The floor of the wing in which they had been imprisoned was made of sound eight inch oak boards, laid on even thicker joists. Good oak was common just over the mountains.
They were no match for a determined Manfred and several other axe wielders.
Hauling timbers clear, they tried shining a light down, but couldn't see what was below them. Eventually they settled on sending down David tied on a rope, with a candle. "At least if it is a cistern we can pull you back up, boy. Wouldn't like to try it with Manfred," said Von Gherens.
It proved to be a refectory, some fifteen feet below. David tried to haul a table under the hole. But even without his injured arm, it was too heavy. So they lowered the next knight. And the next. Then David, with the candle, found the the pantry and the pantry ladder, which, on top of the table made the descent plausible for the armored men.
David had, by this time, peered out into the passage, as it suddenly occurred to him that someone should be curious about the noise they were making.
It was very dark. Not a brand nor a candle to be seen.
"Tell someone we will need candles," he sent the message to the last knights up in their quarters. In the meantime he raided the pantry. Looking for candles, of course. He found some tallow dips, and a pasty.
The knights stepped out into the passage, with candles…
Which promptly went out.
They returned to the refectory, and lit them again. The candle went out as soon as it was in the passage. "Brothers," said Falkenberg. "There is some form of dark magic afoot in this place. Let us try a good psalm."
"And surround them with steel and the sign of the Cross," said Von Stael.
As long as they kept the candles or tallow dips inside the phalanx of steel, as long as the singing continued, they had light. It did mean that they weren't going to be able sneak up on anyone.
Before long they started finding dead bodies.
"No one we know, is it?"
Manfred turned the woman's body over with his boot. Looked at what she was wearing. "I really don't think so," he said. David, from the center of the phalanx was glad that he couldn't see it, by the sounds of Manfred's voice.
And then they heard the chanting.
"Sounds like a Gregorian chant. But there is something very wrong with it," said Von Stael, as the rest of the knights kept up their singing.
"Well, let's go and see just what it is. "
But it was very clear that they were being opposed somehow. Misled down passages that took them away. They arrived at the refectory again. "Cruciform swords… and we will walk widdershins. Not try to follow the sound."
They were definitely getting closer.
"Something huge scraped along this passage," said someone. "Look at the scratches. And the sconces have all been ripped off the walls."
David could see that. And yet the knights kept advancing.
Then there was a silence… followed by screaming. Horrified, angry screaming, and the candles suddenly burned brighter.
A knight held one outside of the steel wall.
It stayed alight.
"Onwards!"
They moved forward at a rapid pace.
Ahead were the open doors to the chapel, across a wide hall, spilling running people. People who took one look at the knights and their shields with the triple cross and ran off down the hall, as if their tails were on fire. Some of them weren't covering those tails too well, thought David, peering through a gap in the steel elbows. And then suddenly the crowd, who had fled down the hallway were trying to come back. Screaming.
The knights, shoulder to shoulder, big men all, pushed forward through the crowd-who wanted to flee, not attack. The steel wedge made its way into the chapel.
And stopped. Lightnings arced across the lead knight's armor. He fell back onto his companions.
In the desecrated chapel, the prisoners found themselves able to move more easily. It appeared that most of Elizabeth's 'congregation' could move too. All they seemed to want to do was flee. That was just as well, as by sheer numbers they could have overwhelmed the handful of Mongol with Vlad, Erik and Dana.
Erik still stood looking at the last putrefying remains of Elizabeth, his sword at the ready. She stank less in death, and the rapid decay, than she had for him in life. Bortai too stood for a frozen moment. And then they both fell together, Erik holding her and her holding him as if there would be no tomorrow. Well, a few moments ago there had not been.
Most of Elizabeth's retainers were pressing to get away from them. But not one of her followers, who had just sat up from where he had landed next to the altar. "You killed her! You killed the mistress," screamed the dwarf, running to the oozing, rotting pile, from which bones already protruded. Time had caught up with her with a vengeance. Erik lifted his sword.
"He is so small," said Bortai.
Erik looked at the vicious little eyes, the hate-contorted face and the too large head. "Sometimes we need to remember evil can also reside in those less fortunate. We should judge a man on his deeds, and not on his appearance. And no matter what misfortune he has suffered, nothing can excuse this."
Her slave sprang, snarling, at Bortai. It was the last thing he ever did.
And Dana began to sing again. The same song, but there was a triumphant thankfulness in her voice. After a moment Vlad joined her. And then another voice. One of the other victims that had been brought by the Satanists, was sitting hunched and terrified, but still managing to sing.
They found four of the would-be victims. Alive, frightened and desperately grateful.
"Let's get out this place," said Vlad.
But they could not.
The crowd that had escaped the chapel had pushed away from the knights. All but one. He was a boy of about ten and he had flung himself against them and clung to Ritter De Berenden's knees.
The others were adults. And all of the others only wanted to get away. The knight called to his companion-who happened to be Manfred. Manfred too realized the difference. "What's he saying?"
"Hungarian gabble, Prince Manfred," said the Knight. "That and the name of Christ. Here. Maernburg. You have some Hungarian. See if you can understand."
The knight pushed his way over. Knelt in front of the boy who was still clinging like a limpet. Spoke to him. The child, sobbing, spoke. The big Knight picked him up. Held him. "He says that the devil was in there. And then the woman and blond man killed her."
Manfred looked at Falkenberg.
"Erik," they said together.
"We have to get inside there," said Manfred.
"Knights will lock arms, reverse your blades, ground the tips and we will advance. Singing a glad song to the Lord," ordered Falkenberg. "Take that boy David. You. Maernberg. Guard them."
"You may need a Mongol speaker, sir," said David. He did not want to go into that chapel. But Von Stael was going, and he knew a squire's place.
"Then we'll fetch you. Move."
So David found himself holding a Hungarian peasant brat, with huge, tear-streaked eyes. The kid looked half starved. So David gave him the pasty he'd stolen. The boy looked as if he expected it to turn into a scorpion. But he held it. "Ritter Maernberg. What's eat it in Hungarian?"
"Eszik." The knight said. "They are shouting something about hell-hounds out there in the halls."
The knights, still singing, moved forward slowly into the chapel, energies crackling and cascading off their armor. It was designed for this. Magic had been the main advantage of Grand Duke's armory against the knights of the Holy Trinity, once. Still, this was very strong magic.
But so was cold steel.
Erik spotted the coruscating mass pushing through the door.
All he could see was lightnings.
"More devilry," said Bortai. She still held his hand.
Her two chaperons were comforting the former victims-as much by smiles and kindness as by speech, as they did not share any common language. The shaman was busy attempting yet another trance. He'd been deeply upset about how the chapel seemed to affect his abilities. He'd been barely able to use his familiar and a very powerful talisman. Vlad and Dana were talking earnestly. The four other Mongols were testing the barrier, systematically.
And now a fiery thing of sparks and lightnings was coming in to attack them. Erik wondered just how he could protect them from this, when he suddenly started to laugh. He recognized the shape of the spiked shoulder bosses and the helmets, even when they were dancing with little lightnings.
"Did I say something funny?" asked Bortai, a dimple appearing.
"No. That's not another problem. It's the knights trying to rescue us. Look, you can see their feet. "
"So how do we get to them?"
They eventually solved the problem by crawling between their legs.
It was undignified but a lot better than staying in the chapel with the corpses.
The minute he crossed the pentacle threshold of the chapel, Vlad felt it come back. As if he'd been a tree that had had its roots severed. Power and strength flowed back into his limbs.
"I'm alive again," said Dana, incredulously.
The circle of steel opened, visors lifted, and they found themselves in a circle of smiling knights. "What the hell have you been up to without me?" demanded Manfred grinning, squeezing Erik's shoulder.
"Hell is the right word," said Erik. "We've been in the portal of it. We owe our lives and probably our souls to Bortai."
"To Shaman Kaltegg. He break spell. I just kill devil-woman."
"We have trouble, Ritters," said someone.
Manfred groaned. "What is it this time?"
"Hell hounds, Prince Manfred."
Vlad stepped forward. Here, back in his strength and power, he'd deal with any hell-hounds.
And then his sister began to giggle and rushed toward the eyes and teeth and fur at the rim of the candle-light, pushing past the knights.
Vlad followed, willy-nilly.
They weren't hell-hounds.
They were big, bristling gray wolves. And Dana flung herself at the leader of the pack. Wrapped her arms around his neck. "What took you so long, Angelo?" she said thickly.
Vlad felt-strange. As if this was something he had known, or should know, or had expected without knowing he had expected. And he was not afraid of these wolves. Not at all. They felt-like friends.
"You are not supposed to know this, girl," said a familiar gypsy voice.
It sent another jolt of not-memory through him.
Dana stood up. Stamped her foot. "I'm not stupid, you know. I worked it out long ago."
"I am," said Vlad, shaking his head, trying to work out how the wolves could be he gypsies or the gypsies wolves…
"The king of the wolves has a pact with the Prince of the land," growled Angelo. "I see that you broke her enchantments."
That sounded right. More, it felt right. Things he still didn't understand with his head settled into place around his heart and soul, and Vlad nodded. This was exactly like how he had known in his bone that Dana was his sister. Understanding could come later. "We did. Now we need to round up these servants of hers before they escape. And there are prisoners in her dungeons to be freed."
"We guard the stable yard already."
"A rescue, A rescue!" shouted someone in Szekely Hungarian. "The prince is surrounded by wolves!"
Vlad had to do some hasty explaining before anyone could spit a 'gypsy'. It was a good thing that the Szekelers were so loyal to him.
It was busy night-what was left of it. But by morning they had the last of her servants ferreted out-good noses had been a great help help-and penned in the refectory. The building had been searched from cloister to dungeon, and nearly forty young victims found and liberated.
Vlad did not want to think about the ones they had been too late for.
But the knights held a requiem mass for them, in the courtyard, at dawn.
Somehow the strange wolfish dogs had disappeared.
A caravan of gypsy sleds arrived just after terce, as a group of horrified town elders from Caedonia were being escorted through the secret dungeon.