said, raising her hand to her lips.

“Nottoogently!” Her Highness replied icily.

 Surprisingly, the Grand Duchess’s quarters were not even locked—a breach of security that clanged
gongs of alarm for Ringwood. He ordered his ward to stand in a corner while he searched for intruders,
but she was far beyond listening to him now. She threw open drapes and drawers and closet doors with
squeals of wonder.

 “Is this not a day of miracles!” she cried. “All my clothes! Still here! Trudy, dear, help me choose! What
shall I wear to my enthronement? Pull that bell cord, Sir Ringwood, I need help.”

 Why get so excited over a mere fifty or so gowns? Ring-wood rang the bell and prowled off to explore
the rest of the suite.

At a hastily called audience, Grand Duke Rubin and Provost Lord Volpe regretfully informed Margrave
Ladislas that his daughter could not be married that evening after all. As Bell-man later reported, the old
man wept with joy, while his daughter screamed most indecorously and hurled herself into the arms of her
dazzlingly handsome equerry, Prince Nickolaus of Microsia.

The Grand Duchess’s sister and brother-in-law arrived an hour or two later, in attendance on an elderly
dowager and a


418Dave Duncan



 curly-haired toddler. Johanna went white as snow at the sight of him, so that Ringwood stood poised to
catch her if she fainted. He should have known her better by this time.

 “He’ll need a few days,” Voica warned. “It’s been far too long for him to remember. Do you know who
this is, Freddie?”

 The small but genuine Grand Duke thought for a moment and then said, “Mommy,” and all the women
started weep-ing. That frightened him, so he wept, too. Even the stallion-sized charcoal burner did. The
formercharcoal burner—he had been promoted to woodward. Blades were not allowed to weep, so
Ringwood didn’t. His wife shed enough tears for both of them.

 The highlight of the day would be the enthronement. Get through that, Bellman thought, and he could
survive any-thing. People believe what they want to believe.

 The first great test was his toilet, though, and he could not reasonably have Volpe around to back him up
in that. It went without a hitch. Valets shaved his fake face, combed his thinning gray locks without
noticing that they were in fact an overlong mop of brown waves, and pulled silken hose over calves and
thighs of solid muscle, thinking they were flab. None of the dozen or so people attending him noticed
anything wrong, other than a bad throat infection. None was brash enough to suggest that he trot down to
the palace oc-togram for a healing, because they all knew that no conjura-tion could cure the common
cold.

He refused all the grandiose brocade and jewels laid out for his wedding. Tonight was to be his wife’s
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triumph, he explained, and he would not upstage her. He was seriously out of character there, but
nobody talked back to the sov-ereign, and disbelief did not extend to questioning his identity. Reluctantly
the dressers produced a somber, al-


Impossible Odds419



 most drab cloak and very plain, dark hose. He had to wear his gold coronet, of course, and he let the
heralds talk him into the jeweled star of the Order of Gottfried the Glori-ous. All through his ordeal
flunkies were coming and going, whispering messages, improvising a new ceremony to replace what had
been planned for months. He barely had time to disgust himself with a glance in a mirror be-fore they
informed him that he was due downstairs in the anteroom.

“Lead on!” he croaked, and went out to meet his fate.

 He had never seen Johanna properly adorned before, and she was breathtaking in a gown of cobalt and
emerald silk with slashed and puffed sleeves and ermine trim; state jew-els flashed and sparkled on her
bodice and neck. His wife! He stared at her in incredulous delight. She curtsied to him; he bowed to her,
and moved close to kiss her fingers.

“You look magnificent, my dear,” he whispered.

Her eyes shone happily at him. “So do you, Your Highness.”

 At her side stood a skinny swordsman gloriously be-decked in braid and gold epaulets. How had they
ever found anything to fit him at such short notice?

“Congratulations, brother,” Bellman whispered. Oh, the joys of laryngitis!

Ringwood’s glazed eyes came to startled focus. “What?” Then a faint smile. “On what, er... Your
Highness?”

If even he was starting to believe, then this must be going to work. “On your marriage, of course.”

 Ringwood nodded and smiled uncertainly. Bellman resis-ted the temptation to spring his impending
fatherhood on him. As Trudy had said, he had enough to worry about just now.

Volpe hurried in, apologizing for being late. His sword hilt sparkled with gems, his spurs were silver,
ostrich plumes waved above his helmet.


420Dave Duncan



“If it please Your Royal Highness to proceed?” bleated the chief herald in his dazzling tabard.

Bellman offered his arm to his Grand Duchess.
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“We are ready,” she said.

 The great hall was huge and bizarre: gilt, marble, and fres-coes, with bosomy ladies wafting across the
ceiling and near-naked but remarkably unsweaty warriors battling all around the walls. King Athelgar’s
palace of Nocare had nothing that would compare to it for outright vulgarity, and that evening it blazed
with lamps and all the nobility of the realm in massed finery. On the dais stood twin thrones for the Grand
Duke and his consort. But which consort? The news was out, and if any of the hundreds of guests
assem-bled had still been in doubt that the marriage they had come to witness had been canceled, they
were reassured when the Margrave and his daughter entered with the other Trenkoan notables and sat
beside them in the Trenkoan reserved sec-tion. The ex-bride’s radiant happiness was noted by all.

Trumpets brayed and everyone rose to honor... who? The published order of service indicated that the
bride would now enter, but the bride was already present.

 Instead the Grand Duke himself walked in from the side to take his throne, but his attendants were not
as listed, ei-ther. Abbot Minhea of the Vamky Brotherhood was sup-posed to lead the way with the
ceremonial mace, but that was certainly Lord Volpe carrying the ugly thing. After him came an
unidentified lanky youth in the uniform of a colonel in the Palace Guard, bearing a naked sword, and who
was the woman leading the infant Marquis Frederik? None of these people was mentioned at all. And the
Grand Duchess on the ducal arm was thelateGrand Duchess, who had been officially mourned for half a
year.

The last notes of the national anthem mercifully died


Impossible Odds421



 away. Duke and Duchess settled on their respective thrones and everyone else was free to sit down
also. Almost the only one who didn’t was the boy with the sword, whoever he was.

 Sothatwoman, the peasant, sat on the consort’s throne in state at last? But Lord Volpe was there, raising
no objec-tion—not even looking displeased. Ifhewas willing to ac-cept her it would be politic to do
likewise. At first glance she seemed to have quit her boudoir half-dressed, for she was hatless, unlike
every other woman in the hall, and her ash-blond hair hung unbound, but that was necessary for the
cer-emony. The great ladies of Krupina pursed their lips.

Grand Duke Rubin began to speak and sneezed three times. He tried again, but no one could hear a
word. He coughed. He waved his nephew forward.

 “Your Graces, my lords and ladies,” Lord Volpe pro-claimed, in tones that filled the hall like a carillon of
bells, “His Royal Highness is suffering from a minor throat fever and has bade me speak in his stead. He
apologizes for this discourtesy. He bids you all welcome, especially his dear brother ruler, Marquis
Ladislas of Trenko, and his most ex-quisite daughter, the Lady Margarita...” An excruciatingly long list of
names and titles followed. His Highness nodded to confirm that he had approved this tribute.

 The best view in the house belonged to Ringwood, stand-ing alongside the Duchess’s throne. He could
take some small pride in the glow of happiness that his ward was radiating. As True had said, this did
smell like a happy ending. He still could not quite believe that the pudgy, pompous man with the gray
goatee and gold coronet was actually Bellman. How did he keep a straight face amid all this kowtowing
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and folderol?

 “As you can see,” the Provost continued, his glare defying anyone present not to, “there has been a
change of plan. Her Royal Highness Grand Duchess Johanna, my dear niece-in-law”—he bowed to
her—“supposedly died in an accident


422Dave Duncan



half a year ago. Although her body had not been found, she was declared legally dead, as was her son,
His Grace, Mar-quis Frederik of Krupa. His Royal Highness subsequently announced his betrothal to
Lady Margarita, daughter of His Grace, Margrave Ladislas of Trenko.” Volpe bowed again.

 You could hear a snowflake fall, Ringwood thought. When King Athelgar wore his crown—opening
Parliament, say, or at investitures—Commander Florian stood beside him like this, holding his sword,
Thorn.But Florian was quite old, probably over thirty, and Ringwood should be still a precocious senior
at Ironhall, yet here he was, on display like a state treasure.

He wondered if Florian ever developed thisfranticneed to scratch.

“The reason for this deception...” Volpe glared at the en-suing ripple of shock. “Yes, it was a deliberate
deception! The reason this deception was necessary was that the acci-dent to the coach in which Her
Royal Highness was travel-ing was no accident. It was contrived, and it was murder!”

Tumult.

 Seeking to divert his attention from the itch that now con-sumed him from his knees to his waist, but
mostly burned in his crotch, Ringwood meditated on being a colonel at his age. If he had done the
calculations correctly, he was now earning more in a year than Dad had made in a lifetime of mending
pots. And there was the small matter of a Grand Duchess kissing him right on the mouth and thanking him
for making it all possible, as if he’d done something brave or remarkable. Ranter and Bellman had done
it, not he. He’d made too many mistakes, just as he’d feared, and only luck had let him win through in the
end.

Volpe had them calmed down again.

 “Obviously whoever the miscreant was who sought to slay the Heir Apparent and his mother, his initial
failure did


Impossible Odds423



 not mean that they were out of danger. Nay! Far from it! The monster might strike again at any time! For
this reason, it was deemed advisable that Her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess and His Highness the
Marquis should disappear from sight. Their deaths were proclaimed so that the mur-derer would believe
his foul schemes had succeeded. Thus might he be lulled into a false sense of security!”
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 Volpe ought to have made a career in epic poetry, Ring-wood thought. He had the audience shivering in
their corsets.

 “To aid in this deception, the noble Margrave Ladislas and his daughter most graciously consented to
engage in a deception—”

Bellman had invented all this foolery in the coach. Now he was sitting there in glory looking as if he
didn’t carewhathappened, please could he just crawl away and die? Proba-bly a week from now he
would be feeling much better and his entire dukedom would be down with the same curse.

“And only today was the killer unmasked!” Volpe’s voice ricocheted through the hall. “The treacherous
Abbot Minhea—”

 The roar of disapproval frightened the Marquis, so Voica led him out, lucky fellow. Ringwood identified
Trudy up in the balcony and wished he dared wink at her. Married! He was married! She was his
forever! That was the most in-credible event of this whole incredible day. What could pos-sibly top that?

 Now the ceremony could proceed, with Volpe reading out the proclamations and Bellman performing
the ceremonial, prompted by whispers from Johanna. He set the silver coro-net on her head, he
bestowed the Order of Gottfried the Glo-rious on her, and finally he knelt to kiss her hand. Only
Ringwood noticed how she chucked him under the chin. Everyone else was cheering loud enough to
drown out the trumpets.


424Dave Duncan



 Now a hundred or so other people would have to come forward and kneel to her. It was going to take a
long time, and no doubt she would savor every moment of it. After that would come the banquet, when
Ringwood would have to stand and watch everyone else eat.

That did not feel like a happy ending.




                                                EPILOGUE

                                              Far, Far Away

Most honored Grand Master,

 I greet you well, commending to your lordship the bearer of this letter, Sir Radu Priboi, personal equerry
to Her Royal Highness, Grand Duchess Johanna of Krupina. The noble knight is a man of most excellent
probity and discretion, charged by Her Grace to deliver this and divers other docu-ments to you. He also
bears letters to others, including their Majesties and some members of the Fellowship of White Sisters.

Yet the kernel of his mission is to lay before you in IronhallInvincible,the sword of Sir Ranter, that it may
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hang in its proper place forever. Sir Ranter died alone and very young, but in the manner of his death his
name is worthy to stand with the greatest in the chronicles of our Order. I enclose herewith a formal
notice of his death for inclusion in theLitany of Heroes. Because this is limited by tradition to the bare
facts, I do earnestly pray your lordship that you will also make known in the hall and throughout our
Order that Sir Ranter with his own


426Dave Duncan

hands slew the evildoer who originated the deaths of Sir Bernard, Sir Clovis, Sir East, Sir Richey, Sir
Valiant, and Sir Yorick. Thereby he avenged their deaths and also those of many other persons, even his
own.

 My ward was moved by Sir Ranter’s sacrifice to consider erecting a statue to him, but on taking counsel
determined that no true likeness could be posthumously wrought and such a memorial would have little
value in a faraway land where our Order is unknown. When honored by a request for advice on this
matter, I ventured to propose that a more fit-ting remembrance would be to donate funds in memory of
Sir Ranter for the upkeep and repair of Ironhall, whose fab-ric and furnishings are in many cases suffering
from age, as your lordship is aware. My ward was graciously pleased to approve this suggestion, and
sends a most generous endow-ment by the hand of Sir Radu, with the prayer that your lord-ship will
accept the same on behalf of our Order. The deed of gift grants your lordship and succeeding Grand
Masters total discretion in the application of these funds for the ben-efit of all candidates in years to
come.

 Sir Radu also brings to your lordship in your private capac-ity, a packet from Master Bellman, which I
understand repre-sents certain financial instruments that your lordship made available to him, but for
which he now sees no need, and which he therefore returns to your purse, being most grateful for your
loving consideration, as was I upon hearing of it.

 I regret that I am forbidden by solemn oaths from reveal-ing all that I am disposed to tell you, and I do
particularly caution your lordship that Sir Radu is not privy to Master Bellman’s current situation. I can
divulge only that he pros-pers, having found gratifying and meaningful employment well suited to his
talents, and is most happily married to a lady of great estate and personal charm.

Sir Radu may freely disclose to you my own happy cir-


Impossible Odds427

 cumstances. Although the duties of a solitary Blade can be onerous, His Royal Highness has generously
appointed me commander of the Palace Guard, granting me the means and authority to train assistants
who are already able to ease my burden. It is no small perquisite to dwell in a royal palace! You may be
surprised to hear of my own marriage, to the former Sister Gertrude of the Fellowship of the White
Sis-ters, who accompanied us on our journey and at divers times saved us from peril, but our union
brings us both great hap-piness and is likely to be blessed with progeny even before you read these
words.

 In closing, although my joy is tempered by grief at Sir Ranter’s untimely end, I am content to inform your
lordship that the mission you assigned to us last summer, which we un-dertook with trepidation and scant
hope of success, has been brought to successful fruition. Our ward came safely home, al-though not
without some anxious moments, and our efforts aided in resolving Krupina’s problems, so that the land
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again rejoices in the rule of a sagacious and benevolent Grand Duke, secure in the prospect of the royal
line being legitimately ex-tended to future generations. Lord Volpe’s part in the turbulent events of a year
or so ago proved on careful analysis by Mas-ter Bellman to have been misrepresented, and I know for a
fact that Provost Volpe and His Royal Highness are now on better terms than they had been for many
years past.

Most honored lord, I pray that this brief report will meet with your approval.

Done by my hand in Krupina, this first day of Thirdmoon, 406 (Chivian style)

Ringwood, Companion