The Years of Longdirk- The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

  Silence. A flash gleamed through the striped linen of the walls. More silence. Thunder, not so near as last time. Horses whinnied in fright and the hounds began baying, until men shouted at them. More silence. The friars stared steadily at the prisoner, but he recognized the intention to disconcert him and ignored it. He knew many ways to slay a man with his bare hands, especially one he outweighed by half. At the first distraction he would kill the little bugger and hope one of the landsknechte would panic and shove a sword through his heart.

  Still more silence.

  He returned the inquisitor's gaze as calmly as he could and thought he was doing quite well at that, although one of the lanterns was uncomfortably close, illuminating his face clearly but also dazzling him. The crucifix was worrisome, because any of those colored-glass jewels on it might harbor a demon, and Brother Bernat had said that the Inquisition must use gramarye of some sort. So it was possible that the hob was helpless already, or could be quickly curbed if it started anything.

  Flash!

  Rumble.

  "Does the witness understand Castilian?" asked the slug. The redhead reached for his quill to record the question.

  "I know some Castilian."

  "Does the witness agree to be questioned in Castilian?"

  "I do."

  "The witness will state his name and birth date and place of birth."

  "Tobias Longdirk." That was not the name on the poster, but they weren't going to mention the poster. "The seventh day of September, 1501. I was born at Tyndrum, in Scotland."

  The recorder did not ask to have the names repeated; he must have heard them several times already.

  "The witness is traveling with certain other persons. The witness must list their names."

  And so on. Where had the witness come from? Where was the witness going? Why? "I am a retainer of Don Ramon." Was the witness a deserter? This was how they had managed to waste a whole afternoon and half an evening. More trivia—what was the witness going to do in Barcelona? "Senor Brusi has offered me employment if the don does not wish to extend my service." Thunder, much closer, so close that he had to ask for a question to be repeated. Hob! Come on, hob! Do something! What languages did the witness know? (Why should that matter?) Why had the witness come to Spain? Could the witness read and write? Among the feints, a sudden punch: "What gramarye has the witness seen on his journey?"

  "None."

  "The witness states categorically that he has never observed evidence of hexing or demonic possession?"

  "He does. I mean, I do."

  "Never? Anywhere?"

  "None whatsoever."

  "Other members of the party have reported seeing flagrant displays of gramarye within the last few days. The witness may wish to amend his statement."

  "I am telling the truth."

  "He was present during these displays."

  "If I was, I saw nothing unnatural. Tell me when —"

  "Has the witness ever observed evidence of necromancy?"

  Toby asked to have that word explained. Conjuring the dead.

  "No."

  "Or discussed it?"

  "No. I never heard of it until just now."

  The pasty-faced inquisitor reached down and brought up Gracia's bottle to set it on the table. Toby's heart went to a fast trot.

  Fortunately a deafening crack of thunder interposed to explain any reaction he showed. That bottle had been inside Hamish's pack! Did they search everyone's baggage or had Hamish admitted to having books, which the inquisitors would certainly demand to see? How many lies had Hamish told about Gracia? What had she said about her voices, the wraiths she claimed to see? What had he said about Toby, hobs, demons, amethysts. Wanted posters ... ? Lying to the Inquisition was a major crime, evidence of possession or gramarye. And what would happen to Gracia herself? The Inquisition tortured women, too. Not Gracia! Had Toby brought disaster to all of them? Fury burned like acid in his throat.

  "Has the witness ever seen the bottle he is now being shown?"

  "Yes. It belongs to Senora de Gomez. Or she has one just like —"

  "What else does the witness know about the bottle?"

  Shrug. "It seems to have great sentimental value for her. She asked Senor Campbell to carry it. As far as I know, there's nothing in it."

  "How does the witness know that?"

  Demons! "He ... I don't. I just assumed it was empty. Perhaps I asked her, I don't recall. I'm sure she can tell you if —"

  Father Guillem had warned him to keep his answers short.

  "Does the witness possess any jewelry?"

  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 rightly 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 anot
her, 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 landsknechte 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 going 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.

&nbs
p; 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?

  5

  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.