Demon Rider tyol-2

by Ken Hood

  Toby laughed. "Me? I'm as poor as beggars' lice."

  "The witness must answer the question."

  "The answer is no."

  "Does the witness wear a locket?"

  "No."

  Thunder! Very close.

  Come on hob! Do something. Distract them so I can kill that tormentor and make a break for it!

  The hob did nothing.

  "Other persons have stated that the witness wears a leather locket around his neck."

  Pepita? "The other persons are mistaken."

  "The witness will remove his doublet and shirt."

  An order to strip was the traditional preliminary to torture. He did not expect that here—unless this time was to be different from the vision, which it might be—but they could not suspect how much he already knew of their procedures. His heartbeat surged again as he realized that this might provide the distraction he needed, but he pretended to be alarmed. "Why? I've told you you're mistaken."

  "The witness will obey or he will be forced to obey."

  He glanced around to locate the two landsknechte, one at the end of the table to his right, the other at his back, guarding the door. They both met his gaze with cheerful smiles, as if to say a little exercise would be a welcome relief from boredom. He shrugged and removed his jerkin, dropping it at his feet. He unlaced his doublet, and did the same with that, being glad that his Onda hose were so loose that he had taken to wearing a rope tied around his waist. Finally he stripped off his shirt and balled it up tightly in both hands.

  No locket.

  The inquisitor's eyes narrowed. He peered around Toby to address the landsknecht by the tent flap. "Go and bring the two men who were set to guard this witness." He was guessing that Toby had hidden the locket somewhere.

  The flap flapped. So now there was only one of the Germans present, and there would be four very shortly. Lightning dimmed the lanterns for a moment. Thunder rocked the world. Come on hob! Wake up!

  "Search the witness," said the inquisitor.

  The tormentor strode forward with a contemptuous sneer and snatched the shirt from Toby's hands. He pawed at it and found nothing, of course. Toby drew a deep breath, readying his move.

  Flash! Very bright, very near.

  The clerk bent over to pick up the doublet. Toby grabbed his head in both hands and wrenched it around. Bones in the neck snapped with an audible crack. Cojones to you, friend! He swung around to the landsknecht, who had already drawn his sword but did not manage to wield it before he received a fast-moving foot exactly where it would do the most good. The padding absorbed some of the impact, but even a cannonade of thunder did not drown out his scream. He crashed back into one of the poles, the wall buckled, the roof sagged.

  The slug-shaped inquisitor started to rise, grabbing for the crucifix. Toby snatched it away from him, caught up the bottle in his other hand, and overturned the table with his knee, tipping it onto the friars. He spun around and dived out through the flap.

  The night was pitch black. He had not expected that. Two seconds took four hours to pass, then his eyes adjusted and the streaming fires in the kitchen enclosure emerged from darkness to give him some bearings. The world flashed white and roared as lightning struck a tree not fifty paces away. In that split-second brilliance he saw three landsknechte coming straight for him, two with pikes and the third with drawn sword. He turned to run, and there was another, about six feet in front of him, with sword drawn.

  Hob!

  The world went white again almost at his heels. The explosion took his head off, smashed every bone in his body, and hurled him into the tent. He broke another pole and brought down the whole structure, which cushioned his fall a little, but for a few moments he was too stunned to move. The air was filled with strange odors, his head rang like an iron bell, and he could see nothing except puzzling green afterimages, which he eventually identified as the thunderbolt reflected on the fourth landsknecht's sword and gold chains.

  The night was illuminated by blazing trees. Boom!—another fiery candle came to life. The leather tent billowed and surged beneath him as the friars tried to extricate themselves from the wreckage. Through the clamor in his own head he could make out their wails and screams, horses shrilling, dogs howling, men yelling... He was holding Gracia's bottle, but he had lost the crucifix. He would die here if he didn't move. He sat up.

  The three landsknechte had been charred. One of them was still burning. In the other direction, the fourth was starting to show signs of life, but he had his hands to his eyes—he had been facing the thunderbolt. Toby lurched to his feet. The German tried to, but he wasn't quick enough. Toby swung a foot and kicked his chin, hurling him prone again.

  Then he stamped on the man's throat. There were no rules in this fight.

  Boom! The hob lit another candle in the woods.

  Snatching up the landsknecht's sword, he stumbled in the direction of the pilgrims. Before he took ten steps their guards identified him as a problem and four pikes came charging toward him. He pointed the sword at them and covered his eyes with his left hand. Hob! There! The flash shone red through his flesh, and thunder struck him like a flying anvil. There were real things flying, too, nasty hot wet things. The wind stank of roast meat. He was wielding the lightnings.

  Boom! The hob was in full rampage now, methodically blasting the surrounding forest. He ran to join the pilgrims with his ears singing. Count up the score... one and three and one and four... nine, meaning about eighteen landsknechte left to go. Still not good odds. Boom!

  The pilgrims were all on their feet and shouting, although he could not make out their words. They must be as deaf and dazzled as he was, but some had run to save the baggage, which lay close to one of the hob's giant candles. Here came another landsknecht.

  Toby parried a downward cut and instantly the damned blade came at him from the left—demons, this one was fast! He jumped back, parrying frantically, and the tall German came right after him, blade flashing like a dragonfly. Then Hamish kicked him in the kidneys, which distracted him enough to let Toby's sword into his right eye. Ten down. Sixteen or seventeen to go. Another Boom! from the hob.

  Gracia was standing with her mouth open in an endless scream. Toby thrust the bottle at her. "This is yours. Take care of it." She probably did not hear, but she clutched it to her. "Hamish! Get the horses. Get lots of horses." He could barely hear his own voice.

  No. The horses were churning in frenzy. So far they had not broken out, but they could never be saddled up in that condition, so flight was out of the question. The landsknechte would give no quarter now, no matter what the Inquisition told them. It was a fight to the death.

  Two more of them coming. If they were as good as the last one, he was finished. Then a maze of multiple shadows rushed in from the side and became Don Ramon, who tossed a sword at Hamish's feet and waded into both the advancing landsknechte with his broadsword whistling. While he had them distracted, Toby circled around and stabbed one in the back. The don showed no signs of being offended at this breach of chivalry, for he yelled in delight.

  By then Hamish had taken on the second, driving his opponent like a herd of sheep—although the German was a much larger, heavier man—and all the time screaming curses in Gaelic. His Campbell blood was up. The brief struggle was no courtly ballet of rapiers but a two-handed slugfest, and the more experienced landsknecht was probably just summing up his man and biding his time. Unfortunately he backed into a thorn bush, and Hamish's blade went right through him. The victor barely had time to pull it free before Eulalia hurled herself upon him. If the good folk back in Tyndrum could see the lad now...

  Fourteen to go.

  Everyone was shouting, but Toby could not make out a word over the singing in his ears and all the other noises of horses and dogs and burning trees.

  This was taking too long. If the landsknechte had time to organize, they would wipe the table clear in minutes. Six of them had lined up near the kitchen fires and were goi
ng through the cumbersome drill of loading their arquebuses. Toby pointed again. Hob! This time there was no lightning stroke but a wild explosion as the powder horns blew up. Shattered corpses flew apart in a black mist and billows of white smoke rushed away on the wind.

  The collapsed tent was on fire. Friars in roiling black gowns were trying to extricate the occupants, aided by a couple of landsknechte. The dangerous crucifix was in there somewhere. Why should the Dominicans be spared? They were murdering, merciless swine. Hob! There! Kill!

  Boom! The blast of another bolt of lightning hurled bodies aside and sent flames leaping to the next tent.

  A solitary landsknecht ran across Toby's field of vision. He pointed his sword and blasted the man out of existence. It was as easy as stamping bugs.

  The captain had rallied the last of his men into a squad, and the rest of the friars and civilians had gone to them for protection. The first heavy spots of rain splattered on Toby's bare shoulders. He started forward, and hands grabbed his arm. It was Brother Bernat, wailing or shouting inaudibly, looking aghast.

  "Can't hear you!" Toby bellowed.

  The old man pulled closer, straining up to reach his ear. "Tobias! You must stop! What are you doing?"

  "Administering justice, Brother. Let me go."

  His words might not be audible, for the Franciscan's haggard face remained distraught. "No, no! Don't you see what's happening to you?"

  "I know what was going to happen to me. It still may, but this time I'm going to earn it. Out of my way!"

  Toby pushed the old man aside roughly. With Hamish and the don at his heels, he started to run toward the assembled landsknechte. Then he realized that they had turned themselves into one big target, friars and all. Fools! He stopped and pointed his deadly lightning-bringing sword. Hob!

  Nothing happened. Demons! There were still enough armed mercenaries there to chop the pilgrim band into mincemeat, and they would show no mercy. Besides, there must be no witnesses. Only one side could have survivors now. He felt a stab of cold panic. Rain pattered faster on his skin.

  "Hob!" he screamed. "Blast them! Them! There!"

  Flash! Boom! Bodies flying.

  That should be it, everyone accounted for. The skies fell in a flood of icy water, beating on him like freezing whips. Roaring flames sputtered, dwindled, and died; blackness swallowed the world. The hob swatted some more trees but failed to start fires.

  "Don Ramon, Hamish! Get them under cover! That tent!" He must have made himself understood, because the other two ran to collect the pilgrims.

  Toby walked all around the camp, hunting for survivors. One of the dogs had slipped its collar and disappeared. The others were howling madly, fighting their chains, and he killed them. He found two men badly burned but still showing signs of life, so he slaughtered them also, and later he made certain of a few who showed no visible injuries. By that time the ground was a morass of puddles and mud, and the storm was moving on. He owned the camp. Its original owners were all dead, and good riddance. The only thing he could not locate was the sword he had brought with him. He found several so similar he could not tell if one of them was his demon sword. Well, whoever had need of a demon sword?

  As the last drops of the rain spattered on his bare chest and shoulders, he shivered in the night and felt the glory of omnipotence turn sour. The taste of revenge was never as appealing as its smell.

  He went to the heap of baggage and found the don's tattered old saddle. He retrieved the locket he had slipped in through some torn stitching when he first saw the landsknechte.

  Now he had time to ponder Brother Bernat's question: What had he become?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A tent designed to sleep four men along each side was a tight fit for fifteen people. No fancy carpets here—the pilgrims sat or sprawled on a litter of straw bedding in the uncertain glimmer of a single lantern, with the odor of wet people almost masking a basic reek of barracks. Toby left his sword outside and went down on his knees as soon as he entered, so he would not tower over them all. They must be terrified of him, a half naked giant, soaked, streaked with watery blood, possessed by a demon, a monster who had called down thunderbolts to destroy a troop of the finest fighters in Europe.

  "I mean you no harm, none of you!"

  Silence. He located Hamish in the corner to his right, but even Hamish's expression was grim, surprisingly so, considering he had an arm around Eulalia. Was he wondering whether this was the Toby he knew?

  "Here, catch!" Hamish wadded up a shirt and tossed it over with his free hand.

  "Thanks." Toby put it on. It would not close around his chest, but it helped. He had slept half the day, and yet he felt as if his limbs were made of stone, utterly exhausted.

  Brother Bernat and Father Guillem sat together in the center of the tent, holding a sleeping Pepita, and both were frowning at the newcomer as if he had betrayed them, which in a sense he had. In a far corner the don was cuddling Gracia and either whispering secrets in her ear or chewing it. Gracia sat like a white-faced doll in his arms, immobilized by shock and apparently unaware of him. Doña Francisca looked so much like a very frightened old lady that it seemed incredible anyone could still be taken in by her masquerade.

  Speaking to all of them, Toby said, "You have known me for several days. You know I mean you well."

  "Did you leave any survivors?" Father Guillem demanded harshly.

  "No. We are out of danger for the time being." That might be true of him, but they would feel otherwise. "I am not possessed by a demon, however it may seem to you. There is a spirit that protects me. It rarely interferes, but tonight it came to my defense. I can't control it or call it at will." Was that still the case? He had certainly been directing it tonight, pointing out targets. "It won't harm any of you if you are still my friends, as I hope you are." And he could never guarantee that, either.

  "Friends?" the acolyte boomed in sonorous sarcasm. "You murder thirty men and expect us to be your friends?"

  "He saved you all when Senor Brusi was killed!" Hamish snapped.

  "We should have seen then that his fighting powers were more than human."

  "As far as I know, they were merely human that day," Toby protested. "Then I was fighting to protect your horses. These mercenaries were my own enemies. All I wanted was to proceed in peace along the highway, yet they would have locked me in that cage and taken me away to be tortured to death. Have I no right to defend myself?"

  "Not if you are guilty and condemned by law."

  "I do not consider myself guilty." What sort of defense was that?

  "Did they use violence on you?"

  "They were going to, as you well know, Father." But it had been Toby himself who began the violence, avenging a crime that might never be committed.

  He sighed and wiped his face with a sleeve. In spite of his sleep earlier he felt deathly weary, and his shoulders still ached from the strappado. "The moon is rising. I will leave as soon as I can. You may come with me or remain here, as you please."

  Their decision would make a lot of difference. There must be many more landsknechte where these had come from, and they would be after him like hounds when they heard the news. So would the Inquisition. On the other hand, this checkpoint had been a well-kept secret. Tortosa might not learn of the massacre for several days, so if he could pass by the town before dawn, he should have a sizable head start on any pursuit—provided everyone else came with him. If even one of the pilgrims remained behind to tattle, he would be in very serious trouble. He glanced over at the don, hoping for support, but the don was ignoring the proceedings altogether.

  "If you do come with me, then you will have to ride. I checked out the commissary. There is ample food there. I fully intend to steal provisions and horses, and probably also a few of those gold chains the Germans wear."

  That possibility produced a ripple of interest among Rafael, Miguel, and the two Elinors.

  "You are trying to bribe us!" Father Guillem sneered. "
You want to make us your accomplices."

  He was absolutely right, and he held the moral high ground, but Toby wanted to strangle him. The moral high ground might become a killing field for all of them. Could he make the monk see that?

  "In the eyes of the Inquisition, you are my accomplices already. Nothing I can do or say will change that. Furthermore, you are all in considerable danger—not from me, from others. You have two choices. You can come with me, or you can go to Tortosa and report to the authorities. If you do that, though, you must beware of revenge from other landsknechte. They will not be easily convinced that I accomplished the slaughter singlehandedly. At the least, the Inquisition will throw you in jail as witnesses, and it may be years before you are released."

  Senora Collel wailed and clasped both hands to her mouth. The Rafael-Miguel foursome muttered nervously among themselves. The don was still paying no attention, and neither was Gracia. Josep's face was unreadable.

  "Father Guillem, am I right about that?" Toby asked.

  The monk glared at him. "We shall certainly be interrogated, and I admit I fear those German barbarians. Where are you planning to go?"

  "If you come with me, then we can go on to Montserrat. If you do not choose to come, then naturally I cannot reveal my intentions. Once we reach the monastery and Barcelona and split up, there will be no evidence against any of you. The records were burned in the tent. No one else knows what happened. No one knows who was here."

  He looked around the group. It was hopeless. Why should they trust him? He should leave now, either with Hamish or alone. Would even Hamish trust him now?

  "Suppose all but one of us decide to accompany you," asked Father Guillem with a return to his earlier sneer. "What will you do to that one?"

  "Nothing. Jaume and I will go alone. It must be all of you or none."

  That statement brought a slow chill as each one worked it out—they must either trust him by accepting his offer or trust him not to dispose of those who refused it. In the ensuing silence, all eyes turned to Don Ramon, but he was still intent on Gracia.