Ken Hood - Demon Rider

"That's all," Toby concluded. "Have I left out anything, Jaume?"

Hamish blinked himself back to the present. "What? Sorry. Wasn't listening."

Toby chuckled. "You weren't even here! You left us at Glen Shira and Loch Fyne."

Hamish smiled, half abashed, half wistful. "I was thinking about girls."

"This Baron Oreste," asked Doña Francisca, "did he not lead the army that sacked Zaragoza? Then he is a monster!"

Toby nodded. "Most true, Senor Francisco. He is one of the Fiend's bosom friends."

"Does a demon have friends?" asked Hamish. "Or a bosom?"

Ignore that. "General, courtier, advisor, potent hexer. A monster for all seasons."

"And you say he is viceroy in Barcelona?" the old lady persisted.

"That was what my vision told me."

"And what the landsknechte told me," said the don, "when I demanded to see their authority." He smiled and twirled up his mustache. He had lost his air of boredom. In fact the firelight sparkled in his blue eyes with a strange excitement.

"So he is after you and this amethyst?" asked Josep, appalled.

"Mostly the amethyst. I am of no real interest to him, except that I have tweaked his pride too often."

"Then you must not go near Barcelona! Surely so great a hexer will track you down at once."

"Honored Senor Brusi," Hamish said, "were you to write that advice on my friend's forehead with a stonemason's mallet and chisel, he would still not notice. I have been telling him the same thing every chime of the clock for weeks."

"I suppose I shouldn't," Toby conceded.

"Spirits preserve us! The earth moves!"

"Conditions have changed," Toby said, a little nettled. His main reason for going to Barcelona had been to see Hamish aboard ship and homeward bound, but Josep could arrange that much better than he could and would certainly be willing to do so. "I was hoping that the baron would rid me of the hob, but it was never a very plausible plan, and Brother Bernat fears that it would cripple me. I'll decide what to do when we reach Montserrat. I may go on to France."

"Or Florence?" said Josep. "Or Majorca, or Salerno? I have... my house has branches in all those places, and my offer of employment still stands." He chuckled, detecting Toby's astonishment. "Barcelona is a great trading city, Senor. Not so very long ago it ruled half the Mediterranean. It is still cosmopolitan, a center of the arts, a—"

"Yucch!" snarled the don. "Trade? You insult the man. You insult all of us by even mentioning it. A true man's ambition is the accomplishment of great deeds of valor. Still, I suppose he is only a peasant and would not understand that. Perhaps trade is all he is good for, after all." He turned to the peasant in question. "Is Baron Oreste a creature like his master?"

"No, he is human," Toby said. "Although he is a hexer, he himself is bound to absolute obedience. I was told once that the demon that controls him is immured in a beryl set in one of the many rings he wears. He cannot remove the ring and so escape beyond the demon's reach."

"He is mortal, then." Don Ramon twirled up the points of his mustache with apparent satisfaction. "I ask merely out of curiosity, you understand. I shall be paying my respects to the noble lord when we reach Barcelona."

"What?" shrieked Doña Francisca.

They were all staring at the don. Had he taken leave of his senses? Well, yes. Some time ago. But where was his confused mind wandering now?

"I warned you, senor," Toby protested, "that by associating with you I have put you in peril. You know of Rhym, and that is a capital offense. The baron can find any number of executioners apart from me."

The caballero shrugged with superb disdain. "My estates lie in lands ceded to Aragon under the treaty, so my rightful liege is now the... King Nevil himself. It is fitting that I call upon his deputy when I arrive in Barcelona." His mad eyes scanned them all, daring them to argue.

"No!" His mother had both hands to her mouth and looked ghastly in the firelight.

He dismissed her protest with a sneer. " Campeador ? Francisco is well past his best. I need a younger squire. If you are seeking employment, I can offer you a career with prospects greater than anything your haberdasher friend there may dream of. Of course you will require training, but you seem to have some capacity beyond brute brawn."

Did the don really think he could kill Oreste, a hexer protected by innumerable demons? For a moment Toby was tempted to say that he would rather apply his brute brawn in Josep's warehouse or even Senora Collel's bedroom—but discretion prevailed.

"You honor me greatly, senor. I beg you to let me have time to weigh your splendid offer against certain other obligations I am not at liberty to reveal."

"As you will. I am confident we shall reach Barcelona within the week, if we continue at our present pace."

But the present pace was liable to kill Brother Bernat. There lay Toby's other obligation.

Oddly enough, the rain didn't help at all. The countryside had become greener and gentler, little rolling hills that a man could almost imagine were somewhere in the Scottish Lowlands, and that just made the ache worse. Some people are never satisfied. Hamish was astride Liath near the head of the line, right behind the don and his squire, and it was his turn to lead the pack train again. At least that kept his mind occupied, so he had less time for brooding.

Not that he couldn't work in a bit of brooding if he wanted to. They would be in Barcelona in a few more days. Toby wanted to send him home. He wanted to go. Josep said he could arrange it for him quite easily, although winter sailing was erratic, so he might have to lay over for a few months in Seville or Lisbon. But he didn't want to desert Toby. Not that the big man needed him, except for friendship, but going home was going to feel a lot like running away. There could be no second thoughts—once they parted, Toby would vanish into a war-torn continent and they could never hope to meet again. Life back in the glen would seem dull as mud after the last three years' adventuring. There were a lot of interesting places he hadn't seen yet. What to do?

Rain was running down his neck. That really made him homesick!

There was Toby now, coming back on that big spotted gelding of his. Ever since they passed Lerida he'd been zigging and zagging all over the landscape, investigating every little hilltop village they passed—looking for somewhere for Brother Bernat to lay up and rest, he said, although he was probably hoping to find a spirit willing to heal whatever was wrong with the old man. If his problem was just old age, not even a spirit could do much about that. Many tutelaries refused to heal strangers anyway.

Somewhere back along the line, Eulalia laughed. She was a problem much worse than homesickness! One night they'd gone off into the bushes together, and she hadn't protested when he kissed her—she'd started unlacing his hose. She had shown him what to do next when he wasn't sure, and in no time at all he'd achieved what he'd been wanting to do for years. He'd thought of it as a great victory. But it wasn't. It had turned out to be a terrible defeat, because now he kept wanting to do it again.

He did not like Eulalia, and she did not like him, and they had told each other so several times. But they both enjoyed what they did with each other. Not that she admitted it. If he did not ask her, she would not ask him. No, she would just tease him until she had him begging and promising anything she wanted. She was very good at that. He knew he was taking a terrible risk of getting her with child, if he hadn't already. Or she would say he had whether he had or not, and when they arrived in Barcelona Senora Collel would throw her out in the gutter. Then Hamish Campbell would find himself having to marry a woman he didn't want. Every morning he swore he would not succumb again, and at sunset she would melt all the lumps out of him with one glance from her sultry Spanish eyes. Why was he so weak? Why did women have this awful power over men?