Demon Knight Read online

  "Sir Tobias! Our house is honored by the presence of Scipio reborn." His eyes were russet-brown like his hair and glittered bright as daggers.

  Toby's knowledge of the classics was precisely zero, but fortunately he had asked Brother Bartolo to coin some suitable phrases for him to memorize. "It is for the feasting in Valhalla that the warrior fights, Your Magnificence."

  Marradi acknowledged the mot with a graceful nod. "But what he wins is glory and the gratitude of the people."

  Toby hastily reached into Bartolo's collection again. "I was but the sword that the hand of Liberty wielded."

  "May Liberty ever be so well armed, Sir Tobias."

  Having won the match two falls out of three, Marradi gracefully passed Toby to the care of his sister, tonight's hostess. Next...

  Toby bowed to her, Lucrezia, Duchess of Ferrara. She was resplendent in cloth of gold, although her husband's death was more recent than madonna Marradi's. The gossipmongers declared that mourning would be hypocritical for her, and the only known sin that her critics never attributed to Lucrezia Marradi was hypocrisy. She was tiny, able to walk under Toby's arm in a plumed hat. With a small nose and a slightly receding chin, she had the face of a child, and those same gossips insisted that only gramarye could explain how she retained her youthful complexion and the fiery red-gold hair. She might have been a doll standing there in her superbly crafted gown and enough jewels to gravel a stable yard, honoring the giant with a disarming, coquettish smile. She could see how out of place he felt.

  "Tobiaso, you are the handsomest man in the city."

  "And you, duchessa, are the biggest liar." Feeling as clumsy as a drunken ox, he bent to kiss the childish fingers. Not all of her was childish. She held her hand where he would have a good view down her cleavage. He could almost see her toes.

  "I was hoping you would appear in a lion skin."

  Another classical allusion? "I washed it, and it didn't dry in time."

  Lucrezia tinkled a laugh that sounded utterly genuine and might be as deadly as her most recent husband's last sip of wine. "I expect to dance with you tonight, comandante!"

  "I am yours to command, madonna."

  "Of course," said the rosebud lips.

  Toby followed the don indoors, fervently wishing he were somewhere else, anywhere else. So many incredibly ravishing women, and he could not even dream...

  CHAPTER THREE

  The hexer had removed his mask. He was very tall and lithe, with waves of black hair and features just on the bony side of classical. He had placed Lisa carefully on the bed without ripping her clothes off or performing any demonic conjurations. He was doing something at the far side of the room, now coming over to the bed...

  When he laid a wet towel on her bruised mouth, her eyes jerked open in surprise. His smile displayed one of the very few perfect sets of teeth she had ever seen.

  "Do you really look like that?" she mumbled. How could a nightmare turn into a dream so quickly?

  Surprise faded to a worried frown, as if he thought she might be raving. "Do I look like what?" He removed the towel.

  "Aren't all hexers old and ugly and—"

  He laughed. "I'm not a hexer! Just a soldier."

  "A condottiere?"

  "A humble man-at-arms. My name's Giacomo, and we..." He paused, surprised. "We're talking English? So call me James. Hamish if you want to be accurate."

  First name only? But perhaps he was being tactful, hinting that it was better not to reveal too much. Her heart was pounding strangely.

  "Er, I'm Lisa. Hamish? Is that Welsh?"

  "Scots!"

  "I beg your pardon. I thought all Scotsmen were seven feet tall and had red hair."

  "Only the wild ones. I'm the domesticated variety."

  His solemn manner bewildered her for a moment, then she laughed. "I am extremely grateful for your assistance, sir! You don't look like a soldier." Any she had seen had been scruffy scoundrels. His clothes were stylish but not showy, like his manners.

  He shrugged. "I don't do much fighting. I'm mostly in administration."

  She had wanted sultry eyes, she remembered, never guessing that eyes could be as sultry as these. Was he possibly one of the fabled condottiere princes? "You fought like a legend tonight. Against six!" A rapier was a nobleman's weapon. No mere man-at-arms could have wielded one as he had.

  He shook his head almost bashfully. "I was in no danger at all. I have a guarddemon, see?" He raised a hand to show a ring with a yellow jewel. "My only worry was that my ring would zap me out of there before I could do anything to help you."

  But the fact that it had not implied that he had been holding his own until the monster came. How could a mere man-at-arms explain these sumptuous quarters? He was at least wealthy, if not a noble, and he had behaved with perfect chivalry so far. Except that he had not summoned a chaperone. Would it be proper to ask for one, or rude? If he began making advances... how far did a lady's obligations go in these circumstances?

  Probably a long way, she decided nervously. She fingered her swollen lip.

  "Are you well enough to walk yet?" he asked. "We ought to leave here before someone comes. I expect they're all out at Carnival, but—"

  Oh! "Where are we?"

  Again that appealing smile. "I haven't the faintest idea. It must have been safe at the time, or my demon wouldn't have brought us here, but we should leave as soon as possible. It won't defend us against social embarrassment."

  "Mine didn't defend me against anything at all!" She scowled at her ring. The stone was only garnet, but Mother had always said the gold setting would be very valuable even without the demon immured in the jewel. It had been less than useless tonight.

  Hamish frowned, took her hand, and peered at it closely. "It's very old, isn't it?" He did not release her hand.

  "It belonged to my grandmother. Mother gave it to me on my—" what would he believe? "—eighteenth birthday."

  "Older than that. The setting looks Carolingian."

  "How do you know that if you're not a hexer?"

  "Mm? Oh, I read a lot." He grinned briefly, then turned serious again, frighteningly serious. "Are you royal, my lady? Ordinary people don't need guarddemons and certainly can't afford them." His eyes were no longer sultry; they were rapiers.

  She had no choice but to trust him. If he meant to take advantage of her, he would have done so before now. "My mother is the Countess of Ely, and no, we're not royal, or rich. Not poor, of course. My father died many years ago. Mother has strange fears. She travels a lot, and never stays in one place more than a few months. She imagines a lot of enemies, that's all. That's why I have the ring. I was always told it would protect me. It must be a fake!"

  He lit up the room with his smile again. "Not necessarily. My guarddemon is conjured to move me out of danger, but perhaps yours works by bringing help."

  Did he realize what a wonderfully romantic notion that was? "You were the answer to a maiden's prayer tonight, sir."

  "Ah, maidens are always telling me that. Come along." He pulled on her hand to help her sit up. She smoothed her gown, which was utterly ruined. Oh, she must look a sight! But he smiled, and she smiled back. She wasn't just dreaming this.

  "Madonna, I will escort you safely to your residence. I will also steal some shoes out of that closet for you, if there are any there to fit you—you may have heard how skilled we mercenaries are at looting and pillaging. Otherwise, I am afraid you will have to hop." He headed for the closet. "In which contrada do you live?"

  "I don't know."

  He stopped and looked around. "You cannot even venture a wild guess?"

  She shook her head and felt a huge lump rise in her throat, as if she were about to burst into tears. "We just arrived in Siena last night. I don't know the name of the street, or even what the house looks like. I came out the back. Over a roof."

  "That makes things a little difficult!"

  He did not believe her, naturally. She herself could not believe
that she had been so stupid. She did not approve of people being stupid, especially herself, because she normally wasn't, but tonight she seemed to be blundering into every pothole in sight. "I wanted to take a look at Carnival. I had my ring. I was only going to the corner, wanting to watch the revelers going by. But some young men pulled me into a dance. I can't speak Italian. By the time I escaped from them, I was in the square, and I didn't know which way I'd come."

  He did not laugh at her tale of folly. "But, Lisa, the attack on you wasn't just a random assault. Those ruffians knew who you were—I heard them. One of them said something like, 'That's her!' In English."

  She nodded. "Yes."

  "So it must have been gramarye of some sort, either a summoning or an ambush. The one holding you was a hexer. He invoked that demon. And he had it on a very loose rein—just a couple of words and gestures. That is extremely dangerous! I think you should take your mother's fears more seriously."

  "You're saying I've been a terrible fool."

  "I'd say your mother was the fool, for not confiding in you. She probably thinks of you as still being a child."

  She looked up quickly, then turned away, afraid she was blushing. He was not making that mistake.

  "I am very grateful for your help. You'll take me somewhere safe until we can find Mother?"

  "Of course. Go and see if there are any shoes you can wear."

  If he believed her story, would he be giving her orders like that? Or were the orders a sign that he did believe her story and thought she was stupid? "Very well, my lord. I'll give you some lessons in looting and pillaging."

  He grinned hugely, and that made her feel better.

  The closet was almost as large as the bedchamber, and its racks and rods and shelves held an impressive collection of gowns and cloaks and accessories, clearly belonging to a large woman. Anyone so rich would not grudge help to a lady in distress. Lisa found a pair of stylish buskins that she could walk in and not walk out of, and added a warm, dark-colored cloak of soft wool that fitted very well and would be much more suitable than her own for the sort of midnight adventuring that must lie in store. She discarded the balzo and exchanged it for a dark floppy hat that concealed her hair. After what must have been the fastest lady's dressing in history, she returned to the bedchamber.

  "How do I look?"

  Hamish stared at her for a moment in wonder. Then he sighed. "Lovelier than Venus. Beauty like yours drives men out of their wits."

  "Thank you, Sir Hamish!" She knew she was blushing. "Brave knight deserves fair lady."

  "Demons! I shouldn't have said... Lisa, I am not a knight! I'm not even an honest soldier—I'm a spy."

  Her smile died, cold on her lips. "A spy for whom?"

  "Not Nevil, I swear. Florence. But the Sienese might even prefer the Fiend to a Florentine. I'm not a nobleman in disguise, if that's what's in your mind. I'm a spy, and if the Sienese catch me, they'll rack me on principle."

  The ruffians had spoken English, and so did he, but she had no one else to trust. She held out a hand so he could tuck an arm under it.

  "Then I won't let them catch you. You're quite tall enough already."

  "I'd like to stay the way I am, I admit. Now, the first problem is to get safely out of here. We'll just walk downstairs as if we owned the place. If a servant sees us, I'll do the talking. If I speak to you, smile as if I'm discussing Carnival."

  The candle she was holding trembled and wavered. "And if we meet the owners?"

  He shrugged. "I'll think of something." He opened the door with a cheerful grin. "Hold on tight in case I disappear."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Toby was out of his depth in recitals of music and poetry, but the jugglers and buffoons made him laugh. He saw many parts of the palace he had not visited before, gazing in wonder at great salons so decorated with frescoes that gods and heroes lurked on the edges of the crowd and cherubim flitted overhead. The air was heady with the scents of perfumed bodies, beeswax, and intrigue.

  He knew many of the men already and was introduced to a hundred more, but the problem was never remembering a man's name, it was judging his importance, because the standard term of office in Florence was a mere two months, and titles tended to be meaningless anyway. Undoubtedly at least a quarter of the persons present were in the pay of other states and would be filing reports the following day, so he was much in demand as a potential source of interesting material.

  The Veronese ambassador inquired smoothly why the noble condottiere spurned his old friends who had so well rewarded his magnificent services in their righteous struggle against the Venetian dogs.

  "Florence pays better," Toby replied, just to watch the man wince. It paid in prestige, not money, but it was prestige he needed now if he were to influence events.

  Within the hour, representatives of Ravenna and Naples, both former employers, made similar inquiries and received similar answers. They met frankness so seldom they had trouble dealing with it.

  Frankness was barely enough when he was trapped in a shadowy corner by Lucas Abonio, who was a cousin of the Duke of Milan and brother of its collaterale, Ercole Abonio. The brothers could hardly have been more dissimilar, for Ercole was completely admirable, a shrewd and competent old campaigner, respected equally by his own men and his enemies. He had taught the young foreigner many things the previous summer while the Don Ramon Company fought for the duke against Florence—a trivial squabble that had been solved with a few thousand ducats and a few score dead mercenaries. Ercole was a true knight, Lucas a lurker in dark corners, a scavenger of scandal, a sniffer-out of secrets. He oozed along on a trail of intrigue like a slug on slime.

  "Have you reconsidered our offer, comandante?"

  Toby backed away a pace and collided with a wall. "You honor me beyond words, Your Magnificence. Alas, Don Ramon has already committed to the Florentines."

  The spy bared a few yellow teeth. "Not according to my sources. The don's appointment was a temporary replacement for the late and unlamented Captain-General Vespucci. I have it on excellent authority that Florence has not yet met your terms for a new condotta."

  "Well, there is never any fighting in the winter."

  "Exactly." Abonio lowered his voice and wafted closer on wings of garlic. "We are not interested in that mad don of yours, boy. Let Florence have him. It's you His Grace wants. Forty thousand florins if you bring the Company, twenty thousand if you come alone. For you personally. In addition to whatever we announce in public."

  Toby began to shake. This was wealth beyond all the dreams of his boyhood. It was utterly crazy. He knew Milan did not want his abilities, although he was now willing to admit that he had abilities. His name alone had become a trophy, a token of prestige in the unending rivalry between the Italian states.

  "Excellency, what good will money do any of us if Nevil triumphs? Pray inform His Grace that I am more deeply honored than I can say. I have given my word to Florence."

  That was a point of ethics, irrelevant in a discussion of money, and it made Abonio smile with all the cuddlesome appeal of a rat.

  "The duke is a man of his word, messer Longdirk. Only a fool would trust these republicans. They choose their officials by drawing names out of a bag!"

  "But Il Volpe's hand puts the names into the bag."

  "When they do hold an election, his goons prevent his opponents from voting."

  Toby chuckled unsteadily. "Exactly." What was the point of this discussion? No one could possibly run a city the way the laws said Florence was to be run. "What matter whose banners we hold, Excellency? I hope and trust that Florence and Milan will fight shoulder to shoulder against the same foe." He bowed, muttered more regrets, and prepared to leave.

  "Lecco Castle?" Abonio growled. "A fiefdom of your own, for after the war, whether you bring your Company or not. The duke's daughter to wife, the fair madonna Isabetta. My brother wishes to retire from fighting soon, and His Grace will appoint you collaterale in his place. I have all these
trifles to give you, in writing, with his seal on them."

  Demons! Sweat! This was more serious. The collaterale was minister for war, probably the most senior state employee after the duke himself, and that was a huge step up for a mercenary. A castle had no appeal for Toby—what on earth would he do with a castle?—but if the Milanese started waving castles in front of the don, he would accept at once, and that would scramble Toby's plans completely. It was one more reason why the condotta must be agreed tonight.

  "Excellency, my only ambition is to try and stop the Fiend from doing to Italy what he has done to the rest of Europe. I am convinced that Florence needs me far more than Milan does, for His Grace is a superb warrior in his own right and has your noble brother to serve him. Wealth and honors do not interest me." Stunning Abonio with that heretical haymaker, Toby hurried away from the torment of temptation.

  —|—

  At the banquet, every course was paraded in on golden trenchers by liveried flunkies—capon, veal, thrushes, pheasant, trout. Toby was seated well below the salt, down among minor merchants and their wives, but that bothered him not at all, for two years ago he would have been lucky to be allowed to beg for scraps at the kitchen door. His companions were thrilled to learn who he was, demanding to hear all about the Battle of Trent. He insisted that it was not a topic to be discussed in the presence of ladies. He was not at all sure that they were true ladies, though—hands caressed him under the table and toes nudged.

  "Will the Fiend's armies return?"

  "Certainly, and this time he will come in person."

  Some of the women prepared to swoon. "Can you save us, comandante?"

  "Italy can save itself, if it will just unite and support its fighting men."

  Then it was the men who turned pale, because he was talking about taxes.

  The dancing began around midnight. He enjoyed dancing. For his size he was agile and could twirl and pirouette and gavotte with the best of them. It was the proposals for encores that upset him. One or two of his partners straight-out suggested they run upstairs together and find a bed as soon as the music stopped, but most just dropped hints like millstones. He lost count at eight, and the three he wasn't sure of were probably being too subtle for him. Were there no faithful wives in Florence? Worse, his abstinence was soon noted, and beautiful young men began being charming to him. His glares made them melt back into the crowd very hurriedly.