Demon Rider tyol-2

by Ken Hood

  "The Fiend's army never attacked Montserrat," Father Guillem said. "That was a condition when Barcelona opened its gates to him. If you go there, the landsknechte may follow you in. You are a marked man."

  Toby had been a marked man for years, but the monk had made a good point. Furthermore, the hob had a virulent dislike of tutelaries. "Agreed. I have no wish to cause more trouble. I shall deliver you to the safe area and leave you there."

  "I hate those German brutes!" shouted Senora Collel. "It was they who slaughtered the people, raping and burning. They deserved what happened to them. And I have no sympathy for the Inquisition either! Some evil person brought false charges against my second husband, and he died in their cells. I was not allowed to see his body, but I know they tortured him. They admitted he must have been innocent because he died! I think Senor Longdirk did us all a favor tonight. I trust him."

  Surprised, Toby nodded his thanks to her. He wondered who had started the tales about her husband and reproached himself for being unfair.

  "Can we keep the horses?" one of the Elinors asked slyly.

  "I don't see why not. Say you found them. There are stray horses all over the place." Toby could see the lines forming now, friends and non-friends. "Josep?"

  Josep glared at him angrily. "I have no wish to be racked."

  "You may get racked anyway," Toby snarled. "I thought you were my friend." He was being unfair. Young Brusi was a rich man who could be tracked down by his name alone, whereas the four peasants would vanish into anonymity in the countryside somewhere.

  The tent was stuffy and he was exhausted. He ought to walk out, saddle a horse, and ride away before he fell asleep right here on his knees. He owed these people nothing.

  "It is our moral duty to report this man for murder and the use of demons," Father Guillem proclaimed. "If we accompany him, then we become accomplices in his crimes."

  Brother Bernat stirred and said something. Father Guillem objected in an urgent whisper. The old man shook his head, insisting. Reluctantly, the monk scooped up the sleeping Pepita and took her onto his own lap. She did not awaken. Brother Bernat clambered painfully to his knees. He looked twenty years older than usual, bent and withered.

  "Come here, Tobias."

  Toby did not stand. He scrabbled forward until he knelt before the friar. "Brother?"

  "Will you trust me, Tobias?" Bernat's dark eyes were somber and yet somehow menacing.

  "Trust you? To do what?"

  "To look into your soul."

  Toby felt a chill of alarm. He did not know the source or the limits of the friar's strange powers, and who would dare let his soul be examined? Everyone has secrets.

  "Is this necessary?"

  "It is vital for all of us, especially for you. You trusted me to heal your body, my son."

  "You mean you can heal my soul now?"

  "No. But I may be able to tell how badly it has been damaged."

  "Then look wherever you can."

  "Relax. Do not resist." The friar clasped Toby's shoulders in his bony hands. For a moment he just stared into his eyes. Then, inexplicably, he was staring inside him.

  Toby could feel that needle-sharp gaze peering, probing, slipping gently past his defenses, bypassing all the walls he had raised against a pitiless world, prying into corners he had walled off even from himself, uncovering secrets he had tried to forget and things he did not want to know. Physically he seemed to be frozen, unable to move a finger in that frail grasp, and yet he felt himself balling mental fists, preparing to smash the intruder and drive him out before he could steal away his soul. He fought against the impulse. He forced himself to retreat, to submit as layer after layer was stripped away. His body shook with effort, his face streamed with sweat. He was being violated. He could not tell what odious truths were being uncovered, only that the innermost cavities of his being were being opened and inspected, that he was naked, flayed, dissected. Then, finally, in the deepest, darkest cellar of his mind, something else stirred. Something unknown roused and began opening a last door, preparing to emerge and meet the intruder. He had no idea what shape it might be, but he sensed the friar's alarm, his efforts to repel this horror and keep it caged. Bernat's eyes burned with effort, but it was not enough. Shuddering, Toby threw his own will and weight into the struggle, and the two of them forced the door closed together.

  Brother Bernat sighed and released him.

  Toby sank back on his heels, shaking and only now aware that he was sobbing, tears cascading down his cheeks. He wondered what everyone else must think of him.

  The old friar sat down again, steadied by a hand from Father Guillem. He rubbed his eyes as if they ached.

  "Well?" barked the monk.

  "He is not guiltless. Yet the choice he had to make tonight was a very hard one. It may be that he chose the lesser way, but I cannot judge him, because I have never had to make that same choice. He means what he has been telling us." The friar looked at Pepita, but she was still sleeping soundly and he did not try to take her back.

  "What did you see?" Toby cried.

  The old man regarded him sadly. "I saw that you are still who you think you are, my son, but only just. You came close tonight to becoming something else, and if you ever travel that road again, you must not expect to return."

  The tent was very quiet.

  Toby pulled himself together as well as he could, although his skin crawled. He could see Hamish nodding as if the old friar had merely confirmed his own suspicions.

  Guillem muttered something about "taking a crazy risk," and Bernat smiled wearily.

  Now where did they stand? This had gone on too long.

  "So you will come with me, Brother?"

  The friar nodded. "That seems to offer the path of least violence. I will not willingly provoke a blood feud, and I dread what may happen if the Germans send more men after you."

  "Father Guillem?"

  The monk scowled. "It violates everything I believe in to condone such a crime and let the perpetrator escape, but the alternative may bring more trouble, and to innocent people, too. Yes, if everyone agrees to accompany you, then I will not refuse."

  "I will not be the only holdout either," Josep said quietly.

  Toby gave him a grateful smile. But what of the don? He was the hired guard, he had even helped fight the landsknechte, so why was he remaining aloof from the debate? His attentions to Senora de Gomez were becoming perilously close to indecent. These people depended on their hidalgo for leadership. If he and Brother Bernat both supported Toby, surely the rest would follow.

  "Senor? Don Ramon?"

  "Ah!" The don looked up and beamed. "Finished your pep talk to the troops, Campeador? Good." He released his companion and sprang to his feet to address the company. "At ease. Tonight we won a signal victory against greatly superior forces, and Campeador Longdirk in particular distinguished himself and deserves all our thanks. We are indeed fortunate to have an officer of his talents and courage fighting alongside us. This was a noble engagement in which we inflicted heavy losses at no cost whatsoever to ourselves and took significant quantities of booty, which will be distributed in the customary fashion. Alas, the enemy still outnumbers us. We shall outflank him by going upriver to Lerida and circling around to strike a decisive blow from the north. Now that our supply and transportation difficulties have been overcome, I anticipate that our progress will be greatly expedited. I rely on your continued enthusiastic and brave service in the future as I have in the past. That's all. Carry on, Campeador."

  Apparently it was to be unanimous. Bewildered, Toby looked to Hamish, who shook his head disbelievingly and then managed to smile.

  PART SIX

  Alumbradismo

  CHAPTER ONE

  Over the gray scrub uplands of La Mancha, stretched out to the bottom of the somber, clouded sky, trotted a line of twenty horses, fourteen of them with riders, the rest bearing baggage.

  Ah, they were a fine sight! Blisters and aches were h
ealing, even Josep rarely fell off these days, and the pilgrims believed in themselves. Watching them come in the low light of evening, Toby could relish a niggle of pride that he knew would appall Father Guillem. They were traveling in far better style now than they had when they first met Toby Longdirk, and he had a shameful inclination to give himself some credit for that, even if he would never mention it to anyone else. Admittedly, his success had been bought at the price of some three dozen lives, but if kings and generals could be praised for victories and booty, then why shouldn't he? The landsknechte had gained their wealth by looting, so he had merely returned some of it to Spanish ownership. Father Guillem did not approve of such views, but most of the others did.

  They had passed Tortosa in the night and carried on up the valley of the Ebro. The interior had not suffered from the war as badly as the coast had. Already houses were being rebuilt and there was traffic on the byways, the life of the land thrusting out shoots as men plowed and pruned and herded. Having ample provisions, the pilgrims had ridden by the scattered settlements without stopping, and in four days no one had contested their passage, no pursuers had come howling for their blood. Now they could truly believe they had escaped. Even if the massacre had been discovered, the delay should block any efforts by the governor, the landsknechte, or even the Inquisition to learn who had been seen traveling when, to where, on what road. The future could become interesting again. Horses made a huge difference, eating up the leagues.

  The weather had broken, bringing cold and squalls. He pulled his cloak tighter around him as he waited for the others to arrive, cursing a bitter wind he would have welcomed with rapture only days ago, grateful for the clothes he had looted. His doublet was indigo with scarlet lining showing through the slashes, and his hose were a shocking mismatch in yellow and blue. The grandiose landsknechte costume was distinctive, but both Josep and Doña Francisca assured him that stylish Spanish gentlemen had begun to adopt the mercenaries' custom of a heavily padded doublet worn without a jerkin. So as long as he kept the cloak around him and did not flaunt a plumed cap, he could pass as a civilian with more money than taste.

  He had ridden ahead on Smeòrach to locate a campsite. Smeòrach was a fine young gelding, strong and eager, named after the thrush because of his speckled coat. Even after a long day of carrying his oversized new owner, he fretted at being made to stand. He wanted to stretch out and run.

  The don arrived, still wearing his motley armor and carrying his lance but mounted now on the landsknechte captain's showy black stallion, which he had chosen because it had a vicious temper and thus presented an interesting challenge. Doña Francisca was following some ways behind on her piebald mare, both Petals and Atropos having been released to fend for themselves in honorable retirement.

  Smeòrach whinnied a welcome. Toby saluted and gestured apologetically at the dusty gully behind him, which offered nothing but a puddle of rainwater and some shelter from the eternal wind.

  "This is the best I can find, senor."

  The don regarded the prospect without enthusiasm. "It must suffice. We may do better tomorrow, when we reach the valley of the Segre. We shall follow it to Lerida, but once we turn east, the country is more settled." Although his mother confirmed that he had never visited these parts before, he had not been wrong yet.

  "Senor, I am worried about the friar. He has never ridden in his life before, and he is very old. He cannot endure this pace for long."

  "You'll think of something, Campeador." The don had no patience for unwelcome realities. "By the way, just before that honorable exchange with the foreigners, you promised to tell me your story. You have not yet done so." He frowned as if this were rank mutiny, but in fact Toby had just not had a free minute. He had not even contrived any private chats with Brother Bernat, who still had much to tell him.

  "I shall be honored to do so this evening, senor, to both you and Senor Francisco, if he wishes to attend. After supper, if that will be convenient?"

  "Yes. And why don't you and Sergeant Jaume dine with us in our pavilion, hmm?"

  Toby thanked him solemnly, although the entire company now ate together around a communal fire. Nor did the expedition have even one tent, although that had begun to seem like a foolish oversight.

  The don went off to choose a sleeping place. His mother rode by with a tired smile, followed by the other women, all chattering like starlings at sunset. Gracia and Senora Collel had insisted on retaining their previous mounts and the awkward silla sidesaddles. Eulalia and the two Elinors managed surprisingly well, although none of them would ever be described as a stylish rider. Pepita thought riding was tremendous fun. Toby had expected her to double up with one of the adults, but she had selected a high-stepping gelding, calmed him with a touch, and ridden him from then on as if she had been weaned on mares' milk.

  Rafael and Miguel actually smiled at Toby as they passed—oh, what a change that was! Of course they were rich men now, by their standards. They and their wives had scavenged through the landsknechte camp like jackdaws, gathering all the valuables. As far as Toby knew, no one else had collected as much as one gold link.

  Hamish was next, leading the pack train and garbed even more garishly than Toby was, in purple and gold and lime green. He bowed graciously in the saddle as he went by.

  Finally came Josep and Father Guillem, the worst riders. The monk had fallen off several times and Josep been thrown twice, although neither had broken any bones. They were leading Brother Bernat's horse.

  "What happened? Where is he?"

  "He is coming," Father Guillem said with the disapproving scowl he wore anywhere close to Toby. "He prefers to walk."

  Toby gave Smeòrach a kick and had his head jerked back as the gelding took off like a crossbow quarrel. This, in his horse's opinion, was more like it! After about a mile, just when he was working up a good sweat, the irritating man on his back annoyed him thoroughly by reining him in again.

  The gray-robed friar was trudging along at his usual pace, apparently not in distress. Toby dismounted and fell into step on the windward side, leading Smeòrach. "Are you all right, Brother?"

  Obviously Bernat was not all right. He could walk any of them off their feet, but he had looked drawn and exhausted ever since they first put him on a horse. At the moment he had his hood up, so his face was not clearly visible; yet he seemed better than he had at noon, and he greeted the question with a dry, tolerant chuckle.

  "There is nothing wrong with me that you can help, not unless you can somehow lift sixty years or so from me, and I doubt even your hob can manage that."

  "We should not have come so far today. I am sorry."

  The old man shook his head. "You have good reason, many good reasons. I will not hold you up. I am better with my feet on Mother Earth, that is all. You must not worry about me."

  "But—" Toby realized he was in danger of clucking and remembered how he hated to be mothered by Hamish. "I will worry, but I will try not to nag." He busied himself loosening Smeòrach's girths as they walked.

  "There is one thing you may do for me, Tobias. Keep your eyes open for some pleasant little town that has not been ravaged too badly. I have a need to find a shrine in the near future, a small sanctuary."

  Toby tried to catch a better view of the old man's face. How urgent was this need? "The don says we'll reach Lerida tomorrow."

  "No, I want a smaller place."

  "I am sure the Lerida tutelary will be skilled at healing, Brother."

  "Healing is not what I need," Brother Bernat explained patiently.

  "Oh! Then why...? But most of the lesser shrines are empty. The spirits were raped away by the Fiend's hexers."

  "Yes, I know that."

  Completely fuddled now, Toby gave up trying to understand. "The don says we will soon be in country more populated than this."

  "That will do. I have a few days yet. How is your meditating going?"

  "I keep trying. Every night on my watch. And even when I'm riding."


  The friar laughed faintly. "I had no idea that it was possible to meditate and ride at the same time."

  "I'm not sure it is," Toby admitted. "But I do try whenever I have time."

  "It will come. There is a right way and a wrong way to put a horse in a stall, isn't there?"

  "Huh? Well, they like to have their eating end next the manger."

  "And lying on their backs with their feet in the air would count as a wrong way?"

  "I've seen them try it." Where was this conversation leading?

  "Then I picked a poor analogy. What I mean to say, Tobias, is that there is more than one way to put a spirit inside a person. A hexer has a special way of inserting a demon into a husk to make a creature. A free demon will possess a man in another way."

  "And the hob?"

  "Seems to have found a third position. From what you have told me of your experiences, it may have tried several times before it got comfortable. Father Guillem thinks that is why the Inquisition failed to conjure it, although he is guessing. There is yet another—"

  "Is that why you say it cannot be exorcized?"

  "No." The old man walked on for a moment with his head down, his face hidden by his hood. "I must tell you this now, Tobias, although I would have preferred to keep it for later. The reason you cannot ever be rid of the hob is that it is too late."

  "I guessed that. It's put down roots, hasn't it?"

  "You have grown together, and you will continue to grow together. To remove the hob now would leave very little of you. That is how you bring back such useful memories from the future. Warnings, you called them, and you said the hob wasn't smart enough to be so selective, but you certainly are. It used your intelligence to choose the warnings, manipulating you. And manipulation seems to work both ways—doesn't it, Tobias?"

  Toby squirmed like a worm on a hook. "Well, maybe a little. Maybe once..."

  "Which of you destroyed the landsknechte and the Inquisition?"

  Murderer! "I did, Brother. I told the hob where to strike. It was the storm that roused it, and I've been wondering if that was what was different from the time before, when it jerked me back to start over—this time the storm came. The storm was just luck, but once the hob began rampaging, I found I could direct some of the thunderbolts. I've never felt anything like that before, and I had trouble directing it at the end. Whatever power I had didn't last long."