“Any piece of iron,” he went on, “is capable of killing a man, or a dwarf, or even an ogre. It just takes a strong arm to wield it. Demons, however, are different. They are native to the pit, where the laws of nature do not apply. Even dwarven steel is little use against them. To make matters worse, this quality that makes them so strong—that they are counter to nature—also makes them horribly dangerous. They were not created to breathe our air, to trod our earth. When they are dragged up out of the pit, they blight the land that receives them. Their evil is like a disease upon the very fabric of reality.”

“Fabric o’ what?” Kemper asked, but Malden hushed him.

“Some will turn milk sour inside a cow’s udders if she so much as looks on them. Some wither crops wherever they pass. And some are capable of destroying our world, just by being here. The one that brought down the Burgrave’s tower—”

“It was tiny,” Malden said, nodding, “until it was exposed to the air. Then it began to grow, and did not stop.”

Croy frowned. “Had it been permitted to continue, it would have grown until it crushed the entire city under its weight. Even then it would not have stopped, until its tentacles could wrap around the world and crush it to rubble.”

Malden felt the blood rush out of his face. He had released the thing from its watery prison. If it had not been checked . . .

“Fortunately, Bikker and I were there to stop it.”

Malden cried out. “That bastard’s an Ancient Blade, too?” he demanded.

“Yes. He wields the sword called Acidtongue. Just as I wield Ghostcutter.”

“Then you know him,” Malden said.

“Oh, yes. Very well, in fact. He trained me.” Croy rose carefully from the bed, walked over to the window and looked out at the rain, which had grown stronger overnight. “The swords are immortal, but the swordsmen are not. As each Ancient Blade ages and grows infirm, he finds a suitable heir to take the sword and the oath that comes with it. It’s up to the others to teach this new blade how to fight. It is a sacred duty and not lightly conferred—but only twice has a blade failed to be passed on correctly. Two of the swords, Fangbreaker and Dawnbringer, were stolen from us by barbarians. Where they are now, no civilized man knows.”

Croy stared into the middle distance, as if he could find the lost swords in his own memory. Then he shook his head and continued with his tale.

“When I received Ghostcutter from its previous owner, there were five of us, gallant knights all. We were in service to the king, at his fortress at Helstrow. It was our duty to protect him from any demons his enemies summoned to attack him.”

“Why aren’t you there now?” Malden asked.