This Rough Magic

Bianca sped from the room. She had perhaps a minute to escape, while Saluzzo's body was paralyzed by the changes it was undergoing. By then, the semi-mindless demon-shaped beast he'd have become, tormented by the agony of muscles, nerves, and bone wrenched into new shapes and the unfettered, pain-charged anger she had invoked, would not be able to think at all, much less clearly. By then, also, the soldiers would have started breaking in the door and the Saluzzo-monster's rage would have a different target.

And what a shock they would have, when their steel and iron weapons and armor did not protect them.

* * *

Outside, on the street, Eneko Lopez fell to one knee. His hands clasped his head as if he'd been struck by a sudden and ferocious pain-lance straight into his brain.

The Venetian soldiers paused, as did Manfred and Erik. The arresting unit was still some twenty yards from the Casarini house. There was a full moon out, this night, so the house was clearly visible.

'What's wrong, Eneko?'

The priest seemed unable to speak. Manfred could see that his face was tight with pain. It also seemed pale as a sheet, although that could have been the effect of the moonlight.

Erik waved to the sergeant commanding the ten soldiers. 'Go on. There's no time to waste.'

The sergeant and his men continued forward, two of the soldiers hefting axes while four others held torches aloft. Erik knelt alongside Eneko. Manfred couldn't, because he was wearing full armor. His Icelander bodyguard, as he usually did given the choice, had opted to wear nothing more than half-armor for the occasion. Erik had learned to fight in Iceland and Vinland, and never was really comfortable in the heavy Teutonic armor favored by the Knights.

'Can we do anything, Eneko?' he asked.

The priest shook his head. Then, slowly, withdrew his hands from his temples. When his eyes caught sight of the soldiers—now standing before the door, raising their axes—they widened. And his face, impossibly, seemed to grow paler still.

'Oh, dear God—no. Erik, get them away from that door! They will be no match for—'

It was too late. The door shattered from within, not a second after the first axe landed. Something erupted out of it. Because of the darkness, it was difficult to see it clearly. Manfred could only discern a thing of scales and wings and horns and talons, with a face like a gargoyle's, shrieking fury.

The soldier holding the axe was smashed aside, by a taloned paw that shredded his throat in passing. A backhand blow from the same paw sent the other axe-wielding soldier sprawling, knocking down two other soldiers with him, their torches scattering.

The monster took a stride forward and crushed the sergeant's skull, its talons stripping away the helmet as if it were a mere skullcap. Then, to Manfred's horror, seized the sergeant by the shoulders as he collapsed and bit his head in half. The fangs sheered through the poor man's skull and brains like a knife through cheese.

The creature flung the sergeant's corpse aside and spit out the top part of his head, then spread its huge arms and bellowed with rage and a kind of hideous, triumphant glee.

Still, the moments the demon had taken to kill the sergeant had given the rest of the soldiers the time to back away. Back away frantically. Two of them dropped their weapons and simply ran. The remaining soldiers stood their ground, more or less, but they looked about as confident as five-year-boys facing a tiger in full fury.

Manfred felt calm settling over him, a calm so profound it was almost serenity.

'There's always adventures when you're around, Eneko,' he said cheerfully, drawing his broadsword. 'Erik, get that creature's attention for me, if you would.'

Manfred stepped forward, holding his sword in both hands, the huge blade gleaming in the moonlight. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Erik was hesitating. Not surprising, of course—the Icelander was supposed to guard the prince from danger, after all, not draw the attention of monsters upon him.

'Now, Erik.' Manfred's voice was soft, but the words came like iron. The commanding words of a prince, when all was said and done.

* * *

Erik stared at Manfred. And then, felt calmness coming over him as well.

He knew, finally, in that moment, what he had begun to suspect for some time. If Manfred survived his life —no telling that, of course—he would become one of Europe's great legends.

So be it. Erik Hakkonsen had been charged with guarding a prince, not just a man. He could hardly complain if, in the end, the man lived up to his station. A true prince was not simply an heir; he was also charged with protecting his people.

Erik drew his tomahawk, stepped forward and hurled it. Unerringly, the weapon flew toward the demon— unseen by it in the dark of night—and struck the creature between its horns.

Had Erik been using the proper Algonquin tomahawk he'd once had, that strike might well have felled the monster itself. As it was, the blade sank into the skull but didn't succeed in splitting the creature's brains. Not too surprising, of course. The thing's skull was considerably thicker than the little brain remaining within.

The demon screamed with pain and fury, its vaguely boarlike face swinging toward Erik and Manfred. Erik thought the eyes gleamed red; though it was difficult to be sure of color, in the dim moonlight.

Manfred took another step forward. 'Come to me, beast!'

Still screaming, the demon sprang off the stoop and hurtled down the street toward Manfred. Its wings were spread fully now, and flapping. They were not sufficient to lift the great, heavy thing off the ground entirely, but they