The Years of Longdirk- The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

  "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 gave 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."

  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 stepp
ed 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 the 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, barel
y 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.