Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Yes, sir!” Neran hefted his spear, then set out up Old East Avenue at an easy, loping run.

  That left two soldiers—or three, counting Bern. The commander looked at his companion and said, “You’re staying here with me.” Then he turned back to Morvash. “I hope you don’t have any more errands for me, because I’m not sending any more men. We’re going to keep an eye on the demon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Morvash said.

  “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Morvash glanced at Hakin, who turned up a hand.

  “I don’t think so,” the wizard said.

  “Good,” the soldier said. “Then you can go back inside and keep an eye on your people, including the demonologist.” He pointed at Hakin. “You go with him.”

  “What about me?” Bern asked.

  “You stay here. I may need you to carry messages into the house for me.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Morvash said. He took a look at the crowd before heading back to the house—and froze. “Pender!” he called. “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Morvash of the Shadows

  26th of Leafcolor, YS 5238

  Pender stepped out of the crowd. “I did not have another place to go,” he said.

  “But you were with Erdrik!” Morvash exclaimed. “I thought you’d be on your way back to Tazmor by now!”

  “He did not want to carry me.”

  “But…carry you?”

  The commander interrupted. “Who is this man?”

  “This is Pender the Jeweler,” Morvash explained. “He worked for Erdrik the Grim. He was working as my assistant while Erdrik was missing, but when Erdrik reappeared he left with him, and I didn’t expect to see him again.” He glanced at Pender. “He’s from Tazmor, and his native language is Sardironese; his Ethsharitic isn’t very good.”

  “You were with Erdrik?” the soldier asked Pender.

  “Yes.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Tazmor.”

  “He’s on the way to Tazmor?”

  Pender looked confused for a second, then said, “He is in Tazmor now. By magic.”

  “What?” Morvash demanded. “What magic?”

  “The…” Pender frowned. “The orange stone that he broke.”

  For a moment Morvash could make no sense of this, but then he understood. “You mean Pallum’s Returning Crystal?”

  Pender looked completely baffled. The soldier asked Morvash, “You know what he’s talking about?”

  “It’s a spell,” he said. “I can’t do it, but I’ve heard about it. The ritual creates an orange crystal about the size of a child’s fist, and when someone crushes it in his hand, he’s instantly transported to wherever the crystal was made, no matter how far that is.”

  “Shenna thought that was probably how Karitha was hidden away after she was petrified,” Hakin offered. “Someone used a crystal to transport her.”

  “That is it,” Pender said. “That is how the wizard goes to Tazmor, and to Ethshar. But he could not carry me, so I am still here.”

  “That would explain why no one here knew about his trips to Tazmor,” Morvash said. “No one ever saw him on the way between them because he wasn’t between them—he was moved instantly from one to the other.”

  “So Erdrik is in Tazmor now?” the commander demanded.

  “Yes,” Pender said.

  “That’s in northern Sardiron?”

  Pender looked uncertain. “It is very north,” he said. “Farther than Sardiron of the Waters.”

  “Good enough.” He turned to look at his remaining underling, and for the first time Morvash saw him hesitate.

  “Blood,” he said. “I need more men, and they probably won’t be here for half an hour or more. Captain Vengar will want to know where Erdrik is, and probably Ithinia, too.”

  “She may be able to locate him magically,” Morvash said.

  “And she may not,” the soldier said. “She didn’t find him during those eleven years he was missing.”

  Morvash started to protest that that was different, Erdrik had been behind a concealment spell, no mere illusion but the kind that actually physically changed a hiding place, but then he caught himself. Erdrik could well have used the same spell somewhere in Tazmor, or might have some other, equally effective way to avoid discovery.

  While the wizard was trying to decide what to say, the soldier turned to the crowd that had gathered to watch the demon and shouted, “Will anyone here volunteer to run an errand, or are you all determined to waste your time here?”

  A boy of about ten called, “Does it pay?”

  “Half a round,” Morvash offered, reaching for his purse. “Two bits now, two bits when you bring back the answer.”

  “I’ll do it,” the boy said.

  “Thank you,” the officer said to Morvash. Then he turned to the youth. “The message is very simple—Erdrik the Grim is in Tazmor. The tricky part is making sure it gets to the right person.”

  “Erdrik the Grim is in Tazmor. Got it. Who do I tell?”

  “Captain Vengar, at the guard camp. They’ll try to stop you at the gate; tell them Lieutenant Fullan sent you and said it was urgent.”

  “Lieutenant Fullan says it’s urgent. Erdrik is in Tazmor.” The boy held out a hand, and Morvash dropped two wedge-shaped coins into it. Closing his fist, the boy turned and ran.

  Morvash handed the lieutenant, whose name and rank he finally knew, two more bits. He turned toward the house, and was startled when Hakin grabbed his elbow.

  “We need to get inside,” Hakin said. “Now!”

  Puzzled, Morvash let himself be hustled back across the street. He beckoned for Pender to come, and Bern and the Tazmorite followed. Tarker had made its way around to the north side of the house for the moment, so there was nothing to keep the foursome from hurrying into the house.

  As soon as they were inside, Hakin said, “Do you have magic that can keep us from being overheard?”

  “Ah… Fendel’s Rune of Privacy,” Morvash replied.

  “Cast it. I need to tell you something without any chance at all that Tarker will hear it.”

  “All right. This way.” He gestured to Pender and Bern. “You two go up to the gallery; we’ll be up soon.”

  They went, and Morvash led Hakin to the stone-floored workroom. The daylight had faded enough that it was difficult to see; the wizard pricked a finger with his dagger, and a flame blazed up. Morvash ignored the oil lamps and instead lit a thick candle that stood on his workbench, then curled his finger, extinguishing the flame. He went to a cabinet where he found a box of ingredients he had brought with him from his home in Ethshar of the Rocks; then he took a little velvet pouch from the box, tugged open the drawstring, and fished out a small pearl.

  “I need something to draw with,” he said, looking around.

  “There’s ink over there,” Hakin said, pointing.

  “I’d rather use something less permanent.”

  “We need to hurry!”

  “Fine!” Morvash said. He set the candle in the middle of the floor. Then he took the ink bottle and placed it a foot or two away. “Sit down,” he ordered.

  Hakin seated himself, cross-legged, on the floor.

  “Closer to the candle,” Morvash ordered, as he dipped his athame in the ink. Hakin scooted forward, and Morvash went down on one knee next to him, drawing an elaborate rune that surrounded the base of the candle and extended out to one side, where it ended in a small circle.

  “Hold still,” he said, as he set the pearl in the circle.

  The ink of the rune seemed to glow faintly purple for a second, and then subsided, and the world was suddenly silent. The pounding of Tarker’s fis
ts was gone, as were the normal faint sounds of the city going about its business. All the two could hear was their own breath.

  “Is it working?” Hakin asked, looking around.

  “It should be,” Morvash said. “Everything felt right and did what it was supposed to. If you hear a pop, though, that means the spell’s been broken.”

  “So no one can hear us?”

  Annoyed, Morvash said, “There’s a barrier around us, ten feet from the pearl in every direction. Absolutely no sound can get through it, but it’s very fragile, so we may not have much time. Now, what is this about?”

  “The protective spells on this house—Tarker is testing them systematically. It started on the roof, and now it’s working its way down, trying every bit of the walls and windows.”

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  “Do you know how extensive the protective spells are?”

  “No. They’re Erdrik’s doing, and he’s apparently not especially eager to share his secrets.”

  “They cover all the sides of the house, and the top. Do they cover the bottom?”

  “What?”

  “Wosten’s house had protective spells on all the walls and doors and windows, so Tarker smashed its way in through the roof. That didn’t work here, but what if it tunnels down and comes at the house from below? Are there safeguards to prevent that?”

  “I have no idea,” Morvash admitted, worried for the first time since he saw the demon unable to pass through the open front door. “The cellar floors appear to be bedrock. I didn’t notice any magic.”

  “It’s working its way down, and I don’t think it’s going to stop when it reaches the ground.”

  “Oh, death. I have no idea what will happen then,” Morvash said. “Erdrik might have thought of it, but we can’t be sure.”

  “Maybe we should get Karitha out of here.”

  “But where can she go? Where could she go that Tarker can’t follow her?”

  “I have no idea,” Hakin admitted. “I hoped you might. He claims he can smell her and follow her scent anywhere in the World.”

  “Well, I can’t get her out of the World,” Morvash said. “There are wizards who can, but I’m just a journeyman. I don’t even know what spells might work, let alone how to perform them.”

  “Could you turn her back to stone until we find somewhere safe?”

  “No. I didn’t bother learning any petrifaction spells, only how to undo them.”

  For a moment they were both silent; then Hakin said, “Maybe you should just let it kill her.”

  “Maybe I should,” Morvash said, “but I don’t want to. Yes, she killed Wosten of the Red Robe, but then she spent seven years as a statue, which must be absolutely horrible.” He stood up.

  “It’s your house,” Hakin said, also getting to his feet. “She’s your guest.”

  “That’s a big part of it, you know,” Morvash said. “It’s Erdrik’s house, not mine, but for the last few sixnights it’s been my home, and I’ve been telling all these people I was going to save them, and mostly I did, and I don’t want to think I doomed her instead of rescuing her.”

  “Well, unless you can think of something, you may not be able to save her.”

  “There’s that note she wrote, if Lord Borlan’s people found it.”

  “If they found it and kept it,” Hakin corrected him.

  “Maybe Erdrik did defend against underground attacks.”

  “Maybe. I wouldn’t want to bet on it.”

  Morvash knew he would not want to make that bet, either. “Perhaps we should talk to Karitha,” he said.

  “All right.” Hakin looked around. “How do we get out of this enchantment?”

  “Just walk through it,” Morvash said. “I told you, it’s fragile. Or I can destroy it by blowing out the candle, or taking the pearl out of the circle, or scuffing the rune. Are we done with it?”

  “I think so,” Hakin said.

  “Fine.” Morvash bent down and picked up the little pearl, and just as he had said, there was a faint “pop!” and the sounds of the outside world burst in on them.

  One of those sounds was Tarker roaring from just outside the workroom’s one window, “Hakin! What did you tell him? Do you know a way in?”

  “No!” Hakin shouted. “I was wrong!”

  “I don’t believe you! Hakin, I have served you for seven years even though you did not summon me—do not lie to me!”

  “Come on, let’s go upstairs,” Hakin said.

  Morvash took a moment to put away the pearl and scrape as much of the ink off the floor as he easily could, then sheathed his knife, set the candle back on the workbench, blew it out, and followed, closing the workroom door behind him.

  By the time they reached the gallery Tarker was perched outside one of the windows, bellowing with rage. “Hakin! One of you! Let me in!”

  “It can’t get in, can it?” Alder asked as Morvash stepped into the room.

  “I don’t think so,” Morvash said.

  “I was worried when these people said Hakin had a secret to tell you.”

  “He was worried about something, but it’s not a problem after all.” Morvash hoped no one could tell he was lying. He crossed the room to look out the window.

  Lieutenant Fullan and his subordinate were still keeping watch in the street; the sun was down and the street lamps had been lit. The crowd had thinned; Morvash supposed it was harder to see what the demon was up to than it had been earlier.

  Or maybe people had just wanted to get home to their supper. Morvash wished he could eat supper, but the earlier foraging had wiped out his food supplies.

  But then the crowd on the street parted, and a maroon and silver coach appeared, with a guardsman squeezed onto the driver’s bench beside the driver. The soldier was waving to Lieutenant Fullan.

  “That must be Dabran,” Hakin said.

  It did look like Dabran, Morvash had to agree, and he recognized the coach, as well. “That’s my uncle’s carriage,” he said. “I had better go see what’s happening.” He turned and hurried down the stairs.

  By the time Morvash got out the front door, a stout figure had emerged from the coach and was speaking to Lieutenant Fullan. Dabran had climbed down and was next to Fullan, listening.

  “Uncle Gror!” Morvash called. “I didn’t expect you to come in person!”

  “I wanted to see for myself what all the fuss was about,” his uncle replied. He looked past Morvash at Tarker, who was now standing on a ground-floor windowsill, pounding at the wall. “What’s going on?”

  Morvash quickly explained the situation as best he could.

  “So your experiments worked?” Gror asked. “You turned all those statues back into people?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then will you be coming back home?”

  Morvash opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t know,” he said. “I need to clean up the mess first.”

  Gror nodded. “I understand we are to have guests in Lord Landessin’s mansion?”

  “Several of them,” Morvash admitted.

  “How long will they be staying?”

  “Until they can find places. For some of them that shouldn’t take more than a day or two, but for some it could be awhile.”

  “I see.”

  “There’s a witch named Ariella the Perceptive who lives at the corner of Witch Alley and Mana Street who can help sort them out,” Morvash said. “Some of them don’t speak Ethsharitic, but she can hear their thoughts and translate for you.”

  “All right. Have they had supper?”

  “No. We ate all the food I had in the house for lunch.”

  “Then I’ll feed the ones I take back to the house, and I’ll send someone over
with some groceries.”

  “Thank you, Uncle! That’s very kind.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re family. Even if you don’t always act like it.”

  “I’ll try to be a better nephew now that this is all done, Uncle.”

  “I hope so.” He glanced at the coach. “So where are these people? I can fit four or five right away, and I’ll send the coach back for more without me, which will mean room for one or two more.”

  “They’re inside. Come on in and meet them.”

  Gror hesitated. “What about the demon?”

  “It won’t hurt you. You don’t have anything it wants.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  Gror nodded, then turned to Fullan. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “I think we’re fine,” Fullan replied. “Go get those people out of there.”

  Gror pounded a fist on his chest in a rough approximation of a salute, and then followed his nephew into the old gray house.

  Chapter Thirty

  Darissa the Witch’s Apprentice

  26th of Leafcolor, YS 5238

  Darissa sat on the polished wood floor of the gallery, watching the others milling about and listening to their moods.

  She was in a wizard’s house in Ethshar of the Spices. She was still trying to comprehend that. She had looked out the gallery windows at the street and had seen a place like nothing she had ever imagined—so many houses, crowded together so closely! Such strange architecture!

  And the house itself, with its wooden floors and walking chairs—she had heard of animated furniture, but she had never seen any before, had not really believed the stories.

  These people around her were all so strange and varied—people from all over the World and four different centuries, all as confused as she was.