CHAPTER EIGHT
He could see nothing. He could hear. He could smell sweat, taste blood, and he most certainly could feel.
The drum beat its slow refrain—tap—pause—tap—and after each tap the cat-o'-nine-tails crashed against his back, and the whole world exploded in fire. He was back on Mulliez's whipping post, hanging by his wrists, being beaten to bloody shreds.
tap—pause—"Neuf!"
But this was wrong. He could not think because of—
crash!—
— the pain, but this could not be happening. This was gramarye and—
tap—pause—"Dix!"
he ought to be able to deal with it, if he could just find—
crash!—
— oh, demons! — the answer. This was not real. This was gramarye. Hex.
tap—pause—"Onze!"
— the cardinal! Hob! Help! Sorghie!—
crash!—
— oh, spirits! Help me, Sorghie! I've never called for help in my—
tap—pause—"Douze!"
— life before, but I need you, need you, need you…
In a dark sky on a dark field a white owl swoops low and, snatching up its quarry, is gone on wings of silence…
He had his clothes on. There was no blood in his mouth or on his back. He was lying on rough ground with his head in Sorghaghtani's lap, and she was sobbing hysterically, weeping without tears. Sunlight through branches dappled the sky.
"Sorghie! Sorghie?"
She gasped, barely able to breathe. "Little One?"
"It's all right, Sorghie. Thank you, oh, thank you!" He found her hand and squeezed it. Trees, early-morning sky, a few birds singing… No sign of Chabi. "How did you get here?"
"Did you not need me?"
"I needed someone, yes!" He would probably have managed without her, eventually, but the sooner the better in that sort of trap. Marradi! That nasty, small-minded—
She choked a few times. Her absurd shaman hat lay discarded on the grass, and sunlight glinted highlights in her thick black hair. Her eyes were still bandaged. "What happened, Little One?"
"A very spiteful man, that's all." Ricciardo Cardinal Accursed Marradi.
"He was going to kill you?"
Toby heaved himself up to a sitting position. His head swam a bit, but he was basically unharmed. One day, when he had time, he would try to work out what had happened. "Maybe. I don't think so. I think he laid a death hex on me so he could tell his friends he had, but he knew I had some gramarye and could break it." No way to be sure, though. He wasn't even sure he could have broken it without Sorghie's help. It had been a close call.
"You broke your oath now?"
"Let's go and see." The sun was still very low through the trees, but that distant rumble was the mudded-up sound of guns and thousands of hooves, war cries and dying screams, drums and bugles — the noise of battle that could inspire a man to wild killer frenzy and simultaneously make him want to crawl under a bush and hide. It could not have been going on very long yet. He rearranged himself to rise, and somehow the movement put his face closer to hers, and then it was quite natural to take her in his arms and kiss her.
She was as tiny as a doll. She returned the kiss eagerly, moaning with delight, seeming willing to let it go on forever, child trying to become instant woman. He wanted to crush her and certainly could if he tried, while her embrace was barely perceptible through his armored jerkin.
Breaking loose was surprisingly difficult. "Oh, Sorghie! That cannot be."
She buried her face in his neck, snuffling like a puppy. "We helped, didn't we?"
"You didn't just help. Without you and Chabi it would have been impossible. I would not have remembered to give the signal, and the armies would not have attacked."
"Our walk was not for nothing then?"
"No." He kissed her again. He did not fear the hob with Sorghie. She was so tiny in his arms that his body was not taking her seriously. Given time, though… He eased his lips away from hers. She smiled and also sighed.
"All over?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Come along."
Smeòrach had tangled his reins in a bush not far off and was resolutely trying to eat with the bit still in his mouth, which would just plain ruin his digestion. Toby climbed aboard and pulled the blind shaman up beside him. Then he rode off into the Unplace.
Only two reserve battles of infantry remained near the Neapolitan camp. Voices were raised in alarm when the unknown horse materialized nearby, but a glance showed him that the war was not here, and he did not linger.
Smeòrach's hooves clattered on paving, and he neighed in alarm to find himself in the crowded street outside Giovanni's Inn. But this was home at the moment. It had oats. He neighed again, more hopefully. Other 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 Smeòrach'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.