Ken Hood - Demon Rider

"It wasn't!" he shouted. "It was torture. You argue in circles. I deserve death because I defend myself from being put to death for defending myself?"

"And what were you defending yourself from at Mezquiriz?" the spirit persisted in the same calm tones. "What threat to you were the sailors on the Maid of Arran ? Or the women who died in Bordeaux? Or the soldiers at Limoges..."

Punch, punch, punch! He would not survive much more of this. Perhaps the tutelary was dragging all the details from his own memory. The incarnation's eyes were still closed, but the nuns attending her and the monks with torches all stared at him in wide-eyed horror.

He found his voice; it sounded strange to him. "You know that the hob is not a demon."

"Tell that to the dead in Mezquiriz. Tell them in Tortosa. You may not think of the sprite as a demon, but who else can agree with you?"

"Brother Bernat did!"

"We are not bound by his conclusions," the spirit said. "He was fallible."

"And you are not? The hob's motives—"

"The hob's motives do not matter, only its actions. Your promises to make it behave in future are not credible. You show no repentance. We judge you to be possessed."

Now he was on the ropes!

For a moment no one spoke. He caught Hamish's eye and answered the horror in it with a shrug. There was certainly some truth in what the tutelary said—the hob could be very demonic at times. If he were just given time to learn the techniques Brother Bernat had taught him... but he might never succeed, and every failure would risk more innocent lives. Toby Longdirk was not guilty of anything except wanting to go on living, and the hob would not have let him kill himself anyway. Could it rescue him from the Inquisition again? This time, after Tortosa, the inquisitors would be very careful.

"So you will hand the creature over to us, Holiness?" Father Vespianaso inquired, rubbing his skeletal hands. He looked pleased.

"Unless the man asks us to exorcize the demon, or sprite, or hob, or whatever he chooses to call it."

Hope pealed like thunder. Toby came out with fists flailing. "Is that possible, Holiness? I have been wanting that for years!"

"It is possible," said the incarnation. "You had time to become acquainted with Jacques?"

Oh, bloody demons! Knockout!

Jacques! Toby had completely forgotten the inexplicable messenger and had not seen him since the ambush, but he was inexplicable no longer, and neither was his message. This was the worst blow yet. He stared in revulsion as the gardener-cleaner-porter came shuffling in through the misty rain with a bemused smile on his empty face. Horror, horror!

"He is broken," Pepita had said.

"No, Jacques, do not kneel," said the spirit. "You are no less worthy than any of these men. Tobias, make your choice."

Desperately fighting for time to think, Toby shouted, "No! I don't understand."

"You do understand, but we will spell it out for you. We can exorcize the sprite, the hob, but much of you will come with it."

"That? You will turn me into that?"

"Something like him."

"He was possessed by a hob too?"

"An elemental. Dejamiento does not always work. Jacques was a very fine man in his way, but he lacked the patience and self-denial needed to become a true alumbrado . He succumbed to carnal temptations and the spirit ran amok, just as your hob did at Mezquiriz. When it was exorcized, much of Jacques was lost. The same will happen in your case, although perhaps not as severely, for he had been invested since childhood. You may not be as badly damaged as he is, but you will certainly lose something. You will do no more harm to others. You will be happy as he is happy and remain here, being well cared for, but you will not be the person you are now."

"You would turn him into a rabbit?" Hamish shouted. "This is barbaric!"

"Possession is worse," said the spirit. "Choose, Tobias."

In his vision of cutting off Hamish's head, he had been free of the hob. And he had been a slobbering moron. A demon had enforced his obedience to the baron, but the demon had not made him into that cringing idiot, that butt of the court's humor, that bumbling sycophant who would shamelessly take women to bed at his master's orders or cut off his friends' heads without a care.

To become a moron or be tortured to death? A long life of useless idiocy or a short one of unspeakable agony? It would not seem short. He wanted to ask Hamish to advise him, but that would be grossly unkind, for no man should be expected to make such a decision—not for himself nor for anyone else.

No, he could not subject his flesh to the inquisitors' torments again. And if he accepted what Montserrat ordered, he would at least be cheating Oreste of his triumph.

Hoarsely, he said, "If you will grant me asylum, then I accept the exorcism, Holiness."

"On that condition we grant you sanctuary for the remainder of your days."

"Wait!" Captain Diaz had been watching in grim silence. "If we cannot have the man, then I must still claim a certain purple gemstone he possesses. Sergeant Gomez!"

"The amethyst is mine!" Toby roared.

"What is this gem?" Father Vespianaso demanded angrily. "An immured demon?"

"No, it does not contain a demon," said the tutelary. "Give it up, Tobias. You have no further use for it."

"It has great sentimental value for me. My foster mother gave it to me, her last gift. It is my property. Will you tolerate armed robbery in your realm, Montserrat?"

Diaz stepped forward with another soldier at his heels. "You have admitted to being a demonic husk, so you have no rights in law. Give me the stone."

It was another failure, but a man should know when he is beaten. Toby fumbled at his collar to pull the thong over his head; he opened the locket and rolled out the amethyst onto Diaz's waiting palm.

Surrender.

The captain walked over to the closest torch and inspected the purple crystal. "Thank you." He came and took the locket from Toby, replaced the stone in the little bag and turned to his companion, who held out an ivory casket. The locket went in the box, and then the box into a satchel, which Diaz slung over his shoulder.

"I wish I could say that you were welcome," Toby said ruefully. "Do you know why the baron wants it so badly?"

"I do not want to know." Diaz turned to the incarnation. "And the other man, Holiness? My warrant also names Hamish Campbell."

Toby had forgotten that. He stared in horror at Hamish's pale face.

"He is not possessed! He is not guilty of any crime!" He was guilty of knowing the truth about King Nevil, though. Oreste would see him dead for that.

"He has been your accomplice for three years," Father Vespianaso retorted. "It was his duty to aid the authorities in apprehending you."

"The man Campbell belongs to us!" bellowed a new voice.

They had all been too engrossed to pay attention to the newcomers whose clattering and splashing Toby had heard earlier. Heads turned to peer in the downhill direction, where a second troop of soldiers stood in the darkness, a considerably larger force than Captain Diaz had brought. After everything that had happened already, it was not surprising that they were landsknechte .

The tutelary would never be surprised by anything. "Approach and state your claim, Leopold."

In marched the mercenary captain, a solid, powerful-looking young man whose russet beard failed to conceal a monstrous scar deforming his mouth. His doublet was splendid, his ermine-trimmed cloak hung open to display a wealth of gold chains adorning his chest. He saluted the incarnation respectfully, but he merely sneered at Diaz.

"The man slew our comrades!" His Castilian was almost incomprehensible under a harsh Germanic accent. "He to us belongs!"