"The fewer of my countrymen I have to kill, the better Ill sleep," Buey noted by way of grim reminder.

"All right-Carlos and you two men," Salguero ordered, "go with Gonji. Vaya con Dios, all of you. Gonji-"

The captain moved close and licked dry lips as he spoke.

"Ive seen him, Gonji. Hes here."

Gonji peered into the mans madly flicking eyes. "Simon," he said flatly.

Salguero nodded, a look of awe alighting his gaze. "Hes promised to be about when we-"

The door at the end of the corridor blasted open, and pandemonium ensued. In the violent clash of weapons and the sharp report of pistols, Gonji felt a renewal of the old thrill of battle.

They moved surrept.i.tiously through the halls of the High Office, seeking cover amidst the rushing bodies of clergymen and soldiers, as they moved toward the prison wing. Gonjis three companions huddled about him to better conceal him from discovery, though he wore the same uniform.

The samurai kept his face angled toward the floor, glancing up sporadically. He held a pistol low at his side, and he had removed the infamous Sagami from his belt and now carried it wrapped inside a soldiers jack.

They reached the dungeon wing without incident, most of the scurrying men they encountered heading out to the streets.

Orozco engaged the pair of sentries at the first gate with a fabricated tale of urgent business for the warden on duty below. They opened the gate before thinking to ask for written orders, and the four pushed inside the gatehouse and overwhelmed them in seconds, though the din was heard below.

Gonji hurtled down the familiar loathsome stairwell to the dungeons, taking the first inquisitive guard with a pistol shot before throwing the piece at the next man through the sub-level portal and unleashing the Sagami. The second guard ducked the wheel-lock and brought up his own pistol. Gonjis slash relieved him of his arm before he could fire, then the samurai burst into the next guardhouse with Orozco on his heels.

The katanas heft felt strange, and Gonji found that he was unconsciously altering his favorite two-handed grip to slightly favor the hand on which the knuckle had been broken months earlier. Hed lost speed, and his control was imprecise, but he swept aside the first rapier that darted at his chest, the return slash ripping open the soldiers belly.

A sharp scream-the falling of the body that he leapt over-and he was between two more swordsmen.

Orozco was shouting something he didnt hear clearly. He dropped to a knee and high-blocked a skewering blade-point, his arcing return slicing through the attackers jack and ribs in a fanning spray of blood. The second mans lunge whizzed past his ear as he spun and batted the blade aside with a tinny clang and slashed down and in, falling short of his mark.

A pistol barked behind Gonji, smoke belching into his vision, another guard falling in the doorway. Then the two men with Orozco were running past Gonjis scuffle and down to the second level, where the samurai had been imprisoned. A shot rang out below. A cry. A body tumbling down the stairwell amid the sound of heavy sc.r.a.ping and slapping footfalls.

Now Gonji recognized the man he crossed blades with: a former tormentor from the evening shift who had been party to more than one beating the samurai had suffered.

Gonji c.o.c.ked the Sagami high overhead, but he had allowed his hostility too much time to frame itself. The soldier caught up a pistol from a weapon rack and aimed it at him.

Orozco yelled at him as he pa.s.sed, heading for the carven stretch of stairs. The sergeant drew a bead with his own pistol. Gonjis opponent turned in reply. Both guns cracked, the reports echoing through the dungeons. The guard was knocked back into the wall, his face split open. Sergeant Orozco jerked downward and grabbed his thigh, grimacing in pain.

Gonji ran to him, but Orozco grunted and pushed him toward the stair. The samurai started down, saw one of their men splayed on the floor of the sub-cellar. A pistol shot rang out-the second man fell heavily at the gatehouse.

The samurai sprinted down, heading for the gatehouse, though he could not tell how many guards yet remained. The complement had always seemed to vary. He hoped Morales would not be among them.

He paused at the gatehouse, steeled himself, then darted in and out quickly, his ploy drawing a wasted lead ball and revealing that only two guards were left alive in the wing.

But how many would soon descend on them from above?

He rushed in, katana trailing behind him for a strike, roaring a mighty kiyai, his charge directed at the nearer man. Both frantically reloaded their pistols. The first guard, who had once treated Gonji to the lash, recognized him at once and flung away the half-loaded wheel-lock. Grasping the handle of an axe, he bellowed for Gonji to come on. The second man rapidly spannered his pistol, eyes bulging.

Prisoners in the cells screamed and howled with delight to see their torturers embattled.

Gonji ran straight into the teeth of the axes tight, wrathful swing, jerking back just out of range at the last instant. The dim corridor wall exploded in a showering of stone and dust. Gonjis vertical slash tore open the mans face and severed his right wrist. The samurai plunged past him and straight at the last guard, who raised and hammered his pistol. The soldier emitted a short yelp that was drowned out by the pistols cracking, fuming shot. The ball whanged off the samurais pot helmet as he dropped low, stunned momentarily. The soldier dropped the piece and reached for his belted rapier. But before he could draw, Gonji surged at him, growling in fury, his katana c.o.c.ked beside his ear in both hands, point angling for the kill.

There was a long wailing peal of a scream, smothered by an eruption of blood in the mans throat as Gonji withdrew his darkly gleaming sword-point from his opponents upper chest.

He breathed a ragged sigh and snapped the blood droplets from his blade, bringing his shuddering thews under control. Blood thrummed in his ears, and adrenaline momentarily caused double-vision. He shook it off.

The prisoners began to bellow that he should release them. Gonji moved down the corridor, took a brief nostalgic look at his old cell, the home of so many bitter memories. What he saw there shocked him with the realization that he would find Valentinas cell in a similar state: Both had been purged by fire, a regular practice after occupation by suspected witches. He had forgotten. His heart sank. Valentinas cell was scoured, the walls charred, the brimstone stench its only feature.

The wygylls medallion was gone. Destroyed.

"Cholera."

Gonji heard Orozcos shout from above. He ran past the groping, pleading prisoners. There was nothing he could do for them, though he keenly empathized with them in their suffering. Some, he knew-murderers, thieves, and the like-were fittingly imprisoned. And the others?

Karma.

There was no time.

He found Orozco binding his leg wound tightly, nodding toward the stairwell and the upper gatehouse.

Voices and stamping feet all about the upper level- Gonji ma.s.saged his aching head a moment and urged the wounded sergeant into a painful hop up the stairs. Gonji was by now breathing heavily and soaked with sweat. He saw that his left hand was smeared with blood from a head wound he could not remember receiving. In his weakened state, dragging the laboring Orozco, he felt the dawning of despair. He had suffered so long in the dungeons, entertained such wild spates of occasional hope; hed been granted this brief taste of freedom again. And now...

Gonji put up his katana, unconcerned with concealing it. He began to concoct a halfhearted plan when he ran out of time. A party of troopers met them at the gatehouse, a clergyman at the center of them.

The samurai gaped. It was Father Martin de la Cenza.

"Hold, Gonji-amigos!"

Sergeant Morales was with them. The others-four in all-were evidently Salgueros men or new sympathizers. They took note of Orozcos wound at once and bore him up.

"Martin-san," Gonji said breathlessly, "I wont go back down there. You know that."

"Si, I know," the prelate replied, waving his hands rea.s.suringly. "We must hurry while everyones out in the square. Was there much killing?" The priests brow knit in anguish.

Gonji swallowed. "Too much, Im afraid. Im sorry, my friend, but there seemed no other way."

Father Martin shook his head and directed them toward the north wall exits of the Alcazar. Gonjis garb was changed on the run again; he now affected a monks habit and cowl-with swords. The priest led them through a guardhouse and into the ancient Moorish walled lanes of the north quarter. All attention seemed concentrated on the diversionary fires to the south. They could hear the thunder of horses and cattle stampeding through the great square, the shouts and screams rising above the city. Chaos reveled in Toledo.

"I pray G.o.d Almighty that Ive done the right thing," Father Martin said with fretted brows. "Your Captain Salguero and his people have arranged their uprising well. Bedlam everywhere, though there seems to be little injury. It will cost a fortune in men and materials to repair the damage."

They could see the gorge of the Tajo River now, where they would have to descend.

"Gonji-san," Martin said at last, halting them near granite buildings housing forges of the great swordsmiths of Toledo, now cold and still for the night, "I have no time to discuss with you the scruples of conscience that have caused me to defy my own superiors-and perhaps my G.o.d-in aiding you. My only comfort is that Im not alone. These doughty troopers here seem to be but the leading edge of an underground that opposes the Inquisitions might from within the Church itself. If wagering were not a sin-and I had anything to wager-" He smiled gently. "Id bet there were more than a few scholars from the university and the Office of Faith who are running the blockades being set up all around Toledo right now."

"'Running... from what?" Gonji asked absently, seating his weapons comfortably beneath his habit.

"From the Inquisition and to whatever it is youre leading them to," Father Martin replied cryptically.

Gonji met his gaze, puzzled as to his meaning. "Im not leading anyone anywhere. Right now Im just running. As fast and as far as I can from this place."

"Mmmm. But they are following you, you know. Impelled by a sense of import to all this. I think that if you make it to Austria youll find youre even more notorious-and yet more respected-than you think. Many lives are risked-many lost-to save you. My only prayer is that you make good your restored life. If you possess secret knowledge of the workings of Evil, then use that knowledge to combat it. And por favor, kill no man randomly, lest you make me your accomplice before G.o.d."

Gonji pondered the priests words, their heady intimations setting his mind to reeling. Cascading notions, a.s.sumptions, memories, and experiences finally were laid to rest pending such time as he might sift through them rationally. Flight was all that mattered now.

A ma.s.sive explosion rocked the city-powder magazines igniting. De la Cenza and some of the soldiers crossed themselves.

"So unnecessary now," the priest fretted. "Go. Before I recover my senses and perform my sworn duty."

Gonji bowed to him, the priest replying in kind, and when they did so, there came to their ears shrieks of horror. And a savage roaring above the square.

They looked back toward the cathedral that dominated the sky at the center of Toledo: Musket shot and arrows laced the smoke-filled night air. In the center of it all, bellowing down at the defenders from atop the cathedrals very spires, was the snarling form of the great golden werewolf, Simon Sardonis.

"Si," de la Cenza said on a quavering breath, "si, he has also come, even as you said he would-go! Go now, swiftly, lest he harm anyone-Dios mio!"

For a moment Gonji could not tear his eyes from the sight of the creatures primitive fury. The memories of the campaign in Vedun which haunted his sleep welled up again.

And then his companions were urging him on, and soon they were descending the river gorge that protected three sides of Toledo. Barges and rowboats waited in the darkness, moored tenuously in the surging river. Civilians and soldiers alike gathered on the banks, flushed with terror and exertion, beacon-eyed with expectation. Gonji impatiently abided a welter of introductions as the craft were loaded.

He was bewildered by it all as he took his place aboard a barge. He would have preferred a more clandestine escape. This was sheer madness. A disorganized mob. Women and children were endangered by the fire from the small skirmishes that now broke out with lancer patrols.

They at last broke their moorings and swept down the river toward the east, Gonji imagining that he could still hear the cries of that monstrous beast, the golden-hued werewolf, whose destiny was somehow amazingly linked with his own in prophetic accounts. Then he thought again of the voice hed heard briefly, earlier in the night, a voice full of vibrant memories without names or faces.

The polemen ran them aground on the bank at the predetermined spot, screaming pa.s.sengers being jolted and dumped into the water with the impact. Gonjis mind itched in reaction to this chaotic plan as those who had fallen overboard were pulled up and other craft drifted by, some people calling out well wishes.

Another band of escapees approached on foot and horseback. Soldiers, for the most part.

Where in h.e.l.l are they all running? Gonji found himself wondering. By the Great Kami, they cant all be in trouble with the Inquisition.

He was thinking again of Father Martins karma-laden words, and of Jacob Neriahs rumblings about Moses and the Knights of Wonder and his daisho-and where was the old Jew? He must have something to do with this lunacy, since he had seen that Gonji was sent his swords. And then he remembered the heavy burden of responsibility Domingo Negro had tried to make him accept that night she had appeared to him. And the similar challenges of adventurers in days gone by. Emeric. Joost van de Berg. Rima. Mabenga. Clement the Virgin. Brother Friedrich. And even- And then he was thinking about other things. Captain Salguero, sweat-streaked and bloodied, boarded the barge, bowing to him and clasping his hand.

Behind him appeared Valentina, cloaked but shivering in the cold. Her eyes transmitted warmth and wildness and feelings that stirred their like in him, though she said nothing.

Suddenly Gonji almost found himself wishing that once more there could be a wall between them, for he feared what her impulsiveness might cause her to do even in this wildly precarious situation.

And even more, as the others watched, he feared his own desire to capitulate.

The city defenders turned their futile rage toward restoring order. No guerillas attacked the Spanish soldiers as they cast about for something to fight. The anarchic rebels had disappeared like transient specters of the night, like will-o-the-wisps that flared briefly into life, only to wink out before any hand could touch them. No enemy confounded their efforts to bring the fires under control, to enforce the curfew, to collect the aimlessly shuffling horses and cattle. No monsters raged, now, over the rooftops, frightening the children in their beds, terrorizing the soldiers in their duty. It was rumored that the oriental witch had escaped the Inquisitions flames during the uprising, but that had not yet been substantiated. Other rumors abounded as to the reason for these mad events.

And even as they wondered who or what their enemy was, the would-be enemy fled Toledo.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Thick smoke fumed over the city of Toledo, towering into the crisp autumn night. The city slowly came to its senses, sorted itself out beneath him, as Anton Balaerik gazed down from the battlements of the Alcazar, eyes twitching with unanswered questions.

Why did he resist? He wanted to come, but he resisted. The spirit of the host has become too strong. Now he must die along with that pious host. And even more importantly-along with the samurai. The creatures father will understand. He must understand. It is a necessary expedient.

He thought of the Grand Scheme for power and control framed by the planners in a far-off sphere. Far-off and yet paradoxically very near in this age of the rediscovery of the gateways. These stampeding, panic-driven little people in this Europe, on this world, were so ignorant of the forces that guided their destiny. Ah, the things they called Evil! The beings they labeled demons!

Balaerik smiled and shook his head in smug amus.e.m.e.nt.

Just a few minor details to attend to, and my work is through here, for now.

Moving without hurry to the High Office, he went straightaway to Bishop Ign.a.z.io Izquierdos private chamber. There he found the interim Grand Inquisitor on his knees, immersed in quaking prayer.

"Your Eminence," he broke in softly.

"Balaerik," Izquierdo said, rising shakily, "what in G.o.ds name did we do wrong? How could he have escaped? The demon familiar came, even as he said it would. It freed him at the very moment of our glorious victory over Evil. Now both of them are unleashed upon the world again. What can I do?"

Balaerik raised a comforting hand. "Patience. All is not lost. We must unite our forces to track them down and see them destroyed."

"It was a no-win situation for me," the bishop said. "You held me back when I might have burned the witch at any time."

"On the contrary. Power was in your hands all along. I merely advised you."

Izquierdos eyes went wide, their inner fires fueled and fanned as he contemplated aloud. "Si-I am Grand Inquisitor."

"You are Grand Inquisitor," Balaerik echoed patronizingly.

"The crusade against Evil is mine."

"That is so," the tall donado agreed.

"I must torture and burn and flay until the Master is satisfied that all the twisted infidels are eradicated." Izquierdos voice was laced with fervor now. "But-but what is the 'Masters name, Balaerik? Dare we say it?"

"No. No, we dare not. Because of the work we do, we must humble ourselves and speak not the most holy names." Balaerik smiled now as he led the tormented man through his rhapsodic reverie.

"But how then shall we know him?" Izquierdo fretted. "How shall we who fight the good fight identify ourselves to one another?"

Balaerik extracted the round reliquary he had once shown the Grand Inquisitor, turning it over and over in his hand as he spoke. "Each man must know his own master, must keep that knowledge in his own secret heart. What does it matter who others believe his master to be? But now, there are other matters to attend to, Your Eminence." Izquierdos shining eyes fixed on the glimmering sphere rolling in Balaeriks palm. He saw nothing else, as the donado exerted his powerful will. "Now you must send word of the escaped witches and infidels and the tragic apostates who flee Toledo and holy justice."

"Si, I must," Izquierdo said helplessly.

"The kings finest troops must pursue them, run them down-destroy them. You must alert every outpost. Messengers must be sent to the farthest reaches, to every port."

The bishop nodded with grave deliberation.

"And my own Corps d Elite will join in the holy slaughter, such that no drop of blood shall remain to course in the veins of the infidels and their demonic leaders."

"Si-it shall be done."