This Rough Magic

'We have had engineers from the army repairing the villa on the estate,' said Aldanto, smoothly. 'You could go there now, if you can tell us where to find Hakkonsen. Or the girl.'

Ambrosino snorted with contempt. 'You'd need a lot of men to take Hakkonsen in that spot. It's got three ways out, and he has good lookouts. Hakkonsen is planning a raid on Trembolino in two nights. You could ambush him.'

'And why is he going to attack Trembolino?' asked the Magyar captain suspiciously. 'That's where we are based!'

'I believe,' said the middle-aged man slyly, 'that they wish to kill a certain blond man. A man they call Caesare Aldanto.'

The empty eyes gazed at the Corfiote aristocrat. 'Why?'

'It appears that they want to repay some old scores with you, milord,' he said, picking up every loose ducat and carefully putting them back where he had gotten them.

'That is an aspect I had not considered,' said Aldanto. 'Are you privy to the detail of Hakkonsen's plans?'

The man closed up the bags. 'No. I'm not part of this raid. My nephew Giuliano is. I could have asked him, but I thought it best not to excite comment. We've had a bit of a falling out. Milord, if you could try and spare him? He and I have argued about the way things are being done, but he is still my sister's son.'

'Of course. Families do have their differences, but blood is still thicker than water.' Aldanto spoke with the ease of one who does not care what he promises. 'Would you be able to guide, say, five of my men in, while the bulk of Hakkonsen's troops are trying to find me? We could be waiting for them when they return, with all the advantage of surprise.'

The man coughed politely. 'Five men? You would need fifty, milord.'

'The five will do to open the path. We will have a hundred men out of our camp without it appearing too deserted, Signor Ambrosino; a hundred men, in blackened cuirasses. What's left will give them a fight, while we do our business.'

* * *

Svanhild clung to him. 'Couldn't someone else go, Erik? I worry so about you, my precious man.'

Erik hugged her. 'I worry about you, elskling. But I am going with that young rascal. He has the luck of the devil, so it should be fine.'

She kissed him, but frowned, just a little. 'I do not approve of Benito. He is not enough respectable for you, ja. And altogether too wild.'

Erik patted her soothingly. 'Never mind, love. When all this is over, my time of service to the Godar Hohenstauffen will be near an end, and we can go home and never see him again. He reminds me of Manfred a few years back, in many ways. And you don't disapprove of him, do you?'

'Oh, no. But he is a prince,' she said, kissing him. The kiss turned into a longer kiss.

Outside the cave—which the Vinlanders had made unrecognizably comfortable, and Erik still felt terribly guilty about having to have Svan live in—someone cleared his throat. 'Time to go, sir.'

Erik recognized the apologetic voice. Lozza.

He had to smile to himself. Giuliano Lozza. Fat and unfit. Undisciplined and obsessed with revenge.

Then. He was now lean, athletic and tough as whip-leather. Also now Erik's chief arms instructor. What a difference six months could make.

The curious thing was that Lozza hated to kill. He was, Erik admitted, better with a rapier than Erik would ever be. His father, possibly the greatest master of Bravura style, had started training him when he barely breeched. Giuliano used the weapon like other men used their fingers. He had the reflexes, and he had the strength. He just didn't like to kill. Erik was terribly afraid that such a weakness would kill him one day.

It was why he always paired Giuliano with Thalia. For one thing, Giuliano would kill anyone who came near her. He was as protective as a mother hen about the peasant girl. And Thalia, with her new net—carefully blessed—and the knife-skills Giuliano instilled into her, did not hesitate. Ever.

A strange relationship. Erik had never seen either so much as touch each other. She still called him 'Master Lozza.'

He kissed Svan for a last time and parted from her.

'Take care,' she called after him.

'Do my best.'

* * *

They rode through the darkness; Benito, as usual, clinging to his horse and swearing. Horses, even the most docile-natured, like the one they'd mounted him on, seemed to know Benito was not a rider and that he was afraid of horses. They sensed his nervousness and that made them skittish . . . which made Benito worse.

'Doesn't it seem odd, Benito, that Caesare Aldanto is out here, instead of with the main army?'

'Damn this animal,' said Benito, in his mildest comment so far. 'He's probably out here up to no good, Erik. Someone to be murdered, or spied on, or stolen from.'

'And who do you think that could be, my young friend?' asked Erik, dryly.

'You or me at a guess. Probably you. Of course, he probably doesn't know who he's hunting.'

Erik cantered a few more yards in silence. 'I'll grant him this. He was very good with a sword. And he's not afraid to use it.'