Sword Bearer (Return of the Dragons) (12 page)

The song continued to course through my sword, and through
my mouth. I understood very little of what I sang, but I could see its power,
and I added my hate and anger to it.

The spheres held as the two demons battered against them
with word and blow and bite.

Carolina’s face was suddenly in view, small and to the side.

They are a bit weaker than I feared but I still can’t
hold this up much longer. Once out of the spheres, they’ll expand and become
enormous. I hope your friends are more powerful than they look.

I stole a quick glance to the side and saw Kara and Kalle
coming in through the open door and shutting it and bolting it behind them.

As if any door could contain a demon. But this door was
covered in runes, so perhaps it would help a little...

I heard a noise, then, and looked back at the two demons
squirming in their bubbles.

The blue demon Melfor’s eyes blazed red in anger. Minifrest
though looked panicked.

Melfor grew large claws that gripped at the bubble. He tore
at it and it felt like he was tearing my guts. Woltan must have felt something
too because I could hear him grunt.

Then there was a ripping noise and the demon’s head popped
out. It felt like a kick in the stomach, and I narrowly avoided doubling over
in pain and surprise.

The bubble closed back over the demon’s neck and the demon
looked even more furious.

For a moment I thought that was funny. I almost chuckled at
the struggling, strangling demon until Melfor looked at me. He scowled and
didn’t even need to move his lips: from his eyes a blast of red light shot
towards me, hitting my sword which moved without my guidance, and reflecting
back towards the wall, where it blasted a two feet wide hole in the stone.

It didn’t go all the way through, but there was a circular
indentation about half a foot deep where the stone had been. And the stone
itself was just gone.

That hole was the size of my head. Once again I’d been an
idiot and Carolina had saved me. All of this was my fault, and I was lucky to
be alive.

I heard something in my song change, and then there was a
second bubble, covering the demon’s head.

This seemed to enrage it further and then everything went
crazy: there was a great ripping sound, and it felt like I was being torn open
from my face down to my gut.

Melfor was out. The song was broken, wrong, somehow. Melfor
waved a claw and I felt another kick in the stomach.

Minifrest was out too. The song was over.

There was loud, joyous laughter and a smell of gunpowder and
sulfur.

The two demons were expanding, their bodies growing until
they were taller than any of us, over six feet tall, but still floating in the
air.

Well, Minifrest, that was quite a pickle we were in. But
now that we’re out, who should we kill first?

The pimply boy. Let’s rip him apart, eat him, and then
eat the pixie bitch in the sword for dessert.

Temper, temper. Those pixies can be quite tasty, though.
Haven’t had one in ages.

That was when I felt Woltan stir beside me. “Demons are not
welcome here.”

This set Melfor into a cackle of glee. “Talk about stating
the obvious, there, Woltan, old chap. Not welcome, you said?” And then he was
giggling again.

He flicked a finger at Woltan.

A ball of fire shot towards him, and Woltan raised a staff.
The ball of fire hovered in front of him. Woltan whispered something, and the
ball of fire shot back towards the demon, who caught it in his hand and started
throwing it back and forth, up and down. He began whirling it around until it moved
so fast I could no longer follow it.

“Shall we play catch? Fast pitch, perhaps?”

And then the ball shot forth, and I was sure there was no
way anyone could be prepared for it, but somehow my sword was up, right in
front of my face. The ball of fire hit the sword and broke in two, and I felt
the heat on my face, and smelled burned hair.

There was no pain, however.

I brought the sword back down and walked forward.

Anders, what are you doing?

I shook my head, and reached out and grabbed the demon.

The demon’s arms felt hot and slippery in my hands, but did
not burn me. I said a word.
Kalt
.

Melfor looked at me, surprised. There was something like
recognition in his eyes, and then it said:
Herr
.

Then the demon started to change colors from red, to green,
to blue, to white, and then he was immobile and white.

I raised the sword and swung it, and the demon’s head fell
to the ground with a hiss of steam. Then there was an explosion of purple light
and sulfur stink, and a scream.

Nooooooooo
!

I felt claws on my back, on my neck. Of course, it was the
other one.

The claws hurt. I wanted to twist around and have at her,
but the demon held me from both sides of my back. I raised the sword and struck
blindly behind me, putting all my anger and fear into my blows.

There was another scream, and I struck again, and this time
I felt the demon give way, and I turned, and she lay there, steaming, on the
ground, her body losing shape, melting.

Her face was solid, though, and for a moment, beautiful.

She looked at me and said one word:
Herr
. Then, with
a flex of a blue claw, she was gone forever.

I rushed to my mother, and crouched beside her bed, put my
ear to her mouth to listen. I listened for her breath in the room gone silent.

“Mother!”

But she didn’t move. Her face was motionless, her eyes shut.
I turned to my father, and listened there too.

“Father!”

The demons were gone, now. So what was wrong with them? Why
wouldn’t they wake up? I kicked out and smashed my foot into the wall. Bad
idea.

I bit my tongue to avoid crying out in pain.

That was when Kara put her hand on my back.

For the first time, I didn’t want her to touch me. I brushed
her hand away, but she was insistent. She put it again on my shoulder.

“Anders.”

“What?”

“They’re still alive, but they’re hexed, Anders. There’s
nothing we can do now.”

“There must be something. If I could just talk to them for a
few minutes. My father, he opened his eyes, before, and talked to me.”

Kara shook her head. “That wasn’t your father, you do
realize that, don’t you Anders?”

I shook my head. “I need to talk to them, just one last
time.”

Kara frowned. “We can’t talk to them now. But at least they
are free of demons.”

Woltan shook his head then. “They’re not free of demons.
Just free of major ones. Look at them both with your third eye.”

I felt like telling Woltan where he could look with his
third eye. It wasn’t his parents he was talking about. But I closed my two eyes
and looked with my third anyway.

Woltan glowed a bright, clean orange, Kara a bright clean
yellow, Kalle behind her was yellow with a circle of orange around him. I
looked down at myself glowing a dark orange, the color extending into my sword,
with just a small yellow spot where Carolina must be.

I looked at my father, then. He had a faint orange glow
about him; he looked no more than half alive. But there was something else, and
I tried to capture it. There was some other color in him, or on him, and then I
saw it.

I gasped.

Little red points of light covered my father’s skin. There
must have been hundreds of them.

I moved forward to look at one with my two eyes, and it
looked like a pimple. I looked closer, probing with my third eye, and saw, just
under the skin, what looked like a tiny insect. A tiny red demon insect, buried
just under the skin.

Talk about skin problems.

I looked at my mother, and saw the same thing. They were
both infested, covered with demon pimples.

It was disgusting.

I spat on the floor. “Are they dangerous?”

Woltan nodded. “They certainly aren’t helping them any. I’ve
read about them, but never seen any. These are demon spawn, demons but a few
days old. As they grow they will feed, sucking the blood and life force of
their hosts. What looks like a pimple now will soon be the size of a boil if
left there to grow. If that weren’t enough, they let dark wizards track their
victims. We need to get rid of them, now.”

Kara spoke then. “We Kriek have had to deal with such
matters. Kalle and I will be glad to help you, Woltan, to remove this scourge.”

“What,” I muttered. “I just stand here, and watch, while you
operate on
my
parents?”

But they had moved away a little. I could hear them
whispering quietly among themselves behind me but couldn’t hear what they were
saying. I figured they didn’t want to speak with their minds because they knew
I could hear them, that way. I was tired of overhearing everything, of seeing
everything, of seeing my parents covered in pimples that weren’t really
pimples. I’d had enough of the song that coursed through my blood, through my
sword.

Why hadn’t my parents ever told me about any of this? I felt
so unprepared, and where were they now, to comfort me? Lying on these cots,
covered in demon spawn, under the control of some dark wizard, unable to speak
to me.

I felt a hand on my back and the hand was warm. I turned
around and Kalle was looking at me.

“Don’t worry too much, my friend. They may be disgusting,
but they are nothing compared to what you just dealt with.”

“But we do need your help,” Kara said. She gave me a hug. I
felt some of my anger evaporate. Just let me talk to them again. One more time.
I let Kara hug me, try to heal me with her flowery scent.

But I wasn’t going to be able to talk to them, not anytime
soon. I realized that, and suddenly I didn’t feel angry anymore. I just felt
sad.

“We are here for you, Anders. That is what friends are for,
and family as well. As Kriek, you are part of our family, and so are your
parents. We will always be here for you.”

I felt myself fighting back tears.

“But how did you know? I mean, how did you know, that I was
so upset?”

Kara looked at Kalle, who nodded. She said: “We can see it
just looking at you, Anders. In your aura, your emotions are like an open book.
That is one thing I’m sure Woltan will be training you in, hiding your
feelings.”

I felt one last surge of irritation. “So you’ve just been
watching me have one big pity party, huh?”

“Don’t worry, Anders,” Kalle said, shaking his head. “You’re
going through a great shock.”

Kara nodded. “And we are all like this from time to time,
and everyone at the beginning. It takes time to learn to mask your emotions,
and more time still to master them.”

Woltan cleared his throat, looking at us a little uneasily.
“Shall we cleanse them, then?”

Kalle looked at me, and I nodded, slowly. “Ok,” I said.

“I’ll put a sphere around all of us so none of them escape,”
said Kalle.

He started speaking words under his breath, a long stream of
sing-song that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I had so much
left to learn.

A blue sphere surrounded my parents, and Kalle nodded as he
continued his incantation. I reached my hand down to the sword and again Carolina took control of my voice, and a melodious green light poured out of my mouth, and
lit up my father, or what was left of him. My father’s skin glowed where the
green light touched it, and there were little popping noises as the tiny
pimples burst, rejecting the demon seed.

Kalle was right. This was much easier, but disgusting. It
really turned my stomach. Worst of all was the ripe rotten egg smell that grew
more pungent as each of the pimples popped and the demon spawn inside died.

I was filled with mixed feelings. Killing the little beasts
was disgusting but satisfying. If only they weren’t on my own parents!

I let my mind wander. I tried to think nice thoughts, but my
mind kept coming back to these pimples that weren’t pimples, but instead demon
parasites tucked into my parent’s skin. It made me think of when I had lice,
when I was 6, after playing with some of the village children.

My parents had been furious, and my mother had spent hours
picking them off my head, popping each louse and nit between her fingernails.
Finally, exhausted, they had given up, and shaved my head. I had worn a green
beret then, until it was in tatters and I had a new head of thick black hair.
My mother used to say that shaving my head had made my hair even thicker and
more unruly.

That was what these demons made me think of, lice.

Sucking not only blood, but also the life force, the aura of
my parents.

It was a long time before I was hungry again.

Chapter XIII

The next week passed quickly in a whirlwind of spellwork,
hand to hand combat training, and bladework. I barely saw my parents, which was
nothing new; what was new, of course, was their condition.

I tried not to think about it now. It just made me feel sad.
They were unconscious under a spell so powerful that only killing the wizard
who had cast it would free them.

I still had very confused feelings about killing. Nightmares
about killing the keiler haunted me, and even the death of the two demons kept
me up at night. Killing a person? I didn’t even want to think about it. But
that’s what I knew all this was coming to: war, assassination, and other forms
of bloodshed.

The dark lord’s army was marching towards the lost city. I
knew this, in the back of my mind; I even felt it, when I let my mind wander;
but most of the time I was too busy now to daydream, too busy to be sad, and
almost too tired to have nightmares.

Unfortunately, they still came, but when I woke in a cold
sweat, I fell quickly back to sleep. I had never been this tired in my entire
life.

Perhaps the best thing to happen to me that week was making
a friend. He was a baker, and his name was Karsten. He had long blond hair,
which he hid under a cap when he was cooking, and an infectious smile, that
cheered me every time I ran into him.

We had started talking a week ago, at first just a few words
at breakfast — he’d ask me if I’d liked the rolls, and when he had, told me
he’d baked them — we had talked about food, and I’d told him about a bunch of
dishes he’d never even heard of. Now I looked forward to finding him every
morning, here in the dining room, and after practice in the evening.

It was good to talk to someone, especially someone around my
age; Karsten was 18, but only a few inches taller than me. We were both working
hard — Karsten in the kitchen, baking rolls and cooking amazing stews, me in
the practice field, swinging a sword until I was ready to drop. I had never
worked my body so hard in my life.

Today for instance I had woken at dawn, and Kalle had taught
me for several hours the Kriek art of hand to hand combat. There were all kinds
of holds to learn, and ways of flipping your opponent over your back, and using
their weight against them. Except if I made the slightest mistake, it all
backfired, and Kalle crushed me against the ground.

Then we were up again, circling each other. We would
practice each hold and flip for dozens of times, until I could do it while
reciting a poem, or singing a song.

It felt ridiculous, singing a song while attempting to trip
Kalle, but Kalle would take no argument. “You need it to become subconscious,”
he said. “Only then can you use it effectively against an enemy. You won’t have
time to think about what you’re doing in a combat situation.”

This was war talk and it reminded me of my old blademaster.
I missed him terribly. I hoped one day soon I would see Giancarlo again.

I made another hold on Kalle, grasping his head in a
headlock and trying to swing his weight over my shoulder, but fell again
heavily instead, Kalle slamming into my chest and knocking the wind out of me.
The dirt was packed so hard that it was almost as unforgiving as the stone
circle where we practiced bladework.

Kalle stood up and grinned.

“I am worthless at this,” I groaned, still on the ground.

“No you aren’t. You’re doing quite well. And with bladework
you’re excellent. You had a great teacher, and you have that sword in your
hand, and the pixie within it. But you must learn to fight with your own hands
too. Not everything can be beaten with a sword, and you won’t always have a
sword handy.”

He held out his hand to pull me up.

I felt like one of my ribs were cracked, but I felt like
that every day, and every day Kalle and a healer examined me and I was fine,
just bruised and battered.

So I stood up, wincing, and I began to sing an old song, a
song I dimly remembered, more a melody than a song, more humming than singing,
something my grandmother had sung when I was a baby, or maybe it was my
great-grandmother?

All I knew was it was in my blood, too, and it felt good to
sing it, not silly anymore, and that was when it happened.

I reached out, and instead of fumbling my hold, I got Kalle
right where I wanted him. Instead of falling down, with Kalle on top of me, it
was Kalle who sailed through the air to land hard on the ground. Kalle lay
there, and for a moment I was worried that I had really hurt him, and I stopped
singing.

The feeling of confidence and goodness left me, but I
remembered the tune.

I waited, looking at Kalle.

He didn’t move, looking at me, waiting. I held out my hand,
and Kalle took it. Then he was up again, and we were circling.

Kalle taught me one more hold, and I managed to throw him
once more, but not nearly as hard, and this time Kalle jumped right back up.
Kalle had thrown me several times, and my body now was a testament to our
workout, covered in bruises.

Lying in bed later, I remembered exactly how I’d held Kalle
and how it had felt as Kalle sailed through the air. I remembered the dull thud
of the hard-packed earth as Kalle hit the ground. Try as I might, however, I
could not remember the tune. There was something elusive there. I thought the
song might be the key to newfound power and self-assuredness.

If so it was a key that I wouldn’t find again that night.
Instead I closed my eyes, and fell into a fitful sleep, filled with my parents,
and a tall green-eyed man in a dark cloak, his aura glowing fiercely red,
smiling at me, calling me
Neffe
.

I woke up hungry; and although part of my body tried to
convince me to stay in the warm bed and get some more sleep to make up for all
the tossing and turning, the other hungrier part won the battle. I stood up
with a groan, and dressed quietly in the early morning air. The air was crisp
and clean and cold here, and I shivered as I quickly threw on outer clothes and
a light jacket.

I knew the cooks got up before dawn, to be able to have food
ready for the early risers. I was always one of the first to get to the dining
hall, although sometimes I caught sight of one of my trainers in there as well.
The hard work of bladework, hand to hand combat and defensive and offensive
spellwork just made me and my teachers all the more tired, and all the more
hungry.

The smell of baking bread and rolls made my stomach clench
in hunger and my mouth water in anticipation.

I ate quickly but not hurriedly, letting myself enjoy the
food. The rolls were delicious, and there was goat butter, but the best,
although not the tastiest, was the hot cereal. It seemed to calm my stomach and
relax the rest of my body.

I tried to sort through my dreams. Who was this man, with
the green eyes, who called me
neffe
? Didn’t that mean nephew? The man of
my dreams was obviously some powerful dark wizard, so why was he saying
neffe
to
me?

All I knew about my own uncle was that he had left when I
was still a baby and that my parents refused to talk about him. Which wasn’t
much, really, since they hardly ever talked about anything with me. But they
had been particularly closed-mouthed about my uncle, even when I would ask
questions. Obviously I couldn’t ask them anything now. It was just one more
frustration.

Could my uncle be some kind of evil wizard? Perhaps even in
league with the dark lord? I shook my head.

It was just a dream, wasn’t it? It didn’t necessarily mean
anything.

But then I felt myself break out in a cold sweat.

What had the keiler called me? And the demons, too?

Herr
.

I didn’t feel like eating any more. Was I related to some
great dark wizard, perhaps even to the dark lord? Was that why the dark lord’s
followers had pledged me allegiance before dying? What could it all mean? Good
thing I had already finished my porridge and bread, because now all I wanted
was answers to a bunch of questions. But there was no one to answer them.

I needed to talk to someone.

I looked around the dining room. Karsten smiled and walked
over. I was happy to see him, until I remembered my problem.

His smile faded when he saw the pained look on my face.

“Your skin looks good, my friend,” he said. I guess he was
trying to cheer me up.

“Goat’s milk,” I said. “Kara convinced me. And some charcoal
soap that Jona found me.”

I didn’t say anything then, but Karsten could already read
me like an open book.

“You look like something is troubling you, Anders.”

I shrugged. “Dreams.”

His face lit up. “My mother is a great witch, and her
specialty is the reading of dreams. She trained me in her art, and wanted me to
follow in her path, but I followed another.” He smiled and pointed to the rolls
in the bread basket. “I was very gifted, my mother said, but there came a point
where I realized my heart wasn’t in it. I know now I prefer to reach people’s
hearts through their stomachs, and that I was born to be a cook.”

He sat down across from me. “But tell me about your dreams,
if that will ease your mind. I’ll tell you what I can. You can meet my mother
as well, if I can’t help you.”

I frowned. “I don’t want to take you away from your work.”

Karsten shrugged. “I’ve been baking since three o’clock this
morning. I’m as entitled to a break as the next baker.”

I sighed. “You think talking about it will help?”

Karsten nodded. “In my experience, talking about a problem
always helps.”

I nodded, and told him about the green-eyed man with the
dark cloak, who had called me Neffe.

“Did you dream with your third eye, as well?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you see his aura?”

I nodded. “It was dark red, almost the color of blood.”

Karsten had lost his smile. “Have you told anyone about
this?”

I shook my head.

He brought his voice down to a whisper. “Blood-red, you
said?”

I nodded. “I’d never seen anything like it.”

Karsten spoke quietly but clearly, so no one else could
hear. “I hope you never will again. There is only one man in the whole world
with a blood-red aura.”

“Who’s that?”

Karsten shook his head. “No, this is nonsense. You have
enough on your mind without giving heed to dreams and adding more worries to
your plate. That’s why I became a baker instead of a dream reader: to nourish
instead of causing anguish. Forget the whole thing.”

He was going to stand up, but I grabbed his arm. “Please.
Even if it upsets me, I have to know. I always remember my dreams, and they
often seem to be true. I need to know everything I can before we face the dark
lord.”

Karsten’s face went white. He nodded. “Very well. You ask
who is the only one who has a blood-red aura. A man, or once a man, with green
eyes, who wears a long dark cloak that covers most of his features.”

I nodded. “That’s him!”

Karsten turned away. “That is the dark lord.”

“That’s not possible!” I said.

“I would agree, but it appears many impossible things have
proved possible for you lately. You are a young man of many mysteries and many
abilities. Perhaps there are more mysteries in you than you realized.”

I felt a horrible sense of panic. “But he called me
Neffe
!”

Karsten shrugged without making eye contact. “I can only
read your dreams, not explain them. Perhaps it’s only a manner of speaking.”

I shook my head. “It was a word of magic, that cannot be
spoken falsely. He called me nephew! You’re telling me that the Dark Lord is my
uncle?”

Karsten looked horrified.

“Anders, lower your voice. People will hear.”

I looked around. There were few people in the dining hall,
but I did catch one set of curious eyes. Perhaps the man was just wondering why
our voices were raised. I stared him down, and he went back to eating his
porridge and hot buns.

“You have to tell Woltan. And your friends Kalle and Kara.”

“I wish I could talk to my father and find out what this is
all about.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “I lost my father when I was
three years old. He fell from the roof of one of our highest buildings, and
neither magic nor medicine could mend him.”

I controlled myself and looked Karsten in the eye. “Thank
you. I know I shouldn’t complain. At least my mother and father are alive. If I
can free them from this curse, then maybe we can find out the truth.”

“The truth is mighty difficult sometimes when magic and
dreams are involved,” Karsten said. “Just keep your mind clear and focused on
the task at hand. You have a lot to learn and a lot to do, once you’ve learned
it. And once you learn everything the Kriek and our people can teach you, you
still need to meet with the merpeople.”

I nodded. I could almost smell the sea, when Karsten spoke
of the merpeople. My people.

I smiled painfully at Karsten.

“Thanks for helping me, Karsten. I value your friendship
even more than these rolls.”

Karsten smiled too. “We need friendship as well as food to
sustain us. Friendship nourishes the soul. Look, Anders, try not to worry. Just
go straight away and tell Woltan what you dreamt. Perhaps he has some other
take on it, but I don’t want to give you false hope. Although I’m not a dream
reader, my mother trained me well.”

“Could you take me to her, to your mother I mean?” I said
instead.

Karsten looked embarrassed. “I can’t right now. We are
short-handed in the kitchen and there are many mouths to feed.”

Now
I
felt embarrassed.

“I’ve kept you too long as it is.”

Karsten shook his head. “Look, this is what I’ll do. I’ll
give you directions. Go straight across the city until you come to the square.
There you can ask anyone for Marga the witch, and tell her Karsten sent you.
She will read your dream and scry your fortune too, if you want.”