The Drawing of the Dark

'Are you sure Becky's spells work?' Duffy asked, trying to be helpful. 'I've known a lot of country witches, and they were all out-and-out fakes.'

Aurelianus shook his head. 'They work. Becky was the real thing. We have only one hook for hope. She was, as you say, a country witch, and her spells have a range of only about a mile. Also, nearly all of them have to be performed at precisely noon or midnight. The natural laws that must be overcome are weakest at those moments.'

'So?' said Duffy stonily. By God, he thought, let him say it clearly.

The sorcerer pursed his lips and spoke harshly. 'Ibrahim will try it tonight. He knows he can't delay - for one thing, the moon's waxing, and Becky's spells were all dark-of-the-moon ones. And because of the limited range, he'll have to come up quite close to the walls to cast it. What you'll -'

Duffy swept the puddle on the table pattering onto the floor. 'You want me to go try to stop him? While you and the old King get ready to escape through the tunnels, I suppose, in case I fail. Well, listen while I tell you something: no. Think again. Get yourself another reincarnated hero.'

The captain, who'd apparently been dozing in the next room, leaned his tousled head in through the doorway, wondering at the anger in Duffy's voice. Aurelianus waited until he'd returned to his bench before replying. 'That is not what I'm proposing,' he said quietly. 'I.. .have decided that it would be best to make our final win-or-forfeit stand right here, in Vienna. It would, I'm afraid, be madness to think of falling back and re-grouping somewhere and hope for even half the advantage we've got here and now. After all, the Turks are at least several weeks behind schedule, and Ibrahim has failed to acquire Didius' Gambit, and we've unmasked - unbearded, I should say - what must have been their chief spy.'

Duffy refilled their cups. 'And on their side of the ledger: they can ruin the beer from outside the wall.'

'Yes, but we know they'll have to be pretty close, for the Zimmermann is nearly half a mile into the city from the wall. And we know he'll do it at midnight. If this beer-fouling trick of theirs works, then I believe they'll have won even if we could physically retreat; and if it fails they'll go home and the Dark will be drawn on schedule. Therefore I attach a lot of importance to the outcome of tonight's venture.' His pose of calm rationality fell away for a moment and he banged the wet table top with a fist. 'Alone, or even with a body of soldiers, you couldn't go out and fight Ibrahim. For one thing, he's got personal bodyguards, of the species you saw when we fetched the King into the city - oh, that's right, Arthur had the reins in that fight, you wouldn't remember them; but they'd be something like the two things that tried to hypnotize you back in April. Anyway, they'd laugh at your swords and guns - if they were the sort of creature that ever laughed.' Though clearly apprehensive, the pale sorcerer managed to smile. 'It's a big wager, but I don't think we'll ever have better odds. I have decided to break the deadlock.'

'Good God, you mean you'll use Didius' Gambit? Why, how can you even -'No. Since I choose to view this as the decisive incident

in the question of any continuing lifeline of the West, I've decided to.. .do the other thing.' He sighed. 'The Fisher King and I will accompany you tonight.'

Duffyfrowned. 'The three of us? And you and I holding either end of his stretcher? Not exactly an imposing attack force.'

'It won't be quite that bad. Von Salm would never let me have any troops, of course, for an unexplainable midnight sortie, but he did say once that he'd be grateful if I'd take Bugge and the other northmen off his hands.'

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.'