bloodyrosemccoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2014-07-07 11:48 pm
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2014-07-07 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
Scatterstone - Part 12
HOLY SHIT, AMELIA, IS THIS A SCATTERSTONE POST? YES IT IS! Forgot everything that's happened? That's okay, you can go back and read it using the index here!
Oh, Nolly thinks Alricshire is much more straightforward about who's male and who's female, but I suspect there are a few hobbits even in Birchdale that might surprise her.
Fodzi's character wasn't supposed to be quite so talkative. I wanted to just hint that there are different cultures and, for lack of a better word, races of dwarves in this world, because it always bugs me when nonhuman species seem to have their own monoculture (although both of these particular cultures do seem to share gender attitudes). But it was only going to be a suggestion of a bigger world. Then somewhere along the way![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
westrider and I started talking about counterculture dwarves (I still love the idea of greaser dwarves with studded leather jackets and blue jeans and big elaborately-carved combs for their gelled-up beards), and suddenly here was this Triple Peak dwarf with a speech style like that pretentious hipster with a thesaurus in his back pocket carrying on about souls and poetry. I love this guy.
The story of Manjusha's castle is a long one that might not make it into this narrative, but if it doesn't I promise I'll put it somewhere.
Anyway!
---
The land to the east of Chadrafun was an inhospitable desert, as different from Alricshire as ash was from moss. No green smells or soft ground under the feet; here it was just baked ground and a dusty, metallic flavor snapping in the nose and throat. Nolly couldn't believe anyone would live out there.
"It's not all so bleak," Ivan explained. "Kraja's land enters on a large oasis. For miles around it's nothing but sand and rock, until suddenly you come upon a magnificent green valley right in the midst of it. The family made its money controlling the trade."
"So they can see us coming?" Nolly asked, wide-eyed.
"That's how it's been so far, " Ivan said. "But we've found a new route where they can't."
So a few days after Zorna had made the transformation, converting Nolly's link to Largo into his possible salvation, she and Ivan set out.
They were up well before dawn that day. Once again Nolly had to pack up and start on a journey.
In order to keep a low profile, Ivan had them join a large caravan setting out across the desert to the southeast, though he assured her that they would be leaving before the caravan stopped at Kraja's oasis. And to simplify things even more, he'd dropped off a bundle in her room the evening before they'd left.
"Boys' clothes," he said, slightly sheepish. "They should be good for the desert. I can show you how to do the head wrap."
Nolly stared at him.
"You attract attention as you are," he went on. "If you dress like a boy, it won't raise so many questions."
"How am I supposed to do that?" she demanded. "I'm not really shaped like a boy."
Ivan actually blushed. "Ah--desert tunics are loose. But I did get you some extra lengths of cloth. I heard ... there are stories about women who wrapped themselves ..."
Deciding to spare him any further embarrassment, Nolly took the clothes. "If you can find me a mirror, I'm sure I can work something out."
So it was that the next day she was up before dawn, looking passably like a human lad, her braid tucked into a headwrap. Ivan had even gotten her some stockings and boots. Nolly didn't like boots even at the times when sensible people did wear them, in the dead of winter. She wasn't sure shed be able to stand them in the desert, but Ivan assured her that they were essential if she didn't want to attract attention.
In fact, she was rather surprised at just how many clothes were considered normal for desert wear. Wasn't the desert far too hot for this sort of thing? But when they set out, she quickly learned how useful they were.
The city was still quiet when they fell in with the caravan. As they passed the city outskirts and left the river that fed Chadrafun behind, the vegetation grew sparser. Blue shadows rolled by, swept into cracks and crevices by a dry, chill wind. A few seemed to settle on Nolly's spine; she shivered and drew her outer wrap around her shoulders. She reached up to touch the lump under her shirt where the little agate was nestled amidst the cloth she'd used to bind her breasts down.
"Cursed land," Ivan whispered. "It's either too cold or too hot. Out here the sun is like lead weight on your back."
At the moment that sounded lovely. This is a tricky place, she thought. I suppose in a few hours I'll be thinking longingly about the nice cool shadows.
And indeed, when the dawn burst ahead of them and the shadows dried up, Nolly was soon grateful for every little shrub that came between her and the sun. The robes she had thought were unnecessary were revealed to be her best defense against the blazing radiation.
They were on that miserable trail for days. Nolly had a difficult time believing that this was the cooler time of year, as Ivan said--if it was like this now, what was it like in the summer?
Finally, as she was wondering for the thousandth time if this desert had an end, Ivan gave her a signal and they slipped away from the caravan.
They disappeared among some haphazard rock formations, Ivan muttering cryptic directions to himself as he checked landmarks. There was no real trail. They tried to avoid leaving footprints in the sand by hopping from rock to rock, though Nolly suspected that the wind would erase any traces they left anyway. But to be safe, she finally stopped and yanked off those cursed boots so she could walk more softly.
It was right around then that she discovered that boots indeed had their uses on hot ground.
Her soles were starting to get sore--a truly rare occurrence--when she saw where Ivan was leading her. In the shadow of the rocky bluffs, behind a camouflaging clump of scrubby little shrubs, was a narrow canyon that led to an opening in the rocks themselves. The tunnel was dark, but to Nolly the shade was a welcome change from the relentless sun.
A few feet from the entrance, an iron gate was spread across the narrow gap.
Nolly paused. "What now?"
Ivan let out a low, funny little whistle--clearly a signal.
Nothing happened. Ivan glanced at her awkwardly, and tried again.
A good-natured curse echoed from somewhere in the tunnel.
"Never could whistle," the voice added. "But I hear you fine."
Out from a hidden alcove behind the gate stepped a dwarf unlike any Nolly had seen before.
He had much darker skin than any of the dwarves who'd passed through the Celadon Toadstool. Those were grim, serious types. They wore leather and knits and lots of sternly ornate buckles. Their beards were loose and glossy, preened to a shine. They used few words and gruff ones, and were always on the lookout for slights to their honor.
This dwarf's black hair and beard were gathered in an array of discrete locks that whipped like vines when he moved his head. Each lock was clamped with a cuff of dark iron inlaid with copper. He wore a sturdy pair of blue work pants and an undyed wool blanked draped over one shoulder and fastened with a beaded belt that reminded her--with a pang--of the ones Zeia wore. His eyes were hidden behind smoked spectacles, and Nolly might have wondered how he could see in the dim tunnels, if she weren't distracted by the alarming grin he was pointing at them.
His teeth were red.
It took her a moment to figure out what she was seeing. But the dwarf gave her plenty of time to look at it. She realized that each of his teeth--each one she could see, anyway--had been inlaid with a square tile of some blood-red stone. The effect was--alarming.
More alarming, however, was the way he looked at her with such unsettling interest.
"Y'see, Miga?" he called over his shoulder in lazily accented Common. "If you're stuck on a problem, wait, and the gods will provide."
Nolly glanced up at Ivan and was dismayed to see that he was as taken aback as she was. But he relaxed slightly when a Fyan man, presumably Miga, joined the dwarf.
"You're not supposed to be the one judging who we can show ourselves to," Miga said, surly.
"I'm not supposed to distract you from your guard duties, either," the strange dwarf pointed out, "and yet I was destroying you at chess."
"I was barely distracted. Why do you think I was losing?"
"I take what I can get." The dwarf shrugged. "Unlock the gate."
Miga sighed lugubriously and turned to the newcomers. "'The stars are bright from the bottom of a well,'" he said in a bored, singsong voice.
"'But only on a cloudless night,'" Ivan answered.
Satisfied, Miga unlocked the gate. "I suppose you're here to see Funro."
Ivan nodded.
"You the one bringing the important message he's waiting for?"
Nolly tried to keep her hand from wandering toward the agate on her neck. Ivan nodded again. "That's us."
"He'll definitely want to know that," Miga said.
"I'll take 'em," the dwarf offered.
Miga nodded. "It's almost sunset anyway.
A brief cloud of annoyance passed over the dwarf's face, but he quickly mastered it. "Right on. The name's Fodzi, you two. Follow me."
Nolly passed through the gate, suppressing a pang as she was reminded of the times Largo had tried to show her the small tunnels and caves in the Wild foothills. At least here there was some light--a little ways back from Miga's dim guard alcove, lanterns were hung along the walls. And there were more signs that these caves were heavily traveled. The tunnels were roughly hewn out to allow a human to walk upright, and they were braced at regular intervals.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
Ivan smiled crookedly. "Control of the oasis is only one source of Kraja's family wealth. The diamond mines were another."
Nolly sucked in her breath. After everything she'd heard about diamonds and Kraja, finding herself in a diamond mine was not as romantic as she might have imagined while back in Alricshire.
"Why--are we here?" she asked.
"Not for the diamonds, that's for sure," Fodzi said, giving her another red grin. "This place is as dry as the rest of the desert now, all the diamonds scattered to the winds. It's been abandoned, and Kraja had it sealed. Nowadays there's nobody in here but us lizards."
"Most of the entrances are better sealed," Ivan explained. "Magic barriers, guards, big iron doors. But the one back there had already been long forgotten. We can use it to get at him."
They passed a large natural chamber. Nolly caught a glimpse of an underground version of a Fyan camp--though everyone milling through this one was male.
She also saw a lot more weapons on open display than in any other Fyan camp.
Swallowing, she hurried to keep up with Ivan and Fodzi.
The chamber he led them to was smaller and manmade. A lone figure sat at a table, poring over a number of different pages by the light of a lamp.
Fodzi snapped his fingers to get the figure's attention. "Funro! We have been rescued."
The figure turned.
Funro, Ivan had explained, was Vazyo's younger brother. Nolly instantly saw the resemblance. Funro was slighter, his face clean-shaven, and his garb less ostentatious. But he had the same keen eyes--and as he turned, they focused on her.
"Perfect!" he said. "He's perfect!"
It took Nolly a moment to realize that he was talking about her. She'd completely forgotten her boyish disguise.
"Sorry," Ivan sputtered. "Perfect for what?"
Fodzi flopped onto a boulder. From somewhere in the folds of his blanket he produced a pipe, a tin, and a little bottle.
Funro looked at them. "Have you got the spell? Your message said you had a spell."
"Yes," Ivan said warily. "It's all you needed to complete the plan, right?"
Funro and Fodzi exchanged glances. "Almost," Funro said. "Turns out we do need one more thing."
"A spark," Fodzi said. Nolly watched him with an expert's eye as he took a stick from his tin and dipped it into the bottle. A tiny flame burst onto the inferior match.
Inelegant, that setup. Nolly would have to introduce him to Kallem & Fine's superior products when this was all over.
In the meantime--
"We have it all scheduled," Funro said, indicating his various slates and parchments. "Once our contacts in Arcadia get his diamonds away from him, we've got a crowd of men who can take on Kraja's palace. But we can't do anything with them until we get into the palace. There's that big wall of magic we need to remove. And to do that"--he fixed Ivan with an intense gaze--"somebody's got to sneak behind that wall, carrying that little spell you've brought along, and use it to break the big central diamond."
Ivan's face was taking on an increasingly rebellious shape as Funro went on. "And why is that a problem?"
"Because the only way that person can get in," Funro went on, "is to wriggle up a narrow shaft and punch through a solid rock wall to get to the palace's well."
"I've got something to get through the rock at the end," Fodzi remarked around his pipe. "It's the getting to it that gives us trouble." He held his hands up, indicating his own shoulder span. "None of us is skinny enough. Not even the matchstick there." He waved his pipe at Funro who ignored him.
"If you can't get through, how do you know what's at the end of the shaft?" Ivan demanded. Nolly glanced at him, startled at the challenge in his voice.
Fodzi put a hand on the cave wall next to him. Around his fingers the wall took on an eerie bluish glow.
"I have been blessed by the gods beneath with an agonizingly slight talent for stone magic," he said. "Can sense where the shaft goes. Can't get through."
Stone magic! Nolly's attention was instantly riveted. Could Largo do things like that?
"But I think your miniature friend there will fit," Fodzi went on excitedly. "He can take the spell up there, break the diamond--"
"I've got a rough idea where it is in the building," Funro broke in. "I could--"
"No."
Nolly swung to look at Ivan, startled. Funro blinked. "What?"
"Absolutely not," Ivan said, arms crossed. "Out of the question."
Funro and Fodzi exchanged shocked looks.
"Ivan," Funro said, stricken. "We're running out of time. The day we've chosen is coming up fast, and we're running out of options. We were starting to panic. And now we have an answer--"
"It's too dangerous," Ivan snapped.
Fodzi raised a hand. "Correct me if I am wrong, my brother, but Funro leads me to understand that you have a sister who's in a great deal of danger already."
"Yes," Funro said pleadingly. "Zeia's in trouble, Ivan. And your friend here can help, and yet--"
"My friend," Ivan said, "is only along to carry the spell this far."
"Why not farther?" Funro demanded.
"Seems that you brought us a fatefully fortuitous solution to our insoluble conundrum," Fodzi pointed out. "Take the choice providence offers you."
"It's a not a choice," Ivan replied. "You don't know what you're asking!"
"Look, our whole plan could fall apart--"
"She's a girl!" Ivan snapped.
The revelation startled Funro into silence. His eyes widened.
Fodzi, on the other hand, puffed thoughtfully a couple of times and said, "So what?"
Nolly and the two Fyan looked at him.
"Does that render her unable to get up the shaft?" he asked.
"Well--" Funro floundered.
"It's too dangerous for a lady," Ivan said stubbornly.
"Many ladies are already in danger, as we previously stated--"
"She's not even from here--"
"Ivan, think of Zeia--"
"Excuse me," Nolly said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice. "You forgot to ask me if I was willing to do it."
They all turned to her.
"Damn," Funro said, sizing her up. "You are a girl."
Ivan gave her a warning look.
Fodzi raised his eyebrows. "Are you willing to do it?"
Throughout the walk across the desert, Nolly had been wrestling with the prospect of giving up the spelled agate to be used by someone else. Now, though, she was presented with the possibliity of doing it herself.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Absolutely."
Fodzi flashed another big red grin.
"What?" Ivan spluttered.
Nolly spread her hands. "What choice do I have?"
"But it's dangerous!"
"I know!"
He appealed to Funro. "There must be another way."
"Not that I can think of," Funro answered, staring at his feet.
"You've got to see that," Nolly pleaded. "This is the only way to get Zeia back--"
"But what if I lose you, too?"
The anguish in his voice startled her into silence. Ivan looked at the torchlight, rather than anybody.
"You're becoming another little sister to me," he admitted. "I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt."
Funro coughed uncertainly. Nolly straightened.
"Then I'll just have to try my best not to," she said tartly.
Ivan almost smiled at that.
Nolly couldn't help it. She gave him an impish look. "Remember, Ivan, I don't like the idea of getting hurt either. I'm going to do my best to avoid it."
This time he did smile. "I'll try to remember that."
"Wonderful," Funro said, though he still looked unsure. "We'll discuss it in detail tomorrow. But tonight ..." He shifted awkwardly.
Fodzi rolled his eyes and heaved himself to his feet. "I got her, Funro. We'll grab a bowl of stew and disappear off to our own abode. We'll sit and do each other's hair and play some chess or cards and discuss the impenetrable mysteries of the Fyan."
Nolly frowned, running that over in her mind. The sun had been low in the sky when they'd entered the cave. Since they'd joined this non-Fyan caravan and she'd disguised herself as a boy, Ivan had been visibly uncomfortable. She had gotten used to quickly separating from him when the sun went down. She'd suspected he was fretting not only about his sister's safety, but also about what to do when they arrived at this all male, all-Fyan rebel camp. She'd vaguely wondered about it, too--whether she'd find herself alone every night.
Now it turned out there was someone who was willing to be with her after dark--and it was this dwarven stranger.
Oh, well, she thought. When I started this journey I didn't know Ivan or Zeia, either, and that turned out all right.
"I am a little hungry," she admitted, picking up her pack.
"Follow me," Fodzi said.
The stew offered in the main chamber was greasy and watery, and the biscuits were the sort of waybread that needed soaking in the gravy before they became edible. When she and Fodzi had scurried away from the main camp to their own small private chamber, Nolly ate it dutifully. One unfortunate discovery she'd made during this long trek was that one often had to accept unpalatable food simply in order to keep up one's strength. Nolly herself was of the opinion that the substantially increased appetite afforded by travel should be rewarded with quality meals, but alas, reality was harsh.
Fodzi looked similarly unenthusiastic about dinner. She hoped it was simply that the food was terrible. Just in case, though, she cautiously said, "Sorry about this. I don't want to keep you from your comrades."
Fodzi glanced up, surprised. Then he smiled.
"You must be joking, my fuzzy-footed friend," he said, seating himself comfortably on his bedroll. Suddenly she realized that it had already been here waiting for him in this isolated chamber. Was this his nightly routine?
Unwittingly he answered her thought. "This is the most after-dark company I've had since I joined this campaign."
Nolly frowned, glancing around at the lived-in space. "You ... don't mix with them after sunset?"
Fodzi speared a chunk of meat with his knife. "The inscrutable tenets of our Fyan friends demand that nobody from their elite fellowship shall mix with dwarves after sunset. You never know which of us might be carrying the wrong equipment."
It took her a few moments to work that out. Then her eyes widened. "You're female?"
Fodzi laughed. "I might very well be. Or not."
She wracked her brain, trying to make sense of this. Northern Quartzshaft dwarves periodically came through Birchdale, and she'd never seen any females. Rumor had it there were no female dwarves; theirs was a species that carved their sons from living rock. Nolly didn't believe that, but ... she'd never thought about it beyond that.
"Do you mean that you all look like--like men? Even the women?"
"You could put it that way, I suppose," Fodzi said. "I for one feel that we all, male and female, look more or less like dwarves."
"But then--do I call you 'he' or 'she'?"
"Oh, we're all 'he.' You don't ask a dwarf what sex he is."
"But how do you tell each other apart?"
"There's an ancient dwarven trick to it: we just don't care."
"Not even--you know--for courting?"
"Now you're catching on." Fodzi spread his hands. "Your horizons are expanding this evening as the world unspools its strange and wonderful complexity for you."
"But what if you marry the wrong thing?"
"The wrong thing?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "When two souls entwine in cosmic bliss, there can be no wrong."
Nolly didn't know what to say to that. Fodzi didn't talk like any of the dwarves she'd met before. That was confusing enough without this strange attitude toward men and women. She felt a wave of homesickness. Alricshire hobbits had much more sensible ideas about all sorts of matters.
Fodzi set aside his empty bowl and reached to the little pile of belongings in the corner of the chamber. He returned to the circle of lamplight with a box containing a chess set. "Do you play?"
"Sure." Nolly moved to help him set it up, eager to change the subject.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "What got you helping the Fyan?"
Fodzi inspected a pawn thoughtfully. It seemed to be carved from the same stone that was inlaid in his teeth.
"I'm a poet," he explained. "A searcher for the deep soul of the world. My search took me far from the Triple Peak, and eventually I came to Chadrafun. And then I made a grave mistake."
Nolly looked up from her setup. "What? What happened?"
"Some well-meaning person whispered to me that the use of magic was ill-advised in this neighborhood." He shrugged. "I asked why."
Nolly frowned.
"Thing is, like I said, I'm a poet by nature. Tragedy shakes me to my core. I was moved to go to their aid."
"That's quite selfless of you," Nolly commented.
"Not really," he admitted. "These people's pain sears my own heart. To rescue them is to relieve my own suffering."
"Oh."
"Actually, at first I was going to tap into that roiling spring of my own sorrow to bring forth some raw, searing poetry to stir my fellow Triple Peak dwarves into action," he shrugged. "But then I found out about the Fyan resistance already in place and concluded that my magic might be more useful even than the scorching intensity of my words."
Nolly had to agree with him on that one.
He sat back, the board set up. "And what about yourself, my little lost hobbit with the puzzling accent? What brings you here?"
Nolly looked down, touching her agate.
"I've got a lad," she admitted. "I ... think he's in trouble."
Fodzi reached out a rough hand to clasp her shoulder.
"Then that's good news for us," he said.
Nolly raised her eyes to his, puzzled. "Good news?"
"We've got you on our side," he said. "And you're doing this for love. And we poets know that love is a force that will always triumph."
Nolly nodded again. That was total nonsense. But at the moment, it was nonsense she decided to believe.
"So," she said, returning to the chessboard. "Let's play. And while we do, perhaps you can tell me more about what I'm supposed to do with this little rock."
#
"Do fairies eat meat?" Hruldar asked, stoking the fire in the little iron cookstove.
Arie looked over from where she was kneeling on the counter. She was trying to chop turnips, but given her own small size, she found herself more sawing through them with one of the dwarves' knives. "Of course we do," she said. "Why wouldn't we?"
"I don't know," Hruldar said. "Haven't met a lot of fairies. That's what I heard once. Figured I'd better ask before I, I don't know, violate some tenet of your beliefs, or poison you."
"Well, I thank you for your concern, but you needn't worry. We love our meat. The centerpiece of every midwinter festival is a wild boar."
Hruldar squinted at the small figure, obviously trying to picture a fairy hunting and taking down a wild boar.
"We go in groups," Arie said, as if that explained everything. "It's very exciting."
"I can imagine."
Largo sat on one of the cozy chairs by the fire, watching them. Orlof was in his favorite chair, knitting. Master Lodestone was at the table with a mug of ale.
After Arie had explained a bit more about her mission they had all, through some unspoken agreement, left him to his whirl of thoughts. His whole life had to be reexamined; both his past and future had been rendered terribly uncertain. But above the chaos one immutable truth loomed.
"My uncle's going to kill me," he said.
They looked up at him.
"Nonsense," Hruldar sputtered. "He's your uncle. He would do no such thing."
To his own surprise, Largo heard himself laugh. After all that had happened, his uncle's overwhelming presence in his life had dwindled dramatically--but, it seemed, not completely.
"He might, at that," he admitted. "The old sourpuss hates me almost as much as he hates magic. He'll be just thrilled to have them both in the same place."
Orlof lowered his knitting. "For goodness' sake, why?"
That took him by surprise.
"I ... don't know," he said. "I--well, he has little patience for fools, and he says I'm the greatest fool he's ever met."
"The uncles always say be the best at what you do," Orlof said dryly.
"I know why he hates magic," Largo said. "He was in the Battle of Hollygate as a boy. Mages on both sides fighting ... they destroyed the village."
Orlof snorted. "Yes, well. That's the nature of battles, magic or no."
"He's got a point," Arie agreed. She stood back from her pile of turnip cubes and raised her arms. The pile rose and followed her gestures' commands to fly into the large kettle boiling over the fire. "There are some who think it's the magic that makes a bad mage bad. They never think it might be the mage who makes the magic bad."
Master Lodestone looked up from his tankard. "Thing to remember," he said in his slow, deliberate way, "is that there's more than one way to be a bad mage."
They waited for a moment, but he seemed to be lost in reverie. Finally Arie cleared her throat. "Yes?"
He peered at her, as though surprised he had to explain. "Well, there's using your magic badly, to be sure. But even a well-meaning mage is a menace if he doesn't learn how to use his magic."
Largo found that it was difficult to meet the pointed gaze the old dwarf turned on him. Instead he focused on the pattern of the Rognir-chewed rug under his feet.
"You've had some strong outbursts," Arie added, following Master Lodestone's meaning. "You've been lucky so far. Only one person got hurt." She held up a hand when Largo his mouth to protest. "I know--he was a scoundrel. But you weren't in control there. Next time, what if you panic and hurt someone else? Hruldar, or Orlof, or one of your friends back in Alricshire?"
Largo's eyes widened. He thought of the night that had started him on this strange adventure--the night he'd awakened shot through with the knowledge that Nolly was in trouble to find that his entire cave had shifted. He hadn't been paying much attention to it at the time, but now that he'd seen what had happened with Old Man Mountain, he realized--it was him. He had pulled that cave out of shape.
He pictured what might happen if he'd had such an an outburst in his own hobbit hole, or the Celadon Toadstool. He swallowed hard.
"Will Manjusha teach me to control it, then?" he asked.
"Absolutely!" Arie said. "That, and everything else!"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"We all--Manjusha, Arie, myself, and many other mages--have a philosophy," Master Lodestone said. "A mage is only made better by study. Magic--common magic like mine, or elemental, like yours--is limited only by the mind. And study expands the mind." He smiled beneath his impressive mustache. "You never know what small spark of information in some obscure area of study might light an inferno."
Somewhere deep within Largo's chest, a tectonic shift was taking place. Though the crystal around his heart had shattered, a few shards still remained in the cracks and corners of his spirit, sealing away little pieces of it.
Now, with the prospect of an all-knowing teacher before him, one of those shards crumbled--releasing all the questions it had frozen within it. Largo was used to those questions. They'd fizzed and bubbled in his chest since he'd known how to talk, or before.
But the possibility of finding answers--that stirred them to a frenzy that almost lifted him from his seat.
"So you'll be studying all sorts of things," Arie said. "She'll certainly want you studying rocks and mountans and such. But she'll want you to know about plants, animals, medicine, the stars, history, mathematics, alchemy ..."
Orlof frowned at Master Lodestone. "Really? You mages cram all that into your heads?"
"It's our responsibility."
Orlof shook his head. "Seems unnatural. Nobody can keep track of that many different things."
"But it's all part of the same world!" Arie protested. "It's not different at all!"
"Besides," Largo said softly, "I've always been scatterbrained anyway."
"Bet your uncle said that," Hruldar grunted. He lifted the lid of the stockpot, where the main dish of meat and cabbage was simmering.
Arie looked at him, wings fluttering as she tried to hold in her impatience. She failed. "So! What do you think?"
Still, he hesitated. This time he was not thinking of Uncle Sirthaus, though.
"I left my home--and found my magic--because of Nolly," he said slowly. "I thought she was in trouble, so I went after her. I was catching up to her--I think--when Manjusha found me."
"From what I understand, Manjusha rescued you from a pretty nasty situation," Arie said.
"She took me two hundred miles out of my way!" he countered.
He tried to envision himself with a solid core. I am immovable. Like Old Man Mountain. "I'll study with Manjusha," he finally said. "But only if she takes me to find Nolly first."
Arie stared at him. "You--you can't make demands of a dragon, you know. And you can't use one as your personal chariot!"
He bit his lip. "She already carried me once. I'll do whatever else she asks me to, and I won't complain. But I need to do this."
Orlof cleared his throat. "Seems reasonable."
Master Lodestone raised his shaggy eyebrows. "Have you ever met a dragon, Orlof?"
"I hear they're very reasonable."
"It depends on whose reasons youre talking about."
Arie paced on the counter, thinking.
"It's a bad idea to speak for a dragon," she finally said. "But I'll help you make your case."
Largo let out a breath. It was all he could hope for.
"All right," he said. "I'll go."
"Wonderful!" Arie did a little dance of happiness, bouncing dangerously close to the stove. "You won't regret it!"
Largo thought again about the huge dragon he was going to study with. He was already regretting it.
Arie had moved on to other things, though. She was standing on her toes, peering over the rim of the stockpot. "Hruldar, this could use some garlic. Or bay leaves!"
"Bay leaves? What in the earth are those?"
"Seasoning. It's seasoning."
"Like salt?"
Arie rolled her eyes. "Dwarves."
#
Leaving Grey Peak was a painful affair. Hruldar cried openly, and even Orlof got a little misty-eyed. He made it clear that Largo was to keep the sweater. Hruldar, having no sweater to offer, plied him with a basket of food and a large flask of ale. Largo hugged both dwarves, then buried his face in Rognir's neck for a moment, earning himself a thorough, slobbery face-washing. Finally, he followed Arie to the mountain road that led back to Bloomsmeade.
The fairy hovered alongside him, her gold-and-green traveling gown fluttering like an extension of her reddening wings. She didn't carry any sort of pack; she only had a small leather belt bag. She tried to explain how all of her belongings fit into it, but Largo quickly realized that she would have to learn more about magic before it would make any sense.
Every step toward Bloomsmeade was a small internal victory. Yes, Arie had carefully and quietly explained the complex plan she and Manjusha were working on to take Kraja's power and bring him to justice, and yes, he knew she was trying to calm him down, but he still couldn't erase the memory of that awful night.
Nor could he quite suppress the memory of the dragon that had swept him up before that night had even taken place. It was almost a relief to have a different frightening memory to focus on--and one that might be resolved soon, at that.
That thought--and the promise of Manjusha's vast knowledge being made available to him--bolstered him, allowed him to go forward.
And then the castle was before him--and as he drew nearer to it than he'd ever gotten during his abortive previous encounter with the dragon, he gasped.
"Powerful, isn't it?" Arie said, eyeing him curiously.
Largo couldn't answer.
Since the moment he'd shared awareness with the gigantic presence of Zvauglarend, he had come to understand that some of the strange impressions he'd gotten over his life could have been his magical sense detecting something. The mountain's presence had pressed itself so strongly upon him that he could no longer mistake that sense for anything else--and, as was happening a lot lately, he found that many old memories were taking on startling new meanings. Arie's wings exuded a constant magical hum as she flew, and that buzz Kraja had carried about everywhere, he surmised, was the extra magical power he had stolen. And the hideous burning pressure during that last awful night--he forced himself to finish the thought--was the wizard gathering power.
That thought safely completed, he focused on this new sensation.
The strange, ghostly power rolled off the stones in waves. He closed his eyes, trying to get a feel for it. It was more orderly, more ... organic than the mountain had been.
I've dealt with a mountain, he reminded himself. A dragon isn't nearly that big.
He could almost pretend he believed it.
The wall around the dragon's castle was old and crumbling. He crossed through the arch into the courtyard, where he'd almost landed all those weeks ago. It was eerily silent, save for the power drifting across the flagstones like dust stirred up by his footsteps.
Across the courtyard was an imposing double door. He wanted to look for another entrance, but as he scanned the place the doors swung open.
Largo glanced at Arie. She had sunk out of the air and now stood on the ground. Her wings trembled slightly, but when she saw him looking at her she straightened.
"Let's go," she said.
Swallowing, he followed her.
He hadn't gotten more than a few steps inside before the house was upon him.
Arie had warned him about this. Most of the power in this castle did not belong to the dragon residing in it. Kraja had referred to the castle as a "haunted heap," though in reality the "haunting" was the result of some runaway wizardry, a spell so unsettling that the earl's ancestors had abandoned the place. Even with such a warning, it took Largo a moment to recognize the tugging at his jacket as part of it.
With a sigh Arie paused, spreading her arms. Her traveling cloak flew from her shoulders, floating off to vanish into a side corridor. Her little belt bag followed. As he noticed that, he became aware of an invisible force tugging on his pack, and he held onto it instinctively. "Where are they going?"
"It's taking my things to my chambers," she answered. "The House likes to keep things neat. It'll take all my clothes and wash them, probably."
The tugging on his bag continued. "Do I have a chamber?" he asked.
"Probably. Manjusha, Kuen,and I were discussing you. It would've overheard, and it prides itself on having things ready."
Reluctantly, Largo let go of his bag. "Thank you," he said to the air around him as the pack drifted off. "I'll keep my jacket on, if you don't mind."
The tugging ceased.
Arie looked around, equally unsure where to direct her content. "Where's Lady Manjusha?"
In answer, a pair of candles in one of the wall sconces flared a sudden purple. A second later, the pair farther along the wall to the left flared. "Oh," the fairy said. "This way."
They followed the flashing candles out of the great hall. The place was far larger than the one in the earl's mansion, but also less ornate--the greyish stone was bare of any hangings, and the few lit candles seemed only to punctuate the gloom. In the corridors he could see, in the flickers, scars and scrapes along the walls, as though someone--someone with hard scales-- often passed through them with some difficulty .
Now he could see another light ahead. The memory of the last night in the townhouse slowed his feet. But he knew what was going on this time. And Nolly was waiting. And--he had so many questions she could answer ...
He stepped into the light.
She was bigger than he remembered. A mighty creature, with scales red as rubies on her back, some tipped in silver. On her underside they subtly shifted into fiery oranges and yellows. She dominated the center of the room, her grand size curled like a cat. She was focused on a gigantic desk full of maps and books in the midst of ranks of shelves.
The chamber was a library.
Were the answers to his questions here?
Could he start learning now?
"Lady Manjusha?" Arie said, raising her voice. "I've brought Largo Blackstone."
Largo fell back under the fire in that gaze. "I--hello my--Lady Manjusha. I ... understand you've been looking for me."
Those eyes held him for a moment. Suddenly a white film swept across them, making him jump. It vanished just as quickly.
"So I see," she said.
She looked him over. Largo decided the first bit of magic he wanted to learn was how to turn invisible.
"What have you studied?" the dragon asked.
The questions crowding their way to his surface froze in place. "St-studied?"
A thunderous sound rattled his bones. A moment later he realized it was just a dragonish snort of impatience.
"Studied, boy. What have you studied?" She uncurled slightly, moving away from the desk to focus on him. "Zoology, chemistry, philosophy, mathematics, botany, linguistics--what are the subjects you've looked at so far?"
Largo stared, taken aback. He hadn't realized he was supposed to know things already!
"N-nothing," he admitted. "I--I came here to learn ..."
It was the wrong answer. Lady Manjusha actually reared back in disbelief.
"Nothing?" she said, with an air that reminded him of Uncle Sirthaus the time Largo tried to show him a particularly interesting bug he'd found. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven, my lady," he answered uncertainly. "Still not of age."
"And you are telling me that, in all of those twenty-seven years, you never once opened so much as an almanac or an herbal grimoire?"
Largo blushed. But he'd committed himself to this. It had to come out sometime.
"No, my lady," he said. "I can't read."
If she'd been offended at the suggestion that he'd never formally studied anything, this information sent her straight out the other side of indignance to pure bafflement. "... What?"
The excuses he'd offered to Uncle Sirthaus sounded hollower than ever, but he felt he owed some explanation to his prospective teacher. "I--I'm willing to learn," he said quickly. "But all the letters get so jumbled--"
"For me, too!"
Arie's cry was so exuberant that it lifted her into the air. She hovered excitedly, arms waving as she spoke.
"I had the same thing!" she said. "With both Fairy and Common writing! It's harder for me than for others because the letters move around! I know exactly how you feel!"
Largo stared at her with undisguised horror.
"But you still learned to read," Manjusha pointed out.
"Well, yes, but--"
The dragon sighed. If she'd been humanoid Largo was sure she'd have pinched the bridge of her nose. "I had so hoped my next student wouldn't be an idiot," she lamented.
Until that moment, Largo had thought the worst thing a dragon could do to someone was roast him.
"I'm sorry to have troubled you," he said, voice shaking.
Those coppery eyes regarded him a moment longer. Then, with a sigh, Manjusha said, "Follow the candles. The House will show you to your room. We are very close to putting an end Kraja's crimes; I will focus on that first and deal with you afterward. Arie, I need you to take a message to Kuen. I want to see if the countess is still willing to play her part ..."
Arie shot an apologetic glance at Largo before shifting her focus. She floated up to the desk to listen as the dragon launched into a discussion of their plan, leaving Largo to dejectedly find his way alone.
The dismissal stung. Part of him--the part that still kept the terror of Kraja preserved fresh--was relieved that they were putting their mission first. Arie had explained that as well. It had something to do with timing, and the power he stole from other mages. They had to get the necklaces away from him in stealth so that he wouldn't be powerful enough to resist Manjusha, and then something would happen in Chadrafun. He was glad he didn't need to know the details. They would take care of everything.
But he still wished that Manjusha had been at least a bit more cordial. His hand strayed to the little bag of stones on his belt pouch, which had stayed with him through this entire journey. Old friends they were, but a maddening puzzle. If he asked her to help him solve it, she'd probably just laugh at him. Or get that exasperated look again ...
As he made his way down the halls, he realized he wasn't quite alone. The quiet thrum of power in the walls flared each time a candle did. It was not a grand, cold, indifferent presence, like the mountain had been. This one had a more organic feel to it. He could feel its sincere warmth. It was comforting.
The room he found at the end of the candlelit pat was nicely furnished, but everything was human-sized. When he paused to eye a tall desk and chair, the House shivered--he could swear he sensed embarrassment from it--and the furniture quickly shrank itself down to his scale.
His packs lay at the end of his bed.
Both of them.
With a cry he darted forward to them. Here was the one he'd let Manjusha carry off when she'd seized him! Here were his cooking kit, and his changes of clothes, and his bedroll, and his pipe, and another tin of Nolly's matches--oh, it was wonderful to have his things back!
The clothes, he noticed, were freshly laundered. That was lovely.
He shrugged out of his jacket. The wall rippled, and suddenly a conveniently hobbit-level coathook sprouted out of it. He considered that for a minute, then hung up the jacket. If he questioned everything about this house he'd never get anywhere. He pulled off his sweater next. It flew out of his hands, folded itself, and floated into the clothes press.
Then he shucked the rest of his clothes. He was a bit startled when, instead of joining his sweater in the clothes press, they sailed away out the door. For a moment he had no idea what to think--then the answer came to him. He inspected his more recently-acquired travel pack and discovered that the dwarven clothes Hruldar and Orlof had given him were also gone.
"Then you're laundering them," he concluded.
To his surprise, the stones under his feet sent a tiny jolt of warmth through him.
"Oh," he said. "Thank you."
He supposed he could see why the earl and his family abandoned this place, but he didn't share the sentiment. This was rather nice.
But the House had more to offer. An impatient clang near the fireplace turned his attention to another of its furnishings with a smile. "Yes, I see it."
It was a steaming bathtub. It did feel a little strange to climb in while the House was watching, but the warm water was so nice--and the House had provided soap and a sponge--that he immediately forgot to be shy.
Once he was done, he wrapped himself in a biggish dressing gown--the House could shrink furniture, but not clothes, evidently--and settled in an armchair by the fire. Its job done, the tub, with a few more resounding clangs, stood up and actually walked out of his room.
Largo had to laugh. He pulled his chair closer to the hearth so he could put a companionable hand on the stones.
"Thank you," he said.
A pulse of acknowledgement came through his fingers.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Another pulse.
He'd thought maybe the House might have a voice, like Old Man Mountain. But it seemed that even this spell had its limits.
"Another question I'll never get an answer to, I suppose." He leaned back into his chair. "I think this was a mistake," he confessed.
A concerned pulse.
"Not because of you," he said. "But the dragon. What have I to offer? I've no head for magic and wisdom. I'm just a fool with magic. I'm no good at studies, and I'd be no good in this attack on Kraja." He hesitated; he hadn't told Arie or the dwarves this. "I suppose I should be glad that I needn't worry. Manjusha and Arie and Kuen--and whoever they've got over in the desert--are more than enough, I'm sure, and probably I'd just make a mess of things anyway. But--" He swallowed, shivering against the cold. "But I can't stop worrying. Nolly said,"--now he hadn't meant to reveal this, but--"in the last dream I had of her, that she was going to help them fight him. I don't know if it's true, but--what if it is? What if she's marching off to battle his people? I wouldn't put it past her."
There. He'd named his fear. Sometimes that helped tame it. But tonight, the dread filling him only grew.
"I just can't stop thinking that something might go wrong," he said. "That Nolly might--might be going into serious trouble."
He blinked, his gaze brought back from the middle distance by a ridiculous sight.
A small table, laden with steaming trays, was marching determinedly toward him, taking care not to spill its contents. It came to stand at attention next to him. As he gaped, the lids flew off the dishes, and he found himself facing a beautifully seared steak, steamed vegetables, bread and butter, and a mug of ale. Even as he took all this, in a smaller table scampered after its predecessor with an air of abashed tardiness to present him with an array of delicate dessert pastries.
Largo smiled, unaccountably heartened. "House, you have the soul of a hobbit."
The dessert table hesitated.
"That was a compliment," he added, reaching for the silverware.
And thus provided for, he fell to. He might be far from home, terrified for Nolly, confused by his own power, and a failure of a student, but at least, however strange, he had a friend.
#
What's this? A Part 13? Better read it!
Oh, Nolly thinks Alricshire is much more straightforward about who's male and who's female, but I suspect there are a few hobbits even in Birchdale that might surprise her.
Fodzi's character wasn't supposed to be quite so talkative. I wanted to just hint that there are different cultures and, for lack of a better word, races of dwarves in this world, because it always bugs me when nonhuman species seem to have their own monoculture (although both of these particular cultures do seem to share gender attitudes). But it was only going to be a suggestion of a bigger world. Then somewhere along the way
westrider and I started talking about counterculture dwarves (I still love the idea of greaser dwarves with studded leather jackets and blue jeans and big elaborately-carved combs for their gelled-up beards), and suddenly here was this Triple Peak dwarf with a speech style like that pretentious hipster with a thesaurus in his back pocket carrying on about souls and poetry. I love this guy.The story of Manjusha's castle is a long one that might not make it into this narrative, but if it doesn't I promise I'll put it somewhere.
Anyway!
---
The land to the east of Chadrafun was an inhospitable desert, as different from Alricshire as ash was from moss. No green smells or soft ground under the feet; here it was just baked ground and a dusty, metallic flavor snapping in the nose and throat. Nolly couldn't believe anyone would live out there.
"It's not all so bleak," Ivan explained. "Kraja's land enters on a large oasis. For miles around it's nothing but sand and rock, until suddenly you come upon a magnificent green valley right in the midst of it. The family made its money controlling the trade."
"So they can see us coming?" Nolly asked, wide-eyed.
"That's how it's been so far, " Ivan said. "But we've found a new route where they can't."
So a few days after Zorna had made the transformation, converting Nolly's link to Largo into his possible salvation, she and Ivan set out.
They were up well before dawn that day. Once again Nolly had to pack up and start on a journey.
In order to keep a low profile, Ivan had them join a large caravan setting out across the desert to the southeast, though he assured her that they would be leaving before the caravan stopped at Kraja's oasis. And to simplify things even more, he'd dropped off a bundle in her room the evening before they'd left.
"Boys' clothes," he said, slightly sheepish. "They should be good for the desert. I can show you how to do the head wrap."
Nolly stared at him.
"You attract attention as you are," he went on. "If you dress like a boy, it won't raise so many questions."
"How am I supposed to do that?" she demanded. "I'm not really shaped like a boy."
Ivan actually blushed. "Ah--desert tunics are loose. But I did get you some extra lengths of cloth. I heard ... there are stories about women who wrapped themselves ..."
Deciding to spare him any further embarrassment, Nolly took the clothes. "If you can find me a mirror, I'm sure I can work something out."
So it was that the next day she was up before dawn, looking passably like a human lad, her braid tucked into a headwrap. Ivan had even gotten her some stockings and boots. Nolly didn't like boots even at the times when sensible people did wear them, in the dead of winter. She wasn't sure shed be able to stand them in the desert, but Ivan assured her that they were essential if she didn't want to attract attention.
In fact, she was rather surprised at just how many clothes were considered normal for desert wear. Wasn't the desert far too hot for this sort of thing? But when they set out, she quickly learned how useful they were.
The city was still quiet when they fell in with the caravan. As they passed the city outskirts and left the river that fed Chadrafun behind, the vegetation grew sparser. Blue shadows rolled by, swept into cracks and crevices by a dry, chill wind. A few seemed to settle on Nolly's spine; she shivered and drew her outer wrap around her shoulders. She reached up to touch the lump under her shirt where the little agate was nestled amidst the cloth she'd used to bind her breasts down.
"Cursed land," Ivan whispered. "It's either too cold or too hot. Out here the sun is like lead weight on your back."
At the moment that sounded lovely. This is a tricky place, she thought. I suppose in a few hours I'll be thinking longingly about the nice cool shadows.
And indeed, when the dawn burst ahead of them and the shadows dried up, Nolly was soon grateful for every little shrub that came between her and the sun. The robes she had thought were unnecessary were revealed to be her best defense against the blazing radiation.
They were on that miserable trail for days. Nolly had a difficult time believing that this was the cooler time of year, as Ivan said--if it was like this now, what was it like in the summer?
Finally, as she was wondering for the thousandth time if this desert had an end, Ivan gave her a signal and they slipped away from the caravan.
They disappeared among some haphazard rock formations, Ivan muttering cryptic directions to himself as he checked landmarks. There was no real trail. They tried to avoid leaving footprints in the sand by hopping from rock to rock, though Nolly suspected that the wind would erase any traces they left anyway. But to be safe, she finally stopped and yanked off those cursed boots so she could walk more softly.
It was right around then that she discovered that boots indeed had their uses on hot ground.
Her soles were starting to get sore--a truly rare occurrence--when she saw where Ivan was leading her. In the shadow of the rocky bluffs, behind a camouflaging clump of scrubby little shrubs, was a narrow canyon that led to an opening in the rocks themselves. The tunnel was dark, but to Nolly the shade was a welcome change from the relentless sun.
A few feet from the entrance, an iron gate was spread across the narrow gap.
Nolly paused. "What now?"
Ivan let out a low, funny little whistle--clearly a signal.
Nothing happened. Ivan glanced at her awkwardly, and tried again.
A good-natured curse echoed from somewhere in the tunnel.
"Never could whistle," the voice added. "But I hear you fine."
Out from a hidden alcove behind the gate stepped a dwarf unlike any Nolly had seen before.
He had much darker skin than any of the dwarves who'd passed through the Celadon Toadstool. Those were grim, serious types. They wore leather and knits and lots of sternly ornate buckles. Their beards were loose and glossy, preened to a shine. They used few words and gruff ones, and were always on the lookout for slights to their honor.
This dwarf's black hair and beard were gathered in an array of discrete locks that whipped like vines when he moved his head. Each lock was clamped with a cuff of dark iron inlaid with copper. He wore a sturdy pair of blue work pants and an undyed wool blanked draped over one shoulder and fastened with a beaded belt that reminded her--with a pang--of the ones Zeia wore. His eyes were hidden behind smoked spectacles, and Nolly might have wondered how he could see in the dim tunnels, if she weren't distracted by the alarming grin he was pointing at them.
His teeth were red.
It took her a moment to figure out what she was seeing. But the dwarf gave her plenty of time to look at it. She realized that each of his teeth--each one she could see, anyway--had been inlaid with a square tile of some blood-red stone. The effect was--alarming.
More alarming, however, was the way he looked at her with such unsettling interest.
"Y'see, Miga?" he called over his shoulder in lazily accented Common. "If you're stuck on a problem, wait, and the gods will provide."
Nolly glanced up at Ivan and was dismayed to see that he was as taken aback as she was. But he relaxed slightly when a Fyan man, presumably Miga, joined the dwarf.
"You're not supposed to be the one judging who we can show ourselves to," Miga said, surly.
"I'm not supposed to distract you from your guard duties, either," the strange dwarf pointed out, "and yet I was destroying you at chess."
"I was barely distracted. Why do you think I was losing?"
"I take what I can get." The dwarf shrugged. "Unlock the gate."
Miga sighed lugubriously and turned to the newcomers. "'The stars are bright from the bottom of a well,'" he said in a bored, singsong voice.
"'But only on a cloudless night,'" Ivan answered.
Satisfied, Miga unlocked the gate. "I suppose you're here to see Funro."
Ivan nodded.
"You the one bringing the important message he's waiting for?"
Nolly tried to keep her hand from wandering toward the agate on her neck. Ivan nodded again. "That's us."
"He'll definitely want to know that," Miga said.
"I'll take 'em," the dwarf offered.
Miga nodded. "It's almost sunset anyway.
A brief cloud of annoyance passed over the dwarf's face, but he quickly mastered it. "Right on. The name's Fodzi, you two. Follow me."
Nolly passed through the gate, suppressing a pang as she was reminded of the times Largo had tried to show her the small tunnels and caves in the Wild foothills. At least here there was some light--a little ways back from Miga's dim guard alcove, lanterns were hung along the walls. And there were more signs that these caves were heavily traveled. The tunnels were roughly hewn out to allow a human to walk upright, and they were braced at regular intervals.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
Ivan smiled crookedly. "Control of the oasis is only one source of Kraja's family wealth. The diamond mines were another."
Nolly sucked in her breath. After everything she'd heard about diamonds and Kraja, finding herself in a diamond mine was not as romantic as she might have imagined while back in Alricshire.
"Why--are we here?" she asked.
"Not for the diamonds, that's for sure," Fodzi said, giving her another red grin. "This place is as dry as the rest of the desert now, all the diamonds scattered to the winds. It's been abandoned, and Kraja had it sealed. Nowadays there's nobody in here but us lizards."
"Most of the entrances are better sealed," Ivan explained. "Magic barriers, guards, big iron doors. But the one back there had already been long forgotten. We can use it to get at him."
They passed a large natural chamber. Nolly caught a glimpse of an underground version of a Fyan camp--though everyone milling through this one was male.
She also saw a lot more weapons on open display than in any other Fyan camp.
Swallowing, she hurried to keep up with Ivan and Fodzi.
The chamber he led them to was smaller and manmade. A lone figure sat at a table, poring over a number of different pages by the light of a lamp.
Fodzi snapped his fingers to get the figure's attention. "Funro! We have been rescued."
The figure turned.
Funro, Ivan had explained, was Vazyo's younger brother. Nolly instantly saw the resemblance. Funro was slighter, his face clean-shaven, and his garb less ostentatious. But he had the same keen eyes--and as he turned, they focused on her.
"Perfect!" he said. "He's perfect!"
It took Nolly a moment to realize that he was talking about her. She'd completely forgotten her boyish disguise.
"Sorry," Ivan sputtered. "Perfect for what?"
Fodzi flopped onto a boulder. From somewhere in the folds of his blanket he produced a pipe, a tin, and a little bottle.
Funro looked at them. "Have you got the spell? Your message said you had a spell."
"Yes," Ivan said warily. "It's all you needed to complete the plan, right?"
Funro and Fodzi exchanged glances. "Almost," Funro said. "Turns out we do need one more thing."
"A spark," Fodzi said. Nolly watched him with an expert's eye as he took a stick from his tin and dipped it into the bottle. A tiny flame burst onto the inferior match.
Inelegant, that setup. Nolly would have to introduce him to Kallem & Fine's superior products when this was all over.
In the meantime--
"We have it all scheduled," Funro said, indicating his various slates and parchments. "Once our contacts in Arcadia get his diamonds away from him, we've got a crowd of men who can take on Kraja's palace. But we can't do anything with them until we get into the palace. There's that big wall of magic we need to remove. And to do that"--he fixed Ivan with an intense gaze--"somebody's got to sneak behind that wall, carrying that little spell you've brought along, and use it to break the big central diamond."
Ivan's face was taking on an increasingly rebellious shape as Funro went on. "And why is that a problem?"
"Because the only way that person can get in," Funro went on, "is to wriggle up a narrow shaft and punch through a solid rock wall to get to the palace's well."
"I've got something to get through the rock at the end," Fodzi remarked around his pipe. "It's the getting to it that gives us trouble." He held his hands up, indicating his own shoulder span. "None of us is skinny enough. Not even the matchstick there." He waved his pipe at Funro who ignored him.
"If you can't get through, how do you know what's at the end of the shaft?" Ivan demanded. Nolly glanced at him, startled at the challenge in his voice.
Fodzi put a hand on the cave wall next to him. Around his fingers the wall took on an eerie bluish glow.
"I have been blessed by the gods beneath with an agonizingly slight talent for stone magic," he said. "Can sense where the shaft goes. Can't get through."
Stone magic! Nolly's attention was instantly riveted. Could Largo do things like that?
"But I think your miniature friend there will fit," Fodzi went on excitedly. "He can take the spell up there, break the diamond--"
"I've got a rough idea where it is in the building," Funro broke in. "I could--"
"No."
Nolly swung to look at Ivan, startled. Funro blinked. "What?"
"Absolutely not," Ivan said, arms crossed. "Out of the question."
Funro and Fodzi exchanged shocked looks.
"Ivan," Funro said, stricken. "We're running out of time. The day we've chosen is coming up fast, and we're running out of options. We were starting to panic. And now we have an answer--"
"It's too dangerous," Ivan snapped.
Fodzi raised a hand. "Correct me if I am wrong, my brother, but Funro leads me to understand that you have a sister who's in a great deal of danger already."
"Yes," Funro said pleadingly. "Zeia's in trouble, Ivan. And your friend here can help, and yet--"
"My friend," Ivan said, "is only along to carry the spell this far."
"Why not farther?" Funro demanded.
"Seems that you brought us a fatefully fortuitous solution to our insoluble conundrum," Fodzi pointed out. "Take the choice providence offers you."
"It's a not a choice," Ivan replied. "You don't know what you're asking!"
"Look, our whole plan could fall apart--"
"She's a girl!" Ivan snapped.
The revelation startled Funro into silence. His eyes widened.
Fodzi, on the other hand, puffed thoughtfully a couple of times and said, "So what?"
Nolly and the two Fyan looked at him.
"Does that render her unable to get up the shaft?" he asked.
"Well--" Funro floundered.
"It's too dangerous for a lady," Ivan said stubbornly.
"Many ladies are already in danger, as we previously stated--"
"She's not even from here--"
"Ivan, think of Zeia--"
"Excuse me," Nolly said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice. "You forgot to ask me if I was willing to do it."
They all turned to her.
"Damn," Funro said, sizing her up. "You are a girl."
Ivan gave her a warning look.
Fodzi raised his eyebrows. "Are you willing to do it?"
Throughout the walk across the desert, Nolly had been wrestling with the prospect of giving up the spelled agate to be used by someone else. Now, though, she was presented with the possibliity of doing it herself.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Absolutely."
Fodzi flashed another big red grin.
"What?" Ivan spluttered.
Nolly spread her hands. "What choice do I have?"
"But it's dangerous!"
"I know!"
He appealed to Funro. "There must be another way."
"Not that I can think of," Funro answered, staring at his feet.
"You've got to see that," Nolly pleaded. "This is the only way to get Zeia back--"
"But what if I lose you, too?"
The anguish in his voice startled her into silence. Ivan looked at the torchlight, rather than anybody.
"You're becoming another little sister to me," he admitted. "I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt."
Funro coughed uncertainly. Nolly straightened.
"Then I'll just have to try my best not to," she said tartly.
Ivan almost smiled at that.
Nolly couldn't help it. She gave him an impish look. "Remember, Ivan, I don't like the idea of getting hurt either. I'm going to do my best to avoid it."
This time he did smile. "I'll try to remember that."
"Wonderful," Funro said, though he still looked unsure. "We'll discuss it in detail tomorrow. But tonight ..." He shifted awkwardly.
Fodzi rolled his eyes and heaved himself to his feet. "I got her, Funro. We'll grab a bowl of stew and disappear off to our own abode. We'll sit and do each other's hair and play some chess or cards and discuss the impenetrable mysteries of the Fyan."
Nolly frowned, running that over in her mind. The sun had been low in the sky when they'd entered the cave. Since they'd joined this non-Fyan caravan and she'd disguised herself as a boy, Ivan had been visibly uncomfortable. She had gotten used to quickly separating from him when the sun went down. She'd suspected he was fretting not only about his sister's safety, but also about what to do when they arrived at this all male, all-Fyan rebel camp. She'd vaguely wondered about it, too--whether she'd find herself alone every night.
Now it turned out there was someone who was willing to be with her after dark--and it was this dwarven stranger.
Oh, well, she thought. When I started this journey I didn't know Ivan or Zeia, either, and that turned out all right.
"I am a little hungry," she admitted, picking up her pack.
"Follow me," Fodzi said.
The stew offered in the main chamber was greasy and watery, and the biscuits were the sort of waybread that needed soaking in the gravy before they became edible. When she and Fodzi had scurried away from the main camp to their own small private chamber, Nolly ate it dutifully. One unfortunate discovery she'd made during this long trek was that one often had to accept unpalatable food simply in order to keep up one's strength. Nolly herself was of the opinion that the substantially increased appetite afforded by travel should be rewarded with quality meals, but alas, reality was harsh.
Fodzi looked similarly unenthusiastic about dinner. She hoped it was simply that the food was terrible. Just in case, though, she cautiously said, "Sorry about this. I don't want to keep you from your comrades."
Fodzi glanced up, surprised. Then he smiled.
"You must be joking, my fuzzy-footed friend," he said, seating himself comfortably on his bedroll. Suddenly she realized that it had already been here waiting for him in this isolated chamber. Was this his nightly routine?
Unwittingly he answered her thought. "This is the most after-dark company I've had since I joined this campaign."
Nolly frowned, glancing around at the lived-in space. "You ... don't mix with them after sunset?"
Fodzi speared a chunk of meat with his knife. "The inscrutable tenets of our Fyan friends demand that nobody from their elite fellowship shall mix with dwarves after sunset. You never know which of us might be carrying the wrong equipment."
It took her a few moments to work that out. Then her eyes widened. "You're female?"
Fodzi laughed. "I might very well be. Or not."
She wracked her brain, trying to make sense of this. Northern Quartzshaft dwarves periodically came through Birchdale, and she'd never seen any females. Rumor had it there were no female dwarves; theirs was a species that carved their sons from living rock. Nolly didn't believe that, but ... she'd never thought about it beyond that.
"Do you mean that you all look like--like men? Even the women?"
"You could put it that way, I suppose," Fodzi said. "I for one feel that we all, male and female, look more or less like dwarves."
"But then--do I call you 'he' or 'she'?"
"Oh, we're all 'he.' You don't ask a dwarf what sex he is."
"But how do you tell each other apart?"
"There's an ancient dwarven trick to it: we just don't care."
"Not even--you know--for courting?"
"Now you're catching on." Fodzi spread his hands. "Your horizons are expanding this evening as the world unspools its strange and wonderful complexity for you."
"But what if you marry the wrong thing?"
"The wrong thing?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "When two souls entwine in cosmic bliss, there can be no wrong."
Nolly didn't know what to say to that. Fodzi didn't talk like any of the dwarves she'd met before. That was confusing enough without this strange attitude toward men and women. She felt a wave of homesickness. Alricshire hobbits had much more sensible ideas about all sorts of matters.
Fodzi set aside his empty bowl and reached to the little pile of belongings in the corner of the chamber. He returned to the circle of lamplight with a box containing a chess set. "Do you play?"
"Sure." Nolly moved to help him set it up, eager to change the subject.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "What got you helping the Fyan?"
Fodzi inspected a pawn thoughtfully. It seemed to be carved from the same stone that was inlaid in his teeth.
"I'm a poet," he explained. "A searcher for the deep soul of the world. My search took me far from the Triple Peak, and eventually I came to Chadrafun. And then I made a grave mistake."
Nolly looked up from her setup. "What? What happened?"
"Some well-meaning person whispered to me that the use of magic was ill-advised in this neighborhood." He shrugged. "I asked why."
Nolly frowned.
"Thing is, like I said, I'm a poet by nature. Tragedy shakes me to my core. I was moved to go to their aid."
"That's quite selfless of you," Nolly commented.
"Not really," he admitted. "These people's pain sears my own heart. To rescue them is to relieve my own suffering."
"Oh."
"Actually, at first I was going to tap into that roiling spring of my own sorrow to bring forth some raw, searing poetry to stir my fellow Triple Peak dwarves into action," he shrugged. "But then I found out about the Fyan resistance already in place and concluded that my magic might be more useful even than the scorching intensity of my words."
Nolly had to agree with him on that one.
He sat back, the board set up. "And what about yourself, my little lost hobbit with the puzzling accent? What brings you here?"
Nolly looked down, touching her agate.
"I've got a lad," she admitted. "I ... think he's in trouble."
Fodzi reached out a rough hand to clasp her shoulder.
"Then that's good news for us," he said.
Nolly raised her eyes to his, puzzled. "Good news?"
"We've got you on our side," he said. "And you're doing this for love. And we poets know that love is a force that will always triumph."
Nolly nodded again. That was total nonsense. But at the moment, it was nonsense she decided to believe.
"So," she said, returning to the chessboard. "Let's play. And while we do, perhaps you can tell me more about what I'm supposed to do with this little rock."
#
"Do fairies eat meat?" Hruldar asked, stoking the fire in the little iron cookstove.
Arie looked over from where she was kneeling on the counter. She was trying to chop turnips, but given her own small size, she found herself more sawing through them with one of the dwarves' knives. "Of course we do," she said. "Why wouldn't we?"
"I don't know," Hruldar said. "Haven't met a lot of fairies. That's what I heard once. Figured I'd better ask before I, I don't know, violate some tenet of your beliefs, or poison you."
"Well, I thank you for your concern, but you needn't worry. We love our meat. The centerpiece of every midwinter festival is a wild boar."
Hruldar squinted at the small figure, obviously trying to picture a fairy hunting and taking down a wild boar.
"We go in groups," Arie said, as if that explained everything. "It's very exciting."
"I can imagine."
Largo sat on one of the cozy chairs by the fire, watching them. Orlof was in his favorite chair, knitting. Master Lodestone was at the table with a mug of ale.
After Arie had explained a bit more about her mission they had all, through some unspoken agreement, left him to his whirl of thoughts. His whole life had to be reexamined; both his past and future had been rendered terribly uncertain. But above the chaos one immutable truth loomed.
"My uncle's going to kill me," he said.
They looked up at him.
"Nonsense," Hruldar sputtered. "He's your uncle. He would do no such thing."
To his own surprise, Largo heard himself laugh. After all that had happened, his uncle's overwhelming presence in his life had dwindled dramatically--but, it seemed, not completely.
"He might, at that," he admitted. "The old sourpuss hates me almost as much as he hates magic. He'll be just thrilled to have them both in the same place."
Orlof lowered his knitting. "For goodness' sake, why?"
That took him by surprise.
"I ... don't know," he said. "I--well, he has little patience for fools, and he says I'm the greatest fool he's ever met."
"The uncles always say be the best at what you do," Orlof said dryly.
"I know why he hates magic," Largo said. "He was in the Battle of Hollygate as a boy. Mages on both sides fighting ... they destroyed the village."
Orlof snorted. "Yes, well. That's the nature of battles, magic or no."
"He's got a point," Arie agreed. She stood back from her pile of turnip cubes and raised her arms. The pile rose and followed her gestures' commands to fly into the large kettle boiling over the fire. "There are some who think it's the magic that makes a bad mage bad. They never think it might be the mage who makes the magic bad."
Master Lodestone looked up from his tankard. "Thing to remember," he said in his slow, deliberate way, "is that there's more than one way to be a bad mage."
They waited for a moment, but he seemed to be lost in reverie. Finally Arie cleared her throat. "Yes?"
He peered at her, as though surprised he had to explain. "Well, there's using your magic badly, to be sure. But even a well-meaning mage is a menace if he doesn't learn how to use his magic."
Largo found that it was difficult to meet the pointed gaze the old dwarf turned on him. Instead he focused on the pattern of the Rognir-chewed rug under his feet.
"You've had some strong outbursts," Arie added, following Master Lodestone's meaning. "You've been lucky so far. Only one person got hurt." She held up a hand when Largo his mouth to protest. "I know--he was a scoundrel. But you weren't in control there. Next time, what if you panic and hurt someone else? Hruldar, or Orlof, or one of your friends back in Alricshire?"
Largo's eyes widened. He thought of the night that had started him on this strange adventure--the night he'd awakened shot through with the knowledge that Nolly was in trouble to find that his entire cave had shifted. He hadn't been paying much attention to it at the time, but now that he'd seen what had happened with Old Man Mountain, he realized--it was him. He had pulled that cave out of shape.
He pictured what might happen if he'd had such an an outburst in his own hobbit hole, or the Celadon Toadstool. He swallowed hard.
"Will Manjusha teach me to control it, then?" he asked.
"Absolutely!" Arie said. "That, and everything else!"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"We all--Manjusha, Arie, myself, and many other mages--have a philosophy," Master Lodestone said. "A mage is only made better by study. Magic--common magic like mine, or elemental, like yours--is limited only by the mind. And study expands the mind." He smiled beneath his impressive mustache. "You never know what small spark of information in some obscure area of study might light an inferno."
Somewhere deep within Largo's chest, a tectonic shift was taking place. Though the crystal around his heart had shattered, a few shards still remained in the cracks and corners of his spirit, sealing away little pieces of it.
Now, with the prospect of an all-knowing teacher before him, one of those shards crumbled--releasing all the questions it had frozen within it. Largo was used to those questions. They'd fizzed and bubbled in his chest since he'd known how to talk, or before.
But the possibility of finding answers--that stirred them to a frenzy that almost lifted him from his seat.
"So you'll be studying all sorts of things," Arie said. "She'll certainly want you studying rocks and mountans and such. But she'll want you to know about plants, animals, medicine, the stars, history, mathematics, alchemy ..."
Orlof frowned at Master Lodestone. "Really? You mages cram all that into your heads?"
"It's our responsibility."
Orlof shook his head. "Seems unnatural. Nobody can keep track of that many different things."
"But it's all part of the same world!" Arie protested. "It's not different at all!"
"Besides," Largo said softly, "I've always been scatterbrained anyway."
"Bet your uncle said that," Hruldar grunted. He lifted the lid of the stockpot, where the main dish of meat and cabbage was simmering.
Arie looked at him, wings fluttering as she tried to hold in her impatience. She failed. "So! What do you think?"
Still, he hesitated. This time he was not thinking of Uncle Sirthaus, though.
"I left my home--and found my magic--because of Nolly," he said slowly. "I thought she was in trouble, so I went after her. I was catching up to her--I think--when Manjusha found me."
"From what I understand, Manjusha rescued you from a pretty nasty situation," Arie said.
"She took me two hundred miles out of my way!" he countered.
He tried to envision himself with a solid core. I am immovable. Like Old Man Mountain. "I'll study with Manjusha," he finally said. "But only if she takes me to find Nolly first."
Arie stared at him. "You--you can't make demands of a dragon, you know. And you can't use one as your personal chariot!"
He bit his lip. "She already carried me once. I'll do whatever else she asks me to, and I won't complain. But I need to do this."
Orlof cleared his throat. "Seems reasonable."
Master Lodestone raised his shaggy eyebrows. "Have you ever met a dragon, Orlof?"
"I hear they're very reasonable."
"It depends on whose reasons youre talking about."
Arie paced on the counter, thinking.
"It's a bad idea to speak for a dragon," she finally said. "But I'll help you make your case."
Largo let out a breath. It was all he could hope for.
"All right," he said. "I'll go."
"Wonderful!" Arie did a little dance of happiness, bouncing dangerously close to the stove. "You won't regret it!"
Largo thought again about the huge dragon he was going to study with. He was already regretting it.
Arie had moved on to other things, though. She was standing on her toes, peering over the rim of the stockpot. "Hruldar, this could use some garlic. Or bay leaves!"
"Bay leaves? What in the earth are those?"
"Seasoning. It's seasoning."
"Like salt?"
Arie rolled her eyes. "Dwarves."
#
Leaving Grey Peak was a painful affair. Hruldar cried openly, and even Orlof got a little misty-eyed. He made it clear that Largo was to keep the sweater. Hruldar, having no sweater to offer, plied him with a basket of food and a large flask of ale. Largo hugged both dwarves, then buried his face in Rognir's neck for a moment, earning himself a thorough, slobbery face-washing. Finally, he followed Arie to the mountain road that led back to Bloomsmeade.
The fairy hovered alongside him, her gold-and-green traveling gown fluttering like an extension of her reddening wings. She didn't carry any sort of pack; she only had a small leather belt bag. She tried to explain how all of her belongings fit into it, but Largo quickly realized that she would have to learn more about magic before it would make any sense.
Every step toward Bloomsmeade was a small internal victory. Yes, Arie had carefully and quietly explained the complex plan she and Manjusha were working on to take Kraja's power and bring him to justice, and yes, he knew she was trying to calm him down, but he still couldn't erase the memory of that awful night.
Nor could he quite suppress the memory of the dragon that had swept him up before that night had even taken place. It was almost a relief to have a different frightening memory to focus on--and one that might be resolved soon, at that.
That thought--and the promise of Manjusha's vast knowledge being made available to him--bolstered him, allowed him to go forward.
And then the castle was before him--and as he drew nearer to it than he'd ever gotten during his abortive previous encounter with the dragon, he gasped.
"Powerful, isn't it?" Arie said, eyeing him curiously.
Largo couldn't answer.
Since the moment he'd shared awareness with the gigantic presence of Zvauglarend, he had come to understand that some of the strange impressions he'd gotten over his life could have been his magical sense detecting something. The mountain's presence had pressed itself so strongly upon him that he could no longer mistake that sense for anything else--and, as was happening a lot lately, he found that many old memories were taking on startling new meanings. Arie's wings exuded a constant magical hum as she flew, and that buzz Kraja had carried about everywhere, he surmised, was the extra magical power he had stolen. And the hideous burning pressure during that last awful night--he forced himself to finish the thought--was the wizard gathering power.
That thought safely completed, he focused on this new sensation.
The strange, ghostly power rolled off the stones in waves. He closed his eyes, trying to get a feel for it. It was more orderly, more ... organic than the mountain had been.
I've dealt with a mountain, he reminded himself. A dragon isn't nearly that big.
He could almost pretend he believed it.
The wall around the dragon's castle was old and crumbling. He crossed through the arch into the courtyard, where he'd almost landed all those weeks ago. It was eerily silent, save for the power drifting across the flagstones like dust stirred up by his footsteps.
Across the courtyard was an imposing double door. He wanted to look for another entrance, but as he scanned the place the doors swung open.
Largo glanced at Arie. She had sunk out of the air and now stood on the ground. Her wings trembled slightly, but when she saw him looking at her she straightened.
"Let's go," she said.
Swallowing, he followed her.
He hadn't gotten more than a few steps inside before the house was upon him.
Arie had warned him about this. Most of the power in this castle did not belong to the dragon residing in it. Kraja had referred to the castle as a "haunted heap," though in reality the "haunting" was the result of some runaway wizardry, a spell so unsettling that the earl's ancestors had abandoned the place. Even with such a warning, it took Largo a moment to recognize the tugging at his jacket as part of it.
With a sigh Arie paused, spreading her arms. Her traveling cloak flew from her shoulders, floating off to vanish into a side corridor. Her little belt bag followed. As he noticed that, he became aware of an invisible force tugging on his pack, and he held onto it instinctively. "Where are they going?"
"It's taking my things to my chambers," she answered. "The House likes to keep things neat. It'll take all my clothes and wash them, probably."
The tugging on his bag continued. "Do I have a chamber?" he asked.
"Probably. Manjusha, Kuen,and I were discussing you. It would've overheard, and it prides itself on having things ready."
Reluctantly, Largo let go of his bag. "Thank you," he said to the air around him as the pack drifted off. "I'll keep my jacket on, if you don't mind."
The tugging ceased.
Arie looked around, equally unsure where to direct her content. "Where's Lady Manjusha?"
In answer, a pair of candles in one of the wall sconces flared a sudden purple. A second later, the pair farther along the wall to the left flared. "Oh," the fairy said. "This way."
They followed the flashing candles out of the great hall. The place was far larger than the one in the earl's mansion, but also less ornate--the greyish stone was bare of any hangings, and the few lit candles seemed only to punctuate the gloom. In the corridors he could see, in the flickers, scars and scrapes along the walls, as though someone--someone with hard scales-- often passed through them with some difficulty .
Now he could see another light ahead. The memory of the last night in the townhouse slowed his feet. But he knew what was going on this time. And Nolly was waiting. And--he had so many questions she could answer ...
He stepped into the light.
She was bigger than he remembered. A mighty creature, with scales red as rubies on her back, some tipped in silver. On her underside they subtly shifted into fiery oranges and yellows. She dominated the center of the room, her grand size curled like a cat. She was focused on a gigantic desk full of maps and books in the midst of ranks of shelves.
The chamber was a library.
Were the answers to his questions here?
Could he start learning now?
"Lady Manjusha?" Arie said, raising her voice. "I've brought Largo Blackstone."
Largo fell back under the fire in that gaze. "I--hello my--Lady Manjusha. I ... understand you've been looking for me."
Those eyes held him for a moment. Suddenly a white film swept across them, making him jump. It vanished just as quickly.
"So I see," she said.
She looked him over. Largo decided the first bit of magic he wanted to learn was how to turn invisible.
"What have you studied?" the dragon asked.
The questions crowding their way to his surface froze in place. "St-studied?"
A thunderous sound rattled his bones. A moment later he realized it was just a dragonish snort of impatience.
"Studied, boy. What have you studied?" She uncurled slightly, moving away from the desk to focus on him. "Zoology, chemistry, philosophy, mathematics, botany, linguistics--what are the subjects you've looked at so far?"
Largo stared, taken aback. He hadn't realized he was supposed to know things already!
"N-nothing," he admitted. "I--I came here to learn ..."
It was the wrong answer. Lady Manjusha actually reared back in disbelief.
"Nothing?" she said, with an air that reminded him of Uncle Sirthaus the time Largo tried to show him a particularly interesting bug he'd found. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven, my lady," he answered uncertainly. "Still not of age."
"And you are telling me that, in all of those twenty-seven years, you never once opened so much as an almanac or an herbal grimoire?"
Largo blushed. But he'd committed himself to this. It had to come out sometime.
"No, my lady," he said. "I can't read."
If she'd been offended at the suggestion that he'd never formally studied anything, this information sent her straight out the other side of indignance to pure bafflement. "... What?"
The excuses he'd offered to Uncle Sirthaus sounded hollower than ever, but he felt he owed some explanation to his prospective teacher. "I--I'm willing to learn," he said quickly. "But all the letters get so jumbled--"
"For me, too!"
Arie's cry was so exuberant that it lifted her into the air. She hovered excitedly, arms waving as she spoke.
"I had the same thing!" she said. "With both Fairy and Common writing! It's harder for me than for others because the letters move around! I know exactly how you feel!"
Largo stared at her with undisguised horror.
"But you still learned to read," Manjusha pointed out.
"Well, yes, but--"
The dragon sighed. If she'd been humanoid Largo was sure she'd have pinched the bridge of her nose. "I had so hoped my next student wouldn't be an idiot," she lamented.
Until that moment, Largo had thought the worst thing a dragon could do to someone was roast him.
"I'm sorry to have troubled you," he said, voice shaking.
Those coppery eyes regarded him a moment longer. Then, with a sigh, Manjusha said, "Follow the candles. The House will show you to your room. We are very close to putting an end Kraja's crimes; I will focus on that first and deal with you afterward. Arie, I need you to take a message to Kuen. I want to see if the countess is still willing to play her part ..."
Arie shot an apologetic glance at Largo before shifting her focus. She floated up to the desk to listen as the dragon launched into a discussion of their plan, leaving Largo to dejectedly find his way alone.
The dismissal stung. Part of him--the part that still kept the terror of Kraja preserved fresh--was relieved that they were putting their mission first. Arie had explained that as well. It had something to do with timing, and the power he stole from other mages. They had to get the necklaces away from him in stealth so that he wouldn't be powerful enough to resist Manjusha, and then something would happen in Chadrafun. He was glad he didn't need to know the details. They would take care of everything.
But he still wished that Manjusha had been at least a bit more cordial. His hand strayed to the little bag of stones on his belt pouch, which had stayed with him through this entire journey. Old friends they were, but a maddening puzzle. If he asked her to help him solve it, she'd probably just laugh at him. Or get that exasperated look again ...
As he made his way down the halls, he realized he wasn't quite alone. The quiet thrum of power in the walls flared each time a candle did. It was not a grand, cold, indifferent presence, like the mountain had been. This one had a more organic feel to it. He could feel its sincere warmth. It was comforting.
The room he found at the end of the candlelit pat was nicely furnished, but everything was human-sized. When he paused to eye a tall desk and chair, the House shivered--he could swear he sensed embarrassment from it--and the furniture quickly shrank itself down to his scale.
His packs lay at the end of his bed.
Both of them.
With a cry he darted forward to them. Here was the one he'd let Manjusha carry off when she'd seized him! Here were his cooking kit, and his changes of clothes, and his bedroll, and his pipe, and another tin of Nolly's matches--oh, it was wonderful to have his things back!
The clothes, he noticed, were freshly laundered. That was lovely.
He shrugged out of his jacket. The wall rippled, and suddenly a conveniently hobbit-level coathook sprouted out of it. He considered that for a minute, then hung up the jacket. If he questioned everything about this house he'd never get anywhere. He pulled off his sweater next. It flew out of his hands, folded itself, and floated into the clothes press.
Then he shucked the rest of his clothes. He was a bit startled when, instead of joining his sweater in the clothes press, they sailed away out the door. For a moment he had no idea what to think--then the answer came to him. He inspected his more recently-acquired travel pack and discovered that the dwarven clothes Hruldar and Orlof had given him were also gone.
"Then you're laundering them," he concluded.
To his surprise, the stones under his feet sent a tiny jolt of warmth through him.
"Oh," he said. "Thank you."
He supposed he could see why the earl and his family abandoned this place, but he didn't share the sentiment. This was rather nice.
But the House had more to offer. An impatient clang near the fireplace turned his attention to another of its furnishings with a smile. "Yes, I see it."
It was a steaming bathtub. It did feel a little strange to climb in while the House was watching, but the warm water was so nice--and the House had provided soap and a sponge--that he immediately forgot to be shy.
Once he was done, he wrapped himself in a biggish dressing gown--the House could shrink furniture, but not clothes, evidently--and settled in an armchair by the fire. Its job done, the tub, with a few more resounding clangs, stood up and actually walked out of his room.
Largo had to laugh. He pulled his chair closer to the hearth so he could put a companionable hand on the stones.
"Thank you," he said.
A pulse of acknowledgement came through his fingers.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Another pulse.
He'd thought maybe the House might have a voice, like Old Man Mountain. But it seemed that even this spell had its limits.
"Another question I'll never get an answer to, I suppose." He leaned back into his chair. "I think this was a mistake," he confessed.
A concerned pulse.
"Not because of you," he said. "But the dragon. What have I to offer? I've no head for magic and wisdom. I'm just a fool with magic. I'm no good at studies, and I'd be no good in this attack on Kraja." He hesitated; he hadn't told Arie or the dwarves this. "I suppose I should be glad that I needn't worry. Manjusha and Arie and Kuen--and whoever they've got over in the desert--are more than enough, I'm sure, and probably I'd just make a mess of things anyway. But--" He swallowed, shivering against the cold. "But I can't stop worrying. Nolly said,"--now he hadn't meant to reveal this, but--"in the last dream I had of her, that she was going to help them fight him. I don't know if it's true, but--what if it is? What if she's marching off to battle his people? I wouldn't put it past her."
There. He'd named his fear. Sometimes that helped tame it. But tonight, the dread filling him only grew.
"I just can't stop thinking that something might go wrong," he said. "That Nolly might--might be going into serious trouble."
He blinked, his gaze brought back from the middle distance by a ridiculous sight.
A small table, laden with steaming trays, was marching determinedly toward him, taking care not to spill its contents. It came to stand at attention next to him. As he gaped, the lids flew off the dishes, and he found himself facing a beautifully seared steak, steamed vegetables, bread and butter, and a mug of ale. Even as he took all this, in a smaller table scampered after its predecessor with an air of abashed tardiness to present him with an array of delicate dessert pastries.
Largo smiled, unaccountably heartened. "House, you have the soul of a hobbit."
The dessert table hesitated.
"That was a compliment," he added, reaching for the silverware.
And thus provided for, he fell to. He might be far from home, terrified for Nolly, confused by his own power, and a failure of a student, but at least, however strange, he had a friend.
#
What's this? A Part 13? Better read it!
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I haven't been sleeping too well lately, so I don't have much in the way of coherent feedback, but I'll say again that I love your dwarves, both the "regular" ones and Fodzi :D
And the house is awesome. So friendly and welcoming <3
This bit:
"What is this place?" she whispered.
Ivan smiled crookedly. "Control of the oasis is only one source of Kraja's family wealth. The diamond mines were another."
Nolly sucked in her breath. After everything she'd heard about diamonds and Kraja, finding herself in a diamond mine was not as romantic as she might have imagined while back in Alricshire.
"Why--are we hereher. She'd completely forgotten her boyish disguise.
"Sorry," Ivan sputtered. "Perfect for what?"
feels like something's gotten a bit scrambled or dropped out or something. I got a bit lost there for a mo.
"Have you ever met a dragon, Orlof?"
"I hear they're very reasonable." XD
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I love Fodzi's pretentious vocabulary. It was fun to come up with it!
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Also, a few paragraphs got eaten by my bad tagging, but they're back now. Starts with Nolly's "Why--are we here?" Just so you know.
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"she didn't cary any sort of pack"
"one fo the wall sconces flared a sudden purple"
"the time largo tried to show him a particularly interesting bug he'd found"
I just reread the story again from start to finish, and I'm reminded how very much I love your world building. I really want to read more of your stuff so I can just bury myself in the scenery and the cultures and the interesting twists and turns of how everything fits together. I hope OGYAFE comes through for you some day soon so I can take a crack at it!
Also you have no idea how glad I am that you're sticking with this story. I know how hard it can be to keep going once the initial burst of enthusiasm wanes, and it's definitely a feat to push beyond that.
I'm kind of wondering whether Largo and Nolly will still be suited for each other by the time they manage to reunite. It seems like they're both growing, but in very different directions, and while the love and caring they have for each other might still be a thing, I don't know that I can see them intertwined in the way they expected to be when they were growing up. I kind of see Largo as maybe learning how to use his skills and going off to live with his uncles and occasionally commune with the mountain and use his magic to serve the dwarves. Nolly, on the other hand, is forming bonds with the Fyan and seems like she could be perfectly happy traveling the world and exploring all the marvelous
foodsthings it has to offer. Part of me likes to push for focusing on alternatives to romance in fiction, so I would love for her to form familial bonds and be content roaming the world with her clan and occasionally popping in to visit her family or Largo when her travels bring her in that direction, but I could also see things with Ivan developing beyond the sibling bond that he claims.Also I really hope that at some point Largo figures out the right configuration for those stones he carries around and that they end up doing something really interesting.
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Honestly, this is only the first Largo-and-Nolly story in my head. I do hope, eventually, to at least also do the one with the pirates. ;) In the meantime, good to know that at least one person is interested in the OGYAFE. IT WILL HAPPEN, DAMMIT. And I'll keep everyone posted as it does.
What IS he trying to do with those stones? HMMMMM
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(Anonymous) 2014-09-30 11:20 pm (UTC)(link)Fodzi--who my phone desperately wants to rechristen 'Godzilla'--is a delight. Nolly's horizons grow ever broader! Fodzi has the patience of a stone to handle her questions and the tricky parts of Fyan-adjacent life. He seems like he's used to it, though. And during daylight hours he's surrounded by people
I really like seeing the contrast between Largo and Nolly this way--Largo dropped in with dwarves and all sorts of odd people is basically 'do you seem nice? great! thank you for your kindness,' until he has to dig in his heels; Nolly is more 'can I see this, do this? what's that? why? that's not fair, what about...' until she hits a snag and then has to force herself over the edge. Between them you have the perfect expository protagonists (or the most perfect infiltration team. Whoever suspects a hobbit, anyway?)
You know, if you could screen for rudeness, malevolent wizards, and outright foolishness, Manjusha's Haunted Heap would be the perfect bed-and-breakfast. All the comforts of being waited on in a friendly, homey place and none of the awkwardness of mealtimes, inaccessibly cutesy furniture, or overly solicitous staff. (The house's embarrassment at the wrong-sized furniture = ADORABLE. As is the 'sad guest? FEED THEM!' response. Hobbit-souled really is the best compliment Largo could give.)
I suspect the first needlessly critical Yelp review would be their last, though. And I don't think Manjusha would go for it.
Manjusha's dismissive attitude is super fascinating to me--she really does live life on a whole different scale to most people, and not in terms of height. If he were a studious caterpillar with a megaphone she'd be all ears. But 'not intellectual/ useful' = 'beneath her notice'. Writing a likable character like Manjusha maligning another likable character, especially one as sweet as Largo, is really, really hard to do without it coming off as needless cruelty. But here you see where she's coming from, even if it's unkind. I like it! I am very interested in how Arie sees it, being caught in the middle like she is.
Also I really REALLY like this series. Thank you for sharing it!