Demon Sword

of onions died away, though, he straightened up on his chair and demanded to know what the supplicants wanted of the spirit of Shira.

Father Lachlan looked to Toby for permission. Toby shrugged sleepily. The acolyte told the story, but without mentioning how he and Rory had become involved, or where they had come from.

Murray Campbell's haggard face reddened steadily. When the tale ended with the miracle on the trail, even that did not mollify his anger. 'You have led evil to this holy place!' He sprayed spit in his agitation. 'You risk even Shira itself! Four demons, you say that hexer controls—'

'I think you slander the spirit!' Lachlan said sharply. 'It has already shown that it can overrule her forces.'

The hermit turned a glittering gaze on Toby. 'If that was its doing! But if this man is one of the hexer's creatures which has somehow managed to escape from her compulsions, then he… it… may have contrived that evasion, not Holy Shira.'

His voice was deep and strident. Father Lachlan's was shrill and squeaky, yet it carried more authority.

'You argue in circles, brother. First you fear that the hexer's four demons may endanger the spirit, and then you fear that one demon is stronger than the four. I have faith that Shira is invincible here at its shrine. I do not believe this young man is possessed anyway. I am gambling my life and soul on that. Remember that Valda's army is in disarray. Two of her creatures' husks are dead, so she must soon find new bodies to reincarnate those demons, new victims. If she wishes to bring her full power to bear, she must bottle them instead, even bottle all four of them. This will take time — several days, I hope.'

'And while she is doing that, she will be vulnerable to attack by the spirit,' added Rory, who had been staying unusually quiet in the background.

Murray swung around to glare at him. 'You must leave as soon as you have visited the shrine, my lord!'

'Oh, no! We have used up half your winter supply of firewood. My stalwart retainer there will need two or three days to chop you a replacement — won't you, Longdirk?'

Toby decided he enjoyed the rebel's humor when it was not directed at him. 'I don't dare sleep, so I may as well chop wood all night.'

The hermit scowled as if believing he was serious.

'I am sure you can sleep safely here, my son,' Father Lachlan said. 'And sleep sounds like an excellent idea.'

It did indeed. Hamish's head was nodding. Toby's jaw would not stay closed. Even a wet plaid on a dirty floor would satisfy him tonight. Let the rain beat on the trees and drip through the dilapidated roofs! Let the logs crackle and smoke. He would sleep soundly if Valda danced naked round the cabin blowing a bugle…

'Wait,' Rory said softly. For once the silvery eyes seemed deadly serious. 'I have a question. Perhaps you holy men can answer it. But first… Tobias, you said that the woman in your dream spoke to you as a lover?'

Toby stopped yawning. He glanced apprehensively at the bed, but Meg seemed to be asleep. He nodded.

'And she called you by name, but not your own name?'

'That's correct. I can't remember what it was.'

'A woman's name? Was it by any chance… Susie?'

A cold shudder ran fingernails down Toby's back and suddenly he was wide awake. 'Yes! Yes, I think it was!'

Rory frowned. Everyone was waiting expectantly, even Hamish.

'Here's my question, then, Fathers. When a man is possessed, what happens to his soul?'

'It is still there,' Father Lachlan said, 'imprisoned with the demon.'

'Always?'

Keeper and acolyte exchanged glances.

'Perhaps not always.' Father Lachlan adjusted his spectacles. 'I have heard of cases where the demon was exorcised but the husk remained inanimate and soon died — as if the mortal soul had gone. When that might happen, I don't know. Would it be displaced at the moment of possession, or expelled by the exorcism? I can't venture to guess. I can't even guess how one could find out. Why? What are you implying?'

'Bear with me!' Rory stretched and made himself more comfortable, raising his knees to lean his arms on them. 'I shall have to tell you a story. Could 'Susie' be the name of a demon?'

The acolyte displayed signs of annoyance. 'Anything could be the name of a demon — who ever speaks with them? In the lore, they are identified by the names of the places they are thought to have been collected, but I'm sure that is mostly guesswork. In common parlance, to say that you know a demon's name means that you know how to conjure it, but that is not a name in the usual sense, just the formula by which that particular demon is controlled, the words of command.'

'Quite,' Rory said, evidently satisfied. 'Well… the story. It's quite long — perhaps it should wait until another day? No? As you please. Well, when I was a mere cub, even cuter than I am now, I was carted off south as a hostage. I know I talk like a Sassenach. I can't help it — I spent my childhood in England. That's why I hate the bast — scum… so much. Part of the time I even lived at court. I knew Lady Valda.'

CHAPTER FIVE

No one said a word. The fire crackled, the trees thrashed in the storm, but no one spoke.

Rory yawned, enjoying the reaction. 'Not intimately, of course, much as I… I never spoke with her, and I'm sure she didn't know I existed. I knew her only as one of the ranking courtiers and the most beautiful woman in the land. Men drooled as she went by. The palace floors were permanently soaked. The rugs rotted. Unfortunately, I was at a very impressionable age. I swear my whiskers grew in two years early because of her. You can't begin to imagine how I suffered.'

'Get to the point!' old Murray growled, looming over the guests clustered around his hearth.

Rory looked up at him with bland stupidity, an effect spoiled by the golden flames dancing in his silver eyes. 'Why? We have all night to talk.'

The hermit stretched out his large and horny feet to toast at the fire. 'Then I shall narrate the circumstances of your last visit to the spirit.'

'Demons, no! Not in front of these innocent young gentlemen!' Rory did not seem very worried, though. He rose. Yawning, he stepped over to the bed and turned the free end of the blanket to cover Meg. He came back to the fire and settled again on the floor with the other three, closer to the fire than before. He grinned, admitting that he was playing tricks with them.

'All right, I'll get to the point. The point is that I was at court when Valda was banished. Now that was a very curious affair! It has never been properly explained.

'I'd spent years taking dancing lessons on an estate near Guildford, in Surrey. A group of us were brought to court at Greenwich in March 1509, to learn some civilized manners. Edwin was still king then. Edwin was a big man. Not big like our bareknuckle friend here, although he was beefy enough — big in the sense of domineering. He could be cruel and ruthless, but he was never mean. Edwin might stamp you into the ground, but he wouldn't knife you first. He was a bugle of a man — loud, resolute, overbearing. Early in his rule, he'd been suzerain for a while, and I think he did a fair job of satisfying the Tartars without grinding the peasants of Europe too badly. He fell afoul of some political infighting. The Khan deposed him and appointed the king of Burgundy in his place, but I don't think that had anything to do with Edwin's performance.

'His son Bryton was much the same sort of hard-riding, hard-wenching, crude-but-rather-likable ruffian. Another bugle, but not quite as strident. The middle son, Idris, was quieter, devious, persuasive. A violin, maybe.

'Then there was Nevil. Nevil's mother was Queen Jocelin, Edwin's second wife. There's no question she dabbled in gramarye, and it was generally assumed that she'd snared the old boy by putting a hex on him. Potentates usually keep mistresses, you see, and he didn't. When a top dog does nothing in the nighttime, that's always regarded as curious behavior. No matter… Jocelin still had a sexual glow to her, and the old rascal certainly