Stone Unturned: A Legend of Ethshar

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Of course, Guildmaster,” Morvash replied. “I suppose you want to know what happened to Erdrik.”

  Ithinia waved that aside. “I already know what happened to Erdrik,” she said. “His pet mountain stepped on him. Zerra was here this afternoon; I know all about your adventures in Tazmor. Unless you think there is some relevant detail Zerra might have missed?”

  “Ah…probably not,” Morvash said. “But then what is our business?”

  “You brought thirty-odd statues back to life,” she said. “I want to know all about them.”

  “Ah…why?”

  Ithinia’s expression darkened, so before she could reply Morvash quickly added, “I can better choose what to tell you if I know your reasons.”

  “I see your point,” Ithinia said, her face softening again. “Fine. I want to know what, if anything, the Guild should do about these people. Who enchanted them, and why? Are any of them a threat? What about the wizards who petrified them—should we take any action against any of them? I want to know everything you can tell me about all these people.”

  “Oh,” Morvash said. He would have stammered, unsure where to begin, had Obdur not reappeared at that moment bearing two bowls of soup. As it was, the conversation was interrupted until both diners had tasted their soup and declared it satisfactory.

  When Obdur had left for the kitchen again, Ithinia put down her spoon and said, “Well?”

  “Well, to begin with, the statue I had intended to restore to life was Prince Marek of Melitha and his paramour, Darissa the Witch’s Apprentice…”

  Through the entire meal, Morvash listed the people he had rescued, giving what details he could remember. He pointed out that there were several he had never identified, as Ariella had been unable to communicate with them and he had fled the area before he had a chance to get to know them. He also explained that he had detailed notes about the others, the known ones, but had not brought them because he had mistaken the purpose of Ithinia’s invitation. He described the situation at Lord Landessin’s mansion, where about half the revived statues were still his uncle’s guests. And he pointed out, as Obdur brought out the final pot of tea, that he had sent the four wizards directly to Ithinia.

  “Yes, they came to see me,” she acknowledged. “You need not concern yourself further with them. These others, though—tomorrow I will have my representatives visit your uncle, and interview his guests. I hope you will lend them these notebooks you described.”

  “Of course, Guildmaster!”

  “Good.” She picked up her teacup and leaned back. “I notice that while you admitted to rescuing Karitha the Demonologist and saving her from her demon, you have not said what became of her. Zerra brought her back from Tazmor; where is she now?”

  Morvash hesitated. “She set the demon against Erdrik’s dragon,” he said.

  “I know that.”

  “She has promised to give up demonology.”

  “Has she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nonetheless, she killed a member of the Guild.”

  “And she spent seven years as a statue.”

  “The penalty for murder is death, as I’m sure you know.”

  “But she isn’t the same person now that she was seven years ago!”

  “Actually, she is the same person, finally, after a seven-year interruption.”

  “But she’s changed!”

  Ithinia sighed and set down her cup. “Morvash, you are dodging the question. Where is she?”

  Morvash realized that he would not be able to hide the truth indefinitely. It would be best, he decided, to answer, before Ithinia got angry. “She’s one of my uncle’s guests,” he admitted.

  “He has not delivered her to Lord Borlan?”

  Morvash shook his head. “I convinced him not to.”

  “Does he plan to harbor a fugitive indefinitely?”

  “Not exactly, no. He’s sending her to Ethshar of the Rocks to work for my father.”

  Ithinia’s eyes opened wider. “And how does that work?”

  Morvash explained the position Gror had offered Karitha.

  When he had finished, Ithinia considered silently for a moment, then said, “Let us consider this. This Karitha killed a wizard. You are offering, as mitigating factors, that it was at least partially in self-defense, as Wosten was already preparing an attack on her; that she spent seven years in a state of petrifaction, deprived of all her senses but hearing, and that this constitutes an adequate punishment for her crimes; and that she performed a valuable service for the Guild and the World by turning Tarker the Unrelenting loose on Erdrik’s ridiculous monster. You therefore propose to send her into exile, and to ensure that she no longer practices magic, rather than see her hanged. Do I have this right?”

  “Yes, Guildmaster.”

  “And what does Lord Borlan think of this?”

  “We had not intended to tell him she is still alive.”

  “Hmm. I understand you collected your belongings from Erdrik’s house today.”

  This abrupt change of subject threw Morvash for a moment, but at last he nodded. “That’s right,” he said.

  “What sort of condition is the house in?”

  “It’s…there’s a huge hole through the cellar and up into the dining room, and the entire house was battered. I don’t think there’s any practical way to repair the damage.”

  “Really?” Ithinia said, staring at him over her tea. “Really?”

  “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

  “Morvash, what spell did you perform in that house a couple of sixnights back?”

  “Javan’s…oh.”

  “That’s right. We could put it all back the way it was. But now that we know what happened to its owner, I’m not sure we should.”

  Morvash turned up empty hands. “It’s not for me to say, Guildmaster. I paid no rent this month, so my interests there are done.”

  “And you have no sentimental attachment?”

  He shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Then I’ll decide for myself after I’ve had more time to consider. As for your friend Karitha, make sure she understands that if she ever sets foot in this city again, or troubles any Guild member in Ethshar of the Rocks, she will either die or find herself spending the rest of her life in some form even less enjoyable than that of a statue. And I agree that Lord Borlan need not know she is still alive.”

  “Thank you, Guildmaster! You’re very generous.”

  Ithinia grimaced. “Mostly, I prefer to not be bothered worrying whether this is entirely up to Lord Borlan, or a Guild matter, or what. Your mitigating circumstances do have some validity, at that, and I generally prefer to err on the side of mercy. Now, finish your tea before it gets cold.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Hakin of the Hundred-Foot Field

  29th of Newfrost, YS 5238

  Hakin watched the crowd outside Grandgate, the farmers and merchants selling their wares, the city folks coming out to buy, the travelers arriving from elsewhere, with only moderate interest. The thrill of being in Ethshar of the Sands, instead of his home city of Ethshar of the Spices, was definitely wearing off, but today, according to the magicians, should be the day.

  Then he heard screams in the distance, and his heart began racing. He jumped up on the stone bench at the base of one of the towers and stared up the road to the north.

  Something black, something bigger than a human, was coming down the road, coming fast, carrying an immense gray stone on its back.

  That was it. That was Tarker, bringing the first piece of the dragon to be killed.

  “It’s coming!” he bellowed to the guards. “Clear the way!”

  As arranged, dozens of guardsmen began dragging people out of the dem
on’s path, and shouting at everyone else to move aside. Runners dashed through the gates into the city, to make sure the entire route was open—across Grandgate Market, half a mile up Gate Street, right at the fork onto Harbor, left at the fork onto Quarter Street, across Circle Street and the inner plaza and through the northeastern portal into the Palace.

  Hakin jumped off the bench and ran through the gates himself; he wanted to be with Tarker when it reached the Palace, and he was fairly sure that even weighed down by that huge rock the demon would move faster than he could, so he needed a head start.

  He dashed up Gate Street, but slowed at the fork, looking back over his shoulder.

  Tarker was there, but farther back than he had expected. The demon did not appear to be running all-out. Hakin hesitated, then waved. “Tarker!” he called. “It’s me!”

  The street had been cleared, but there were soldiers and civilians watching from the streets on either side; they murmured and stared.

  The demon came trotting up to him, then stopped, all four of its arms holding that chunk of stone. Hakin could see one face was smooth, and carved with gigantic scales. “Hakin of the Hundred-Foot Field,” Tarker said. “Why are you here?”

  “To make sure everything goes smoothly, and you don’t hurt anyone.”

  “Then guide me to the place that destroys wizard magic.”

  “Of course! It’s this way,” Hakin said, pointing up Harbor Street. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  “Good,” Tarker said.

  “Could you find it by yourself?”

  “I cannot smell it. I followed the scent of Ederd, Fifth of that Name, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands.”

  “Ah. When he heard you were coming he decided it would be safer not to stay in the Palace.”

  “I knew he had moved.”

  “Yes. Well, then I’ll guide you.” Hakin began marching briskly up Harbor Street at the demon’s side.

  “How is it going?” he asked as they walked. “Have you smashed the entire dragon?”

  “No,” Tarker said. “I have immobilized it by removing portions of its wings and legs, but I have not smashed all of it.”

  “But you’re bringing a piece of it here already?”

  “I wish to leave it able to communicate until I am certain this system you suggested will work.”

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Why are you here, Hakin of the Hundred-Foot Field?”

  “That isn’t really my name anymore,” Hakin said. “I haven’t lived in the Field since the day we met. I’m just called Hakin of Ethshar now. Anyway, I’m here to help you, and to make sure nothing goes wrong. I’m working for the overlords now—mostly Lord Azrad, but sometimes I work with Ederd or Wulran. I run errands, whatever they need done. They sent me here because I know you better than anyone else. They wanted someone you would talk to if there were problems.”

  “Good,” Tarker said.

  That surprised Hakin, but he tried not to show it.

  The two marched on in companionable silence, through the fork onto Quarter Street.

  “A path was ready for me,” Tarker said, as they caught sight of the palace dome directly ahead.

  “We knew you were coming,” Hakin said. “The wizards have been keeping an eye on you.”

  “I am not accustomed to human cooperation.”

  “It’s kind of a new thing for everyone,” Hakin agreed. “We all want that dragon dead, though. Ever since that idiot Erdrik brought it to life, people have been hoping you could kill it for us.”

  “If the magic can be destroyed as you told me, I will kill it. But it will take several years.”

  “Oh, we know that! Karitha is counting on it, in fact.”

  Tarker raised its head and sniffed. “Karitha the Demonologist is not in this city,” it said. “She is fifty leagues to the northwest.”

  “In Ethshar of the Rocks, last I heard,” Hakin agreed.

  “When the dragon is entirely dead, I must return to her to be released.”

  That’s actually something we were wondering about,” Hakin said. “What happens if she dies before you finish killing the dragon?”

  “Then completing its death will release me.”

  “You can’t go without killing it, even if she’s gone?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s a relief! And how long do you think it will take to kill it?”

  “I have been unable to accurately assess the total mass of stone, and I have not yet seen the mechanism that destroys magic in operation, so I cannot be exact, but I estimate between thirty and ninety years.”

  “That’s a pretty wide range.”

  “I cannot be exact.”

  “Fair enough. After all, it took a few hundred humans two hundred years to carve the thing in the first place.”

  They were approaching the Palace, and four guards were waiting; as they crossed Circle Street the guards pulled open the big doors.

  “The central area, under the dome, would be best,” one of the soldiers called; then the four of them scattered.

  Hakin headed for the door, but halfway across the plaza Tarker suddenly stopped and dropped the chunk of stone; it smashed to the pavement, scattering shards of broken slate.

  “It’s dead,” the demon said. “I can feel it. There is no wizard magic in this place. This is just stone now.” It turned and began trotting rapidly back across Circle Street to Quarter Street.

  “Wait!” Hakin called, running after it. “Where are you going?”

  “For the next piece,” Tarker said, and then it was running too fast for him to keep up.

  Hakin stopped, baffled, and walked back to the plaza.

  The chunk of stone was sitting as motionless as…well, as a stone, Hakin thought. As he stared at it the four guards came up.

  “Is it safe?” one of them asked.

  “I think so,” Hakin replied.

  “I thought it was bringing the rocks into the palace,” another soldier said.

  “So did I,” Hakin said. “No one bothered to tell me that the magically dead area extended out this far.”

  “Now what?” a third asked.

  “Now I need a hammer and chisel,” Hakin answered.

  One of the guardsmen signaled to another, and one man ran off, while the other three remained.

  By the time the soldier returned with the requested tools a crowd had gathered, but no one had dared to touch the big gray rock the demon had delivered. Hakin recognized a few faces, but did not acknowledge them yet; instead he accepted the chisel and set it against a tiny crevice he had spotted, then swung the hammer with all his strength.

  The stone cracked.

  With a second blow, a chunk came free and tumbled to the pavement. Hakin handed the tools back to the soldier who had brought them, then picked up the fallen piece. It was roughly triangular, perhaps two inches thick and not quite a foot in its longest dimension. He hefted it.

  It looked and felt exactly like ordinary stone, and quite dead. He turned and carried it carefully away from the palace, watching it for the slightest hint of movement.

  He could see no change.

  Hakin raised his gaze, and spotted Mereth of the Golden Door in the crowd, as she had said she would be. He brought her the rock.

  “Here,” he said. “Is this alive?”

  She took it, and said, “I’ll know by tomorrow.” Then she turned and headed home.

  Hakin watched her go, then turned to the crowd and announced, “All done. Nothing to see here. The demon won’t be back for several days, and it’s just a big rock from a mountain up north. The demon’s under a binding spell to bring the entire mountain here, piece by piece.”

  He heard the murmurs but paid no
attention; he didn’t care what these people did now. He started up Quarter Street, back toward his inn.

  The next morning he, Mereth, and half a dozen other magicians and minor officials gathered in the Lady Investigator’s hearing room, which was very intentionally not in the Palace, but in a nearby building. Mereth had brought the broken-off chunk of stone, and she set it on Lady Sarai’s table.

  “It’s dead,” she said.

  “Of course it is,” someone said. “It’s a rock.”

  Lady Sarai glared at the official who had spoken, then turned her attention back to Mereth. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely,” the wizard said.

  “So bringing it out of the dead area did not restore the immortality spell?”

  “It did not. I didn’t think it would. Wizardry doesn’t work that way.”

  Sarai seemed to relax. “Good!” she said. “Then we don’t need to leave that boulder where the demon dropped it.” She gestured to the guard by the door. “Get it cleared away! We’ll need the space for the next one.”

  “It’s a good thing it stays dead,” Hakin remarked. “You couldn’t begin to fit the entire dragon into the Palace and plaza.”

  “That’s still hard to believe,” Lady Sarai said.

  “It’s an entire mountain, my lady,” Hakin said. “Believe me, its head alone is bigger than the Palace.”

  “And the demon is going to deliver the entire thing here, piece by piece.”

  “Yes.”

  “What are we going to do with all that stone?”

  “Double the city wall, perhaps? Pave every street in the city? Build quays?”

  Lady Sarai sighed. “I’m sure someone will come up with an idea,” she said, “but fortunately, that isn’t my problem.”

  “At least there are plenty of expert stone-cutters available now; they’re looking for work in the Baronies of Sardiron,” Hakin said with a smile. “And they’re very familiar with this stone, since they’re the same people who carved the dragon it the first place. Of course, except for Pender, they don’t speak Ethsharitic.”