Demonsbane

5 PLANS AND JOURNEYS

"You're rather lucky," Sarnakyle said, bandaging Siggard's back. "You were wounded once, and it was very light. Already it is mostly healed."

Siggard stood and looked around. At Sarnakyle's suggestion, they had retired to Tylwulf's cabin, for, given the farmer's words, all of the village traitors were dead. Still, the wizard had insisted on placing wards around the cottage, just in case there were one or two others that Tylwulf hadn't mentioned.

Siggard donned his tunic, wincing slightly as his back strained against Sarnakyle's bandages. The flames from the torches mounted on the wall cast an eerie, flickering light, and for a moment Siggard just wanted to leave and be done with the place.

"It will be morning soon," Siggard said. "Perhaps a couple of hours until sunrise."

"We should rest in the time we have," Sarnakyle said. "But first, we should draw up a plan. Where do we go from here?"

Siggard shrugged. "We find the archdemon, and then we kill him."

Sarnakyle smiled, an amused look on his face. "That might just work, assuming our enemy's army has decided to take leave of him. If I might suggest another plan: when we were fighting Bartuc, he would raid the undefended villages, cut off the support to the walled towns, and then attack them. It seems to me that this demon would do the same; it makes strategic sense. Perhaps we should go to a fortified town, and let this archdemon come to us."

"Very well," Siggard conceded. "We'll go to Brennor, then."

"I will hold watch," Sarnakyle offered. "You look like you could use the rest more than I."

Siggard nodded and wearily stepped into the master bedroom. His eyes widened when he saw blood smearing the walls, and a demonic star painted on the window. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen lying opposite the room they had been attacked in.

"At least I might be able to sleep here," he muttered. He lay down on the wooden floor, fully clothed lest some harm come in the night, and fell into a slumber.

His dreams were a maelstrom of faces, most in torment. He saw the people he had killed, laughing at him as he struck them down again and again. And then he saw Emilye, her beautiful eyes filled with sorrow, as though in pity for what he had become.

He sat up, his body awash in a cold sweat. Sarnakyle stood over him, some fresh clothes in his arms. "It is mid-morning," the wizard said. "I decided you should rest as long as you could." He passed the bundle to Siggard. "Try these on; they will suit you better than what you have now."

"Where did you get them?" Siggard asked, examining the clothes. He held up a warm-looking black-hooded cloak and some leather trousers. Both seemed to be of exceptional workmanship. Then he looked at the remains of the bundle, a long-sleeved gray tunic that seemed to be made of sheepskin.

"I found them in a chest in the cellar," Sarnakyle replied. "They seemed to be too large for either Tylwulf or his wife, so I can only assume they must have belonged to his father."

When Siggard paused, looking at the clothes suspiciously, Sarnakyle added: "I have checked them. There are no traces of magic on them, either good or evil."

"Were you able to find any weapons?" Siggard asked, fondling the cloak.

Sarnakyle shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Siggard nodded. "Thank you, my friend. If you will give me a moment to get dressed, we can be on our way."

The clothes fit Siggard almost perfectly, the only problem being that the trousers were slightly overlarge. That difficulty was easily fixed, though, by Siggard's sword belt, the empty sheath swaying at his side.

They strode west on the Queen's Road, a cobblestone path that Siggard remembered his father taking him along several times. The sky was overcast, and on occasion there was a brief burst of rain. It was enough that Sarnakyle stopped and drew a red cloak from his traveling pack.

"If we are to fight this archdemon," the wizard said as he pulled the cloak on, "I do not wish to die of a chill first."

Siggard gave him a slight grin, and then they began to walk again. It was difficult to tell how late in the day it was; the sky was completely cast over, and at best there was a brief ray of sun as the clouds scudded across the sky.

"I fear there may be lightning," Sarnakyle said. "I can feel it coming in my bones."

"Let us hope that we can find shelter before then," Siggard said. "If you hadn't let me sleep so long, we could have been there by nightfall. As it is, we will probably arrive sometime tomorrow morning."

"Are there any inns on the road?" Sarnakyle asked.

"I think there is one halfway to Brennor," Siggard replied. "This is a good road for travelers."

"Odd that we haven't seen any yet," Sarnakyle mused.

After a moment, Siggard realized that the wizard was right. They had been traveling for hours, and the daylight was fading. Yet they had not encountered another soul while they walked.

Siggard shook his head. This did not bode well: especially during the harvest season, there should be traffic along the main roads. With all he had seen, it was not a concern he could easily dismiss.

"Let us hope that the inn is still there," Siggard said, his stomach slowly twisting into a knot. Somehow, he dreaded the worst.

An hour later Siggard's fears were confirmed. There had indeed been an inn along the Queen's Road, but now it was reduced to a burning husk.

Lightning flashed in the darkening sky, the booming of thunder filling the air. Siggard and Sarnakyle pulled their cloaks closer to them and trod around the ruins of the inn.

"This can't have happened too long ago," Sarnakyle said, using a fallen branch to point at a maimed corpse. "These bodies are very fresh, and they have not been used for… other purposes. The archdemon must have been in great haste."

"Brennor could already be under siege," Siggard muttered.

Sarnakyle nodded. "The only way we can find out for certain is if we go there. We need a place to stop for tonight, though."

Siggard shook his head and pulled up his hood. "I think there might be a barrow-ground to the south, but that is all there is aside from Brennor itself."

Sarnakyle grimaced. "If that is all there is, then that is where we must go. I think I can protect us."

Siggard began to follow a small side road near the inn. "Come with me," he said, motioning. "The burial ground is this way, if I remember correctly."

"Have you ever taken shelter there before?" Sarnakyle asked.

Siggard shook his head. "We always stayed at the inn. My father once took me to see the mounds, though. He wanted to show me where the ancient kings rested. I remember some of the tombs being open at the time. It was many years ago, though."

Their walk became a jog as a heavy rain began to fall, quickly soaking both of them despite their cloaks and leathers. The thunder became deafening, and the only thing keeping Siggard from running was the fear of getting lost in the blinding rain.

Finally, they came to a large grove of evergreen trees. Inside the grove lay several mounds of earth, each grass-covered. For a moment, Siggard thought he could see vague shapes moving among the mounds, but when the lightning flashed, it appeared to be only his imagination.

Sarnakyle shook his head. "This is a place of the dead. I do not know how welcome we will be here."

"What choice do we have?" Siggard asked.

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning struck one of the trees. As the flaming branches fell to the earth, Sarnakyle shrugged and said, "On second thought, a barrow can't be that bad."

"We have to find an open one," Siggard shouted, his ears still ringing from the thunder. "There will be a curse on us if we defile an unbroken grave."

Siggard strode around one of the mounds, only to find the ancient stone door standing resolutely shut. A look at the tomb across from him revealed another sealed doorway.

Siggard suddenly felt himself being drawn. He walked towards one of the middle barrows and stopped. The wide maw of the open mound seemed to welcome him, as though it was where he belonged.

"Sarnakyle!" Siggard called. "I've found one!"

Siggard turned to see the wizard jogging up, his makeshift staff swinging in his hand. Siggard then turned and entered the tomb, disregarding Sarnakyle's shouted warning.

The inside was mercifully dry, and as Sarnakyle followed, he set his staff on fire, providing a crude torch. In the flickering light, Siggard saw several skeletons lying by the stone wall, their bones jumbled together. In the center of the mound lay a large stone sarcophagus, its sides ornamented with ancient runes and carvings of battle.

Something glittered in the torchlight, catching Siggard's eye. He stepped forward, to find a long, shining sword lying on top of the coffin. The crossguard was shorter than he was used to, and the pommel was large and ornamented. On the blade itself several runes were carved into the fuller, runes that seemed to writhe with life in the torchlight.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were… in the name of Horazon!" Sarnakyle exclaimed. "This is a sword forged by Velund!"

"It is a special blade," Siggard mumbled, only half aware of his words. The sword drew all of his attention, and he wanted more than anything to pick it up. On the edge of his consciousness it seemed he could hear the whisper of a song coming from the blade itself.

"These swords were forged to be great allies," Sarnakyle said eagerly. "They choose their masters carefully, and serve them to the death. If it calls to you, and you can name it, the sword is yours."

Siggard turned to look at the wizard. Sarnakyle's eyes almost glowed with wonder, and then something drew Siggard's gaze elsewhere. Several of the skeletons had moved, or so he thought, and empty eye sockets seemed to gaze at the two.

Siggard slowly reached forward, placing his hands on the ancient leather of the hilt. As he touched it, the sword came to life, singing to him of glory and battle. It sang of armies of angels and demons, and battles at the gates of Heaven itself. And throughout the song there was a single name, a name that Siggard only had to say once, and the blade would serve him forever.

Siggard turned and raised the sword. Around them, the skeletons shifted, the bones coming together, as though they might rise up to strike if the wrong words were spoken.

"Do you know the sword's name?" Sarnakyle asked.

Siggard nodded and called out at the top of his lungs. "Guthbreoht!"

With a clatter, the bones fell back to the earth, the skulls turning away from the two wanderers. Sarnakyle drew a breath in wonderment.

"They were the guardians of the blade," the wizard said, watching the last skeleton slump down and turn away. "Had you said the wrong name…" He shuddered.

Siggard sheathed Guthbreoht. "The sword has a new guardian now." He suddenly looked towards the entrance, listening. The rain had stopped, and the cloak of night was broken by a brief bird song and the chirping of crickets.

"I wonder how long you've been drawn here," Sarnakyle muttered. "The storm is over," Siggard said. Sarnakyle nodded. "Let us rest outside, my friend. This place has brought me much closer to the underworld than I ever desired to be." Siggard nodded, and they left the tomb. For a moment, Siggard felt something watch him leave, but when he turned, the barrow was empty of all but shadows.