Demon Knight

There were other banners in the background — Savoy and Genoa, Pisa and Lucca, others, too. All the ancient rivalries had been set aside, and for that Toby could claim no credit. Well, perhaps a little bit. They had rallied to the standard he had raised.

Ercole Abonio was riding forward to meet him, accompanied by a knight whose surcoat bore the blazon of the Black Lances and who must therefore be di Gramasci. Two of the finest military leaders in Europe roared a welcome as soon as they were within earshot. In the far distance, cannons rumbled a reply. He glanced around, but it was too soon to discern smoke. He hoped it signified only Florence's defenders warning off an attack, not the battery on San Miniato opening fire on the city.

'I was getting worried!' Ercole shouted.

'I couldn't find a clean shirt!'

He halted, and they reined in on either side of him, eyeing the owl on his shoulder with surprise and noting the curious absence of a saddle, but the terror-thrill of upcoming battle was making them beam like children under their raised visors. On closer inspection their faces also showed the wear and tear of the long forced march, although less on the condottiere's, for he was the younger. Abonio had visibly aged since the conclave at Cafaggiolo, a month ago. No matter, Nevil's army had come farther and would be even wearier.

'You're late,' the old collaterale said. 'Trouble?'

'No trouble.' The comandante just forgot what he was doing, that was all. 'That's a truly dainty army you gentlemen have brought. Why don't you go and do something useful with it now?'

'We await only your word, Sir Tobiaso.' Di Gramasci was not normally pompous. Did even these seasoned veterans suffer from battle nerves?

'Then here it is: Destroy the enemy! Have your hexers drop their shielding when the carroccio reaches that tree. Tell them to do nothing more until the fighting starts. That's important.'

The two men exchanged puzzled glances, but did not argue.

Di Gramasci raised his baton in salute. 'As you command, signore!'

But Ercole hesitated. 'Forgive me if I ask one last time, lad. Must it still be no quarter?'

He was a good man, Abonio, an honorable soldier who had been loyal to his cousin the duke all his adult life. This savage new warfare was foreign to him, hard to take. Even Toby's heart twisted at the thought of the orders he had given, the suffering he must now cause. The two of them had argued this through most of the night at one of their secret midnight meetings in Milan, but Toby's view had prevailed in the end and must prevail now.

'You know what quarter the Fiend gives. Your orders are to show no mercy whatsoever. Announce that any man doing so is to be shot. Let the burden be on my soul.'

He turned Smeorach away and rode off into the Unplace.

* * *

The mists had hardly swallowed them before Chabi asked, 'Why must there be no quarter?'

'Because it must.' Did she think he could not feel pity? She did not see the visions he saw, of thousands and tens of thousands of Nevil's troops surviving as lordless fugitives, starving outlaws, rabid dog packs overrunning Italy. There was no way to imprison so many, no money nor organization to escort them back to their own lands.

'Why is it important that the hexers do nothing before the fighting starts?'

'Because it is.' What had he forgotten, or overlooked? If the cardinal's hex killed him soon, as it well might, could the alliance forge ahead to victory without him?

After a moment the shaman — or her familiar, or perhaps it was both of them — tried again. 'Why did you suffer when we took you into the spirit world? Where did the pain come from?'

'An old memory.' Perhaps he should have designated a deputy to take over if he fell, but it would probably have been a fruitless exercise. The coming carnage would be so confused and catastrophic that each of the six armies in the coalition would have to fend for itself. With the Magnificent dead, Sartaq would try to take more power into his own hands. He might even succeed, for he was a very shrewd and devious young…

Talons digging into his jerkin, the owl flapped her wings and screeched, much too close to his ear, even with the steel helmet between them. 'Why do you not trust me? Did I not help you find your lost self? Where would you be now, who would you be without my help? What would have happened to your war?'

Women! And birds, for that matter. But Sorghaghtani did have a claim on him today.

'The demons the hexers are using were loaned to me by the College. I swore a solemn oath that they would be used only to make the armies invisible while they were assembling. They are not to be used for any other purpose, not even to heal wounded. I agreed to this because I had to, but I did not tell Maestro Fischart of the terms, so he has prepared his minions to take part in the battle.'

Smeorach's hooves rang in the silence for what seemed like a long time before the owl said, 'You will break your solemn oath?'

'It has been broken. I have no way to stop the hexers now, and they would not obey me if I tried. You think they would stand by and watch Nevil's demons destroy living men? Or watch men bleed to death when they can be healed? That is a greater evil.'

Chabi shifted feet on his shoulder. 'Does the College not know this?'

'Yes, but the cardinal who provided the demons probably did so without proper authority. His crime can remain a secret only if I limit their use as he required. But I am not going to, so he will be exposed, and important people will discover that he broke his oath.'

'How does that explain the orders you gave? Why should it matter if your oath is seen to be broken now or in a little while from now?'

Before he could think of suitable words to explain about the death hex, Smeorach trotted out into sunlight. Now they were on the hills south of the city, on the downstream side, not half a league from the Porta San Giorgio, and the cannon fire was an almost continuous rumble. As far as he could see, all the smoke was rising from the gun towers on the walls of Florence, so it was still defensive fire. Nothing showed yet on the crest of San Miniato.

The Roman contingent was small but so well supported by its own hexer auxiliaries that Villari had dared to pitch camp almost on top of the enemy. Whatever his personal faults, the abrasive captain-general was a fighting cock. He had not waited for Toby's signal. His infantry was advancing with band playing, and his cavalry was already down in among the Fiend's baggage train, silencing a ragged rattle of arquebus fire. The cats were out of the bag, and Toby could wish he was back on the dome of the sanctuary hearing the excited screams of the Florentines as their deliverance poured into view from all directions.

Or in the fight, even better.

It would be even nicer to hear what King Nevil was saying at the moment. He had arranged his whole gigantic army facing inward to assault Florence and now had the impossible problem of turning it inside out to face an attack from the rear while it was already under fire. He would not panic, but his mortal minions must be in chaos already.

The Romans had shared their camp with lesser bands from Siena and Perugia, and the lion rampant banner of Florence still fluttered over Don Ramon and his cavalry. He probably would not have restrained himself more than another few minutes, but he did not have to. The ground trembled as he brought the monstrous armored Brutus galloping across the field to meet Toby. Excitement flashed in his blue eyes as bright as dawn on his shining armor.

'Comandante! At last!' He ignored the owl.

'Senor! All is as planned, except that the guns are on wheels. If they manage to turn them on you before you get there, you will be in grave danger.'

The don's brief scowl brightened. 'But then when we take them, we can turn them on the Fiend!'

'I hope you do. I ordered the sortie to aid you, and it will include cannoneers. Good luck, Captain- General.'

'San Miniato is yours, comandante!' Don Ramon wheeled the great warhorse and cantered back to his command.

That left only the big Neapolitan contingent two hills over. Poor Paride Mezzo had stayed home, sending word that he would be less trouble to everyone if he died in his own bed, and the king had appointed Desjardins captain-general. That pugnacious warrior would almost certainly be on his way to join the battle by now, but he should still be given the signal promised. Toby kicked Smeorach into a canter that took him back into the