Demon Sword

'Oh! Yes… of course.'

Good. What was the right thing to say next? Meg made him feel like a clumsy, lumbering ox, but if she didn't mind being seen with a man who must weigh twice — or three times — what she did, then why should he mind? She was a jewel: small and sparkly and full of fire. If he tried to say so, she would laugh her head off. Men couldn't say such things.

'When I am restored to my throne, you can be the belle of the court.' Coward! Humor was cowardice. He took her hand. It was icy. She did not pull it away. He closed his great paw over her tiny fist to warm it.

'Does Master Glencoe really think you are Nevil?'

'No, I don't think so. He was just talking nonsense. It's rubbish.'

But… There were buts.

Meg plodded on in silence.

'There's no reason to believe it,' Toby protested. But that name, Susie… He had not told Rory that; Rory had told him. 'Nobody can explain what happened between Nevil and Valda. If she demonized him, then why did she disappear? Why did he banish her?'

'Something went wrong with the gramarye. Or the demon possessed Nevil and then turned on her.' Either the tanner's daughter had overheard most of the arguments, or she had been giving the matter much thought on her own.

'Maybe,' he admitted. 'But then why has she come back now? Why wait ten years?'

'She lost all her demon slaves and had to go hunt down more? Or she has been gathering more gramarye somewhere, learning how to restore him. I mean, she still had Nevil's soul bottled in a jewel, and she chose you to be… to… A very good choice, of course.'

'Thank you.' He remembered her words in the dream: See the fine young body I found for you, my love. More than the cold trickle of rain inside his plaid made him shiver. 'But Father Lachlan says he's never heard of anyone being possessed by a mortal soul.'

'He also admitted that Lady Valda must have forgotten more evil than he's ever known, didn't he? He wouldn't say it was impossible.'

Yes, Miss Campbell had been listening! 'He also said that a man possessed by a demon has superhuman powers that a man possessed by a mortal soul couldn't have.'

'And you do?' Meg asked quietly.

'I… No, of course not.' But he had found the way out of the bog. But he had bent iron bars to escape from the dungeon. 'Even Rory had to admit that Nevil was a superlative horseman and I ride like a sack of coal.' But that first time, bareback on Falcon, hurtling across country by moonlight… Too many buts. There was a hex on him, or a demon inside him. He felt soiled, unclean.

'You heard Hamish, didn't you?' he protested. 'He asked me all sorts of things about the glen — the names of Dougal Potter's children, what Rae Butcher's shop looks like… I answered correctly. I'm Toby Strangerson, not King Nevil!'

But he might be both.

'Do you think I'm not me?' he demanded miserably.

'You never held my hand before it happened.'

'Is that a sign of evil?'

'No. It's a big improvement!' She grinned up at him and he discovered he was smiling.

'I'm sorry.'

'Sorry for not doing it before or sorry for doing it now?'

'Um… sorry I can't hold both of them.'

That won him another smile. Her smiles were lovely.

He seemed to be doing all right.

Talking with girls was not all that much harder than talking with boys.

CHAPTER SEVEN

At close quarters, the cliff was as rotten as old deadfall, pitted with numerous holes. The path led to the largest: the shrine.

Rory was sitting on a rock just inside the mouth of the cave, munching an apple. He tossed the core away without explaining where it had come from. He ignored the keeper's angry glares, smiling blissfully. He looked well rested, but at some point in the small hours he had found time and opportunity to shave. He also looked drenched to the skin, and he had not achieved that inside a cave.

'Morning all! Fine day for a battle — wet the Sassenachs' powder. Longbones, why did you bring that preposterous sword?'

'For the battle, of course.' Again Toby cursed himself for cracking jokes. The rebel would guess how nervous he was.

It wasn't just the spirit that was making him nervous, either. He had not meant to bring the sword. He hadn't even realized that he'd strapped it on his back until it thumped on his bruises. Then he'd wanted to take it off — and hadn't got around to it. He could believe he was possessed when he thought of the sword, or else that it was a demon sword and had hexed him.

Rory glanced around the group. 'It's customary to make an offering. If you don't have anything suitable, I can lend you some money. That's always acceptable — isn't it, Father?'

He had addressed Keeper Murray, but Father Lachlan spoke up hastily.

'Of course. I brought a book of poems by Wilkin MacRobb.'

Meg produced a small brooch. Hamish hesitated and then pulled out a tiny penknife in a leather sheath. Toby would have wagered real silver that it had been a going-away present from his mother, a hint to write often. As for Toby himself, he knew what he would offer. He met the inquiring glance blandly and shrugged.

Rory stood up. 'I suggest you be our spokesman, Father Lachlan. The rest of you — stay silent unless you are addressed directly.'

So spirits, unlike hobs, spoke to people?

The little acolyte seemed ominously worried, fiddling constantly with his spectacles. 'Father Murray and I were discussing… We do not plan… Even if the spirit does determine that Tobias is possessed… as you know, I do not expect that… but we do not intend to ask for an exorcism, unless the spirit offers one.' His smile at Toby might have been intended as reassurance but wasn't.

The implication was that a country doctor might be allowed to diagnose Toby's sickness, but treatment would require the services of a skilled surgeon in a city. Suppose the spirit decided to try its hand anyway? Did an adolescent elemental yearn to be a big, grown-up tutelary?

Rory gestured to the keeper. 'Lead on, then.'

Father Lachlan said, 'Wait!' He wrung his hands. 'Tobias, I must warn you that you may be going into danger. A spirit is not like a wisp. The wisp can be mischievous or spiteful; it cares only for its own whims. The spirit knows the difference between good and evil. It is benevolent. It means well. It looks after the glen and cares for its people. That is the problem! If it detects evil in you, then it may… It may take drastic action.'

Toby felt all his muscles knot up. His fears were not groundless. He heard his voice come out very harsh: 'It may protect you by killing me, you mean?' Unclean!

The dumpy little man nodded unhappily. 'I do not expect this, my son, but you should know that the possibility exists. If you do not wish to enter the shrine, then we shall understand.'

One morning, years ago, a little orphan bastard had called in at the tanner's shop in Tyndrum on an errand for old Mara Ford. Kenneth Campbell had been very drunk. He kept the boy there for hours, babbling about Leethoul, the Battle of the Century, how he had taken a musket ball through his leg, and how he had almost bled to death before he was brought to the surgeons. In the next few days the leg had turned black and begun to rot. Horrified, disgusted, fascinated, the boy had stayed to listen.

'They made me decide!' the tanner said, between his incoherent mumbles. 'They said if they left it on, it