Demon Sword

He cried out.

In the far distance, a line of riders was coming in pursuit.

PART FIVE Events in Glen Shira

CHAPTER ONE

'Run!' Rory bellowed. 'Take off that accursed sword, drop your bundle, and run for your life!'

They were all shouting at him to run. Toby stood with his arms folded and stared over their heads, ignoring them. Run away? Absurd! He couldn't leave Meg. Or Hamish. Or even old Father Lachlan. Rory MacDonald could look out for himself, but the others could not be abandoned to the demons. He must stay and fight. It would be two swordsmen against four, and the four were not only mounted but also superhuman. Even so, he could not run away.

Hamish was squealing, shriller than ever. 'You told me it was stupid to give your life—'

'This isn't that,' he said quickly. This wasn't bravado, show-off Campbell-of-Fillan courage. This was a question of manhood.

'Toby Strangerson!' Meg shouted. 'You are being mulish. I hate you when you act stupid!'

The riders had disappeared into a slight dip, but they would still be coming.

Father Lachlan yelled, 'Quiet!' and the babble stopped. 'You must run, Tobias! It is you they are after. We shall be much safer if we are not with you. We can take cover under the riverbank, and they will go past us. It is our only hope.'

'I promised I would look after Meg!'

'And this is the best thing you can do for Meg! I'm sure you can run faster than any of us. Leave the sword and head for the shrine. It is only a mile or so. If you can reach it, you will be safe — or at least safer than you are now. Pray for us to the spirit. Now go!'

'Drop the sword, Strangerson!' Rory snapped.

'No!'

They all started yapping again like a litter of puppies. This time it was Rory MacDonald who shouted them down, flushed with anger, silver eyes blazing. 'Is that a demon sword? Is that why you won't be parted from it?'

'Huh? What's a demon sword?'

'No, it isn't!' said Father Lachlan. 'It's just a sword. A neighbor gave it to him, after all the trouble started. We'll take care of your sword, my son. You have my word. Now, hurry!'

The riders came into view, much closer, seeming to move faster than before.

'My sword will be of more use against horsemen than yours will, Master Rory,' Toby remarked.

'Bonehead! You think demons will let you draw it? They'll turn you to stone.'

'Please, Toby!' Meg said. 'The mother plover, remember? You must draw the demons away from us. Please? For my sake?'

Oh! Put like that, running away did not seem so unthinkable. Reluctantly, he dragged the scabbard strap from his shoulder. Rory took the sword. The relief from the weight was extraordinary.

Toby turned and began to run.

It felt all wrong. He almost stopped and went back, but then he found his stride and it was too late. Mother plover: draw the danger away from the nestlings. Faking a broken wing would not be required in this case. They knew he couldn't fly.

He was built for sprinting, not for distance. The shrine was a horribly long way off.

The glen ran straight as a pike, narrow and bare. The right side, beyond the Shira, was precipitously steep. This side was gentler. At the limit of sight in the rain a wooded bluff marked the Shrine of Shira — so Father Lachlan and MacDonald had said. That was where the buildings were; the shrine itself was in a cave, a little higher up the hill.

They were assuming that the spirit would grant him asylum—if it didn't object to the demon in his heart as the bogy had done, if it was strong enough to resist Valda and her pack, if Valda and her pack didn't come into range and freeze him first. What was their range? They might be close enough already. The hexer might be just enjoying the chase, knowing that she had her trophy in the game bag.

His feet slapped in the mud of the track. Rain blew in his face. He pushed himself as hard as he dared.

Demon! Demon, I need you now!

His appeal went unanswered. His heart thumped madly, but he did not hear the mysterious dum… dum… he had heard before. No weird light, no superhuman strength to fly him down the road. Demon, demon!

He glanced back. His companions were hurrying to the river. The riders were almost level with them but still coming after him. Hiding from demons was crazy. Valda had brought horses up the Eas a Ghail.

The shrine seemed as distant as ever. His heart was thundering, his lungs bursting. No use keeping anything in reserve — it was win the race or die. His waterlogged plaid weighed more than a cartload of meal. He fumbled with his belt buckle, dropped the load, and raced on, wearing only his bonnet.

There was an isolated croft off to his left. A man stood in the doorway, staring at this strange race disturbing his solitude. Toby wanted to yell at him to hide, to warn him that those were demonic creatures pursuing him, but he lacked the breath.

Where was his demon protector now, the presence that had saved him from the bogy, from Crazy Colin, from Valda in the dungeon? If that had not been a demon, but only a hex, as Father Lachlan suggested, then perhaps Valda had corrected her mistake and removed it.

He glanced over his shoulder. His companions had disappeared, but the pursuers had not tarried to deal with them — all six were still following. That was good! The plover had led the danger away from the nest. He need not be ashamed of his decision, then. But the race was almost over. Valda was in the lead, and she was already passing the sad little bundle of his plaid lying in the track.

He turned his face forward again, blinking through the rain. The shrine was closer, yes. He wasn't going to make it. Even if he reached the bluff, he would still have to run up to the buildings in the grove, and then on to the shrine itself. Hopeless!

His head was about to burst. The world was disappearing behind a black fog. There was a taste of iron in his mouth. He could hear the slapping of his feet and the rough gasps of his breathing… and now he could hear hooves, also. They had him.

He started to look around, missed his footing, sprawled headlong into the mud.

Almost before he landed, his hands came down to push him up again. He raised his head… he froze. Every muscle turned to stone. He lay helpless at the mercy of his pursuers, staring fixedly along the road ahead — a road he was destined never to walk as a free man. The shrine was half a mile away, farther than the moon. Valda had him now… naked and helpless as a newborn babe.

Hooves beat nearer.

And kept coming.

The ground shook, mud splattered all over him. A horse thundered by him, its iron feet missing his hand by inches. Lady Valda, robed and riding sidesaddle, but hunched forward as she pursued a prey that lay unseen behind her.

More tumultuous hoofbeats, mud spraying — one by one, the four hooded demonic creatures followed their mistress. But the last two… their heads were wrong. One was canted forward, chin on chest, and the other flopped horribly to one side, bouncing in time with the horse's stride. And finally went the lady's maid, alone.