Morvash could hardly argue with that. He was honestly surprised, though; most people did not treat their slaves as people, but as cattle, and however comfortable Pender’s people might be, they were still effectively Erdrik’s slaves.
He understood now, though, why Pender had come to Ethshar seeking his master, and why he had gone with Erdrik when Javan’s Restorative freed him—Pender’s people did not want to lose their comfortable lives. If Erdrik had died, or had decided to abandon them, their entire economy would have been ruined.
And it meant, he realized, that these people would probably side with Erdrik in any dispute.
“What did you tell everyone about why we came here?” he asked.
“I told them you had come to see Erdrik perform his great magic,” Pender replied. “And to get away from the demon.”
“Oh,” Morvash said. A thought struck him. “Do you have any magicians here?”
Pender shook his head. “The wizard does not allow other magicians.”
That did not surprise Morvash at all; he would not expect Erdrik to risk any sort of magical interference.
“Why does no one else speak Ethsharitic?”
“Why would we? None of us ever left Tazmor before I did. All the people we trade with speak Sardironese.”
“But speaking Ethsharitic is not actually forbidden?”
Pender hesitated. “I don’t think so,” he said. He frowned. “I hope not. The wizard heard me talk in Ethshar and did not say anything about it.”
“You should be fine, then.”
“I hope so.”
“Thank you,” Morvash said. “I think that’s everything, and I’m sure you want to get some sleep.”
“Yes. Good night, Morvash.”
“Good night, Pender.”
With that, Pender rose and left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Morvash sat thinking for several minutes—not about anything in specific, but reviewing everything that had happened to him in the last couple of sixnights. Almost forty people rescued, a demon chasing one, a mysterious someone from the Small Kingdoms after one or two of the rest, Erdrik freed and come to bring his masterpiece to life, a journey by flying carpet to the far north of Tazmor, deep inside the old Northern Empire and on the very edge of civilization, where an entire mountain had been carved into the shape of a dragon…
It was a lot to take in, but he did eventually get to sleep.
His sleep was uninterrupted. Morvash was not included in Zerra’s dream message. He did not know the Spell of Invaded Dreams himself, nor any of its variants, so he could not have contacted anyone directly; he could only wait until Zerra’s report in the morning.
When he awoke he found Pender waiting to take him down to breakfast with the family, and as they ate he realized they had not made any arrangements for meeting up with the others. He mentioned this to Pender.
“We will go to the workhouse,” he said. “After we eat.”
That seemed as good an approach as any, so Morvash returned his attention to the ham and barley cakes.
A moment later there was a knock at the door; Pender’s mother answered it, and then called, “Pender!”
Startled, Pender rose and left the kitchen. Morvash heard voices, and a loud thump, like something heavy hitting the floor; then Pender reappeared, leading Zerra and Karitha and talking to his mother in Sardironese.
“They had nothing to eat,” he told Morvash in Ethsharitic.
“Oh!” Morvash exclaimed, feeling stupid. He quickly rose and offered Zerra his seat, while Karitha settled where Pender had been. He had not given it any thought, but of course the workshop had no kitchen and no pantry, and no one had been looking after the two women.
He thought Hakin, Marek, and Darissa should be all right, though—they had hosts attending to them, despite the language barrier.
After allowing Zerra time to down a barley cake and half a mug of small beer, Morvash asked, “Did the spell work?”
Zerra nodded as she took a bite of ham. “I spoke to Ithinia,” she said. “She says we should observe, but not interrupt the spell—it’s too dangerous.”
“Isn’t a three-mile dragon dangerous? Especially one that can’t be killed?”
“Of course it is, but Ithinia thinks there are ways to handle it.”
“I don’t know what they are,” Morvash replied.
Zerra swallowed, then said, “You, Morvash of the Shadows, are a mere journeyman. Ithinia of the Isle is a senior Guildmaster.”
“I know that, but…” Morvash stopped. He glanced at Karitha. “Is there any news of the demon?”
“Not yet,” Zerra replied, reaching for another barley cake. “But I brought the carpet with us.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Today? I plan to fly up and see how Erdrik’s spell is going. If it fails on its own, then we don’t need to worry about any giant dragon. I can talk to him between incantations about what he thinks he’s doing. He can’t use any other magic while he’s in the middle of Ellran’s Animation, so I’ll be safe.”
Morvash had never actually seen the spell performed, but he had read about it during his months of research; he knew it required the wizard to stay awake for the entire two days, and that for most of that time he had to be stirring at least one of the three cauldrons the magic required, but there were times when he could talk safely, or use one hand to eat or drink. Morvash did not remember any specifics of when they might occur in the proceedings, or how long these breaks might last. “May I come along?” he asked.
“Of course. And I’ll bring Karitha—I don’t want to leave her unprotected down here if the demon shows up.”
“I don’t see any reason to bring the others, though,” Morvash said. “Let them rest with their hosts. Pender can stay and translate for them.”
Pender looked suddenly worried. “We can’t leave Darissa and Prince Marek where they are!” he said.
“Why not?” Zerra asked, startled.
“They are in the wizard’s house! If he finds them there it could be bad.”
“They’re…what?”
“That is the wizard’s house! Pancha is his housekeeper! When he is busy with his spell we thought it would be all right, but if he comes back and finds them there…” He shook his head.
“Well, then go get them and take them somewhere else,” Morvash said.
“Besides,” Zerra added, “Erdrik won’t be coming down today unless his spell goes wrong.”
“If it goes wrong he will be angry,” Pender pointed out.
“So go move them!” Morvash answered.
“I will,” Pender said. “I will go now.” He started toward the door.
His mother stopped him, and they spoke briefly in Sardironese; then he called back, “Finish eating, and go!”
“Right,” Morvash said.
Then Pender was gone, and the other three hurriedly finished their meal.
A quarter of an hour later they were in the street, where Zerra unrolled the carpet on the stone pavement and the three of them sat down, cross-legged, near the center. A word and a gesture sent them rising gently into the damp morning air.
Several villagers watched this, and stood staring as the carpet spiraled upward and then vanished above the gigantic dragon they and their ancestors had devoted their lives to carving.
Morvash marveled at the detail as they soared up the dragon’s flank; each individual scale was perfect, from its smooth forward edge to the thicker, rougher rear side. Then they came to the trailing edge of the monster’s wing, and he was freshly astonished by the veining, the ribs, and the massive, intricate wooden framework that held the wing out from the body. When he had first heard that Pender’s people had spent two hundred years working on Erd
rik’s secret project he had wondered what could possibly take so long; now he wondered how they had ever accomplished so much in so short a time.
He also wondered what would become of them now; their task was finished, and Erdrik no longer needed them. Would they find some other employment, or were their two beautiful towns doomed?
Looking down at Hindfoot Village, he thought it was entirely possible that the town was doomed because when the dragon came to life it might shuffle its feet and stamp the entire community flat without even noticing it was there. Had Pender’s people ever considered that? They had known Erdrik intended to animate the monster; surely someone must have realized what that might mean.
Between the dragon’s hind legs he could see a huge stack of ladders and wooden frames that he guessed had been used as scaffolding during the carving, but which were no longer needed. They had probably been attached to the legs, giving the carvers access to the beast’s haunches; from there they could have climbed up onto the monster’s back.
Then the carpet rose high enough for them to see the dragon’s back spread out below them, a huge stone surface at least a quarter mile wide, probably more, far above the valleys on either side. The outline of bone and muscle where the wings joined in just behind the shoulders; despite the slopes curving down from the ridged spine there would be no danger of falling off, because the wings, and further up the shoulder blades, would stop any slide.
The surface was empty, though; Erdrik was nowhere to be seen.
“Pender said he was on the head,” Morvash remarked.
“I know,” Zerra said, aiming the carpet in that direction.
They soared on, past the wings, across the shoulders, up the neck as it narrowed, and then over the hump that was the back of the monster’s head. Ahead they could see the end of the creature’s snout, and the flared stone rim above each nostril, but there was no sign of Erdrik.
Then they passed between the huge pointed ears, and Morvash called, “Over there!” He could feel magical energy simply seething all around them, and that had directed his attention to a particular spot.
Zerra turned to see where he was pointing, then swung the carpet around.
Erdrik was seated inside the left ear, cross-legged on a round rug perhaps ten feet across, surrounded by his supplies and apparatus. He had a small cauldron on either side, and a third in front of him, each hanging from a tripod over a small fire. A pungent scent of powerful herbs reached Morvash’s nose.
Erdrik wore the same dark blue robe he had worn when Morvash freed him from his vault, but oddly, his feet were now bare. He had been wearing sturdy slippers when last Morvash had seen him. Morvash wondered why his feet weren’t cold—or perhaps they were, but he had some reason to leave them uncovered. At least he was out of the wind, there inside the dragon’s ear—and that was probably why he was there, so that his three fires would be sheltered from the weather.
He was stirring the front cauldron with one hand, and holding a book with the other, but as the flying carpet blocked the early morning light he looked up from the page. Still stirring vigorously, he called, “You’re trespassing. Who are you, and what do you want?”
Zerra brought the carpet to a stop just outside the ear, hovering about a foot above the stone.
“The Wizards’ Guild is not pleased with you, Erdrik,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Morvash of the Shadows
3rd of Newfrost, YS 5238
Erdrik laughed, then caught himself before he let the rhythm of his stirring slip. “And why should I care what the Guild thinks of me?” he demanded.
“Because you are not omnipotent,” Zerra retorted.
“I do not fear the Guild. I ask again, who are you?”
“I am Zerra the Ageless—as you ought to know. We’ve met before. I am here as the Guild’s representative, at the direction of Ithinia of the Isle.”
“Ah, I believe your face is familiar. And that young man with you—Morvash of the Shadows, was it?”
“That’s right,” Morvash said.
“And this other person?”
“Karitha the Demonologist,” Morvash said. “She has nothing to do with you; she just needed to get away from Ethshar, so we brought her along.”
“And do any of you intend to interrupt my spell?”
“Probably not,” Zerra admitted.
“Then why bother to come all this way?”
“We came to see what you were up to,” Zerra replied. “And now that we have seen, allow me to ask, one wizard to another, what in the World do you think you’re doing?”
“I am animating the largest dragon that has ever existed.”
“I can see that. Why are you doing this?”
Erdrik smiled, then set the book down on the rug, glanced around at his other possessions, all while continuing to stir the cauldron. He said, “I have at most perhaps a quarter of an hour before the next stage of the spell requires my full attention, so I will keep this very brief: I am doing this because I want to. I have been planning this since the end of the Great War. I had proposed using gigantic creations like this to destroy the Northern Empire, but those fools, Azrad and Gor and Anaran, would not agree, and before I could put my scheme into practice the gods intervened and ended the war.”
“Then why do it now, when there’s no Northern Empire to fight?” Morvash asked.
“To show how effective it would have been! To exterminate anyone who opposes me!”
“Azrad and the others are long dead,” Zerra said. “Who do you want to prove yourself to?”
“Myself, if no one else!”
Morvash bit his lip and said nothing, but remembered his remark to Hakin that old wizards got strange sometimes.
Strange, but not stupid; casting the spell from inside the monster’s ear meant that not only was Erdrik sheltered from the weather, but when the spell was complete he would be in position to give his creation orders. It might well not be able to hear normal human voices, but it could scarcely ignore someone inside its ear.
“If you think I should fear the Guild, Zerra, consider rather that they should fear me,” Erdrik said. “Me, and my creation! An immortal dragon big enough to flatten Azrad’s Ethshar in half a day—what can they do to oppose me, when harming me will unleash its wrath upon them?”
Zerra pursed her lips. “I see,” she said.
“Now, are you going to try to interrupt this spell, knowing that to do so will loose vast uncontrolled and unpredictable magical energies, or are you going to leave me in peace to complete my magnificent achievement?”
Zerra looked around, obviously sensing the wizardry that surrounded them; the dagger on her belt was glowing a brilliant purple. “I’m not even sure we could interrupt you at this point,” Zerra said. “You could stop, but you may be beyond the point where outside influences can affect you.”
“I assure you, I have no intention of stopping.”
“I thought as much.” She sighed. “Then I will leave you to it, and hope that the spell fails harmlessly.” She gestured, and the carpet rose.
Morvash glanced down and noticed that his own athame was glowing dark blue, but the light was fading as they moved further away from Erdrik. “So what do we do?” he asked Zerra.
“I don’t know,” the elder wizard replied. “I’ll have to ask Ithinia tonight. Or maybe I can catch her during an afternoon nap.”
Morvash nodded, then looked at Karitha.
She had not said a word the entire time; in fact, he was not sure when he had last heard her speak. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”
The carpet had swooped across the dragon’s head, and was now starting down toward the valley below.
“What do you mean?�
� Morvash asked.
“I mean I don’t know what to do,” Karitha exclaimed. “I thought I was dead, but now I’m back, but my old life…is my house still there? Is someone else living there? And how can I ever go back, when Tarker is after me? It’ll catch me eventually. Even if I somehow manage to dismiss it, then what? I barely remember any of my own magic! My friends have probably forgotten me, if they’re even still alive.”
Morvash suppressed the urge to say, “What friends?” He and Hakin had discussed some of Tarker’s history during the trip from Ethshar to Tazmor, and Morvash had the definite impression that Karitha had never been popular.
“You can start over,” he said. “You can go on as a demonologist, or you can learn a new trade. You must have something you’re interested in.”
“But Tarker is after me! I can’t stay in one place for long enough to do anything. And I can only move fast enough to stay ahead of it by using magic—other people’s magic, because I don’t know any demon that can help me.”
Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar Page 35