Another drop of blood hit the stove and hissed.
"Now," Valda said, as if coming to business. "I underestimated you, Master Strangerson. I do not recall ever being so wrong about any man before. I thought you were an ox and you turned out to be a notable opponent. I shall take no chances with you in future."
Not an ox, a mule. "Call it a draw and let me go."
She smiled wistfully. "I would, if that were possible. You have certainly earned it. Alas, though, you have something of mine that I cannot give up. Will you please explain to me how you bested me so thoroughly?"
She had abandoned the mocking contempt he remembered. She lacked even the air of a lady addressing a peasant, although she was a very great lady and he an extremely low peasant. His liege lord, Fergan, could not defend him against dangers of her sort — nor against many others, truth be told. Toby had found himself a lord to follow — a good, honest lord, he thought — but one without any real power. This foul hag, on the other hand, could work miracles. She was addressing him as an equal, which felt immensely flattering and also extremely dangerous. He told himself to remember her creatures, the depths of her villainy. A man must never cooperate with such wickedness! The diamond tiara and the painted toenails were the real Valda, not the goodwife dress.
"All I know is that you tried to turn me into one of those." He gestured at the hooded creature that stood with folded arms, still holding the poker and staring at him malevolently.
"No!" she said sharply. "I may be evil by your ways, but I do have standards of my own. I appreciate beauty, for example, and the fitness of things. Even kings do not use gold for chamber pots. I expect you dislike being described as beautiful." She smiled and his heart turned over. Her attention was as potent as strong drink. "Rugged? Virile? At the moment, of course, you are a disaster, but you were an exciting and striking young man before and you will still be an imposing one when you have healed. I shall make sure you heal without too much disfigurement. I would not waste such quality manhood on demonic incarnation. Krygon, let him see."
Toby opened his mouth to protest that he did not want to see, then realized that he would be wasting his breath.
The creature clattered the poker down on the stove and stripped, dropping its robe to the floor. The husk was… had been… a man. Its age was no longer evident, and certainly did not matter now, but perhaps around forty. He had probably been a scrawny specimen, even in his prime. Now he… it… was a ruin. A few rags still hung on the wasted frame, but they did not hide the filth, dried blood, open sores, the infestation of vermin. The creature's face had been blackened with soot at some time — Toby had thought the four in the dungeon were masked — and it was bearded. There was something wrong with its jaw. One side of its chest was caved in, with jagged ends of ribs protruding from rotted flesh. It leered at him, showing broken fragments of teeth and more bone. The stench of death filled the room.
Toby gagged and edged backward. "How does it live?"
"It doesn't in any normal sense." Valda sounded bored. "It likes to roll in mire and torment itself, because its original owner feels the pain, while it does not. It was in better shape a week ago, but then you dropped a mountain on it. It can't eat; it is almost used up. I shall have to find another husk for it soon, or put it back in its bottle. Won't I, Krygon?"
The thing tried to speak, but the ravaged mouth produced only a slobbering mumble. It nodded its head eagerly.
"So there is a demon for you, Tobias. You see why I would not have wasted your splendid physique on one of those. Never mind… you are not cooperating. I realize you have no cause to cooperate with me, and I need your cooperation to discover what went wrong and correct it. Time is short. Dumbarton is under siege, so I must adjust your attitude without delay."
"Siege?" A moment ago he had moved. His feet had obeyed him… No, it was still hopeless, because Krygon could control him at a distance. There was no way he could get out of range fast enough to escape.
Valda rose from her chair. "Siege in a manner of speaking. Normally I wouldn't dare bring an incarnate like Krygon into a warded town, but the tutelary is fully occupied at the moment." She stepped to the table and opened the metal casket. "Oreste is on his way here. He will be accompanied by a whole retinue of creatures, many of them far more steeped in evil than Krygon. Dumbarton has worse worries than me — or you."
Father Lachlan had gone to pray to the tutelary. No help there? The hexer might be lying, of course. She had made her headquarters just inside the burgh limits. Was that significant?
"Krygon, freeze this man."
Instantly, Toby felt a coldness, but even more he felt all his muscles go rigid. He could not even blink. He could breathe, but only with a huge conscious effort, as if his chest were bound with iron hoops.
"I need a lock of your hair," Valda murmured, rising and going to the table. "You will forgive me if I don't trust you just yet?"
At the edge of his field of view, he saw her produce the gold bowl he had seen her use before, and the dagger with the yellow stone. She began doing things, clinking bottles, but at that angle he could make out no details. One thing he could see clearly was the leer of satisfaction on the walking corpse. Its mistress had forbidden it to harm Toby, but it was enjoying his frantic struggle not to suffocate.
"Oreste is after you, of course," she said absently.
All his attention was concentrated on just breathing, and he could not move his lips or tongue to speak anyway.
"And for me also, but mostly you now. He picked up my track when I returned to this country, and he tracked me to Fillan, so he knows about you. You won't have heard of him. He is a cunning adept, very skilled and dangerous, but he is bound to serve Rhym. Rhym is the one you know as King Nevil. Now…"
She strode over to Toby with the dagger and cut a curl from his head. She took it back to the table. He thought she put it in the bowl and then cut a lock of her own to accompany it, but he could not be sure. She poured liquid from a vial. She said something in a guttural language, of which the only intelligible word was the first: "Krygon." Whenever she gave the creature orders, she began with its name.
"We must complete our business here," she said, "and speedily begone. Whether Oreste or Dumbarton itself is victorious, we must take to the sea before a decision is reached. Neither can track us over the sea — not that the tutelary would, of course…"
She made passes with her hands, speaking more words of gramarye. She came back into view, moving to the stove and placing the bowl on it. Then she lifted the silver chain over her head and held the sapphire high, speaking again in the strange tongue, although this time the words were so soft that Toby could barely make them out. He was close to fainting from lack of air. The demon seemed able to judge his strength exactly, so that he was convinced every breath must be his last and yet he could always force one more. His head swam.
Bluish fire flickered in the golden bowl, sending up faint curls of smoke. The glow brightened as the hexer lowered the sapphire, spinning in small circles within the fumes. Hideous blue light surged to fill the room like a fog, drowning out the candlelight, making Krygon in its rotted rags look more than ever like a corpse. Even Valda lost her humanity for a moment and became a leaden mannequin. Then jewel clinked against metal and the room plummeted back into gloom.
"We'll give it a minute to cool," her voice said quietly. The chair creaked as she resumed her seat. "Fortunately, there are several ships in the harbor at the moment I shall enjoy a voyage with you, Tobias, once your face has lost its resemblance to an offal bucket. Even if you are still you, I promise you some lessons in the arts of joy. You will be a rewarding pupil."