Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it yet. I had dreams when I thought I was dead, but none of them… I don’t know.”

  Gror gazed at her silently for a moment, as the footman brought her breakfast from the kitchen and set it on the table in front of her. She stared back, not touching her food.

  “Are you going to take me to the magistrate?” she asked at last.

  Morvash struggled to keep quiet, not to argue against turning her in; he looked at his uncle.

  “I don’t think I am,” Gror replied. “I don’t like the uncertainty about what Tarker will do if you die before the dragon does. I don’t like the idea of maybe leaving half a giant stone dragon still alive, somewhere in the Northern Deserts. I want you to live long enough for the demon to finish its job. So I’m going to offer you a job.”

  “What?” She stared blankly at him, her food still untouched.

  “Morvash’s old job, to be exact,” Gror said. “In Ethshar of the Rocks. I don’t think it would be wise for you to remain in this city, where you might be recognized and delivered to Lord Borlan, and my brother Morrin still needs a magician—not to actually do magic, though. That was where it went wrong for Morvash, when his father asked him to cast spells that he didn’t want to cast. We won’t do that again. But having a demonologist on the payroll, standing behind him during negotiations, looking scary, being a threat just by being there—I think that would be useful for a smuggler and arms dealer.”

  “But that…” She threw a glance at Morvash. “That…”

  “It won’t pay much,” Gror said. “Probably not anything beyond room and board and enough to buy a few fancy black robes. And you might need to run a few actual errands, though they won’t involve magic. I’ll tell Morrin in no uncertain terms not to ask you to actually summon demons—not unless you feel ready, anyway.”

  “My father isn’t a bad man, even if he is an arms smuggler,” Morvash said. “I didn’t get along with him, but I’m family.”

  She looked from one man to the other. “I…I still don’t…”

  “Lord Borlan would be happy to know where you are,” Hakin said. “But if you’re in Ethshar of the Rocks, and not around here, I wouldn’t mind letting him think Tarker killed you.”

  “I’ll do it,” Karitha said.

  The three men looked at one another, smiling.

  “Then I think that’s everything,” Gror said. “Morvash, will you finally have time to work for me?”

  “Oh, yes,” Morvash said. “I’ll need to talk to Guildmaster Ithinia, just to be sure, but I think I’m done with turning stones.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Darissa the Witch’s Apprentice

  9th of Newfrost, YS 5238

  The town was very much as they remembered it, but none of the faces were the same, and the clothing was all a little odd—even here, fashions had changed over the intervening years. They reached Castle Square without incident, and headed up the right-hand stair toward the guard platform.

  Two of the half-dozen guards met them at the top of the stair. “Who are you, and what business do you have here?” one of them asked.

  Even though they had discussed it, and an instant’s thought told her that these men had not even been born yet when she and Marek were turned to stone, she was somehow surprised they did not recognize their prince. Every other time she had been to the castle, everyone had known him immediately.

  “I am hoping for an audience with Queen Hinda,” Marek said. “It’s a family matter.”

  “What sort of family matter?”

  “I need her permission to marry my beloved,” Marek said, gesturing at Darissa. “I’m of royal blood, and she’s a witch, and…it’s complicated.”

  Darissa said nothing, but tried to feel the guards’ mood, and nudge it to be more favorable. They were mostly bored, and asking a lot of questions might make for a break in the routine—or, Darissa tried to make them think, it might be even duller.

  “Royal blood?” the guard asked. He squinted at Marek’s face.

  “It could be,” the other guard said.

  “Are you armed?” the first asked. He looked at their waists.

  “Not even a belt-knife,” Marek said, raising his hands and turning around. Darissa raised her own hands, as well.

  “Send an escort, or just let them in?” the second guard asked.

  “Oh, let them in.” The guard stepped aside. “Good luck. I doubt you’ll get an audience with Her Majesty, but maybe someone else can help.”

  “Thank you.” Marek essayed a small bow, and Darissa bobbed her head.

  The two of them crossed the stone bridge over the dry moat, then walked through the corridor beyond, past more bored guards, and through the gates into the castle courtyard.

  It was all familiar, but subtly different—the chicken coop by the southern wall was a different shape, cobblestone borders had been laid around patches of lush grass, and of course everyone’s clothing was in the new modern styles. The steps up to the keep entrance had black iron railings that had not been there before. A woman was hanging laundry, and a girl was feeding the chickens.

  As before, Marek did not go straight through the grand entrance, but instead turned aside to the little door on the left—which had been black before, but was now painted dark green. He opened the door, but the two of them were startled by a sudden rattle of armor; the room was not empty. A soldier had been sitting there, his feet up, his helmet off; when the door opened he had dropped his feet to the floor and stood up, grabbing at the hilt of the sword on his belt. “Who goes there?” he demanded.

  This man was significantly older than the guards outside, Darissa noticed; his brown beard was streaked with gray, and what little hair remained on top of his head was more gray than brown.

  “I’m sorry,” Marek said, raising his hands. “I was looking for the queen’s audience chamber.”

  “Well, you…” Then the soldier’s eyes widened. He frowned. “Do I know you?” He looked past Marek at Darissa, and his eyes widened further.

  “Debren?” Marek said, as he finally adjusted to the ravages of time and recognized the face beneath.

  “Yes, Debren,” Darissa said. “It’s really us. I’m Darissa. We met atop the tower the day the war with Eknera started, remember?”

  “But that…you’re still young!”

  “Wizards,” Marek said. “It’s a long story.”

  “You’re back! We all thought you were dead!”

  “We’re back,” Marek said.

  Debren let go of his sword-hilt and flung himself at the prince. “Oh, your highness, you’re back!” He hugged Marek, who smiled foolishly.

  “It’s good to see you, Debren,” Marek said.

  The soldier released the prince, then suddenly seemed to realize what an inappropriate thing he had done. He stepped back and said, “My apologies, your highness; I was momentarily overcome.”

  “Of course,” Marek said, slapping him on the shoulder. “That’s fine; I’m honored that you’re so glad to see me.”

  “But what…where…why are you back?”

  “Because I’ve come home, of course,” Marek said. “And I need to talk to my sister.”

  Debren’s face went pale. “Your sister? The queen?”

  “Yes, Debren. My sister, Queen Hinda.”

  “But I…” His voice trailed off.

  “What is it?” Darissa asked. “You can speak freely, I promise.”

  “The rumors…when you vanished, your highness, there were rumors that your sister had you killed so that she would inherit the throne.”

  Marek started back. “Really?”

  Debren nodded.

  “But why would she do that? My brother E
vreth was still alive, and ahead of us both in the succession. Besides, nobody killed me—you can see I’m not dead.”

  “I see, but…” Debren swallowed. “Prince Evreth died the day you vanished, your highness. He was murdered by one of Mad Abran’s assassins. Some folks said that an assassin had gotten you, too. Queen Hinda said you had run off with Mistress Darissa, so you wouldn’t have to ever be king, but there were rumors that she knew more than she said.”

  It was Marek’s face that paled now. “Oh,” he said. “I knew…we had heard, while we were away, that Hinda was queen, so I knew Evreth was gone, but not when, or how it happened.”

  Darissa was listening to this with interest, and a growing suspicion that Princess Hinda had hired a wizard, rather than an assassin.

  There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Marek squared his shoulders and said, “Regardless of any such rumors, Debren, I wish to speak to the queen. Where can I find her?”

  “She’s holding court right now, your highness,” Debren replied, pointing at the door at the back that Darissa knew led to the huge throne room.

  “Well, then, let us request an audience,” Marek said. “If she does mean us harm, she can scarcely murder us in front of the whole court.”

  “That’s right,” Debren said, his grim expression softening. He turned toward the big door.

  “Wait,” Marek said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder again.

  “Yes, your highness?”

  “Before we go in, tell me—and tell me the truth, Debren, don’t try to tell me what I want to hear. What sort of queen has Hinda been?”

  Debren hesitated, and Darissa pressed silently at his thoughts, urging him to speak.

  “Well, not bad,” Debren said. “She isn’t a tyrant, or anything. But she’s a little harsher than your father was. She isn’t deliberately cruel, or unfair, but pleas for mercy don’t often work, and she doesn’t listen to advice much, and she’s not as generous as old King Terren. Some say she thinks she has to prove she’s hard and strong because she’s a woman; maybe that’s it.”

  Darissa remembered her own brief encounters with Hinda, and found this assessment easy to believe. Marek did not seem inclined to doubt it, either.

  “Show us in,” he said. “And have the herald announce us.”

  Debren nodded, then looked at Darissa. “What name should I give for you?”

  “Can you just say, ‘Prince Marek and companion’?”

  “No,” Marek said, before Debren could reply.

  “No?” Darissa asked. “Why not?”

  The prince turned to face her, and to her astonishment knelt before her. “Darissa,” he said, “if you will permit it, I would have you announced as my betrothed.”

  Darissa stared at him, feeling his love and determination. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She swallowed, and tried again. “I would be honored, beloved,” she said. She felt a giggle bubbling up, but held it down long enough to add, “After all, we have been together for forty years; I think that’s a long enough courtship.” Then the laugh escaped.

  It took a few minutes to compose themselves, and then for Debren to relay instructions to the courtiers in the great hall. They stood in the door, looking out at the vast pillared hall, and waited. Darissa could see the queen seated upon the throne at the far end, slumped to one side and looking bored, while people whispered around her.

  Then the herald stepped to the front of the royal dais and announced, “Your Majesty, I give you his highness, Prince Marek of Melitha, and his betrothed!”

  Queen Hinda sat bolt upright as Marek started marching down the length of the room, Darissa a step behind his right hand. As her brother came close enough for her to see his face, she leapt to her feet and screamed, “Marek!” She took two steps forward, then remembered who and where she was.

  Marek smiled, and quickened his pace. Darissa felt a wave of astonishment from the dozens of people in the hall, and hurried to keep up with the prince.

  Then Hinda raised a hand and called, “Stop!”

  Startled, Marek stopped, and Darissa almost collided with him. She felt the amazement around them turn to confusion.

  “We will speak with these two in private,” the queen announced. “Chamberlain, what space is available?”

  “Ah…” The chamberlain, caught completely off guard, took a moment to gather his wits, but finally said, “The lilac chamber would be suitable, your Majesty.”

  “Good,” Hinda said, turning on her heel. “Bring our guests to me there, immediately.” She vanished through a door at the back of the dais.

  Guards seemed to appear out of nowhere at either side, but none of them actually touched either Marek or Darissa; instead they simply marched along as Marek led the way out into a corridor, then along the passage to a beautifully-painted door, each panel adorned with pictures of lilacs.

  A guard opened the door and ushered them inside, but he and his companions did not enter; they took up positions in the passageway outside.

  The wallpaper in the room beyond was the color of fresh lilacs. The draperies in the three windows and the upholstery on the dozen chairs were embroidered with lilacs, as well. Whoever had decorated the place had clearly believed in keeping a consistent theme.

  Hinda was already seated at one end of a table, and she motioned for Marek and Darissa to sit, as well. She was smiling broadly, an expression Darissa had never seen on her face before, and judging by his reaction, Marek did not find it comforting or familiar, either.

  Where the two travelers had aged scarcely a month in their forty-year absence, Hinda’s face seemed to show every day of that time. She was white-haired and wrinkled, her features sagging, though she did seem to still have all her teeth.

  “You’re back!” she said, as soon as Marek had settled onto his chair. “Did my agent find you?”

  “Your agent?” Marek asked warily.

  “I sent a man to locate you and bring you home,” she replied. “At his last report he had tracked you to the home of some Ethsharitic nobleman called Lord Landessin.”

  Darissa was watching the queen closely, and sensed no attempt at deception.

  “You sent him?” Marek asked. “He did not say that.”

  “You spoke with him?”

  Marek shook his head. “No, we never saw him. We were warned that someone was hunting us, and our friends thought it was an assassin.”

  Hinda’s smile dimmed. “Friends? What friends?”

  “Our friends in Ethshar of the Spices.”

  “How could…” She stopped. Then she continued, “How could you have friends? You were a statue.”

  “You knew that,” Marek said.

  “Yes, I knew that. I told you, I had sent someone to find you, and he got that far…”

  “I think you knew before you sent anyone after us,” Darissa said.

  Hinda stared at her. “I am your queen, girl,” she said. “Watch how you speak to me.”

  “And I spent five years as an apprentice learning to perceive what is in a person’s heart, your Majesty. You knew all along.”

  “Did you, Hinda?” Marek asked.

  The queen stared at her brother, all trace of her earlier smile gone.

  “You hired the wizard, then,” Marek said.

  “I was trying to protect you!” Hinda exclaimed. “Evreth had died, like Terren—word came at the victory celebration, but Dad said we should not tell anyone that night, so as not to ruin the celebration. Evreth had been murdered by one of Abran’s men out of sheer spite, waylaid on the road. I heard the messenger tell Dad, and I think I went a bit mad. I ran to Lirilin, the wizard I had hired, and told her to cast the spell. I didn’t want to lose all my brothers!”

  “Why didn’t you have her turn us back once peace was res
tored?” Darissa demanded.

  Hinda was so intent on her brother that Darissa was not sure she had even heard the question, but Marek said, “Answer her!”

  “I…I didn’t dare! I was afraid of what Dad would do, how he would react if he found out I was responsible.”

  “And you didn’t want a rival claimant to the throne,” Marek said.

  She stared at him for a second, then exclaimed, “No, I didn’t! I admit it, Marek—you never wanted to rule, you said as much, you hadn’t been trained for it, you never wanted anything to do with running the government! And you didn’t know how to lead an army—you would have been killed, just like our brothers, if there was another war! So I kept you safe and out of the way, you and your whore…”

  Darissa reacted to that without thinking; her body did not move, but the queen nonetheless felt a sharp slap across her face.