Speak to the Devil Read Online Free PDF

face.
    “Your soul?” Anton protested. “I never asked you to Speak. I didn’t know you
had
Spoken until you told me yesterday. I thought Morningstar and I did that jump all by ourselves.”
    “Truly?” Wulf’s yellow eyes glinted. “There I was, comfortably sitting on wet grass eating some noble leftovers in the company of six ignorant churls and a million horseflies, making eyes at a young nursemaid just on principle, when I see you waving for me to come running. The which I then do, anxious lest you need your nose wiped, and you say only, ‘Pray for me!’ Straightaway, you spur your horse down the side of a cliff and into an impossible double jump.”
    “It wasn’t impossible!”
    “Yes it was. And you knew what sort of prayer you were asking for.”
    Anton sighed. “I suppose I did sort of hint. But I was going to try it anyway, and if my survival was your doing, or your saints’ doing, then I’m very grateful. What did you actually do, by the way? After I left?”
    “I fell on my knees and begged St. Victorinus to preserve you.”
    “Aloud?”
    “It doesn’t work otherwise.”
    Who else ever prayed to St. Victorinus? Who but Wulf had ever heard of St. Victorinus? Obviously Wulf’s odd behavior had been noted and reported, so Zdenek had known all along that it was Anton’s brother who was the Speaker. At the end, when the cardinal had tricked Anton into admitting that he would have to take Wulf along to Cardice, that had been mere confirmation.
    “Perfectly natural behavior. You saw me careering downhill like that, so of course you appealed to Our Lady to save me. There was no one close enough to hear what you actually said.”
    “I just hope you’re right,” Wulf said skeptically and went back to shaving.
    Anton decided that a little more sincerity was required. “Wulf, I know it wasn’t fair of me. It was an impulse. I saw a chance to catch the eye of people who matter in this kingdom. It was for both our sakes. And for Vlad, too, remember! This town swarms with fine horsemen, but riding’s the only skill I have that could get me promoted.”
    “You told me that swiving would,” Wulf said scornfully.
    “It did.”
    “Really? She does have influence at court?”
    “Well, let me show you!” Anton dug in the satchel. “The baldric of a companion in the Order of St. Vaclav … a marshal’s baton … letters patent making me a count.”
    His brother hooted. “By the blood, you must be almost as good as you say you are! Better than good—you must be stupendous! So you humped your way into a singing role in the next court masque?” Still laughing, the kid turned his back to continue his ordeal with the razor. Now that he had blown off his anger, the incident was closed. He had never carried grudges, fortunately, despite innumerable excuses provided by four older brothers.
    So far so good, except that Anton would now have to reopen the wound.
    He said, “Listen. We must be quick. I’ve got Morningstar and Sparrow downstairs, all ready to go.”
    “Go where?”
    Anton spread out the engraving. “Do you know where this is?”
    Wulf glanced over his shoulder. “That’s Castle Gallant. I’ve seen a print of it before.”
    “It’s mine now,” Anton said. He lowered his voice to a whisper. The antiquities below were both deaf and the floor was surprisingly solid and soundproof, but he was going to be revealing state secrets. “I’ve just come from a meeting with the Scarlet Spider himself. He’s given me a job. Given
us
a job, I mean. There’s bad trouble brewing in the north. The Wends are massing to invade and they’ve blindsided him, although he didn’t admit that. He thinks Pomerania is about to attack Castle Gallant, which holds the Silver Road. Now the keeper is dead, murdered by witchcraft, and his son also. He’s survived by—”
    “You mean the army’s mustering?” Wulf spun around, eyes bright. “We’re riding north?”
    “Not the army, just us. Stop leering,