The Shadow of the Lion by Mercedes Lackey, Eric Flint & Dave Freer
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
The Shadow of the Lion by Mercedes Lackey, Eric Flint & Dave Freer This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2002 by Mercedes Lackey, Eric Flint & Dave Freer All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. A Baen Books Original Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403 Riverdale, NY 10471 www.baen.com ISBN: 0-7434-3523-0 Cover art by Larry Dixon First printing, March 2002 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lackey, Mercedes. The shadow of the lion / Mercedes Lackey, Eric Flint & Dave Freer. p. cm. ISBN 0-7434-3523-0 1. Venice (Italy)—History—1508–1797—Fiction. 2. Brothers—Fiction. 3. Monsters—Fiction. I. Flint, Eric. II. Freer, Dave. III. Title. PS3562.A246 S53 2002 813'.54—dc21 2001056466 Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH Printed in the United States of America World eBook Library Consortia Baen Free Library Science Fiction eBook Collection The World eBook Library, www.worldLibrary.net is an effort to preserve and disseminate literature, serials, bibliographies, dictionaries, encyclopedias, and other reference works in a number of languages and countries around the world. Our mission is to serve the public, aid students and educators by providing public access to the world's most complete collection of electronic books on-line as well as offer a variety of services and resources that support and strengthen the instructional programs of education, elementary through post baccalaureate studies. *This eBook has certain copyright implications you should read.* This book is copyrighted by the Baen Publishing Enterprises, http://www.baen.com/library. With permission copies may be distributed so long as such copies (1) are for your or others personal use only, and (2) are not distributed or used commercially. Prohibited distribution includes any service that offers this file for download or commercial distribution in any form, (See complete disclaimer http://worldlibrary.net/Copyrights.html) or email Librarian@baen. com World eBook Library Consortia P.O. Box 22687 Honolulu, Hawaii 96823 [email protected] To the world's firefighters; and, especially: to the hundreds of those in the Fire Department of New York who died in the line of duty on September 11, 2001. BAEN BOOKS by MERCEDES LACKEY BARDIC VOICES The Lark & the Wren The Robin & the Kestrel The Eagle & the Nightingales The Free Bards Four & Twenty Blackbirds Bardic Choices: A Cast of Corbies (with Josepha Sherman) The Fire Rose Fiddler Fair Werehunter Lammas Night (edited by Josepha Sherman) The Ship Who Searched (with Anne McCaffrey) Wing Commander: Freedom Flight (with Ellen Guon) URBAN FANTASIES Bedlam's Bard (omnibus with Ellen Guon) Beyond World's End (with Rosemary Edghill) Spirits White as Lightning (with Rosemary Edghill) The SERRAted Edge: Chrome Circle (with Larry Dixon) The Chrome Borne (omnibus with Larry Dixon) The Otherworld (omnibus with Mark Shepherd & Holly Lisle) THE BARD'S TALE NOVELS Castle of Deception (with Josepha Sherman) Fortress of Frost & Fire (with Ru Emerson) Prison of Souls (with Mark Shepherd) BAEN BOOKS by ERIC FLINT The Philosophical Strangler Forward the Mage (with Richard Roach) The Belisarius series, with David Drake: An Oblique Approach In the Heart of Darkness Destiny's Shield Fortune's Stroke The Tide of Victory The Tyrant (with David Drake) (forthcoming) 1632 Mother of Demons BAEN BOOKS by DAVE FREER The Forlorn Rats, Bats, and Vats (with Eric Flint) Pyramid Scheme (with Eric Flint) Prologue April, 1537 A.D. MAINZ The yellow lantern-lights of Mainz's dockside inns reached out across the dark Rhine. Standing on the prow of the riverboat, Erik Hakkonsen stared at them, thinking of little more than food and a bed. He'd left his home in Iceland three weeks earlier, to answer the Emperor's summons. They'd had a stormy crossing. Then the late spring thaw had ensured that the roads of the Holy Roman Empire were fetlock deep in glutinous mud. And, finally, the river had been full and the rain steady. Tomorrow he would have to go to the Imperial palace, and find out how to seek an interview with Emperor Charles Fredrik. But tonight he could sleep. The riverboat nudged into the quay. A wet figure stepped out from under the eaves of the inn. "Is there one Erik Hakkonsen on this vessel?" he demanded, half-angrily. The rain hadn't been kind to the skinny courtier's bright cloak. The satin clung to him, and he was shivering. Erik pushed back his oilskin-hood. "I'm Hakkonsen." "Thank God for that! I'm soaked to the skin. I've been here for hours," complained the man. "Come. I've got horses in the stable. The Emperor awaits you." Erik made no move. "Who are you?" The fellow shivered. "Baron Trolliger. The Emperor's privy secretary." He held out his hand to show a heavy signet. It was incised with the Roman Eagle. That was not a seal anyone would dare to forge. Erik nodded. "I'll get my kit." The shivering baron shook his head. "Leave it." He pointed to the sailor who had paused in his mooring to stare. "You. Watch over this man's gear. Someone will be sent for it." As much as anything else, the alacrity with which the sailor obeyed the order drove home the truth to Erik. He was in the heart of the Holy Roman Empire, for a certainty. In his native Iceland—or Vinland, or anywhere else in the League of Armagh—that peremptory order would have been ignored, if not met with outright profanity. "Come," the baron repeated. "The Emperor is waiting." * * * Passing from the narrow dark streets and sharp-angled tall houses into the brightness of the imperial palace, Erik had little time to marvel and gawk at the heavy gothic splendor of it all. Instead, Baron Trolliger rushed him through—still trailing mud—into a large austere room. As soon as Erik entered, the baron closed the door behind him, not entering himself. In the center of the room, staring at Erik, stood the most powerful man in all of Europe. He was a large man, though now a bit stooped from age. His eyebrows seemed as thick and heavy as the purple cloak he was wearing; his eyes, a shade of blue so dark they almost matched the cloak. Charles Fredrik. The latest in a long line of Hohenstauffens. Guardian of the Church, Bulwark of the Faith. Lord of lands from northern Italy to the pagan marches in the Baltic. Ruler over millions of people throughout central Europe. The Holy Roman Emperor, himself. In direct line of descent from the great Fredrick Barbarossa. All of that mattered little to Erik. His tie to the Emperor was a clan tie, not a dynastic one. He was there to become the Emperor's servant, not his subject. So, Erik simply bowed to the old man, rather than kneeling, and spoke no words of fealty. Simply the old oath: "Linn gu linn." The words were Gaelic, but the oath that bound him came from the cold fjells of pagan Norway. An oath that went back generations, to the time when a Hohenstauffen prince had rescued a pagan clan from demons set loose by their own foolishness. Charles Fredrik spoke like an old man—despite being no older than Erik's father. But he voiced the ritual words strongly. "From generation to generation." He held out the dagger that Erik had heard described with infinite care all his life. The dagger was iron. Old iron. Sky iron. Hammered with stone in the pagan Northlands, from a fallen thunderbolt. The hilt was shaped into a dragon head—the detail lost in the blurring of hundreds of years of use. It still drew blood for the blood-oath like new steel did. "Blood for blood. Clan for clan." Erik renewed the oath calmly. After binding their wounds himself, Charles Fredrik took Erik by the elbow and led him across to a window. The window was a mere arrow-slit, testimony to the palace's ancient origins. Against modern cannon, such fortifications were almost useless. But . there was a certain undeniable, massive dignity to the huge edifice. There they stood, silent for some time, looking out at the scattered shawl of lights which was the great sleeping city of Mainz. Erik was quite sure that those lights represented more people than lived in all Iceland. Their lives, and those of many more, rested in the hands of the old man standing next to him. The Emperor seemed to have read his thoughts. "It is a great load, at times," he said softly. His heavy jaws tightened. The next words were spoken almost harshly. "I have called for the Clann Harald because my heirs have need. My son is . very sickly. And I do not expect my only surviving brother to outlive me. Not with his wounds. So I must take special care to watch over my two nephews, for it is quite likely that one of them will succeed to the throne after I am gone." The Emperor sighed. "Your older brother Olaf watched over my nephew Conrad for his bond-time, as your father Hakkon watched over me." A slight smile came to his face. "To my surprise, I find I miss him. He used to beat me, you know." "He has told me about it, Godar of the Hohenstauffen." Erik did not add: Often.