The Penwyth Curse (30 page)

Mawdoor was standing now, his wand in his right hand, and in his left hand he held a golden sword. “I will kill you with this, prince. I searched far and wide for a sword that would pierce a wizard's heart and freeze it in his chest.”

32

“
W
ELL
,
NOW
,
MAWDOOR
,” the prince said, legs apart, hands on his hips, “this is all very interesting. You fashioned a special golden sword, just for me?”

“I have always hated your wit, prince. But soon you will speak no more. After I have mated with Brecia, I will burn that oak forest of hers, pile rocks until the trees flatten and the earth beneath them gives way, and let her grieve for all the ghosts who will be no more. Brecia, you brought up the cask, that was devious of you. Once the prince is dead, I will teach you a lesson even a witch won't forget.”

Brecia spoke softly, blowing the words at Mawdoor, as she spoke. “Your feet burn, Mawdoor, burn, burn, burn.”

He jumped three feet into the air, and his golden sword fell from his hand.

The prince was on him in a minute, moving so quickly he was nearly a blur. Mawdoor's sword was in his hand the next instant, and he yelled as he aimed the brilliant golden point at the prince's chest.

The prince didn't have a sword, but he had a knife. It was in his hand, come up to Mawdoor's throat, when the
skies turned utterly black. There were voices, loud voices, all around them, screaming, and the voices were converging on Mawdoor and the prince.

“Kill him!”

The screaming voices suddenly took shape. Hundreds, no, thousands of crows swooped down upon the prince, covering him, their great black wings flapping wildly all around him.

Mawdoor stood back, the tip of his golden sword buried in the ground at his feet, and he was laughing.

Suddenly a dozen of the black crows went flying through the air, landing hard on the ground, dead. More fell away, all dead. The prince was standing there, slapping his hands in a circle around him, a protective circle that shielded him and killed anything that touched it.

Mawdoor roared and came at him again, the golden sword raised.

Brecia saw that the prince was covered with blood from the birds stabbing him with their beaks before he'd gotten the shield into place. She yelled in fury and aimed her wand at Mawdoor. “Bend the golden sword around his neck!”

But the sword kept coming toward the prince.

And now winged creatures swooped down. They were demons—a score of black demons flying straight at him—and at their center was a great red demon, the most powerful, the most dangerous of all demons. They were Mawdoor's kin. He'd alerted them, brought them here.

Brecia shouted as she waved her wand, “Demon blood scorch the earth!”

The red demon drew back and looked at her, and Brecia thought she would die of fear at the malevolence in those red eyes. Nothing happened. She felt as helpless as a mortal, an awful feeling.

The prince knew he had little time. Demons were the worst, nearly invincible, and there were so many of them. Mawdoor had done things correctly this time.

A demon broke away and came right at him. He felt
long claws dig into his face. He couldn't see, couldn't see. He pictured Mawdoor in his mind's eye and flung his knife.

He heard a loud yell but couldn't see where his knife had struck.

Three more demons were on him now, and he couldn't get them away. The pain was hideous, worse than the assassin's sword in his heart. He saw the red demon hovering, waiting for the black demons to hold him. Then it would come in for the kill.

He fought, breaking necks, arms, legs, but there were just too many. He used all his power, but the demons were from another realm, a realm not touched by a wizard's magic, and Mawdoor had brought them here, doubtless a favor for his long-dead father. He felt Brecia's magic slamming against the demons, but nothing helped.

She knew the demons would kill him, rip him to pieces, and knew he was helpless against them. She had to hurry.

She yelled, “Bring me the key!”

In that instant, the key was her hand. She stuck the small key in the cask lock and turned it. The lid flew open. Brecia raised the cask toward Mawdoor and yelled, “Come inside, Mawdoor, for all eternity! Your demons with you!”

There was a huge whooshing sound. The demons and Mawdoor all came together in a tall funnel. They were whipped together. She saw that Mawdoor's golden sword seemed to be bending around him, holding him prisoner. The whole mess of them hovered over the cask, then whooshed into it. She slammed the lid closed and turned the key.

The prince was on his hands and knees, his head down, panting. He was covered with blood.

She touched him, kissed him, began her chants to heal him. But the demon wounds didn't respond. She said, “Prince, listen to me. I can't heal you. We must use other methods.”

“There are no other methods,” he said, and knew that very soon he would be dead.

“No, you stupid prince, there must be something!”

He managed to raise his head to look at her. “Brecia, dearest, I am so very sorry that it must end like this. The bastard brought in demons. Who would have imagined that? Mawdoor surprised me. I wonder where my knife hit him.”

She was utterly terrified, utterly distracted, and said, “Your knife took off his ear.”

“Good. Ah, this was very interesting.” And he fell onto his side, his eyes closed, his blood flowing bright and thick onto the ground.

“No!” Brecia raised her head and yelled, “Help me!”

Ghosts filled the air, swirling about the prince, who lay still on the ground. They were nearly transparent, save for their long, shadowy, naked feet. Brecia watched them settle over him, enfolding him in their very being, and they began to chant. Soft, sibilant voices rose to fill the courtyard, to rise into the heavens themselves.

Brecia fell to her knees beside the prince. She felt one of the ghosts gently shove her back. She sat back on her heels and watched. And she prayed. There was nothing else she could do.

The soft chanting began to fade just as the ghosts themselves began to thin into the air itself. Then they were gone, back to the oak forest.

The prince lay motionless on the ground. No more blood was on him, but he was so still. She leaned over him, touching his beloved face, stroking her fingers over his chest, his arms, his legs. “Prince, enough of this. Come back to me, my lord.”

Time passed, endless time. She was ready to scream her fear, her sorrow when suddenly his eyes fluttered open. He smiled up at her.

She leaned down and kissed his mouth.

“Your tears are wetting me, Brecia.”

“You mad, mad prince.” She kissed him again and
again. “You will be all right.” She continued to kiss his mouth, his nose, his ears.

But he was so tired, his very being so battered, that he couldn't even kiss her back, and surely that was something he hated.

Slowly, strength flowed back into his body. He drew a deep breath and sat up. He shook his head. There was no more blood, no more of the huge wounds the demons had gouged into his body, some of them nearly tearing him in two. He said, “Your ghosts saved me.”

“Our ghosts, prince,” she said. “Our ghosts.”

“You called for the key. That was very smart of you, Brecia. You opened the cask?”

She nodded at the cask, sitting on the ground, unmoving, the key in the lock. “Mawdoor and all the demons are inside, his golden sword wrapped around him.”

“All that animal wailing,” the prince said, “it was a charming idea.” He nodded to the cask and in the next instant, it was in his hands. “What happened?”

“The demons seemed to grab Mawdoor up, all twisting together. They looked like a whirling cyclone, coming straight toward the cask. It was like a huge funnel sinking deeper and deeper into the cask until I couldn't see it anymore—”

“—and you slammed the lid down and locked it.”

She nodded.

He held the cask close, frowned. “This is very curious. I know they're in there, but I can't feel them, any of them. I can sense nothing.”

She kept her eyes on that cask, still so afraid that it would burst open and the demons would burst out and tear him to shreds and Mawdoor would force her to watch him die. She was tensed, alert, everything in her ready to whisk the both of them off to Spain, perhaps for some hunting, if something happened. She hated that cask, hated the creatures imprisoned inside it.

The prince was rubbing his chin. “I am thinking, Brecia. We must deal with this cask.”

Brecia knew it, she just didn't want to deal with it yet. She looked over at Maida, who was lying on the ground, a scream frozen on her mouth. All the other old people were as still as the fortress itself. She couldn't see any animals.

There was no more danger now. Brecia closed her eyes, chanted ancient words that none now understood. The earth righted itself. The old people didn't move much. They were too frightened to do anything but stare. A single chicken squawked. The first thing Maida did was shout, “What did you do to Mawdoor, you foul witch?”

“Mawdoor is no more,” Brecia said. “All will be right again.”

Maida rose, dusted herself off, and walked to the prince and Brecia. She was frightened, it was clear, but she had guts. “You are magic, just like my lord.”

“Yes,” the prince said easily. “We are magic, and Mawdoor will no longer terrorize the earth.”

Brecia stared at Maida with her thick, fiery hair and her moss-green eyes, and her own green eyes narrowed. She said, “You insulted me, you stupid woman, actually waved your fist at me—”

“Aye, and didn't you just hurl me right against that wall over there? No thanks to you that my leg isn't broken.”

“—but I am beginning to think that you would make a great mistress of Penwyth.”

Maida said, sneering, “I would be great at anything I did, but let me tell you, miserable witch, I wouldn't have long remained Mawdoor's mistress. He would have strangled you finally, and I would have married him!”

“No, you stupid woman, I didn't mean that you would be great as some man's mistress. I meant that you should run things around here.”

Maida's mouth hung open, then her brain came alive. “Ah, and just how will I protect this land? What do you have to say to that, ugly witch?”

“I'm not ugly. I'm beautiful, just ask anyone. Besides—
and know that I hate to say this—you and I do look somewhat alike, what with all the red hair and the green eyes.”

“Hmmm. The red and green look better on me.”

The prince coughed, cleared his throat. “Now, to protect this land, Maida, the first thing to do is get rid of this black fortress.” The prince held his wand close and lightly stroked it on his sleeve. In the next instant there was a very normal structure made of wood, wattle, and daub. Even the pigsty went from menacing black to weathered wooden planks lashed together with thick ropes.

The people murmured. The animals yelped.

“Hmmm,” Maida said. “How am I to keep Penwyth going with all these wretched old people?”

The prince merely smiled and said, waving his hand in a dramatic wide circle, “To live a very long life at Penwyth will never again be a punishment. Long life will be bestowed upon those who are utterly loyal to Penwyth. Return those ancients to what they were.”

Brecia shouted, “Bring youth back to the old people!”

And with that utterance, they became what they'd been years before. They shook themselves, rubbed elbows and knees that no longer hurt, scratched heads with hair on them once again. Three young maids did a dance, kicking up their heels. Several boys yelled and cursed. Young voices filled the courtyard. It was a marvelous sound. Some of the young people just stood there, wondering at what had happened and marveling at it.

Brecia called out, “Mawdoor is no more. Your lives are yours again.”

Maida looked around, rubbed her hands together. “Look yon. I believe that beautiful young man standing over there, looking quite surprised and pleased, was old Dorom. Hmmm. What a lovely smile he has.”

“He has all his teeth again,” Brecia said.