Or possibly the hob. Capricious and unpredictable though it was, it did hate demons. Toby could not abandon his friend. If the hob would let him, he must try to do something.
Hamish was squirming in the creature's grasp, retching at its stench, but powerless to avoid that odious mouth approaching his. The horror was about to kiss him, and even Toby's stomach turned over at the sight.
"Stop!"
The husk released Hamish and spun around, staring with festering blind sockets toward the sound.
Toby took a step forward, and neither the demon nor the hob blocked him. "Stop, monster! Here is a larger, stronger body for you to claim. Let the boy go and take me." He blundered forward.
"Idiot!" Hamish screamed. "Get out of here!"
"Come!" the husk shrilled gleefully. It jiggled and waved its arms. Its torn dugs flapped up and down. "Two of you to play with! Much feasting and loving and pain! Come to my embrace, lover!"
Toby felt it take control of his feet, rushing him forward to his doom. Hamish was still rooted to the spot, still cursing Toby's folly.
The ghoul spread its arms to embrace its new victim. At the last moment Toby's arm brought up the sword. The hob must have revealed itself then, for the demon screamed, but it was too late to stop the blade. It slammed into the woman's chest, straight through the heart. Corpse and Hamish collapsed at the same moment. Toby felt his limbs returned to his own control and staggered, grabbing a branch to support himself.
His hose dropped around his knees, and he started to laugh.
Even after he had managed to choke down the laughter it was a few moments before he could do more than just shake. Then he pulled up his hose and retrieved both sword and staff.
Hamish had scrambled away from the dead husk. His face was chalky in the firelight. "You flaming fool! That was crazy!"
"Don't thank me, friend. Thank the hob."
Apparently not yet trusting his legs to support him, Hamish sat where he was and stared up incredulously. "I didn't know you could control it that well!"
"I didn't control anything," Toby said. "I just remembered how it hates demons."
"You knew there was a demon here, and yet you let me come?"
"I thought there might be, because of the vision. I didn't suggest it, because you don't believe in visions."
Hamish said something in langue d'oïl that did not sound polite.
CHAPTER FOUR
Toby wakened with the sun blazing down on his right ear. He had overslept, which was annoying but also confirmation that his sleepless night in the dungeon had not been pure hallucination. Not that he needed more evidence than his arms, which still ached all the way from wrenched shoulders to bruised wrists. And now was the moment to wonder what might have crept into bed with him: spiders, snakes, scorpions? He rolled over and heaved himself upright.
Hamish was reading, of course. Beside him lay a heap of oranges and two swords. He smirked with the smugness of the earlier riser. "Sleep well?"
"A few nightmares. You?"
"No. I had my nightmares before I went to bed. There aren't any more demons around. If there were, your snoring would have brought them running."
Since he was wearing nothing but his locket, Toby reached first for his clothes. "You found another sword."
Hamish nodded, closing the book. "I found eight bodies, too. There's other stuff on them, but I couldn'a bear to touch any of it. Yours is a demon sword, you realize?"
Of course. They were conventional, single-edged military swords, with simple L-shaped guards, probably of Spanish make, but one of them had slain a demon and so would have power against demons. That might be useful, for although incarnates were not exactly commonplace he seemed to have a knack for running into them.
Dressed, he reached for the oranges. "Any thoughts on my visions now?"
Hamish scowled. "No. That hob of yours breaks all the rules. And your prophecies aren't accurate—but they do seem to come close," he conceded.
Toby thought of Baron Oreste's dungeon and shivered.
***
As soon as he had eaten they set off northward, still carrying their staves. Having no scabbards, they tucked the swords in their bundles, hilts ready to hand in case they were needed. Westward lay the scrubby hills, and eastward the brilliant sea.
Amazingly, Hamish seemed none the worse for his horrifying experience with the ghoul. For a while he indulged in aimless chatter, explaining that the Mediterranean had been named by the Romans and meant Middle of the World but the Moors called it Bahr al-Rumi, the sea of Rome; that from the south coast of Castile you could see Africa; that it was only thirty years since the king of Castile had conquered Granada for the Khan; and that a tigress could outrun a horse, but the rider could escape it by throwing down a glass ball, which the tigress, seeing her own reflection in it, would think was one of her cubs and stop to suckle.
"What do you do about the tiger?" Toby asked. "Can't it run too?"
Hamish frowned. "The book didn't say. You suppose no one ever came back to tell them?" Then his eyes twinkled. It was never possible to tell how serious he was when he recounted a tale like that. He usually seemed to accept anything he read in a book without question, but he might have just been having fun with his big, stupid friend. Although his dark coloring made him look like a native, he was tall by Spanish standards and still gangly, so recently come to his full height that he had much filling out left to do. Fine-boned and yet firm, his features combined a pair of very solemn dark eyes with a mouth ever ready to smile. Dress him as a gentleman instead of a beggar and those long lashes would quicken every female heart in the land. If they didn't, it would not be for want of fluttering.
Suddenly he went to business. "What exactly did you foresee last night?"
Toby told what he could remember of the vision. "It's odd, but I don't recall much of what we said. Everything else was as vivid as real life, but the conversation's all fuzzy and patchy."
"Like the meeting in Valencia. You didn't remember what was said then, either." Hamish was wearing his smug expression.
"So?"
"This sounds to me like the hob's doing. It wouldn't care much about words, would it?"
"No it wouldn't. So, yes, you're right." Trust Hamish to work that out.
"Then what?"
"That's all. Oreste just went away and left me in the dark." For how long? All night? The soldiers had checked on him several times.
"Standing up? Chained?"
"Yes. Now you know everything. You're the scholar. Explain it."
Hamish scowled down at the trail. "I can't. It makes no sense. Déjà vu isn't usually so dangerous. If you're seeing the future—and you can't be—then how can you change it? But you mustn't go to Barcelona now. Even you can't be that pigheaded!"
Toby grunted.
"Well?" Hamish demanded. "We've got no reason to go to Barcelona. There are other ways out of Spain!"
Barcelona was the shortest, but the real reason Toby wanted to go there was to find a ship for Hamish. He had hoped to find one in Valencia, but the city was a graveyard and no ships came to El Grao. Hamish, although he hated to admit it, was bitterly homesick for Scotland. Hamish had done nothing to earn this endless, dangerous life as a fugitive except be loyal to his friend. It was time to repay the debt by sending him home. Scotland was a poor land with troubles of its own, but he had friends and family there, which Toby had not, and the sooner he was shipped back there the sooner he could start living the sane, ordinary life he deserved.