Tales of Ethshar (legends of ethshar)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Seldis nodded. “Looks can be deceiving, though.” She took out her long knife and crept forward, toward the head.

  “What are you...” Wuller began.

  “Stay back!” she hissed. “I’m going to make sure it’s dead.”

  Wulran reached out and grabbed Wuller’s arm, and pulled him back to the edge of the ledge, where they could both slide down out of sight in a hurry if the need arose.

  They waited for what seemed hours to Wuller, but watching the sun he realized it was only a few minutes.

  “It’s all right,” Seldis called at last. “It’s dead!”

  Wuller ran back down the crevice after her, calling, “How can you be sure?”

  Then he saw what she had done. She had rammed her long knife up to the hilt into one of the dragon’s eyes.

  If there had been any life in it at all, it would surely have reacted to that!

  After that, she had swung her wineskin into position and cut open a vein, allowing the dragon’s blood to spill into the waiting receptacle. Wuller stared at the trickle of purplish ichor.

  “This will cover my expenses,” she said, almost apologizing. “Wizards can always use more dragon’s blood.”

  “It’s really dead,” Wuller said. “We did it! Seldis, we all owe you more than we could ever pay you, and particularly after the treatment you got. I’m sure that everyone in the village will agree with me on that.”

  Wulran came up behind him and said, “If they don’t at first, I’ll make them agree, young lady.”

  Seldis shrugged. “It’s nothing. This one was easy. Hell, you people should have thought of it yourselves! You knew about the mushrooms, and you saw it eat a sheep every day — why didn’t you try anything?”

  Wulran shrugged. “We had that prophecy, that oracle — that you would come save us.” He smiled crookedly.

  Seldis stared at him.

  “So you were going to sacrifice me?” she asked. “You thought that would save you?”

  Wulran opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again.

  “Did it occur to any of you that if sacrificing me was not what the oracle had meant, that you’d be killing the one person who you’d been told could save you?”

  Wulran merely blinked at that; he didn’t even try to respond.

  Wuller said, “I wouldn’t have let them.”

  “Ha! I didn’t see you doing much to stop them this morning!”

  “But we’d already poisoned the dragon by then!”

  “And what if the poison hadn’t worked?”

  Wuller’s mouth opened, like his father’s, but nothing came out.

  Seldis looked at him for a long moment, then at the dragon. The stream of blood had stopped; she capped the wineskin and hung it over one shoulder. Then she shoved her way past both the son and the father and marched on out of the crevice.

  Wulran and Wuller watched her go. Wulran threw his son an apologetic glance, but Wuller was in no mood to accept it. He ran after her.

  When he caught up with her he could think of nothing to say, and so the two of them walked silently back down to the village side by side.

  When they reached the village, Seldis announced, “I’m tired, Wuller; we were up all night. I’m going to get some sleep.”

  He nodded. “Good idea,” he said.

  After she had gone into Illuré’s bedroom — leaving the door open and unbarred, this time — he headed for his own bed.

  Wuller awoke that afternoon to find her up and dressed and checking her pack. The wineskin of dragon’s blood was at her feet.

  “I’ll be going now,” she said, without looking at him.

  Wuller blinked at her from the doorway of his bedroom. He looked around at the familiar house — his mother’s painted tiles on the walls, the iron skillets hung by the kitchen, the broad stone hearth. His parents and his aunt Illuré were somewhere nearby. Around the house stood his village, all the world he had known until a few days ago, home to his entire extended family and everyone he had ever known.

  All of it was safe now, with the dragon dead, and Seldis was no longer needed. She would be going back to her own home, in distant Aldagmor, out there in the hostile and unfamiliar world beyond the village, the world where Wuller knew no one and had nothing.

  “Wait for me,” he said, snatching up his clothes.

  To his surprise, she did.

  About “Night Flight”

  Mercedes Lackey invited me to contribute a story to an anthology of fantasy stories about birds of prey, and I hadn’t written any Ethshar stories for awhile, so I wrote this one. I don’t know much about hawks or eagles, but I do know owls, and I figured most of the other contributors wouldn’t think of owls, or write from the prey’s point of view.

  Night Flight

  Princess Kirna of Quonmor sat upon her bed and frowned at the barred window. The sun was down and daylight was fading rapidly; she would be spending another night here in the wizard’s tower, and once again, she would be spending it locked in this room, all alone. This was not working out at all as she had expected.

  Running off with a wizard had seemed like such a very romantic idea! She had thought she could entice him to either marry her, whereupon they would travel all over the World having wonderful adventures together, or to take her on as his apprentice, whereupon she would spend years learning all the secrets of magic and then someday return to Quonmor to find a usurper on the throne, whom she, as the rightful heir, would then depose and punish horribly for his effrontery. Her subjects would cheer as she crowned herself queen in her father’s throne room, and she would use her magic to transform Quonmor into a paradise, and to reconquer Demmamor, which her great-grandfather had lost.

  And then perhaps she would reunite all the Small Kingdoms into an empire — after all, if that warlock Vond could conquer a dozen of them, without having even a trace of royal blood, why couldn’t a wizard-queen rule them all?

  But this had all depended on this Gar of Uramor falling in love with her, or at least taking her seriously, and so far he hadn’t. He hadn’t objected to her company on the walk home, but when she had tried to flirt with him he had laughed and said she was too young, and when she had asked about an apprenticeship he had said she was too old.

  When she had explained that she was a princess, so the ordinary rules didn’t apply to her, he had gotten angry and locked her up here, in this room with the thick iron-bound door and the distressingly-solid iron bars in the window.

  When he came back — well, it had been downright embarrassing. He had treated her as if she were little more than a baby, and hadn’t agreed to anything. What was the good of being a princess if you couldn’t have what you wanted?

  She pouted, and bounced on the bed — it wasn’t as soft as her featherbed at home, but it was pleasantly springy and fun to bounce on.

  “Princess Kirna?” a breathy voice asked.

  Startled, she stopped bouncing and smoothed out her face — her father had always told her a princess mustn’t pout. The voice hadn’t been Gar’s. It had sounded as if it was right beside her, but of course there wasn’t anyone else in the room; she turned toward the door and called, “Who is it?”

  “Hush!” She jumped; the voice was right in her ear.

  “Who’s there?” she whispered.

  A vague blue shape shimmered in the air before her, and the voice said, in slightly-accented Quonmoric, “I am Deru of the Nimble Fingers. I’ve come to help you.” The blue shape raised a hand, and she glimpsed a blurry face.

  “A ghost!” she gasped. “A real ghost!”

  “No, I’m not a ghost,” Deru said. “I’m a wizard under a spell.”

  She flung a hand up to cover her mouth. “You’re under a curse? That terrible Gar did this to you, and is keeping you prisoner here?”

  “No, no,” Deru assured her. “I did it to myself, so I could get in here to talk to you. It’s called the Cloak of Ethereality. It’ll wear off soon.”

  “Oh,
” she said, disappointed. “You just came to talk to me?”

  “I was sent to find out why you’re here.”

  Kirna stared at the misty blue outline for a moment. Who was this person? Who had sent him? Was he really here at all?

  He said he was a wizard — had the Wizards’ Guild sent him?

  Might Gar be in trouble? Kirna had heard stories about the dreadful things the Wizards’ Guild did to people who broke its rules...

  Maybe he wasn’t in trouble yet, but he could be, and it would serve him right for mistreating her.

  “He kidnapped me!” she said. “He dragged me here and locked me up, and he tortured me!” She held up her left hand, where Gar had nicked her with a knife to draw a vial of blood.

  The apparition stooped to stare at her hand, and she snatched it away before he could see just how small the cut really was.

  “He took my blood,” she said. “I’m sure he’s going to do something terrible with it.”

  “He took your blood,” Deru said thoughtfully. “Anything else? Hair? Tears?”

  She blinked at him, startled; this wasn’t the reaction she had expected. She decided she had better tell the truth — more or less.

  “Yes,” she said. “He tortured me until I cried, then caught my tears with a cloth and a little jar.” The “torture” had just been shouting and teasing, but she didn’t see any need to admit that.

  The misty figure nodded.

  “Well, that’ll be some relief to your father, anyway.”

  “That I was tortured?” Then she realized what he had said. “My father?”

  Deru nodded. “Your parents sent me,” he said. “Didn’t I say that?”

  “No, you didn’t!” Kirna felt cheated; this ghostly figure hadn’t come from the Wizards’ Guild after all. Then she remembered the rest of the conversation. “You think they’ll be relieved that I was tortured?”

  “No, they’ll be relieved that Gar was collecting your tears,” he said. “Normal tears aren’t worth anything, but a virgin’s tears are used in at least half a dozen different spells. If Gar was collecting yours, then he didn’t rape you.”

  Somehow Kirna found that annoying. “Yet,” she said. “He still might, now that he’s filled that jar!”

  “I suppose he might, at that,” Deru agreed. “Virgin’s blood and hair and tears are all valuable, but so are various parts of unborn children.”

  Kirna’s eyes widened in horror. “He wouldn’t!”

  “Well, people do,” Deru said. “And if he kidnapped a princess, who knows what he might do? On the other hand, he might just keep you here and murder your parents — there are a few very powerful spells that call for the tears of a virgin queen, rather than just any virgin. Those spells are beyond my abilities, but maybe Gar knows them...”

  Kirna shrieked. “Murder my parents?”

  “The Guild wouldn’t approve, but...”

  “No! You need to stop him!”

  “The easiest way for me to do that would be to take you home,” Deru said. “I’m sure that if you were safely back at Quonmor Keep, with guards all around you, that he wouldn’t bother — he’d find an easier target.”

  “Take me home!” Kirna said.

  “I’d be glad to,” Deru said. “The question is, how do we get you out of here? Do you think Gar would just let you go, if you asked?”

  Kirna stared at him. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve told you?” she said. “He kidnapped me and dragged me here and locked me up and tortured me!”

  Deru sighed. “But he might have just wanted the blood and tears. He’s got those now, so maybe he’ll let you go.”

  “You’re crazy!” Kirna said. “He intends to keep me here forever, I’m sure of it!”

  Actually, Gar had said something about sending her home in the morning, but she wasn’t about to admit that. She had failed to impress Gar, but perhaps this other wizard, this Deru, might be more amenable. Perhaps, once they were out of this awful tower, she could convince him to run away with her, so they could marry and have adventures and he could teach her all his magic.

  Maybe she could even get him to kill Gar! A wizards’ duel, fought over her — she shivered with excitement at the thought.

  Deru sighed. “Well, you’re probably right. I’ll just have to get you out of here without him knowing it.”

  “Oh.” Her excitement dimmed. That meant no duel.

  But still, it would be a dramatic rescue that might lead to romance.

  “How?” she asked.

  “Leave that to me,” he said.

  Then he vanished.

  “Hai!” she called. “Where are you?”

  No one answered.

  * * *

  Deru stepped out through the locked door of the third-floor chamber, back out into the stairwell, ignoring Kirna’s calls.

  He suspected the princess was embellishing her story somewhat; he still didn’t think Gar had brutally kidnapped her and dragged her away, as she alleged. The Wizards’ Guild forbade its members to interfere with any sort of royal succession, and kidnapping a princess would qualify; Deru had trouble believing Gar would openly defy that rule. To do so was suicidal, and Gar didn’t appear to be sufficiently deranged.

  Besides, how could he have done it without being noticed — and without putting a single mark on her face? Deru had studied her briefly before becoming visible — he was in no hurry, since the Cloak of Ethereality lasted a predetermined length of time and he could not remove it for hours yet, so he had taken a few minutes to explore the tower and look over the princess. He hadn’t seen a bruise or scratch anywhere on her, except for the one little incision on her hand.

  But Gar had locked her in, and collected blood and tears and hair — and besides, it would make a much better story to carry out a magical rescue than to simply walk her home, and it would be easier to collect a huge fee if he had a good story to tell.

  Deru drifted invisibly up the stairs to Gar’s workshop, and peered in at his fellow wizard.

  There was no need to do anything to Gar; he appeared to be settled in for the evening, and if Kirna disappeared he probably wouldn’t notice anything until morning.

  And when he did notice, he probably wouldn’t do anything about it. After all, Kirna was Crown Princess of Quonmor, and the Wizards’ Guild had rules against meddling with royalty. If Deru could just get the girl out of the tower, that should be the end of Gar’s involvement. And after that, it was only twelve miles back to Quonmor Keep; that wouldn’t be a difficult walk.

  Deru looked past Gar at the open window; the cool outside air was stirring the curtains slightly, and the light of the greater moon tinted the white muslin orange. Somewhere in the forest outside the tower an owl hooted.

  It all seemed peaceful enough. There was no point in being unnecessarily complicated; all he had to do was get Kirna out of the tower. He had come prepared for that — he had brought the materials he needed for Riyal’s Transformation, and had even prepared the oakleaf-tea countercharm in advance.

  He allowed himself to sink through the floor, back to Kirna’s room, to wait for the Cloak’s spell to break.

  * * *

  There was no flash or bang; one moment Kirna was lying in bed, half-asleep but kept awake by wondering about her mysterious ghostly visitor, alone in her candle-lit room, and the next instant a curly-haired young man in a blue silk cloak was standing next to her, holding a finger to his lips.

  Her eyes opened wide; she flung off the blanket and sat up. “You’re back!” she said.

  “Yes, I am,” he said, his voice low. “And in a few hours we’ll be out of here and on our way back to Quonmor.”

  “A few hours?”

  “Yes,” he said. “We’ll be going out that window.” He pointed.

  “But it’s barred,” Kirna said. “Are you going to turn me into a ghost like you?”

  He shook his head. “No, that spell only works on wizards, but I brought another that can affect us both. I
t will shrink us down until we can easily walk between those bars, and then I can levitate us safely down to the ground.”

  “Shrink us?”

  He nodded. “We’ll be not much larger than mice. It takes about three hours to prepare.”

  She hesitated. “Is it safe?”

  “Oh, yes,” Deru assured her. “It won’t harm you, and the countercharm is very easy — just a drink of a special tea.” He slipped a battered leather pack off his shoulder, opened the top flap, and pulled out a brown glass flask. “This is the cure right here — a sip of this will break the spell and restore you instantly to your normal size. Once we’re well away from the tower we’ll drink it, and then it’s just a matter of walking you home.”

  “Oh,” Kirna said.

  This was exciting, in its way — the idea of being shrunk down to the size of a mouse was strange, certainly — but it wasn’t quite what she had hoped for. Walking home? Not flying, or vanishing in a puff of smoke from one place and appearing with a flash in another? Shrunk down, but not turned into birds?

  Well, it would do, and perhaps it would be more interesting than it sounded.

  “Now, I need you to stay close, and stay quiet, while I prepare the spell,” Deru said. “Oh, and you’ll need to open the shutter and casement, so we can get out once we’re small.”

  “All right,” Kirna said. Rather than wait, she rose and opened the window immediately, while Deru removed and folded up his silken cloak and fished more items out of his pack.

  Beneath the rather dramatic cloak he was wearing a disappointingly-ordinary brown-and-cream tunic and suede breeches. Kirna had hoped for something more wizardly.

  A moment later, as she sat on the bed and watched, Deru began the ritual. He drew lines on the floor with something white and waxy, then positioned three candles on the resulting design before seating himself cross-legged at the center.

  He lit the candles one by one while mumbling something Kirna could not make out, then set out a dagger, two scraps of fur, and two tiny, bright-red objects Kirna did not recognize. The mumbling turned into a rhythmic chanting, and his hands moved through the air in curious patterns.