Demon Knight

horses and even some people neighed back at him, alarmed at his mysterious materialization.

'Toby!' Hamish came plowing through the crowd like a mad bull. 'Where have you been? Do you know what's happening out there?'

Toby lifted Sorghaghtani and more or less dropped her into Hamish's arms, then slid off Smeorach's back. A wagonload of fatigue seemed to land on his shoulders, making his knees tremble. Hamish was never going to forgive him for keeping him in the dark so long.

'More or less. Is Diaz ready at the Porta San Miniato?'

'He says you were babbling about a suicide sortie.'

'Well, it shouldn't be suicide now. The don's about to take the hill. Round up all the reserves we've got and get them over to Porta San Miniato to help. Tell Diaz he'll need… No, look after these two, and I'll tell him.' Thrusting Sorghie at Hamish with one hand and the reins with the other, Toby turned and ran.

He had never tried the Unplace on foot before. The shiny surface was oddly bouncy and yet slippery, the mists more menacing, but in a few moments he returned to reality just inside the Porta San Miniato. Even from the street he could see that there was a battle in progress on the hill as the don tried to seize the guns and the Fiend's troops defended them. Diaz already had the gate open and was leading the infantry out at the double. Toby squeezed into the column and went with them, laughing at his neighbors' astonishment, shouting encouragement and promises that the Fiend was heading for defeat. Once outside the walls, he stepped aside and surveyed the scene. Things seemed to be going well, as was to be expected with the don and Antonio in charge. He could leave it to them, and the army of Florence would win its share of the battle.

A riderless horse came galloping down the slope in terror. It was not one of the armored chargers the knights rode, but its trappings were too grand for the nags that archers and pikemen rode to the field. Most likely it was an infantry officer's mount. It responded to his whistle — accompanied by some of this strange unconscious gramarye he could call upon now — and he sprang onto its back, not even waiting to lengthen the stirrups.

'Onward, Orphan!' he said, and rode into the Unplace.

CHAPTER NINE

Nevil had moved much less than half his forces across the Arno, so the battle would be decided on the north bank, where he had the advantage of numbers. Toby headed downstream again, to Ercole and his Milanese.

Set-piece encounters might last all day or several days while the opposing commanders maneuvered and countermaneuvered, and some condottieri were notorious for never coming to grips at all. Toby had broken the rules yet again by involving almost all of the forces right from the start, and furthermore most of the men and horses on both sides had just completed prolonged forced marches. The battle of the Field of Florence was likely to be brief, with one side or the other collapsing from exhaustion.

He emerged from the Unplace close behind the Milanese carroccio, which had come to a halt. No one even noticed him. The whole army had come to a halt, infantry and cavalry alike drawn up in battle order, cheering and roaring approval as the famous Genoese and Pisan crossbowmen poured arrows into the plunging chaos of the Fiend's forces. His infantry had been advancing to assault the city walls; his cavalry had apparently been caught napping or at breakfast, still in quarters. Now knights were struggling to don armor, squires were trying to saddle up horses, about thirty thousand noncombatants were milling around in panic, and the men- at-arms were fighting their way through the camp to face the threat from their rear — while all the time that deadly hail fell from the sky.

The archers would run out of ammunition very soon at the rate they were going, but the terrain here was flat and open, perfect for the cavalry charge Ercole was about to launch. The effort to imagine what would happen when that hit the massed disorder was enough to raise Toby's flesh in goosebumps. Obviously this part of the battle was proceeding satisfactorily, meaning there was going to be a massacre. With a shudder, he rode back into the Unplace.

Next port of call must be the upstream north bank, where Alfredo's Venetians were seriously outnumbered, but Orphan was not Smeorach. Disapproving of the ringing mirrored surface, the pearly mists, and the looming darkness behind them, he was skittish and unruly, more inclined to go sideways than forward. Toby was so intent on controlling his mount that it took him a moment to realize that they were not alone. Something was tracking them, several somethings. The hob knew them better than he did — dark, low shapes bounding along, closing rapidly. He kicked Orphan into a gallop. Idiot! He should have remembered the Fiend's enormous stable of demons. He had been detected.

At least six of them. He sensed fangs and claws, giant nightmare weasels with eyes glowing green. Orphan had seen them, too, and needed no encouragement now, but his best turn of speed was not going to be enough. The monsters were closing in, claws skittering on the shiny dreamscape.

Spirits! How did one get out of the Unplace in a hurry? Even if he knew some way to jump back to reality, he might land himself in the middle of Nevil's army. Time was unrelated to distance, so changing his destination now might merely prolong his danger. Orphan was going flat out and had already worked up a fine lather, his eyes wide with terror, yet still the monsters drew closer — coming in on the left, where Toby could not get at them with his sword, even if a blade would be any use against discarnate demons. Or perhaps they were trying to drive him to the right. Right, left, front, or back all seemed exactly the same here, but he strongly suspected that once he let them choose the direction they could also choose the destination and force him to emerge where they wanted him to emerge, which might be right in front of Nevil himself.

Water! If the shiny surface were water, it ought to hinder those low-slung horrors more than it would hamper Orphan. He called for water. Orphan's hooves began throwing up splashes, and the surface rippled wildly. Deeper, make it deeper, up to Orphan's knees… Now the weasel-things were floundering, splashing, slowing down. But water had its own dangers. It continued to grow deeper of its own accord, and he could not stop it. Orphan broke out of his gallop, to a canter, then a trot, and the dark tide was washing at Toby's boots. The weasels had vanished. Something else was raising ripples behind him and drawing closer on his left. Water had not been a good idea. If he did not reach Fiesole soon, he wasn't going to reach it at all.

A spinning ball of flame soared in out of the mists ahead and plunged into the water barely a span from his left foot. Something huge and dark reared up, burst into flames, and screamed. Orphan plunged forward in terror. Another ball of flame, then more, all hurtling overhead to smite the unseen pursuers. When he glanced back, he saw six pillars of fire roaring in the water, boiling up columns of steam.

Orphan stumbled out of the Unplace onto grass, and came to a shivering halt, frozen by gramarye, with his eyes wildly rolling.

'That was excessively stupid, even for you!' Maestro Fischart had to shout over the shrieking wind that was thrashing his white robe around. The dozen or so adepts gathered behind him were similarly being roiled and buffeted, staggering as the gusts changed direction. The sky overhead loomed low, black clouds hiding the sun, but the storm was local, confined to the area between Fiesole and the river.

'What's happening?' Toby demanded. He had no time for recrimination or even thanks. The nightmares he would enjoy later, when he had leisure. And he could see what was happening. Alfredo's initial attack had been repulsed. Now his Venetians were being driven back toward Fiesole by sheer weight of numbers. He had dismounted his cavalry, making the knights fight on foot, two men to a lance. Nevil had done the same, but he had three times the numbers, and his advantage in standard infantry might be even more than that. The speed with which his forces here had rallied from their surprise suggested that Nevil himself was in charge of this sector.

'We're holding him in demons,' Fischart shouted. 'But we need more helmets.' Lightning flashed overhead, thunder boomed painfully close.

'I'll see what I can do.' In the end, all battles came down to the basics of steel and flesh.

'Wait! You need a guard.' The hexer turned to his remaining supporters and shouted orders.

Toby did not wait. They could catch him. He urged Orphan forward, feeling the calming enchantment lift at his order. But he dipped only briefly through the Unplace, emerging alongside Alfredo, where he sat his horse with half a dozen officers and mounted squires around him. They were surveying the battle, and the faces showing under their raised visors were grim.

Toby gave them a big smile. 'Stiletto! Are you enjoying this fine morning?'