Scatterstone - Part 7
Apr. 12th, 2013 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bloodyrosemccoyLooking for Part 1? It's here, along with an index!
I've been holding off on posting this one. I wanted to have the next installment at least roughed in, too, because it would be mean to leave y'all with the way this one ends for too long. I am so considerate!
I like how the big thing Nolly wants to talk about is her discovery of seafood. Hobbits must be hilarious tourists. They'd go to France and buy postcards with images of Versailles and the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and whatnot, but all they'd write on them would be details about the incredible coq au vin they had in this one restaurant and how they found a bakery that makes amazing profiteroles. The first draft of Bilbo's Red Book must have been twice as long with all the Redwallish food porn. If Elizabeth Gilbert had been a hobbit, her book would have just been titled Eat.
Anyway, better get to writing the next installment. You're gonna want me to work fast after reading this ...
---
Lord Kraja decided it would be best if Largo lay low for a little while, in case Manjusha the dragon really had taken an unwholesome interest in him. The few servants in the manor house who had seen him were told that he had gone on his way shortly after his interview with the earl. The only one who was advised that he might be staying was Kraja's valet--a grim, silent troll of a man at least as large as his master. Largo never caught his name, but he saw to the hobbit's needs, bringing him food and a steaming basin of water to wash. He managed to drum up a shirt and trousers that almost fit Largo as well, and spirited his own clothes away. They came back later freshly laundered, with a couple of the more prominent tears coarsly stitched up.
And beyond that, Largo was left to his own devices.
He'd been set up in a small room off Lord Kraja's chambers, so he did get to speak to his rescuer in the evenings, but the man was normally quite busy during the day.
"Are you really a wizard?" Largo asked that first evening.
Lord Kraja grinned. He'd shed his cape and tossed it casually over the back of a chair. "Do wizards make you nervous, boy?"
"Well--" Yes, as a matter of fact. Nolly's nonchalance about the incident with the fire demons hadn't erased the memory of them coming at her. But so far Lord Kraja had been nothing but helpful. Perhaps not all mages were bad?
After a moment, Lord Kraja barrelled past his hesitation. "Yes," he said, "I am a wizard. I am first and foremost a wizard. Let everything else--my title, my lands, my life--burn away, let the ashes fade and dissolve into mist, and I will keep my magic."
His intensity was a sharp change from his normal insouciance. And he wonders why mages make me nervous! Largo thought.
But a second later, Lord Kraja shook himself and laughed. "So I suppose what I'm saying is, yes, yes I am." He absently removed his doublet and tossed it after the cape. The numerous diamond chains he still wore looked heavy and awkward over his linen undershirt.
He thunked heavily onto a sofa and went to work removing his boots. "But don't let that ruin your fun." The boot came up with a pop, and he held it up triumphantly. "Leave the magic to me. A hobbit needs magic about as much as he needs boots."
Largo was quiet. But we do need boots sometimes, a pedantic little part of him wanted to point out. Some of the winters in Alricshire are cold and icy.
Lord Kraja kicked off his other boot. "Now, then--I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed. I've had a long day."
And he disappeared into his bedroom.
Largo was having long days, too--though not in the same, busy way. The first evening he'd arrived, he'd fallen asleep before sunset and slept like the dead until well after sunrise. But after that, the days stretched heavily before him as he waited, confined in his room and hoping the dragon might stay away. Largo discovered something new about himself during those interminable hours. He liked to be alone to think--but whenever the urge hit him, he went outside. Outside he could wander, investigate creeks or curious hollows or caves, climb trees, watch birds, and inspect any interesting stones he came across. Time indoors was supposed to be spent with people, who could entertain each other with spooky stories, funny songs, and a few rounds of whatever game had all its pieces accounted for.
Now he was stuck playing only unsatisfying one-man games with the little generic gamepieces he'd found in a drawer in the side table. It stopped being interesting after about fifteen minutes.
He even tried cracking open the one forlorn book that had been sitting next to the board game, in the hopes that there might be some pictures to keep his mind occupied for half a minute. But there were none--just page after page of text that meant nothing to him.
After a while he fell back on the little bag of stones at his belt. He might have lost his traveling pack, but he still had his treasures--the rocks he used to work on the pattern that had been bothering him for so long, and the agate pendant he'd bought from the Fyan.
He was fully absorbed in working out how the stones fit together one evening when Lord Kraja's hulking valet summoned him.
Largo snatched up his stones and followed the man eagerly. Lord Kraja himself was off hunting alone--all his servants apparently were used to his going off without even an attendant. Largo could see why he might, though--his valet was completely useless for conversation, and being on a trip with him probably got awkward.
And so, with even Lord Kraja gone, Largo had no one to talk to. At this point he'd almost welcome a dragon attack.
He was led down another hallway filled with paintings. The big man finally stopped to rap ponderously on one of what Largo was sure was several thousand doors in this huge place.
"Come in," the countess's voice answered.
When the valet opened the door, Largo peered around his legs, feeling once again that the world was totally out of proportion.
"Ah, there you are," Countess Neraine said as he shuffled in.
Largo looked around, fascinated. He wasn't certain what sort of room he'd pictured for a great lady to spend her time in, but he knew it wasn't one like this study. Great shelves dominated the walls, most with huge books--more than he'd ever seen in one place--and some with sheafs of maps and cartographical instruments. A writing desk took advantage of the light of the window that overlooked the rear garden. A large blue armchair by the fire had developed comfortable indentations in its cushions, indicating its years of excellent service.
It reminded him a little of Great Uncle Sirthaus's study, the one Largo was not allowed under any circumstances to enter again.
And over in one corner was an object that completed that picture: a large, intricate model of brass rings. They overlapped each other at strange angles, forming a cagelike sphere around a central blue globe about the size of his fist. They were all cunningly worked to be movable, to slide over one another so that the little stones set in each ring could whirl through an intricate dance with their partners.
Without thinking, he marched over toward it, his shyness forgotten. He gave it an almost accusatory glare. This thing--or one like it--had haunted his dreams for years.
A shadow fell over it: the countess had moved up behind him. "Do you know what that is?" she asked.
Largo nodded, his eyes on the globe in the middle. Solid stone it was, blue, veined with white. It looked wonderfully light and airy. "My uncle has one like it," he said.
Well, not quite. Uncle's was smaller and less fancy--especially after having been dented by a clumsy, overly enthusiastic young nephew who had tried a bit too hard to rearrange it.
"It's the celestial spheres," he said, trying to keep the years of unresolved curiosity out of his voice. "The way they move around Earth ..."
The countess nodded curtly. "I see you country folk still keep up with modern ideas," she noted.
Largo smiled sheepishly. Only Uncle Sirthaus had much taste for such scholarly details. Most other Alricshire hobbits paid little attention to the movements of the stars, and would not have been skeptical of a claim that the sun was launched over the eastern edge of the world every day by giant celestial catapult.
Most of them ...
The countess had moved over to the window. "Do you play chess, Master Blackstone?"
He tore his gaze from the spheres. "Chess? Well--yes."
He'd gotten rather good at it too--once Nolly had cured him of his inability to sacrifice pawns. To this day Largo felt a chessboard was incomplete without a spot to the side where all the "captured" pieces from both sides could gather to share ale, cheer on their teammates, and congratulate each other on a game well-played. "I think the rules might be different in Alricshire, though. My uncle taught my brother how they do it in Corridaine, but he said I was too daft to learn."
"But you know the principles. The game is similar everywhere. The players move their pieces about the board, according to the rules, each attempting to outmaneuver the other."
"Well, yes."
"But the pieces themselves ... they have rules for their movements, but no autonomy. They mindlessly work through the motions dictated to them by their respective players."
Largo blinked. "I--my lady, what do you mean?"
She spun to face him. "I mean that dragon and that wizard are doing just that--playing some blasted game with each other, some obscure wizardly match, with I know not what stakes. This district is their board, and we--you, and the earl, and the townsfolk, and myself--are the pieces. And I don't know about you, but I resent being used as a pawn.
"Or"--she pinned him with her sharp gaze--"are you a pawn?"
Taken aback, Largo demanded, "What else would I be?"
"That's what concerns me."
The whole thing was beginning to feel terribly unfair. He pulled himself up to his full three feet and four inches and looked her squarely in the eye. "Countess, if you are thinking that I have anything to do with some wizards' squabble, then I would very much be interested in hearing about it. I would rather not be the last to know if I need to start stockpiling garlic and iron."
She had her knuckles on the desk and was leaning heavily on them. For a moment she stood like that, eyes boring into him. Largo wished he were at least a few inches taller.
Then she sighed and sank into her chair. "You know, I do believe you mean it. I had thought that perhaps you had some information I could use. But you really are just searching for your friend, aren't you?"
He nodded, torn between relief and exasperation. "Yes. That's what I said."
A knock on the study door startled him. Countess Neraine straightened and held up a cautionary hand.
"My lady?" a voice called.
"A moment, Mere," the countess said.
She looked at Largo inquiringly. "I'd rather not be found out," he whispered.
"Can you hide?"
He glanced around the room quickly. After a moment he sighed and went to the big armchair by the fire.
It was a tight fit, but once he'd wriggled under it the fringe along the bottom concealed him completely.
The countess gave it an appraising glance, then crossed the room to open the door.
"Forgive me, my lady," the maid outside said. "Were--were you with someone?"
"I was scolding a book," the countess said with great dignity. "The author was an idiot, and I cannot abide idiots."
"Oh. Very good, my lady. But there is someone here to see you. She claims to be an emissary from Lady Manjusha. She is most insistent that she talk to you."
"Is the lady herself too busy to see me?" the countess demanded.
"She said if you asked something like that, I should give you this note," the maid replied.
The countess took a moment to read it.
"Very well," she said. "Send her in."
"Ah--she's right here, my lady."
There was a startled pause. "Very well," the countess said again.
The maid vanished. A scant moment later, another person entered.
The voice of the newcomer had a fresh, disingenuous quality to it, in contrast to the countess's clipped, shrewd tones. "Hello, Neraine. My name is Kuen."
Largo could see the way the countess stiffened at that. "Come in," she said.
As they moved toward the window--and farther away from his mouse's-eye-view--Largo could see them more clearly through the chair's fringe.
The newcomer was a young woman. As she turned to look around the place he saw that she had a lovely bronze-skinned face and huge, leaf-green eyes that shone with a curious iridescence. Short curls of a reckless ginger hovered loose about her face. She wore a blue shirt with a pattern of lively, colorful bars on the sleeves, a light, swirling brown skirt, and a green sash. Her shoes were unusual--half boots of some sort, laced up, and startlingly red. A pretty enough outfit, but--
Largo frowned, examining the 'but.' After a moment, he had it--the clothes were peasantish. Next to the countess's blue velvet, this Kuen seemed underdressed.
"Well," the countess said a touch warily, "what can I do for such a highly-lauded associate of Lady Manjusha?"
"Ah--you read her note, then." Kuen laughed. "It was difficult for her to decide. She wasn't sure whether her presence, under the circumstances, would cause more distress than was warranted. She hopes you understand that she stayed away in consideration of your sensibilities at this point--though the thought of losing such valued friends causes her much anxiety."
"How kind of her," the countess murmured. "But she does want something from me."
"Something we need help with, really." Kuen took a seat in one of the stiff-backed chairs before the desk. She moved with a lithe, dancer's grace. "Lady Manjusha is looking for a hobbit."
A chill slid up Largo's spine. He tried to quietly squeeze farther back under the chair.
Countess Neraine, fortunately, kept her cool. "A hobbit? How interesting. What does Lady Manjusha want with a hobbit?"
"Not just a hobbit, actually," Kuen said. "She wants this particular individual. His species is irrelevant. She didn't even know he was a halfling until yesterday."
"Oh?"
Kuen hesitated. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this," she admitted. "We--wizards, you understand--can sense things others can't. Lady Manjusha sensed some unusual magical activity, and she's looking for the source."
"And she believes this hobbit may be able to help her?"
"... Yes. She gathered up a few people who had been near where it happened in order to interview them. But she realized that she had missed one. She only got his pack." She laughed again. "She was quite discouraged about trying to track him down. Dragons don't have a very good sense for smallfolks' size, though. It was only when I got a look at the pack that we realized it was half-sized. It should be a lot easier to track down someone a bit more remarkable than a human in a crowd of humans." She folded her arms. "And, of course, that brings us to another reason to find him. He'll probably want his things back."
Largo bit his lip. He would like his things back. But ...
"And she wants to keep him away from Lord Kraja, of course," the countess added.
"Of course," Kuen acceded earnestly.
Largo looked at her more closely. Her ready, sincere-sounding agreement seemed to startle the countess almost as much as it did him.
"So he's to be drawn into this ridiculous wizard's rivalry, then," she said after a minute.
Kuen's voice was regretful. "I'm afraid it's already happened."
"Just as with the Earl and myself."
"Yes." Kuen sighed. "I'm sorry, Neraine. We're doing all we can to end this. But it's volatile. We have to step carefully around Kraja, lest someone get hurt ..."
"I see." The countess tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the desk.
"The name of the hobbit you're seeking is Largo Blackstone," she said then. "Lord Kraja found him near your host's castle three days ago. He told us she had interrupted his trip. We gave him fresh supplies, and he was on his way before the sun was low."
Largo had stopped breathing when she'd spoken his name. He had to be careful now not to let out his breath in explosive relief. He would have to thank her.
"You ... sent him on his way?" Kuen said, baffled.
"Yes. Largo was most insistent that he return to his search for his friend. More than that, I cannot say. You'll have to take it up with Lord Kraja. He should be back from his hunting trip tomorrow."
There was a long pause. When Kuen spoke again, her voice shook. "Oh. I--I think I'll see if I can find him now."
"What?"
"Which way did he go, do you think?" She was already getting to her feet.
"Off northeast, toward Stonecutter's Pass. But do you really think--"
"I think it may be important," Kuen said. "And the hobbit? Where was he going?"
"He was picked up near Wellen's Cross. I think he was headed to Saint Verdaine."
"Thank you." Kuen made a hurried little half-bow. "Excuse my hasty exit. It's very urgent that I find both of them. But I'll be in touch."
She was almost to the door.
"Kuen!" The countess's voice was sharp.
Kuen halted.
"Are you really so concerned for that hobbit out there?"
"Oh, yes," Kuen said fervently.
And she was gone.
The countess stared at the closed door, eyes thoughtful. Largo waited for her to lock it again, so that he could be sure not to be interrupted when he shuffled out from his hiding place ...
Another knock.
The countess let out a low breath of annoyance. "What now?"
The maid was at the door again. "I'm sorry, my lady. My lord would like to speak with you."
"Is he right outside my door, too?" the countess demanded impatiently.
"No, my lady. He awaits you in his study."
"Very well. Tell him I shall be along in a moment."
Then she shut the door and firmly locked it.
"Well, Master Blackstone," she said a trifle ungraciously. "You've managed to learn a few things today, haven't you?"
He crawled out. "I learned where all the dust in this study hides," he noted, brushing himself off.
"You've learned that you are a pawn."
Largo was silent. I've learned that the dragon may not want to eat me after all, he thought. And that Lord Kraja is ... not safe. And that I've got to be careful on the road.
"I will want to continue our interview," she added. "But I am going to speak with my lord first. Perhaps we can pick this up again tomorrow."
"Yes, my lady."
When she checked the hall, the countess found only Lord Kraja's looming valet, lurking mountainously and--possessively--as he waited to guide the hobbit back to his room.
That made up Largo's mind. Countess Neraine was right. He was a pawn, a pawn in some obscure wizardly rivalry. He had no idea what either Lord Kraja or Lady Manjusha might want with him. He didn't care to find out. Kuen had said she worried about him out on the road.
He was worried about what might happen if he stayed here.
He couldn't get distracted. He had to find Nolly.
He could move quickly and quietly, stay off the road. Hobbits were difficult to track when they put their minds to it. Not even Kuen would find him.
Though his polite nature rebelled at the thought of such an abrupt departure, his mind was made up. He would be gone before the wizard returned tomorrow.
#
Even more distasteful than leaving without saying goodbye, he was going to have to steal a few basic supplies. He had a bit of money in a belt-purse, but to restock all his supplies would take more than that. He planned to wait until a few hours before dawn and then sneak down and pilfer a few items from the kitchen. But a sudden weariness settled on him with the twilight. He would have to get some sleep before then. He barely managed to shuck his jacket and waistcoat before flopping into bed, determined to take a few hours to sleep.
Nolly was waiting for him.
"You'll never guess," she said, eyes shining with excitement. "I'm on a ship! We've left for Chadrafun with the tide!"
Stricken, he stared at her. "You've--left?"
"Just across the water," she said. "It's not really very far."
"But--" The sea! He'd never seen it. He knew it really was a short way across the Twisea to Chadrafun. But somehow, in his mind, the Sea was a barrier, a threshold. Beyond it, the world changed, blurred into dragons and legends. Until now, Nolly had been within reach. Until she had stepped onto a ship--
"Oh, you must see it," she went on, carried away by all the new wonders she'd seen. "There are fish shaped like stars, and shells that look like that little stone you have--you know, the snail-like one--only they're alive!--and huge fish. I mean enormous, the size of houses, of bigfolk houses, and they pop out of the water like they can fly, and when they come down it's like thunder! And you should try the food. The ones that aren't shaped like fish looked like they'd be absolutely awful--there's these giant things that look like spiders, and others that look like bugs, and then clams and mussels and oysters that are just little folded shells. I was rather nervous about that--but they're all delicious with butter, all this lovely soft white meat with a bit of salt flavor. Makes for absolutely delicious soup, too, or you can put them in a sauce with white wine and garlic and--What was that?"
Largo jumped. He'd been getting rather interested in her description of the new foods. But now as he paid attention, he could hear it: echoing through the dreamspace was the faint, but unmistakable, sound of a cry for help.
He looked around, but there was nothing to break the darkness where he and Nolly stood. "Is--is that coming from in here?"
Nolly frowned, concentrating. "Maybe it's coming from outside. Are you asleep, too?"
"Yes."
"Then maybe somebody's calling to one of us while we're sleeping."
The cries sounded urgent. He couldn't make out the words, but with something like that you didn't have to--it was clearly distress.
"Drat," Nolly said. "If they need help, we'll have to wake up."
Reluctantly, Largo nodded. But as Nolly started to fade, his eyes widened.
"Nolly!"
She stopped mid-fade. "What?"
"I can't! I can't wake up!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Largo. Just--"
"No--I'm stuck asleep!" He'd had this sort of panic in nightmares before--the sudden wild realization that he was dreaming, and that if he could only wake up the nightmare would be gone. But this time it wasn't overlaid with that ambivalent disbelief that kept him in dreams. This felt ... external. "I just can't!"
Nolly abruptly became solid again. She was fumbling in her pocket as the wails redoubled. "Steady on, Largo."
"But I'm asleep, and that noise--"
"Just hold on a moment." She took his hand. Largo hadn't really been looking at her, but that sudden touch was electric. He abruptly lost all sense of what he'd been saying--
And Nolly jabbed the needle from her pocket sewing kit savagely into his palm.
"Ouch!"
His voice startled him. He'd spoken aloud-- had jolted awake and yanked his hand back. It was dark. Rain lashed the window. The manor house was eerily still.
Especially considering that somewhere inside, he could still hear those desperate shrieks.
He felt a dreamlike disappointment. He'd rather hoped the shouting had come from Nolly's end of things--let her deal with it. But it seemed that someone over here needed help.
For a moment he considered just letting someone else in the house--maybe that big troll of a valet, or the earl--investigate the noise. Better them than him.
But even as the sounds grew more desperate, the house remained otherwise as still as a grave.
Maybe they can't wake up, either, he thought remotely.
And thus, it fell to him.
He got to his feet. He felt for the candle with one hand; the other fumbled in his jacket for his tin of matches. After a moment's thought, he threw the jacket on. Thus armed, he held up the tiny candle flame and set out to follow the cries.
They led him downward. As he got closer the walls muffled it less, but the cries were growing thinner and weaker to match. Largo suddenly wished he'd picked up a fireplace poker or something.
Thus, when his path went through the kitchen, he took a moment to climb up the counter and find a good big butcher knife before continuing on to--
He swallowed. The shouts were was coming from a staircase leading downward into the dark cellar.
Who the blazes--?
Clutching the candlestick tightly, and the knife's handle even more tightly, he started down the stairs.
The place was musty and dank. It had once been a wine cellar, but the last cask had been sealed and forgotten some time ago. Now the most frequent visitors were spiders ... though he could see in the flickering light that someone had walked along here recently. Booted footprints made a clear trail in the dust.
Now he could hear the words in the voice--"No!" and "Somebody help me"--
And another, deeper voice, the bass part, calm and quietly chanting ...
He couldn't do this. He knew what would happen--he'd seen it in Nolly's vision. Fire with faces. He couldn't fight that. He was going to flee, seize a few things from the kitchen and be out of this house within minutes--
He thought suddenly of what Nolly would say if he ever admitted to her that he'd turned away from a cry for help.
He had to move before he thought. The candle went out as he sprinted past the casks, down a second set of stairs to another dusty cellar--
--into a nightmare.
There were no casks in this cellar anymore. There were candle banks instead, dozens, their light gleaming on racks of knives and chains. It also glinted off the broad back of Lord Kraja of Chadrafun--and off altar in front of him, the altar with the thing on it, the thing that struggled, and bled, and screamed--
And at the crescendo of his chant, Kraja plunged a wicked-looking knife into it.
The screams stopped.
Kraja made a few swift cuts, stuck his hand in--his muscles bunched--a crack. Businesslike, he pulled out the heart, still beating, and bit.
Largo realized his mouth was open, but he didn’t know he was screaming until the wizard spun. The knife dripped in one hand, the--oh, gods and demons--in the other hand--
The wizard’s voice rumbled again from a bloodstained mouth: "You!"
Largo couldn’t tear away from the wizard's eyes. They hung in his vision, pupils nearly eclipsing the color, the only thing in black space.
The kick caught him on the collarbone. Largo choked, hitting the wall hard, the knife falling from his grasp. Kraja's fists were next, powerful blows exploding in his guts and face. He tried to curl up, wishing they would end.
After an eternity of a few heartbeats, the wizard laced his fingers into Largo's hair and slammed his head into the wall.
Largo's knees folded, but he could not fall--Kraja's grip on his curls was going to tear his scalp off.
But Kraja had paused. While Largo hung from his hand, the monster gazed at him thoughtfully. His eyes still blazed in Largo's vision, and so did his skin ... among the flickering stars of pain, the big man's scarred body began to burn red ...
"No," Largo choked. He could feel the force of that blaze. The whole house could--it was crushing down on them--the stones rumbled ominously-- "Please ..."
The lights came together, searing into his brain.
And Kraja jerked, groaned, and dropped him.
Largo fell to the floor, fighting to keep a scrap of his senses. The candles, the room, the blood, the--now-silent thing on the altar--were spinning. Only two things were clear--Kraja, whose body no longer glowed, and--
"Kuen," he whispered.
Kuen had appeared, holding a shaft of green--flame? light?--that had bitten into Kraja's arm. She had bought Largo a moment.
And she'd heard his whisper. She turned, and in that room of red, the last thing he saw before the world spun were those sad green eyes ...
#
Quick! Better read Part 8!
I've been holding off on posting this one. I wanted to have the next installment at least roughed in, too, because it would be mean to leave y'all with the way this one ends for too long. I am so considerate!
I like how the big thing Nolly wants to talk about is her discovery of seafood. Hobbits must be hilarious tourists. They'd go to France and buy postcards with images of Versailles and the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and whatnot, but all they'd write on them would be details about the incredible coq au vin they had in this one restaurant and how they found a bakery that makes amazing profiteroles. The first draft of Bilbo's Red Book must have been twice as long with all the Redwallish food porn. If Elizabeth Gilbert had been a hobbit, her book would have just been titled Eat.
Anyway, better get to writing the next installment. You're gonna want me to work fast after reading this ...
---
Lord Kraja decided it would be best if Largo lay low for a little while, in case Manjusha the dragon really had taken an unwholesome interest in him. The few servants in the manor house who had seen him were told that he had gone on his way shortly after his interview with the earl. The only one who was advised that he might be staying was Kraja's valet--a grim, silent troll of a man at least as large as his master. Largo never caught his name, but he saw to the hobbit's needs, bringing him food and a steaming basin of water to wash. He managed to drum up a shirt and trousers that almost fit Largo as well, and spirited his own clothes away. They came back later freshly laundered, with a couple of the more prominent tears coarsly stitched up.
And beyond that, Largo was left to his own devices.
He'd been set up in a small room off Lord Kraja's chambers, so he did get to speak to his rescuer in the evenings, but the man was normally quite busy during the day.
"Are you really a wizard?" Largo asked that first evening.
Lord Kraja grinned. He'd shed his cape and tossed it casually over the back of a chair. "Do wizards make you nervous, boy?"
"Well--" Yes, as a matter of fact. Nolly's nonchalance about the incident with the fire demons hadn't erased the memory of them coming at her. But so far Lord Kraja had been nothing but helpful. Perhaps not all mages were bad?
After a moment, Lord Kraja barrelled past his hesitation. "Yes," he said, "I am a wizard. I am first and foremost a wizard. Let everything else--my title, my lands, my life--burn away, let the ashes fade and dissolve into mist, and I will keep my magic."
His intensity was a sharp change from his normal insouciance. And he wonders why mages make me nervous! Largo thought.
But a second later, Lord Kraja shook himself and laughed. "So I suppose what I'm saying is, yes, yes I am." He absently removed his doublet and tossed it after the cape. The numerous diamond chains he still wore looked heavy and awkward over his linen undershirt.
He thunked heavily onto a sofa and went to work removing his boots. "But don't let that ruin your fun." The boot came up with a pop, and he held it up triumphantly. "Leave the magic to me. A hobbit needs magic about as much as he needs boots."
Largo was quiet. But we do need boots sometimes, a pedantic little part of him wanted to point out. Some of the winters in Alricshire are cold and icy.
Lord Kraja kicked off his other boot. "Now, then--I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed. I've had a long day."
And he disappeared into his bedroom.
Largo was having long days, too--though not in the same, busy way. The first evening he'd arrived, he'd fallen asleep before sunset and slept like the dead until well after sunrise. But after that, the days stretched heavily before him as he waited, confined in his room and hoping the dragon might stay away. Largo discovered something new about himself during those interminable hours. He liked to be alone to think--but whenever the urge hit him, he went outside. Outside he could wander, investigate creeks or curious hollows or caves, climb trees, watch birds, and inspect any interesting stones he came across. Time indoors was supposed to be spent with people, who could entertain each other with spooky stories, funny songs, and a few rounds of whatever game had all its pieces accounted for.
Now he was stuck playing only unsatisfying one-man games with the little generic gamepieces he'd found in a drawer in the side table. It stopped being interesting after about fifteen minutes.
He even tried cracking open the one forlorn book that had been sitting next to the board game, in the hopes that there might be some pictures to keep his mind occupied for half a minute. But there were none--just page after page of text that meant nothing to him.
After a while he fell back on the little bag of stones at his belt. He might have lost his traveling pack, but he still had his treasures--the rocks he used to work on the pattern that had been bothering him for so long, and the agate pendant he'd bought from the Fyan.
He was fully absorbed in working out how the stones fit together one evening when Lord Kraja's hulking valet summoned him.
Largo snatched up his stones and followed the man eagerly. Lord Kraja himself was off hunting alone--all his servants apparently were used to his going off without even an attendant. Largo could see why he might, though--his valet was completely useless for conversation, and being on a trip with him probably got awkward.
And so, with even Lord Kraja gone, Largo had no one to talk to. At this point he'd almost welcome a dragon attack.
He was led down another hallway filled with paintings. The big man finally stopped to rap ponderously on one of what Largo was sure was several thousand doors in this huge place.
"Come in," the countess's voice answered.
When the valet opened the door, Largo peered around his legs, feeling once again that the world was totally out of proportion.
"Ah, there you are," Countess Neraine said as he shuffled in.
Largo looked around, fascinated. He wasn't certain what sort of room he'd pictured for a great lady to spend her time in, but he knew it wasn't one like this study. Great shelves dominated the walls, most with huge books--more than he'd ever seen in one place--and some with sheafs of maps and cartographical instruments. A writing desk took advantage of the light of the window that overlooked the rear garden. A large blue armchair by the fire had developed comfortable indentations in its cushions, indicating its years of excellent service.
It reminded him a little of Great Uncle Sirthaus's study, the one Largo was not allowed under any circumstances to enter again.
And over in one corner was an object that completed that picture: a large, intricate model of brass rings. They overlapped each other at strange angles, forming a cagelike sphere around a central blue globe about the size of his fist. They were all cunningly worked to be movable, to slide over one another so that the little stones set in each ring could whirl through an intricate dance with their partners.
Without thinking, he marched over toward it, his shyness forgotten. He gave it an almost accusatory glare. This thing--or one like it--had haunted his dreams for years.
A shadow fell over it: the countess had moved up behind him. "Do you know what that is?" she asked.
Largo nodded, his eyes on the globe in the middle. Solid stone it was, blue, veined with white. It looked wonderfully light and airy. "My uncle has one like it," he said.
Well, not quite. Uncle's was smaller and less fancy--especially after having been dented by a clumsy, overly enthusiastic young nephew who had tried a bit too hard to rearrange it.
"It's the celestial spheres," he said, trying to keep the years of unresolved curiosity out of his voice. "The way they move around Earth ..."
The countess nodded curtly. "I see you country folk still keep up with modern ideas," she noted.
Largo smiled sheepishly. Only Uncle Sirthaus had much taste for such scholarly details. Most other Alricshire hobbits paid little attention to the movements of the stars, and would not have been skeptical of a claim that the sun was launched over the eastern edge of the world every day by giant celestial catapult.
Most of them ...
The countess had moved over to the window. "Do you play chess, Master Blackstone?"
He tore his gaze from the spheres. "Chess? Well--yes."
He'd gotten rather good at it too--once Nolly had cured him of his inability to sacrifice pawns. To this day Largo felt a chessboard was incomplete without a spot to the side where all the "captured" pieces from both sides could gather to share ale, cheer on their teammates, and congratulate each other on a game well-played. "I think the rules might be different in Alricshire, though. My uncle taught my brother how they do it in Corridaine, but he said I was too daft to learn."
"But you know the principles. The game is similar everywhere. The players move their pieces about the board, according to the rules, each attempting to outmaneuver the other."
"Well, yes."
"But the pieces themselves ... they have rules for their movements, but no autonomy. They mindlessly work through the motions dictated to them by their respective players."
Largo blinked. "I--my lady, what do you mean?"
She spun to face him. "I mean that dragon and that wizard are doing just that--playing some blasted game with each other, some obscure wizardly match, with I know not what stakes. This district is their board, and we--you, and the earl, and the townsfolk, and myself--are the pieces. And I don't know about you, but I resent being used as a pawn.
"Or"--she pinned him with her sharp gaze--"are you a pawn?"
Taken aback, Largo demanded, "What else would I be?"
"That's what concerns me."
The whole thing was beginning to feel terribly unfair. He pulled himself up to his full three feet and four inches and looked her squarely in the eye. "Countess, if you are thinking that I have anything to do with some wizards' squabble, then I would very much be interested in hearing about it. I would rather not be the last to know if I need to start stockpiling garlic and iron."
She had her knuckles on the desk and was leaning heavily on them. For a moment she stood like that, eyes boring into him. Largo wished he were at least a few inches taller.
Then she sighed and sank into her chair. "You know, I do believe you mean it. I had thought that perhaps you had some information I could use. But you really are just searching for your friend, aren't you?"
He nodded, torn between relief and exasperation. "Yes. That's what I said."
A knock on the study door startled him. Countess Neraine straightened and held up a cautionary hand.
"My lady?" a voice called.
"A moment, Mere," the countess said.
She looked at Largo inquiringly. "I'd rather not be found out," he whispered.
"Can you hide?"
He glanced around the room quickly. After a moment he sighed and went to the big armchair by the fire.
It was a tight fit, but once he'd wriggled under it the fringe along the bottom concealed him completely.
The countess gave it an appraising glance, then crossed the room to open the door.
"Forgive me, my lady," the maid outside said. "Were--were you with someone?"
"I was scolding a book," the countess said with great dignity. "The author was an idiot, and I cannot abide idiots."
"Oh. Very good, my lady. But there is someone here to see you. She claims to be an emissary from Lady Manjusha. She is most insistent that she talk to you."
"Is the lady herself too busy to see me?" the countess demanded.
"She said if you asked something like that, I should give you this note," the maid replied.
The countess took a moment to read it.
"Very well," she said. "Send her in."
"Ah--she's right here, my lady."
There was a startled pause. "Very well," the countess said again.
The maid vanished. A scant moment later, another person entered.
The voice of the newcomer had a fresh, disingenuous quality to it, in contrast to the countess's clipped, shrewd tones. "Hello, Neraine. My name is Kuen."
Largo could see the way the countess stiffened at that. "Come in," she said.
As they moved toward the window--and farther away from his mouse's-eye-view--Largo could see them more clearly through the chair's fringe.
The newcomer was a young woman. As she turned to look around the place he saw that she had a lovely bronze-skinned face and huge, leaf-green eyes that shone with a curious iridescence. Short curls of a reckless ginger hovered loose about her face. She wore a blue shirt with a pattern of lively, colorful bars on the sleeves, a light, swirling brown skirt, and a green sash. Her shoes were unusual--half boots of some sort, laced up, and startlingly red. A pretty enough outfit, but--
Largo frowned, examining the 'but.' After a moment, he had it--the clothes were peasantish. Next to the countess's blue velvet, this Kuen seemed underdressed.
"Well," the countess said a touch warily, "what can I do for such a highly-lauded associate of Lady Manjusha?"
"Ah--you read her note, then." Kuen laughed. "It was difficult for her to decide. She wasn't sure whether her presence, under the circumstances, would cause more distress than was warranted. She hopes you understand that she stayed away in consideration of your sensibilities at this point--though the thought of losing such valued friends causes her much anxiety."
"How kind of her," the countess murmured. "But she does want something from me."
"Something we need help with, really." Kuen took a seat in one of the stiff-backed chairs before the desk. She moved with a lithe, dancer's grace. "Lady Manjusha is looking for a hobbit."
A chill slid up Largo's spine. He tried to quietly squeeze farther back under the chair.
Countess Neraine, fortunately, kept her cool. "A hobbit? How interesting. What does Lady Manjusha want with a hobbit?"
"Not just a hobbit, actually," Kuen said. "She wants this particular individual. His species is irrelevant. She didn't even know he was a halfling until yesterday."
"Oh?"
Kuen hesitated. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this," she admitted. "We--wizards, you understand--can sense things others can't. Lady Manjusha sensed some unusual magical activity, and she's looking for the source."
"And she believes this hobbit may be able to help her?"
"... Yes. She gathered up a few people who had been near where it happened in order to interview them. But she realized that she had missed one. She only got his pack." She laughed again. "She was quite discouraged about trying to track him down. Dragons don't have a very good sense for smallfolks' size, though. It was only when I got a look at the pack that we realized it was half-sized. It should be a lot easier to track down someone a bit more remarkable than a human in a crowd of humans." She folded her arms. "And, of course, that brings us to another reason to find him. He'll probably want his things back."
Largo bit his lip. He would like his things back. But ...
"And she wants to keep him away from Lord Kraja, of course," the countess added.
"Of course," Kuen acceded earnestly.
Largo looked at her more closely. Her ready, sincere-sounding agreement seemed to startle the countess almost as much as it did him.
"So he's to be drawn into this ridiculous wizard's rivalry, then," she said after a minute.
Kuen's voice was regretful. "I'm afraid it's already happened."
"Just as with the Earl and myself."
"Yes." Kuen sighed. "I'm sorry, Neraine. We're doing all we can to end this. But it's volatile. We have to step carefully around Kraja, lest someone get hurt ..."
"I see." The countess tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the desk.
"The name of the hobbit you're seeking is Largo Blackstone," she said then. "Lord Kraja found him near your host's castle three days ago. He told us she had interrupted his trip. We gave him fresh supplies, and he was on his way before the sun was low."
Largo had stopped breathing when she'd spoken his name. He had to be careful now not to let out his breath in explosive relief. He would have to thank her.
"You ... sent him on his way?" Kuen said, baffled.
"Yes. Largo was most insistent that he return to his search for his friend. More than that, I cannot say. You'll have to take it up with Lord Kraja. He should be back from his hunting trip tomorrow."
There was a long pause. When Kuen spoke again, her voice shook. "Oh. I--I think I'll see if I can find him now."
"What?"
"Which way did he go, do you think?" She was already getting to her feet.
"Off northeast, toward Stonecutter's Pass. But do you really think--"
"I think it may be important," Kuen said. "And the hobbit? Where was he going?"
"He was picked up near Wellen's Cross. I think he was headed to Saint Verdaine."
"Thank you." Kuen made a hurried little half-bow. "Excuse my hasty exit. It's very urgent that I find both of them. But I'll be in touch."
She was almost to the door.
"Kuen!" The countess's voice was sharp.
Kuen halted.
"Are you really so concerned for that hobbit out there?"
"Oh, yes," Kuen said fervently.
And she was gone.
The countess stared at the closed door, eyes thoughtful. Largo waited for her to lock it again, so that he could be sure not to be interrupted when he shuffled out from his hiding place ...
Another knock.
The countess let out a low breath of annoyance. "What now?"
The maid was at the door again. "I'm sorry, my lady. My lord would like to speak with you."
"Is he right outside my door, too?" the countess demanded impatiently.
"No, my lady. He awaits you in his study."
"Very well. Tell him I shall be along in a moment."
Then she shut the door and firmly locked it.
"Well, Master Blackstone," she said a trifle ungraciously. "You've managed to learn a few things today, haven't you?"
He crawled out. "I learned where all the dust in this study hides," he noted, brushing himself off.
"You've learned that you are a pawn."
Largo was silent. I've learned that the dragon may not want to eat me after all, he thought. And that Lord Kraja is ... not safe. And that I've got to be careful on the road.
"I will want to continue our interview," she added. "But I am going to speak with my lord first. Perhaps we can pick this up again tomorrow."
"Yes, my lady."
When she checked the hall, the countess found only Lord Kraja's looming valet, lurking mountainously and--possessively--as he waited to guide the hobbit back to his room.
That made up Largo's mind. Countess Neraine was right. He was a pawn, a pawn in some obscure wizardly rivalry. He had no idea what either Lord Kraja or Lady Manjusha might want with him. He didn't care to find out. Kuen had said she worried about him out on the road.
He was worried about what might happen if he stayed here.
He couldn't get distracted. He had to find Nolly.
He could move quickly and quietly, stay off the road. Hobbits were difficult to track when they put their minds to it. Not even Kuen would find him.
Though his polite nature rebelled at the thought of such an abrupt departure, his mind was made up. He would be gone before the wizard returned tomorrow.
#
Even more distasteful than leaving without saying goodbye, he was going to have to steal a few basic supplies. He had a bit of money in a belt-purse, but to restock all his supplies would take more than that. He planned to wait until a few hours before dawn and then sneak down and pilfer a few items from the kitchen. But a sudden weariness settled on him with the twilight. He would have to get some sleep before then. He barely managed to shuck his jacket and waistcoat before flopping into bed, determined to take a few hours to sleep.
Nolly was waiting for him.
"You'll never guess," she said, eyes shining with excitement. "I'm on a ship! We've left for Chadrafun with the tide!"
Stricken, he stared at her. "You've--left?"
"Just across the water," she said. "It's not really very far."
"But--" The sea! He'd never seen it. He knew it really was a short way across the Twisea to Chadrafun. But somehow, in his mind, the Sea was a barrier, a threshold. Beyond it, the world changed, blurred into dragons and legends. Until now, Nolly had been within reach. Until she had stepped onto a ship--
"Oh, you must see it," she went on, carried away by all the new wonders she'd seen. "There are fish shaped like stars, and shells that look like that little stone you have--you know, the snail-like one--only they're alive!--and huge fish. I mean enormous, the size of houses, of bigfolk houses, and they pop out of the water like they can fly, and when they come down it's like thunder! And you should try the food. The ones that aren't shaped like fish looked like they'd be absolutely awful--there's these giant things that look like spiders, and others that look like bugs, and then clams and mussels and oysters that are just little folded shells. I was rather nervous about that--but they're all delicious with butter, all this lovely soft white meat with a bit of salt flavor. Makes for absolutely delicious soup, too, or you can put them in a sauce with white wine and garlic and--What was that?"
Largo jumped. He'd been getting rather interested in her description of the new foods. But now as he paid attention, he could hear it: echoing through the dreamspace was the faint, but unmistakable, sound of a cry for help.
He looked around, but there was nothing to break the darkness where he and Nolly stood. "Is--is that coming from in here?"
Nolly frowned, concentrating. "Maybe it's coming from outside. Are you asleep, too?"
"Yes."
"Then maybe somebody's calling to one of us while we're sleeping."
The cries sounded urgent. He couldn't make out the words, but with something like that you didn't have to--it was clearly distress.
"Drat," Nolly said. "If they need help, we'll have to wake up."
Reluctantly, Largo nodded. But as Nolly started to fade, his eyes widened.
"Nolly!"
She stopped mid-fade. "What?"
"I can't! I can't wake up!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Largo. Just--"
"No--I'm stuck asleep!" He'd had this sort of panic in nightmares before--the sudden wild realization that he was dreaming, and that if he could only wake up the nightmare would be gone. But this time it wasn't overlaid with that ambivalent disbelief that kept him in dreams. This felt ... external. "I just can't!"
Nolly abruptly became solid again. She was fumbling in her pocket as the wails redoubled. "Steady on, Largo."
"But I'm asleep, and that noise--"
"Just hold on a moment." She took his hand. Largo hadn't really been looking at her, but that sudden touch was electric. He abruptly lost all sense of what he'd been saying--
And Nolly jabbed the needle from her pocket sewing kit savagely into his palm.
"Ouch!"
His voice startled him. He'd spoken aloud-- had jolted awake and yanked his hand back. It was dark. Rain lashed the window. The manor house was eerily still.
Especially considering that somewhere inside, he could still hear those desperate shrieks.
He felt a dreamlike disappointment. He'd rather hoped the shouting had come from Nolly's end of things--let her deal with it. But it seemed that someone over here needed help.
For a moment he considered just letting someone else in the house--maybe that big troll of a valet, or the earl--investigate the noise. Better them than him.
But even as the sounds grew more desperate, the house remained otherwise as still as a grave.
Maybe they can't wake up, either, he thought remotely.
And thus, it fell to him.
He got to his feet. He felt for the candle with one hand; the other fumbled in his jacket for his tin of matches. After a moment's thought, he threw the jacket on. Thus armed, he held up the tiny candle flame and set out to follow the cries.
They led him downward. As he got closer the walls muffled it less, but the cries were growing thinner and weaker to match. Largo suddenly wished he'd picked up a fireplace poker or something.
Thus, when his path went through the kitchen, he took a moment to climb up the counter and find a good big butcher knife before continuing on to--
He swallowed. The shouts were was coming from a staircase leading downward into the dark cellar.
Who the blazes--?
Clutching the candlestick tightly, and the knife's handle even more tightly, he started down the stairs.
The place was musty and dank. It had once been a wine cellar, but the last cask had been sealed and forgotten some time ago. Now the most frequent visitors were spiders ... though he could see in the flickering light that someone had walked along here recently. Booted footprints made a clear trail in the dust.
Now he could hear the words in the voice--"No!" and "Somebody help me"--
And another, deeper voice, the bass part, calm and quietly chanting ...
He couldn't do this. He knew what would happen--he'd seen it in Nolly's vision. Fire with faces. He couldn't fight that. He was going to flee, seize a few things from the kitchen and be out of this house within minutes--
He thought suddenly of what Nolly would say if he ever admitted to her that he'd turned away from a cry for help.
He had to move before he thought. The candle went out as he sprinted past the casks, down a second set of stairs to another dusty cellar--
--into a nightmare.
There were no casks in this cellar anymore. There were candle banks instead, dozens, their light gleaming on racks of knives and chains. It also glinted off the broad back of Lord Kraja of Chadrafun--and off altar in front of him, the altar with the thing on it, the thing that struggled, and bled, and screamed--
And at the crescendo of his chant, Kraja plunged a wicked-looking knife into it.
The screams stopped.
Kraja made a few swift cuts, stuck his hand in--his muscles bunched--a crack. Businesslike, he pulled out the heart, still beating, and bit.
Largo realized his mouth was open, but he didn’t know he was screaming until the wizard spun. The knife dripped in one hand, the--oh, gods and demons--in the other hand--
The wizard’s voice rumbled again from a bloodstained mouth: "You!"
Largo couldn’t tear away from the wizard's eyes. They hung in his vision, pupils nearly eclipsing the color, the only thing in black space.
The kick caught him on the collarbone. Largo choked, hitting the wall hard, the knife falling from his grasp. Kraja's fists were next, powerful blows exploding in his guts and face. He tried to curl up, wishing they would end.
After an eternity of a few heartbeats, the wizard laced his fingers into Largo's hair and slammed his head into the wall.
Largo's knees folded, but he could not fall--Kraja's grip on his curls was going to tear his scalp off.
But Kraja had paused. While Largo hung from his hand, the monster gazed at him thoughtfully. His eyes still blazed in Largo's vision, and so did his skin ... among the flickering stars of pain, the big man's scarred body began to burn red ...
"No," Largo choked. He could feel the force of that blaze. The whole house could--it was crushing down on them--the stones rumbled ominously-- "Please ..."
The lights came together, searing into his brain.
And Kraja jerked, groaned, and dropped him.
Largo fell to the floor, fighting to keep a scrap of his senses. The candles, the room, the blood, the--now-silent thing on the altar--were spinning. Only two things were clear--Kraja, whose body no longer glowed, and--
"Kuen," he whispered.
Kuen had appeared, holding a shaft of green--flame? light?--that had bitten into Kraja's arm. She had bought Largo a moment.
And she'd heard his whisper. She turned, and in that room of red, the last thing he saw before the world spun were those sad green eyes ...
#
Quick! Better read Part 8!
