The Drawing of the Dark

Then Duffy met his gaze, and to his own surprise remembered having met and talked to the. old man, decades ago, while out on a boyhood ramble along the banks of the Liffey. 'Hello, sir,' Duffy said now. 'I thought you lived in Ireland.'



'I live in the west.'



Aurelianus was surprised and annoyed. 'What's this? Why didn't you tell me you'd met him?' he demanded of the King. 'I had to search twenty years for him.'



'Don't get upset, Merlin.' The old monarch smiled. 'You've found him now. In any case, I didn't know then who he was - just that he was something considerably more than the average eight-year-old.'



Duffy relaxed, and glanced around. On a table beside the bed lay an earthenware cup and a rusty lance head, both of archaic and evidently Mediterranean workmanship. He looked up with a grin, and was a little disconcerted to see expressions of anxious suspense on the faces of the King and Aurelianus. 'Uh,' Duffy said uncertainly, gesturing at the cup, 'I was just going to say that that cup will come in handy when it comes time to.. .have your swig of- the beer.' He had the feeling he'd unwittingly touched an awkward subject, but he decided he must have dealt with it correctly, for the two old men broke into reassured smiles; and he guessed, without knowing why, that this was the crucial matter Aurelianus had tried to warn him about as they'd been walking to the cabin. Somehow it was fortunate that he'd referred to the cup rather than the lance.



Bugge and his men grasped what was expected of them, and six of them proceeded gently to lift the Fisher King from the bed and hobble toward the door. Aurelianus halted them long enough to put a hat on the aged King, then waved them to go on.



- 'I don't suppose he can ride?' Duffy asked. 'It's going to be cramped in that wagon.



'No, he can't,' the sorcerer said. 'Even when he's well, he's not permitted to. There are all sorts of restrictions that apply to him - he can't wear a garment with knots in it, or a ring that's an unbroken circle, he can't touch a dead body or be where one is buried.. .he could never, for example, actually go down into the Zimmermann brewing cellar.. .hell, even that mud on the bed there is a requirement.'



Duffy's gray eyebrows were halfway to his hairline 'Huh! That's as bad as all the Old Testament do's and don't's.'



'Same kind of thing,' said Aurelianus, moving toward the door.



The Irishman followed him outside. 'How did you find me?' he asked. 'I gather Venice wasn't the first place you looked.'



The wizard sighed. 'It certainly wasn't. Anyone else I could have located in two hours by thaumaturgical means, but, as I told you, you're a walking blind-spot where those arts are concerned. So I simply had to travel about and look for you. You did leave indications of your passage here and there, which helped, but my real clue was a painting I found two years ago here in Vienna - Michael the Archangel by Gustav Vogel, which you were the model for.'



'That's right,' Duffy said. 'That was in 1512 or 13; he liked my face or something, and I liked his daughter. And I was recuperating from a wound and had nothing much else to do.'



The northmen had got the King to the wagon and were carefully raising him toward the back of it. Aurelianus seemed satisfied, for he didn't rush over to criticize their efforts. 'Yes,' he said reflectively, 'Vogel, in spite of being deeply religious - or because of it, conceivably -apparently recognized what sort of . . .thing. . .you are, and put it so clearly onto the canvas that I recognized you from it. He is allied with the new power in the world, the dawning day, if you prefer, which is blinding all the old magics, and -,



'Do you mean the Church?'



'More or less. And so he could recognize you more easily than I could. He has a real clairvoyant spark - it's too bad he's given up painting.'



'It certainly is,' agreed Duffy, without conviction.



'Look, they've got him in the wagon. Hadn't we better be going?'



'I guess we should,' said the wizard, starting across the grass. 'It's so pleasant out here, though.'



Duffy, who felt more comfortable in crowded, tangled city streets, where, for one thing, gravity was consistent and the sun moved slowly along a predictable course, didn't concur, but said nothing and followed Aurelianus to the wagon. -



The first ten minutes of the return trip passed quietly enough. Duffy again drove, and was almost beginning to get used to the tricks of the enchanted environment. A half-dozen of the northmen got out of the vehicle and paced alongside, kicking stones and branches out of the way of the wheels and giving the Irishman directions by pounding on the wagon's sides. The only disconcerting note was one he should have expected: the high-flying sentinels no longer circled over the cabin, but swung in wide arcs several hundred feet directly overhead. 'Those things are pacing us,' he remarked quietly to Aurelianus.



'You're damned right they are,' the wizard said with a pleased nod.



For several minutes then neither of them spoke, and the creak and rattle of the wagon, and the chatter of birds, were the only sounds.



Duffy had just wiped his forehead with his sleeve when he saw three of the winged guards stoop like striking falcons out of the sky, plummeting toward a point in the woods not far ahead. 'Look out,' he snapped, sitting up straight, 'I think someone followed us through your web of direction-confusion spells.'



For a while those were the last words he was to speak in German. He turned, and seemed to see Bugge and his men for the first time. 'Viking, rush ten of your men into



the trees ahead,' he barked, using an archaic Norse dialect, 'and have them conceal themselves on both sides of the path. Now!'



Bugge had heard that style of speech used by the very old folk in the Roskilde hills, and understood it well enough to follow the order. He snapped a quick phrase of clarification to his men, took in ten of them with a wave, and leaped over the side of the cart, followed a second later by the men he'd designated. Screams and sword-clangs had begun to sound from the woods ahead.



'You three take the King out of the chariot,' Duffy went on, and three northmen leaped up to obey him. 'Lay him down by the side of the path, out of sight; then race back here.' He turned to Aurelianus and spoke in Dumnoiic Celtic, 'Go, Merlin. Stay with the King.'



'Of course, Sire,' the sorcerer answered in the same tongue. He climbed down and followed the burdened northmen, who sprinted back to the wagon a few moments later.



The Irishman rummaged among the swords piled in the wagon bed as the three men clambered aboard, and sat back up with the heavy hilt of Calad Bolg in his fist. He whirled the long blade once in the air and stung the horses flanks with a snap of the reins. As the wagon surged forward he snarled up into the sky, 'Ride with us, Morrigan, and rend these dogs limb from socket!'



A tight knot of yelling men burst out of the forest just in time for Duffy' s hard-driven wagon to plow into them; at least two went down under the horses' hooves, and then the Irishman and the ten northmen in. the cart vaulted into the męlee, swords swinging, while Bugge and his men charged in from behind the trees on both sides.



Landing on his feet, Duffy swept several extended swords out of line with a momentous flail of Calad Bolg, and his shoulder-straining return stroke cut one man nearly in half; the others fell back, frightened, for the real use of the longsword had been a lost art for at least a century. The Irishman, though, waded in with the thing, whirling it in deft panics and devastating ripostes as if he'd used one all his life.



A furious crashing and snapping sounded in the tree branches above, and Duffy's force was joined by five of the winged sentinels. Appalling when seen at close range with their long, tusked muzzles and fishlike eyes, they flapped heavily to and fro in the clearing, tearing at the heads of the opposite force, and twice lifted a man a dozen yards in the air to tear at him with tooth and claw before releasing the mangled body to fall back into the press.



John Zapolya, loitering toward the rear, deflected with his dagger the sword of one of the northmen, and put his own rapier-point into the man's neck. As the body fell away he stepped back and looked quickly around him. This was a disaster. He'd have to flee if reinforcements didn't arrive within seconds -Then, as he looked over the warriors' heads toward the northeast, a hard smile narrowed his eyes. 'Hang on, men!' he shouted to his panicky band of renegade Hungarians. 'Here come some of our own!'



Duffy turned around just in time to parry a scimitar wielded by a swooping creature of the same species, though of obviously different allegiance, as the things that were decimating the Hungarians. It blocked his riposte, but the force of the blow flung the creature flat on the ground, and it thrashed once and then went limp in death; and before the next one came at him be had a second to notice the stilt-soled sandals on the thing's misshapen feet.



The battle was joined in deadly earnest now, and retreat was no one's option any longer. An unholy racket compounded of shouts, sword-clangs, inhuman screeches and the flapping of heavy wings crashed away through the trees, as the two forces surged in tangled eddies back and forth, and the airborne warriors tore at each other overhead; sorcerous blue fire snapped and leaped from the spot where Aurelianus defended the King against three of the afrits. Noticing this last development, Duffy chopped and hewed his way back through the chaos of struggling bodies toward the King. With the longsword he was wreaking tremendous damage on the Hungarians, who, on the uneven and crowded ground, could not bring into play the natural advantages of their newer, lighter rapiers.



Another figure was angling through the press toward Aurelianus' position, and Antoku Ten-no was cutting nearly as wide a swath as Duffy. The Oriental wielded a long, two-handed sword of alien design and was, like the Irishman, managing to keep out of any close, corps-a-corps confrontations that would put him at the mercy of a short dagger. And when Duffy caught the blade of one of the Hungarians low and split his skull with the answering stroke, it was Antoku alone who stood between him and the embattled Aurelianus.



The eyes of the Oriental lit with recognition, though Duffy's registered no more than one competent warrior's quick appraisal of another. 'Ah, now, darling of the west,' hissed Antoku, 'what - ahh!' He hopped backward and managed to catch a jarring cut on his hilt, and a moment later to deflect over his head a backhanded remise.



Evidently angry at not being listened to, he swung in with a roundhouse chop at Duffy's ribs. Duffy yanked his hilt down to belt level and let the Oriental's sword rebound ringingly from the upright blade, and then he lunged forward.



Antoku's face had one instant to gape in horror before the fiercely driven edge sheared half of it away. As the body crumpled, the Irishman paused only long enough to strike off the maimed head before running forward toward Aurelianus and the King.



The crouching sorcerer was desperately flinging his



arms about, directing the bolts of blue light that were jumping, ever more weakly, from the ground up toward the three hovering, flapping devils, whose claws and scimitars licked hungrily down at him. The magical lightning appeared to be doing no more now than jolting the creatures, and they were beginning to close in.



'Merlin!' the Irishman shouted hoarsely. 'Use it all up in one flash!' He stopped and turned, staring back at the fight.



Falling to his knees, the exhausted sorcerer threw both arms toward the closest afrit, and with a thundering crack a man-thick blast of sunfire arced up from the soil and punched the thing out of the sky.



Duffy turned and leaped even as the first echoes were booming in the trees and Aurelianus was toppling forward onto the ground. Calad Bolg, swung overhead at the apex of the leap, clanked through the spinal column of one of the blinded devils. The thing screeched and thrashed heavily to earth as the Irishman landed bent-kneed and spun away toward the remaining one, which was flapping sightlessly upward, chittering in panic and becoming entangled in the branches. It was out of Duffy's reach, but two of the King's winged guards noticed its plight and, arrowing across the clearing, made short work of the creature.



Leaning on his sword and panting like a bellows, Duffy surveyed the scene: the Hungarian force was routed, and being pursued south toward the Wienerwald track by several of the remaining northmen; the wagon stood where he'd left it, though surrounded now by sprawled corpses, and one of the horses slumped dead in the harness; and Rikard Bugge sat on the grass, humming a tune and knotting a length of bloodspotted cloth around his thigh. Duffy glanced toward the prostrate Fisher King, who smiled wanly and held up two crossed fingers.



Aurelianus got shakily to his feet and leaned against a tree trunk. 'That was.. .close to the bone,' he gasped, speaking contemporary Austrian again. 'You're all right, Brian?'



All right? Duffy thought irritably. Why shouldn't I be all right? Then the sword slipped from his numb fingers and he looked quickly around, suddenly conscious of great fatigue.



'What the hell just happened?' he asked, trying to keep the shrillness of sudden fright out of his voice.



Aurelianus, staring at the battle-debris down the slope, nodded almost absently. 'You don't remember.'



'No, damn it - the last thing I remember is... seeing the flying sentries stoop from the sky.'



The sorcerer nodded. 'I thought so. It was Arthur who fought here.



Duffyturned, punching a finger toward the magician. 'It was not,' he shouted. 'I'll remember in a moment- I've often seen people temporarily lose the memory of something rough, some violent action.' Savagely he kicked the hideous foot of the dead afrit, and added, in a whisper, 'Which this evidently was.' He paced back and forth, pursing his lips as he stepped around the wide burned spot in the grass. 'Very well,' he snapped finally, pointing down the slope, 'who are those men?'