Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

"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."

"Good with a sword he was indeed," Benito acknowledged grimly. "And if I get a chance, Erik, I won't give him an opportunity to use it. He's a master of dirty fighting. And one of the things he taught me was to never try to be fair in a fight. Kill your opponent before he kills you."

He ground his teeth, angrily. "I intend to return the favor of that lesson."

Caesare Aldanto might have been far more successful at seizing control of the canals of Venice had he been able, then, to select men as he did now. But he had perceptions of their natures and ability now that he didn't have then. The men he'd brought along for this expedition were killers. The most effective he could cull from an army. He'd principally stuck with cavalry since moving fast would be of the essence.

The other four accompanying Ambrosino into the defile should all have been hanged long ago. In a proper army, with the discipline to take half-mad killers out of their ranks and dispose of them, they would have been. These four would not only cheerfully perform atrocities on the defeated and the peasantry of the defeated, they'd perform them on their own comrades if they got the chance.

They reached the first sentries. Ambrosino called the password.

"Who's that with you?" asked the sentry.

"New recruits. Good men all."

"We can use… ahh!"

And they moved on. The yellow dog pressed against his flank. They talked as minions of the same master did: without audible words. The shaman sniffed. The net-woman, she has been here, curse her name.

I'll deal with her. Or the troops will.

Erik looked at the fires, at the sentries, not quite lazy enough in the darkness, and peered through the gloom at the horse paddocks. Something prickled his awareness. He looked at the horse-paddocks again. It was like ice water running down his spine.

"There's something wrong here. That's half the number of horses reported."

Benito looked. "Caesare!" he took Erik by the sleeve. "Mount up now. Let's get out of here. This smells of Aldanto and ambush."

Erik nodded. "Tomorrow is another day. We've got him tagged now. The country-people will tell us where he goes. We'll choose the time, not him."

"Svan will be pleased to have us home, unbloody."

Somewhere in the distance a horn sounded. It didn't mean anything to them and it was a good distance away.

"The Vinlanders are in the cave to the south there." Ambrosino pointed. "The others use the caves lower down. The very bottom cave is water-filled. It's their water supply and something to be very careful of. The valley over there is where the horses are kept. It's another way out. They can also go over the back there, but only on foot."

"Guards on both?"

"Of course. Hakkonsen leaves nothing to chance."

"Except you." Aldanto turned. "Sylarovich. Bring the cavalry up to that point. Tell them that any man that even so much as allows a harness to clink is dead. You saw the exits. Split three units of twenty off the troop. When I sound the horn, they must ride as fast as possible for each exit. Kill any guards and seal them off from escapees. The other forty are to take the caves, especially the top one. And tell them about the lower cave. We should have at least an hour to clean this lot out before the rest come back from the camp, very pleased with themselves. We should surprise them nicely."

Full dark, and Erik's nerves were on edge. They rode into the narrow gully that Erik had designated sole entry to the camp. Erik, at the head of the file paused… waiting for the request for the password.