This Rough Magic

had about Saint Hypatia, Saint Simon, and aspects of ecclesiastical magic he'd never even considered before. Magic was more complex and more frightening than he'd realized. He wished Marco wasn't involved in it.

Then more drill. Then Erik produced a stocky, bow-legged knight with the characteristic blue-speckled facial powder burns of a bombardier. The bombardier had a peculiarly high voice, totally out of keeping with his 'pet': a small cannon, chased, ornate and heavy.

'Erik Hakkonsen has told me that the best way to your mind is to drub it into your hinder end with the flat of a sword. However I am prepared to give your mind a chance. If it fails, I will assist it with this cleansing rod. If you are lucky, I will only beat you with it.'

By the time the day ended, Benito was only too glad to collapse into an exhausted sleep. To think he'd once dreamed of being one of these Knights!

* * *

The great eellike creature burrowed into the ooze and lay as still as if its physical movement could betray it to that which sailed above. The adversary's presence and magic burned like a balefire on an overcast moonless night to the shaman's perceptions. He lay still and tried not to even think. If he could sense the adversary . . . then surely the mage could feel him?

For weeks now, his hawks had watched the roads away from the great marshes. He had driven them into it at first. He had nearly lost both birds doing that. Not only had the ancient lord of that place detected his hold, and sent his creatures to harry the hawks, but it had also attacked and somehow weakened the bonds that the shaman used to control them. The shaman found his creatures far less biddable now. They would turn and hunt, even when he commanded them to follow. And they would not go out over the open sea. It was contrary to their natures, but that had not stopped them obeying him before. They were becoming wilder, more their own, less his.

Above him the ships sailed on. At last he felt safe. As soon as he was sure this was the case he called: Master, open the way.

Not with his voice, of course; this shape didn't have a voice.

The answer came immediately; a kind of hole in the real world opened before him, with a shimmering green-black curtain across the mouth of it that kept off the seawater. Not a round hole, though; more a kind of rift, an outline that changed constantly, warping and writhing like a living thing.

The great eel-shaped creature swam through the twisty contorted gap between the real and the spirit world. The passage, too, twisted and writhed from moment to moment. But the monster was well shaped for negotiating it.

* * *

He fell out of the passage onto the floor of the palace, where Jagiellon waited. The shaman shook himself back into a shape that could speak, taking care that the shape was prostrate on the floor before he tried to utter a word. One could not be too servile with Jagiellon.

He bowed his head right down onto the stone. 'Master. The adversary is at sea. He sails south from Venice.' Only when the report was given did he look up.

The black eyes glowed. 'I fear he must somehow have gotten wind of my plans for Corfu. The old shrines there must be far more powerful places than I had realized. They must be found, and the rites of blood enacted there. And if possible we must destroy Eneko Lopez. Sink him beneath the waves before he gets to Corfu. Where are the Byzantines and Emeric?'

'Master, Emeric's galleys are already at sea. His army should be landing on Corfu by morning. The rest of his fleet is still to the north of the island.'

'I am aware. My slave Aldanto is with them. Emeric plans to blockade the straits of Otranto. It will be difficult to do this effectively. But maybe his blockading fleet, and those that come with the rest of his troops, can be used to kill Eneko Lopez. That could be worth more than Corfu itself, in the long run.'

Jagiellon's eyes flared. 'You will return. Keep a watch over my adversary. I will use the slave Aldanto to direct forces against them. There are several of the galliots with the transport fleet of carracks. Between you and the slave they can be directed to contact the blockading galliots. We will direct them like a pincer on Eneko Lopez.'

* * *

The priestess in the cave was old. The magics drew more from her each year. Soon she must find another acolyte to serve the great Goddess. Someone who could chant the ancient words, and who could instruct the women in the rites. It was no small responsibility.

And there must be a new bride for Him. Of course, ideally, the two should be one and the same. But that happened very rarely; not for many centuries now.

She sighed. Well, spring was here. And, though men might war and burn, the earth and the women of the island would bring forth new life.

 

Chapter 27

The outcomes of great ventures often hinge on small things. In this case it hinged on a southerly wind, and the price crates of cuttlefish were fetching at the fish-market at Kerkira. A few copper pennies increase in price had formed the basis of Taki Temperades' decision. The best time to catch cuttlefish, in these parts, was the twilight and the predawn, and the best place was the bay of Vlores some ninety miles north of Corfu.

The southerly wind had delayed Emeric's carracks. The galleys were forced to anchor in the bay of Vlores and wait.

Captain Taki left Corfu with four crewmen, some cheap wine, a lot of cuttlefish jigs and a sail-full of southerly wind in the late afternoon. The moon was full and the run simple. The wine was bad, but not that bad. The wind was dropping toward early morning. Taki was pleased by that. It meant it would swing to the north by dawn.

Taki's ratty little fishing boat rounded Cape Gjuhezes. The Corfiote skipper looked at the town of vessels lying there, in the sea-mist.