Demon Rider

by Ken Hood

  Josep's anger twisted into a grin. "No, Campeador. Sometimes he lay with her before and sometimes after, sometimes even both, but never during."

  Hamish's great romance was common knowledge. He opened his mouth as if about to speak, then turned his head and vomited. Had he done that five minutes ago, he would have suffocated behind his gag and this inquiry would be a post mortem. He might easily have frozen to death. Feeling a rush of hatred for the people who had treated his friend so, Toby reached again for calm. Lochan na Bi!

  He scowled at Eulalia, who was wearing what she might think was an expression of wounded innocence. "But the whore may have been an accomplice. I cannot imagine Jaume being taken like a broody hen unless he was distracted somehow. Did she come and talk with you?"

  Hamish tried to shake his head and winced. "Don't remember," he croaked.

  "Then they must have bribed her!" the don decided. "If we search her, we shall find some gold chains, I expect."

  Eulalia screeched at this outrage to her honor and appealed to Senora Collel. The senora told her to shut her face. Gracia, who had been standing beside her, pointedly moved away.

  "That wouldn't prove much," Toby said. "She may have looted some from the landsknechte." He had a strong suspicion that Eulalia had been helping both Manuel and Raphael enjoy their newfound wealth behind their wives' backs, but he would not say so in front of Hamish.

  Again Eulalia erupted in torrents of Catalan. The senora silenced her with a slap as loud as a gunshot.

  Hamish's eyes had opened wide. He turned to look at Eulalia and suddenly produced a strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a choke. "I do remember! She came and told me she's with child."

  "She is lying," Senora Collel declaimed. "I know it."

  True or false, that assertion would certainly have been a potent distraction, and for a moment even the don looked amused. Then he found his anger again. "Very well, Campeador, we shall let Jaume live. See that he is thoroughly thrashed. We are wasting time. We must hunt down the traitors."

  "No, senor."

  Icy silence.

  "Do I hear you correctly?" the don said very quietly.

  Lochan na Bi... "Yes, senor. They will travel at least as fast as we can, and they have several hours' start on us. To chase them would be folly. They have stolen some horses from us, but we stole them in the first place. They do not seem to have taken much else that did not belong to them."

  He waited for contradiction from Josep or Senora Collel, who used their moneybags as pillows, but neither disagreed. Whatever balance Miguel and Rafael still owed on Don Ramon's wages was a debt that must not be mentioned, and his mother had always known that her chances of collecting from them were slim.

  But not all wealth was beneath a caballero's dignity. "You forget the rest of the booty!" the don snapped. "That belongs to all of us. You, especially, earned your share. They did not."

  A penniless fugitive fleeing from the long arm of Baron Oreste would certainly find a few gold chains useful, but Toby could not accept that he had earned a link of them. It had been the hob who destroyed the landsknechte, not he. The fight had not been honorable, so the prize was tainted and he would shed no tears over losing it. He was probably being stupid again, but that was how he felt.

  "We cannot ride down the fugitives without their seeing us coming, senor. They will have ample time to make the evidence disappear before we reach them."

  "We can make them tell where it is!"

  "Not I, senor."

  The don's hand was on his sword hilt. The blue eyes flamed madness. "You are refusing my orders?"

  "I am advising the noble hidalgo that to pursue those worthless peasants would be folly. We can reach Montserrat by evening."

  "This a matter of honor you cannot comprehend. We shall pursue the thieves."

  "Not I, senor."

  Day by day Toby had been taking over the leadership of the group. Spirits knew he had not planned to and had done everything he could to preserve the fiction that the hired guard was still in charge, but no one was deceived. Now he had thrown down the gauntlet. It had been inevitable, probably, because he could never tolerate authority for long and was especially incapable of obeying nonsensical orders, but to upstage the deranged caballero was to die for insolence. As the don's great sword slid from its scabbard, his mother caught hold of his arm with both hands.

  "Ramon, he is right!"

  He froze. He could not have looked more shocked had she stabbed him.

  Gracia stepped in front of him. "Senor, please!" she whispered.

  "I agree with the campeador and your noble squire, my son," Father Guillem boomed. He rolled forward to clap a hairy paw on the don's shoulder. "What good will be served by a long chase and then bloodshed? As Tobias says, we should merely be trying to steal back stolen goods, and some of us might be hurt in the fight. It will be you and he against the two of them."

  Toby waited, arms folded, doing his breathing exercises. The don just continued to glare at his mother, and she glared right back at him—truly, there was a most admirable lady! At last he opened his hand, the sword dropped back in its scabbard, and death flew away.

  He was still insanely furious, though, and he would never forget this insult. "We must be guided by the counsel of the holy scholar in matters of righteousness. The woman will remain behind, though. She has forfeited any claim on us."

  Eulalia cried out and threw herself on her knees. "Senores! Senoras! You will not abandon me!"

  Hamish opened his mouth—

  "No!" Toby barked. "You owe her nothing. She didn't tell you her lies earlier, did she? She came to distract you when you were on guard. She was in on the plot, Hamish. She set you up so Rafael could cosh you."

  Hamish groaned and buried his face in his arms.

  "Senoras!" the don proclaimed. "Take this harlot over there and strip her. Find out what—"

  Instantly Eulalia was gone through the trees, arms and legs flying. Only Toby or the don could run her down and catch her, but that would be beneath the don's dignity, and Toby was glad to see the last of her.

  Pepita moved over to Hamish and clasped his head between her hands. "Let me try to ease your pain, senor." Everyone else was suddenly made uneasy by this suggestion of gramarye.

  "Prepare to move out, Campeador!" The don spun on his heel and stalked away. The others dispersed, and Toby began to consider the problem of catching the remaining horses, because the deserters had removed their hobbles to delay pursuit. Fortunately Smeòrach would usually come to his whistle.

  Montserrat lay somewhere in these forbidding hills. This was the last day.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The last day was likely to be the worst. At times Toby could barely see two horses ahead of him, either because the trail was winding through forest or because the fog had closed in like gray bed curtains—and frequently both. The rain varied from annoying to drenching. Once in a while terrain and weather would open up to reveal a breathtaking, unreal landscape, towering almost vertically overhead in bright green slopes and spectacular beetling cliffs whose tops were lost in cloud. It was perfect ambush country.

  Father Guillem insisted that there was only one road up this valley and hence no chance of getting lost, but Toby was far less worried about losing his way than he was about the reports of bandits molesting travelers. To send scouts out ahead would be useless in these conditions, even if he had any to send.

  One way or another, the pilgrimage was ending. If he could deliver his charges safely to Montserrat, then Pepita, Gracia, and Father Guillem would remain at the monastery, while the others would resume their journey to Barcelona in a day or two. Toby himself would carry on alone, toward France, but here he was very close to Baron Oreste, who must be hunting for him with gramarye.

  All day the don rode a few lengths ahead, bearing his lance and shield ready for use. Toby mostly stayed at the rear with the rest of the men, but from time to time he would ride along the line, trying to raise
people's spirits. It was hard to keep up a cheerful front in such weather. When he asked Senora Collel to take a turn at leading the packhorses, she refused vehemently.

  "I did not entrust myself to the don's protection," she snapped, "in order to serve as a mule skinner. Furthermore, I contracted to be escorted directly to Barcelona, not dragged up into these wild hills."

  She was probably looking for an excuse to refuse further payment, and she was undoubtedly annoyed at no longer having a servant to nag and bully. But she had not mentioned hiring Toby as her resident Pretty Boy since she learned he was possessed, and that was an improvement.

  Even the normally sparkly Pepita seemed glum, although that was partly because she still mourned Brother Bernat. She perched on her horse like a sodden bundle of laundry, her tiny, pinched face peering out from a cocoon comprised of every spare garment the pilgrims possessed. "You are my friend. I do not want you to go away and leave me."

  "I do not want to leave you either, Senorita Pepita. I have enjoyed traveling with you, but life is full of sorrows, and parting from friends is one of them."

  "You sound just like Brother Bernat! Why cannot I teach my spirit friend about happiness, instead of just about sorrow?"

  "You have taught it about friendship by being my friend. Friendship is a great happiness, perhaps the very best of all."

  "I shall not forget Brother Bernat, because he was my friend, and I shall not forget you."

  "And I shall always remember you. You have taught me many things about carrying the burden of a spirit."

  She wagged a minute finger at him. "You must not let it throw thunderbolts at people again! That was a bad thing you let it do."

  "No, I never shall. I promise." He would at least try.

  Even Doña Francisca was not quite her usual indomitable self. "I will pray to Montserrat for you, Senor Toby. I am very grateful for all your help. We should not be here now had it not been for you."

  "Oh, that isn't true. In fact, I put you all in danger. You would have done better without me. Your son would have managed perfectly well."

  She smiled disbelievingly. "I only wish we had money to reward you, for you have served us all loyally without a hope of—"

  "I wish you had money, too, senora, for then I could refuse it. Journeying with you has been its own reward."

  Gracia was better company, foreseeing the end of her strange mission. Either she did not comprehend the pervasive danger, or she had faith in her voices.

  "These mountains must be very splendid when the sun shines, must they not?"

  "Indeed they must," Toby agreed. "Brother Bernat said that spirits choose beautiful places for their domains, so I suppose very great spirits should have very wonderful scenery."

  "My sons will be happy here, and all those other wraiths also." Her hand closed around the bottle. She had not been parted from it since he rescued it from the Inquisition.

  "I am sure Montserrat will cherish them. And what of yourself? You will enter the nunnery?"

  She hesitated. "I swore I would not mention... But this is our farewell, yes? We shall never meet again, and I owe you so much that I cannot bear not to tell you... You will not betray my confidence, senor?"

  "Of course not."

  "Don Ramon and I are pledged to be married! He wishes his saintly mother to be first to hear the news, and she is presently at home, running his great estates, so we are to say nothing until he has a chance to write to her."

  He looked down at the stars of happiness sparkling in Gracia's eyes and could say nothing except to offer his congratulations and best wishes. The don was a man of honor as he defined honor. Deceiving pretty girls did not count. It was a gentleman's privilege.

  Jacques rode in silence, smiling blissfully at the fog, except when he was answering a question with a worried, "I don't know, senor." He claimed he could not remember how long he had lived at Montserrat, where he had come from before that, or even if he had ever been married. Once he burst into song and sang to himself a long romantic lament in French without ever hitting a wrong note or stumbling over the words; and another time, as Toby came by, he was shaving while still riding on his donkey. He did an excellent job, too, without a single nick. Toby was tempted to borrow the razor and try the same feat just to see if he could do it, but his courage failed him. Jacques was a total mystery.

  Josep was so muffled under a sodden fur hat that little of his face was visible. He smiled with blue lips, though, and held out a purse. "Your fee, Campeador."

  It clinked. It was weighty.

  "Senor Brusi!" Toby protested, without even opening it. "This is too much! And the journey isn't over yet."

  "Too much for my life? No, you have earned every blanca of it. I included an open letter to my agents in other cities. If you can find your way to any of them, they will give you employment."

  Toby thanked him sincerely, but he untied the purse and removed the letter. "This will be incriminating evidence if I fall into the Inquisition's clutches, senor."

  "Then read it and destroy it, but memorize the names. I shall write and tell them to look out for you."

  "You are very kind," Toby said awkwardly. Kindness was a phenomenon he had met so rarely that he hardly knew how to handle it.

  Father Guillem, who normally wore a solid frown, was beaming cheerfully because he was almost home. That did not stop him from giving Toby several stern lectures on the importance of keeping the hob under firm control in the future.

  "Had it not been for Brother Bernat's testimony," he concluded, "I should certainly have reported you to the Inquisition in Tortosa. By all the customary criteria, you are possessed by a demon. Your watchword from now on must be eternal vigilance!"

  It must be Lochan na Bi. Toby assured the learned acolyte that he was aware of the dangers.

  And Hamish.

  Hamish looked like a three-day corpse, very different from his usual merry self. The bandage round his head failed to hide all of the bruise swelling like a slice of raw liver on his temple. Unless the spirit was willing to heal him, he would need a week in bed to recover from that injury. He spoke little, which was an ominous sign, and he was visibly weakening as the day dragged on.

  Under the pall of cloud, darkness seemed to come hours earlier than it should. The road entered a dense pine forest and grew steeper and steeper until it was zigzagging up a precipitous hillside. The horses found it hard going, although wagons obviously used the trail, for the stony surface was deeply rutted, running rivulets of reddish-brown water.

  "Are you all right?" Toby asked anxiously, several times.

  Usually Hamish just nodded, although the answer was obviously, No. Once he asked, "How much farther now?"

  "An hour or so, Father Guillem says. Maybe less. He isn't sure where the safe zone begins, but he expects there will be a checkpoint soon. Look, if you want to hear some good news, I'm not having any feelings of déjà vu. None at all! I've never come this way before, I'm certain."

  Hamish squinted at him blearily, his face a white blur in the gloom. "But when we get to the checkpoint it's goodbye?"

  "Father Guillem will show me the trail out to the north. Josep has promised to find you a ship, has he not?"

  Hamish nodded, looking even more miserable.

  "I wish you safe voyage," Toby said awkwardly. Life without him was a dismal prospect. "Don't bother giving my love to the glen. I'll miss you, friend. We've had good times in among the tough ones."

  "And you don't want me around after what happened last night."

  "That has nothing at all to do with it. I have made blunders of my own often enough, and you have pulled me through them."

  "Not on that scale. I wish I could be strong like you. You don't let women bother you."

  Could he really believe that? Sometimes the bookworm was as blind as an earthworm.

  Toby tried repeatedly to cheer him up. "Look on the bright side—you're going home! It's just your sore head that's making you feel this way. Did Pe
pita help your headache? You want me to ask her to try again?"

  "She did no good at all. Why don't you try instead?"

  "Me?"

  Hamish scowled. "This alumbradismo... When you called down the lightning on the landsknechte, that was gramarye, sort of. Like Brother Bernat's healing."

  "I suppose there's a resemblance, but frying people is a strange way to cure what ails them."

  "Very funny. He had an incarnate spirit, you have the hob. So why can't you learn to control it the way he could?"

  "I don't think he could control it. He could ask, that's all—like praying to a tutelary. I wouldn't know how to start. He said I mustn't even try to control it, or it will end up controlling me. Maybe in thirty or forty years, he said, I will be able to risk asking favors of it, in small ways. I'm no saint, Hamish, and I'm sure I never will be. The hob isn't an elemental, and it isn't 'sitting right,' whatever that means. I was too old when I started. The best I can hope for is to keep it from interfering."

  He suspected his chances of doing even that were slender as gossamer. He was bound for disaster, sooner or later. That was another reason to go on alone.

  Hamish sighed. He liked the world to be more logical. "You're not planning anything foolish, are you? You're not going to go off with the don to try and kill Oreste? Or try to buy him off with the amethyst?"

  "Never. Strangling that monster would be a very good idea, yes. I would dearly love to squeeze his throat until his eyes pop and his tongue sticks out and his face turns purple, but I know it's impossible. I just want to keep well away from him, and the Inquisition, and the Fiend. A quiet life for me and the hob, nothing exciting. A job as a woodcutter, perhaps, or a stonemason—something I can put my muscles to work on." Then he lied. "Perhaps someday a wife and children, if I can ever be quite sure that—"

  "Demons, Toby! I don't want to go! Not yet. Please?"

  Toby sighed. "Let's get you to Montserrat. If the spirit will cure your cracked head, then you'll be able to think straight again."