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  "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."

  Chapter 68

  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."

  "And most important of all," Thalia said grimly, "no Corfiote peasant will aid them again. Not for fear or for money. You Venetians don't really understand us. The Hungarians can stay here a hundred years after that story gets told, and it won't matter. They will never crush us, and in the end, we will kill them all."

  "All right. Let's turn these horses loose and get out of here," said Kari. "I'm not enjoying this like I thought I would."

  PART IX

  August, 1539 a.d.

  Chapter 69

  "You're a fool, Emeric." Even in such a gorgeous voice there was only one Hungarian in the entire kingdom who would have dared to say that. The speaker was petite, curvaceous and almost edibly beautiful. She was perfection itself from her musical laugh to her cascade of lightly curled, fine dark hair. Her skin had that bloom to it that spoke of youth.

  Emeric of Hungary would have found a nest of angry vipers more attractive. His great-great-aunt habitually chastised him. She also never failed to assist him in his schemes. She had, she had admitted once, a fondness for him because he was the only one of her blood in which magical skill had manifested itself.

  He waited. There was no point in rising to her bait.

  "You should have come to me for assistance first. I would have advised you to stay away from Corfu."

  "Jagiellon seemed to think it would be an easy conquest, by the money and materiel he arranged. He is not aware that, far from being his cat's-paw, I have had intentions to begin conquests to the south for some time."

  Elizabeth, Countess Bartoldy, laughed musically. "My dear boy. The fertility rituals on Corfu go back to prehuman times. Something that ancient, which keeps its base of believers, has a power reservoir the size of the ocean to draw on."

  "I haven't seen any signs of great magic yet."

  She dimpled. "Corfu's is a passive kind of magic, tied to the earth of that place. Very difficult for invaders to deal with. I do have something that will work, however—because it is not in contact with the earth. Wait."

  She returned sometime later carrying a glass jar. A large jar, a cubit in height. She carried it with a negligent ease that betrayed her great strength. Emeric peered into the cloudy fluid within, and then wished he hadn't.

  "An experiment of mine," said the Countess. "I constrained a fire and an air elemental to mate. It is not a natural occurrence. This is their offspring, somewhat prematurely removed. I have placed certain magical constraints on the creature, as well as enhancing its power."

  Emeric looked warily at it. "Just what does it do?"

  The countess smiled "It is a bringer of fires. And, of course, winds. Sickness, too, is one of its aspects. But the core of its ability lies in dryness. An island—surrounded by water to contain it—should be the ideal place to release the thing."

  * * *

  Benito yawned, crackingly. "Sorry, Marco. It's not your company, honest. It's just . . . well, I have been working like a dog, and I haven't had much sleep lately."

  Marco patted his shoulder. He noticed it was rocklike, stretching at the shirt. "You're working too hard. Everyone from the admiral to my father-in-law says so. Benito, one man, doing the work of a common laborer because he doesn't have the skills to build ships or clad them, isn't what Venice needs. She has plenty of good men working hard, but we need your brains."

  Benito yawned again. "Why? Are we out of cannonballs?" He grinned and raised a hand pacifyingly to his brother. "Seriously, Marco. I have a problem here. Everyone expects me to lead like a Case Vecchie born. Giving orders, seeing that things are done. And I don't know how. I might be a direct blood relation of men who are great leaders of men, but I grew up among the canal people as a thief. The only way I know to lead is by example. So: I want these ships built. I don't shout at people. I challenge them to keep up with me. And when the carpenters say: 'That's caulker's work,' and sit back and say 'we can do nothing until they've done,' I pick up another balk of timber and ask, "Do you think this is Casa Vecchie work?' "

  Marco grinned at him. "And the result is that you need new shirts. You've put an inch on your shoulders since you started here."

  Benito pulled a rueful face and felt the tight seams on the shirt. "Yeah. I'm getting a bit heavy and bulky for the old upper-story work, Marco. Not so good for squirming in tight little holes. So, tell me, what's the news from the outside world? Any news from Mainz?"

  Marco shook his head. "This kind of heart condition is not something that changes from day to day, Benito. Apparently the Emperor's physicians say he seems to be recovering a little. Of course he is struggling to breathe and his chest gives him a great deal of pain. But this may ease, and if there are no further recurrences . . . he may yet leave his bed again one day. But commonly, I'm afraid, when these problems start, they do recur. We can only pray for him."

  Benito knew there were millions of people throughout the Empire doing just that. And there were very few indeed who would be privy to the detail Marco had just given him. Most of the citizens of the Empire would only have heard rumors that the Emperor was not well. But the Holy Roman Empire felt the tremors of an uncertain future run through it—as did all of Europe and much of the world beyond.

  Benito scowled. "And on other fronts? How are your attempts to contact Eneko Lopez coming?"

  Marco sighed. "Not so well. We can't raise him, for reasons that aren't clear at all. Anyway, what I came to talk to you about was what you'd said to me about the undines and the tritons."

  "Get anywhere?"

  It was Marco's turn to shrug. "They're not like humans, Benito. They . . . well, they only live partly in the same world as us and they don't see things the sa
me way. But Juliette wants to meet you. That's a step."

  Benito smiled. "Sure. I'll sweep her off her tail with my charm. When do we do this thing?"

  "Well, full tide is a good time," said Marco. "That's in about an hour."

  "Sure. Where? At San Raphaella?"

  Marco nodded. "We can take a walk up together. Or take a gondola."

  Benito shook his head. "I'm supposed to be confined to this place."

  "Only by your own decision."

  "Yeah. But I'll pretend to abide by it," said Benito, suddenly looking an impish five years younger. "The roofs of Venice miss me. And I might as well enjoy them while I still can."

  * * *

  Benito found the undine's gaze quite disconcerting. He'd been forewarned about the bare breasts, and if he ignored the color, they were quite attractive. One might say, pert. And besides, he'd seen a few more than Marco, anyway. But her unblinking stare he found . . . scary. Those golden eyes actually seemed to be looking inside him, at something just below the skin.

  Eventually she spoke. "Mage Marco, you are sure this one is your brother? His flames, and the fire in this one are strange. Powerful. There is an echo of you about him . . . but you are water. Cool, healing waters. This one frightens me."

  Benito snorted. "Well, if it's all the same to you, green-hair, you make me nervous, too, just by the way you look at me."

  Marco smiled and put an arm around Benito's shoulders. "Yes, Juliette. He is my brother. My half-brother, anyway. But he's been as close to me as a twin. And though at times he's as wild as fire, you can trust him to the ends of the earth."

  Juliette didn't look entirely convinced. "Spill a drop of your blood on the water then," she said to Benito.

  Benito shrugged, took out the Shetland dagger and tried to prick his thumb. Hard work had calloused it, and besides, sticking a knife into yourself was never that easy.

  "Do it for me, Marco."

  Marco did, with all of a chirurgeon's practiced ease.