by Ken Hood
Toby nodded. Even a muscle-bound bareknuckle yokel could work it out now. "So you fled with the soul of the king, and Rhym set out to conquer all Europe?"
"That is what I was about to explain, yes. It has taken me many years to acquire the support I knew I would need to restore my beloved. Rhym hunted me tirelessly—it fears the king, because he knows the true name of Rhym. Many times I have escaped its clutches by inches! When at last I felt ready to proceed, having acquired and trained new pets to replace those I had lost, I returned to Britain and sought out a fitting vessel to hold the soul of my love. He was about your age when it happened, you see."
Toby shuddered. "I will do as you command, my lady."
"Indeed you will. Get up!" She rose from her chair.
He rose also, and walked forward to stand before her. He could not hide his shivers, but he must be brave in her service.
"I know that Nevil is no longer in the jewel on the dagger," she said. "So he passed into you as I planned. Something went wrong."
"The hob interfered?"
"I don't think so. I did not know you had a demon of your own, of course, but I don't think it interfered. It is you who are the problem. My creatures assure me they can see signs of possession on you, but you are not Nevil, are you?"
"No, my lady."
"Yet he is in there inside you. Somehow he is suppressed. We must release him."
Toby worked his injured tongue around until he could find enough spit to speak. "How?"
She smiled sadly. "You are a resolute young man, Toby Strangerson! I think where I erred was in underestimating your strength of will. Had I seen you smothered in bruises as you are now, then I might have realized what a doughty soul you are—any man who submits to such a beating voluntarily is a man of unusual courage and determination, whatever one may think of his judgment. Somehow you suppress my beloved. You have him locked away in a corner of your heart."
"Not... not knowingly, my lady!"
She stepped very close, gazing up at him with eyes of black fire. "Knowingly or not, you have. Now you have promised to cooperate. I have made quite certain that you will cooperate! So reach into the depths of your soul, Toby Strangerson, and seek out my missing lord, my lost love. He is in there. Call him forth!"
He stared into those black pools. He was conscious of her musky, floral perfume. Sweat trickled down his bruises. He tried. He tried desperately to do what she wanted of him. The stove hissed once...
"Let him be, Toby Strangerson! Let him live again. In your heart, kneel to Nevil, the king, your lawful liege. Call him forth to the light."
The stove hissed twice...
Valda sighed and stepped away. "It isn't working! Your grip on life is too strong. We must try the other way."
He did not ask. Whatever she wanted of him, of course...
She stalked over to the table and scratched at the cloth with her nails. "I dislike this! If there were any other choice... It seems such a shame to waste you."
Death! "However I may serve you, ma'am," he said sadly.
"Yes. Worse, it is dangerous for Nevil." She paced back to face him again. "I must have Krygon diminish you. I will let it have your soul, nibbling it away little by little, until my lord can emerge from your shadow. I do not know how much of you will remain by then, Tobias—probably almost nothing, and of course you will be no more able to act then than Nevil can act now. Know that I have enjoyed our little tussle. In an odd way, I admire you."
She leaned up and touched her lips to his.
He closed his eyes, shuddering with an unholy mingling of terror and desire.
The lady stepped back. "Now, Krygon—"
Hamish grabbed up the poker and swung it with all his strength, clubbing Toby in the middle of his chest. There was a sharp cracking sound and a bright blue flash that momentarily lit the room like a noonday sun.
Lady Valda screamed piercingly.
Dazzled, stunned by the pain, taken by surprise, Toby staggered back into Krygon and was hurled bodily aside by one sweep of the thing's weedy arm. He stumbled over the table, collapsing it under his weight with all its miscellaneous contents of vials, casket, dagger, dishes, and candlesticks. He landed on his broken ribs and two or three hundred bruises. Through all the racket, he heard Hamish whoop in shrill triumph and throw down the poker.
Lady Valda screamed again, even louder. Bewildered, blinking, Toby tried to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. A turquoise blaze enveloped her. Then the harsh light changed shape and he made out a thing of fire—a jagged, glittering being that flickered back and forth between near-human form one instant to a whirl of claws or sharp faceted edges the next.
Oh, merciful spirits! It was Oswood! By smashing the jewel on Toby's chest, Hamish had released the demon, and now it had backed the screaming hexer into a corner and was ripping her face off.
Toby was about to be scorched—the cloth on the table had caught fire, setting the contents of the vials to blaze in billows of red flame. He sat up and located the door. Now was a good time to leave.
The collapsing table had dropped the metal casket right at Hamish's feet. He had snatched it up, but Krygon reached him before he could open the lid. The husk grasped the box and slammed it back against the wall like a hammer on an anvil, with Hamish himself being the work between them. He cried out, then slithered limply down the wall, gasping for air.
Toby was on his feet. The creature turned and hurled the casket at his head. He ducked, hearing it crack into the dresser behind him and dislodge a shower of crockery.
Lady Valda writhed on the floor, her screams taking on a hideous choking quality. The flashing, glittering demon on top of her was still tearing at her, showering the room with fragments of blood-soaked cloth and quivering lumps of flesh.
"Hamish, come on!" Toby staggered toward the door. He was alone. Turning, he saw that the Krygon creature had Hamish by the neck and was shaking him, probably about to strangle him. Whatever else Toby did, he must help the boy escape to make amends for having dragged him into this. His fists were broken, but his feet still worked. He took a stride and kicked as hard as he could, slamming a heel into the thing's kidneys. The husk cannoned into the wall. Unfortunately Hamish cushioned the impact.
The Krygon thing spun around and came at Toby, rags flapping, hands outstretched like claws, aiming for his eyes. He jabbed a left at its broken jaw, but the creature was ready for him this time, as unyielding as rock. An explosion of agony in his fist almost stunned him, then he was struck by a runaway wagon—an impossible bodily impact sent him sprawling, measuring his length with the rotting husk on top of him. Joy and hate glowed in its eyes as it lowered its jagged mouth to tear out his throat. He braced his hands against its face and tried to push it away, but all his strength was useless against its demonic power. Only a blade through the heart... Nauseated by its stench, Toby yelled to Hamish to find Valda's dagger. Hamish must have reacted, because Krygon released Toby and sprang free. He swung a leg wildly... struck one of its ankles, tripped it, sent it headlong into the stove with a sickening boom that would have certainly brained a mortal.
Oswood was still tearing at Lady Valda, spraying blood. From the noises she was making, she had little left to scream with. Although the demon was only a flickering, shifting fire with no discernible face, somehow Toby was certain it was already looking around for another victim.
Both the rug and the basket of laundry blazed now, filling the room with flames and smoke. The Krygon creature lurched to its feet and at the same time hurled the chair at Hamish, bowling him into a corner.
As Toby struggled to rise, he registered the metal casket within reach. He sprawled back and grabbed it, pulled it to him. The hob was inside there! He sat up, wrapping an arm around the box and gripping the lid with a half-useless hand. If he could just release the hob, it would come to the rescue.
Krygon caught him by the left ankle and jerked him flat on his back again. Then it hauled him across the floor toward th
e stove, leering grotesquely as it prepared to feed him into the fire. Still fighting vainly with the casket, he braced his right foot against one of the range's metal legs, but he was no match for the superhuman strength. He was pulled around, slithering on the blood-slick flagstones, his left foot moving inexorably toward the fiery doorway. He could feel heat on his skin. He could hear the spray of Valda's blood hissing on the hot metal as Oswood continued dismantling her.
He gave up trying to open the casket and took it in both hands to throw at Krygon, knowing that it would inevitably just bounce off. His toes were almost into the coals when the viselike grip on his ankle relaxed. For a fraction of a second, the creature looked down in astonishment at a bloody metal point protruding from its chest. Surprise seemed to melt into a smile as its knees folded—but perhaps that was just a trick of the light. It toppled forward and sprawled lifeless across Toby's legs. The hilt of Valda's dagger stood proudly in its back, the yellow gem shining bright.
Toby yelled, "Well done, Hamish!"
Krygon was dead. Valda had fallen silent. The Oswood demon reared up over her, a blurred blue fire of talons and sharp edges, taller than man-size—glittering, spidery, unworldly, infinitely malicious. It had no face and yet it glared triumph and hatred. The hexer had merely whetted its appetite. It was ready for another victim.
The casket flew open in Toby's hands, spraying jewels, jars, scrolls, chalk, string, and sealing wax in all directions. Seeing a flash of purple, he grabbed for the amethyst. The ladder was ablaze, with flames roaring up through the hatch as if it were a chimney. There wasn't much left of Lady Valda. To be more exact, Lady Valda was everywhere.
"Hamish," Toby said hoarsely, scrambling to his feet, "let's get out of here!"
Where was Hamish? Standing up had been a mistake. There was nothing to breathe up there, only hot smoke. Toby crouched down again, rubbing his eyes, choking. There was precious little air even at floor level. Hamish was flat on his face, coughing feebly, barely conscious. Toby scrabbled across to him, hauled him over his shoulder, and turned for the door.
Oswood blocked the doorway.
The chair and table and even the walls were a crackling inferno. Barely visible through the suffocating smoke, the demon was a flicker of blades and hatred, claws and facets. It made no move to advance—it would rather gloat as the mortals choked or burned to death.
Crouching low to find air, Toby surveyed his options. He didn't seem to have any.
Suffocation was probably the best way out of this. He wasn't quite ready to die, though. Hampered by Hamish's dead weight, he reached for the metal casket, grasped it by its lid, and hurled it underhand. It passed clean through the demon and crashed into the apothecary's counter with a sound of shattering glass. He grabbed the next available missile and discovered that it was one of Lady Valda's arms. With a yell of horror, he threw that also. It did no more good. His eyes were streaming tears and his chest labored for air. In seconds the whole room would explode in flame. To linger was death; to approach the monster was suicide.
He groped for something else to throw, and his hand touched Krygon's corpse. Demon sword! Through his stupefied wits ran the words of Father Lachlan: "They are supposed to possess powers against demons."
The flames glinted on the yellow jewel in the pommel of the dagger. It was more of a dirk than a sword, but it had slain a demon. He transferred Hamish to his left shoulder and tugged the dagger from Krygon's corpse. As he raised it and aimed it at the demon, the hilt shivered in his hand. The blade lit up with a weird greenish light. It grew longer, a shining, fiery sword. Aha!
Holding the weapon at arm's length before him, steadying Hamish over his shoulder, he charged forward in a crouch. The demon flamed in fury and vanished out of his path. He reeled through the doorway, into the apothecary's shop. Ahead was daylight, the square of the window barely visible through smoke. He straightened, swung around just in time to catch the glowing monster coming at him, flailing claws and edges. With a stamp of his foot, he lunged as Gavin the Grim had taught him to use a rapier, although Gavin had never explained how a swordsman should transfer his weight when carrying a man over his left shoulder, or outlined the correct technique for wielding a shaft of green light against a shimmer of blue—perhaps a saber cut would be a better maneuver.
The lunge proved adequate. Weapon and victim were as insubstantial as moonbeams, and yet Toby felt the impact as if he had thrust a real sword into real flesh. The demon screamed an impossibly high note and recoiled, flailing flashes. He kicked the door closed on it and stumbled back against the counter. There was still only smoke to breathe. Hamish moaned, starting to struggle and protest that he was all right. Toby backed across the room, then set him down as gently as he could to leave a hand free for the door. There was no sign of the demon pursuing, but he did not think he had killed it—wounded it, perhaps, if demons could be wounded.
CHAPTER SIX
The fog was thicker than ever, a great heap of white wool filling the street, but the air was clear and fresh, smelling of the sea. Astonishingly, the city was still waking to the new day—like the nightmare it already resembled, the whole Valda episode had not lasted nearly as long as it had seemed to. Stores were opening for business, workers hurrying to their labors. Wagons rumbled along the street, entering and leaving the burgh; gulls shrieked unseen overhead. No one paid any heed to the two choking, weeping vagrants who emerged from the apothecary's to catch their breath in the cool damp.
They were blood-spattered and smoke-stained. Shaking with reaction, Toby rearranged his plaid, wondering how a kid like Hamish had managed to hang onto his sanity at all. The dagger was no longer a shining sword of green light, only a fancy dirk with a yellow jewel, but it was one more thing to make him conspicuous, and he tucked it out of sight in the folds at his waist.
He glanced up at the building. The fire was not showing yet, but the roof must burn through very soon. The absence of a rear window meant there was probably another house hard against it at the back, and there certainly was at the side—a larger, taller structure. He had started a fire in a wooden town; he had loosed a demon.
Rory had told him he was just a walking disaster.
Hamish had his feet on the ground, and was leaning on the wall, trying to smile between spasms of coughing. "Gotta get outta here!"
"Can't! There's a fire!... and a demon!"
"Oh, no!" Hamish rolled cherry-red eyes. "You gather a crowd, you'll be recognized! Every able-bodied man gets rounded up for firefighting. There's a price on your head..." He pushed himself upright and staggered.
"I can't leave a demon loose! I can't let innocent men try to fight a fire with a demon in it."
"What can you do?" The boyish voice became shrill with urgency. "Let the tutelary deal with it!"
"The tutelary's busy, Valda said. I've got a demon sword, thanks to you." Toby pulled out the dagger again and looked at it doubtfully. The blade was shiny clean; Krygon's blood must have burned away.
"Me? What'd I do?" Hamish was convulsed with more coughing. His always-dark face was black as a moor's from the smoke.
"You saved my life, friend! Tell me how these things work."
The roar of the fire was audible now, and a red glow showed through the window. A band of men was coming along the road from the country, heading for town. They moved like ghosts in the fog, but they must see the fire in a moment. They would smell it—why had no one raised the alarm by now?
"Me tell you?" Hamish wailed. "I don't know! Nobody knows. You big idiot, you mustn't hang around here. This is suicide! Come on!"
"There's no other way out of this building, but I suppose a demon doesn't need doors."
"It could be a league away by now! Why would it stay around? Toby—you're the one who's going to get impaled. Move!"
In the adjoining house, someone screamed. The sound came through an open shutter upstairs, but whether it was a man or a woman screaming, Toby could not tell. Nor could he guess whether the scre
amer had merely detected the fire or Oswood had left the burning building and entered the other.
As he moved to look in the direction of the sound, the blade in his hand flashed green. He waved it, and it flashed again. Another scream... When he aimed the dagger at the noise, it became the glowing demon sword. Again the hilt quivered in his hand, eager to find its destined prey. That way! it was telling him. The men solidified out of the fog, shouting questions, running to investigate the screams.
"Run!" shouted Hamish.
"Go find Father Lachlan!" Toby snapped. "If you can't find him, tell the tutelary—if it's willing to listen." He gave Hamish a push and sent him staggering off along the narrow street.
He ran, too, but only as far as the door. It was locked. He backed up and hurled his weight at it. It sagged, hinges ripping. He backed up to try again, ignoring throbs of protest from his ribs.
"What the demons do you think you're up to?" bellowed one of the men. "You, yon big Highlander!" yelled another.
"Fire!" he shouted, charging the door again. Another scream from overhead. This time the door collapsed, and he stumbled over it into a butcher's shop, smelling of blood, buzzing with flies. Lumps of meat in grotesque shapes hung on hooks over the counter. Hearing shouts of "Fire!" outside, he crossed the room, threw open another door, and found the stairs.
He met a crowd of people descending, eight or nine of them: children, women carrying babies, all fleeing from the stench of smoke. Most of them screamed at the huge clansman coming racing up at them, waving a dirk. Whether they saw a fiery sword, as Toby did, hardly mattered at that point, for they probably registered only his plaid. Highlanders had a well-earned reputation for havoc and slaughter. These Lowlander burgh dwellers would assume that he was the first of a horde and Dumbarton was being sacked.
