This Rough Magic Page 39

  The young woman snorted with laughter and handed them the wine. "And you'll keep owing him interest until the day he dies." She pointed to the tables. "Sit. I'll go and find you some food."

  They sat. Spiro took a pull at his wine cup. "More water than wine."

  It tasted pretty good to Benito. "So, what are you doing here, Spiro. Is this home?"

  The Corfiote gestured expansively. "This dump? Ha. Liapádhes is a great metropolis. Broad streets, wonderful tavernas. Wine like a young lion. As far from this place as the sun is from the earth."

  Benito was beginning to get the hang of Spiro by now. "So it is just like this, is it?"

  Spiro gave him a conspiratorial wink and took another pull of his wine. "Two peas in a pod, really, except this has got a good defensive position. It's about a mile and half south."

  "How did you get home from Venice?"

  Spiro raised his cup. "A Dorma ship, thanks to you. I was with her all the way to Constantinople. I'd have stayed with her too, but when I got back to Corfu, on the return trip, there was a bit of family business I had to settle. A fellow had taken some liberties with my sister." He swallowed half the contents of his cup at a go. "So after I had thanked him very politely, I went back to Kérkira, but the ship had left. I couldn't come back to Liapádhes for a while. So I took a job with a fisherman. Taki drinks too much but he's a good skipper. Then this lot blew up. So I thought I'd come home. Only home seemed to be full of Hungarians. And you, Benito?"

  Benito's ears had pricked up with the mention of the fisherman. "Got sent out here to be a factor for Dorma. And then this war blew up. Look, this fisherman friend of yours. He wouldn't like to earn a bit of money? I really want out of here back to the Italian mainland."

  At this point, Anna the taverna keeper arrived with two earthenware platters, fragrant steam curling up from them. "I had some of last night's stifado still. I've just made it hot. That one," she pointed an elbow at Spiro, "didn't eat last night. So I thought he might as well eat this morning, and you looked hungry."

  Spiro looked suspiciously at the plate of pearl onion-laced stew that she put in front of him. "It hasn't got quinces in it again, has it? You know I hate quinces."

  She shook her head as she wiped her hands on her apron. Then she held out a hand to Benito. "And that's why he ate three helpings."

  Benito handed over the silver. She looked at it very carefully. She was polite enough not to bite it in front of him. "It seems real enough. You want more wine with that?"

  Spiro drained his cup. "Seems like a good idea. I'm not likely to get this lucky again in a hurry, and I don't see us fishing for a while yet. Which answers your question, Benito. The Dalmatian pirates sink any boat they can find. Even fishing boats."

  Benito waited for the taverna keeper to walk off. "Even for a good bit of coin? Working at night?"

  Spiro shrugged. "I'll ask around. My old skipper Taki would be your best bet. He's up in the hills with his cousin Georgio. He's probably so sick of the old man and his goats that he'd be ready to try anything by now. I could get word to him. Some of the boys who go out with the goats would do anything for a few coppers."

  Wordlessly, Benito dug out a few copper coins and a silver penny. He held back the silver penny. "That one is for finding somebody else. A whole bunch of them. Big guys with blond hair and a blond woman with them."

  Spiro stuck his hand out. "I'll have the silver too, thanks. Easiest money I've ever earned. They're in a cave in a gorge about a mile and a half east of here."

  "What!" Benito started. "Are you sure?"

  Spiro grinned. "Well, I was fairly sober when I heard about them. That's the trouble with being broke, you know. Do you want them alive or dead?" he asked around a mouthful of stew, still holding his hand out.

  "Alive! Definitely alive!"

  "Then you'd better get a move on. They stole some of Cheretis's goats and he's got all the men going out this morning. They're planning to burn them out."

  Benito knocked over the chair in his haste to get up. "Come on! We must find Erik!" He hauled Spiro out of his seat.

  "But I haven't finished eating! And the wine is still coming!"

  "You want gold, not silver, you'll come and show us the way to this place as fast as possible." Benito hustled him along, trying to think where he'd be most likely to find Erik. The stables perhaps?

  "Where are you going?" yelled the taverna keeper. "Here is your wine and your change. You haven't eaten your food!"

  "We'll be back. Emergency!" yelled Benito.

  Sure enough, Erik and Thalia were in the stable. Erik looked up as he and Spiro panted in. "So nice of you to bother to come and help. Finished in the taverna I saw you going into?"

  "Get the tack on those horses! We've got to move, now!"

  Erik didn't waste time asking questions, before starting to do that. Neither did the suddenly wide-eyed Thalia. But as he worked, Erik asked what was up.

  "Your precious Svanhild is about to get roasted for goat-stealing," said Benito. "Spiro here knows where they are."

  Erik didn't waste time on talk. But he worked at a pace that made lightning look as if it moved at a comparatively glacial speed. "Up." He hauled the one-time sailor onto the horse, behind him. Thalia was up and Benito struggled and scrambled behind her as they clattered for the gate. Erik nearly rode the stableman down. Benito almost fell off as the man used a pitchfork to make the horse decide to stop abruptly. "You owe—"

  Benito frantically dug out some money and flung it at him. "We'll be back!" And then Thalia set off after Erik. Benito just hoped they'd catch up.

  They did. The town gate was closed. "Let us out!" yelled Erik.

  "Not likely. Let's see who you're running from first, foreigner," said the guard, clutching his spear.

  Spiro saved the man's life. "Open up, Adoni! They're not running from anyone. They're trying to get to someone in hurry."

  The guard peered. "Oh. It's you, Spiro Volagatis. Well, I guess if it gets you out of the town it's a good thing." He unbarred the gate, and they rode off down the steep, winding trail.

  "Where now?" Benito heard Erik yell as they reached the foot of the trail. Benito missed the reply but they did manage to follow Erik off to the west. Then he spotted the trickle of smoke. By the way Erik was urging the horse into a gallop he'd seen it too.

  The Corfiote men and boys, armed with a motley array of old arquebuses, pitchforks, spears and slings, were piling brushwood right across the mouth of the narrow gorge. Already someone had lit one edge. Benito arrived into what certainly sounded like a full-scale riot.

  By the three men on the ground some of the locals had been foolish enough to try and stop Erik kicking the fire apart. But now he was under the noses of a dozen arquebuses, and there was a full-scale shouting match going on.

  Thalia quelled it with a shriek and a stream of what could only be Greek vituperation. Hastily the locals began to pull the burning branches away and beat at the fire with branches of green leaves. "What did you say to them?" asked Benito.

  "This is a sacred place! The holy mother is in the temple cave up there. This valley ends in some cliffs. There is no other way out."

  "But they've stolen our goats!" bellowed one of the men at Erik. "They're bandits! They've been shooting goat-boys. And who the hell are you, foreigner? You knocked down my brother. I've a good mind to knock you down."

  "When I come back," said Erik grimly, hauling brushwood out of the way, "you're welcome to try."

  But the fire already had its teeth into the dry brush. Benito, beating at flames, got the feeling that he should somehow have gotten Erik there sooner. Already the heat was pushing at their faces and a river of smoke was funneling up the gorge.

  And then there was a rumble.

  * * *

  Even the wet rag wrapped around her mouth couldn't stop Svanhild coughing as she tried, desperately, to calm the horses. Their eyes were wild and rolling and the animals were whickering and stamping. There was lit
tle likelihood that anyone could ride them now. The horses were already on the edge of panic.

  "We'll have to leave them, Hildi," said Bjarni. "We'll have to get to the cliff and try and climb out."

  "We can't! They'll die."

  "If we stay much longer, we'll die."

  There was a rumble and it grew darker, almost by the moment.

  "Look at the stream!"

  * * *

  From atop the high rock Benito reached down and hauled Erik back by the collar. As the Icelander struggled to turn and throw Benito's hand off, the water flumed through, hitting Erik at about knee-height. It knocked his feet out from under him anyway. Benito clung to Erik as if he were a roof-beam four stories from the ground. If he hadn't hauled Erik back, the water-wall would have stuck the Icelander at least belly-button height. Another strong pair of hands came and grabbed Erik's arms. Between Spiro and Benito they hauled him up.

  The sudden rain hissed down like arrows. A glance showed the local heroes running for shelter, bedraggled figures pelting away from the scene.

  "Thanks," said Erik, as they hastened to a rock lip that offered some vague shelter. Looking at the torrent and the already decreasing rain, Erik shook his head. "What caused that?"

  Thalia shrugged. "I told you it was a holy place. The priestesses command the magic here."

  Erik shook his head again. "Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't natural. It was a clear morning a few minutes ago. Anyway, let me see if I can get up there."

  Thalia took him by the arm. "I tied the horses just back there. You can probably ride up the valley now."

  Erik smiled at her. "You're the practical one, Thalia. Seeing to the horses, doing all the things we forget."

  The peasant woman looked serious. "Somebody has to."

  But Erik had already left at a run.

  Benito looked out. The rain was slacking off. It would be gone in a minute or two. The stream was already dropping. And on the blackened, burned brush a green creeper was already twining, growing as he watched.

  The intervention had been magical, of that Benito was certain. He was less certain that he liked it.

  Chapter 46

  Svanhild peered over her brothers' shoulders as they watched by the little protruding ridge of limestone, arquebuses at the ready. The stream, which had been no more than a bare trickle so recently, was now making so much noise that they were forced to shout. But at least the smoke was gone. The rain, too, was nearly over.

  "Give it a little while longer and I'll go and scout. That was the luckiest rainstorm in history," said Kari.

  Bjarni raised an eyebrow. "Maybe so. But why did the stream flood before the rain fell?"

  "It must have rained higher up in the catchment, Bjarni."

  The oldest Thordarson brother shook his head. "This damned trickle hasn't got a catchment worth talking about, Kari. There is something funny going on here. I hope things haven't just got worse."

  "There is someone coming up the gorge!" shouted the hearthman on guard up on the slope.

  They all took cover, including Svanhild. "Pick your marks!" commanded Bjarni. "Don't open fire until I say so."

  Svanhild peered anxiously toward the mouth of the gorge. Bright sunlight was shivering into scatterings of brief rainbows through the last veils of rain. The rider came in sight around the corner. His dark hair was wet and plastered about his face, but Svanhild knew those facial planes instantly. Her heart hammered, and she found herself abruptly breathless.

  "Svanhild!" he called, his voice echoing off the cliffs.

  A shot boomed. The bullet kicked a white spurt of dust from the limestone next to the rider's head. Erik Hakkonsen whirled his horse in the direction of the firing and shook an empty fist. "You stupid Vinlander bastard! I've come to rescue you!"

  Svanhild stopped only long enough to lay down her bow, and then was out and running down the slope. "Erik! Erik!"

  A huge smile nearly split Erik's face in half. As she skidded to a halt on the slippery rock beside his stirrup, his face went from angry and anxious to—well . . .

  Foolish. "Er. Good morning, Svanhild Thordardottar."

  She stood there smiling up at him, feeling equally foolish and desperately wishing she could think of something to say. He vaulted down from the dun he was riding. She could see, though it was no help, that he too was fumbling for words. All the long and carefully thought-out speeches had gone from her head, as if she had never even considered making them. But she had to help get something started, or they would both stand there, looking, not touching, not saying anything.

  "Why is your hair dark now?" was all she could think of to say.

  He ran his fingers through his hair as if he had not known it was dark. "I was trying to pass as one of the locals."

  Svanhild looked at him, branding his appearance into her memory, in case—well, in case. He was tall, lean and athletic; she had known that, of course, but now she was aware of it. His face had a hewn masculinity to it, planar and strong, and nothing detracted from the way he looked in her eyes, not even the soot on his face and the water dripping from his hair.

  Then a thin sliver of reality intruded. With the high cheekbones and the straight hair, even with his skin and hair darkened, Erik looked as much like a local as a wolf looks like a bison. She had to laugh. And Erik began laughing with her. By the time that her brothers and their hearthmen joined them, they were virtually leaning on each other, helpless with laughter.

  * * *

  Benito heard the shot, and decided he'd come running. He was wise enough about his own horsemanship to approach on foot. He also kept his head down. Still, by the time he got to where he could see them, the Vinlanders, Erik and his sweetheart were all standing around beaming at each other.

  "Well, they look really miserable."

  Benito turned to see both Spiro and Thalia had followed him. Spiro was being his usual quirky self.

  "Good," said Benito. "Let's go and make them more miserable and tell them they have got to get out of here. Before the villagers come back and roast them again, or roll rocks on them."

  Thalia shook her head. "Not likely. The men will be hiding under their beds and hoping their wives don't find out where they decided to make a fire."

  "I wouldn't tell these foreigners that in case they decide to have a roast goat to celebrate," said Spiro. "People are very touchy about their goats around Paleokastritsa. More touchy about their goats than their wives, which, if you look at the wives, makes sense. Not like the women in Liapádhes, of course."

  Thalia looked at him with her mouth open, as if she wasn't entirely certain whether or not Spiro was mad.

  Spiro winked at her. "Of course the goats around Liapádhes are prettier than those in Paleokastritsa, too. They have to be."

  Benito walked out to the Vinlanders rather than find out any more about the local goats and goat-herds.

  "Ah, Benito," Erik greeted him. "Friends, this young gentleman is the reason I'm here."

  "And will be the reason we're getting out of here, Erik." Benito was getting increasingly anxious to break up the happy reunion. "The locals might come back, and besides, that fire will have told every Hungarian trooper in the area that something is going on here."

  "But where will we go?" asked Svanhild, her face passing from joyful to desperate in a single moment. "Everyone is trying to kill us."

  "We'll go back to Paleokastritsa," Benito said firmly, as Spiro and Thalia picked their way toward the group. "You'll have to do some explaining about their goats. And pay for them."

  The biggest of Vinlanders snorted. "Of course we will pay for their goats! We would have paid in the first place, if anyone had been willing not to run away from us. What were we supposed to do? Starve?"

  "You'd better pay up generously and say you are very sorry," said Spiro. "I'll handle it for you. For a fee, of course."

  One of the huge Vinlanders—they all looked alike to Benito—looked nearly apoplectic. "Apologize? But they nearly
killed us. They nearly killed my sister!"

  "And you did kill their goats, no 'nearly' about it," Benito retorted. Then, couldn't resist adding: "And according to Spiro, goats are a lot more appreciated around here than sisters. Come on, let's go and see if they'll let us back into Paleokastritsa. I left my breakfast and a glass of wine behind to come and rescue you from the goat-avengers. Erik is not so bad-tempered, because he was only currying horses and he was looking for you anyway."

  "He was?" Svanhild gazed upon Erik with blue eyes so bright they seemed to have stars in them.

  Benito smiled slyly at Erik. "Oh, yes! When he heard from Maria Verrier that you were out here, he did not even let an entire besieging army stand in his way. He left the citadel by night, over the walls with a leaking boat, braving enemy patrols and the wild sea in the torrential rain, staying neither to sleep nor rest, riding vent a terre until he reached the villa Dentico. All that was in his mind was the safety of his golden-haired Svanhild."

  "Shut up, Benito," growled Erik, glowing dully. Under the dye, that pale skin produced a truly vibrant red color. Benito decided that the next time they were cold, he'd embarrass the Icelander; you could warm a family of five by the heat he gave off.

  "But it is true!" insisted Thalia. "He saved me from the raping Croats, kyria. He killed two of them, just like that. And the sentry on the hill. He is a great fighter. He pulled at the burning wood with his bare hands and he beat back the men of Paleokastritsa and—"

  "And let's get out of here! Please," begged Erik. "Either the Hungarians will arrive, or the locals are bound to come back."

  "Or both," agreed one of the Vinlanders. "Don't want to be in the middle of that."

  Soon the entire party was riding to Paleokastritsa.

  * * *

  The yellow dog almost howled in triumph. At last the shaman had a trace of magic that rose above the general reeking miasma of this place. He ran through the olive groves, pine forests and the macchia. He ran on past sentries and past hiding peasants. He had many miles to go.