The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (40 page)

Carrot saw his oversight.  She blurted, “Your rook can take the pawn.”

“I appreciate the intention of your advice,” Black replied, “but the rook would be taken by his knight, and as a rook has many times the material value of a pawn, I would lose dearly in the exchange.“

Carrot wondered if it would be wise to remain silent, but there was something about a tidy game that appealed to her just as much as a tidy room.  She went to the table and stood on tip-toes to point from above the pieces and squares.   

“If he takes your rook and you then move your queen
there
, he must move his king or you will check him in the next move, and that will proceed to checkmate.  If he does move his king, you can take his knight, and he must either block his first row by moving his attacking bishop into a defensive role – “

They gaped as she parsed decision paths.  When she stopped, Black said, “I didn't follow, but seeing as I'm chin deep, let's see if you know what you're talking about.”

He got up and Carrot climbed onto the chair, her feet dangling well above the floor.  Size differences no longer seemed to matter, however, as the board became the world.  She decisively moved pieces, falling behind catastrophically in material advantage as she sacrificed a queen – but soon White's smug expression evaporated as he realized she had gained a supreme positional advantage. 

“Check,” Carrot said.  With each move and counter-move:  “Check . . . check . . . check . . . . “

White reached for a piece, retracted, reached for another, finally sighed.  “And that is mate.”

The word's meaning was obvious from the context.  Spectators applauded and laughed.  Looking from the board for the first time in minutes, Carrot discovered she had gathered an audience.   

“You've never played before?” White demanded.  “Surely a ploy!”

“If she was ploying,” Black said, “she would have played badly at first so you'd make a big wager.”

That brought more laughter, and someone pushed a flagon of beer in front of her, which Carrot agreeably sipped.  Alcohol, after all, was like water to her.  But then . . . this didn't . . . feel like . . . feel like . . . water.  She felt very warm and the room began to buzz and tilt. 

“I think I had best stop,” she said, pushing the drink away.  Someone tried to push it back, but she was insistent.  She slid out of the chair, wobbled herself in a semblance of straight, and staggered into the kitchen.  Susan nodded to the table, where a table cloth was tied around a bundle.

“What . . . what is that?” Carrot asked, still trying to orient herself. 

“Sandwiches for your friends in the woods, of course.“

Carrot ran to the dining room, checked the clock and ran back.  “They'll kill me!  Oh, and they want beer!”

Susan provided a jug and cups.  With bundles in hand, Carrot hurled out the back door, wondering why she was flush and why the trees seemed to be swaying without a breeze. 

Norian was sharpening and oiling his blades this time.  Mirian was standing expectantly and shrieked at the sight of the jug. 

“Troll beer!”  Mirian exclaimed.  She frowned and touched Carrot's forehead.  Her fingers came away with perspiration.  “Seems you've had some already.  Maybe more than 'some.'”

“It seems to have affected me.  I would not have drank so much if I'd known it could do so.”

“It's the same for we elves,” Mirian said.  “Human beer does not affect us at all, troll beer is quite potent.”

“Until this trip you knew almost nothing of what trolls were like and expressed great apprehension toward the very thought of them,” Norian said.  “Yet you comfortably drank their beer?”

“I see no incongruity.”  Mirian poured only half a cup.  “Just a wee bit for now. 
I
know
my
limit.”

Norian faced Carrot.  “A nice dress today too.  I take it this means you'll skip practice again?”

Carrot massaged her temples, but said, “We shall practice right now.”

“Given your improvement, let's make it a challenge.”  He handed her a scarf.  “Blindfold this time.”

Surely you are joking.
  But he tilted his head and without vocal protest she wrapped the scarf around her eyes.  Without visual cues, she staggered.  Norian had to guide the handle into her hands.

“Hold your blade up!  Defensive stance!  Now where am I, Carrot?”

His smell was all about, and her metal-sense was wavering since her inebriation, but the crunch of boots on grass betrayed his presence on her left.  She swung and blades clashed.

“Very good!” Norian exclaimed.

“A bit slower than usual,” Mirian said. 

“Drink your beer, woman.  Carrot, I'm going to move in stealth now.  Listen for my breathing.”

She swung desperately, unable to hear minute sounds at first because of the ringing in her ears.  But then she forced herself calm, and the racket of blood pumping past ear drums lessened, and –
there
!  She hacked and met his blade.

Their blades met again and again as Norian danced quiet as a ghost. 
Zek!  Zek!  Zek!

Then she didn't hear him at all.  The knave was holding his breath!  She started as her blade jolted with the impact of his, which had come from nowhere with no warning.  

“You're not being fair!”  She ripped off the scarf.  “How am I to know where you are if you are invisible to all my senses?”

“Simply, you listen to where I am not.”

“I am tired of your stupid philosophies!” She threw down the scarf.  “Why can't you just teach me how to move the blade?” 

They were staring at her.  She glanced sidewise.  Her hair was flickering orange.  Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she faced away. 

“I'm am sorry, Norian,” she said.  “Perhaps it was a bad idea to practice at this time after all.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

Damn the orange!
  she fumed as she stumbled back to the inn. 
I am no queen
, o
nly a stupid child.  What good am –
she caught herself.  Matt had told her never to use those words. 

You're a worthy person, Carrot. 

But what about when I do things that are unworthy? 

You just have to resolve to do things that are worthy of what you are, what I know you are. 

She was sober and her tears were wiped by the time she returned to the inn.  Susan was already preparing dinner.  Seeing that Carrot was drenched in perspiration, Susan demonstrated how to operate the valves in the shower and after bathing with blessedly warm water, Carrot found on the rack outside the stall a simple off-white dress which fit her perfectly.  As she served the tables, she became aware of the multitude of eyes upon her and reflected on how she used to think she was a freak because she was seen as mutant.  Here, she was a freak because she was seen as human.  

It was late at night that the crowd finally diminished.  As the cloud banks of pipe smoke thinned, Carrot detected the scent of another human, one whom she had never scented before. 

He sat alone in a corner, his leash draped across the table.  He was well-dressed as a merchant, and Carrot's metal sense detected a dagger beneath his coat.  That did not arouse Carrot's suspicion.  These were dark times, after all.

“I beg pardon, sir,” she said.  “The kitchen is closed.”

“I'll just have a beer,” he replied levelly.  “Can I buy you one too?”

“I cannot have hard drinks on duty.”

“A soft cider then for both of us.”

“I'm really quite tired – “

“It concerns the Box.”

She stared.  “What do you mean?”

“I am a quester and you have the look of one too.  Perhaps I'm wrong.”  He made to leave.  “I'll bid you good night.”

“Stay.  Yes, I quest for the Box.”

“The ciders then.  It's a long story and I've been traveling all day and I'm thirsty.”

She brought the ciders and he attempted to pay but the coins slipped from his hand to the floor. 

“Lords!” he muttered.  “I'm so tired I'm clumsy.  Could you get those?”

“Certainly.”

Carrot knelt and picked up the coins, then climbed into the other chair.  She drank while he talked.  He was (he said) a merchant out of Londa, who had heard rumors among his business associates that the legions were in Britan to control the population while the Sisters of Wisdom engaged in a search for the 'So-called Box.'  He had come to believe that the relic of legend actually existed. 

“I doubt it has any real magic,” he concluded.  “Still, the Sisters value it so highly that surely they will pay a fortune as a finder's fee.  When I heard on the road of a human girl at this inn, I thought you might be a fellow quester or would know of ones, and that we might collaborate.”

“Agreed.”  Carrot frowned at the cider.  She was certain that she had poured from the non-alcoholic keg.  Why was her face so warm?  At least she didn't feel light-headed. 

“Now, I have a map but I can't understand the symbols.  I can show you.  But not in public . . . . “ He warily glanced around, a mannerism which Archimedes had once referred to as 'The Roman Look-About.' 

“We can go in back of the inn,” she offered.

“You trust me alone with you?”

One human with but a dagger was no threat to her.  “I do.” 

As they stole through the deserted kitchen, Carrot asked, “May I ask, where is your sponsor?”

“Got himself drunk and stumbled to bed.”  The man undid the collar and pocketed it.  “Good to have that thing off, if only for a moment.”  Outside, he unpocketed and lit a tiny lantern, and gestured to the woods.  “Down that trail should be fine.”

Carrot heard the snap of a twig in the distance.  The weight was just right for a human.  Yet she didn't smell one.  When she looked in the direction that the noise had come, she realized that the lantern's light was not penetrating as far into the darkness as it should.  Either that, or something was the matter with her eyes.

In fact, her vision did seem to blur.  Her ears were ringing.  The forest floor should have the scent of animals, but she detected nothing.  No scent at all.  And she did feel tired . . . .

Leaves crunched, faint yet near.  She halted. 

“I – I am not feeling well.  Can we do this in the morn – “

“We can do it without going farther.  Won't take long.  Before I show you the map, though, let me show you this strange jewel that I found.  It has a curious inscription that perhaps you might decipher.” 

From his coat, he withdrew a tiny wooden box.  He held it before Carrot, and the cover popped open.  Carrot saw a tiny jewel, but no inscription.  She leaned closer to inspect. 

The entire box flashed.  Carrot cried as sparks burned her face.  The world went white, then dark.

All around, the crashing of leaves closed in.  From behind her, Carrot heard the slither of a blade retracted from a leather sheath.  She jumped, not knowing if it was away or into the danger.  She felt a sharp sting on her arm where the blade cut. 
Pain!

She grabbed the assailant's arm and attempted to throw him.  He weighed as much as a troll.  He clutched at her throat with an iron grip, she flailed and slapped the side of his head, felt his face and poked at his eyes.  He growled and she wrested away.

“Don't let her escape!” the man cried. 

She picked herself up and ran – into a tree.  She staggered and matched her memory of the scene with the location of the tree.  The inn would be
that
way.  She sprinted.  Branches whipped at her cheeks and  hands.  Boots pounded the path, closely behind.    

She couldn't see, she had no metal sense, and then she burst into the open behind the inn and the soles of their boots went silent upon the bare swept ground.  She listened for their breathing but couldn't hear above her own. 

All my senses gone!
she thought.  Along with her strength.

She hurled on with her hands held before her.  She touched the rear wall of the inn.  From memory, she recalled where Paul had set the rake that morning.  She groped and grabbed it.  With back to the wall, she swung at her unseen foes.  The metal tines were keeping them at bay, but for how long?

I can call for help
, she thought.  But Norian and Mirian were at their camp, too far to hear.  Paul, for all his size, was too lumbering to be useful in a battle against nimble humans.  And the customers would wake and news of a fight with humans would destroy the inn's reputation, and as that would harm Paul's and Susan's livelihood it seemed as important to her as preserving her own life. 

“Spread out,” the man said to his compatriots.  “Close in at my gesture.  The potion diminishes her hearing, but move quietly.  Don't speak, hold your breath as much as you can.”

Norian's words came to her:
  Listen to where I am not. 

What had he meant?
Despite her accusation,
Norian was too practical to spout mindless philosophy.  He must have meant something that had application.  Was there a way to detect the men by listening to where they were not?