“Why do we need to stay out of sight?” Darissa asked, puzzled. “I would have thought we should be out where wounded people can find us.”
“No,” Nondel said. “Using magic to fight a war is absolutely forbidden—it’s the one thing all the Small Kingdoms have agreed on, even Klathoa. If we’re seen anywhere near the fighting, people will think we’re helping our soldiers, and we’ll be hanged by whichever side catches us first.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. “I knew magic was forbidden, but I didn’t realize it was like that,” Darissa said, ducking back into the house.
“Oh, yes. Everywhere in the Small Kingdoms,” Nondel said, following her inside. “Of course, the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars uses magic when they fight, but that’s different—they’re the heirs to the old military, and the Great War was fought with magic on both sides, and besides, who is going to argue with them? They rule more than half the World. I’ve also heard that the pirates of Shan on the Sea use magic, but they’re pirates, whatever they may claim. Around here, from Fileia to Skaia, military magic is strictly outlawed, and any witch seen anywhere near the fighting will be killed, just to be sure. Even in Klathoa, the witches don’t fight.”
“That’s…” Darissa had originally intended to say “ridiculous,” but then she reconsidered. “That’s terrifying,” she said.
Nondel nodded. “The one good thing,” he said, “is that this war probably won’t last long. There aren’t any natural defenses on this plain. We’ll have a network of alliances, the armies will face off, and either it will be clear who has the advantage and the other side will sue for peace, or if it isn’t obvious there will be a battle to determine who has the advantage, and the loser will surrender.”
“Really? It’s that simple?”
“It’s not…that isn’t simple,” Nondel said. “That part about the network of alliances is important. Melitha undoubtedly has treaties with all its neighbors, but so does Eknera—you did say it was Eknera that’s invading, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, both sides have treaties and alliances, both open and secret, and now we’ll see which government will honor which treaties. Eknera and Melitha are at war, yes, but Kanthoa and Trafoa border on both of us, and each now has three choices—no, five. They can join in the attack, join in the defense, remain neutral, or support one side or the other with money and supplies but not actually fight. Or really, they could attack both sides, if they think that’s more promising. And meanwhile our other neighbors, Elankora and Ressamor and Tal and Bhella and Hollendon, could join in on either side, either invading Melitha themselves or providing us with troops and supplies, and Eknera’s other neighbors, Yolder and Mezgalon and…I think it’s Valamon, could join in. And that could spread—there have been wars that dragged in dozens of countries. If the mountainous areas get involved, or even just forested ones, it could turn ugly for them, because fighters can hide in that terrain, and set up ambushes and barricades and so on. Mountain wars can drag on for years.”
“But…how do we know…”
“We don’t, not until all the armies show up and we see who’s facing off and who’s cooperating. There could be a few sixnights of maneuvering before the alliances are all in place. And even then, someone might switch sides—though that’s dangerous, as after the war no one will trust a ruler who did that.”
“Oh.” Darissa looked up at the castle.
“When did the Eknerans cross the border?” Nondel asked.
Darissa took a moment to locate the sun and estimate. “Maybe an hour ago?”
“And the Melithans haven’t yet marched out to meet them? That’s bad. They’re probably at least a mile into our territory by now, and it’s always better to fight on the other side’s lands, because wherever the armies are, crops and houses get burned or trampled.”
Before Darissa could reply they heard distant shouting from the direction of the castle.
“That’s probably our soldiers getting ready,” Nondel said.
“This is ridiculous!” Darissa said. “All those people are going out there to fight, and some of them will be killed, for what? Marek said it’s all just about who collects which taxes—is that true?”
“I suppose that’s most of it,” Nondel said, “but for the ordinary soldiers there’s a chance to do some looting, and some fighting, and maybe come home a hero. And for the kings and princes, it’s partly a matter of family pride. Eknera was on the losing side in the last war; I suppose the current king wants revenge.” He frowned. “Who is the current king there?”
“I have no idea,” Darissa said. “Is it the same one Melitha defeated eighteen years ago?”
“I don’t know. That was King Manrin, and he was getting old and eccentric last I heard. Perhaps he’s become delusional, and thinks he’s fighting monsters. Or if they’ve changed kings lately, the new one may want to prove himself in battle—that’s something some kings do, to show they’re strong leaders.”
“I know Trafoa has three princes ruling jointly,” Darissa said. “I don’t know about Eknera.”
“That’s right about Trafoa; I’d forgotten.”
“It’s three brothers. Their father didn’t die, he disappeared, and he hadn’t named an heir, and nobody really wanted the oldest to be the new king, including himself, so they set up a royal council. I had it explained to me when I visited there with…with my father six years ago.” The final phrase caught in her throat, as she remembered how her father had died a few months later.
“I heard about it when they first set it up, in…5190, was it?”
“After the last war, so we don’t know which side they’ll take.”
“Someone probably knows—King Terren isn’t an idiot, he’ll have sent envoys and spies, so he probably has a pretty good idea. But I certainly don’t know.”
“How bad is this going to be?” Darissa asked. “There are old stories about sieges, and towns being burned, and massacres…”
Nondel shook his head. “I don’t expect it will be that bad; as I just said, King Terren isn’t an idiot, and I don’t think any of our neighbors are that angry with him. It should all be settled in a month or so. I hope.” He shivered, even though the afternoon air was warm. “Let’s go inside.”
“Yes, master,” Darissa said, and followed him inside.
Chapter Ten
Morvash of the Shadows
24th of Greengrowth, YS 5238
Morvash did not rush back downstairs when the agent left, but continued exploring, rapping on the barrels in the storeroom as he had in the basement, checking drawers for false bottoms or hidden compartments, and otherwise acquainting himself with his surroundings. He started planning where to put his thirty-odd statues, and using his arms to measure which doorways might cause problems in moving the statuary around.
The gallery would be the obvious place for most of the statues—maybe all of them. It was almost certainly big enough, if he counted the large alcove at the north end, and it had open access to the grand staircase, so anything that could get through the front door and could be hauled up the steps would be easy to install there. Anything that did not fit through the front door might be brought in through the big gallery windows, if he could get it up high enough off the street. If he had misjudged and could not fit all thirty-two statues across the front of the house, the last few could go in the passage beside the staircase. He could transform the sitting room into the workshop for his experiments, to avoid carrying anything magical between levels. It should all work out.
When he returned to the ground floor he was mobbed by chairs; at least half a dozen came bumping up against him, apparently wanting to be sat upon. He would need to restrain them somehow when bringing in statues, he thought. It was a good thing that they seemed to be unable to climb stairs, or to fly.
He pushed through the clustered furniture and slipped out the front door, careful not to let any of the chairs out onto the street; then he locked the house with the big key, tugging and pushing to make sure the latch was secure.
He had his new workshop—and more than that, really; except for the annoying chairs, he liked this place, and looked forward to spending time in it. For one thing, though the agent had assured him that the Guild had removed everything really dangerous that they could find, and the spell ingredients had indeed been stripped out of the workrooms, what were all the papers and books and devices and statuary in the front hall and parlor? He intended to take a good look through those. There might be some very interesting items.
And the statues—were any of those additional people in need of rescue from petrifaction? He didn’t remember any life-sized ones.
He walked slowly back toward his uncle’s house, lost in thought as he made plans. He would need to obtain a great many ingredients, he was sure, and either buy or trade for several spells; this project might prove very expensive indeed. His family would not like that. It would be very useful if one of the statues turned out to be someone rich and grateful.
A couple of spriggans followed him for a block or two, but he paid no attention, and they quickly got bored and vanished.
He reached the dragon gates of the late Lord Landessin’s mansion and walked in. He was not quite at the steps when the front door swung open, a footman stepped aside, and Uncle Gror appeared.
“There you are!” he said. “How did it go?”
“I’ve rented the house,” Morvash replied. He gestured. “It’s over that way, just a few blocks away, on Old East Avenue.”
“Old East…” Gror frowned. “What does it look like?”
“It’s black stone, with a tower and gargoyles.”
“That place? Seriously?”
Startled, Morvash said, “What place?”
“The old wizard’s place? It’s supposed to be haunted by ghosts he trapped.”
Morvash blinked. “I don’t think it’s haunted,” he said, even as he realized he might not have noticed if it was. It might be; the Ethereal Entrapment was a real spell, fourth or fifth order, that could confine ghosts to a small area, and Erdrik could easily have known it. Whether it would still be effective eleven years after Erdrik’s disappearance was another question entirely, and it was more likely that any alleged haunting was a misinterpretation of all that ridiculous animated furniture bumping about.
“But it is the one? The one built by a hermit wizard who hasn’t been seen outside in years?”
That did sound like Erdrik.
“He hasn’t been seen in years because he vanished eleven years ago,” Morvash said. “One of his spells may have gone wrong, or maybe he just left, but he’s not there.”
Gror frowned. “But then who did you rent it from?”
“The Wizards’ Guild. After he disappeared they claimed it and paid all the taxes, so as far as the overlord is concerned, the Guild owns it.”
“And you rented it from them.”
“You didn’t want me working here!” Morvash burst out.
“I didn’t want you experimenting here,” Gror corrected him. “I was worried about my safety. But Morvash, if you’re renting that monstrosity, I’m worried about your safety. What if that hermit comes back? He had a pretty nasty reputation.”
“The Guild says he’s not coming back.”
“How do they know?”
“Oh, really, Uncle,” Morvash said, stepping up toward the door, wishing he was as certain as he sounded. “Magic, of course.”
“Of course.” Gror sighed and moved aside to let Morvash into the house. “So what happens now?”
“Now I move all the enchanted victims over to the other house,” Morvash said, “and start trying to learn spells that might bring them back to life.”
“Did the hermit leave any of his magic behind?” Gror said, as he followed his nephew inside.
“He left some magical things, but nothing useful, so far as I can see. His name was Erdrik, by the way.”
“Was it? If you say so.” The footman closed the door behind them.
“I’ll need a lot of supplies,” Morvash said, looking up the stairs. “And all those statues—not the carved ones, just the ones that used to be people.”
“So you’ll be trying out your spells on them, until you get it right?”
“No—at least, I hope not. I plan to learn the spells I need first; I don’t want to risk killing any of those poor people when I’m trying to save them.”
“How are you going to test them, then?”
“I don’t know,” Morvash admitted. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. I’ll find a way.”
“Maybe you could buy a slave to test spells on.”
That idea had a certain cold-blooded logic to it, but Morvash shook his head. “I’m not going to buy a slave,” he said. “It wouldn’t be… I’m not going to.”
“Why not?”
“Slaves are people, too, you know.”
“But they’re people who don’t have anything left to lose,” Gror persisted.
Morvash closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Look, Uncle, I’ll find a way to test my spells, but that’s still a long way off. At this point I don’t even know what spells I’ll need, let alone how any of them work, or how difficult they are, or how dangerous. I may be able to test them on stray dogs. Right now, though, what I need is a way to get all my stuff to Erdrik’s house.”
“Morvash, my boy, I’m a merchant; moving things is what we do. I’ll get your things over there. You just sort out what you need and have it ready to go.”
“Thank you, Uncle! But there’s…some of this…” His voice trailed off.
“What is it, Morvash?”
“This is going to be expensive, Uncle. I’m paying the Guild’s rent in silver, and I’ll need to acquire exotic ingredients, as well as all the normal living expenses. It’s going to take all my money; I can’t spare anything for you.”
“Morvash, you’re family. You’re my sister’s son. And you’re a wizard. I know you won’t use your magic to kill anyone, or make us magical weapons we can sell, I heard all about what happened in Tintallion and your Guild rules, but you can do some magic for us, can’t you?”
“Of course!”
“Protective spells? Or some showy little spells just to show people we have a wizard on the payroll?”
“I can do that, yes…”
“Then we’ll be fine! You’ll earn your keep, and enough to pay all your expenses. Eventually.”
Morvash did not like the sound of that last word—and not just because of the word’s meaning, but because Gror’s voice acquired a bit of a hard edge as he said it.
“I’ll try,” he said.
“You’ll be fine,” Gror said, slapping his nephew on the back. “You’ll do just fine, you’ll see.” He turned away. “I’ll go see about rounding us up some reliable transportation for all the statuary.”
Morvash stood in the front hall and watched him go.
“I’ll be fine,” he said to no one. “Eventually.”
Chapter Eleven
Hakin of the Hundred-Foot Field
8th of Longdays, YS 5231
“This is her home?” Hakin asked, looking at the shop on Magician Street. The sign did indeed say Karitha, Summoner of Demons. The windows were hung with black curtains and held no displays.
The curtains were closed, and the door was locked.
“This is where she dwelt,” Tarker confirmed. “Her scent is everywhere here. She summoned me to this place from a room at the back. But she has not been here for hours.”
Hakin glanced around at the dozens of people and spriggans on the
street. Most of them were watching Tarker—to say they were staring at the demon would not be an exaggeration—but they were all staying well away. In fact, the spriggans seemed to vanish completely if Tarker looked in their direction; there were fewer of them every time Hakin looked.
Hakin suspected that in other parts of the city a demon’s presence would attract much louder, more excited attention, but this was the Wizards’ Quarter, where magic was relatively commonplace. These people were giving the demon a wide berth, but not screaming or panicking or calling for guards.
He turned back to the closed door of the shop. “You’re sure of that?” he asked. “Could she be hiding somewhere inside, with magic masking her scent?”
Tarker growled. “She is not here.”
“Well, we should look inside, just to be sure, and to see whether there are any clues to where she went.”
“I went inside when I first sought her, after killing Wosten of the Red Robe.”
Hakin frowned, and tried the door again. “But it’s locked. Was it locked before?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you get in to look for her? You didn’t break the lock; can you walk through walls?”
“There is another door.”
“Oh? Show me.”
Hakin was completely unprepared for what happened next. The demon’s upper left claw flashed out and grabbed the front of his tunic, twisting it until Hakin thought the worn fabric might tear; then the monster picked him up by his garment and sprang upward.
Hakin was too startled to see just how Tarker managed it, but somehow the demon found places it could set its feet and its free hands, and climbed the front of the building as easily as Hakin might climb a front stoop. In a couple of seconds it had carried Hakin from the street to the rooftop, where in half a dozen strides it bounded from the front of the house to the back. Then it leapt over the edge, and landed with a loud thump on a balcony.
Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar Page 10