Even with the well of spiritual energy worn the chapel to draw on, the sheer energy of the struggle was sapping him, not to mention the guilt of seeing all those dead bodies. He tried consoling himself by remembering how much suffering those men had probably caused as they looted and pillaged, but that reminded him that they had died without confession, dragged down by the weight of all their sins. He kept fighting doggedly.
Behind him, Saul blocked the other two main avenues with Roman legionnaires-suggested by Arouetto-and howling barbarian Visigoths. The ‘ghosts’ had sent the condotierri running at first, but they had plucked up their courage and marched back again, assuring themselves that ghosts couldn’t hurt them. The first dozen casualties had convinced them otherwise, and they had retired to work out a new battle plan. Now they were content to stand back and shoot arrows-probably not trusting the pavement, since the roadway surfaces had all turned shiny black. Matt suspected their sorcerers hadn’t figured out why. He wished them luck-Marco Polo hadn’t published, in this universe. “They’re still sending commandoes in through the back streets,” Saul reported. “Still?” Matt was beyond surprise. “I thought those debugging programs you invented were running them down.”
“They are, each one shaped like the Hound of the Baskervilles. I’m surprised the captains can still find anybody brave enough to face them.”
“The hound? I thought you started with wolves.”
“I did, but I have to keep changing them, or they’ll work up their nerve to face them. I’m going to try yetis next.”
“Good idea. Me, I’m thinking of switching to tanks.”
“Hey, no fair using gunpowder! You got any idea how much havoc you could create if these guys get to thinking about things that go boom in the night?”
“I know, that’s all that stops me. I’m thinking of a giant cross-bow instead of a cannon.”
Behind him, he heard the squawk of a tinny voice coming through Saul’s amulet.
“Yeah, Sir Guy!” Saul said, relief in every syllable. “You can see them? Great! Just strafe their ranks-you know, dive on them with all Stegoman’s flame, then back up and dive again… No, the diving will scare them a lot more than just flying over burning everybody; they’ll run faster if they think they stand a chance of escape. Besides, that’ll make it harder for the sorcerers to hit you with fireballs or something… What? Stegoman says the fireballs would make a nice light snack? Well, tell him we’ll feed him high-grade charcoal as soon as this is over!”
Matt felt relief make him weak inside, but pulled himself together. “Okay. Now we pull out all the stops, right?”
“You got it,” Saul agreed. “As soon as we see him dive, sing out!”
Matt glanced back and forth from the northern sky to his robotic roadblocks on the south and west. He saw the dot growing bigger, saw it develop wings, saw it angle downward toward the condottieri… “Now!” Saul cried, and together they chanted,
The main roads exploded into flame, fire that roared downward onto the bandit army just as Stegoman’s torch shot out to sear the first battalion. A massive howl of fear rose up, and the condottieri turned as a man, fleeing back down toward the barracks. But the dragon dove again, and the vanguard kept on running, past the barracks and toward the city limits. “Get ready to counter their sorcerers!” Matt snapped. “I’m ready,” Saul said, “but I don’t think they’ll be doing anything for a while. They were all clustered together, and Sir Guy must have seen them. They were Stegoman’s first target.”
“They’ll recover.” Matt hoped he was wrong: “Anyway, even if they do all run, we’ll have a lot of repair work to do.”
“Look,” Saul argued, “we can wait till tomorrow to fix the roads.”
“‘I suppose so,” Matt sighed. “Thus is it proved that coal does not make a good surface for traffic. You don’t suppose this could happen to the tar in blacktop streets, do you?”
“If you had a dragon’s torch to get it started? Could be. Remind me to go back to New York and try the experiment sometime.”
“No, I think not.” Matt stared out. “I can’t believe it-they’re still running! Their new slum at the foot of the hill looks to be all cleaned out! I just hope they get all the people evacuated in time.”
“Look, we can kill the flames before they get that far.”
“I know, but Stegoman is lining up to dive-bomb headquarters. How’re they doing on your side?”
“Oh, just fine,” said Saul. “Nobody’s hitting the four minute mile yet, but I think some of them are doing very well, considering the light armor they’re wearing.”
“Have they passed their personal slum yet?”
“The last ones are just going through right now. I think we’d better call Stegoman back before the sorcerers regroup and find an antidragon spell.”
Saul fingered the amulet. “So how are we going to keep them moving?”
“By conjuring up your random group of legionnaires, or my odd number of robots-and, of course, the occasional fire geyser right behind them. Keep your hounds roaming the city, too. I know it’s wearing, but I think we can get the last of them out of here by nightfall.”
This time it was a formal audience, and the pope was wearing his robes of state with the cardinals gathered behind him, glorious red behind dazzling white. Saul was very patient-he managed to keep it down to mere fidgeting through the ritual and the singing. Matt and Sir Guy were the only ones to kneel to receive the pope’s personal blessing, though-Saul the skeptic and cynic had his limits. Besides, the religion he had dropped out of was Protestant. Nonetheless, the Holy Father insisted on turning to bless him, too. Later, in his solar, he told them, “I regret that I have no worldly power to give you in thanks.”
“That’s all right-the Church is better off that way,” Saul said, and the pope cast him a quick, suspicious glance. Matt said quickly, “Your blessing has already increased the power of our magic, your Holiness-I can feel it. Maybe it will be enough to cut through the magical inertia that seems to pervade Latruria-we can’t have you folks always there as our ammo dump, you know.”
The pope frowned. “I know not what an ‘ammo dump’ is, but we shall pray for you perpetually.”
“I need it if anyone does,” Matt sighed, and Saul developed whooping cough. Matt talked fast to cover him up. “Besides, we more or less brought this on ourselves-I’m sure the king wouldn’t have told the condottieri to get serious about taking the Vatican if we hadn’t been here.”
“It is not the sort of policy I have come to expect from Boncorro,” the pope admitted. “I was even surprised that he hemmed me in so tightly, when he had ceased his persecution of the priests and the faithful. I had supposed he felt the need to make a show of opposing me, since his grandfather had-but this…”
“I have my doubts that the king himself is behind it all,” Matt told him. “After all, his chancellor is a bona fide sorcerer and servant of Evil, and everybody would assume any order he gave came from the king.”
“But would not the king be angered when he learned of it?”
“Sure, but all information goes through the chancellor’s hands. He can keep any info he wants from the king-unless Boncorro has been wise enough to set up his own spy network, separate from his chancellor’s.”