Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

“Or the dragon may come to life any minute,” Marek said.

  “Or it may come to life,” Darissa acknowledged.

  Hakin pushed his plate aside. “I think I…”

  He did not finish his sentence, as a ferocious wind suddenly slammed against the house, and a deep shadow fell over every window. A tremendous clatter sounded somewhere nearby. The three all started; Hakin dropped his spoon and ran for the door.

  He was struggling with the latch when a sound like nothing they had ever heard before, a rumble so deep and loud that he felt it in his belly more than in his ears, said, “There is something in my ear.”

  “What was that?” Marek exclaimed.

  “It itches me,” that impossible sound continued.

  “The dragon’s alive,” Darissa said. “I was wrong.”

  Hakin got the door open and looked out, and up.

  The dragon had spread its wings. The clatter had been the supporting timber framework crumbling away. A look to the east showed him that the monster had lifted its head, raising its neck from its supports, and one of the pillars had shattered and fallen, though the others still stood.

  It was shaking its head, like a dog shaking off water.

  “Get out of the house!” Hakin shouted to his companions. “Get out now!”

  Then the dragon stamped its left foreleg; Hakin could not see why, or what that distant foot had landed on, but the ground shook slightly, even though the impact must have been at least a mile away.

  “That’s better,” the dragon said. After a single glance down at whatever it had stepped on, it raised its head and looked around.

  Darissa and Marek joined Hakin on the street, staring up at the gigantic creature. The tremendous wing that curved above them was strangely beautiful, gray stone a shade darker than the gray skies, catching an orange glimmer of morning light.

  Hakin heard a very faint and distant sound; he was fairly sure it was a voice, but he could not make out any words.

  The dragon’s long neck curved, and it looked back at itself. “Did someone speak?” it asked.

  “I don’t see the carpet,” Darissa said. “Do you think they landed on its back?”

  “Tarker was climbing up its tail,” Hakin said. “Maybe it’s what the dragon heard.” He stared at the monster, trying to make out details and spot either Tarker or the flying carpet.

  “By the gods I charge you, speak louder!” the dragon said. “I can scarce hear you! ‘Tis like the buzzing of an insect.” It turned its head forward again, and seemed to notice something. “What is this I see? Some wizard’s toy, come to plague me?”

  With that, the dragon’s immense legs began to flex, and Hakin spun and ran southward, down the street, away from the towering shape that gave Hindfoot Village its name. Marek and Darissa were close on his heels.

  The hind foot only moved forty or fifty yards, grinding half a dozen buildings to rubble, but from the sound and a quick glimpse to his left Hakin guessed that Forefoot Village had been almost completely destroyed. He flung himself off the end of the pavement, onto the stony mud beyond, and found himself lying in the street with his nose inches away from an unlit lantern. Even as gigantic events were playing out behind him, he wondered who had left it there; it looked like the lantern that they had been using to keep watch the night before.

  “Who is that?” the dragon roared. “Is someone perched upon my neck?”

  Hakin turned and sat up, his tunic covered in mud.

  “A demon, say you?” the dragon said. “How can this be?”

  “Tarker’s up there,” Hakin said.

  “Obviously,” Darissa said.

  “What about the others?” Marek asked.

  “The ‘wizard’s toy’ must be the flying carpet,” Hakin said. “They’re up there, too.”

  “What are you saying, you gnats, you carpet-borne mites?”

  “See?” Hakin said.

  The dragon moved, its mass shaking the earth as it shifted position. Another section of Hindfoot Village was smashed flat as its feet were repositioned.

  “What are you two talking about?”

  Hakin did not like the sound of that. He took another two steps down the street, away from the ruins and the monster. Darissa and Marek exchanged worried glances.

  Then came the most tremendous roar yet, a single word that seemed to shake the entire World: “WHAT?”

  “What’s going on up there?” Marek asked.

  Hakin thought he knew, but he did not reply; instead he muttered to himself, “That’s almost clever.”

  “What is?” Darissa asked.

  The dragon spoke again. “What are you doing? Why would you kill me?”

  “Kill it?” Darissa asked. “How?”

  “Tarker,” Hakin said. “Karitha’s told Tarker to kill it.”

  “But it can’t!” Darissa said. “It’s immortal!”

  “It’s more complicated than…” Hakin began, but the dragon’s voice interrupted him.

  “For that you would sentence me to death?”

  “I think it’s getting angry,” Marek said.

  “Wouldn’t you?” Darissa retorted.

  “Of course I…”

  “But this demon…”

  Then the dragon jerked its head around to look at its own back again.

  “Tarker’s trying something,” Hakin said.

  “I see it strike, and feel the blow as if it were a puff of air. There is no pain.”

  “According to the wizards, it doesn’t feel pain,” Hakin said. “That’s part of the animation spell.”

  “Truly? Then let it strike, and I will pay it no heed.”

  “I’d guess someone up there just told the dragon the same thing,” Marek said.

  “But still, it was unkind, to bid this demon strike me down. Perhaps I should strike YOU down.” The dragon snapped at something, but Hakin was too far away to see whether it was Zerra’s carpet or something else. Then it turned, and he was grateful to whatever gods might be responsible that it turned to its left, to the north side, rather than toward the three humans huddled on the street to the south.

  But then he saw the tail sweeping around, smashing aside rocky outcroppings and large trees, and his gratitude vanished. “Look out!” he shrieked. He fell to the ground, and the monster’s stone tail whipped over his head, passing through the houses around him as if they were so many soap bubbles; stone and wood exploded around him, and he flung his arms up to protect the back of his skull.

  Something bounced painfully off his back, and then a great downrushing wind pressed him into the mud, and he was unsure whether he might have lost consciousness for a moment.

  When he could move again he raised his head.

  Darissa was standing unscathed amid the devastation, staring at the western sky; Marek lay on the ground by her feet.

  Hindfoot Village was gone; only scattered wreckage remained. The dragon, too, was gone; where it had been Hakin saw only sky, and the distant crest of the next ridge to the north. He pulled his knees under him, then got slowly to his feet.

  His back ached where whatever it was had struck him. He reached around and found a tender area larger than his spread hand could cover.

  Marek, too, was stirring, and Darissa turned to help him up. “Don’t put too much weight on your left leg,” she told him. “That ankle is sprained. And you have a mild concussion, so don’t try to move quickly. The rest is nothing, just scrapes and bumps.” She pulled his left arm across her shoulders. Then she looked at Hakin. “That’s a bad bruise on your back,” she said, “but it’s just a bruise.”

  “Why weren’t you hit?” Hakin asked.

  “I’m a witch,” Darissa replied. “I may not bring statues to life, but I do have some magic.” S
he looked at Marek, who seemed dazed. “I’ll do what I can to heal you both, starting with his ankle—we may need to move quickly. But I hadn’t finished breakfast, so my reserves are low.”

  “Where’s the dragon?” Hakin asked.

  Darissa pointed to the west.

  Hakin looked in the direction she indicated, and saw the dragon flying, somewhat awkwardly, above distant mountains.

  “How can something that size fly?” he asked.

  “Magic,” Darissa said. “Stupid wizards, messing around with things like that! Look at it!”

  Hakin did not need to be told; he was staring at the monster. “Do you see our friends?” he asked.

  Darissa shook her head. “No,” she said, “but I haven’t felt them die.”

  “Would you, at this distance?” Marek asked, the first words he had spoken since the dragon’s tail had swept over them.

  “Maybe not,” she admitted.

  Hakin was about to say something more when he caught himself.

  The dragon had wheeled around and was coming back.

  Obviously, they wanted to stay well away from the monster, but which way to run? It was not coming in a straight line, but seemed to be wavering back and forth.

  “Get off me, foul demon!” it said, as it swept nearer. It banked steeply, and Hakin could see a tiny figure clinging to one of the dragon’s wings. The monster flapped fiercely, clearly trying to dislodge this pest.

  “Tarker,” Hakin said.

  Its struggles were causing the dragon to lose altitude; it flapped ferociously, clawing its way upward again, and its momentum was carrying it closer and closer to the ruined villages.

  Then it flipped over, and the demon lost its grip on the creature’s wing, plummeting toward the ground—but the dragon lost control, and it, too, fell, struggling to right itself.

  Hakin saw it falling, and tried to judge where it would land. The outstretched wing would cover a vast amount of territory…

  Heading southeast seemed like the best idea. He turned and ran, calling over his shoulder, “Come on!”

  Darissa and Marek followed, and the three of them plunged down the hillside, but they had gone scarcely a hundred feet when the dragon crashed to the earth.

  The ground shook with the impact, knocking all three to the ground, but at least this time no debris flew at them, and they were well clear of the dragon.

  In fact, they would have been fine where they started; Hakin had misjudged the monster’s size. It had come down half a mile or so west of the remains of Hindfoot Village. Now, as they watched, it squirmed and then managed to roll over and get itself upright once again. It scanned the sky, but apparently found nothing.

  “Trouble me no more, fools!” it roared. “Send no more demons, or I shall crush them as I have crushed this one!”

  It straightened up, shook itself off, then marched eastward, the land shaking at its every step. Hakin and the others watched as it walked past, never so much as glancing in their direction.

  “Where’s it going?” Marek asked.

  “The open plains to the east, I think,” Darissa said. “Where it won’t bump into things as much.”

  “Where did Tarker go?” Hakin asked. “And the others?”

  “I don’t know,” Darissa said, turning to look to the west.

  “Didn’t it…well, squash the demon?” Marek asked.

  “You can’t squash a demon,” Hakin said. “I don’t think you can kill them at all. I read up on this during all those years I was Tarker’s keeper. Sometimes there are ways to send them back to the Nethervoid, but that doesn’t kill them, they just need to be summoned again. And Tarker was on an assigned task, I think, so it can’t be sent away until its target is dead.”

  “But the dragon fell on it!” Marek said.

  “That wouldn’t kill it,” Hakin replied. “From the demonology I studied, demons simply don’t die.”

  “Maybe we should find it,” Darissa said.

  “I think we should,” Hakin agreed, “but we need a few things first.”

  “We do?” Marek asked. “What sort of things?”

  “Tools,” Hakin said. “Stone-carving tools. Because I’m pretty sure Karitha ordered Tarker to kill the dragon, and even a demon can’t smash that much stone with its bare hands, but with the right tools maybe it can do something.”

  “The workshop,” Darissa said. “Where Zerra and Karitha slept.”

  “Exactly,” Hakin said. “It’s smashed flat, but the tools should still be buried in the wreckage.”

  “Come on, then,” Darissa said.

  As they walked back up the slope toward what had once been the center of town, Marek said, “I thought the spell made the dragon immortal.”

  “It did,” Darissa said.

  “Then even if the demon smashes it to bits, won’t all the pieces still be alive?”

  “Yes,” Darissa said. “But that’s better than a giant dragon rampaging around the countryside.”

  “Actually,” Hakin said, “Zerra told me something. There may be a way to kill the pieces.”

  “Really?” Darissa turned to look at him.

  “I’ll tell Tarker,” Hakin said. “Now let’s find our demon, and some tools for it to use.”

  They found that due to its simple construction the workshop had more or less folded up, rather than being smashed and scattered; the three of them joined forces to lift up a section of one of the fallen walls, and Darissa then squeezed beneath it while the two men held it up. Hakin’s arms trembled as he struggled with the weight, grateful that the workshop’s builders had not bothered with a more substantial structure. Prince Marek, larger and stronger than he, did not seem to be having a much better time.

  Darissa emerged a moment later dragging a massive sledgehammer in one hand, and an iron digging bar in the other. The instant she was clear Hakin and Marek released the wall and let it fall; it landed with a tremendous boom, landing inches from Darissa’s feet. She let the tools fall, as well.

  “Good!” Hakin said, picking up the hammer as soon as he was sure his still-shaking fingers could grip it securely. It was heavy; he was impressed that Darissa had been able to move it with one hand, but he guessed she had used her witchcraft to help. Marek took the digging bar, and the three of them stood for a moment.

  “Which way?” Marek asked.

  The dragon was off to the east now, wandering aimlessly, taking in its surroundings; they had last seen Tarker fall somewhere to the west. “It should be…” Hakin began. Then he thought he glimpsed movement. “Hai! Tarker! Here!” he shouted, waving a hand above his head.

  The others turned, and saw a dark shape making its way through the rubble. They, too, began waving and calling.

  “It doesn’t know you two,” Hakin said. “Maybe I should…”

  “It’s coming this way,” Marek said.

  Indeed, that dark shape was coming nearer, and they could now see that it was definitely Tarker—but it was not headed directly toward them. If it continued on its present course it would pass a hundred yards to the north of them. “Over here!” Hakin called, waving.

  “You are not my concern,” Tarker roared back.

  “Yes, we are!” Hakin called. “We can help you kill the dragon!”

  The demon hesitated. Hakin started toward it, picking his way through the ruins.

  “You are no longer my concern,” Tarker said, marching eastward once again.

  Hakin took the sledge in both hands, and with an effort he hoisted it above his head as he jogged closer. “Yes, we are!” he called. “We have tools!”

  Tarker stopped, and turned to look at the three humans.

  “Stone-smashing tools!” Marek called.

  “And information!” Hakin adde
d.

  Tarker started toward them.

  A moment later the four met on a pile of stone that had once been someone’s home. “Here,” Marek said, handing Tarker the digging bar.

  The demon accepted it. “I am a demon,” it said uncertainly, hefting the bar in one of its four hands. “I do not need weapons.”

  “Against that thing?” Marek said. “I think even you can use these without shame.”

  Tarker looked at the dragon.

  “And there’s something else—you know the dragon is said to be immortal, don’t you?” Hakin asked.

  “Zerra the Ageless said this,” Tarker acknowledged. “I do not know it to be true.”

  “Well, it sort of is, and sort of isn’t,” Hakin said. “Once something is brought to life by that spell, Ellran’s Immortal Animation, it can’t die by any ordinary means. Zerra explained it all to me. It’s not indestructible, but even if you chop it into a million pieces, each piece will still be alive, and if you reassemble it they’ll work together as if it were still a single creature.”

  “Then I will not allow it to be reassembled,” Tarker growled.

  “Yes! That’s a good start,” Hakin said, “but there’s more. It’s almost like a demon in some ways. You can’t kill it with weapons, or magic, or any natural force, it doesn’t need to eat or breathe, and it will never age or sicken, but there is a way it can die.”

  “There is?” Darissa said, startled. “I never heard of one.”

  “Well, Zerra thinks there is,” Hakin admitted, “but no one has ever tried it.”

  “What is this method?” Tarker demanded.

  “It’s supposed to be a Wizards’ Guild secret,” Hakin explained, “but other people discovered it after the Empress Tabaea’s reign, more than ten years ago, so Zerra didn’t mind telling me when we were talking at dinner last night.” He did not mention that she had been tipsy at the time. “There are three places in the World where wizardry does not work, and if you took the broken pieces of something brought to life with Ellran’s Animation into one of those places, they would die, because the spell on them would stop working.”