Krohn’s expression dropped, and Dellawynn stepped up to take his arm. “I will see that he gets there safely, my Lord Keaf.” She licked her lips, and mischievous fire danced in her dark eyes as she unbuckled a finely tooled leather scabbard from her side. “And then I will come back to serve you.” She stepped up and strapped the leather around Keaf’s waist, and her hands lingered on his hips a bit longer than necessary.
Keaf swallowed hard and motioned them away. As Dellawynn and Krohn tramped back down the trail, he thought he was beginning to sort out this day’s madness. Somehow the demon had changed him so that everyone saw not Keaf the gravedigger, but a great lord, maybe even a king. At his hut he grabbed the water bucket and set it between his feet. As the water settled, he bent to look at himself.
No majestic features, no special fire in his hazel green eyes. Nothing different. Just the adopted son of a gravedigger with a smudge on his left cheek and stubbly hair on his chin. He sat down hard and shook his head. Was it the Sword then? He picked up the blade and examined its mottled surface. The faint roar resounded, from a distance, and yet from within the metal. Could it affect men’s minds? It seemed a stretch of imagination, but Keaf knew little of such things.
At arm’s length it glimmering, beckoning. Let the crowd cheer for Keaf the gravedigger. Let them pay for shunning him and his father and all those like him. Let them see how it feels to be less than worthy, less than equal. He shook his head to clear away the ugly thoughts, and slid the Sword into the scabbard. Maybe he could learn its power, but he would have to be careful how he used it.
Keaf paused at the edge of the village as angry voices rose in a commotion from below. His self-confidence faltered as he imagined a mob preparing to come for him, but he was determined to discover what magic he held sheathed at his side. If he was right about the Sword, no crowd could withstand it.
On the main street, he spotted the mob outside the inn. Innkeeper Ganton was Lane’s father, and he stood tall above the others as he raised a sickle overhead. Cornered against the wall, Dellawynn faced them defiantly while Krohn cowered behind her.
“You stole that sword from one of my patrons,” Ganton said. “And left him without a stitch of clothing.”
“She threw stones in my mill when I would not give her bread,” old Hagga added. Welk, the thatch-cutter, accused her of seducing his son. Dellawynn had been busy for one day.
“Harlot!” another old woman shouted. “She’s cast a glamour on Krohn!”
A stone flew and hit the wall near Dellawynn’s head. She slashed with her sword, but the crowd didn’t back down.
“She’ll have to be burned,” Ganton said. Welk held up dry bristle and thatch, ready to light.
Ignored, Keaf marched to within a dozen steps of the mob and planted his feet. “Stop!” he shouted over the noise. “She’s with me!”
Heads turned, and mouths gaped. Someone laughed and lobbed a stone that fell short of Keaf’s feet.
“Get back to your graves,” Ganton sneered. It was easy to see where Lane had gotten his manner.
Keaf held his ground and pulled out the Sword. As he raised it, the sound of cheering drowned out all other noise, not with volume, but with undeniable energy. “I command you to leave her alone,” he said.
Incredulous looks turned to adoration, and those nearest to Keaf knelt to the ground. Murmured praises rose up-my lord, my liege, prince, and king-and Keaf knew that any of them could be true. He only had to wish it.
“Ganton,” he called out.
The big man stepped forward and pulled his cap from his head so that the balding spot showed as he bent low. “Sir?”
Keaf reached into his pocket and tossed a gold coin at the man’s feet. “I’d like your best room for the night.”
“Any room, my young master,” Ganton said, bending for the coin. “The inn, if you desire it. I would gladly make it a gift to you.”
Keaf listened for strain in Ganton’s voice, some indication that he suffered for his sudden devotion, but his words were completely sincere. A consoling magic, at least for those it spelled, but it robbed Keaf of much of his feeling of vengeance. He supposed he could command them to suffer, even to inflict suffering upon each other, but that would bring no better satisfaction, and it made him feel uneasy to realize it was possible.
Dellawynn joined his side, and the crowd cheerfully escorted them into the tavern hall of the inn.
“I had no idea who you were before this,” Ganton said. At the serving bar he ordered his bartender to pour his best brew.
“A king’s son,” Krohn declared. “He must be out to prove himself.” He waved a finger at Keaf and grinned. “You can’t fool us, young sir.”
“Or he’s on a mission,” Ganton said, pulling at his ruddy beard. “Are you on a quest, Master Keaf? We can help, you know. We can do quite a lot here in Palmora.”
“I only want a room and a good meal,” Keaf said. Those were enough to demonstrate his newfound power.
“And so you shall have them,” Ganton said.
Lane and Kaye returned with a freshly killed silver boar, and a feast was declared in Keaf’s honor. He’d tasted bitter ale once or twice, but the heady stout that Ganton served made the room too warm and the laughter too easy.
Every girl of the village knelt at his feet to praise him during the course of the evening, including Toya, who seemed far too sweet to be bound by magic. Dellawynn chased them all away in between teasing the men. Keaf basked in the adoration, sure that he’d finally discovered the secret to friendship.
Late in the night, as the room began to spin, chamber servants carried him to his room and laid him to bed, and Dellawynn was there, warm and soft and faithful as he passed out.
Keaf began the morning by puking in the vicinity of the chamber pot. He staggered back to bed and fell across it before he realized that Dellawynn was still there, rolled in the covers. She shifted against him, and one hand tousled his hair while the other slid between his legs. Startled, he pulled away, but dim memories-her excited cries, her nails raking his back-told him he hadn’t shied earlier in the night. He flexed his shoulders and winced.
As he sat up, a knock sounded at the door.
“Who is it?” he asked. For a moment he pictured reality breaking in, Ganton hauling him out to be whipped in the square, a line of villagers hurling insults and stones. Instead, a young chambermaid peeked inside.
“I have your bath water drawn, my Lord, and fresh clothes waiting.” She opened the door a bit wider, and Keaf saw more servants with steaming pots and a large oblong tub.
The bath was a truly wonderful experience, even when the maid got a little fresh with her scrubbing. Dellawynn awoke and watched from the bed, giggling when he squawked about the soap in his eyes or the coarseness of the bristles on his tenderer parts. Breakfast was fresh berries that someone had spent the night obtaining from a city to the south, and cream that clotted on Keaf’s fingers. Afterward, in fur-trimmed trousers and ermine-collared shirt, with jewels on his belt and fine leather boots with real heels and soles, Keaf found it easier to believe in his new superiority.
The villagers had been busy while he slept. Krohn’s manor was no castle, but it was the biggest house in Palmora, and it included a stable with six fine riding-beasts. Krohn had moved into another abode, displacing the family that rented it from him. His staff, now at Keaf’s disposal, was determined to polish every bit of the manor before their new lord arrived. An entourage of Ganton and Krohn and every other important man of the village accompanied Keaf to the front gates, and they waited patiently while he made an absurd show of inspection. He knew no more about manor houses than he did about being a king, but the people hung on his every word and leapt to fulfill his every request. No one grumbled.
Through the morning, during a lunch of rabbit, fresh bread, and red wine, and into the afternoon, Keaf was attended and administered and fussed over. The local magistrate only visited Palmora once a month, but now Keaf became the village judge. A farmer came to ask him what to do about a wolf that had been raiding his wool-beasts over the last few days, and an angry wife dragged in her husband, accusing him of dallying with another woman. Keaf suggested a hunt for the wolf-Kaye had done it before, and he volunteered-and he sent the husband to stay home with his wife for a week. Everyone marveled at his wisdom, and a scribe wrote down his every word. Dellawynn grew tired of it before noon, and begged excuse to go find whatever mischief she could. Keaf had come to understand her well enough to know that she thrived on challenges, and he made everything too easy. He also knew that she would be back.