Again Toby smacked the rebel's hand away. "I am not your man and she is not your woman."
Rory stared at him incredulously and drew. "By the demons of Delia, I have taken all I can from you, you ignorant ox. Now I am going to teach you some manners!"
Toby edged away from Meg, clutching his bundle in both hands before him. It was the only weapon or shield he had. He ought to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness, but he would rather drop dead.
"Armed, this time, my lord? The last lesson misfired, didn't it? Your match was a little damp."
He had been a fool to rile a swordsman, a noble. Rory would be within his rights in chopping off an ear or two. Indeed, if Rory just ran the churl through, then who would bring justice against him? Who would seek vengeance for Toby Strangerson? He had no clan, he was no man's man, whereas Rory was a very important personage indeed.
"Or are you just annoyed that an ignorant ox managed to work out who you were? Managed to see through all the childish lies!"
Meg shouted, "No! Stop this!" She tried to move between them, but Rory dodged past her, pushing her away.
"Stay out of this, woman!" He advanced slowly on Toby again, lips white with fury, silver eyes shining, steel glinting. Any moment he would leap forward and lunge.
Toby continued backing away. Spirits, let me get in one good punch! Let me just smash his nose, if I have to run up his sword to do it… "If you're so good with a sword, Master MacDonald, then why didn't you draw on the bogy? You didn't even hit it with your lute, did you? You were going to drown, Master—"
He stopped, his feet stuck. They looked all right, but they felt as if they were buried in mortar.
Rory, too, was staring down in dismay.
Hamish screamed, "Valda! It's the woman!"
About half a mile up the glen, a line of riders was advancing toward them. Five — no, six. Where had they come from?
"Well!" Rory said, sheathing his sword. "Do you suppose that's just the local cattlemen's association holding its annual meeting?" He had switched instantly from fury to icy calm.
Meg cried, "Toby!"
Again Toby tried to move, but his feet stayed rooted to the road. Trapped! He glanced over his companions and saw that they were all transfixed. He had promised to guard Meg and then led her into more danger than her father could have dreamed in his worst nightmares. With a howl of fury he hurled his bundle away from him.
Shift…
He looked down at the five mortals. They stood in a loathsome pool of demonic power. He blew it away. Apart from that, they were unharmed.
Dum… Dum… Dum…
He looked up the glen. The mounted six trotting along the road… The hexer smiled gloatingly as she led her odious pack along the trail. Their horses were dead — ridden to death and beyond death. The other woman lived, but her mind had been tormented away to nothing. Two of the males were corpses, their resident demons fully occupied in running the decaying bodies they inhabited. They could contribute nothing. Of the other two, one was directing the horses and also had an overriding directive to protect the hexer. That left only one fully operational, and even that one was encumbered by shackles of gramarye.
Back to the five… The big one, the witchwife's lad, the curly-haired one… he grew. He swelled to a giant, a mountain, looming over Glen Kinglas. Ignoring the clouds and the rain, he surveyed the hills: the trail, heading straight for big Beinn Ime and then bending right to find the pass, gentle Beinn an Lochain on the right, and the sheer, straight face of Binrein an Fhidhleir, soaring up two thousand feet without a break on the left.
Weapon?
Dum… Dum…
Roll boulders on them, the teacher's boy had said. Why not?
He reached out a cloud-sized arm and sank fingers into the slope above the riders, clawing at it. The soil was sodden and saturated by so much rain. It moved easily.
This game was fun! Too late, the one available demon sensed the opposing power. It rose like black smoke to give battle, and then paused with evil glee as it saw the ploy. The damage was already done, anyway.
The side of the hill slid away bodily. Green slope became a carpet of brown mud, slithering downward, ripping up bushes, tearing out rocks, picking up speed. The ground moved in waves. Unbearable sound filled the valley. A gale roared ahead of the landslide. Valda looked up and screamed. The demon fled back to aid her. On the far slope, long-horned cattle stampeded in terror.
The mud slide poured down the mountain, burying the river, burying the road, rushing partway up the opposite slope. In seconds, the heap rose like brown dough, filling the gorge, building a mountain, spreading out sideways along the trail. Boulders bounced free ahead of the advancing wall. The thunder was a palpable presence, paralyzing the mortals. They could do nothing but stare at the approaching cataclysm; and then the hurricane bowled them over, hurling them to the ground and rolling them — all except the big one, who leaned into the wind.
The mass steadied before it reached them, the muck bubbling and writhing like a giant slug as it settled in place, its deathly roar fading to a steady, comforting beat: Dum… Dum…
Fun! Fun! More! Farther up the glen were other wet slopes just waiting to roll down…
CHAPTER TWO
"Toby! Toby! Are you all right?"
Dum… Dum…
The first thing he noticed was Meg's face, all black with mire around two white, staring eyes: comical. That had been Meg shouting. Her cape and dress were thick with mud. Rory and Hamish were helping Father Lachlan to his feet, and every one of them was slathered in it, like human pigsties. Funny.
He was all right, just wet.
"Are you all right?" Meg repeated urgently.
"Yes, I think so…" He was mortal again… merely mortal, back in the cold and the wind. He had a waning sense of loss, of heady power lost. Clouds mantled the hills again, but he could still taste the savage joy he had felt when he clawed down a mountainside to destroy a foe.
The glen had fallen silent. A wall of glistening mud blocked it; the air reeked of wet soil. The river flowed no more.
Father Lachlan wiped his spectacles on the sleeve of his robe, and put them on again so he could peer at Toby over them.
"Was that your doing, my son?"
Toby looked down at his hand. There was no dirt under his nails, but he felt as if there should be. He could remember the strange sensation of digging his fingers into the hillside. He had soared with the eagles. He had looked down at the hills.
"Mine? How could I do that?"
"I suppose the rain could have set off the slide," the acolyte muttered uncertainly, as if trying to convince himself.
"It was a very fortuitous rescue," Rory remarked shakily. "Is she dead?"
Toby faced four incredulous stares. They were not fools, none of them. They were all smarter than he was. They could not have seen what he had seen — Toby Strangerson grown to the size of a mountain. If they had seen that, they would be fleeing in all directions. But they must have noticed him behaving oddly, and if he tried to explain, they would flee from him now. He was possessed, demonized, uncanny. Leper!
"Dead? Valda? How should I know?" He did not think she was dead. The demons had been trying to save her. Even if they had succeeded, though, she must be in disarray. No, she was not a threat now — but he dared not say so.
"So it was Valda?" Rory snapped.
Toby shrugged. "Your eyes are as good as mine."
"We had best get out of here!" Father Lachlan said. "There may be more slides ready to fall."