by Tim Powers
Page 42
The Irishman stared at him in disbelief, then gulped some of the wine. He shook his head, laughing in spite of himself. His laughter grew like a rolling snowball, until he was leaning forward on the table and gasping, with tears running from the corners of his eyes. He tried to speak, but managed only, '. . . Parade. . . . damned clowns. . . funny hats. '
Aurelianus hadn't even smiled. 'So we won't be entirely alone,' he said.
Duffy sniffled and wiped his eyes. 'Right. And how many men will Ibrahim have?'
'Aside from his. . . bodyguards? I don't know. Not many, since of course he doesn't want to be seen. ' He shrugged. 'And after the deadlock breaks - who can tell? A lot of sorcerous pressure has built up on both sides; both of the forces will change, out there tonight, when the King of the West joins the battle. '
After opening his mouth, Duffy decided not to pursue it. Instead he said, 'I'm not sure I'm even ready for these bodyguards. '
'No, you're not,' Aurelianus agreed. 'But you will be, when you're carrying the right sword. That blade you're wearing now is fine for poking holes in Turkish soldiers, but if you're going to face. . . well, those other things, you need a sword they'll fear, one that can cut through their flinty flesh. '
The Irishman saw Aurelianus' direction and sighed. 'Calad Bolg. '
Exactly. Now listen - you get some sleep, it's only about a quarter of eight. I'll -,
'Sleep?' Duffy's momentary mirth had evaporated completely. He felt scared and vaguely nauseated, and rubbed his face with his hands. 'Is that a joke?'
'Rest, at least. I'll fetch Bugge and his men, and the King, and get the sword, and come back here. We'd better head out at roughly eleven. '
Duffy stood up, wishing he'd left the fortified wine alone. Am I bound to do this? he wondered. Well, if Merlin wants me to. . . But why should I care what Merlin wants? Does he care what I want? Has he ever? Well, to hell with the old-wizard, then - you're still a soldier, aren't you? All the bright, vague dreams of a slate-roofed cottage in Ireland died last night, fell on a knife in a shabby room. If you aren't a soldier, my lad, dedicated to fighting the Turks, I don't think you're anything at all.
'Very well,' he said, very quietly. 'I'll try to get some rest. '
Aurelianus laid his hand briefly on Duffy's shoulder, then left. A moment later the Irishman heard the horse's hoofbeats recede away up the street.
Under the rain-drummed roof of a lean-to that had been added onto the side of the southern barracks, Rikard Bugge hummed a dreary tune and pounded his dagger again and again into the barrack wall. Soldiers, trying to sleep on the other side, had several times come round to the lean-to's door and tried to get him to stop, but he never looked up or even stopped humming. The other Vikings, sprawled on straw-filled sacks in the slant-roofed structure, stared at their captain sympathetically. They knew well what was bothering him. They had all come on a long and troublesome, if not particularly risky, journey in order to defend the tomb of Balder against Surter and the legions of Muspelheim; and they had found the tomb, and Surter was now camped not three miles south - but the men in charge would not let them fight.
So they'd languished for several months in this hurriedly built shed, oiling and sharpening their weapons more from force of habit than any hope of using them.
Wham. Wham. WHAM. Bugge's dagger-blows had been gradually increasing in force, and he put his shoulder into the final one, punching the blade right through the wall up to the hilt. There were muffled shouts from the other side, but Bugge ignored them and stood up to face his men.
'We have,' he said, 'been patient. And we are stowed here like chickens in a coop while the dogs go hunting. We have waited for Sigmund to lead us into battle, and all he does is drink and make the old woman at the inn cry. We have obeyed the wishes of the little man who masqueraded as Odin, and he mouths burning serpents and tells us to wait. We have waited long enough. ' His men growled their agreement, grinning and hefting their swords. 'We will not be lulled into forgetting what Gardvord sent us here to do,' Bugge said. 'We will take action. '
'You have anticipated me,' Aurelianus said in his fluent Norse as he stepped noiselessly into the lean-to. 'The time for action, as you have observed, has arrived. '
Bugge scowled skeptically at the sorcerer. 'We know what needs to be done,' he said. 'We don't need your counsel. ' The other Vikings frowned and nodded.
'Of course not,' agreed Aurelianus. 'I'm not here as an adviser, but as a messenger. '
Bugge waited several seconds. 'Well,' he barked finally, 'what is your message?'
The wizard fixed the captain with an intense stare. 'My message is from Sigmund, whom you were sent here to obey, as you doubtless recall. He has discovered a plot of the Muspelheimers to poison Balder's barrow by means of filthy southern magic, which Surter's chief wizard, Ibrahim, will perform outside our walls tonight. Sigmund will ride out to stop him, armed with Odin's own dwarf-wrought sword; he sent me to tell you that the period of waiting is at an end, and to arm yourselves and meet him two hours from now at the guardhouse down the street. '
Bugge let out a howl of joy and embraced Aurelianus, then shoved the wizard toward the door. 'Tell your master we'll be there,' he said. 'It may be that we'll have breakfast with the gods in Asgard, but we'll send Surter's magician to keep Hel company in the underworld!'
Aurelianus bowed and exited, then galloped away toward the Zimmermann Inn as a chorus of Viking war-songs began behind him.
Duffy was lying down on a cot the captain of the guard had told him he could use, but he was far from asleep, in spite of the extra cup of fortified wine the captain had insisted he drink. Odd, he thought as he stared at the low
ceiling, how I can't imagine death. I've seen a lot of it, cautiously flirted with it, seen it take more friends than I'll let myself think about, but I have no idea what it really is. Death. All the word conjures up is the old Tarot card image, a skeleton in a black robe, waving something ominous like an hourglass or a scythe. I wonder what we will be facing out there, besides wholesome Turkish soldiers. Ibrahim's bodyguards. . . 1 don't remember the fight in the Vienna woods, but I suppose they'll be like the things that flew over me that night on the south shore of the Neusiedler Lake, speaking some eastern tongue, and destroyed Yount's hides-wagons.
Then his stomach went cold at a sudden horrible comprehension. Good Jesus, Duffy thought, that was hini. I had supposed, mercifully hoped, that he was dead. God only knows how old Yount escaped those demons and made his way, mad but alive, to Vienna, to be given the village idiot's job of driving the nightshift corpse wagon; to be still, by some ghastly cosmic joke, a dealer in hides. Recoiling from these thoughts, the Irishman cast his mind's eye back again to the skeletal image of death. I guess it's not so bad, he decided hesitantly. Clearly there are worse cards in the deck.
The floor creaked as someone padded into the room, and Duffy sat up quickly, making the candle flame flicker. 'Oh, it's you, Merlin,' he said. 'For a second I thought it might be. . . another very old, thin, pale, black-clad person. ' He chuckled grimly as he stood up. 'Is it eleven?'
'Coming up on. Bugge and his men are outside, armed and ready to chop the Fenris Wolf to cat-meat, and the King is lying in the wagon bed. Here. ' He handed Duffy the heavy sword, and the Irishman took off Eilif's old rapier and slid his belt through the loops on the scabbard of Calad Bolg.
'It'll probably weigh me down on one side, so I walk like
a ship wallowing in its beam ends,' he said, but actually the sword's weight felt comfortable and familiar.
Although the gutter in the middle of the street flowed deeply and roof spouts still dribbled onto the pavement, the rain itself had stopped. A wagon stood by the wall; Bugge's men waited for Duffy in a group on the street, and torches in the hands of two of them reflected in their slitted eyes and on their helmets and mailshirts. Their coppery blond hair and beards had been braided and thonged back out of t
he way, and their callused hands fingered the worn leather of their sword grips expectantly. By God, Duffy thought as he grinned and nodded a greeting to them, whatever Turkish hell is churning out there in the dark, I couldn't ask for a much better crew of men to face it with. . . though it would be handier if we had some language in common.
But that's silly, he thought a moment later. Aren't these Vikings? Don't they understand Norse? He barked a greeting in a Norse dialect so archaic that Bugge could barely phrase an equivalent reply.
Duffy stepped up into the wagon's braced rear wheel and smiled at the white-bearded old 'man sitting up in the bed with a rich-looking tapestried blanket over his legs. 'Good evening, Sire,' he said. 'A peculiar battle it is in which the soldiers stay home and the leaders go fight. '
The king chuckled. 'I think it makes more sense this way. It's the leaders that have the quarrel. ' He stared more closely at the Irishman. 'Ah,' he said softly, 'I see that both of you are awake. '
Duffy cocked his head. 'Yes, that's true, isn't it? You'd think that would be. . . clumsy, like two men in one outsize suit of armor, but it's more like two perfectly matched horses in harness; each one knows without thinking when to take, over, when to help, and when to back off. I don't know why I spent so much time being afraid of this and trying to resist it. '
He hopped down onto the street and walked over to where the wizard stood. 'Do you know for sure that Ibrahim is out there?' he asked quietly. 'And if so, where? We can't just go calling for him. '
Aurelianus seemed both steadier and more tense than usual. 'He's there. Perhaps two hundred yards east of the northwest corner of the wall, behind a low, weedy bluff. I've had watchers on the walls since eight, and it was only twenty minutes ago that Jock got a positive sighting. '
'Did he see any. . . did he see them very clearly?'
'Of course not. They've got dark-lanterns, apparently, and he only caught a couple of reflected blue flashes. He claims he heard them rustling around, too, but I told him he was too far away for that. '
He waved vaguely to the north. 'I think we should go over the wall - lowering the King and me in a pallet and sling - at the east end of the Wollzelle, and then find a sheltered spot where the King and I can get busy on the magical offensive, while you and your Vikings make a dash straight east -
'No, no. ' Duffy shook his head. 'Certainly not. A direct frontal attack? There's not even enough moonlight to keep us from tripping over shattered tree branches; it'd take us ten minutes to reach them, and they'd have heard us coming for nine. ' Aurelianus started to speak, but the Irishman raised his hand. 'No,' Duffy said. 'We'll go over the wall near the north gate, cross one of the bridges over the Donau Canal and get to the little pier off the Taborstrasse where they've got Bugge's old Viking ship moored. Untying her will be easy and quiet enough, and then we'll all of us simply drift east down the canal. Our sails will be reefed, of course, to avoid being seen, and we'll use a couple of the oars as barge poles, to keep us clear of the banks. It's from the north, you see, that our attack will come, and with, I hope, no warning at all. That'll put you and the King among the canalside willows - a position that's both more secluded and closer to the action than any hillock on the eastern plain. '
The sorcerer bowed. 'Very well. Your idea is obviously better. You see my. . . ineptitude with matters of warfare. '
Duffy squinted at Aurelianus, suddenly suspicious. Had the old wizard intended from the start that they should attack by way of the canal, from the north, and only suggested a direct charge east so that the Irishman could gain some self-confidence by contradicting him?
Then Duffy smiled. Merlin was always devious, and it became a problem only at those rare times when his intentions differed significantly from one's own. He clapped Aurelianus on the shoulder. 'Don't feel bad about it. '
He waved at the northmen. 'Very well, then, lads, climb aboard!' he called. They just grinned and waved back, and the Irishman repeated his order in the Old Norse. Bugge translated it for his men, and they all clambered in, being careful not to kick or step on the King.
Duffy swung up onto the driver's bench and Aurelianus got up beside him. 'Everybody in?' Duffy asked. He took for assent the growls that came from the back, and snapped the long reins. The wagon rocked, wheeled about and then rattled away up the street. The two Vikings had extinguished their torches, and the street and buildings were palely illuminated only by a silvery glow that showed where the half moon hid behind the thinning clouds.
They all managed to climb unseen to the north wall catwalk, and with a couple of long lengths of rope and the aid of three of Bugge's men, the job of lowering the Fisher King to the ground outside proved to be much easier than Duffy had imagined. Aurelianus was lowered next, and Duffy and the northmen were about to follow when the Irishman heard, a dozen yards to the right, the rutch of a pebble turning under a boot.
He turned, and the flash, bang and whining ricochet were simultaneous. The lead ball had struck one of the merlons he'd been about to climb between. He froze.
'Nobody move, or the next one takes off a head,' came a shout from the same direction as the shot, followed by hurried footsteps.
'Don't move or speak;' the Irishman hissed in Old Norse. Bugge nodded.
'Oh, Jesus, it's Duffy!' exclaimed a voice Duffy recognized after a moment as Bluto's. 'Just what the hell are you doing, you troublesome son of a bitch?' Bluto hobbled up, accompanied by a burly guard who carried a fresh matchlock and blew vigilantly on the glowing end of the cord.
