bloodyrosemccoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2013-04-28 06:03 pm
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2013-04-28 06:03 pm
Entry tags:
Scatterstone - Part 8
BUT AMELIA WHERE IS THE--oh, never mind, here's Part 1 and the index.
The guy who informed Arie that she doesn't swear was ¾ wrong. He was all the way wrong about ladies having no need for some good cuss words. Everybody stubs their toes, after all. But his assertion that all fairies are female is subject to variable levels of truth. Woodfairies have a complicated life cycle, but the upshot is that they grow on trees. As such, they have no reproductive organs and are not male or female (or, given how their chromosomes work, they could be considered both). However, as they have high voices, delicate features, slim bodies, a love of frilly dresses and sparkles, and names that sound like they were chosen out of a Bath & Body Works catalog (Terwu'arie literally means "Shadowrose"), humans and other such species generally automatically assume they are female. As such, the common speech refers to them using female-gendered terminology. Following convention, I am using it that way here.
In contrast, dwarves do come with the more recognizable binary reproductive systems. But aside from the primary sex characteristics, dwarves have no visible sexual dimorphism. All dwarves, male and female, have blocky builds, big muscles, and swathes of face and chest hair. And as the gender-free Dwarvish language offers no clues, and nosy questions about their reproductive systems mostly just annoy them, figuring out a dwarf's sex is only possible after the third date (or, for more traditional dwarves, after the wedding).
Fortunately for speakers of languages where gender is a required bit of coding, dwarves also don't seem to give two shits about how other species perceive them. They are perfectly content to all be referred to as "he" in the common speech, and where nouns come in masculine/feminine pairs, they always go with masculine. I'm using that convention here. To be honest, I have no idea what sex either Orlof or Hruldar might be. They refer to each other as 'husband,' but they could just as easily one male and one female, or two females, as two males. It doesn't actually matter, but it's an interesting bit of trivia.
In completely unrelated annotation, the thing Orlof refers to as an "oven" is actually a cast-iron Dutch oven set over a large earthenware brazier. For some reason, I feel it is important that you know this.
---
A thunderous blast of magic from the town house nearly knocked Arie out of the air. She flailed, burning with exhaustion, finally righted herself, and filled the air with curses.
For some reason, all the bigfolk Arie had ever come across seemed to have gotten the idea that fairies have no swear words. One fellow whom she had disabused of that notion explained quite knowledgably that fairies were all ladies, delicate as flowers, and as such no vulgarities ever passed their lips.
Arie had laughed for days about that. The assumption that ladies had no use for harsh language was funny enough, but to claim that flowers didn't--that was a winner.
She herself could curse for hours without repeating herself. She was demonstrating that now. She'd been unleashing a steady stream of invective ever since the moment Kuen had come out of the earl's townhouse almost at a sprint and grimly announced that they had problems.
Arie fervently wished she was big enough to be taken seriously by these haughty humans. She'd have had this straightened out in no time. Kuen was wise in a lot of ways, but none of them helped to unravel the possible lies other species made such a pastime out of. It hadn't even occurred to her that the countess might be anything less than painstakingly honest until Arie had pointed it out. But while she had no clear idea where the hobbit might be, or what reasons Kraja or the countess might have to conceal him, Kuen had ascertained that Kraja was indeed out hunting--and that meant somebody was in trouble.
"Manjusha's out hunting, too," Kuen had pointed out. "And if she runs into him--well, we told you about him."
That was when Arie started to swear.
The rest of the afternoon was a scramble. Arie soared higher and farther than a fairy was meant to go, almost struggling through the air, in order to track down the dragon and warn her. Despite Arie's protests, Kuen had gone after Kraja, intent on stopping any other atrocities he might have planned. But she was apparently too late; hours after sunset, when Manjusha and Arie finally made it back to the castle, all they found was a note. Kraja had stealthily returned to the townhouse ahead of her, and he had something with him. And Kuen, stubbornly determined, was going after him.
And now Arie was clawing her way through the dark, wet night, still swearing, and wondering if that great thunderclap of magic was the sound of something awful happening to her friend.
From the house up ahead, hot on the heels of that magic blast, a sap-chilling, animal shriek split the air. Arie resisted the urge to dive for cover and clap her hands over her ears. It was almost physical, that sound. A jolt that struck the nerves to action. And it was loud--probably shattered glass up in Manjusha's castle.
"Why am I still going toward this?" Arie demanded of herself.
The house was in an uproar when she got there. She lit in a tree just inside the wall, shaking, to catch her breath. Lamps were shining in the windows, and people were dashing in and out like besieged bees. Arie listened to the chatter. Somebody was shouting about robbers; someone else was screaming something about the dragon. Arie bit her lip at that--it had taken some doing to convince Manjusha not to swoop down and apply her undiscerning might to the problem. It was still a possibility.
A deep voice joined the shriller ones. Kraja. Thinking of all the things Kuen and Manjusha had told her, Arie shrank back against the trunk of the tree. But he too was shouting. "You're looking for a redheaded woman! She tried to steal my diamonds!"
Arie's heart leaped. Had Kuen gotten away?
The search continued, to no avail. At one point she got a look at the man who was causing them so much worry--Kraja, fully wrapped in a dark cloak and swathed in diamonds. His face had the intensity of a snake about to strike. The pockmarked scars added to the appearance of a scaled monster.
His cold frustration was probably a good sign. He hadn't found Kuen, then.
But where the blazes was she?
Arie had not seen her come out. Kuen might have been able to steal away, of course. But Arie knew some other tricks for hiding--and it was possible Kuen did, too.
Start at the source, she thought. So she summoned her last ounce of strength and slowly circled the house one more time.
She was glad she did. High up in the building, invisible from the ground, a window curtain was parted just enough to let a faint spark of light escape over it.
Arie floated down to hover at the top of the window frame. She peered through the crack, craning her neck to get a good look.
By the light of the single candle stub on a side table, she could see a glint of ginger curls.
That was heartening.
It was Kuen, all right. She sat on a small, plain bed, legs drawn up, forehead resting on her knees. Arie drew in her breath. Pain? Despair? Or just unhappiness?
Arie landed on the sill, glad to be slightly protected from the rain. Not that it was comfortable, of course--especially as there were iron bars on this window. She studied the setup critically: barred windows were never a good sign. She reached in beyond them and rapped on the glass.
A moment later the curtains parted, and Kuen pulled open one of the slim panes. She pulled over a rickety stool and sat down. "Hello, Arie."
A thousand possible questions flew through Arie's head. Finally she blurted, "Are you all right?"
The deliberative silence that followed nearly set her to cursing again. Stupid question. Kuen was the sort to meticulously address all its possible meanings, rather than offer a big picture answer.
"I'm not hurt," the sprite said finally. "I'm very tired, though. And..." She shook her head. "This night will stay in my head a long time."
"He didn't ... add you to his collection, did he?"
"No," Kuen answered calmly, and Arie nearly collapsed with relief. But then Kuen held up her hands. "If he had, these would be unnecessary."
A pair of shackles linked her wrists. Quite ornamental, for shackles--the iron was inlaid with golden sigils. The chain was long: the whole thing was not so much meant to restrict her movements as to contain her magic.
"Why, that sick rotter!" Arie cried. "If what you've told me is true--why would he need those?"
Kuen smiled tightly. "He doesn't know I'm here."
For a moment, Arie stared at her. Then she groaned and sat down. "What happened?"
"It seems," Kuen said dryly, "that Manjusha's speculations as to how Kraja is achieving capacity for all that power were correct."
Arie blanched. "The Rite of Aucthol?"
"Yes. He'd kidnapped a peasant girl while out 'hunting.'"
"And you knew this when you went back in here after him? And you did anyway? Had you forgotten the whole plan?"
"No, I had not," Kuen said sharply. "I didn't know what I would find when I went in--this was a possibility, but there were others, too. I wanted to see what they might be. And he had the whole place under a sleep spell--it was a fine chance to look around. I was armed. And if he was using the Aucthol Rite, and if I could keep him from it, it was entirely possible I could stop him right then and save everyone a lot of trouble. I had to try."
Her shoulders slumped. Arie's momentary anger vanished. She sighed. "I hadn't thought of that."
"I was going to be careful," Kuen said. Then, irrelevantly, she added, "But then there was the hobbit."
Arie blinked. "The--what?"
"Arie, you were right, too--when you said Neraine might be lying. Our hobbit--his name is Largo--was still here. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to shake off Kraja's sleep-spell. He got to Kraja a minute before I did."
"Oh, no! Did he--did Kraja--"
"He started screaming too," Kuen said. Then, as if a dam had opened, the words came flooding out. "When he saw--well, who could blame him? And then he stopped screaming and I heard blows, and I ran faster, and then Kraja started gathering his magic-- I didn't have time to think! I thought maybe I could still save him and whoever Kraja was--using in the Rite--but I had to get Largo out of there, and there was no time, so I--I threw him."
"That's what the bang was!" Arie recalled how loud it had been, and gaped at her friend as the implication sank in. "You threw him where?"
"I don't know," Kuen said, recovering herself a bit. "Somewhere off that way, I think." She waved vaguely toward the mountains in the distance.
"Great geysers, Kuen! He could be anywhere!"
"Yes."
"What about the other one? The sacrifice for the Rite?"
"I was too late," Kuen said flatly.
Arie tried to imagine. "I'm sorry."
"It was a young girl."
Arie reached through the bars and put a tiny hand on the sprite's larger one. "He's got a lot to answer for, doesn't he?"
"A very great deal."
Arie sighed. But the story wasn't over. "How did you get away?"
Kuen smiled slightly. "I broke the sleep-spell."
"With his kind of power? How'd you manage that?"
"He didn't have his necklaces on. But even then I think I only managed it because it was unexpected. But I had to wake everyone up. So I screamed."
Arie suppressed a grin. Kuen did a lot of magic with sound. "I heard you from the hill," she admitted. "That would've startled a sleep-spell right off of me."
"I'm glad you liked it," Kuen said. Now that she'd gotten past the worst part, her humor was coming back slightly. "I reasoned that he'd have had trouble explaining if anyone found him in the basement--"
"I'll say!"
"--and I don't think he wants to tip his hand yet, so he had to clean up. And I had time to get away."
"Yet here you are."
Kuen shrugged. "I didn't think I'd make it out--I'd just done a big translocation spell; I'm fairly exhausted. Even if I did get out, he could probably chase me down. So I decided not to try--instead of running out the front door I sneaked upstairs to Neraine and surrendered myself to her, on the condition that she not let Kraja know where I am. She did make the condition that I wear these." She rattled the chain. "She put me in here--I think one of the earls had a mad aunt living here." She looked around curiously. "Though how locking her in a tiny room with bars on the windows helped her madness is beyond me. Why do you suppose they didn't give her proper treatment?"
Arie put her face in her hands. "Kuen," she said, "only you would--oh, never mind. What matters is here and now. She stood. "Let's see--I'll have to talk to Manjusha--she's going to fly down here any minute and peel this house floor by floor to find you. I can probably convince her not to, at least until we've worked out if I can help you escape--"
Kuen held up a hand. "Actually, I'm staying here."
Astonished, Arie stared at her.
"I promised Neraine I would."
Arie's jaw dropped.
"No, think about it," Kuen said. "It might be what we need. I may be able to talk her around. She could help us if we give her a chance."
Arie looked speculatively beyond her. "Maybe it's this room that makes people crazy," she said. "You're not sounding all that sane yourself, you know."
"I doubt we can blame the room. But listen--Kraja's been doing his best to convince these people that Manjusha's against them. If I escape--and especially if I go back to Manjusha--Neraine will just think it's true." She shrugged. "I trust her to keep to her word that she won't hand me over to Kraja."
Folding her arms, Arie looked Kuen straight in the eye. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then I would take it as a personal favor," Kuen said levelly, "if you would rescue me as soon as possible."
Arie rolled her eyes. "Completely crazy."
"In the meantime," Kuen went on, "as I am rather stuck, would you do me another favor?"
"What's that?"
"Find Largo. I don't know where he landed after I vanished him out of here, but I think it's somewhere to the northeast." Her voice had grown small and forlorn. "He was so frightened ... I'm worried about him."
And well she should be. He was out of the immediate nightmare, but Arie could think of all sorts of possible disasters waiting to befall a hobbit who suddenly found himself flung into the wilderness. "I'll find him," she promised.
"I don't know how this will affect him," Kuen said, "but I'm sure he'll be upset. If you go to my kit--it's near my bed in the House--you'll find a little blue whistle. Take it. When you see him, you only need to play one note to activate it. It should help."
"What is it?"
"A complete Sunim Luspovan spell."
"That's generous of you."
"I think he'll need it," Kuen said. "I know I'm upset."
Arie touched her hand one last time. "We'll put this right. Don't worry."
Kuen managed a smile. "Thank you. Now go, before Manjusha tears this place apart."
Arie was about to fly off when one last question struck her. "You said you were armed--was it with that glowing sprite knife? Where did that go?"
Kuen looked away sheepishly.
"You gave it to the countess, didn't you."
"She asked if it was a magic wand."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I ... told her it was a weapon."
Arie couldn't help it. A snort escaped her.
"Well, it is!" Kuen said defensively.
Grinning, Arie said, "If anything convinces that lady you're sincere, that will. Just keep being yourself and she'll be on your side in no time."
She rose and flew wearily off into the night.
#
At first Orlof Ironpin was slightly annoyed when Hruldar returned to their cave a day early. Every married couple needed a bit of time to themselves--time they could devote to solitary pursuits. Hruldar could spend a few meditative days fishing at his favorite mountain lake, and Orlof was free to spend a few days preparing for the Dwarrowday contests. It was easier to do that alone--the constant vengeful muttering that accompanied all of his best work was better left unshared.
And Orlof was determined that this would be his best work: Vrod Slamchest had issued him a public challenge--calling into question Orlof's strongest talent. And that was unacceptable. Orlof might be an indifferent smith, he might only be in the last dozen dwarves standing in the Dwarrowday Melee, but by all the gods nobody challenged his supremacy as the mightiest knitter on life.
He was rooting around for more yarn when the stone door in the cave mouth opened and Rognir trotted in, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
Orlof sighed and looked up from his masterpiece. "Don't tell me," he called, scratching the dog's ears. "The only reason you could possibly have come home early is that you already caught all the fish in the lake."
He waited for the usual sharp retort. But when Hruldar spoke, it was in the common speech rather than Dwarvish, and it was clearly meant for someone out there with him.
"Come on in, lad. That's just Orlof."
Now genuinely curious, Orlof set the sweater aside. He rose as Hruldar led in a most peculiar-looking companion.
"That's it, lad," Hruldar said, tugging his charge's hand. "See? Nice and warm in here."
Orlof stared. "What have you got there?" he finally asked.
Hruldar tugged off his rain-soaked hood. "I have no idea," he admitted in Dwarvish. "Rognir found him sitting by the lakeshore this morning. Some human child, I reckon, though I couldn't find his parents."
Peering at the newcomer, Orlof snorted. "You blind old fool. This isn't a human child. It's a full-grown hobbit."
Hruldar blinked, then raised his shaggy eyebrows. "You don't say! Blast it, I can never tell with beardless types. They all look like great big toddlers."
Orlof snorted again and turned to their guest. "Sorry, lad," he said in the common. "Pay no attention to Hruldar Boneheaded here. My name's Orlof. Let's get you out of those wet things. I think my nephew's left some clothes here that'll fit you."
The hobbit had not moved after Hruldar had let his hand go. He stood listlessly where he'd been left, gazing unseeing at the bright braided rug at his feet, face frozen.
"Good luck," Hruldar said, yanking off his boots. "Hasn't said a word this whole time. Thought he was deaf at first, but then he seemed to hear Rognir barking." He scratched his beard. "I tended those bruises--that's one impressive black eye he's sporting, isn't it?--but he'll be sore for a few days. I'm not sure where he came from, but I'm starting to think he got here by way of hell."
"Doesn't look like he'd belong there."
"No--no more than he does here. It's a mystery, all right." But then he looked speculatively at the hobbit. "Hmm. He's finally stopped shaking."
"Might just be that he's warming up," Orlof shrugged. He'd found an old chest of clothes of roughly the right size. When he started to help the hobbit into them he met no resistance. It was like dressing a mannequin.
Finally he got the lad all wrapped into a blanket and seated by the fire. "And I'm sure he could do with something hot to eat, too." He glared at Hruldar. "I've got a root pie in the oven, since I thought somebody wouldn't be back with the fish till tomorrow."
"At least I cleaned them," Hruldar pointed out. "They're by the door."
Orlof grinned. He found the fish, then took them over to the kitchen area to find his fillet knife.
There was a small gasp from over by the fireplace. Startled, Orlof turned.
The hobbit's eyes had finally focused. But there was no rationality in them. They regarded the knife with animal terror, blind to everything but the blade. He was breathing in short gasps, and Orlof could see a scream building somewhere in his gut.
Orlof blinked. He thought he knew all the echoes in this cave, so it must have been his own sense of confusion that made his hair stand on end. It felt like something was growling at him. But the hobbit was silent, and Rognir--Rognir wasn't growling at all; he was whimpering, and trying to slink toward the cave entrance. And yet he could feel the growl, like a vibration in his toes, and a pressure--
"Here now," Hruldar began uncertainly.
Slowly, Orlof put the knife back in the drawer.
Just as slowly, the hobbit relaxed again. Orlof waited, but the feeling of pressure was gone. Rognir looked around at them all rather accusingly.
"Pie it is," Orlof said.
Later, when the hobbit was fed and curled up on Hruldar's bed, they considered what to do next.
"Did he drink that gunk you brewed him?" Orlof asked.
Hruldar nodded. "Should sleep straight through the night. Didn't even resist. And that stuff tastes awful."
"He could use it."
"Battle shock," Hruldar said sagely. "I've seen it before. Never quite this bad, though."
"But what battle? Where'd he come from?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does if it was that close to us. He looks like he lost an argument with a pack of mountain trolls."
"You can wander quite a ways when you're shocked like that," Hruldar said. "The scouts'd know if there was anything awful coming at us."
"They didn't notice him."
"Aren't hobbits supposed to be sneaky?"
"How should I know?"
Hruldar stroked his beard. "Well, we can't let him go out on his own like that. Shouldn't take him too long to come round. I don't think." He looked back at Orlof, rather eagerly, it seemed. Orlof wasn't surprised. Hruldar always did have a soft spot for injured baby bats and orphaned foxes and whatnot. Hobbits weren't that much of a stretch. "We'll just have to keep him for now."
But Orlof frowned.
"What?" Hruldar demanded.
"He might be dangerous."
Hruldar snorted. "That little gypsum chip? I could crush him into powder with my axe. Actually, I could probably do it with a soup ladle."
But he hadn't responded to a ladle with that panicked gaze. It had been the knife that had awakened him briefly from his stupor. And something else had awakened with him.
His husband clearly did not share his gloomy thoughts. Hruldar was already up and moving again. "As long as he's out cold, I'll get these fish scaled and boned. He'll never know I had a knife out. And if he comes out of it, maybe this'll be fun. Like having a nephew around again."
Orlof looked warily at the hobbit. A weird, oversized toddler of a nephew, with a strange fear of knives and a stranger command of some unseen power. Who had appeared lost and shivering on his doorstep wearing nothing but a shirt, trousers, and a bedraggled purple jacket.
With a shake of his head, he reached for his knitting needles. Masterpieces were all very well, but they could wait. The main function of a sweater was to keep folks warm--and he had someone who could use some warming up.
#
Nextward to Part 9!
The guy who informed Arie that she doesn't swear was ¾ wrong. He was all the way wrong about ladies having no need for some good cuss words. Everybody stubs their toes, after all. But his assertion that all fairies are female is subject to variable levels of truth. Woodfairies have a complicated life cycle, but the upshot is that they grow on trees. As such, they have no reproductive organs and are not male or female (or, given how their chromosomes work, they could be considered both). However, as they have high voices, delicate features, slim bodies, a love of frilly dresses and sparkles, and names that sound like they were chosen out of a Bath & Body Works catalog (Terwu'arie literally means "Shadowrose"), humans and other such species generally automatically assume they are female. As such, the common speech refers to them using female-gendered terminology. Following convention, I am using it that way here.
In contrast, dwarves do come with the more recognizable binary reproductive systems. But aside from the primary sex characteristics, dwarves have no visible sexual dimorphism. All dwarves, male and female, have blocky builds, big muscles, and swathes of face and chest hair. And as the gender-free Dwarvish language offers no clues, and nosy questions about their reproductive systems mostly just annoy them, figuring out a dwarf's sex is only possible after the third date (or, for more traditional dwarves, after the wedding).
Fortunately for speakers of languages where gender is a required bit of coding, dwarves also don't seem to give two shits about how other species perceive them. They are perfectly content to all be referred to as "he" in the common speech, and where nouns come in masculine/feminine pairs, they always go with masculine. I'm using that convention here. To be honest, I have no idea what sex either Orlof or Hruldar might be. They refer to each other as 'husband,' but they could just as easily one male and one female, or two females, as two males. It doesn't actually matter, but it's an interesting bit of trivia.
In completely unrelated annotation, the thing Orlof refers to as an "oven" is actually a cast-iron Dutch oven set over a large earthenware brazier. For some reason, I feel it is important that you know this.
---
A thunderous blast of magic from the town house nearly knocked Arie out of the air. She flailed, burning with exhaustion, finally righted herself, and filled the air with curses.
For some reason, all the bigfolk Arie had ever come across seemed to have gotten the idea that fairies have no swear words. One fellow whom she had disabused of that notion explained quite knowledgably that fairies were all ladies, delicate as flowers, and as such no vulgarities ever passed their lips.
Arie had laughed for days about that. The assumption that ladies had no use for harsh language was funny enough, but to claim that flowers didn't--that was a winner.
She herself could curse for hours without repeating herself. She was demonstrating that now. She'd been unleashing a steady stream of invective ever since the moment Kuen had come out of the earl's townhouse almost at a sprint and grimly announced that they had problems.
Arie fervently wished she was big enough to be taken seriously by these haughty humans. She'd have had this straightened out in no time. Kuen was wise in a lot of ways, but none of them helped to unravel the possible lies other species made such a pastime out of. It hadn't even occurred to her that the countess might be anything less than painstakingly honest until Arie had pointed it out. But while she had no clear idea where the hobbit might be, or what reasons Kraja or the countess might have to conceal him, Kuen had ascertained that Kraja was indeed out hunting--and that meant somebody was in trouble.
"Manjusha's out hunting, too," Kuen had pointed out. "And if she runs into him--well, we told you about him."
That was when Arie started to swear.
The rest of the afternoon was a scramble. Arie soared higher and farther than a fairy was meant to go, almost struggling through the air, in order to track down the dragon and warn her. Despite Arie's protests, Kuen had gone after Kraja, intent on stopping any other atrocities he might have planned. But she was apparently too late; hours after sunset, when Manjusha and Arie finally made it back to the castle, all they found was a note. Kraja had stealthily returned to the townhouse ahead of her, and he had something with him. And Kuen, stubbornly determined, was going after him.
And now Arie was clawing her way through the dark, wet night, still swearing, and wondering if that great thunderclap of magic was the sound of something awful happening to her friend.
From the house up ahead, hot on the heels of that magic blast, a sap-chilling, animal shriek split the air. Arie resisted the urge to dive for cover and clap her hands over her ears. It was almost physical, that sound. A jolt that struck the nerves to action. And it was loud--probably shattered glass up in Manjusha's castle.
"Why am I still going toward this?" Arie demanded of herself.
The house was in an uproar when she got there. She lit in a tree just inside the wall, shaking, to catch her breath. Lamps were shining in the windows, and people were dashing in and out like besieged bees. Arie listened to the chatter. Somebody was shouting about robbers; someone else was screaming something about the dragon. Arie bit her lip at that--it had taken some doing to convince Manjusha not to swoop down and apply her undiscerning might to the problem. It was still a possibility.
A deep voice joined the shriller ones. Kraja. Thinking of all the things Kuen and Manjusha had told her, Arie shrank back against the trunk of the tree. But he too was shouting. "You're looking for a redheaded woman! She tried to steal my diamonds!"
Arie's heart leaped. Had Kuen gotten away?
The search continued, to no avail. At one point she got a look at the man who was causing them so much worry--Kraja, fully wrapped in a dark cloak and swathed in diamonds. His face had the intensity of a snake about to strike. The pockmarked scars added to the appearance of a scaled monster.
His cold frustration was probably a good sign. He hadn't found Kuen, then.
But where the blazes was she?
Arie had not seen her come out. Kuen might have been able to steal away, of course. But Arie knew some other tricks for hiding--and it was possible Kuen did, too.
Start at the source, she thought. So she summoned her last ounce of strength and slowly circled the house one more time.
She was glad she did. High up in the building, invisible from the ground, a window curtain was parted just enough to let a faint spark of light escape over it.
Arie floated down to hover at the top of the window frame. She peered through the crack, craning her neck to get a good look.
By the light of the single candle stub on a side table, she could see a glint of ginger curls.
That was heartening.
It was Kuen, all right. She sat on a small, plain bed, legs drawn up, forehead resting on her knees. Arie drew in her breath. Pain? Despair? Or just unhappiness?
Arie landed on the sill, glad to be slightly protected from the rain. Not that it was comfortable, of course--especially as there were iron bars on this window. She studied the setup critically: barred windows were never a good sign. She reached in beyond them and rapped on the glass.
A moment later the curtains parted, and Kuen pulled open one of the slim panes. She pulled over a rickety stool and sat down. "Hello, Arie."
A thousand possible questions flew through Arie's head. Finally she blurted, "Are you all right?"
The deliberative silence that followed nearly set her to cursing again. Stupid question. Kuen was the sort to meticulously address all its possible meanings, rather than offer a big picture answer.
"I'm not hurt," the sprite said finally. "I'm very tired, though. And..." She shook her head. "This night will stay in my head a long time."
"He didn't ... add you to his collection, did he?"
"No," Kuen answered calmly, and Arie nearly collapsed with relief. But then Kuen held up her hands. "If he had, these would be unnecessary."
A pair of shackles linked her wrists. Quite ornamental, for shackles--the iron was inlaid with golden sigils. The chain was long: the whole thing was not so much meant to restrict her movements as to contain her magic.
"Why, that sick rotter!" Arie cried. "If what you've told me is true--why would he need those?"
Kuen smiled tightly. "He doesn't know I'm here."
For a moment, Arie stared at her. Then she groaned and sat down. "What happened?"
"It seems," Kuen said dryly, "that Manjusha's speculations as to how Kraja is achieving capacity for all that power were correct."
Arie blanched. "The Rite of Aucthol?"
"Yes. He'd kidnapped a peasant girl while out 'hunting.'"
"And you knew this when you went back in here after him? And you did anyway? Had you forgotten the whole plan?"
"No, I had not," Kuen said sharply. "I didn't know what I would find when I went in--this was a possibility, but there were others, too. I wanted to see what they might be. And he had the whole place under a sleep spell--it was a fine chance to look around. I was armed. And if he was using the Aucthol Rite, and if I could keep him from it, it was entirely possible I could stop him right then and save everyone a lot of trouble. I had to try."
Her shoulders slumped. Arie's momentary anger vanished. She sighed. "I hadn't thought of that."
"I was going to be careful," Kuen said. Then, irrelevantly, she added, "But then there was the hobbit."
Arie blinked. "The--what?"
"Arie, you were right, too--when you said Neraine might be lying. Our hobbit--his name is Largo--was still here. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to shake off Kraja's sleep-spell. He got to Kraja a minute before I did."
"Oh, no! Did he--did Kraja--"
"He started screaming too," Kuen said. Then, as if a dam had opened, the words came flooding out. "When he saw--well, who could blame him? And then he stopped screaming and I heard blows, and I ran faster, and then Kraja started gathering his magic-- I didn't have time to think! I thought maybe I could still save him and whoever Kraja was--using in the Rite--but I had to get Largo out of there, and there was no time, so I--I threw him."
"That's what the bang was!" Arie recalled how loud it had been, and gaped at her friend as the implication sank in. "You threw him where?"
"I don't know," Kuen said, recovering herself a bit. "Somewhere off that way, I think." She waved vaguely toward the mountains in the distance.
"Great geysers, Kuen! He could be anywhere!"
"Yes."
"What about the other one? The sacrifice for the Rite?"
"I was too late," Kuen said flatly.
Arie tried to imagine. "I'm sorry."
"It was a young girl."
Arie reached through the bars and put a tiny hand on the sprite's larger one. "He's got a lot to answer for, doesn't he?"
"A very great deal."
Arie sighed. But the story wasn't over. "How did you get away?"
Kuen smiled slightly. "I broke the sleep-spell."
"With his kind of power? How'd you manage that?"
"He didn't have his necklaces on. But even then I think I only managed it because it was unexpected. But I had to wake everyone up. So I screamed."
Arie suppressed a grin. Kuen did a lot of magic with sound. "I heard you from the hill," she admitted. "That would've startled a sleep-spell right off of me."
"I'm glad you liked it," Kuen said. Now that she'd gotten past the worst part, her humor was coming back slightly. "I reasoned that he'd have had trouble explaining if anyone found him in the basement--"
"I'll say!"
"--and I don't think he wants to tip his hand yet, so he had to clean up. And I had time to get away."
"Yet here you are."
Kuen shrugged. "I didn't think I'd make it out--I'd just done a big translocation spell; I'm fairly exhausted. Even if I did get out, he could probably chase me down. So I decided not to try--instead of running out the front door I sneaked upstairs to Neraine and surrendered myself to her, on the condition that she not let Kraja know where I am. She did make the condition that I wear these." She rattled the chain. "She put me in here--I think one of the earls had a mad aunt living here." She looked around curiously. "Though how locking her in a tiny room with bars on the windows helped her madness is beyond me. Why do you suppose they didn't give her proper treatment?"
Arie put her face in her hands. "Kuen," she said, "only you would--oh, never mind. What matters is here and now. She stood. "Let's see--I'll have to talk to Manjusha--she's going to fly down here any minute and peel this house floor by floor to find you. I can probably convince her not to, at least until we've worked out if I can help you escape--"
Kuen held up a hand. "Actually, I'm staying here."
Astonished, Arie stared at her.
"I promised Neraine I would."
Arie's jaw dropped.
"No, think about it," Kuen said. "It might be what we need. I may be able to talk her around. She could help us if we give her a chance."
Arie looked speculatively beyond her. "Maybe it's this room that makes people crazy," she said. "You're not sounding all that sane yourself, you know."
"I doubt we can blame the room. But listen--Kraja's been doing his best to convince these people that Manjusha's against them. If I escape--and especially if I go back to Manjusha--Neraine will just think it's true." She shrugged. "I trust her to keep to her word that she won't hand me over to Kraja."
Folding her arms, Arie looked Kuen straight in the eye. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then I would take it as a personal favor," Kuen said levelly, "if you would rescue me as soon as possible."
Arie rolled her eyes. "Completely crazy."
"In the meantime," Kuen went on, "as I am rather stuck, would you do me another favor?"
"What's that?"
"Find Largo. I don't know where he landed after I vanished him out of here, but I think it's somewhere to the northeast." Her voice had grown small and forlorn. "He was so frightened ... I'm worried about him."
And well she should be. He was out of the immediate nightmare, but Arie could think of all sorts of possible disasters waiting to befall a hobbit who suddenly found himself flung into the wilderness. "I'll find him," she promised.
"I don't know how this will affect him," Kuen said, "but I'm sure he'll be upset. If you go to my kit--it's near my bed in the House--you'll find a little blue whistle. Take it. When you see him, you only need to play one note to activate it. It should help."
"What is it?"
"A complete Sunim Luspovan spell."
"That's generous of you."
"I think he'll need it," Kuen said. "I know I'm upset."
Arie touched her hand one last time. "We'll put this right. Don't worry."
Kuen managed a smile. "Thank you. Now go, before Manjusha tears this place apart."
Arie was about to fly off when one last question struck her. "You said you were armed--was it with that glowing sprite knife? Where did that go?"
Kuen looked away sheepishly.
"You gave it to the countess, didn't you."
"She asked if it was a magic wand."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I ... told her it was a weapon."
Arie couldn't help it. A snort escaped her.
"Well, it is!" Kuen said defensively.
Grinning, Arie said, "If anything convinces that lady you're sincere, that will. Just keep being yourself and she'll be on your side in no time."
She rose and flew wearily off into the night.
#
At first Orlof Ironpin was slightly annoyed when Hruldar returned to their cave a day early. Every married couple needed a bit of time to themselves--time they could devote to solitary pursuits. Hruldar could spend a few meditative days fishing at his favorite mountain lake, and Orlof was free to spend a few days preparing for the Dwarrowday contests. It was easier to do that alone--the constant vengeful muttering that accompanied all of his best work was better left unshared.
And Orlof was determined that this would be his best work: Vrod Slamchest had issued him a public challenge--calling into question Orlof's strongest talent. And that was unacceptable. Orlof might be an indifferent smith, he might only be in the last dozen dwarves standing in the Dwarrowday Melee, but by all the gods nobody challenged his supremacy as the mightiest knitter on life.
He was rooting around for more yarn when the stone door in the cave mouth opened and Rognir trotted in, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
Orlof sighed and looked up from his masterpiece. "Don't tell me," he called, scratching the dog's ears. "The only reason you could possibly have come home early is that you already caught all the fish in the lake."
He waited for the usual sharp retort. But when Hruldar spoke, it was in the common speech rather than Dwarvish, and it was clearly meant for someone out there with him.
"Come on in, lad. That's just Orlof."
Now genuinely curious, Orlof set the sweater aside. He rose as Hruldar led in a most peculiar-looking companion.
"That's it, lad," Hruldar said, tugging his charge's hand. "See? Nice and warm in here."
Orlof stared. "What have you got there?" he finally asked.
Hruldar tugged off his rain-soaked hood. "I have no idea," he admitted in Dwarvish. "Rognir found him sitting by the lakeshore this morning. Some human child, I reckon, though I couldn't find his parents."
Peering at the newcomer, Orlof snorted. "You blind old fool. This isn't a human child. It's a full-grown hobbit."
Hruldar blinked, then raised his shaggy eyebrows. "You don't say! Blast it, I can never tell with beardless types. They all look like great big toddlers."
Orlof snorted again and turned to their guest. "Sorry, lad," he said in the common. "Pay no attention to Hruldar Boneheaded here. My name's Orlof. Let's get you out of those wet things. I think my nephew's left some clothes here that'll fit you."
The hobbit had not moved after Hruldar had let his hand go. He stood listlessly where he'd been left, gazing unseeing at the bright braided rug at his feet, face frozen.
"Good luck," Hruldar said, yanking off his boots. "Hasn't said a word this whole time. Thought he was deaf at first, but then he seemed to hear Rognir barking." He scratched his beard. "I tended those bruises--that's one impressive black eye he's sporting, isn't it?--but he'll be sore for a few days. I'm not sure where he came from, but I'm starting to think he got here by way of hell."
"Doesn't look like he'd belong there."
"No--no more than he does here. It's a mystery, all right." But then he looked speculatively at the hobbit. "Hmm. He's finally stopped shaking."
"Might just be that he's warming up," Orlof shrugged. He'd found an old chest of clothes of roughly the right size. When he started to help the hobbit into them he met no resistance. It was like dressing a mannequin.
Finally he got the lad all wrapped into a blanket and seated by the fire. "And I'm sure he could do with something hot to eat, too." He glared at Hruldar. "I've got a root pie in the oven, since I thought somebody wouldn't be back with the fish till tomorrow."
"At least I cleaned them," Hruldar pointed out. "They're by the door."
Orlof grinned. He found the fish, then took them over to the kitchen area to find his fillet knife.
There was a small gasp from over by the fireplace. Startled, Orlof turned.
The hobbit's eyes had finally focused. But there was no rationality in them. They regarded the knife with animal terror, blind to everything but the blade. He was breathing in short gasps, and Orlof could see a scream building somewhere in his gut.
Orlof blinked. He thought he knew all the echoes in this cave, so it must have been his own sense of confusion that made his hair stand on end. It felt like something was growling at him. But the hobbit was silent, and Rognir--Rognir wasn't growling at all; he was whimpering, and trying to slink toward the cave entrance. And yet he could feel the growl, like a vibration in his toes, and a pressure--
"Here now," Hruldar began uncertainly.
Slowly, Orlof put the knife back in the drawer.
Just as slowly, the hobbit relaxed again. Orlof waited, but the feeling of pressure was gone. Rognir looked around at them all rather accusingly.
"Pie it is," Orlof said.
Later, when the hobbit was fed and curled up on Hruldar's bed, they considered what to do next.
"Did he drink that gunk you brewed him?" Orlof asked.
Hruldar nodded. "Should sleep straight through the night. Didn't even resist. And that stuff tastes awful."
"He could use it."
"Battle shock," Hruldar said sagely. "I've seen it before. Never quite this bad, though."
"But what battle? Where'd he come from?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does if it was that close to us. He looks like he lost an argument with a pack of mountain trolls."
"You can wander quite a ways when you're shocked like that," Hruldar said. "The scouts'd know if there was anything awful coming at us."
"They didn't notice him."
"Aren't hobbits supposed to be sneaky?"
"How should I know?"
Hruldar stroked his beard. "Well, we can't let him go out on his own like that. Shouldn't take him too long to come round. I don't think." He looked back at Orlof, rather eagerly, it seemed. Orlof wasn't surprised. Hruldar always did have a soft spot for injured baby bats and orphaned foxes and whatnot. Hobbits weren't that much of a stretch. "We'll just have to keep him for now."
But Orlof frowned.
"What?" Hruldar demanded.
"He might be dangerous."
Hruldar snorted. "That little gypsum chip? I could crush him into powder with my axe. Actually, I could probably do it with a soup ladle."
But he hadn't responded to a ladle with that panicked gaze. It had been the knife that had awakened him briefly from his stupor. And something else had awakened with him.
His husband clearly did not share his gloomy thoughts. Hruldar was already up and moving again. "As long as he's out cold, I'll get these fish scaled and boned. He'll never know I had a knife out. And if he comes out of it, maybe this'll be fun. Like having a nephew around again."
Orlof looked warily at the hobbit. A weird, oversized toddler of a nephew, with a strange fear of knives and a stranger command of some unseen power. Who had appeared lost and shivering on his doorstep wearing nothing but a shirt, trousers, and a bedraggled purple jacket.
With a shake of his head, he reached for his knitting needles. Masterpieces were all very well, but they could wait. The main function of a sweater was to keep folks warm--and he had someone who could use some warming up.
#
Nextward to Part 9!