This Rough Magic (74 page)

"Where will I find you, master?" asked the man. "I'm from down south. I don't know my way around these foreign parts."

The Corfiotes always managed to make their island sound six hundred miles long, not about forty. "Just come up this valley. Someone will see you and bring you to me."

The man nodded resignedly.

"You must let me see my little one before I will go back. You must." There was an edge of hysteria and distrust in that voice.

The one named Aldanto shrugged. "See. But not touch or speak to. He's in the hut, guarded by the dog."

The peasant walked fearfully to the entrance of the hut. That yellow dog made him very nervous. Then, peeking inside, his face relaxed. He stared a while, then turned and reset his face into a grim determination. "Very well. But you hurt him and I will kill you."

The blond smiled at him. "Just do your part."

"You will let him go unhurt?"

"I will not touch a hair on the boy's head, if you do as you're told. I swear it. And I'll reward you with ten gold ducats."

"I don't want money. Just my child."

He turned and left.

High up in the clear blue sky, two hawks turned, too.

In the shepherd's hut, the shaman studied what was left of the boy: only a scrap of chewed bone on the bloody, but once lovingly embroidered, child's waistcoat. Just enough to conjure a good seeming from the magical principals of contagion and sympathy.

The dog's long red tongue licked the yellow teeth. Even the marrow in those dainty bones had been sweet.

"This is a bad place. Hawks keep chasing rabbits."

"Your control over them is weak."

"I have their names. They cannot do this," grumbled the shaman, muttering a string of words in Finno-Urgic.

The Caesare puppet shrugged. "Well, we have the general locality, we have a rendezvous. We need to plan everything carefully. It's not going to be easy. I've tried to ambush this one before once. It went badly."

Bianca was finally able to get rid of her "relatives" the day after the failed Hungarian assault. At her suggestion, her supposed uncle and aunt ventured outside with her the next morning, sharing in the general glee of the Citadel's inhabitants that another of Emeric's ploys had failed. They headed toward the walls, wanting to see the now-ruined moles.

Their path, as Bianca ushered them along, took them by an old stone-walled building that had suffered a fair amount of damage from cannon fire since the siege began. Some of the stones were now loose, held in place by wooden bracing. The night before, under cover of darkness, Bianca had smeared the stones and the wood supports with the special ointment she'd made up. Then, softly spoken the necessary incantations over them.

She accompanied her "uncle" and "aunt" on their promenade, chatting with them cheerfully. As they neared the wall of the old building, she stopped suddenly and went down on one knee.

"My shoe's got something in it. I'll catch up with you."

They continued on. When the moment was right, Bianca murmured the final words of the incantation.

It all worked very nicely. Following the principles of contagion and similarity, the wooden supports gave way and almost sailed toward her victims' heads. The loose stones followed, completing the work.

By the time Bianca's screams brought passersby to help her in her frantic attempts to remove the debris, her "relatives" were quite dead. The face and skull of her "aunt" were so badly crushed as to be unrecognizable.

Four priests, standing already at the fortress walls and inspecting the ruined moles, seemed to flinch as one man. Two of them raised hands to their heads, as if in sudden pain.

"And again!" hissed Eneko.

"Who
is
she?" wondered Diego, lowering his hands slowly and a bit shakily. "And where is she hiding?"

"I don't know. But we must start searching for her in earnest. This creature
must
be stopped."

Something about the whole situation made Erik nervous. It just didn't feel right. "The rest of you stay back here. Deploy scouts on the ridge. Kari, Basil, Dimitris, let's go forward."

The hut appeared deserted. A low stone structure, a mere single room, it didn't appear to have many possible hiding places. And except for the long moon-lit shadows of the ridgeline they were advancing down, no close hiding places. Erik sniffed. It was a balmy night and warm air was full of the scents of wild thyme. So why could he now suddenly smell something totally out of place in the Ionian air?

Ice. Sea ice. And something he'd last smelled with Abbot Sachs and Chernobog's vessel. Like too sweet an incense. It made him want to sneeze.

It also made him very tense. The hilt of the tomahawk slid into his hand, and he walked forward alertly.

A shot rang out, from the hut ahead of them. Erik dove to the left. Basil screamed and fell. Kari's pistol boomed. The glamour used to hide the ambush wavered and was gone. Erik, yelling like a banshee and running for cover, threw the tomahawk. It hit the target dead center, splitting his skull. The arquebus he'd been aiming at Erik went off. A flurry of other shots followed.

There was more fire from the ridge where the rest had waited. But Kari, Dimitris and Erik, saved by a premature shot, were back in the rocks.

"Basil?"

"He was shot in the stomach." The Corfiote pointed. "Look down there, Erik!"

The last of the moonlight shone on at least fifty steel helmets coming up the valley.

"We'll go over the top, past the hut. They're coming down to look for us now. Just stay put."

"Fan out!" shouted an enemy officer, now so close Erik could have almost cut his throat.

"They'll be running down the hill," Erik whispered. "They might try to come back up when they see the squad down there."

A few hundred tense heartbeats later and the pursuit was heading off down the hill. At a loping dog-trot the three went upward. Erik had a chance to see young Basil. Someone had cut his throat in passing. Erik could only be glad. He'd have had to give the youth battle-mercy himself otherwise.

"Present for you," said Kari, handing him his hatchet. "Now let's get out of here. Dimitris is bleeding."

They ran on, finding it hard going in the dark. Fortunately, thought Erik, it must be as hard for the enemy . . . but it didn't seem to be.

"There's a dog or something with them," panted Dimitris. "It's following us. I heard it."

Pausing, Erik listened. He heard a baying howl, quite close, very clear. No other barks answered. And by crashing through the maquis, the dog was way ahead of its human support. "Kari, you go ahead with Dimitris. He needs help. I'll deal with this dog. We won't shake them while they've got the dog."

"You be all right?"

"It's only one dog. I'll see who follows it. Might be worth leading them astray a bit."

Soon Erik realized that the dog was definitely after him. And, just as he was turning to look for a good spot to deal with the beast, he ran into a neat ambush.

He nearly got three bullets in him—and would have if Thalia hadn't yelled "hold!"

"Erik!" It was some five of his own men, and Thalia. "Rearguard," said Giuliano. "The others are already ahead. We were just setting some booby traps to slow them down. Watch it. There is a cliff over there."

"Dog behind me," panted Erik.

And then it was onto them. Gaunt, pale in the starlight, yelping with hunting bloodlust. Erik saw the bullet hit it . . . but it did not stop. It sprang straight for his throat. Erik barely had time to grab the creature's paws, and stop it.

It was incredibly strong, and almost slimy. Hot, carrion-scented breath washed over him as it snapped furiously. Another shot rang out, with no obvious effect. The creature turned to bite at his hands. Erik dropped and, putting both his feet into its gut, gave the pale hound the full benefit of a flying mare. The dog hit a limestone boulder on the edge of cliff with a sickening crack.

And it got up in a single bound.

Thalia threw her bird-net. The creature tumbled in a tangle of meshes, snapping and yowling as if in pain. "Quick! Over the edge!" yelled Giuliano, grabbing one side of the net. He and Erik heaved and the net bag flew over the edge. Erik heard it bouncing and yowling on its way downward. He hoped it was a long, long way.

"Let's get out of here. We can set booby traps further on."

They hadn't gone more than a hundred yards when Kari hailed them. "Deal with the dog all right?" he asked cheerfully.

They'd taken every precaution to lose the scent, even if that demon-dog survived the fall. Down to the coast they'd gone, and walked in the water; then, come out into a stream, which they'd eventually left by way of an overhanging tree and then up onto some rocks.

Erik's feet were still very wet. And he was grim. He'd lost two men. Basil, who had been with him, and Luco, who had fallen in the skirmish with the rest of the group. And Dimitris's wound would keep him out of combat for weeks. What was more, he knew very well that they'd gotten clear by luck. The enemy were becoming more cunning.

Back in the forward camp, Erik found their peasant hostage—with a bump on his head and tied very securely. "He tried to make a bolt for it," explained Theo.

"Not surprising, that," said Kari, taking out his knife. "He's not going to have another chance."

The peasant's eyes widened with horror. Not at the sight of the knife. He didn't even seem to notice that. At the sight of Erik.

Erik looked back at him, dispassionately. "We'll have to move. But first we'll have to deal with this traitor. Show that no kind of money is worth this."

"I did not do it for money. I would not touch their filthy money. But they have my son, lord. They said they would kill him if I didn't bring you."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Where do they have your son?"

"Please, lord. He is only a little boy. Four years old. Don't blame or hurt him."

"We do not make war on children," snapped Thalia. "Traitor."

His eyes blazed at her. "What could I do? They held my boy. They still hold him," he said bitterly. "They'll kill him. They'll think I betrayed them."

Erik saw a way to snatch a victory out this debacle. "Where is this child being held? We'll get him out."

The peasant prisoner gaped at him. Stammered. "But . . . but . . . I . . ." Words deserted him.

"Where is their base?"

"Kanakades."

"While they hunt us, we'll visit them," said Erik, with a savage smile. "They won't be in a hurry to trust peasants again, because they'll think you betrayed them. And they'll be a lot more wary. When you have to leave guards everywhere you have fewer men to fight with. Cut him loose, Theo."

"But Erik . . ."

"I can outrun him anyway. If we go along the other side of the Ropa, we should manage to avoid them."

The peasant made no attempt to run when they cut him loose. "I can show you where their patrols are." He paused. "If you save my son . . . well. I understand. My life is yours. But not my boy's. He is innocent."

"You've cost us two good men. And a good bird-net. And you've put some demon-dog onto our trail. As Thalia said: We don't make war on children. Or on peasants. But we'll expect blood-price from you for each of them."

"It was a very good net," said Thalia, quietly. "The priest blessed it. It fed us well."

Erik suspected it was not the knotted cords that had troubled the dog. The thing had not been worried by the bullets after all. It had been those blessings.

"It was an excellent net," Erik told her. "And one of the best throws I've seen. We must find you another one, since that's what stopped that creature. Although next time we'll try prayer, too."

Having someone who knew where the patrols were made getting to the Croat encampment very easy and very fast. They could see their pursuit beating the bushes across the valley, but there were only two men in this camp: the cook and the remount escort. They weren't prepared for trouble.

The peasant sprinted for the ruined house on the corner, calling "Spiro!"

There was a moment's silence. And then a scream. A terrible cry.

Erik and several of the others ran toward him.

The peasant was on his knees, clutching at a piece of torn, embroidered cloth. There were a few bone fragments scattered around him. A partially gnawed femur lay in front of the man.

Erik closed his eyes. "God have mercy on his soul," he said hoarsely.

Eventually, the man stood up, his face a deathly gray. "He gave my son to the dog." He looked at the bones; looked at the remains of the little waistcoat. "The bloodstains are dry already." His voice began to rise. "My boy has been dead since I left. I swear before God and all the saints that I will kill that blond man. I will spill his life for the life of my son.
I will kill him!"
he shrieked.

"No." Thalia spoke. Her voice was flat. "You will pay back the blood-debt first."

She picked up the gnawed thigh-bone and pushed it into the hand still holding the scrap of the waistcoat. "Go. Go find your kin. Your brothers. Your cousins. Your friends. Hunt them through the maquis. Find them and show them these two things. Show them the tooth-marks on his bone. Tell them what you did, and how the Hungarians repaid you. And then bury these remains of your son. Bury them in the churchyard with honor, because he died with honor. You have not lived with it."

He looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then nodded and turned away.

"You are just going to let him go?" asked Ambrosino. "He betrayed us, after all. We can't have peasants thinking they can do that and get away with it."

Erik looked at the Venetian. Of all of the recruits, this one had fitted in least well. Ambrosino kept himself to himself. "He's suffered enough. Under the circumstances I might have done the same," said Erik shortly.

"And I reckon within two weeks the story will have spread to every peasant on Corfu, Uncle," said Giuliano, somberly. "You don't understand what it feels like. But I do. That man will suffer until he dies."