One Quest, Hold the Dragons

by Greg Costikyan

  Sidney cleared her throat. "So much for discretion," she said, nodding meaningfully toward von Kremnitz, who had followed this exchange with interest.

  "Broderick de Biddleburg?" demanded von Kremnitz.

  "That's right," said Nick.

  "Turfed out in a revolution recently, wasn't he?"

  "Quite so," said Timaeus.

  "And we're discussing the statue of Stantius? Found by adventurers in Urf Durfal?"

  "Yes, yes, obviously," said Timaeus irritably.

  Von Kremnitz was silent for a moment. "What I don't understand is why you want it," he said.

  "Don't," said Sidney.

  "It is ours," said Timaeus. "We found it, after all."

  "You're those adventurers?" von Kremnitz asked.

  "Yes," said Jasper.

  "That's how the graf's men knew your name, then," said von Kremnitz. "When I heard the story, your name wasn't mentioned, but I suppose it's recorded somewhere."

  "Possibly," said Timaeus. "We have tried to be discreet, but everyone and his brother seems to be interested in the damned thing."

  "Why don't you sell it, then?" asked von Kremnitz.

  "Well," said Sidney, "we have to take it to Arst-KaraMorn."

  Von Kremnitz looked horrified. "Whatever for?"

  "Er—I'm not entirely clear on that," said Sidney apologetically. "Vic seems very set on it, though. Cosmic significance, and so on."

  "Vic?"

  "You haven't met him," said Timaeus.

  "Where is he?"

  "Beats us," said Nick morosely.

  Von Kremnitz looked at them each in turn. "No wonder you lost the bloody thing," he said at last.

  "Now see here," said Timaeus sharply. "There's no call for—"

  "You probably don't even realize the significance," said von Kremnitz.

  "Certainly we do, old man," said Jasper. "The spirit of Stantius, last Human King, is bound therein. Until it be freed, humanity is fated to conflict and dissension, sundered into many states, easy prey for the advancing armies of the east. We must—"

  "Bosh," said von Kremnitz, waving a hand. "Fairy tales. The real rub is this: Von Grentz will use it to depose my master, to make himself ruler of all Hamsterburg. And associated provinces. I must return to the city at once. You must come with me; I can promise you the Lord Mayor's assistance in recovering your stolen property."

  "Excellent!" said Timaeus, beaming. "You see, Sidney; occasionally, it pays to place your trust in a gentleman." "It does?" said Sidney skeptically.

  "You can promise the Lord Mayor's help, huh?" said Nick.

  "Indubitably," said von Kremnitz. "Come, we must be off."

  "Right," said Nick. "A lowly leftenant of the Mayor's Guard can bind the ruler of a great human state."

  "You have my word," said von Kremnitz stiffly. But Nick only snorted.

  "The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be," Nick observed.

  "We are scraping the bottom of the barrel, rather," said Jasper dubiously, circling Timaeus and his mount for a closer look. Timaeus's horse was indeed a gray mare and, as Nick had intimated, had clearly seen better days. She was swaybacked, her long teeth protruded, and she sighed tiredly as she gazed dumbly at the dusty ground. Timaeus sat atop her, yawning. He was the first to mount up; the reins of the other horses were tied still to a long bar. They looked little more prepossessing than Timaeus's. .

  "Get a move on, get a move on," said von Kremnitz, bustling around and tightening the cinch on the saddle of his own horse, a spirited white gelding. "Time is of the essence."

  Kraki gave an enormous belch. "Ve make sure ve have lots of supplies," he said.

  "Yes, confound it," said von Kremnitz. "You've got three times the food you need; it's a two-day journey to Hamsterburg if we push it. What the devil do you—"

  The innkeeper approached with a wheelbarrow, in which a cask of ale lay. "Here you are, sir," she said to. Kraki.

  "Thank you," said the barbarian. He tucked the cask under one arm, untied one of the horses, and vaulted astride her, reins in one hand, cask in the other.

  "You can't be serious," said von Kremnitz.

  Kraki gave him a wide, snaggle-toothed smile.

  "I really don't understand what all the rush is for," said Timaeus, a little sleepily; the ale and the heat of the afternoon were making him drowsy.

  "We must get to the Maiorkest as soon as we are able," said von Kremnitz, vaulting to his own mount's back. "That thing in Gerlad von Grentz's hands for more than a week ... I don't care to contemplate ... Well come on, come on, mount up, by all the gods; what the devil are you lolling about for?"

  "See here, Pablo," said Sidney nastily. "We barely know you. What gives you the right to—"

  "Leftenant von Kremnitz is understandably agitated," said Jasper soothingly. "And he has offered to assist us, Sidney. Do take a horse, my dear; if he is right, we shall find the statue in Hamsterburg."

  Sidney muttered something, but consented to mount. Together they set off down the road. Von Kremnitz adopted a trot, and the others were forced to do likewise to stay abreast.

  Sidney scowled. "Slow down, dammit," she said. "The horses won't take this for more than—"

  "We must get well away from the inn, and quickly," said von Grentz.

  "Weeks sleeping on rocks and subsisting on half-rawsquirrel and mushrooms of doubtful provenance," said Timaeus, jouncing up and down uncomfortably, "a fortnight dancing attendance to a bunch of fool fays; the first opportunity to have a good night's sleep in a comfortable feather bed, and we go gallivanting off on a mare with a trot like an overgrown March hare on the dustiest godsforsaken road I've yet to see in the full glare of a blazingly hot sun. What's wrong with a nice, slow walk?"

  "How long do you think it will be before our erstwhile hostess lets von Grentz's soldiers out of their hole?" asked von Kremnitz.

  "They're probably out by now," said Nick. "If she's going to make the claim that we forced her stick, she'd better let them out as fast as she can."

  "Quite right," said von Kremnitz. "And though we took all the horses, they'll pursue. Best we get some distance ahead."

  "Yes, all right," said Timaeus. "But tell me, sir; why do you believe our statue will have such an impact on Hamsterian politics? Why such urgency?"

  "You don't understand," said von Kremnitz in a frustrated tone. "The political balance in Hamsterburg is exceedingly fine."

  "Why should a statue make a difference?"

  Von Kremnitz sighed. "The Lord Mayor of Hamsterburg claims regency over all humanity in the Human King's absence."

  "Yes," said Jasper, "a claim no one else acknowledges."

  "True," said von Kremnitz, "but we take it seriously. The symbols of Empire are used to bolster our Lord Mayor's rule; the Scepter of Stantius, kept in the highest tower of the Maiorkest for centuries, has long been a symbol of the state. When it began to glow, that was taken as a sign of divine confidence in our new lord, Hamish Siebert, my master; and he has need of every confidence, for he has the support of no faction but his own, and it is small."

  "How was he elected, then?" asked Jasper.

  "No single faction could force its candidate through, and so they agreed on a man they thought a nonentity," said von Kremnitz.

  "And is he?" asked Nick.

  "Nay," said von Kremnitz. "He is a man of action, a man of his word; already, he has reformed the civil service, instituted a draft, expanded the military, thrown public works to open bidding, put our foreign relations on new and—"

  "Yes, yes, all right," said Timaeus. "He is a veritable doyen of virtue. Your opinion is entirely disinterested, I suppose."

  "Well," said von Kremnitz, slightly apologetically, "he is my lord. But you see, the possession of the statue by someone else would indicate to the superstitious that the mandate of heaven had passed to another. And von Grentz is a big man in the Accommodationist party. I greatly fear we will find open warfare in the streets of Hamsterburg when we arrive.
"

  "Dandy," said Timaeus. "I always like to time my visits to a new city to coincide with riots, rebellion, and plague. I accept that the Lord Mayor will want to recover the statue from von Grentz, but can we trust him to return it to us?"

  "Of a certainty," said von Kremnitz heartily. "We have a common objective: to pry the thing from the clutches of the despised von Grentz. And I have no doubt that My Lord Hamish will be touched to the quick, as I have been, by your inspiring quest, the need to free the spirit of Stantius, and the ancient sorcery it involves."

  "Good," said Sidney. Privately, she thought otherwise; if the statue was such big medicine in Hamsterburg's rococo politics, wouldn't the Lord Mayor want to keep it for himself? And thinking back, von Kremnitz hadn't been so much touched to the quick by their inspiring quest as convulsed with laughter at its idiocy and futility.

  He bore watching, that one.

  Part III

  Intrigue in old Hamsterburg

  I

  Some love the sun. They delight in blue skies, warm sunlight, the crisp clarity of a perfect spring day. They are morose in the dimness of midwinter, become joyful as the days lengthen, curse the heavens when it rains. They spring happily from bed at the break of dawn, and return yawning thereto as the sun slips behind the world's far edge.

  Renée Wolfe was not among them.

  Sunlight made her eyes hurt. She liked the peacefulness of gloomy days, the quiet coolness of dripping clouds, the noiselessness of fog. She looked forward to winter, which in Hamsterburg rarely brought snow, instead producing rain, chill winds, and blessedly long nights. But most of all, she loved times such as these, the yawning midnight hours, the moon sailing ship-like through a sea of scattered clouds, stars wheeling serenely in the heavens, the sleepy world at peace. The streets of Hamsterburg were devoid of hubbub, save for an occasional burst of gaiety as a tavern door opened to expel another homebound drunk. There were few abroad, other than she; a night watchman, a latenight carouser, a burglar searching quietly for a place to rob in peace.

  She slipped through the night, unseen and unaccounted, until she came where she was bound: the Drachehaus, the mansion of von Grentz.

  It was not what she had expected. Oh, the grounds were typical: carefully manicured, the trees now bursting with flowers-cherry blossoms and dogwood. And the high cast-iron fence about it was not unusual, for a mansion in Hamsterburg. But the architecture was uncommon: neither mock-Imperial nor rococo Durfalian, but severely plain. It reminded her of the temples of the Sons of the Morning, who eschewed all ornament and frivolity; it consisted of plain stone blocks, windows placed regularly, towers and crenellations giving a hint of the fortress it could undoubtedly become in time of need. The only real ornamentation stood above the lintel of the great door, a door above high marble steps: It was a dragon segreant, elaborately displayed. Wolfe admired the artistry that had gone into the carving, as well as the cold ruthlessness the figure seemed to convey.

  The fence posed no great obstacle, nor yet the walls; it was a warm night, and several windows were open. Still, she hesitated; surely there would be wards, and it would be best to divine their nature first.

  She walked slowly along the fence. There were no visible magical effects, which merely meant the inhabitants did not desire that there be such. She did not touch the iron bars, lest even that trigger some magical reaction. At the corner, where the fence turned a right angle, she examined the post carefully.

  It was large, round, and evidently hollow. Craning, she saw that, inside the fence, there was a locked metal door in the side of the post. She nodded; spells require a sourceof power, and many are effected through the manipulation of physical similarity elements. No doubt objects used to create and maintain a magical effect along the fence were stored within the post.

  Unfortunately, this told her little of the nature of the magic. Still, she could be sure of several things. There would be a ward to detect physical entry: It might sense the body heat of someone crossing the fence, or the passage of a soul, or the presence of life force, or possibly of mentation. There would undoubtedly be a detection spell to sense the use of magic, and possibly an active spell to suppress the use of the more common methods of magical flight. And there might be spells to inflict physical harm on those who dared to attempt entry, triggered by any of the methods of detection.

  She had entered Stantz's bedroom by the means that offered her ingress almost everywhere; she was a mage of the shadows. She had merged with her own shadow, her body, mind, and soul simply becoming part of the trace of light on matter. As a shadow, she could go anywhere where there was at least a little light, at least a little dark; anywhere that was not wholly sealed against entry. She was not completely invisible, so disguised: An alert observer might note a shadow moving without a body to cast it. Still, she was the closest thing to invisible.

  That might not suffice here. As a shadow, she had no thickness and could easily slip under the fence; as a shadow, she had no body, and cast no body heat. Still, she would cross the fence; and depending on what wards were in force, that might trigger a response. She needed magic to merge with her own shadow; a ward might register the passage of that magic. She retained her mind and soul in shadow form, and either of those things might be sensed.

  An oak tree stood on the other side of the fence, perhaps a dozen feet away. Wolfe looked up; branches extended from the trunk toward the fence, but had been trimmed where they would have passed above it. She smiled; von Grentz, or whoever handled his security, had realized that branches, crossing the line of the wards, might provide a method of entry.

  Had they considered that the tree's mere shadow might do the same?

  The moon was nearly full, full enough that the tree's shadow was visible on gray grass. Alas, it was but an hour after midnight, and the moon high above the horizon. The shadow of the oak was small, and contained wholly within the Drachehaus grounds. That would change with the passage of time, the motion of the moon across the sky.

  Wolfe sighed, then walked across the street. A long wall stretched there, protecting another mansion, and in its shelter she would be less obvious. She settled down to wait.

  Long hours passed. Stars wheeled overhead. The moon sank toward the horizon. Slowly, the oak tree's shadow crept toward the fence.

  At last, Wolfe rose, stretched, and strolled back across the road. The shadow extended out across the sidewalk now.

  Wolfe whispered a spell. She hardly needed to; she had trained herself to say the Words of magic silently, a necessary skill for one who, as a shadow, had no voice. Still, it was a little easier to say the Words out loud.

  Suddenly, no Wolfe stood there. Even her shadow was gone.

  Crossing the fence might trigger defensive wards; Wolfe did not cross the fence. Instead, she merged with the oak tree's shadow, a shadow both within and without the fence. She never crossed the fence; she was within and without it, the mere shadow of a tree.

  Silently, a silent shadow cast a spell; and a dark-clad woman stepped from the shadow of the tree and into the garden.

  No alarms went off; no spells were triggered.

  Wolfe smiled.

  The small room's floor was covered with rushes. Each wall was pierced by a single window, an unusually proportioned window, tall and thin: the window of a fortification, from which a soldier might study besiegers while exposing himself as little as possible. There were no besiegers here; outside were gardens, mansions, pleasure lakes and gazebos—the Enclave, Hamsterburg's wealthiest parish. Perhaps the builder had admired the severe lines of fortifications elsewhere; perhaps he had feared the need to fortify his mansion in harsher times to come.

  Through the east window, pink rays shone, casting a pink rectangle of light against the rush-covered floor. The other three windows admitted only dim gray illumination; it was barely dawn.

  Against the north wall was a niche, and in it a shrine. Against the south was a door: a heavy oaken door, bound in cast iron. A metal bar
stood by it, not in use.

  Enter von Grentz. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. He was simply clad, a few yards of untailored cloth draped over a shoulder and around the waist, belted by a velvet rope, clasped by a plain bronze pin. On his feet were sandals. Around the periphery of his scalp ran a thin line of hair, black in parts but mostly gray, close-cropped in defiance of ultimate baldness. In his hand, he carried a single camellia blossom, fresh-plucked from his garden, the petals still bedewed.

  He went to the shrine, rushes rustling beneath his feet, and knelt. A bowl of water stood at the center of the niche; a shallow bowl, gently sloping, glazed, fired the tan color of the original clay, unaltered save for a few broad blue lines applied by a brush before firing. Gently, von Grentz placed the blossom at the bowl's center.