Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Hakin of…of Wall Street,” he replied. “I met Tarker when it was rampaging about my neighborhood looking for Karitha, and offered to help it find her, so it can go home. I thought the sooner it’s out of the city the better—it doesn’t have orders to kill anyone else, and it doesn’t particularly want to, but it’s got a temper and accidents happen.”

  “So are you a demonologist?”

  “Me? No, I’m…I’m a courier.”

  “More like a kid from the Hundred-Foot Field, by the look of your clothes,” the first soldier remarked.

  “I admit I do not have a permanent residence at the moment,” Hakin said, drawing himself up to his full, if modest, height.

  “A courier—you carry messages for a bit or two?”

  “And do other odd jobs,” Hakin admitted. “I’m not a beggar or a thief, if that’s what you were thinking.”

  “An orphan?”

  “Tarker, here, says my father’s still alive, but I’ve never met him. My mother’s long dead.”

  The soldier nodded. “So were you thinking you might make a piece or two by helping this demon?”

  “The possibility had occurred to me,” Hakin admitted.

  The soldier glanced at Tarker again, then back at Hakin. “You didn’t think it’d just kill you?”

  “That possibility had occurred to me, too, but I decided to risk it.”

  “That’s pretty brave for a street kid.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m not sure it was a compliment.”

  “I’ll take it as one anyway.”

  “I don’t know how you wound up talking to it in the first place.”

  “It was tearing up the Field, looking for the demonologist, and I knew it couldn’t be looking for me, so I called to it. I half-expected it to ignore me, and I was ready to run if it came for me, but it was willing to talk to me, so we talked, and we made a deal—I’d help it if it stopped smashing things and hurting people.”

  “He has assisted me,” Tarker growled. “Though we have not yet found Karitha. We know the wizard enchanted her before I tore his throat out.”

  “So now we want to know what the enchantment was,” Hakin agreed.

  “So you came back here,” the first guardsman said.

  “Right.”

  “Is everything he told us true?” the soldier asked Tarker.

  “Yes,” the demon replied.

  “You trust a demon?” the second soldier asked.

  “It just admitted to tearing out the wizard’s throat,” the first soldier said. “If it doesn’t mind telling us that, why would it lie about the rest of it?” He turned back to Hakin. “You weren’t involved in the killing itself?”

  “Ask Tarker,” Hakin said, gesturing at his demonic companion.

  “He was not,” the demon answered. “Karitha the Demonologist sent me, and she alone.”

  “Do we arrest the demon for murder, then?” the second soldier asked. “Take it to the magistrate?”

  The first shook his head. “Don’t you know the law? Demons aren’t criminals, they’re weapons. We send them away if we can, we don’t arrest them.” He grimaced. “Or rather, we don’t waste our time trying to arrest them. Seriously, Orzin, how would we arrest it?” He gestured at Tarker.

  Tarker growled obligingly.

  “I take your point,” Orzin replied. “What about the kid?”

  “He and the demon both say he wasn’t involved, that it was all this Karitha.” He looked around thoughtfully. “On the other hand, I guess he’s a witness, and he’s trespassing here.”

  “He is useful to me,” Tarker rumbled.

  “It’s all right,” Hakin said hastily, gesturing for Tarker to remain calm. “Sir, what are you planning to do?”

  “Well, if your demon doesn’t object, I’d like to take you both to the magistrate and see what he thinks of all this. He’ll probably want to have someone cast a few spells to figure out just what happened, and he’ll want to talk to both of you.”

  “We want to know what happened, too, so we’ll be happy to come—won’t we, Tarker?”

  “Willing,” the demon replied. “Not happy.”

  “Good enough.” Hakin smiled. “Come on, let’s go see the magistrate—maybe he’ll have a magician in court who can find Karitha for you.” He glanced back at the green jar, but decided to leave it where it was, at least for now; taking it while the guardsmen were right there watching did not seem like a good idea. He had told them he was not a thief, and proving himself wrong would be stupid.

  The magistrate’s office turned out to be on Games Street, a few blocks away, and the foursome made the trip without incident, though Tarker continued to draw stares from everyone on the street. Hakin noticed that the spriggans that infested the Wizards’ Quarter fled in terror at the sight of the demon.

  Hakin had visited magistrates before, as a witness to various petty crimes or even once or twice as a suspect, but he had never encountered this particular individual. Lord Borlan administered the central Wizards’ Quarter and the southern portion of Arena, neither of which lay very near to Hakin’s usual home in the portion of the Hundred-Foot Field that ran through Southwark.

  They had a brief wait in the antechamber, during which Hakin took the opportunity to sit and rest his feet, while Tarker and both guardsmen remained standing. The magistrate’s two assistants crowded themselves as far away from the demon as their duties allowed, and Hakin suspected that the wait would have been significantly longer had Tarker not been there.

  The magistrate’s chamber itself was not particularly large or elegant. There were two windows on one side, a row of simple chairs along the other, and the magistrate himself seated behind a desk at the far end. The floor shook slightly as Tarker stamped into the room.

  “All right,” Lord Borlan said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his chest. “What’s the story? Why is a demon in my chamber?”

  The senior soldier, whose name Hakin still had not caught, explained the situation, and Hakin was happy to let him do so; he was tired of telling people about it. He was, in fact, getting simply tired—he was not in the habit of running around the city like this. It had already been a very long day, and the sun was not even down.

  But then the magistrate swung his gaze from the soldier to Hakin, leaned forward, set his elbows on his desk, clasped his hands, and began to ask questions—where had Hakin met the demon? Why had he agreed to help it? What had he seen in Wosten’s workshop?

  Hakin answered as quickly and honestly as he could, startled and somewhat impressed by how thoroughly Lord Borlan was exploring the situation. He found himself stammering once or twice, but each time Lord Borlan simply waited until he had collected himself and could give a straight answer.

  Then the magistrate began questioning Tarker, but the demon quickly ran out of patience. “These two spoke the truth,” he said, gesturing at Hakin and the soldier. “You are no demonologist, and I am not constrained to obey you.”

  “True enough, I am no demonologist,” Lord Borlan replied, “but you are in my jurisdiction, so you are my concern.”

  “You are not my concern,” Tarker said.

  The magistrate nodded, then turned to Orzin. “Do you have anything to add? Is there anything you see differently?”

  Orzin looked at the other three—his companion, the youth, and the demon—then said, “No, my lord.”

  Lord Borland leaned back in his chair again, considering the foursome. After several seconds of silence, he said, “Karitha the Demonologist stands accused of murder by magical means, but cannot be found. This demon wants to find her for reasons of its own, and may prove useful to this court in bringing this fugitive to justice, but may also prove a public hazard if permitted to roam freely. We ha
ve at our disposal several magicians, and I would be surprised if we cannot, given time and money, determine what has become of Karitha. We also have this young man who has involved himself in the matter, and who appears to have the demon’s trust. What I propose as a resolution, at least temporarily, is that the demon shall agree to act as the city’s employee—I’m sure the guard can find a use for such a creature, no?” He glanced at the two soldiers, who seemed nonplused. The magistrate did not wait for a response; as Tarker started to growl, he continued, loudly and firmly, “Naturally, we will pay it for its services, in the only way that we can—by finding Karitha, and informing it of her whereabouts and circumstances, as quickly as we can. Should the demon harm any innocent citizens of Ethshar, this agreement would be void, and our magicians, rather than aiding it in its quest, will instead do everything they can to keep Karitha out of its reach.” He fixed his gaze directly on the demon. “And given the skills of our wizards, I think that everything they can do will be more than enough to frustrate you, Tarker the Unrelenting.”

  Tarker roared, and took a step toward Lord Borlan; Hakin shouted, “No! If you hurt him you’ll never find her!”

  “Indeed,” the magistrate said, apparently unshaken. The demon stopped, glaring at him. “And that brings us to this Hakin of the Hundred-Foot Field.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Hakin protested.

  “On the contrary,” Lord Borlan said. “It seems to me that you have given this demon considerable assistance, and have provided my magicians with several hints of how to start their search.”

  Hakin looked worried. “That’s not a crime, is it?”

  “No, it certainly is not. You may well have saved lives and prevented considerable destruction by heading off a demonic rampage through the streets. You aren’t in trouble, lad; in fact, I’m offering you a job.”

  Hakin blinked. “A…what?”

  “A job,” Lord Borlan repeated. “As the demon’s companion and advisor.”

  “I…” Hakin glanced at Tarker, who was still glaring at the magistrate. Then his instincts kicked in. “What does it pay?”

  The magistrate turned to Orzin. “What does a new recruit in the city guard receive?”

  Caught off-guard, Orzin coughed and struggled to get words out before eventually replying, “Three bits a day and free lodging, less a share of his meals when he’s living in the barracks. He gets his armor, weapons, and uniforms, too, but no more than once a year—anything over that he has to pay for himself.”

  “There you are, then.”

  “What, I’d be joining the guard? But I’m not old enough!” Hakin was not absolutely certain of his own age, but his best estimate put it at fifteen, or possibly fourteen and several months, and therefore short of the guard’s minimum sixteen.

  “You would not be a guardsman, as such, but a civilian employee. Tarker would be…” The magistrate stopped in mid-sentence and looked at the demon. “How old are you?” he asked.

  Tarker snorted derisively. “Older than your entire world, human.”

  Lord Borlan looked rather intrigued by that, Hakin thought, but he did not let it distract him. “Old enough, then. And it doesn’t really matter—you won’t be a guardsman, either. You will both be working with the guard, and will be housed with them, but you won’t be guardsmen.”

  “I will be nothing but what I am,” Tarker said.

  “I’m sure,” Lord Borlan said. “But for the present, one thing you are is trapped in our world, is it not?”

  Tarker growled.

  “You cannot go home until you find Karitha. Well, this is our offer—harm no one unless asked to do so by an officer of the city guard, carry out the tasks assigned you, and we will do everything we can to find the demonologist for you. Disobey, harm an innocent, recklessly damage property, and we will instead do everything we can to keep her from you. Simple enough. With any luck we will have her for you in a day or two and this will all be over, perhaps before the guard asks anything of you; if not, well, how is serving us any worse than the alternatives?”

  Tarker still glared, but no longer growled. Hakin could feel the heat from its body, though, and saw wisps of smoke rising from its back and between its clenched teeth.

  “What if I don’t want the job?” Hakin asked.

  The magistrate turned up an empty palm. “Then you are free to go.”

  “Three bits a day? And my meals, and a bed?”

  “Three bits or your meals, and a bed either way,” Lord Borlan corrected him.

  “And my duties—I can’t make Tarker do anything it doesn’t want to.”

  “I understand that. Your duties would be to attend to the demon, to talk to it, to be its companion and advisor. You will bring it instructions and requests from the guard’s officers and from city officials, and explain anything it finds unclear. You will serve as an intermediary between the demon and the rest of the city.”

  Hakin looked at Tarker, then at the two soldiers, then back to the magistrate.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “If Tarker agrees.”

  “I must,” Tarker rumbled. “I do not want to stay here any longer than I must, and I cannot find Karitha without human assistance. If I must be your slave to earn that assistance, I will be your slave—but do not expect me to humble myself. I am a demon of the First Circle.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Lord Borlan said. “Guardsmen, escort these two to the barracks and make the appropriate arrangements.”

  The soldiers stepped forward to obey; Orzin reached for one of Tarker’s arms, then thought better of it and simply gestured toward the door.

  Hakin did not quite understand how someone could acquiesce to enslavement without humbling himself, but he did not want to argue; he and Tarker were obviously going to be seeing a great deal of each other for some time to come. But he was going to be paid for it! He would be paid, and fed, and permitted to sleep under a roof.

  He turned and walked out of the magistrate’s chamber with his head held high.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Darissa the Witch’s Apprentice

  3rd of Leafcolor, YS 5199

  The days dragged on, and the siege of Eknera continued. Prince Evreth came home briefly, but spent only a single night in his own bed before heading out again. Darissa was not invited to the private family dinner where Evreth described his travels, but Marek gave her a full report afterward, when he came up to bed.

  “He visited twenty-two different kingdoms!” Marek explained, as they undressed. “Twenty-two! I’ve only ever been to nine.”

  “I’ve only seen two,” Darissa interjected.

  “He met every eligible princess in the region,” Marek said. “It’s his duty to marry soon, especially with Terren gone, and he’s been hoping to find someone he could truly love, but it hasn’t happened.”

  “I thought he was acting as your father’s envoy, helping with the war!”

  “Oh, he was—he very much was. He was essential to winning the war, assuming we ever finally do. Everything you heard about what he did in Kanthoa and Yolder and Mezgalon, it’s all true, and we’re all unspeakably proud of him. But he’d be an idiot not to look at the potential brides while he was there, and whatever else you might say about him, Evreth is not an idiot. So he spoke with dozens of princesses. He said none of them captured his heart, but there were a few he could imagine living with. He’s going back to Kanthoa and Zedmor, officially to affirm their agreements with Melitha and each other, but unofficially he wants to see Artalda of Zedmor again—he said she’s smart and pretty, and he thinks she could be good company. She’s two years older than he is, and she seemed to see that as a problem, but he doesn’t, and now that he’s next in line for the throne he’s hoping she might reconsider.”

  “Do we know for certain that Indamara isn’t pre
gnant?” Darissa asked.

  “Well…no, not for certain, not yet. She says she doesn’t think so, but can’t be sure. But even if she is expecting, she might miscarry, or it could be a girl. The chances are that Evreth will be the heir.”

  “You know, if I could meet Indamara, I could tell you whether she’s pregnant. And maybe even whether it’s a boy or a girl.”

  Marek paused with his undertunic over his head. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “We were all just waiting to see—she says another sixnight should make it clear.”

  “I could tell you.”

  “We should do that. It’s past time you met her, in any case. I’ll introduce you tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Darissa said. “So will you be traveling around to meet princesses soon?”

  “I don’t want to,” Marek said. “I want to stay here with you, and I’d happily marry you, if you’d let me.”

  “You can’t. I’m a witch.”

  “I could give up my place in the succession.”

  “I’m not sure that would be enough. You’d still be making me part of the royal family.”

  “I know.” He sighed as he folded his undertunic. “But I’m not going to go looking for a marriageable princess unless my father insists.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “When Terren was alive, I would have said no, but now I’m not sure. I’m still not first in line, but losing Terren reminded him that bad things can happen.” He turned and pulled Darissa to him. “But I know I’ve already found what I want, right here!”

  Darissa giggled.

  The next morning Marek left early, to eat breakfast with the royal family before seeing Prince Evreth off, and Darissa had expected to spend some time on her own. Instead, a few minutes after Marek left, someone knocked on the door.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “The king commands your presence,” an unfamiliar voice called.

  Startled, Darissa opened the door. “What?”