All the Plagues of Hell

by Eric Flint

  So, other rulers of the area came and sneered—privately, not to the duke’s face. But they also saw the great fortresses and the fine guns—the many fine guns—and the well-trained and ready soldiery. And…

  Decided there was probably easier prey to be had elsewhere.

  “Sforza’s big mistake was the converse of his great strength,” she said. “There’s no denying the man is a brilliant battlefield tactician, even better in that regard than Dell’este”—that was the first time she’d made that admission in their conversations—“but he relies on it too much. He has a tendency, I think, to neglect strategy in favor of tactics and, what’s probably worse, tends to think of strategy almost entirely in military terms, which is too narrow.”

  The man whose head lay right next to hers grunted. “You may well be right,” he said. “But I—ah, can you give me an example of what you mean by that last remark? The one about too narrow a focus on military strategy, I mean.”

  Her own thoughts had been moving ahead along those lines, so her answer came immediately.

  “The critical problem Sforza faces is twofold: first, he’s a usurper; and, second and probably worse, he has no lineage that any Italian nobleman will respect. Well, not most of them, anyway. So what he needed to do first and foremost was devote all his energy and intelligence to solving that problem. As best it could be solved, at least.”

  “And therefore he should have…?”

  “Chosen his bride more carefully,” she said. “Instead, he made his choice based on hurried considerations. His decision was completely slapdash. The way he never would have handled a military problem.”

  She discovered, to her surprise, that she was feeling quite cross. “How could the man possibly have thought Lucia Maria del Maino would make a suitable wife for him under any circumstances, much less the ones he was working within? If he’d done the slightest bit of careful reconnaissance, he would have soon realized that the Del Maino creature combines a treacherous and selfish heart with a dull mind. It’s not as if anyone who’s ever spent any time with the woman couldn’t have told his spies! She would have been no help to him at any point, and was bound to stab him in the back sooner or later—probably sooner.”

  She stopped, and tried to breathe more slowly. Why was she so agitated on this subject?

  Sforza chuckled, although it was hard to tell that from a grunt. There was no humor in the sound at all.

  “Except she used a snake instead of a blade,” he said. “All right, I accept your criticism of Sforza’s decision to marry Lucia. But what other option did he have? There were only three possibilities after all: Lucia, Eleni Faranese, and Violetta de’ Medici. Eleni was murdered almost at once—obviously, now, that was Lucia’s doing—and the de’ Medici girl made it quite clear that she had no interest in marrying him.”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous,” she said, then, waving her hand, continued, “I don’t doubt the girl was initially unwilling. Lots of young women don’t react positively to the first indication that someone wishes to wed them. Why? There are a host of reasons, which men hardly ever think about. Do you want me to list them? I warn you, it will take quite a while.”

  Again, there was a chuckle, but this one came with humor in the sound. “No, no. I don’t doubt you at all on that matter. So what should Sforza have done instead?”

  “Exactly the same thing he should have done with the Del Maino witch. Pressed a careful but rigorous reconnaissance. Tried to discover exactly what the de’ Medici woman’s objections were—and, at the same time, what factors might work in his favor should she become aware of them. Instead, after that initial rebuff, he simply dropped the matter and rushed out to marry a two-legged viper.”

  She took another slow breath. “Of course, he might simply have been uninterested. By all accounts I’ve heard, Violetta de’ Medici was a corpulent girl. They called her ‘Butterball,’ you know. That sort of obesity usually indicates a slothful nature. Often a dull-witted mind, too.”

  “Not necessarily,” Sforza countered. “There’s another possible explanation for her being so fat.”

  “Which is?”

  “You touched on it yourself, just a moment ago. The host of reasons a young woman might be wary of marriage. Let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that we are dealing with a young woman whose family position makes her quite a prize as a bride. As a result, she’s deeply distrustful of all suitors. She’s a very bright girl whose guardian—that would be Cosimo de’ Medici, the ruling duke of Tuscany—indulges her, which means in turn that she’s not at all unhappy with her unmarried state.”

  He waved his own hand. The gesture, as had been true of hers, was languid. They were both still very weak.

  “To make things worse, she’s a pretty girl. So—I suspect this was not a conscious decision, so much as an instinctive one—she chose to turn herself into a—what was the term you used?—‘butterball,’ I believe. You might think of it as a tactical maneuver to fend off as many suitors as possible.”

  Violetta was so surprised by that answer that she was speechless for some time. Long enough for sleep to draw her down again.

  Chapter 50

  Val di Castellazzo, Duchy of Milan

  Count Mindaug had dared terrible dangers—but cautiously, as was his nature. Never had he opened himself up to attack by taking chances. Now he did so. The way he chose to contact the Lion of Etruria, the magical being who was a part of Marco Valdosta, left him wide open. The creature would know that, and could possibly decide that Kazimierz Mindaug was worth more dead, or enslaved, than alive. But it was fast and effective, and Kazimierz Mindaug had crossed his Rubicon and burned the bridges behind him. He would do what had to be done. He would unlearn the habits of a lifetime, if need be.

  Trust! came the roaring in his mind. A rare coin from one such as you!

  Mindaug realized he had opened a great deal of himself, and not just his defenses, to the ancient denizen of the marshes of Etruria. The Lion read his motives, his instincts, and his past—not in detail, but in a broad brushstroke. “Yes. And I have need of help.”

  That, too, is new to you. Help not for yourself, but for others.

  “I could save myself. But not them.”

  And thus you have risked all to trust one who can. Very well done. I will give trust for trust. But the serpent lies outside my demesne, and even I can only stand in its way, not kill it. I will lend my strength to you and the Knights. I will defend their minds. I will multiply the strength of your spells.

  “The mirror portal will take time to accumulate the energy and power to make it large enough. I will have to leave my books.”

  Power I will lend. Time you must win.

  Mindaug nodded and rushed to it. There were symbols that had to be changed. Different invocations made. There was a moment of regret that even the crates of the most precious books would have to be left. Once he would never have considered that.

  * * *

  Von Stebbens and his men were mounted and riding across an open field towards the serpent, which was the height of a house. It had just broken through a grove of Aleppo pines, leaving several of the trees half destroyed and scattering branches, needles and pine cones everywhere. Right now, it was raised up and struggling with what looked like nets, which sparkled with spellwork—undoubtedly the work of Mindaug. The vast creature would tear them up soon, he was sure.

  It cast its gaze on them…and the Knight felt a vast compulsion, too strong to be held off, almost so strong that it felt like his own idea, to go and cut loose the great Orkise. He was like a leaf in the wind, trying to resist, while galloping towards it.

  And then, just before it would have been too late, there was a roaring in his ears, as if from a great lion. He—and by their behavior, the other Knights—regained control of their faculties, and turned away.

  “It uses magic to compel. Sing the battle hymn!” The battle hymn of the Knights was a prayer as well as a hymn—a spell of power and protection in i
tself.

  Even the finest of warhorses, bonded and trained to their Knights’ will, do not face a giant serpent easily or well. Several of the Knights had an almost impossible task with their horses. And then the snake turned and opened its purple mouth on the left phalanx.

  Horses and men reeled and then fell before the foul breath. Only a handful of Knights managed to flee. Von Stebbens, leading the right flank attack, ordered his men to fire as the great head swayed towards them. Those who had retained the devices and slow matches responded.

  The shriek and sparks of gunpowder devices caused even more panic among the horses, so much so that Von Stebbens had no chance to see what happened when they struck the serpent. But a few moments later he was able to look again. They were burning on the ground around and before it, with a fierce light and spitting sparks. The creature did pull its head away from the burning stars. Away…but not into retreat.

  And then, one by one, the burning devices went out.

  The snake began to advance again. It had been a temporary stop and now they had no more of the devices. If only they had not fired them all at once…

  “Do we press on?” asked one of the Knights.

  Von Stebbens touched the crosses embossed on his shield with the sword in his hand. “What else can we do? Let us sing our battle hymn and die.”

  Von Stebbens wished for a lance, but that he did not have.

  The serpent began to turn its head toward them.

  He put his spurs to his reluctant horse.

  Something struck the head of the snake with an exploding gout of fire, and once again he had to struggle to control his horse. And now he could see hundreds of riders behind the snake, spurring their horses to the charge. His twenty-odd men were doomed, whatever happened.

  * * *

  Count Mindaug finished readying the new, expanded circle, deliberately ignoring any sounds from outside. The task of conveying a group of people was a far larger, more magically demanding and exhausting process than merely taking himself would have been. He left it to the Knights to hold off Orkise for a few minutes. Only when he was ready to transport them did he look out. The serpent had plainly destroyed some of the Knights, and the others did not have long to survive.

  Then Klaus, from outside the villa, fired one of the rockets. It was too much to hope it would kill the beast, but it would hold it for a few moments. But the gathering of the circle’s energies would take more time. So Mindaug left the relative safety of his circle—safe until they entered the netherworlds, at least—and went out to stand beside Klaus, who was readying a second rocket. Mindaug placed his hands on the device, ignoring the bombardier’s yell, and called up a well of strength that he knew would cost him dearly. He had used it before, on two occasions. This time was different. He had the strength of a lion, and not just any lion, but a vast immortal one who drew his power from all that lived and breathed in the ancient marshes of Etruria. And somehow Marco Valdosta was there, too. As he flung the rocket at Orkise, Marco was telling Klaus to light the next, and the next.

  The Lion of Etruria lent not only superhuman strength and accuracy to his arms but, it seemed, force to the explosions. The serpent lashed backwards, pulling its head away, and the charge of those who were ensorcelled to follow the snake found themselves showered in shrapnel. Klaus and Tamas’s rockets could not kill Orkise, but they had no problems doing that to its followers.

  “I think we have won the time you needed,” said the tall fine-featured Venetian.

  So he cast his voice at the Knights. A voice of power, a voice that carried echoes of a roar of defiance. “Come back, we are ready to go!”

  The Knights did not need much urging. Soon they were all scrambling inside the house, inside the circle.

  Within the circle, Mindaug ordered them all to take hands. He crossed the final line on the spell script with a pointed toe and it whisked them hence.

  Count Mindaug feared what he might find waiting in the netherworlds. But now they would take neither him, nor his burdens, from him. And the roaring he heard echoing was merely a warning to anyone that this time, he had allies. And this time he had finally begun to find his own strength.

  It occurred to him, a few moments later, that he should have asked the Venetians to put the mirror in a bigger cell.

  Chapter 51

  Venice

  Standing before the Doge, the white-haired man with the huge mustache whom Marco knew was Count Kazimierz Mindaug, magician and once the henchman of not one but three of the great evils of the world, shrugged. “There was a small chance that the traps I had prepared might hold it, Your Grace. You realize such creatures do not live entirely on our physical plane, and thus physical entrapment is only a partial restraint. And I was trying to hide the fact of my existence from other practitioners of the magical arts, to say nothing of beings on the other planes.”

  “Why were you hiding?” asked the Doge.

  “Because it was widely assumed that I had died. I have enemies”—he raised an eyebrow at the battered Knight of the Holy Trinity—“even ones I was not aware of.”

  “We know you have continued your magical work, Count,” said that man. “You’ve trafficked with man-devouring water monsters.”

  Mindaug blinked. And then laughed. It was an odd sound. “I still have not entirely mastered this laughing,” he said, reading their expressions. “It has come to me very late in life. Can you place a date on this ‘traffic’?”

  “About two weeks ago. I can work out the precise date,” said Von Stebbens stiffly.

  Mindaug nodded. “Ah, yes. I think that you refer to my calling up the nyx that transported the snake-bitten…man, to Venice. I do think he was not devoured by the nyx, but rather that it saved his life, albeit temporarily.”

  “To call the nyx a monster is to call a lion a monster because it will eat men. It is their nature,” said Marco. “And yes. I can definitely confirm that a nyx brought…well, you know whom, Doge Dorma, to us. Francisco said it was done with Kazimierz’s help. And now, I must return to assist him in his surgery on that poor boy. All should be ready by now.”

  * * *

  “Not a bit of use,” said Petro Dorma, slightly peevishly to Benito. “Tell your brother that I, and the affairs and defense of Venice, ought to command more respect than helping Francisco with an injured man.”

  “No,” said Benito. “That’s pointless. Medicine will always come first with him.”

  He looked at the slight white-haired man with the enormous mustache who was supposed to be a powerful and evil magician, and did such a poor job of looking it. Perhaps that was part of the skill of the man. The others—the archimandrite Knight of the Holy Trinity; the priest, one Father Thomas Lüber of Baden, who was apparently a powerful Hypatian scholar; and the Doge—all looked more dangerous. Mindaug looked to be not much of a threat to anything tougher than cheese.

  “I was told that Duke Enrico has just come from Ferrara,” said Benito, “and he is good at unraveling complicated matters. Why don’t we call him in here, too, Doge? He is as good at keeping secrets as those of the Council of Ten who watch and listen to us right now. And he is very much our ally.”

  “A most sensible suggestion,” said Dorma, nodding. “It will be done. And during the explanations maybe it can all become clear to me, and to you, because in the end, I think it may come down to military matters, or at least strategy and tactics.”

  So, a few minutes later, Benito had his grandfather there, who, as usual, cut through at least some of the confusion. “This Orkise. Where did it suddenly come from?” He looked at Count Mindaug. “I’ve been to Milan, and even the merchants there are not quite snakes.”

  “He woke it,” said the archimandrite. “Maybe Mindaug regrets that now. Maybe he can help us to destroy it. But I have thought about it, and the count knows too much. Why else would it suddenly appear in Milan?”

  Mindaug shook his head. “It has been there—or at least in Visconti holdings—for centuries.
It shows plainly on their coat of arms. I am not stupid, Knight. I have always held back from that which could devour me. No power is worth that price. I conclude that the plague god was awakened by Lucia Maria del Maino, the woman who now rules the Duchy of Milan. She is certainly stupid enough—very vain, too. She has much in common with Elizabeth Bartholdy. She is also the only way we can control the plague.”

  “But…” said the archimandrite.

  “Hush, let me plumb this,” said Enrico calmly, authoritatively. “So is Sforza behind this?”

  The “No” came from the most surprising of people: Petro Dorma. “I would guess that the woman merely used Sforza to get onto the ducal throne. The fact is that the better candidates for Sforza to marry to legitimize his rule, were murdered—or at least someone tried to kill them both. We know not how the one was killed, but Violetta de’ Medici was attacked by a small snake that looks very like the Visconti charge. She killed it but was still bitten. Marco is treating her, with some success, I gather.”

  “I knew her father,” said Enrico. “But I would not put it past Sforza to discover all of this and then use it.”

  “I have reason to know otherwise,” said Petro, in such a way that it indicated that the debate was over.

  That didn’t work on Enrico Dell’este. “I hear he’s very sick,” he said with some satisfaction.

  “Yes,” said Petro. “A snakebite. Now, let us stop talking of blame, unless it helps us to deal with this, and talk of strategy. You call this a plague god…”

  “Yes, it has devoured one town, and it will spread and grow stronger,” said Mindaug.

  “So how do we counter it?” asked Enrico. “Kill this Lucia woman?”

  “That would be the worst thing we could do,” said Count Mindaug forcefully. “Orkise is bound to her. If she dies, the wyrm is released. We have to find some way to snare them both—for a very long time.”