Demon Sword

by Ken Hood

  "It doesn't in any normal sense." Valda sounded bored. "It likes to roll in mire and torment itself, because its original owner feels the pain, while it does not. It was in better shape a week ago, but then you dropped a mountain on it. It can't eat; it is almost used up. I shall have to find another husk for it soon, or put it back in its bottle. Won't I, Krygon?"

  The thing tried to speak, but the ravaged mouth produced only a slobbering mumble. It nodded its head eagerly.

  "So there is a demon for you, Tobias. You see why I would not have wasted your splendid physique on one of those. Never mind... you are not cooperating. I realize you have no cause to cooperate with me, and I need your cooperation to discover what went wrong and correct it. Time is short. Dumbarton is under siege, so I must adjust your attitude without delay."

  "Siege?" A moment ago he had moved. His feet had obeyed him... No, it was still hopeless, because Krygon could control him at a distance. There was no way he could get out of range fast enough to escape.

  Valda rose from her chair. "Siege in a manner of speaking. Normally I wouldn't dare bring an incarnate like Krygon into a warded town, but the tutelary is fully occupied at the moment." She stepped to the table and opened the metal casket. "Oreste is on his way here. He will be accompanied by a whole retinue of creatures, many of them far more steeped in evil than Krygon. Dumbarton has worse worries than me—or you."

  Father Lachlan had gone to pray to the tutelary. No help there? The hexer might be lying, of course. She had made her headquarters just inside the burgh limits. Was that significant?

  "Krygon, freeze this man."

  Instantly, Toby felt a coldness, but even more he felt all his muscles go rigid. He could not even blink. He could breathe, but only with a huge conscious effort, as if his chest were bound with iron hoops.

  "I need a lock of your hair," Valda murmured, rising and going to the table. "You will forgive me if I don't trust you just yet?"

  At the edge of his field of view, he saw her produce the gold bowl he had seen her use before, and the dagger with the yellow stone. She began doing things, clinking bottles, but at that angle he could make out no details. One thing he could see clearly was the leer of satisfaction on the walking corpse. Its mistress had forbidden it to harm Toby, but it was enjoying his frantic struggle not to suffocate.

  "Oreste is after you, of course," she said absently.

  All his attention was concentrated on just breathing, and he could not move his lips or tongue to speak anyway.

  "And for me also, but mostly you now. He picked up my track when I returned to this country, and he tracked me to Fillan, so he knows about you. You won't have heard of him. He is a cunning adept, very skilled and dangerous, but he is bound to serve Rhym. Rhym is the one you know as King Nevil. Now..."

  She strode over to Toby with the dagger and cut a curl from his head. She took it back to the table. He thought she put it in the bowl and then cut a lock of her own to accompany it, but he could not be sure. She poured liquid from a vial. She said something in a guttural language, of which the only intelligible word was the first: "Krygon." Whenever she gave the creature orders, she began with its name.

  "We must complete our business here," she said, "and speedily begone. Whether Oreste or Dumbarton itself is victorious, we must take to the sea before a decision is reached. Neither can track us over the sea—not that the tutelary would, of course..."

  She made passes with her hands, speaking more words of gramarye. She came back into view, moving to the stove and placing the bowl on it. Then she lifted the silver chain over her head and held the sapphire high, speaking again in the strange tongue, although this time the words were so soft that Toby could barely make them out. He was close to fainting from lack of air. The demon seemed able to judge his strength exactly, so that he was convinced every breath must be his last and yet he could always force one more. His head swam.

  Bluish fire flickered in the golden bowl, sending up faint curls of smoke. The glow brightened as the hexer lowered the sapphire, spinning in small circles within the fumes. Hideous blue light surged to fill the room like a fog, drowning out the candlelight, making Krygon in its rotted rags look more than ever like a corpse. Even Valda lost her humanity for a moment and became a leaden mannequin. Then jewel clinked against metal and the room plummeted back into gloom.

  "We'll give it a minute to cool," her voice said quietly. The chair creaked as she resumed her seat. "Fortunately, there are several ships in the harbor at the moment I shall enjoy a voyage with you, Tobias, once your face has lost its resemblance to an offal bucket. Even if you are still you, I promise you some lessons in the arts of joy. You will be a rewarding pupil."

  He could see her again. He felt he was fighting for his life, even though he knew the battle was a fake. The demon had been forbidden to hurt him, but its orders did not say it could not keep him on the very edge of suffocation indefinitely, gradually releasing the pressure as his strength faded. He wondered if Valda had even noticed. If nothing else, she ought to see the lake of sweat around his feet.

  He could sweat, but he could not weep, although he knew he was lost. From now on, the hexer would do whatever she wanted with him and he would be helpless to resist. There would be no demonic strength this time, no mystical dum... dum... He would no longer be King Fergan's man; he would be hers. Whatever power had been in the amethyst was lost to him.

  He had been a fool! When he should have been fleeing the country, he had dallied in Inverary Castle until the price on his head was raised so high that every eye in Scotland was looking out for him. Right from the start, he had been a fool to refuse Lady Valda. How could he ever have hoped to evade so great an adept? When she had offered to employ him, at his trial before the laird in Fillan, he had spurned her, instead of falling on his knees with tears of joy and gratitude. Even earlier—when he had met her on the road to Bridge of Orchy and first sensed her power, he should have knelt at her stirrup and pledged his heart to her service, in the vain hope such a worthless trifle could be of interest to her. When she had sought him out in dreams, he should not have resisted her call. She was a great lady, with wisdom and power such as he could not even comprehend, and he was a brainless serf, a worthless bastard, ignorant and dimwitted...

  "That should be long enough," Valda said. "Krygon, release him."

  The invisible bands vanished. He lunged forward and snatched up the sapphire from the bowl even before he had finished drawing his first free breath. He stood there in bewilderment, gasping for air, the jewel clutched in his clumsy muffled fist, loops of chain hanging free. No, that wasn't right...

  Valda chuckled. "Hang it around your neck, boy! It has to be next to your skin."

  Oh, of course! He looped the pendant over his head so the jewel was on his chest, dangling just above the fold of his plaid. Then he sank to his knees, very conscious of being a clumsy, stupid, sweaty oaf unworthy even to exist in the same room with so courtly a lady, consort of royalty.

  "I have been very wicked to cause you so much trouble, ma'am. I beg you to forgive me, although I know I do not deserve forgiveness. Is there any penance I can do, anything to try and make amends?"

  She smiled. "Do you know the Tartar ceremony of obeisance?"

  "Not in detail, ma'am."

  "Do what you know of it."

  He scrabbled forward on hands and knees and began to humble himself before her... then stopped. The sapphire had swung away from his chest. He straightened again, turned the chain around so the gem lay against his back. Then he was free to crouch down and put his face on the floor.

  "I lift your foot?" It would be sacrilege even to touch her.

  "Correct."

  He took her ankle carefully between his broken fists and laid her foot on his head. It weighed nothing.

  "I don't know the words, ma'am!"

  "Swear to be my man, in body and mind and soul, to serve me in all ways, to the death."

  He swore willingly. She removed her foot
.

  "Good. Now stand up."

  He rose and then, because he felt it was disrespectful to make her crane her neck to see him, he backed away, almost to the door. He would feel happier kneeling in her presence, but she had told him to stand.

  Valda smiled. "From this day forward we are partners?"

  "No, ma'am! I am your slave!" He had found a far worthier and more potent liege than the outlawed rebel king. She would protect him, and he would serve her to his final breath.

  He was her man.

  She shrugged, seeming satisfied, and settled back in the chair. "And now you will tell me how you upset my plans so drastically! Do you know what you cost me, Tobias? I have spent many years collecting my little pets, teaching them to hate, training them to serve me. You buried two of them when you pulled down the mountain."

  "I am sorry!" he cried.

  She chuckled. "You will not offend again. Now tell me—"

  A bell tinkled in the apothecary's shop. Valda straightened.

  "Krygon, who is that?"

  The creature mumbled words that made no sense to Toby, but the lady seemed to understand. "You despicable trash!" she snapped. "I shall make you suffer. And what has he been doing since?"

  More gibberish.

  She bit her lip and looked at Toby. "Did you understand that?"

  "No, ma'am." He had failed her already. How useless he was!

  "It says a boy followed you here. He has been prowling around, trying to find another way in, or a window to spy through. There isn't one, of course. This useless near-dead thing did not tell me—demons will obey no farther than they must, whereas mortals like you are eager to please in any way they can. Krygon, go... No, Tobias, you go. If the boy knows you, your face will not alarm him. Bring him here."

  Toby ran. The outer room seemed dazzlingly bright, and despite his eagerness to do what the lady wanted, he paused a moment at the window to let his eyes adjust again. The street outside was just as foggy as before. A man plodded by in the center of the street, leading a horse and cart, and they were gray wraiths.

  As soon as they had gone, he unbolted the door and opened it a crack. He peered out at the salty mist. There was no one there.

  He could guess who the boy was. He was a devious brat, that one! He would have rung the bell and then retreated to a safe distance until he saw who or what came to answer.

  Toby warily put his head out, reluctant to be seen. A few ghostly pedestrians were visible through the fog, but if he could not make them out, they could not see him clearly either.

  "Hamish?" he called. "Hamish!"

  A face appeared out of a doorway two stores along.

  Toby waved. "Come on! It's me!"

  Hamish came, but slowly, one step at a time. He looked ready to bolt at any second, and the sickly pallor of his face exactly matched the fog.

  "You all right, Toby?"

  "I'm fine! Come on in."

  Hamish shook his head violently. "Who else is in there?"

  Toby laughed as convincingly as he could. He certainly must not let Hamish Campbell go racing back to the others to raise the alarm. "Friends, believe it or not! We were just about to have breakfast. Come and join us."

  Hamish stopped just out of reach and regarded Toby with extreme suspicion. "What friends?"

  A couple of women carrying bundles on their heads were emerging from the fog, progressing from pale gray clouds to solid shapes. Time was running out by the second.

  Toby glanced around and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Friends of Master Stringer's."

  "Oh. Well, I won't come in, thank you." Hamish stretched out a hand, palm up, offering Granny Nan's amethyst without coming an inch nearer to Toby than he had to. "I just thought you might need this. Er... what's that chain around your neck?"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Toby shouldered the door closed behind him and marched across the shop to the back room, clutching Hamish to his chest with one brawny arm and keeping his other hand over the boy's mouth. The boy kicked and squirmed helplessly, feet well off the floor.

  "Smoothly done, Tobias," Valda said, sounding amused. "What have you brought me?"

  The praise sent a rush of pleasure through him. "A whelp named Hamish Campbell, ma'am. But he's got a demon in his hand."

  The hexer jumped to her feet. "Does he know its conjuration?"

  "No, ma'am. I'm not sure it has one. It's the hob from Fillan, bottled in an amethyst."

  "Well, put it in there, just in case." She gestured to the metal casket.

  Toby set Hamish down in front of the table and transferred his grip to the boy's arms. "You heard the lady!"

  Hamish wriggled like a landed fish, vainly kicking and butting. "No! No! Toby, she's hexed you! This isn't you, Toby!"

  "It is now." He banged the kid's wrist on the edge of the casket. "Drop it!" He banged again, harder. "I'll break it!"

  Hamish released the amethyst and it fell inside. Valda slammed the lid down.

  "Over there!" Toby said and shoved his prisoner away, sending him staggering into the corner by the stove. "You said you needed a new husk for Krygon, ma'am. He would do, wouldn't he?"

  Valda smiled with secret amusement. "He would, indeed! I see you will be a loyal and helpful assistant."

  Toby gulped with joy. "I shall always try my best!" He pulled the sapphire around to hang on his chest again, where he could glance down and admire it. It was a badge of his service, a sign of his loyalty to his mistress, like a medal, or an officer's sash. Men did not normally wear jewelry, of course, but he would be wearing Lowlander garb from now on, likely, and a shirt would hide it. He had been very lucky that it had been out of sight when he went to get Hamish, who would certainly have guessed what it was if he had noticed it.

  A choking wail from the corner indicated that Hamish's eyes had adjusted well enough for him to make out Krygon.

  Valda resumed her seat. "Now tell me the story. How did you gain possession of the hob?"

  Toby had barely had a chance to work it out himself. "The witchwife was my foster mother, my lady, but she was very old. I think she knew she was about to die and then I would leave the glen. The hob was puzzled that all the young men were going away and not coming back. I think this is what happened: She persuaded the hob to move into the jewel so it could find out for itself where we were going; and then she gave it to me to take with me, thinking that it would protect me, so she had helped both of us." He stared in dismay at the lady's disbelieving frown. "The hob isn't very smart, ma'am! And Granny Nan was pretty much crazy, too."

  "So you think the hob..." Valda shook her head. "How did you use it, then? By what commands did you conjure it?"

  "None, ma'am! Whenever I was in trouble, it came to my aid. I could see what it was doing, but I never told it what to do."

  She frowned. "This is no gramarye known to me! You think the witchwife persuaded an immortal into a jewel? I can't believe it! An adept must use another demon to harvest an elemental. They don't just come for the asking!" The lady drummed scarlet nails on the arm of her chair. "And even if I could believe that, then I certainly can't believe that it worked for you as you say."

  Appalled, he sank to his knees. "My lady! I would not lie to you!"

  "I'm sure you wouldn't, Tobias, but your explanation is not credible. An incarnate demon, like Krygon there, does have a small amount of initiative. It can follow orders, although you've seen that it does so reluctantly—it did not tell me you had been followed here, for instance. But I can give it general instructions: 'Protect me,' or, 'Go and bring Toby Strangerson back here without harming him or alerting anyone.' It has a human brain to think with, so it can do what is required to carry out orders. A bottled demon, though, must be directed specifically. Like Oswood." She smiled.

  He wanted to hug himself when she smiled at him, it felt so good. "Oswood, my lady?"

  "That jewel that so enhances your manly chest. I harvested that elemental at a place called Oswood. Just now I ga
ve it two very specific instructions. I told it to keep you loyal to me always, and I told it to prevent you from removing the jewel. That way you can never move out of its range, you see. That is how Rhym controls his mortal creatures like Oreste. Oreste commands a dozen demons of his own, but he cannot remove the beryl on his finger, which binds him, nor order them to remove it for him."

  "I would not want to move out of its range, my lady! I enjoy serving—"

  "Yes, I know you do. How long have you had that amethyst?"

  "Since the day we met, ma'am. And that was when the miracles began!"

  Lady Valda pondered for a moment, staring at the fire. Toby remained on his knees. Hamish cowered against the wall by the stove, paralyzed by horror, while Krygon watched them all with undisguised hatred, unobtrusively scratching skin off its thigh. The fire crackled. A drop of blood fell from the ceiling and hissed on the stove.

  That continual dripping of blood was worrisome. Dead bodies did not bleed. It would be in character for Krygon to have left someone alive and suffering up there in the loft. Still, if Lady Valda was not worried, then it was not up to Toby to raise the matter. She might send him to finish the job, and he would rather not do that sort of dirty work. He would do it if she told him to, of course, but he would prefer not to volunteer for it.

  " 'Tis strange!" the lady said at last. "But I suppose if an elemental entered a jewel voluntarily, it might retain the free will it had in its own habitat. An unrestrained hob would be a dangerous companion, Tobias! Totally unpredictable! Still, it can do us no harm inside that casket."

  She sighed. "Time passes! Oreste approaches, and I still have not solved the problem I started with." She turned a dark and frightening gaze on him. "Many years ago, a friend of mine obtained a most potent demon, known as Rhym. It was ancient, powerful, cunning, and for centuries had been bottled in a yellow diamond. My friend and I attempted to utilize this immortal in a conjuration. We knew the ritual to command it, but that night we were not specific enough in our instructions."

  "King Nevil?"

  She raised an eyebrow. "Indeed! So you have heard the tale? Well, it is true. Under certain circumstances, at critical moments in rituals, an exchange is not only possible, but actually quite easy. Rhym managed that exchange. The demon infested the king's body, and the king's soul was immured in the jewel that I later put on this dagger."