Terry W. Ervin (33 page)

“Leave now, Lilly,” I said, reaching over my shoulder and taking hold of the Blood-Sword’s hilt. “Before I draw this sword. You too, Crusader Roos.”

“I have a vision what blackness resides within that sheath,” said the Crusader. “I will give ye and thy sword wide berth, but I will not abandon ye to face the goliathan alone.” While he spoke, Roos moved five paces away to my right.

“I’m not leaving you either,” said Lilly. She grabbed my spear still clutched in my left hand. “Let go.”

I gave the weapon to her. The giant was less than fifty yards away. Lilly sprinted left, circling around. The Crusader took aim with his rifle, chanting a rhythmic song under his breath.

I marched forward. “Keep away from my sword,” I yelled to Lilly as I unbuckled the straps securing the sheathed Blood-Sword across my back. I waited to draw it, knowing I only had one chance—hoping the sword’s magic worked for me. My hope rested on surprise and the giant’s arrogance. He ignored Lilly and me, and stomped straight at the Crusader.

Crack-pow! Roos discharged his rifle, hitting the giant just below its left eyebrow. The towering brute snarled, wiping his hand across his brow. Roos tossed aside his rifle before drawing his saber and revolver.

The giant bore down on him even as I charged, yanking the Blood-Sword from its sheath.

A frigid torrent of energy raced from the sword into my hand, through my arm, and encompassed my heart. Maniacal laughter rang in my head. The onslaught clouded my thoughts. Even though I continued running forward, red-glowing sword held high, I had no control—like watching myself in a dream. I listened to myself scream foreign curses so loud it strained my voice.

I’d lost control. The sword possessed me!

The Blood-Sword directed my arm, slashing into the giant’s calf. Dirt clods showered me as my body rolled, avoiding the pounding club. The giant cursed, the Crusader fired his revolver, Lilly screamed and hurled my spear at the foe. The sword’s voice muffled sound, drawing an ever thickening veil between me and the outside.

I almost panicked. What would the sword do? I recalled Prince Reveron saying it took a spellcaster to wield the Blood-Sword. I gritted my teeth, silencing the hoarse scream coming from my throat. I built upon that small victory, refusing to relinquish myself to the sword and the sickening evil bound within it.

My body mechanically fought on. I didn’t contest that, yet. I ducked the club and slashed again at the injured leg. A foul, purplish festering grew, radiating outward from the first wound that already bled profusely.

Crying out, the giant turned and ran, limping. My legs churned in pursuit. Slaughter and bloodlust distracted my possessor. I chanted and reached out with my mind, finding the ribbons of healing magic. I harnessed one, unsure what to do with it. I prepared to send it into my hand holding the evil sword.

The giant crumbled to the ground. Its rumbling groans rattled the sword induced mental fog. Blood poured from the fallen behemoth’s leg, brow, and forearm where Lilly had pierced it with my spear. My body marched up, chest puffed out and repeatedly stabbed the dying giant in the face and neck. I couldn’t hold back the vile laughter bursting from my throat.

It was then that I sent the healing ribbon into my right hand. The laughter ceased. My possessor reinforced its physical grip on the Blood-Sword’s hilt with my left hand.

An echoing thunder rumbled in my ears, followed by pain in my stomach, like a horse had kicked me. My possessed body turned to face the new threat.

Roos walked toward me, left hand extended, palm outward with fingers spread. In his right hand the Crusader’s saber glimmered so bright that white spots lingered even after my eyes averted. The rumbling thunder came from the Crusader’s lips. My mouth cursed back powerful words in response, causing him to flinch.

Lilly rushed up behind Roos and tugged at him, surprising and nearly yanking the Crusader off his feet. He turned on Lilly, threatening her with his shimmering saber.

She cowered, yelling as she backed away, “You’ll kill him!”

The Crusader’s rumbling faltered when Lilly intervened in the struggle, and the sword took advantage of the distraction. My body charged with sword held high, closing the distance between us. The evil weapon intended to slay the Crusader. I knew Lilly would be next, yet I couldn’t break the Blood-Sword’s grip on my hands. Better the Crusader slew me than I slay them. What happened after that didn’t matter.

The Blood-Sword reveled in my head, confident it would prevail. A simple nick inflicted by its edge would prove fatal. I recalled Road Toad’s earliest swordplay lesson—balance and footwork. I couldn’t overpower the sword, but I could cripple its attack. Reaching out again, I grabbed an energy ribbon and directed it into my right knee. With it I wrested control of the joint, and relaxed it in midstride.

My body fell forward, landing face first in the grass. Before the sword caused my body to react, Roos stomped his boot down on my right hand, pinning both it and the sword to the ground.

Sword-driven rage surged through my body, assaulting every nerve ending. I fought against it, sending a ribbon of healing into my left shoulder, relaxing the muscles and denying the sword leverage to lift my body back to its feet.

The glimmering saber’s point bit into my right forearm. A blazing pain, like a red-hot branding iron, burned up my arm and throughout my body. The sword’s hold over me faltered as the white fire burned away the Blood-Sword’s fog.

“Surmount the wickedness,” urged the Crusader. “Drive it back into the blade.”

Weakened by the saber’s touch, the evil retreated when it realized I retained the strength to summon more healing energy.

The fire left me. Roos lifted his boot from my hand, and I jerked it away from the sword. I struggled to my feet, staring down at the Blood-Sword’s red-tinted blade. I doubled over, trying to vomit. Lilly held me up as I dry heaved. After all I’d been through, I wished I’d have eaten before battle like Guzzy taught me. My guts twisted, trying to throw something up.

Lightheadedness followed. Looking up, I passed out in Lilly’s arms.

I awoke the first time in the bottom of a canoe. Lilly paddled at the front while Roos steered from the back. Every muscle ached like I’d plowed a dozen fields. After a drink of water from Roos’ canteen I fell back asleep despite the sun shining in my face.

The second time I was on a stretcher. From the rear, Lilly smiled down at me. Roos led, trudging on past sprouting fields. Fatigue, bolstered by the Crusader’s humming, lulled me back to sleep.

I awoke the third time from a nightmare. In it I fought to escape a root cellar while soupy mud poured in, filling it until I had to press my face against the damp ceiling to breathe.

The crackling of damp twigs brought me to. Roos knelt over a small fire, complaining. “Ask for firewood and it brings back wet and green.” He snapped a few more sticks and set them on the small pyramid before blowing gently on the fledgling flame.

I propped myself up on an elbow to better see over my equipment piled between me and the fire. The Blood-Sword sat on top, brown twine lashed over the guard and grip secured it in the scabbard. They’d set up camp next to an irrigation ditch that ran through an unplanted field. Enough light remained in the evening twilight to see weeds sprouting through the wheat stubble from last fall’s harvest. Dozens of questions raced through my head. “Where’s Lilly?” I asked.

My raspy words brought a smile to the Crusader’s face. He pointed down along the steep-banked ditch. “It said ye like dining on the legs of frogs.”

Croaking frogs and buzzing insects sounded better than my muffled cries for help within a flooded cellar. I sat up erect. “Why are we camped out in the open—with a fire?” Talking hurt my throat. I looked around. A coppice of trees grew less than a hundred yards away. Even as I pointed and asked, “Why not in there?” two campfires flickered to life along the ditch about a quarter mile away.

Roos nodded towards the woods. “Two heathen brutes, ye names them ogres, lay rotting. The stench and swarming corpse flies would make an uncomfortable camp.”

“Where are we?” I asked. “I recall a canoe and being carried.” I rubbed my throat, and rummaged through the equipment pile for my waterskin.

Roos handed me his canteen. “We camp along the border between the Faxtinian Coalition and the territory claimed by the Foul Summoner that rules in Sint Malo.”

I took a drink and offered his canteen back. He took a swig and screwed the cap back on. “I can remove thy stitches from thy face. Thy wound is nearly healed.”

Water soothed my throat. I ran my finger along the scar on my cheek. Except for the stitches, there was hardly a noticeable ridge. “Thank you for standing with us against the ogres. They’d have killed Lilly and me without your help.” I searched the closing darkness. “Is it safe for her to be out by herself?”

“It was in the Lord’s plan for me to stand with ye, friend Hawk.” Roos noticed my concern. “It, the one ye names Lilly, is safer in the darkness than ye or I.”

I stood, picking up my spear. “Her name is Lilly.” I spotted her returning to camp along the ditch. I didn’t understand why Roos stayed with Lilly, carrying me west after my battle with the Blood-Sword. “Why don’t you like her?”

“It is cursed,” said Roos. We watched Lilly approach, carrying a string of frogs.

She tossed the dozen speared frogs next to the fire. “Don’t listen to him, Flank Hawk.”

Roos laughed and looked up at the darkening sky before focusing on Lilly. “I ask ye again. What beast has devoured thy soul?” He spat into the fire. “Be honest with thy friend. Two nights and the moon shall attest to any false words.”

“I am not cursed,” hissed Lilly. “No beast has touched me.” She moved to stand next to me. “We don’t need him.”

“Two nights,” Roos repeated. “I see the curse upon ye as clearly as I witnessed the sword’s demon assail Hawk.” He placed his hand on the hilt of his saber. “The steel was blessed by Saint Godfrey Augustus as it was forged.” He said it as if the name would have meaning to us. “Its touch rendered aid to Hawk during his internal affray with the sword’s demon.”

He stared at Lilly and she scowled back at him. “Certain as the sun shall rise,” he said, “my steel will slay ye, named Lilly by Hawk, should the need arise.”

“What?” I asked, raising my spear. “Are you threatening her?” I interposed myself between Lilly and the Crusader.

“Nay, friend Hawk. I warn the beast to caution.”

Until Roos, I’d seen yet never spoken to a Crusader. But I saw the shimmering of his saber, and heard the thunder of his voice. His was the first saint-blessed weapon I’d ever looked upon. I didn’t know the Crusader. Road Toad said Crusaders are an honest lot. What reason would he have to lie? Did I really know Lilly? I turned to her. “Do you know what the Crusader is talking about?”

Lilly’s glance shifted between me and Roos, who now stood with arms crossed. “He lies. It’s not a curse.”

“What isn’t a curse?” It was too dark to tell for sure, but the scrapes on Lilly’s face appeared gone. Being a healer, my wounds healed fast. Many considered my gift a curse, including me. But Roos didn’t name me as cursed, only her.

I stepped away from Lilly, recalling the horrific event in Pine Ridge when I was ten, and its connection with the moon. I looked at the string of frogs and remembered Lilly’s refusal to use Guzzy’s dirk. It contained silver. “Are you a werewolf?”

“No!” cried Lilly. Tears welling in her eyes reflected the small campfire’s flame.

I looked back to Roos. A werewolf pack had killed dozens of livestock and three men in Pine Ridge. They took the hostler, Randall, into their pack. I’d played around the stables and knew Randall. The image of what Pine Ridge’s men and Lord Hingroar’s soldiers did to Randall and the other werewolves was hard to forget. They put them to death, slew them with silver and fire.

“Nay,” said Roos. “It is a lycanthrope. Its gray aura marks the curse, but its actions are not those of a wolf—ever thirsting for blood and flesh.”

“The river burrow,” said Lilly, her voice cracking before falling to a whisper. “Where we hid, I dug it. It was my winter home.”

“The story about the river rat was a lie?” I asked. “And the death of your parents?”

Lilly stared at the ground. “No, not exactly. The village discovered my father and mother.” Anger hardened her voice. “They killed them for no reason. I hid. I started to tell you, but didn’t argue when you thought it was goblins that skinned and burned them.” She glared at me. “What does that say about men?”

I didn’t know what to say. That Lilly was a werebeast made my skin crawl. But she’d saved me from certain death, risked her life. But did she really risk her life, and why?

Roos interrupted my thoughts. “It says that all men are sinners.” He turned and knelt, tending to the fire. “Ye have been dishonest with Hawk.”

“Is that a sin?” Lilly challenged. “Or in your eyes, am I just a cursed beast, beneath sin?”

“Ye are what ye are,” he answered without emotion. “Better thy secret is revealed tonight than two nights hence.”

I was still confused. I knew little of werebeasts. I knew that silver could kill them, as well as fire. I’d been told their bite would turn a man, woman or child into one of them. Roos seemed knowledgeable, but now wasn’t the time to ask. I swallowed and set my spear down. I grabbed my belt and scabbard from the pile and signaled Lilly to join me and Roos around the fire.