Ken Hood - Demon Rider

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."