"Aye. Never turn down hospitality, says I," the sergeant answered.
The girl screamed.
"She lied!" the mother cried, pale-faced. "All these lasses are virgins!"
"Why, the greater pleasure for us, then," the sergeant retorted. "No woman is ever too young for this sort of game."
The mother scrambled up, but the sergeant stopped her with a hand under her chin. "And perhaps not too old, neither. Nay, you've looks enough left." He shoved her back; she fell sprawling, and two of his men caught her ankles, tossing her skirt up. The sergeant fell to his knees, unbuckling his belt.
Matt had had enough. The spells he'd tried should have already attracted any pursuit that was coming—and if he brought down any more, he'd just have to deal with it when it came. He pulled a leather thong loose from his shirt and began to tie knots in it, chanting,
Below him, the soldiers stilled. Then one of them began to fumble frantically, but another quickly tied himself back up. One or two men howled, and the sergeant bellowed, "Witchcraft! Which of you old hags has done this?"
"Done what?" one of the oldest women asked, her face blank.
"You know well what!" the sergeant snarled, and whirled to backhand her across the face. "But it won't work, granny! If we can't hurt you one way, we'll hurt you another! Have at 'em, men!"
His soldiers turned to with a bellow of loosed frustration.
Matt realized, all over again, that rape really was a crime of violence more than of sex. Without even thinking, he chanted,
The soldiers froze. Then, one by one, they toppled over, eyes glazed.
The women stared, uncomprehending.
Matt didn't stay to watch the sequel. They'd figure it out, fast enough—and for himself, he didn't know whether the soldiers' rest was temporary or permanent. Not that it mattered—those women had a score to settle, and no one could blame them if they did it. Especially because, if they didn't, and the soldiers revived, they would take the revenge they had just now intended. No, Matt couldn't blame the ladies for self-defense—and he didn't think anyone else would, either.
He was about a hundred feet away on the other side of the hill, and going fast, when he heard the huge, massed scream of rage behind him. He went faster.
Half an hour later, he figured he was clear, no matter who came—even if it was a sorcerer homing in on the location of a spell. Matt didn't dare rest long, but he sat down by a stream to take a deep breath and let the shakes hit, then pass. After his insides had almost quit quivering, he began taking slow, deep breaths, striving for calmness, but shaken to realize just how evil the land had become.
He was filled with remorse—which, he told himself, wasn't merited. But he should have stopped the soldiers sooner—and found a way to do it without killing them. Oh, sure, he might have only stunned them as it was—or he might have killed them. And if he hadn't, he had no doubt the women of the village had finished what he'd begun. No, for either side, he'd botched it.
He wondered at his own hesitation, but was afraid he knew the reason. It was, quite simply, that he hadn't really taken sides till it was too late.
After what felt like half an hour but was more likely only ten minutes, Matt pulled himself to his feet again and set off down the road. The walking helped him regain his composure. He didn't dare stay too long in one place, especially not near a site where he had worked a spell. He trudged on down the trail.
Or up. Finally, the path began to rise. He labored upward, wiping the sweat from his brow and wondering how he could possibly have thought the day was cool—but that had been a while ago, now. He glanced at the sun, figuring it was a little after noon—but was surprised to see that it was halfway down the sky. Of course—an hour of hiking, a few minutes to interfere and take sides in a local quarrel, and another couple of hours on the road again—it did add up, didn't it?
He couldn't help but think he was a fool. On top of not doing a good job of interfering, he'd put his own neck in the noose. It hadn't been his fight, and it did increase his chances of trouble with the local authorities—those men had been uniformed, and well armed; they were no mere bandits.
Bandits! The thought left him uneasy; he scanned the steep sides of the trail and the hillside above. He found himself beginning to evaluate every upcoming landform as an ambush site—not a bad precaution.
So, with his hackles raised, Matt marched east, feeling as though every man's hand was turned against him.
Finally, his shadow was so long that its top was high above him, and the dried grass on the hillside before him was gilded by the setting sun. He plowed to a halt, dog-tired but satisfied—he'd made it almost to the top of the mountain pass. It was a good place to stop for the night—there was just enough daylight to hunt out a spring and a cave. He looked around, saw a glitter off to his left that might be water, took a step toward it—
And the world suddenly swam about him. Giddy and nauseous, he dropped to his knees, putting a hand down to stabilize himself, thinking, Heatstroke. Exhaustion. Then the world steadied; he straightened up with relief that the spell was over...
And saw the hillside. Miles away.
He looked around in a panic and saw the pine groves bordering the alpine meadow.
He was back where he'd started.
And it was dusk—down in the bottom of this little valley, night had fallen.
Somebody didn't want him going back to Merovence.
He had a notion Who, and for a moment was on the verge of saying some very nasty things about that Somebody. Then he remembered what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, choked back his anger, and heaved a sigh. Then he turned to begin looking for berries. Or maybe a rabbit.
He woke with the sun, glowering at the embers of the tiny fire. He'd had a lousy night, waking at every tiny sound, worried about enemy sorcerers—but apparently they didn't have a fix on him. Probably because he'd been bound away from this location when last he'd worked magic. Or because they didn't think he was anything to worry about.
You'll change their minds about that, something said inside him.
Matt almost laughed. Right now, he didn't feel as though he could be a threat to anyone. An uneasy night's sleep, the chill of the morning, and a handful of berries just didn't make for high morale. He rolled up to his knees, scooped some dirt onto his burned-out campfire just in case, then pushed himself to his feet and started out toward the rising sun again. This time, though, he angled away from the path, heading toward what looked to be the nearest hillside.
As he went, he wondered about that "siege" the soldiers had mentioned yesterday. It could mean that there were a lot more of their kind about. He'd have to be careful.
So he was—and the day passed without incident. Also without food. If there was small game on this mountainside, it was very good at hiding. Either that, or the siege had cleaned out everything edible. So what with one thing and another, he was in a very glum mood as he toiled up the hillside, glowering at the golden glow of sunset behind him, his tall, stretched-out shadow looming before him...