The demon floated a foot off the ground and looked down at Keaf with black holes for eyes. “You summoned a demon,” it thundered. A rending sound of breaking bones accompanied each word, and its face twisted through imitations of all the people that Keaf and his father had buried. “This is my death-yard, mortal. Would you have it?”
Keaf found the barest trace of voice. “You possessed Wend’s body?”
“No.” An agony-twisted face appeared in the bony plate of the demon’s chest, and the moaning grew louder until it vibrated in Keaf’s head. “This one I possess.”
The moan became a scream, and Keaf covered his ears. “Stop!” he cried. “It hurts. Please, stop!”
“At your command,” the demon said. It opened its mouth, and a long black tongue reached out to carve a rent in its chest. Red ichor sprayed outward, spattering the ground at Keaf’s feet. He skittered back and held the sword across him as some meager protection. The opening in the demon’s chest widened, and the body of a naked woman, raw red and hairless, spilled out. She moaned as she hit the earth and raised her head to look at Keaf with bottomless red eyes. Then she lay still.
“You can have her now,” the demon said. It settled back to the ground and hunched forward until its head nearly touched the ground at Keaf’s feet. “What would you have me do? Bodies broken? Enemies tortured? Command my cruelty.” Its voice rasped in Keaf’s ears.
Keaf shuddered at the idea of choosing his own fate. Body broken? Torture? What else would the demon do to him? He hugged the sword to his chest and wept. “I beg you, spare me,” he sobbed. “Go away, and I will never call you again. Begone to the furthest hell and spare me.”
“Done!” The demon reared up tall as an oak and sucked all the fire and stench back inside its body. “Fare you carefully, lord and master,” it said.
As it sunk back into the earth, a great whirlwind surrounded the graveyard, and the edges of the sky burned with fire. Keaf curled into a ball, awaiting sure death, and prayed for the salvation of his soul.
Keaf awoke with a pain in his side, and he rolled over to find the hilt of the sword caught in his shirt. Dawn was close, and a cold mist hung in the air. He sat up and rubbed at the very real pain in his temples. Inexplicably, he was still alive.
Close by, a flock of crows had gathered on the mound of dirt beside Wend’s open grave. A good sign. Crows avoided demons. Looking around, he saw the woman. She lay where she’d fallen, a tangle of arms and legs and bright pink skin with alluring curves. Pink, not red, and a head of long black hair where there had been none. A crow lifted from the grave site and fluttered over to land beside her. Its beady eye stared for a moment, and then it pecked at her arm and drew fresh blood.
Keaf pushed to his feet. “Get away, damned bird!” He lurched forward on cramped legs. The crow hopped once, eyed Keaf up and down, and flew off with the others to circle noisily overhead.
Keaf knelt beside the woman and pressed a finger on the nick in her arm. The blood was warm, but she was very cold. He scooped her up—digging had given him strong arms—and carried her to his shack as the crows returned to their decomposed feast.
Rekindled fire, fetched water, corn mush and the last of a trapped pheasant, a too-large shirt and trousers to cover her nakedness. In an hour Keaf had done the meager things he knew to do, and the woman seemed to rest comfortably on his bed. Other than a twitch or two, she hadn’t moved.
He settled by the fire and nibbled at the pheasant, and he had time to wonder. Last night might have been a dream except for the person now in his bed. The demon had been almost servile in the way it dumped out the woman, and it had spared him when he begged. Lord and master, it had said. But that made no sense. Perhaps the sword had scared it away. The Sword. He dropped his bowl and dashed out the door.
It lay in the graveyard where he’d dropped it, gleaming in spite of the smudges and dirt. He picked it up carefully and wiped both sides of the blade on his sleeve, fraying the coarse cloth along the sharp edges. Patterns danced deep in the metal, swirling and looping in designs that almost looked like words. Keaf gripped the hilt, and once again he felt a power within himself, and he heard the distant roar of the crowd. His father had told him stories of magic, of mighty wizards and strange beasts, but Keaf had always taken them to be fairy tales. Might as well fancy himself a king. But this Sword cried out with magic. It had to be worth very much gold.
He glanced at the open grave, decided Wend’s body could wait, and returned to sit by the fire. The woman still slumbered. He planted the blade’s point between his feet and leaned his chin on the pommel in what he supposed was a very royal pose. Before he knew it, he drifted off to sleep.
“My Lord.”
The words nudged Keaf awake, and he opened his eyes to find the woman kneeling at his feet. As she bowed her head, her long black hair fanned forward to touch his moccasins. Words stuck in his throat, and his mouth hung open. The woman looked up and smiled, and her face went from ordinary to beautiful.
“You saved me,” she said. Gold flecks twinkled in the dark green of her eyes, there was an earthy aroma to her that was not bad. “You banished Gemlech.”
“I did?” Keaf didn’t remember it that way. “Are you all right?”
“After two hundred seventy-six years in a demon’s chest?” She stretched her arms and scratched at the sides of her head. “I could be worse.”
Keaf watched her body move and his heart galloped with a different sort of terror. He’d never been so close to a living woman, and though he’d explored a few dead bodies, she was an exotic mystery to him. He fumbled a cup of corn mush from the pot and snatched the pheasant’s carcass from near the fire. “Are you hungry?”
She looked at the grimy mush and greasy bird and nodded. “If my Lord is through.”
“I’m just Keaf,” he said, embarrassed by her words. “Please, take what you want.”
“My name is Dellawynn.” She sat back on her haunches as she took the pheasant and tore hungrily at it.
“I don’t know how we survived last night,” Keaf said. “But I saw you come from the demon’s chest.”
Dellawynn’s look grew distant. “I caused a lot of mischief once. The gods wanted to punish me.”
“I thought that monster was going to kill me,” Keaf said. “Something must have changed its mind.”
“It was you,” Dellawynn answered through a mouthful of mush. “You made him give me up and banished him.”
Keaf was dubious at best. And Dellawynn’s reaction seemed to fit in a fairy tale. The princess is rescued by the prince, she is eternally grateful, they fall in love, and live happily ever after. This would be the middle part.
“If I may ask, my Lord,” Dellawynn said, “when do we depart for your castle and keep?”
Keaf looked around his hut and felt his elation at having a woman’s attention collapse. This was where she discovered he was a gravedigger, a shunned man. He pointed wordlessly at the hut’s bleak walls.
Dellawynn’s eyes followed his gesture. She set down the pheasant’s bones and empty bowl, and a small sigh escaped her lips. “If this is your home, then I know my purpose. I will help you get a castle.” She reached out and touched his knees, leaning forward so that Keaf saw the curve of her breasts. She was much more woman than Toya, the blacksmith’s daughter. “I once brought the kingdom of Delfland down in fire, and I made the Prince of Borhas give up his crown,” she continued. “Getting you a castle and servants and treasures shouldn’t be too difficult, and I will be your queen if you will have me.” She looked down, but the hint of a smile lingered on her lips.
“But this is all I have,” Keaf said. “I dig graves.”
“Why don’t you go somewhere else then? Start over?” Keaf had once asked his father that same question, and the answer had made him proud. Only a decent, honest person can be a gravedigger, his father had said. Any lesser man would run from the responsibility and the burden. Keaf believed that to his soul. “I am Keaf,” he said.
“I dig graves. I don’t know how to be anyone else.”
“Then I shall serve you here, if that is your wish. I am bound to you, and I cannot think but thoughts of you.” Dellawynn’s hands slid up his legs and found his groin. Less than gently, she tugged at him and reached for the twist of rope that held his trousers.
“Wait!” Keaf sprang to his feet and pulled his belt tight. Dellawynn’s boldness scared him worse than demons. “I think I need to tend the fire.... I have a grave open.... I have to wait....”
Dellawynn managed to look understanding. “I have offended you, my Lord. I will go make myself better able to serve you.” She stood and bowed like a noble. “May I have your leave, my Lord?”
“Please,” Keaf stammered. “Don’t go on my account. I mean you... you can if you want, but you don’t have to.”
“I think it best for now,” she said. She marched to the door and was gone.
Keaf was nearly done refilling Wend’s grave when a stone hit him in the back. The pain made him turn, cursing, and he saw Lane, fat Evar, and three other village boys at the cemetery fence.
“Digging up your supper?” Lane sneered. He reared back and let another stone fly, sailing it high over Keaf’s head. Evar’s throw was better, but Keaf deflected it with his shovel.
“Is that shovel your sword?” Lane asked. He kicked at the fence and knocked loose the top rail.
Keaf dropped his shovel, ready to fight. A stone caught him in the elbow, and a sting ran like fire up his arm. He snatched up the rock and hurled it back as hard as he could. It caught Evar square in the forehead, and the boy dropped to the ground.
“Damn you!” Lane shouted, and they charged.
Keaf dashed for his hut and slammed the door behind him. As he leaned against the coarse wooden slab, he looked desperately around the room. The hut had no other exit, no windows, and only a small chimney hole in the roof. And he could never hold the door against four people. Pushed by fear, he grabbed the Sword as the door burst inward.
The boys stopped, Lane with his fist raised to throw, as Keaf held up the Sword. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Keaf pleaded. “It was an accident. I’m sorry....”
Lane lowered his hand, a look of surprise plain on his face. “We should be sorry, Keaf. I mean Master Keaf. Can you ever forgive us for attacking you?”
Keaf couldn’t discern any sign of a trick. The other young men dropped their stones and cowered behind Lane with their heads lowered. One of them began to recite a prayer of repentance. Keaf had never held a real sword before, and he understood suddenly why Templars and knights garnered such respect. The mere sight of the weapon could cow one’s enemies. “I’ll use it,” he said uncertainly.
Lane turned pale and backed into the others. “We’ll do anything,” he said. “Just tell us.”
Keaf wondered if he’d changed somehow, if the weapon in his hand made him look bigger and stronger. He took a step forward and leveled the blade. “Get out of my hut and my cemetery, and don’t come back.”
The group rushed to depart, knocking the door off its hinges. Keaf hurried out and called after them. “Don’t forget Evar. Make sure he’s all right.”
One of the young men darted over to Evar’s side and helped him up. Evar staggered sideways, blood flowing down his face. “Damn,” he cried. “Did you see what he did to me?”
Lane rushed over, nearly choking with horror. “Quiet, Evar! Can’t you see that he’s a great warrior? You’d be lucky to lick his boots!”
Evar paused, holding his head, and then remarkably, he agreed. “Oh... I see. I didn’t know....” The others hurried him away, glancing backward as they went down the trail. Remorse filled their eyes, and something akin to sorrow.
It was a look that Keaf knew too well.
Keaf sat in a patch of warm sun on the hillside above the cemetery, the Sword across his lap. Confusion twisted his thoughts like wind swirling through the fir trees. If there was magic within the blade, it seemed to affect everyone but him. Or perhaps only him. Would he know if he were under an enchantment?
Learn to use it, or get rid of it as quickly as possible. Two choices, one hard decision. Krohn, Evar’s father, would have the money to buy it, but Keaf didn’t think it wise to approach the man just now, not after this morning’s fight. Use it, then. But he was no warrior, and he had no desire to be one. If this blade could win him friends, well, that would be one thing, but he suspected that the sudden change in Lane and the others wouldn’t last, and they would be back, angrily in search of vengeance.
Best then to put the Sword away, somewhere safe and well hidden, and search out a buyer. Three days east, there were mages in Arnon City, and there was the Red Temple a week to the north. It would be a long trip, but frozen ground would soon idle him until spring, and he could hunt along the road as easily as here, perhaps better.
His plans set, he started down the hill. Halfway to his hut, he heard a whining voice and spotted two people coming up the path from the village. If they were coming to punish him, they were fewer than he’d expected.
He hid in the shadow of the trees until he recognized Dellawynn’s long black mane. She’d found other clothes, leather skirt and laced sandals, a sleeveless tunic of purple cloth, and a wide belt that glinted with silver. And a sword that she held at a man’s back. It was Krohn, Evar’s father, and he whined steadily about abduction and false pretenses.
Keaf trotted down to the cemetery fence. At the bottom end of the graveyard, Dellawynn stopped the little man’s crying with a poke of her sword.
“My Lord,” she called to Keaf, “I have brought you this swine from Palmora. He’s the richest man I could find in that sty of a village, and he can help build your castle.”
Krohn looked around for someone other than Keaf. “You said he was a king. You forced me all this way to meet this worthless gravedigger?” He turned red with anger. “I demand you release me. I am a powerful man....”
Dellawynn poked him in the chest with a finger, and he stumbled and landed on his backside. “What shall I do with him, my Lord Keaf?”
Keaf hurried over, hoping he could make amends with Krohn before the whole village was up in arms. The little man scooted backward from Dellawynn and bumped into Keaf’s legs. Keaf could smell his fear like oily sweat.
As Krohn looked up, he spotted the Sword in Keaf’s hand, and his expression changed. “My dearest young man!” He climbed to his feet and clasped Keaf by the shoulders. He was a full head shorter, in part because of the crook in his back that some said was from hunching over his money box too long. “I had no idea that you wanted a castle. I think it’s the finest idea I’ve ever heard.” He turned a rusty smile on Dellawynn. “And you! You might have told me that this fellow was royal blood. Obviously, he’s been sent out to prove himself among us common folk.”
Keaf thought he’d been confused before, but this was unbelievable. “I’m sorry about Evar. I didn’t mean to hurt him....”
Krohn’s laugh grated like the chatter of the crows. “Forget that lazy boy. He needs to learn manners, and he should know better than to bother a gentleman like you.”
Dellawynn prodded Krohn again. “What about that treasure?”
“Certainly. If Master Keaf would like, I can bring it up here. It’s quite a pile of gold.” Krohn’s face pinched in thought. “It might be safer to keep it in my strong boxes and simply give you the keys.”
Keaf had heard of insanities and maledictions of the mind, but he’d never seen anyone afflicted. Maybe this was Krohn’s secret to wealth. Total madness. “You’re most kind,” he said as he detached himself from the small man’s grip. “But maybe you’d better go home now. Your family will be worried.” He looked at Dellawynn, hoping she’d understand. Sooner or later, Krohn would come to his senses, and then...
Krohn’s expression dropped, and Dellawynn stepped up to take his arm. “I will see that he gets there safely, my Lord Keaf.” She licked her lips, and mischievous fire danced in her dark eye
s as she unbuckled a finely tooled leather scabbard from her side. “And then I will come back to serve you.” She stepped up and strapped the leather around Keaf’s waist, and her hands lingered on his hips a bit longer than necessary.
Keaf swallowed hard and motioned them away. As Dellawynn and Krohn tramped back down the trail, he thought he was beginning to sort out this day’s madness. Somehow the demon had changed him so that everyone saw not Keaf the gravedigger, but a great lord, maybe even a king. At his hut he grabbed the water bucket and set it between his feet. As the water settled, he bent to look at himself.
No majestic features, no special fire in his hazel green eyes. Nothing different. Just the adopted son of a gravedigger with a smudge on his left cheek and stubbly hair on his chin. He sat down hard and shook his head. Was it the Sword then? He picked up the blade and examined its mottled surface. The faint roar resounded, from a distance, and yet from within the metal. Could it affect men’s minds? It seemed a stretch of imagination, but Keaf knew little of such things.
At arm’s length it glimmering, beckoning. Let the crowd cheer for Keaf the gravedigger. Let them pay for shunning him and his father and all those like him. Let them see how it feels to be less than worthy, less than equal. He shook his head to clear away the ugly thoughts, and slid the Sword into the scabbard. Maybe he could learn its power, but he would have to be careful how he used it.
Keaf paused at the edge of the village as angry voices rose in a commotion from below. His self-confidence faltered as he imagined a mob preparing to come for him, but he was determined to discover what magic he held sheathed at his side. If he was right about the Sword, no crowd could withstand it.
On the main street, he spotted the mob outside the inn. Innkeeper Ganton was Lane’s father, and he stood tall above the others as he raised a sickle overhead. Cornered against the wall, Dellawynn faced them defiantly while Krohn cowered behind her.
“You stole that sword from one of my patrons,” Ganton said. “And left him without a stitch of clothing.”
An Armory of Swords Page 9
