Chapter III: Aftermath
Suddenly weary beyond description, Jessar turned to Stefir. The wizard lay on the rug beside the dining room table, unconscious. Ogador commanded the Valkara, “Search the pack on his back for a small flask.”
Sabretha unfastened the straps securing the wizard’s backpack and thrust an arm into the deep bag. She pulled forth two flat metallic flasks. “There are at least three more inside.”
“Curse the wizard anyway. Why won’t he mark them? Sabretha, we can’t afford to get this wrong; there’s no telling what some of those other vials do. The one Stefir needs is a viscous, somewhat translucent green fluid.”
The Valkara twisted the lid off the first flask and poured a little into the cap – red. She recapped the flask and did the same for the second container – green, but of low viscosity this time.
“Quickly. The Clenching is starting. He won’t last much longer.”
The wizard’s jaw tightened into a knotty line, and his feet arched. Every muscle constricted as if cramps had seized his whole body.
Silentwing screeched in alarm and dove through the window. The owl skittered to a rather ungraceful landing on the polished wood of Jessar’s bare floor beyond the rug’s edge. The uneasy bird then clambered over to the wizard’s side.
Grasping two more containers, Sabretha tried a third, pouring a syrupy green drop. “This is it!”
Ogador grabbed the flask with one hand, tilted back the wizard’s head with the other, opened his friend’s mouth, and upended the container above Stefir’s clenched teeth. With agonizing slowness, the contents oozed from the narrow neck to coat the wizard’s teeth. “Now, if his contracted windpipe doesn’t drown him….”
Just as Jessar became convinced it was too late, Stefir gagged and coughed, propelling some of the tonic onto Ogador’s chest. The wizard swallowed reflexively as the last of the vessel’s contents dripped into his mouth. Immediately, the color returned to his cheeks and hands. His muscles relaxed one by one. Opening his eyes and soothing his owl’s feathers, Stefir moaned groggily, “Thanks, Ogador.”
“Stefir, shut up. You just about scared the feathers off of Silentwing.”
The owl sensed his master’s improved state and gently placed a taloned foot on the chronologist’s arm.
The wizard smiled. “Ogador, I am all right now. You administered the pneumium emulsifier just in time.” As if to prove it, Stefir struggled to his feet with only the smallest gasp of discomfort.
Unconvinced, Sabretha looked on with concern. “Well, I just can’t believe it’s good for you to be standing already. How do you feel?”
“Like I pulled every muscle in my body.”
Ogador confirmed, “Yes, the Clenches turned you rigid as stone.”
The Lynx wasn’t convinced. “Stefir, I agree with Sabretha. At least sit and rest. What happened?”
Under the sword maiden’s steely glare, the chronologist gingerly took a seat at the table.
Sabretha then whirled on Jessar. “Yes, Stefir should rest, but so should you, Lynx! Get back on the bench right now.”
“But--”
She put her fists on her hips, a mannerism Jessar had already learned meant there would be no argument. “Lynx--”
“All right,” he said as he returned to his side atop the down cushions, wondering why the Valkara seemed to prefer the name the Yitrava had bestowed upon him. “Stefir?”
“Well, when a mystic exhausts every bit of the pneumium from his bloodstream—“
“No, Stefir. I meant the spatial distortions I saw and then the Deluge spell.”
“Well, as for the first question: I don’t know exactly how to explain it. You know, this has hardly been a boring day.”
Ogador broke in. “That’s an understatement worthy of logging in your chronologist’s journal, Stefir. Jessar, this sounds like a long one, too long for my hunger. Do I smell stew?”
“Yes. It should be ready, but I’d planned on cooking some green beans, and the dough on the sill should have risen by now.”
Licking her lips, the Valkara suggested, “Why don’t I take care of that then?”
“I hope you can find everything okay,” Jessar offered in mild disbelief that she’d offer to cook as she plunged through the brocade.
“Don’t worry.” The noise of pantry doors, jars, and pans suggested she had everything well in control.
Stefir also peered after her a moment before continuing, “Well, Jessar, something I have never experienced before—“
Jessar blinked uncomfortably. “That’s at least the second time I’ve heard that today. It’s a little unsettling to hear someone of your great age say it so often.”
Stefir turned his stare to Ogador. “That sounds like one of your comments. Prince, have you been coaching Jessar?”
For his part, Ogador ignored the wizard, picked up a mug from the place settings already on the dining table, and said, “Oh, Sabretha?”
Smiling, her lovely face peered through the curtain. “Yes?”
In answer, the prince only made a great showing of staring into the bottom of the empty mug. When Sabretha showed no reaction, the governor upended the cup over his palm and then showed her his empty hand in a guess-what’s-missing gesture.
Jessar suggested, “Sabretha, I tapped the stout this morning. It’s the keg in the corner. There’s also some champagne in the cabinet.”
Her smile vaporized, she said, “help yourself,” and ducked back into the kitchen.
Ogador sighed, seized three of the mugs, and went to fill them. Although Jessar couldn’t catch what the prince said to Sabretha behind the brocade, he clearly heard her rebuttal, “you lecher.”
“You were saying....” Jessar prompted as Ogador returned, delivering a mug to Jessar.
The prince sat beside Stefir, doffed his right glove, and drained his own mug in one long draught. Pulling the back of his hand across his mouth, he let out a satisfied ahh and returned to the kitchen for a refill.
Watching Ogador leave, Stefir shook his head. “It is a wonder West-realm still stands with men such as he at her helm. Well, Jessar, after the curse, I thought things had gone too far. I attempted a Past Recall spell—“
“I thought you said that was dangerous.”
“No, I said it was fraught with peril. The difficulty—“
“Wait, I noticed you said ‘attempted.’”
“Yes, just as I am attempting to explain the events to you with just as little success,” the wizard snapped.
“Sorry.”
“As I was saying, altering time is difficult and it gets increasingly difficult with each passing instant. It all has to do with the River of Time,” the wizard continued, raising his finger.
Fortunately, Ogador had returned, a mug in each fist. “Woah, Stefir. All we want to know is why things went wrong.”
Stefir crossed his arms and said, “Prince, it would do you some good to learn something beyond just the surface details. All right, suffice it to say, the inertia of people’s actions cause an increasing divergence of the present from the range of alternate presents that might have been had they taken some different action. It gets harder to overcome that event inertia the longer time passes. Furthermore, even if someone could succeed in reversing time back to some key event, who is to say that the same thing will not happen all over again? Unless the mystic takes special precautions to plant a kernel of doubt or foreknowledge in his own mind once the reversal has been achieved, it is almost -- some would say certainly -- guaranteed that the people that were party to the original event, now finding themselves in the same circumstances will simply do the same thing they did the first time. Worse, imagine what would happen when, if the same sequence did unfold, the mystic decides once again to reverse time. As you might imagine, it is possible to put time into an infinite cycle, repeating the same moments over and over. That is what makes time alteration magic so perilous.”
Jessar wasn’t sure whether his back or head was hurting worse now. “I’m glad you gave me the short version, but that still doesn’t explain why I’m still cursed – unless you’re saying the event repeated itself. Also, what happened to the leader anyway?”
“Jessar, if you ask two more questions every time I answer one, we shall run out of time ourselves. No, I am not saying the curse event repeated. As you yourself noticed, the leader vanished – that much at least was different the second time. Furthermore, you even have a clear memory of both endings, with and without the leader. With any time alteration spells I know, and I am the Chronologist, it is barely possible to leave some trace of the alternate futures in the caster’s mind, much less the mind of other participants in the event. No, someone – or something – used a power I have not encountered, or even imagined possible, truth be told.”
“Wizards! Sometimes I wonder if they’re really worth it,” the prince observed between swigs from his second mug.
“Princes! I am certain they are rarely worth it,” Stefir countered.
“Okay, but what happened?”
“Jessar, pay attention. I said I am not sure what happened. From what I observed, I would have to conclude this other player somehow canceled the time reversal I had put in progress, which again I would have thought impossible before this afternoon. As to why the elf vanished, well, it is not exactly the first time we have witnessed that—“
“The official earlier,” Jessar supplied.
“Yes, and the most recent disappearance may be unrelated, though I tend to doubt it.”
The day had just been too long already to think further about time loops. “Okay, but this will all take some serious thinking before it makes complete sense.”
“Jessar, I was about to say the same thing myself,” the wizard said, fingers on his forehead.
“Arien bless me, I can die a happy man now: I’ve seen the wizard stumped. But, you know what, Jessar, I’ll bet you I can stump him again. Watch this. Stefir, have you forgotten the second half of Jessar’s original question?”
“No, Ogador. I was just about to get to it, of course. But first – Jessar, how did you know it was a Deluge spell?”
“Look out the window,” Jessar said, referring to the sodden ash and embers scattered around the estate.
Stefir turned an accusing eye on Ogador. “You must leave our impressionable Jessar alone, Ogador. He is picking up your bad sarcastic habits.”
“Really? At least he’s not picking up your snobbishness.”
Inclining his head slightly and with just a hint of an injured look, the wizard insisted, “I am not a snob. Yet, I suppose Jessar is right: The fact that we are still here to talk about it means my extinguishing spell worked, and the results do speak for themselves.”
Ogador chuckled. “Here it comes, Jessar. Stefir, old boy, I hate to be the one to tell you, but the only reason your spell worked is because Jessar here knows enough Solonese to finish the chant for you. You passed out before you could finish your spell.”
The chronologist’s shocked look was priceless. “Then how – what – I mean—“
“Isn’t it great, Jessar? I love getting him like this. It’s getting entirely too easy.”
Jessar had to agree he felt a definite sense of cheap satisfaction from the wizard’s bewilderment, but the Lynx couldn’t help sharing Stefir’s confusion. “Actually, Ogador, I’m not sure I understand what happened either.”
The prince stopped laughing and very deliberately set down his beer. “You mean you aren’t holding secrets out on us, Jessar? You weren’t saving the fact that you know Solonese, the Sacred Tongue, as a little surprise for a time just like this evening?”
“I swear by my star ring – er, if I had one that is – that if I know Solonese it is behind the fog concealing the other memories of my indentured life. I can remember Stefir falling unconscious toward the end of the spell litany and then I said something I can’t even remember and then BOOM! there was the thunder and water and all.”
“Jessar, I’m no wizard, thank the Creator, but I’d swear you finished the spell for Stefir. At least that’s how it looked to me.”
The chronologist sprang to his feet, nearly overturning his chair. “What? Are you sure, Ogador?”
The prince nodded. “Stefir, I don’t see the big concern. That was a nice spell and all, but hardly your best. If Jessar learned Solonese somewhere in his forgotten past, why are you so surprised that he should know the phrase to finish your spell?”
Stefir shook his head. “No, Ogador, you don’t get it.” Jessar noted the contraction again – a sure mark of Stefir’s state of mind. “As for finishing the words of the spell, you may be right—“
Ogador whipped out his sword and pointed the hilt in Jessar’s direction. “Jessar, slay me now. Not only have I stumped the wizard – twice now – but he just admitted that I might be right about something.”
“Ogador, you are only partly right, and the part you have right is insignificant. Assuming Jessar puzzled out the word formula, which is not too surprising when you account for the fact that spell phrases must rhyme, what you suggest is still not possible. A layman cannot simply complete an utterance and invoke a spell. The flux – the power that makes the spell happen, so to speak – must come from a mystic, and that cannot happen until he says the chant – the whole thing – himself.”
Ogador sheathed his sword and sat back down in the moment of silence that followed. Jessar tried hard to remember his indentured years and anything about Solonese. Then he recalled that, earlier, when the prince had blocked Stefir’s spell to stop the fleeing dagger thrower, Jessar had understood the wizard’s words. Perhaps the Lynx did know Solonese! And what if – “Stefir, what if Solonese wasn’t the only thing I learned during my indenturement. What if I learned magic? Might I have finished your spell for you?”
“Jessar, even if you were the mightiest mage of all Talan, you cannot simply utter the last phrase of my spell and have it take effect.”
Leaning over the table and slamming his mug down, Ogador exploded, “Stefir, you were the one who fainted. Jessar and I were there, and I’m telling you Jessar finished your spell! Are you afraid Jessar can do something you can’t? You’ve already admitted that some ‘player’ pulled some time tricks you, the Chronologist of all Talan, can’t do. Why should it be so unbelievable that our good friend Jessar here can also? Maybe that’s why they let Jessar go early before his contract was up, because he frightened them with his magical skills.”
Now that was an intriguing thought. Could it be? Stefir peered at Jessar evaluatively for a long time before sagging back into his chair, fingertips to his bowed forehead again. “I suppose I cannot explain it in any other way. Still, laymen cannot appreciate what you are suggesting, Ogador. Gentlemen, I am trying to tell you that what it seems Jessar did is not possible by the laws of magic as I or anyone else I know understand them. Although that spell was only of median difficulty level, it is the simple fact that Jessar finished my spell at all, even were it as simple as correcting bad breath. I have never seen anything like it—“
“That makes the third time you’ve said that,” Jessar observed.
Ogador smiled. “He does get a little redundant doesn’t he?”
Stefir didn’t even retaliate. Instead, he shook his head again and shrugged. “I am forced to conclude that you may have learned some magic somewhere in your past, but it was of a variety fundamentally different from the established arcane principles that have governed every mystic canon all the way back to antiquity.”
Sabretha returned to the common room, bearing Jessar’s largest pot. “I wouldn’t know about arcane principles, but dinner is ready. If you’d fetch the rest, Ogador?”
Ogador frowned. “But you do know plenty about antiquity, I’d wager.”
She shot him an evil look. “Now that I’m rid of Bidmaron, I thought I’d heard the end of remarks about my age. Don’t start in with me. Remember,” she patted the magical warrior’s stone hanging on her scabbard, “just because this stone can heal any wound from my sword doesn’t mean I’m bound to use it. I don’t really know if it would work for amputated body parts anyway....”
Catching Ogador’s do-you-think-she-really-would look, Jessar shrugged as well as he could laying on his side. The prince seemed to decide not to try his luck, for he followed the Valkara into the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the meal.
“Wait, speaking of Bidmaron, that reminds me: where is he? Is he—“ Jessar suddenly didn’t like the way the solowen had talked about being rid of the ranger.
Ogador returned with the bread and green beans. “Your customs officials forced the cog to leave after the bar fight. Bidmaron had to leave on the ship. My black friend would’ve been too hard to disguise.”
Stefir explained defensively, “As you saw tonight, there are limits even to my power.”
“Say it’s not so,” Ogador commented.
Sabretha came over to the bench with a dinner plate. “Lynx, I think it would be best if you just sat at the bench and ate.”
Stefir continued, “Maintaining sufficient magical energy to disguise Ogador, the three swords, and Bidmaron would have required me to bear my staff continuously, which itself would have made the disguises irrelevant. That reminds me, we must find female Galbardian attire for our good Valkara.”
Ogador frowned. “What a shame. I’m kind of fond of her as she is. Wouldn’t you agree, Jessar?” The prince winked at the half-elf.
At the mention of the solowen’s clothing, Jessar’s eyes were involuntarily drawn to her hem beside him. With a very unelvish blush, he refocused his gaze determinedly on her knees, only a foot from his face. Although he half-expected an outburst regarding the male’s behavior, the Valkara gave absolutely no sign that she recognized their sensitivity to the sensuality of her outfit. “Yes, I suppose you are right, Stefir, but those gardening clothes don’t look very comfortable.”
Tired of talking across the common room, Jessar rose painfully with an indrawn breath. “When will we rejoin Bidmaron then?” Jessar asked with an I’ll-get-even-with-you look at Ogador.
The Valkara roughly thrust the plate at Jessar, and said, “Have it your way then if you won’t do as I said and eat here.” She whirled and returned to her seat at the table.
The Lynx joined them at the head of the table. At Jessar’s lead, they crossed their palms and tilted their heads skyward with open eyes. He intoned the ritual “By the Creator’s grace,” and they started eating.
The prince smiled and nodded to the half-elf. “Mmm. Very good.”
The four dined quietly, famished after the long day. After three plates full, the prince picked up his two empty mugs. He held them out toward Sabretha. “I don’t suppose....”
Sabretha tucked her own crystal glass beside one of the mugs. “Why thank you, Ogador. Yes, I’d love another glass of champagne.”
Stefir smiled and suggested, “Perhaps you should get us all another round.”
Ogador muttered something and fetched the drinks. He continued with the explanation, “Look, Jessar, our whole plans have changed. Bidmaron didn’t have much time to explain the situation to me before he had to sail, but here’s the gist of it: When the Valkara here left the temperate climes for the Frozen North over a hundred years ago, she found an ancient monument, the Pyramid Shrine. Located within a glacier at the frozen headwaters of the North Veinous River, this chest-sized symbol is important to Bidmaron’s people, the Swordlanders. Since the discovery, until recently, at least, she’s lived with the dwarves of the Ice Kingdom of Mal-Tar. Well, as hard as it is to believe given her wonderful disposition, the Ice Dwarves rapidly tired of her company, despite her usefulness in the inevitable skirmishes with the deadly Ice Apes, Pack Sharks, and other unfriendly neighbors up north. But the thing that really quenched their forge was when Sabretha incited a minor rebellion among the previously obedient dwarven females—“
“Who were down-trodden and suppressed by their male counterparts. Do you realize they were even forbidden to bear arms?” Sabretha gave Jessar a can-you-believe-it expression.
Anxious as he was for the Council and Tournament, Jessar had been cherishing a few days’ company with friends. “I don’t see why we have to leave early, though.”
“Bidmaron found her right after the revolt she instigated and promised the Valkara he’d get her a slot in the Tournament if she’d accompany him. Meanwhile, he was guaranteeing the Ice Dwarves he’d get rid of her if they would let her fight in the Contest of Blades on their behalf and do one other small thing. Of course, the dwarves were somewhat alarmed at the thought of a female champion representing them—“
Sabretha fumed, “And why should they be upset that I would fight for them?”
“Because only males can be warriors in their culture, as you yourself pointed out.” Sabretha looked at Ogador suspiciously. “Anyway, they have never been sword wielders and finally decided that they could afford to swallow their pride if it meant she’d leave.”
“That ranger! Who does he think he is, trying to get rid of me?”
Regretting it as soon as he said it, Jessar commented, “It seems reasonable, Sabretha. After all, you’ve been trying to get into the Tournament—“ He let his words trail off, as the Valkara crossed her arms, clamped her mouth shut, and glared at the half-elf.
If Jessar was uncomfortable, Stefir was obviously enjoying the tale. “What was the other small thing the ranger arranged?”
Ogador smiled. “You’re going to love this, Stefir. Bidmaron has always been so clever. He got them to agree to cleave a piece of the glacier containing the shrine away from the Peaks of Mal-Tar. The next tribe of ‘berg herders, as the Iceberg Elves call themselves, was due back north soon.” Noticing Jessar’s confused look, he explained, “Jessar, the Berg Elves earn their livelihood by having a dwarven priest chip off an iceberg from the glaciers. Then they ride the iceberg down the Veinous River, trading chunks of the ice along the way. Once the ice is finally gone, they return north by foot and trade goods with the dwarves for the next iceberg cleaving.”
“Interesting, but I still don’t see why we have to change our travel plans.”
“Bidmaron asked us to intercept the elves. Since the ranger’s cog won’t put in again until he gets to Port Feliz in Farzal, he has to go around Galbard to the south and then double back north. As a result, he won’t be able to join us in time to meet the elves. The dwarven priest martial Kazir, also a prince of the Ice Kingdom, will be on the berg to serve as the Render for the berg splitting ceremony. If we can secure mounts and leave tomorrow, we can be in Bilaron, on the Galbardian border in six days. Then, we’ll hire a giant river turtle ship for the journey down the river. We should be able to catch the elves at the junction of the West and North Veinous Rivers for the Rending. The ranger wants us to retrieve something he called the Hood of Lendanor from beneath the shrine. He’ll catch up with us when he can.”
Sabretha listened intently with no evidence of her earlier anger at Jessar. Finger on her lips, she said, “The Hood of Lendanor, it sounds familiar. That’s something from the start of this age, right?”
Ogador shrugged, but Stefir nodded. “Yes, you are correct. Although knowledge of the exact properties of the powerful magical artifact has blurred with time, Lendanor apparently found the device instrumental in discovering the Swordland. Bidmaron’s people are rather tight-lipped about their own origins. Frustrating, as it makes my job difficult.”
Sabretha peered at Jessar. “Well, enough talk for tonight, Jessar must rest if we’re to leave tomorrow. The rest of us have some clean up to do.”
Muttering something that might have been “Bidmaron owes me for this,” Ogador said, “Who put you in charge of this expedition anyway? I’m the prince here.”
Fists on her hips, the Valkara simply stared back.
Ogador’s frown faded into a smile as he rubbed his hands together. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we play Chips? We’ve had it planned since we arrived. I didn’t get to try out Jessar’s gaming table last time, and we can move it in front of the bench for Jessar. We can clean up later.”
Jessar smiled. “Yes, just what I need right now.”
A disapproving look in her eyes, Sabretha complained, “Now look, I told you Jessar has to rest.”
Ogador shifted his glance between Jessar and the Valkara uncertainly for a moment, but the governor apparently thought better of arguing against her. For his own part, the Lynx was disappointed, having looked forward to the game for a long time.
Stefir, however, chose that moment to enter the debate. “Sabretha, our half-elf friend invited us to play earlier. I think he is up to it if we move the table.”
The solowen drew a deep breath and prepared to launch her argument anew, but the wizard said, “We promise only one game, and we will not stress him. I know you are concerned for Jessar.”
As the chronologist spoke the Lynx’s name, Sabretha relaxed, flung her arm to the side dismissively, and said, “Actually, I’m just trying to do as Bidmaron asked me. I couldn’t care if you three want to play that silly game. By all means, go ahead, but someone’s got to get some work done around here.” She stormed off through the parlor brocade into the kitchen, where she began cleaning noisily.
“Excitable, isn’t she? I like them that way,” Ogador commented as he tried fruitlessly to peer into the kitchen.
“She is right, however. Jessar, you need rest, so one game it is.”
In his excitement, the Lynx stood up too quickly from the table. A sharp pain under his bandages reminded him to be more careful, and he wondered if Sabretha might have been right after all. While his friends moved the gaming table, he sat carefully on his bench.
Although he hadn’t used it since his childhood days, the Lynx treasured the table. As with so many of the artistic pieces in the treehome, his mother had crafted it from a single piece of scentwood. The four deep pockets at the corners and the other deep pocket at the top of the triangular, three player pit array were made from ewe hide, while the other forty shallow, semi-spherical pits of the rectangular array and the twenty pits forming the two triangular legs were simply carved into the scentwood itself. In the center of the table, a hinged lid covered a storage compartment.
As the host, Jessar opened the compartment, revealing an open velvet bag holding several hundred tiny onyx cubes within. He placed eight of the tiny cubical onyx pieces into each of the ten pits along each side of the triangular array, leaving the square holes at the corners empty.
“Too bad Sabretha won’t play. We could’ve had partners.”
For an instant, Jessar wondered who would have been the Valkara’s partner. He smiled as he thought that it was probably just as good that she wasn’t playing: Sitting across the table from her might have affected his game if she had been his partner.
Stefir sent his owl back out for the night and joined Jessar. Ogador came over too, carrying more stout for the three of them. “I could really get used to this stuff.”
“Ogador, you like anything that yields a good head,” the chronologist observed.
“True enough.”
Each of them drew their own lucky stone from their pockets, and started the cubes spinning on a corner at the same time. Ogador’s red stone fell into one of the pits: he’d go last. Jessar’s stone stopped spinning next. Finally, well after the others’, Stefir’s finally stopped. It almost seemed to stand still on its corner a moment before falling flat.
“Stefir, you are the luckiest elf alive,” Jessar said.
“Though he smells like he isn’t, alive, I mean.”
Stefir took his turn, choosing a pit from his side of the triangle and dropping the stones from it one at a time in each pit around the array until he ran out. Then he picked up the stones from the hollow where the last cube fell and continued. He repeated the process several more times until his last stone finally fell into an empty pit.
“About time, get him, Jessar.”
“I noticed that your white stone didn’t wind up in your home pit this time. Maybe one of us will win it.”
“Yes, I must be slipping.”
Ogador said, “No, I think you just forgot to cheat. I’m still trying to figure out how you cast the spell to keep your stone spinning without moving your lips.”
The wizard looked at Jessar in an odd way for a moment. The Lynx chose a starting pit from his own side and took his turn. He didn’t last as long as Stefir, but he did manage to drop his lucky black stone into the ewe-lined pocket at his corner of the table.
The prince wiped the froth from his beard with the back of his black-gloved hand. “Well done, Jessar. I see your lucky stone is safe at home.”
“Yes, now see if you can do the same.”
Ogador took his turn, leaving his red cube on Stefir’s side. “It’s not over yet. I’ll get it back.”
The prince proved wrong, however. On his second turn, Stefir selected the stones from the fullest of the receptacles on his side. When he dropped the last one, it landed in the pit with Ogador’s red stone. The prince groaned as Stefir scooped out all the stones and moved on.
“Come on, Stefir, drop it on my side. I don’t want to lose another one.”
Stefir did let it go on Ogador’s side, as the last one, which entitled him to start again with a full fist. As Stefir’s hand passed over his own home, the governor’s red stone fell.
“You just can’t be that lucky.”
“You are right, Prince. My touch is so sensitive I felt the red in your stone and contrived to let it fall over my home.”
Ogador squinted at the wizard but then shook his head. “Well, I agree with Jessar: You’re the luckiest solon alive. Just wait: I’ll win and reclaim it.”
They played on. In the end, despite Ogador’s claim, Stefir cleared out the pits on his own side first. That entitled the wizard to reclaim his own piece from where it had fallen in Jessar’s home pit. Jessar also kept his stone since it was safe in his own corner. Ogador, however, lost his to the wizard, landing as it had in the winner’s home pit.
“I must find a tailor to sew a new pocket to my trousers. The one in which I have been keeping my winnings is getting full of the prince’s not-so-lucky stones.”
Ogador downed his stout and belched loudly at Stefir.
Jessar laughed. “Have you ever won one of his stones, Ogador?”
“Of course.”
“When?” the wizard demanded.
Ogador paused. “I can’t remember, but I really did.”
“Show me the trophy stone then. You know I use ivory.”
“I left it in my other uniform.”
Jessar laughed again, returned all the stones to their bag, and extracted the bag by its drawstrings. “We’ll need these on the trip. I’ll stow them in my pack upstairs while I show you to your rooms.” He watched Sabretha carry the last of the dishes into the kitchen. “Let’s hurry and head up before the Valkara has a chance to fuss about me using the ladder.”
They climbed the ladder to the upper bedroom level. He opened the trapdoor and stepped into the water closet to make room for his friends. Jessar took their backpacks as his friends passed them up and set them on the floor. “Ogador, you may sleep in my room—“
The prince started to protest, but Jessar held up his hand. “Come on, Ogador, humor me. You’re my guest.”
“Very well, but I don’t like taking your room.”
“Noted. Now mind the east window. Sometimes its rather drafty and swells till the shutters are hard to shut.”
Jessar slid open a panel in the opposite wall, revealing a room similar to Ogador’s. “Stefir, I’d like you to take my mother’s room.” Jessar grabbed Stefir’s pack and placed it on a cushioned chair in the far corner.
The Lynx patted the pillow with one hand while he reached beneath it with the other to clasp a necklace. It was Gilana’s medallion, which she had kept beneath her pillow. The coin-like medallion, like one of the statues on the dresser, illustrated an elwen sword maiden bearing a long sword in two-handed fashion astride a magnificent unicorn. The opposite side bore an undecipherable inscription. As far as he’d known, his mother had never been without it. How surprised he had been to find it here after she’d left.
“The lanterns above your beds are full of oil and have new wicks. Also, there’s a basin of fresh water in the water closet. If you need anything, I’ll be on the bench below.”
The Lynx placed the Chip bag and necklace into his own pack waiting beside the ladder. Ogador handed the backpack down once Jessar was at the bottom and closed the trapdoor.
Jessar leaned the bag against the tree trunk just as Sabretha emerged from the kitchen. “Well, what are the sleeping arrangements?”
He groaned inwardly. For fortnights he’d planned where his friends would sleep, but he hadn’t counted on the Valkara. While he pondered how to explain that he’d just given his two beds to the prince and wizard, she continued, “Mind if I take the hammock? It’s been a long while since I slept in one, and I am most comfortable in one.”
“Of course. Just let me tell them upstairs,” he said, climbing back up the ladder and poking his head above stairs.
“The Valkara wants the hammock. You two can take the beds up there,” he shouted for the solowen’s benefit, hoping that his friends would catch on.
“Thanks,” Ogador said.
“Naturally,” the chronologist said.
Sabretha had released his hammock from its catch on the boughs above and blew out the last of the wall sconce-mounted lanterns. “Watch it on the ladders, Lynx. We don’t have the ranger to patch you back up again if you pull a stitch.”
Jessar stretched out carefully on his bench. Suddenly cold in the early spring air with its charred odor from the gardens below, Jessar wrapped himself tightly in the blanket his friends had placed over him earlier.
Fatigue came over him quite suddenly. He heard a few wispy rustlings and the barest indrawn breath as the sword maiden sprang, apparently effortlessly, into the hammock before he merged into sleep.