Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Zerra waved, and a moment later the carpet was hanging motionless outside the open window.

  “Hai!” Morvash called. “Do you see the demon?”

  “I saw him as I approached,” the older wizard replied. “He’s digging a hole in the alley beside the house.”

  Morvash felt sick. Tarker was going to try to go underneath the wards.

  “All right, listen,” he said. “I have four wizards here to take to Ithinia.” He beckoned to Lorgol, Halder, Artalda, and Quirris “But we have a demonologist we need to get out of here, too—that demon is trying to kill her.”

  Zerra cocked her head. “Why does that concern us?” she asked.

  “Because I say it does!” Morvash snapped. He was in no mood for argument.

  “Fine. Do you want me to take her to Ithinia along with the others?”

  Morvash hesitated. If they did that, Tarker would just follow the carpet. “I don’t think the Guildmaster would appreciate that,” he said.

  “Ah,” Zerra said. “Listen, Morvash, I’m not sure you understand the situation. I’m not sure I understand the situation. Some guardsman showed up at Ithinia’s door saying that there was something going on here that needed the Guild’s attention, and that you had asked that I be sent. Ithinia spoke to him and asked a few questions, and then she sent me here to ask you a few questions. No one said anything about taking anyone to see her.”

  “But…” Morvash had forgotten how much had happened since Lieutenant Fullan had sent a man to see Ithinia. “All right,” he said. “Ask your questions.”

  “They aren’t my questions, they’re Ithinia’s.”

  “Fine. Ask them.”

  “You turned all those statues back to people?”

  “Yes. The spell got away from me; I had only intended to rescue two of them this time.”

  “Do you know who they all are?”

  “Most of them. Some of them don’t speak Ethsharitic, so I’m not as sure about them.”

  “Are you planning to send all of them to see Ithinia?”

  “What? Of course not! There’s no reason for the Guild to be involved with most of them. I’m sending most of them to my uncle’s house, to be sorted out later. But there are four wizards here, and I thought they should see the Guildmaster.”

  Zerra nodded. “I can see that.” She gestured toward the foursome clustered behind Morvash. “These four?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about Erdrik? The soldier said you had set him free from some sort of magical imprisonment.”

  Morvash nodded. “He had accidentally locked himself in his vault. I disrupted the spell hiding it, and he was able to escape.”

  “Do you know where he is now? Is he here?”

  “Oh, he left hours ago!”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  Morvash glanced at Pender. “More or less.”

  “Where?”

  “Tazmor, in the far north. He had some sort of secret project there, and he seems to have used Pallum’s Returning Crystal, so he’s probably already there.”

  “Secret project? What kind of secret project?”

  “I don’t know; Erdrik cast Javan’s Geas on the man who told me about it, so he couldn’t give me any details.”

  “So what do you want from the Guild?”

  “I want someone to help these four wizards find their place in the World, and I would appreciate some help protecting Karitha the Demonologist from the demon she summoned—she’s lost control of it, and it’s trying to kill her.”

  “Is that demon Tarker the Unrelenting?”

  Startled, Morvash admitted, “Yes.”

  “So this demonologist is the one who killed Wosten of the Red Robe?”

  “Ah…” Morvash could see where this was heading.

  “Morvash, why would the Guild help a woman who murdered a wizard?”

  “Because she spent seven years as a statue!”

  “She killed a wizard.”

  “I know, but…”

  “I’m not going to do anything to help her without a direct order from Ithinia.”

  Morvash threw up his hands. “Fine! Then take these four back to Ithinia and tell her I want to save the demonologist from the demon, and ask what she wants to do about it.”

  “I’ll do that,” Zerra said.

  “Thank you for that, anyway.” He stepped aside. “You four, onto the carpet, quickly!”

  Lorgol scrambled up onto the windowsill, then dived out onto the carpet. Quirris came right behind him, and then Artalda, with Halder making a more cautious and dignified exit behind them.

  When all four were seated in a square surrounding Zerra the carpet swooped a few away, and hung over the street for a moment. “Good luck,” Zerra called back. She glanced in the direction of the alley. “Whatever you’re going to do, you might want to do it quickly.”

  Then the carpet swung around and swooped away over the rooftops.

  Morvash watched it go, then closed the window and looked along the gallery at his remaining company.

  “We need to get you people out of here,” he said. “Not Karitha, or Prince Marek, or Darissa, but the rest of you, there’s no reason to stay in here. There are plenty of guards in the street who can take care of you until my uncle’s coach collects you. Come on.” He started toward the stairs.

  “What was that about the demon digging a hole?” someone asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Morvash said, as he beckoned to the others. “It’s nothing that concerns you.”

  “It concerns me,” Karitha said loudly, her voice unsteady.

  “Shut up,” Morvash replied, as he got a line of people moving out of the gallery. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  If, he thought but did not say, the demon doesn’t burst up through the floorboards and kill you first.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Morvash of the Shadows

  26th of Leafcolor, YS 5238

  Morvash looked out a gallery window, and watched with relief as the next group of passengers was loaded into Gror’s coach. The rest were surrounded by guards, many of them newly arrived, and there was some sort of discussion going on with the guard officers, but that was no longer his problem.

  He had taken a moment to look into the alley before he reentered the house, and Tarker had excavated a good-sized pit. The wards apparently extended well down the foundation, because the demon had not been able to smash its way into the cellars, but Morvash doubted they extended under the house. Once Tarker was deep enough to tunnel sideways through the stone on which the house was built, he would probably be able to get in. No ordinary creature could burrow through solid stone, but Morvash had little doubt that the demon would manage it.

  The wizard turned to look at the room’s other occupants.

  Karitha was still here, of course, crouching against a wall; Hakin stood beside her, though Morvash was not entirely sure why he had chosen not to leave. Prince Marek and Darissa were in one corner, arms around one another, talking quietly. And Pender was standing in the middle of the room, looking uncertain.

  Just the six of them remained; everyone else had left.

  Morvash wondered whether they might be safer downstairs, where they would not have as far to fall if the demon broke the floor out from under them. Or maybe being higher up would mean they would have a little longer to react, and less stone above them to crush them if the house collapsed.

  Maybe it would be worth the risk to get the prince and his witch out of the house. There had been no sign of their mysterious seeker yet; perhaps he had not yet located them.

  Or he might be among the handful of gawkers still milling around on the street, beyond the guardsmen’s lines. Morvash wished he had thought
to ask Uncle Gror for a description of the man.

  One of the small bedrooms had a window overlooking the alley. Morvash decided he wanted a look, to see how long they had before Tarker got below the foundation. “Wait here,” he told the others. “I’ll be right back.”

  He crossed the hall, crossed the little bedroom, climbed onto the unused bed, and opened the casement. He could hear the demon digging. Cautiously, he leaned out and looked down.

  The alley was dark, and Morvash could not see much more than vague shapes, but Tarker’s pit seemed to be deep enough that the demon’s entire body was below street level now. Dirt and small stones were fountaining out; the demon’s four clawed hands appeared to be scooping the ground away at a prodigious rate. Morvash could hear talons scraping down the foundation every so often, presumably to test the wards.

  And then the demon let out a roar of triumph. Morvash leaned out dangerously far, peering down into the gloom.

  One of Tarker’s hands had thrust past the foundation wall, below the wards.

  “Blood and death!” Morvash muttered, pulling his head back inside. He closed the casement and knelt silently on the bed for a few seconds, trying to think what he should do.

  Pender and Hakin could leave safely at any time—as he could himself, for that matter. Marek and Darissa were an unknown.

  But if Karitha were to set foot outside the demon would smell her and be upon her almost instantly.

  If she stayed in the house, the demon would almost certainly break in soon. Tunneling through the stone beneath the house might slow it somewhat, but not enough. Morvash could not be sure just how solid the ground was; the cellar floors had looked like solid bedrock, but that appearance might be deceiving.

  Still, she would have a little longer to live if she stayed in the house, and perhaps someone would think of a way to save her. The rest of them should leave, though.

  It might mean that Erdrik’s house would be destroyed, and his animated belongings scattered or killed. Morvash frowned. The house itself was just a house, and could be rebuilt, but the chairs and teapots and so on gave every appearance of being alive. If they had been animated with Ellran’s Immortal Animation they would survive, but if other animations had been employed, those creatures could die.

  Maybe they could be persuaded to leave, or could simply be dragged out—but there were so many! Morvash had never done an inventory, let alone attempted to determine which had been made with Ellran’s and which were mortal.

  But they were just objects, not people. Karitha was more important.

  It was time to tell the others what was happening. He clambered off the bed.

  He had barely gotten to his feet when the entire house shook with a sudden impact. Morvash hurried back to the window, opened it, and looked down.

  Tarker was halfway under the house. Apparently the stone down there was not as solid as it looked.

  “Gods,” Morvash said. He did not bother closing the window as he stumbled off the bed and ran to the gallery.

  The others were waiting; they had felt the impact, just as he had. All five were now standing, staring at him as he burst in.

  “It’s under the house!” he called. “The demon’s under the house!”

  “Do the protective spells extend under the house?” Darissa asked.

  “I don’t know!” He gestured to Hakin and Pender. “You two should get out of here; the demon doesn’t care about you. Prince Marek, Darissa, I’m not sure where you’d be safer…”

  Then he stopped in mid-sentence as a light appeared outside the gallery windows. He started across the room, but Marek was there first, opening the casement.

  It was Zerra, once again alone upon her carpet. This time, in addition to the lantern, she had a large bundle with her. “Morvash of the Shadows!” she called. “The Wizards’ Guild requires your obedience!”

  Marek stepped aside, and Morvash came to the window just as the house shook again from another mighty blow. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “I’m talking about orders from the Guildmaster,” Zerra replied.

  “Since when does the Guild give me orders?”

  “Since you unleashed the criminal Erdrik the Grim on the World.”

  “What? Listen, Zerra, we have a more immediate problem…”

  “No, you don’t,” Zerra said. “You know what happens to a wizard who breaks the Guild’s rules.”

  Morvash opened his mouth, then closed it again. He did know. Minor infractions might result in exile or various unpleasant enchantments, but there were only two possible punishments for any serious offense. The lesser, only offered in cases where there were perceived to be mitigating circumstances, was to have one’s athame destroyed, destroying part of the wizard’s soul with it and rendering him or her forever incapable of performing wizardry.

  The other, far more common, penalty was death.

  A Guildmaster was entitled to give orders to rectify a problem of a wizard’s own creation. Disobeying such orders could be a serious infraction.

  “What are the orders?” Morvash asked. “And make it quick, please—the demon is under the house, trying to smash its way up.”

  “You are to find Erdrik, observe his actions, learn the nature of his secret project in Tazmor, destroy it if you deem it a threat, and then report back to the Guildmaster, Ithinia of the Isle.”

  “But he’s in Tazmor! It would take me months to get there! Whatever he’s doing will probably be long since done by then!”

  “It won’t take you months,” Zerra said. “I’m to fly you there. The guild offered me three times my usual rate.”

  Morvash stared at her, then lowered his gaze to the carpet. It was perhaps ten feet wide and fifteen or sixteen feet long, patterned in green and gold, and it rippled gently in the evening breeze. Even though he had seen it carry massive statues, or half a dozen people, it did not look at all safe. He had never ridden a flying carpet, nor had he particularly wanted to.

  “Get on,” Zerra ordered.

  “Wait,” Morvash said, as another impact shook the house. “Give me a moment. Shouldn’t I bring some supplies? If I’m going to do any magic, I’ll need them.”

  “All right, get them. I’ll give you two minutes.”

  “Another thing,” Morvash said, as inspiration struck. “We’re taking my assistants.”

  “What?”

  “Pender, there, is the only one who knows exactly where Erdrik’s secret project is,” Morvash said, pointing. “And Karitha has agreed to help me—haven’t you, Karitha? A demonologist might be useful.”

  “What?” Karitha had been staring at the floor, Following her gaze, Morvash could see that some of the seams in the fine hardwood planking, which had been virtually invisible before, had opened slightly.

  “You’re coming with us,” Morvash told her. “The demon can’t get you when you’re on a flying carpet, can it?”

  “It can jump really well,” Hakin said. “You’ll want to fly high.” He glanced down. “May I come, too? I don’t think Tarker is going to be very pleased with me right now.”

  “Fine,” Morvash said. “Get on the carpet while I fetch some supplies.”

  “Wait a minute…” Zerra began, but Hakin was already climbing out the window. Morvash turned and sprinted for the stairs.

  When Morvash returned with his box of valuables—the pearl, a bloodstone, and dozens of other small, reusable items—and a large bag of miscellaneous supplies he had thrown together quickly, including his book of spells, he found the carpet was relatively crowded. Pender, Marek, and Darissa had followed Hakin onto it. Karitha still hesitated.

  “Come on,” Morvash said. He threw his burdens onto the carpet, where Marek and Hakin grabbed them; then he dived through the window, grabbing Karitha around the
waist and pulling her out after him. The two of them tumbled onto the carpet. For a moment Morvash feared it would give beneath them and let them plummet to the street in front of the house, but it did not; it yielded slightly, like a soft mattress, and held.

  “Get us out of here!” Hakin called. Zerra made a gesture; the carpet suddenly soared upward.

  There was a sudden bellow of rage, and Erdrik’s house shook visibly; Morvash could hear furniture crashing as they sailed up past the gables and chimney-tops into empty air.

  It was a cool night, as was to be expected in mid-autumn, and combined with the sudden wind and poorly-suppressed terror that was enough to send Morvash into a brief fit of uncontrollable shuddering. He struggled to control himself as the others exclaimed around him.

  “It’s beautiful!” Marek said, gazing at the city below them.

  Karitha let out a wordless moan.

  “Go! Go!” Hakin called. “Higher!”

  “Which way?” Zerra demanded.

  “North!” Pender replied.

  The carpet wheeled, and once again Morvash thought he was going to fall off. His stomach lurched.

  When he was a child, he remembered, he had dreamed about flying. One reason he had asked to be apprenticed to a wizard was in hopes he might someday learn to fly.

  Now, though, the idea had lost its appeal. It was not that he was particularly afraid of heights, though they were already astonishingly, terrifyingly high up, far above even the tallest towers; it was that the carpet seemed so flimsy. There was nothing to hold on to, no railing to keep him safe. He wondered why he had never heard about anyone falling off a flying carpet; surely, it must have happened!

  The city below was like a maze dotted with the orange glow of streetlights; he realized that the dark tangle to one side ahead was the Old City, and the big block surrounded by a black ribbon reflecting the light of the newly-risen lesser moon was the Palace in its ring of canals. The black reflective stripe that connected the Palace to the sea was the Grand Canal, where his ship from Ethshar of the Rocks had docked, and the cluster of torchlit little squares on the right must be Fishertown Market, and the subtly moving shapes ahead on the left must be ships moored at the Spicetown wharves.