The cardinal considered that offer, pouting. It was the first time he had hesitated. Oreste thought the arrangement would appeal to the College because it could more easily deny involvement if it supplied only the immured demons and not the adepts to handle them.
"I doubt that that is possible."
"Maestro Fischart will be more than willing to attend Your Eminence to explain how he can arrange this."
Marradi shook his dewlaps in refusal. "I had as soon turn my villa into a public brothel as consort with anyone so notorious. The solution is of very doubtful morality. Granted that war requires taking risks, these volunteers of his, by their innocence and ignorance, would be placed in grave danger from the very demons they expected to control."
It seemed that nothing would work. The cause was hopeless, and Toby was becoming increasingly worried about Smeòrach, shivering outside in the rain. He had only one last desperate plea left in his bag.
"If the use of the demons were strictly limited, Your Eminence? The heart of my plan is that the Allies encircle Nevil without his knowing. With sufficient gramarye, their armies could be concealed from his view until the trap had been closed. If this is evil, surely it is no more evil than resisting his invasion by the use of cold steel or black powder?"
The adept gathered his scarlet robes more tightly over his little paunch as he thought about that. "What guarantees would you give that the demons be used for that purpose only?" he asked suspiciously.
A gleam of hope flickered. "Any guarantees Your Eminence requires."
Heavy lids drooped over the fishy eyes. "And if I require you to pledge your life on it?" the cardinal asked softly.
"I will pledge."
"You will swear?"
"I will swear."
The little man's voice grew quieter yet. "Would you submit to a stronger charge than that?"
So much for the doctrine that the College never indulged in gramarye. Toby doubted that the hob would allow him to be hexed with a lethal conjuration, but if he breathed a word about the hob to this pompous little parasite, he would find himself with an iron blade through his heart in very short order.
"Anything Your Eminence requires." He hoped that the hob, if it did rebel, would begin by frying Ricciardo Cardinal Marradi in batter.
"Mm." The arch-acolyte seemed almost disappointed. "I shall discuss this proposal with my colleagues. Return in four days at the same hour, and I will let you know then of Their Eminences' decision. If it is favorable, I may even have some material for you to transport to your hexer, Fischart. I warn you that you will be the one pledged for their proper use and safe return."
The College, or some powerful faction within the College, did accept the agreement. Even more surprising, the hob did not object to the binding, and Toby had returned from his second trip to Tivoli carrying the squirrel's horde, a sack of jewels so heavy that even he could barely lift it single-handed.
CHAPTER SIX
Without warning the mists wavered, and the hoofbeats lost their odd metallic note. Trees came into view, at first like wraiths and then more distinct. A wall, a gate… reality returned at the wooded uphill edge of the muddy, disfigured slope where the Don Ramon Company had camped for half a year.
Smeòrach rarely made a fuss entering the Unplace, but coming out of it was another matter. There were dangers in the real world, in this case shrubbery, walls, many men on horses, and a foul reek of burning. He brayed, bucked, and kicked up his heels. Toby was no Don Ramon. He was an adequate horseman at best, and he had no saddle. He hit the real world with a crack that blew all the air out of his lungs. Chabi went in search of a tree. Demons! That was not exactly a dignified way to begin a war. His linen armor had saved him from serious hurt, but he needed a moment to let the sky and branches stop spinning.
A banner bearing the winged lion of Venice came into view, being carried by a puzzled-looking young gonfalonier on a white horse. A knight in full armor on an armored destrier appeared beside him.
"Hawking with an owl?" inquired the mocking tones of Captain-General Alfredo. "In daylight? How many mice today, messer?"
Ignoring the scorn for the moment, Toby sat up and took stock. The villa had been sacked the previous morning — he had seen the smoke then, and now he could smell it and view the charred remains. But the Fiend's troops had moved on, and in the night Alfredo's had come, the army of Venice that had been treading on Nevil's heels all the way from Bologna. The wood was full of knights and their warhorses, and there would be companies of infantry behind them. This was a small host compared to Nevil's multitude, although it included men of Padua, Verona, Ferrara, and many humbler towns. Even villages and hamlets had sent their youth to Florence to fight the Fiend.
To his left, the dozen or so hooded figures in white robes were Maestro Fischart and his hexers. Downslope, Smeòrach was still playing the fool, and no one had dared to go after him because they all thought he was demonized. Toby put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The first edge of the sun blazed on the horizon, but there was still time, for Fiesole was very high. Dawn would come later down on the plain, where Florence glowed pink in the morning light, with no sign of war yet. Two hundred thousand men — it was a shock to realize that Nevil himself must be down there, too. For the first time in his life, Toby Longdirk was within reach of his implacable foe.
The Fiend had walked into his trap. That felt very good.
Feeling ready to face Stiletto's mockery, he scrambled to his feet. "Good day to you, Captain-General. Last night the darughachi appointed me comandante of the armies of Italy."
A careful smile appeared under Alfredo's visor. "Officially at last? Congratulations! Well earned. And what orders have you for us today, Your Excellency?" As if he did not know.
"Just one, messer." Toby pointed to the enemy. "Kill!"
Alfredo's grin became more convincing. He raised his silver baton in salute. "It shall be done, comandante. Drummer, sound the Prepare to Advance!"
Toby turned to give Smeòrach a pat, then heaved himself onto the big oaf's sweat-slick back. Chabi wheeled down to his shoulder as he rode over to the waiting hexers. Volunteers they all were, officially, and he had not asked where Fischart had found them, but he was confident that most of them were skilled adepts, so he had already bent his oath to the cardinal very badly. He intended to break it into tiny fragments shortly. Four of the thirteen were women, and two of the others seemed barely more than boys. Most were keeping their hands out of sight inside their sleeves, but he knew that their fingers were weighted with rings, and they had chains of assorted gems hung around their necks under their robes. With this huge spiritual artillery they had concealed an army of more than fifty thousand from the Fiend's demons.
Fischart hurried forward to meet him, white robe swirling around his ankles. For once the grim old man was smiling, if that wolflike snarl could be called a smile. Nothing in his world mattered except fighting the Fiend, and he was about to inflict on that monster the worst shock he had ever had.
"Success!" he shouted as he approached. "We did it! Not a sign of alarm. No gramarye yet."
Drums were beating, bugles sounding, as the army of Venice prepared to move out down the hill.
"Magnificent! My congratulations to your associates. Lift the shield when the sun is one fingerswidth above the hills."