Demon Sword by Dave Duncan

Author:Dave Duncan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 1995-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

3

Dark was falling by the time the travelers reached the buildings. They were uninviting—old and gloomy, with stone walls and black slate roofs huddled under dripping trees. Some of the roofs had collapsed. The tiny windows were all dark. The overgrown yard looked as if it had been deserted for years, without dogs or chickens, or any signs of life at all.

“Let me see now,” Father Lachlan said fussily. “It’s years since I was here, but I doubt if anything’s changed. Which one is the keeper’s house, do you recall?”

“The one at the end,” Rory said curtly.

“Whose are the rest, sir?” Hamish looked worried, very worried.

Rory just growled.

The acolyte said, “They are for pilgrims—doesn’t look as if we have any company.”

“Understandable!” Rory was glaring around him. “Who would want to visit a sty like this?”

Father Lachlan made a tactful, soothing noise. “I shall go and inform the keeper of our arrival. I fear it is too late for us to visit the spirit tonight.” He plodded off through the weeds.

“Let’s try this one first!” Rory headed for a cottage with the others at his heels.

Just to get under cover and out of the rain was a huge relief. The prospects were not encouraging otherwise. Only rusty hinges remained to show where the door and shutters had once hung. The interior was dark, but the rebel soon located a lantern with a stub of tallow in it. No other man could possibly have produced dry tinder alter such a day, but in seconds he had the lantern lit.

The central hearth had no chimney; rain had been entering through the smoke hole above it, but the roof seemed fairly sound otherwise. Clearly the hut had not been used for months or years, and the last tenants had not cleaned up before they left. The only furniture was a flattened heap of straw that reminded Toby of the dungeon at Lochy Castle. On this dank fall evening the place reeked of rot and neglect.

Rory growled again, louder and fiercer. “It’s a disgrace, an absolute outrage!”

“Who is supposed to look after it, sir?” Hamish asked in a very small voice.

“The keeper, of course! The Reverend Murray Campbell. Your dear cousin is a first-class miser. All pilgrims make offerings to the spirit, but most leave money for the upkeep of the shrine, too. He must have a king’s ransom buried somewhere, but he won’t spend a farthing of it.” Rory had dropped his frivolous manner; for once he sounded as if he really cared about something other than his precious rebellion.

“But, sir… doesn’t the laird have any say in how the shrine is maintained? Doesn’t it reflect on the whole glen?”

“Mind your tongue, lad! Remember who’s laird here.”

Toby was no Campbell. “Just because a man’s an earl doesn’t mean he isn’t a fool.”

Rory swung around violently, his hand snaking to the hilt of his sword.

“Does it?” Toby added, putting his fists on his hips.

Rory seemed to consider a little punitive bloodletting and then decide against it.

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