Demon Rider

'Holiness, I appeal for sanctuary! This is gross injustice.'

'We agree. Catalans cherish their ancient freedoms. Antonio, you must present a reason.'

Diaz frowned, and if he had been a man who showed emotion it would probably have been surprise. Surely he had not expected the tutelary to hand over a suppliant without cause? Or had he already been assured that in this case it would? The stench of trap was unmistakable.

'The civil power's warrant is cause enough, Holiness, when it deems that lives are in jeopardy.'

'If Oreste can be so arbitrary, then so can we. We require you to give us a specific reason.'

Another voice intervened before Diaz could respond, a voice whose rasp of age did not lessen its deep authority: 'I can present a reason. Captain Diaz is acting on my behalf. The man Longdirk is possessed by a demon.' Out from behind the soldiers came a tall, elderly Dominican.

Randal's first punch. The first and last bout in Longdirk's brief career as a professional prizefighter had opened with a sickening lesson in just how hard a man could hit a boy. This punch felt even harder. He had been told repeatedly that tutelaries would never have dealings with the Inquisition. Why must he always turn out to be the exception to every rule?

The old man's pouched eyes inspected him, then a smile like a sword cut parted the skull face. 'There can be no question that this creature belongs to the Inquisition, Holiness.'

'No question?' For the first time the spirit lost a little of its inhuman calm. 'There can be no question that our authority is paramount within our domain! Do you dare dispute this, Vespianaso?'

Hamish recognized the name and muttered something fiery under his breath.

The friar's bow was perfunctory. 'Of course not, Holiness. But unless you plan to retain him here, then you must hand Longdirk over to the appropriate authority outside, and in all Spain that proper authority is the Inquisition.' He cupped his hands and blew into them to warm them.

'This is not our concern!' Senora Collel cried. 'I have no truck with demons! Holiness, I beg you—'

'Be silent, Margarita! The rest of you may be required as witnesses, depending on our decision. Tobias, do you deny the charge?'

Surprise! Perhaps there was hope after all? — if Montserrat was willing to defy both Oreste and the Inquisition. Again he wondered whose were the feet and hooves coming up the hill. It was late for anyone to be on the road, especially in such weather. Things were happening too quickly.

Still, he had no choice now but to gamble on the tutelary's honesty, no matter what tricks it had been playing earlier.

'Yes, I deny the charge.'

'State your case, Vespianaso.'

The friar shrugged as if that would be a waste of time. 'The man was identified as a creature years ago in his native land. He has been pursued across all Europe, spreading death and destruction in his wake. He was indicted again in Castile this summer and escaped again. We set up a checkpoint to intercept him near Tortosa. It was wiped out. Thirty-four men died. I am surprised that your Holiness would even—'

'This is all hearsay. Have you witnesses?'

The rain that sizzled in the torches was driving hard in Toby's face, but more than cold was making him shiver. Yes, there were witnesses: Gracia, Josep, Collel, and the others now up at the monastery. He must not let them be dragged into the Inquisition's coils.

'I do not deny that I was there, or that the men died. But I am not possessed of a demon.'

'In that case,' inquired the inquisitor with heavy sarcasm, 'I assume Captain Diaz is here to enlist you?'

'Tobias,' the incarnation said, 'you quibble about the nature of the sprite. Do you seriously expect us to release you so that you may continue your bloody course?'

He wiped his eyes. 'Brother Bernat instructed me in how to control this sprite you mention.'

'Did you control it at Tortosa, or did it act without your guidance?'

That fast one-two left him no defense. He had admitted that he bore the hob. Which of them was master did not matter. 'I had not yet had time to master it,' he mumbled. 'It is behaving itself now.'

'That is only because we have subdued it. Do you regret what happened?'

Both Oreste and the Inquisition had underestimated the hob in the past, but Montserrat had centuries of experience and far greater wisdom than either of them, so perhaps the hob was truly incapacitated this time…

He shrugged. There was no way to deceive a spirit. 'Yes, in the sense that I wish they had just left me alone. I do not enjoy killing. But put me in the same circumstances again, and I would still not submit to violence. The reverend friar reversed the truth. I am not possessed, and yet I have been hunted and hounded across all Europe. For three years I have lived in dread of being stabbed through the heart by any stranger I met, and what the Inquisition planned for me was a great deal worse than that. I have the right to defend myself, do I not?' The best method of defense, he recalled, was attack: 'And who are you to judge me? You slaughtered as many or more here tonight.'

'That was not our doing.'

'This is your domain. You let it happen.'

'They came to loot and rape and so deserved the death they met. We intervened only to save innocent lives.'

'You absolve yourself very glibly!' He wished the spirit would lose its temper and shout back at him, but immortals did not do that. The icy girlish voice was slaughtering him. 'I was saving innocent lives at Tortosa — my own and other people's. I don't see that my actions are any different from yours.'

'We are not on trial here, Tobias. You are.' Punch!

'Sauce for the gander is not sauce for the goose?'

Hamish thumped his arm with a warning growl. 'Be respectful, you big oaf!'

'Why should I be respectful? If this is a trial, then the judge should be in the dock with the accused. I was being threatened with the most humiliating and painful death imaginable. Does an immortal deny a mortal the right to defend his life?'

'We do if he is deserving of death,' the spirit said. 'The men you slaughtered were doing their duty, legally and morally.'

'You call torture moral?'

'Would you have submitted had the penalty been beheading?'

Punch! Feeling as if all the breath had been knocked out of him, Toby again wiped his face with a sodden sleeve. He could never win a battle of wits against one of the wisest tutelaries in all Europe. If this went on long enough he would freeze to death.

'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