The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2)

by Joseph Schembrie

  They had encamped near a stream. Mirian was shooting arrows at stumps and Norian was napping against his backpack but awoke with Carrot's approach. Mirian's eyes alighted even before Carrot unwrapped the meals. Mirian moaned as she devoured the chicken.

  “I love troll food!” Mirian exclaimed.

  “It seems to be exactly what humans eat,” Norian said. He bit into a drumstick. “Tastes the same too.”

  “Oh, but the portions!”

  Where does she put it, Carrot asked, eying Mirian's slender frame.

  While they gobbled, Carrot told them what she had already learned.

  Norian's first question was, “So they have not connected the appearance of the airship to you?”

  “Why would they?”

  Mirian's first question was, “So are you going to a party?”

  “What? Oh.” Carrot looked down at the dress. “This is a child's hand-me-down.”

  “I am curious about this mention of how common is the name 'Arcadia,'” Norian said. “As your mother gave you that as a name, do you suppose that your mother came from a place near Troll Land?”

  “My mother never spoke to me of where she had come. Uncle Ral says that his fellowship of mentors told him only that she had run away from home.”

  “So it's possible that she was a troll,” Mirian said.

  “She wasn't a troll,” Carrot said.

  “How do you know? Look at you, it would seem that you have trollish blood. Trolls have superior strength and a good sense of smell, and you do too. And you say they're smart, and people say you're smart, or so I've heard. Maybe you're just a dwarf version of a troll.”

  “I. Am. Not. A. Troll.”

  “Mirian, let it be,” Norian said soothingly. To Carrot: “Shall we resume our daily practice?”

  “I don't want this dress to become dirty,” Carrot replied. “I'll bring my other clothes next time. For now, I'd best return. I'll come tomorrow and bring more food.”

  “And beer,” Mirian said. “Do they serve beer?”

  “Yes.”

  “So they are civilized!”

  In some ways more than we, Carrot thought as she returned to the inn.

  That night, exhausted by the magnitude of troll-sized chores, Carrot flopped into the bed and slept soundly until morning, when she was aroused to the sound of chimes coming from the hall. Affixing her collar, she padded out to find that Paul, still in nightgown, was flipping a lever on a wall-mounted disk. The disk, which she had assumed earlier was simply an ornament, had numbers printed along the rim. A clock. They had their own personal Master of Rome.

  Paul smiled at her and said, “Rise and shine, Sarah.” His expression turned to mortification. “Lords! Sorry, I meant, Arcadia.”

  Susan had awakened before the alarm and had the pot already boiling. Carrot poured in the oats and stirred, and they fell into the routine of preparing another meal. However, after delivering the first trays, Susan returned with a perplexed expression on her face.

  “They know we have a 'human female,'” she said. “I didn't think the scent would carry, but you know how sensitive some people's noses are.”

  “Ah,” Paul said. “I can guess which one.”

  Carrot said, “You said it would be bad for your business if my presence was known. I can hide in the woods until they leave.”

  “And how will you do your chores?” Paul set down his paper. “I've had a change of heart. For an innkeeper, what's truly bad for business is bigotry. Come along, Arcadia. Let's meet the customers.”

  Paul marched into the dining room, a mortified Carrot at his side. Dozens of eyes stared. Carrot truly felt like a child again. Peter gently rested his immense hands on her shoulders, thereby fully covering her shoulders, and nudged her toward a gray-whiskered troll sitting at a table near the kitchen.

  “There now, Daniel,” Peter said. “You can plainly see she's just a harmless girl.”

  The bushy eyebrows of the elder troll furrowed into one long underscore beneath his forehead. “She's plainly of adult size,” he replied. “For a human.”

  “And you've had her serving us all along,” said another at the table.

  “Why not?” Peter demanded. “She works hard. Also, she's clean. Cleaner than you, maybe.”

  Daniel put on his eyeglasses and inspected. “You say she's clean, but she's human. The plague came from among humans. I'm surprised you've forgotten, considering what happened to your daughter.”

  “Don't you even hint that I've forgotten Sarah.” Paul looked as if he could kill. He relaxed his expression and said, “The First Wizard was human and the new Wizard is human too, and he cured the plague. And the plague came from the Romans, everyone's heard that. This girl is Britanian, and Human Britan is fighting against the Romans. I'm a royally licensed sponsor, so her presence here is approved by no less than the King himself. And if you don't like her serving you, I'll refund your money and you can take your patronage elsewhere.”

  “You know you're the only inn within ten kilometers,” Daniel mumbled.

  “That's a matter for your feet and stomach to ponder.” Paul glanced at the other patrons. “My wife's stirring the porridge pot and she'll be frying sausages and you know you'll have to walk a lot farther than ten kays to find a better cook. And we have the best cider, you know that too.”

  They all sat with perfect stillness, and Carrot wished she had a twin who could take over her mission and someday also marry Matt, so that she herself could go somewhere private right now to die of embarrassment.

  But then someone clinked spoon to bowl and began slurping. Soon did the rest, including, with a growl, Daniel.

  For lunch, she and Susan switched roles. Continuing to cook, Susan also set the meals on the trays, while Carrot, ignoring staring eyes, carried the trays into the dining room. Given her smaller size, Carrot could only balance two at a time, and to match Susan's work she had to scurry. After a while, she noticed she was scurrying a lot, and the line of customers extended out the door.

  Paul mused at the kitchen threshold: “Arcadia, look at the customers! You're packing them in.”

  “Oh, I'm so sorry!”

  “No, it's a good thing. It's an innkeeper's expression. It means you're attracting customers. People always come running to see a novelty.” He yawned. “Just shows how boring most of life is.”

  Carrot nodded without conviction.

  After lunch, Susan helped her with the dishes. As they chatted, Carrot was transported in memory back to another kitchen. Conversationwise, Susan was like Mola, Gwinol, and Nilla rolled into one. And in other ways too, Carrot wryly thought.

  “Arcadia, you're smiling!” Susan beamed. “I'm so glad you've put your troubles aside.”

  “You think that I'm troubled?”

  “It's obvious, dear. The way you scrub furiously, then stare off to space. Tell me, is it a boy?”

  “How did you – “

  Susan laughed. “I was the same with Paul. When I was a lass your age, before we were married, my every other thought was about him.”

  “I'm not as bad as that,” Carrot murmured, and began scrubbing furiously.

  The lunchtime crowd rolled in and Carrot served the sandwiches but was detained from washing the dishes afterward because she had spied a pair of trolls playing a board game. The players noticed her interest and called her over, and when she tried to beg off to help Susan, Paul took the finished trays and urged her to socialize instead.

  “This is called 'chess,'” the playing sitting behind the white pieces said. “Do humans have chess?”

  Carrot shook her head. “I've never seen anything like it.”

  “Not surprising,” Black said. “It's an invention of the People.”

  “Don't attempt to boast,” White replied. “It was given to us by the Wizard.”

  “The Wizard taught arithmetic and logic and science. He specifically didn't give us any inventions, because he wanted us to think for ourselves.”

  “He
gave us chess for that very reason, because it teaches one to think. Now, young lady, here is how the game is played.” White picked up the pieces and described their moves. Concluding, he said, “You probably didn't get all that, but you're welcome to watch and see if you can catch on.”

  With a nod from Paul, Carrot watched. White and Black took turns, advancing the pieces into a clash over the center of the board of alternating light and dark squares. White hadn't explained the object of the game, but it was evident that the king, despite his tactical weakness, had to be preserved at all costs. An important sub-goal, however, was to engage in battles of annihilation in such a way as to exchange a less mobile piece for one of the opponent's greater. Yet strategic position could override deficits in material advantage . . . just as in real battle.

  Carrot resumed cleaning the dining room, watching the game from afar.

  After a time, White pounded a knight deep into the black's territory. “Check!”

  Black moved his king and White counter-moved a pawn. Black stroked his beard and shook his head. “I fear you have me trapped.”

  Carrot saw his oversight. She blurted, “Your rook can take the pawn.”

  “I appreciate the intention of your advice,” Black replied, “but the rook would be taken by his knight, and as a rook has many times the material value of a pawn, I would lose dearly in the exchange.“

  Carrot wondered if it would be wise to remain silent, but there was something about a tidy game that appealed to her just as much as a tidy room. She went to the table and stood on tip-toes to point from above the pieces and squares.

  “If he takes your rook and you then move your queen there, he must move his king or you will check him in the next move, and that will proceed to checkmate. If he does move his king, you can take his knight, and he must either block his first row by moving his attacking bishop into a defensive role – “

  They gaped as she parsed decision paths. When she stopped, Black said, “I didn't follow, but seeing as I'm chin deep, let's see if you know what you're talking about.”

  He got up and Carrot climbed onto the chair, her feet dangling well above the floor. Size differences no longer seemed to matter, however, as the board became the world. She decisively moved pieces, falling behind catastrophically in material advantage as she sacrificed a queen – but soon White's smug expression evaporated as he realized she had gained a supreme positional advantage.

  “Check,” Carrot said. With each move and counter-move: “Check . . . check . . . check . . . . “

  White reached for a piece, retracted, reached for another, finally sighed. “And that is mate.”

  The word's meaning was obvious from the context. Spectators applauded and laughed. Looking from the board for the first time in minutes, Carrot discovered she had gathered an audience.

  “You've never played before?” White demanded. “Surely a ploy!”

  “If she was ploying,” Black said, “she would have played badly at first so you'd make a big wager.”

  That brought more laughter, and someone pushed a flagon of beer in front of her, which Carrot agreeably sipped. Alcohol, after all, was like water to her. But then . . . this didn't . . . feel like . . . feel like . . . water. She felt very warm and the room began to buzz and tilt.

  “I think I had best stop,” she said, pushing the drink away. Someone tried to push it back, but she was insistent. She slid out of the chair, wobbled herself in a semblance of straight, and staggered into the kitchen. Susan nodded to the table, where a table cloth was tied around a bundle.

  “What . . . what is that?” Carrot asked, still trying to orient herself.

  “Sandwiches for your friends in the woods, of course.“

  Carrot ran to the dining room, checked the clock and ran back. “They'll kill me! Oh, and they want beer!”

  Susan provided a jug and cups. With bundles in hand, Carrot hurled out the back door, wondering why she was flush and why the trees seemed to be swaying without a breeze.

  Norian was sharpening and oiling his blades this time. Mirian was standing expectantly and shrieked at the sight of the jug.

  “Troll beer!” Mirian exclaimed. She frowned and touched Carrot's forehead. Her fingers came away with perspiration. “Seems you've had some already. Maybe more than 'some.'”

  “It seems to have affected me. I would not have drank so much if I'd known it could do so.”

  “It's the same for we elves,” Mirian said. “Human beer does not affect us at all, troll beer is quite potent.”

  “Until this trip you knew almost nothing of what trolls were like and expressed great apprehension toward the very thought of them,” Norian said. “Yet you comfortably drank their beer?”

  “I see no incongruity.” Mirian poured only half a cup. “Just a wee bit for now. I know my limit.”

  Norian faced Carrot. “A nice dress today too. I take it this means you'll skip practice again?”

  Carrot massaged her temples, but said, “We shall practice right now.”

  “Given your improvement, let's make it a challenge.” He handed her a scarf. “Blindfold this time.”

  Surely you are joking. But he tilted his head and without vocal protest she wrapped the scarf around her eyes. Without visual cues, she staggered. Norian had to guide the handle into her hands.

  “Hold your blade up! Defensive stance! Now where am I, Carrot?”

  His smell was all about, and her metal-sense was wavering since her inebriation, but the crunch of boots on grass betrayed his presence on her left. She swung and blades clashed.

  “Very good!” Norian exclaimed.

  “A bit slower than usual,” Mirian said.

  “Drink your beer, woman. Carrot, I'm going to move in stealth now. Listen for my breathing.”

  She swung desperately, unable to hear minute sounds at first because of the ringing in her ears. But then she forced herself calm, and the racket of blood pumping past ear drums lessened, and – there! She hacked and met his blade.

  Their blades met again and again as Norian danced quiet as a ghost. Zek! Zek! Zek!

  Then she didn't hear him at all. The knave was holding his breath! She started as her blade jolted with the impact of his, which had come from nowhere with no warning.

  “You're not being fair!” She ripped off the scarf. “How am I to know where you are if you are invisible to all my senses?”

  “Simply, you listen to where I am not.”

  “I am tired of your stupid philosophies!” She threw down the scarf. “Why can't you just teach me how to move the blade?”

  They were staring at her. She glanced sidewise. Her hair was flickering orange. Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she faced away.

  “I'm am sorry, Norian,” she said. “Perhaps it was a bad idea to practice at this time after all.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “Yes, tomorrow.”

  Damn the orange! she fumed as she stumbled back to the inn. I am no queen, only a stupid child. What good am – she caught herself. Matt had told her never to use those words.

  You're a worthy person, Carrot.

  But what about when I do things that are unworthy?

  You just have to resolve to do things that are worthy of what you are, what I know you are.

  She was sober and her tears were wiped by the time she returned to the inn. Susan was already preparing dinner. Seeing that Carrot was drenched in perspiration, Susan demonstrated how to operate the valves in the shower and after bathing with blessedly warm water, Carrot found on the rack outside the stall a simple off-white dress which fit her perfectly. As she served the tables, she became aware of the multitude of eyes upon her and reflected on how she used to think she was a freak because she was seen as mutant. Here, she was a freak because she was seen as human.

  It was late at night that the crowd finally diminished. As the cloud banks of pipe smoke thinned, Carrot detected the scent of another human, one whom she had never scented before.

  He sat
alone in a corner, his leash draped across the table. He was well-dressed as a merchant, and Carrot's metal sense detected a dagger beneath his coat. That did not arouse Carrot's suspicion. These were dark times, after all.

  “I beg pardon, sir,” she said. “The kitchen is closed.”

  “I'll just have a beer,” he replied levelly. “Can I buy you one too?”

  “I cannot have hard drinks on duty.”

  “A soft cider then for both of us.”

  “I'm really quite tired – “

  “It concerns the Box.”

  She stared. “What do you mean?”

  “I am a quester and you have the look of one too. Perhaps I'm wrong.” He made to leave. “I'll bid you good night.”

  “Stay. Yes, I quest for the Box.”

  “The ciders then. It's a long story and I've been traveling all day and I'm thirsty.”

  She brought the ciders and he attempted to pay but the coins slipped from his hand to the floor.

  “Lords!” he muttered. “I'm so tired I'm clumsy. Could you get those?”

  “Certainly.”

  Carrot knelt and picked up the coins, then climbed into the other chair. She drank while he talked. He was (he said) a merchant out of Londa, who had heard rumors among his business associates that the legions were in Britan to control the population while the Sisters of Wisdom engaged in a search for the 'So-called Box.' He had come to believe that the relic of legend actually existed.

  “I doubt it has any real magic,” he concluded. “Still, the Sisters value it so highly that surely they will pay a fortune as a finder's fee. When I heard on the road of a human girl at this inn, I thought you might be a fellow quester or would know of ones, and that we might collaborate.”

  “Agreed.” Carrot frowned at the cider. She was certain that she had poured from the non-alcoholic keg. Why was her face so warm? At least she didn't feel light-headed.

  “Now, I have a map but I can't understand the symbols. I can show you. But not in public . . . . “ He warily glanced around, a mannerism which Archimedes had once referred to as 'The Roman Look-About.'

  “We can go in back of the inn,” she offered.