Demon Rider tyol-2

by Ken Hood

  "Everything," said the spirit. "And nothing, for we did not plan to offer you our help. You have won, Tobias—won!"

  He struggled up out of the bed. "I had help."

  "Of course you had help!" Now the spirit sounded exasperated. "All mortals need help! There is no shame in accepting help, especially when you have earned it. Loyalty begats loyalty. You went to a terrible death to spare your friends. It was you who inspired the don to hazard his life for you, not us. That was the only way he could admit that you had saved him from the brigands. It was you who defeated Oreste, just as once you defeated Valda. The victory is yours."

  It was a strange notion. He stood for a moment, letting that concept soak through his weariness. Victory? Oreste, the Inquisition, the landsknechte—even Montserrat itself. He had won! He squared his shoulders.

  "And?"

  "That is what we ask of you. What will you do with your success?"

  Must he decide now, tonight? So tired. But yes, of course! "The iron is hot? The tide runs?" It must be tonight, before the glow of victory faded, while everyone was still here.

  That was what Hamish had seen.

  "The sailor sets sail when the wind is in his favor, Tobias."

  He laughed. "I am not accustomed to victory, Holiness! It is a new thing." And a very sweet one.

  Alfonso beamed and said, "It is time for dinner, senor!" in his tuneful soprano. He walked across to the table and picked up the silver box that contained the demon Avernus. He obviously did not realize he was doing so, or where he was going to take it. "It is roast goose tonight, senor! I could smell it downstairs."

  Silence. After a moment, he said, "Senor?"

  Toby snapped out of his reverie. He grabbed up the jerkin. "I'm ready. Lead the way, lad. Let's go and catch the wind!"

  EPILOGUE

  Captain Antonio Diaz Davila liked to think of himself as a devout man—within the limits imposed by his profession—but on his previous visit to Montserrat the tutelary had refused to hear his confession. That rebuff had been a devastating shock for him. He had only been obeying orders! That the spirit did not view this excuse in the same way he did had caused him considerable anguish and self-examination.

  Today's unexpected return visit was a welcome chance to make amends. Having seen the horses stabled and his men properly quartered and served at the refectory's loaded tables, he put Sergeant Gomez in charge and sent himself off duty—possibly forever.

  All his life he had tried to visit Montserrat at least once a year. The great church was very large and old, and very splendid. By day its richness never failed to snatch his breath away, but it was just as impressive in near-darkness. A hundred starry candles failed to illuminate its expanse or the worshipers who came at all hours to pray in a silence so profound that it seemed to echo. There, after long meditation on his knees, Diaz confirmed his decision and felt peace. He might die very soon, but what really mattered was what would happen to his soul when he did.

  Even then, in the middle of the night, many of the confessionals were occupied, but he found an empty one and knelt on the cushion provided. He waited apprehensively until an elderly nun came in and took the chair before him. She said nothing, just folded her hands in her lap, smiled over his head, and waited. He would have preferred a monk, but truly it did not matter. Only the spirit would hear.

  He began with the least of his failings—shortness of temper, fits of envy, ill-considered speech. He progressed to more serious matters—excessive severity toward a couple of recruits, his recent tendency to drink too much, and a shameful incident with a certain married lady. He listed the actions he had already taken to set things to rights where he could, plus a few other possible reparations that had occurred to him during his meditation. Then he came to the problem of his duty and hesitated.

  The spirit spoke for the first time. "Antonio, you were right to dispose of these lesser affairs before you tell us of your greater sorrow. For all the matters you have mentioned, though, we accept your repentance. Do as you have promised, and they will imperil your soul no longer."

  He savored that blessing for a moment. Then he drew a deep breath. "The other problem, Holiness, is that I am a soldier and must obey orders. Even... I mean when... Although..."

  "Take your time. You are in no immediate danger of dying, and we have all Eternity."

  He glanced up gratefully, although the nun had never yet looked down at him. "You told me many years ago that a boy could honorably aspire to be a soldier, although the risk of doing evil would be greater for him than for other men. When Queen Caterina left and my superiors surrendered the palace to King Nevil, I obeyed orders and stayed at my post. Soon I was promoted. I accepted that promotion, even knowing that the Fiend was a most evil tyrant. I reasoned that if I did not take the position then someone else would, and—"

  "That is never an excuse. We told you so when you were sixteen."

  "I remember, Holiness, I remember! I mean that I... that another man might not try so hard to... I mean..." Another deep breath. "Whenever I can, Holiness, I obey my orders in the least evil way possible. Barcelona groans under the viceroy's tyranny, and some of his evil comes to them through me. I have tried my best to minimize it, truly I have! During the riots, when I was ordered to fire on the crowds, I had the men load one-third charges, so that the shots would more likely wound than kill. When I was sent out to arrest twelve hostages at random, to be executed in retribution, I chose elderly persons, invalids, cripples. It did no good! The baron knew at once what I had done and sent me back for another twelve—young people. My efforts to do less evil merely produced more." His mouth was dry. His heart ached with the memory.

  "Antonio," said the serene voice of the spirit, "the greatest of all tragedies is that evil cannot prosper long without the help of the good, and yet prosper it does. Though you were doing less evil than the baron wanted, you were still doing enough."

  "I see that now, Holiness. You opened my eyes. I will serve him no more. I will not return to Barcelona with him tomorrow, or whenever he leaves here. If you refuse me sanctuary, then I must flee and hope that he does not track me down with his black arts. He regards anything less than perfect loyalty as treason."

  Some executions for treason lasted for days, with the victims' suffering extended by demonic power beyond all normal endurance. He had no close family, but his cousins and uncles might well...

  "A late repentance is still repentance. This is your firm decision?"

  "It is, Holiness."

  "Then you are forgiven. Walk in peace and do better."

  Ah, what blessed relief those words brought with them! The tutelary had not yet offered sanctuary, though. Nor named a penance...

  "Was it only our anger that opened your eyes, Antonio? Nothing else?"

  "Your disapproval was enough, Holiness, when I had time to think about it. Although... well, later I watched a young man give himself up to the Inquisition in place of his friends. When I compared his actions with mine I was ashamed, bitterly ashamed. I saw myself rotting in evil."

  "And how did you see Longdirk?"

  The question disconcerted him. "An impressive young man, but a tragic one. I am surprised that his demon was able to conceal itself so well. He showed absolutely no signs of possession that I could see, unless the brigands... but I did not really witness what happened to them."

  The tutelary sighed. "Ignore his demon for now. We believe he has mastered it, or will soon. We can discuss that another time. Without the demon, would you accept that man as a friend?"

  The question stabbed to his heart. "Alas, Holiness! The boy is undoubtedly dead by now, hanging in chains that I fastened myself."

  "Answer our question."

  "Friend? That one would never have extended friendship readily. To have earned his trust would have made any man proud, for it would have been an anchor in the wildest storms."

  "He is not dead."

  "It would be better for him if he were. Are you saying you wa
nt me to go and rescue him, Holiness? A man possessed by—"

  "No, we are saying he is here, beyond the reach of the tormentors. He stole away the viceroy's demons and left him bereft of his powers."

  "He did?" Was that why Oreste had come hastening to Montserrat? "Longdirk did? He and his demon? Why, that is the most incredible, wonderful—"

  "No help from his demon. A little aid from us and from one of his followers, but mostly just Longdirk himself. He reminds us very much of El Cid in his younger days, before he realized how good he was."

  "Praise indeed, Holiness!" Diaz muttered. El Cid!

  "Praise well earned. The baron was enchanted to obey the Fiend, you know. Now Longdirk has released him, he is truly penitent. Like you he will serve Nevil no more."

  "That is marvelous news, Holiness!—for Barcelona, for Aragon, and for me." So Diaz need not resign his commission? But he had promised to do so, and the tutelary had let him make that promise.

  "It is good news. We have not yet named your penance, Antonio. First, go and meet our hero. Return here in the morning." The nun rose from her chair to end the interview. "We shall guide you to him."

  Without waiting for his command, his legs raised him from the cushion and walked him out the door. Needing no light, they moved him surely through the silent, dark labyrinth of the monastery, along corridors and up stairs until he was thoroughly lost. Eventually he came to a door and his hand lifted the latch without knocking. He entered a capacious chamber, lit dimly by dying embers in the hearth and a single candle.

  A large man sat by the fireplace, his head nodding. He was apparently about to retire, stripped to his doublet and hose. He looked up with a smile as Diaz closed the door.

  "Welcome, Captain Diaz!" He rose and came forward to offer a hand. "So you got my message?" His grip was powerful. Even in chains he had been impressive. At liberty and close quarters he dominated, and not all of that dominance came from his size.

  Message? Did this vagabond use the tutelary as a page?

  "I am very happy that you escaped, Senor Longdirk, even if it was my responsibility to see that you did not. I am glad you made a fool of me."

  The young outlaw's smile became a yawn, and Diaz saw that he was exhausted—which was hardly surprising in the circumstances. "I did not make a fool of you at all. You cannot be blamed, because Montserrat did it all. I regret that I cannot offer you some wine, but they drank your share also." He gestured at the table, which bore bottles and several goblets. Apparently there had been a party.

  "It is of no matter," Diaz said.

  "Sit, then." Longdirk waved him to a chair and sank into his own as if even his great limbs could barely support him. He leaned his head back with a sigh. "I want first to thank you, Captain. You treat your prisoners with respect, and I have been locked up, arrested, confined, manacled, fettered, and incarcerated often enough to be a good judge of jailers. I appreciated your kindness greatly."

  Sensing mockery, Diaz bristled, but he could detect no guile in those dark eyes, deep-sunken under their heavy brows. Deathly fatigue, yes, and a worry that belied the man's efforts to seem relaxed. But no trace of ridicule. "That was some kindness!"

  "You did what you had to do, and you did it without jeering or unnecessary humiliation. There is no better way to assess a man than to see how he treats a beaten foe."

  "The orders he chooses to obey are more revealing, senor. Montserrat tells me that you have gelded the hexer. For that I thank you from the depths of my soul! All Europe will rejoice at the end of the infamous baron."

  "I took his demons away from him, yes. He's not basically an evil man at all, Captain." The big mouth twisted in a weary grin. "So tonight I gave them back to him again."

  "You jest?"

  "No. He broke down and wept. It was very touching." The outlaw smiled through his exhaustion.

  "You are more gracious to beaten foes than I have ever been, senor. Was this wise?"

  "I hope so. I need his help, you see, as well as..." Longdirk interrupted himself with an enormous yawn. "Excuse me! As well as yours—your help. I wanted to invite you to the meeting, but Montserrat said you were busy. I'll outline the plan and let you sleep on it. It will be called Don Ramon's Company, naturally. Have you met the honored caballero? No? You have a treat in store. He postures a lot, but he's brilliant at working out what I want to do and then ordering me to do it. He disapproves of fighting for money, but his m..." Another yawn. "...His squire persuaded him that this was the only option open to us. I shall be his campeador, whatever that is—it just seems to mean that I do all the work."

  Diaz was beginning to see the penance the tutelary had in mind for him.

  "Senor Josep Brusi has agreed to provide the necessary financing on very generous terms. The baron..." Again Longdirk yawned. Muttering angrily, he heaved himself out of his chair. "No, sit still. The baron will be our hexer—he is most eager to serve and no band in Europe will be better protected. My friend Hamish—Jaume—will be in charge of intelligence, because he has more of it than he knows what to do with."

  Longdirk shuffled across to the bed and returned with a quilt. "That's as far as we got. About five hundred men, I think, to start with—pikemen, arquebusiers, cavalry... possibly some light artillery. We're going to begin in Italy."

  Some comment was required. "Start what, senor?"

  The big man was spreading the quilt on the floor. He looked up, bleary with exhaustion, having trouble making his eyes focus. "Fighting, of course." His grin made his heavy-boned face seem oddly boyish.

  "Fighting whom?"

  Longdirk straightened up and rubbed his eyes. "The Fiend. He's unbeaten so far, but I have a few ideas. A bit of success and we can start gathering allies... A fighting man could not ask for a foe more worthy, or unworthy, I suppose. He's got to be stopped. Think it over and we'll talk again in the morning. Josep's provided some gold already, so we can start recruiting and arming right away. Sorry, Captain, I'm tuckered out. If I don't lie down I'll fall down. Can you find your way to your quarters? Any questions so far?"

  More than a few! It all sounded like raving insanity, and yet...

  Yet he was a believable leader! Young and brash... but believable. He had thrown himself to the Inquisition to save his friends. He had escaped the Inquisition by some incredible miracle. He was competent, indestructible, unconquerable. Men would follow him. Even Diaz himself?

  But... But... But!

  Was it heresy to compare him to El Cid?

  "May I inquire what experience you have, senor?"

  The boy changed another yawn into his big grin. "None, if you mean conventional military experience. That's why I need you as my deputy. But fighting? Oreste has chased me all the way from Scotland. It took him three years to catch me, and even then he had to call in Nevil and his army. I think I know a little bit, Captain!"

  The tutelary vouched for Longdirk, so he could not be as crazy as he seemed. Not crazy at all. He could master demons and overthrow the greatest hexer in Europe.

  But!

  "If I may have time to consider the matter, as you suggested, senor?"

  "Of course. Can you find your way out? Better still, take the bed. I can't possibly sleep on anything that soft. No, I mean it." With no hesitation, Longdirk dropped his clothes and settled himself on the quilt. His wide back was brutally netted by the white scars of the lash, but Diaz had seen those before.

  With a luxurious yawn, the big man rolled himself up in a cocoon and laid his face on the rug. "I think you're going to accept, Captain. I know you better than you know me, although I can't explain that now. Take the bed, I mean it!"

  "You are very generous, senor!" Diaz snuffed the candle and went over to the huge featherbed, which he had already decided was the most appealing thing he had seen in years, and infinitely better than the thin straw pallet waiting for him in the cramped cell he had expected to share with Sergeant Gomez.

  He knew that the offer was a sort of bribe. It would make
the other offer harder to refuse—companions in arms already, sharing quarters, sharing trust. Either Longdirk was much more devious than he seemed or he had infallible instincts for handling men. Or he was just naturally generous.

  Diaz stripped and sank deep into warm softness. Bliss!

  Successful mercenaries could become very rich.

  "One last question, senor. Why Italy?"

  "Hmm?" said a sleepy voice from the darkness. "Because Nevil's bound to strike there soon. The princes and republics are arming like crazy, hiring every mercenary they can lay hands on. The baron and Hamish agree that Italy's where the next big battles will be. Mind you, I'm not at all sure that Jaume doesn't just want to be Giacomo."

  After a moment he muttered, "That was a joke, I think. Spirits keep you, Captain."

  "And you also, Campeador."

  REALITY CHECK

  My geography is more or less accurate. Social customs are very similar, although the absence of monotheistic religions makes some differences inevitable—Medieval Europe without Christianity is a contradiction in terms.

  A divergent cast of characters takes over the historical stage after 1241. One of the great turning points in European history occurred in December of that year, when Ogedai Khan, son and successor of Genghis Khan, drank himself to death in far-off Mongolia. The unbeatable Mongol army, which had already conquered Russia, Poland, and Hungary and was poised to advance westward, turned back and never returned. (Russia remained under Mongol suzerainty for more than two centuries.)

  Alumbradismo was a transcendental heresy associated with the Franciscans and first detected by the Inquisition in 1519. It sought total submission to God through meditation and claimed healing powers for some of its practitioners.

  I have not overstated the cruelty of the Spanish Inquisition.

  —K.H.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 64407744-3af0-47ce-a4de-1dd80c0e0523

  Document version: 1.1