Rubbing the sore area, she turned and examined the apparently empty space behind her suspiciously. As she frowned at the wall, she noticed a subtle blurring around the edges of the room—she whispered a few arcane words.
The illusion of emptiness slid to the floor like so much water, leaving behind several bookcases packed with a few books and obscure paraphernalia, a bench set against one wall, and a wizard wearing a hooded robe watching them from the far corner of the room. She bowed to him and took up a seat on the bench. The hooded figure cackled merrily and shuffled out of the corner. Sham felt a brief tingle of his power as the hovering globe rose to the ceiling and began to emit light.
She snorted. “We are not all barbarian Easterners to be impressed by a magelight trick that I could do before I could talk.”
“Oh,” croaked the mage hoarsely, leaning heavily on his black staff as he shambled further into the light. “A sorceress. I’d heard that one was looking for the demon.”
“I told you so, wizard. I don’t lie,” answered the Shark in a cold voice.
“Aieh.” The old man’s shoulders shook with mirth and he turned to Kerim. ‘“You see, you see how easy it is to annoy a prideful man. Beware pride, boy, it will bring you down.”
“Foretelling or conversing, ancient?” questioned Sham.
The wizard moved to her; the smell of the rich-but-filthy fur robe he wore was enough to make her eyes water. “Conversation, child. I get paid for foretelling. Is that why you came here? I thought you were looking for a demon.”
“Foretelling is a double-edged sword—” replied Sham, “—while trying to avoid a bad fate, it’s easy to create a worse one. We have come to you for your knowledge, not your magic. I need to know what you can tell me about the Chen Laut.”
“And you—” the hunched figure turned to Dickon, “—what do you come here for?”
Sham thought that she caught a glimpse of confusion on Dickon’s usually impassive visage, but it was gone too swiftly to be sure.
“I am the Reeve’s man.”
“I see,” The old one rocked back on his heels. Sham took a step forward fearing that he was going to overbalance himself and fall over backwards, but he recovered.
The wizard limped slowly to the unoccupied chair and fell back into it. He shook his head. “Demons are not pleasant company, my dear.”
Sham assumed that he was speaking to her, though his gaze was focused on the wall slightly to her left. “It chose us, we didn’t choose it—it has been using Landsend as a hunting ground. It killed the Reeve’s brother as well as my master, the former king’s wizard, Maur.”
“The old king’s wizard?” The time-ravaged mage drew himself up and whispered as if to himself, “And you were his apprentice? I thought he had died long ago—I haven’t felt the touch of his magic since the Castle was taken.”
“He is gone now,” said Sham, though her tone wasn’t as sharp as she’d intended. “The last words from his lips were a warning against a demon called Chen Laut. I need to find the demon and destroy it.”
The wizard nodded, rocking a little in his seat. “The Chen Laut is the demon of the Castle. Long before the present castle stood on its hill, the demon came from time to time—feeding itself before wandering away for decades or centuries. The story of its origin is shrouded in the veil of time, and I know for certain only bits and pieces.”
“We are listening,” said the Shark.
“Aieh, so you are,” agreed the wizard. “Well then, long and long ago, well before the wizard wars, there was a wizard, Harrod the Grey—strong in magic and weak in wisdom—for only a foolish man would bind a demon to him as his servant, no matter what his strength. The spells are difficult and too easily lost in moments of passion or pain.”
“The demon he bound was patient, with the patience of all immortal things. It served its master well, until the man thought of it as a friend as well as a slave. When it had its chance, it killed him—trapping itself here, away from its own kind forever. The wizard called it ‘Chen Laut’—which means ‘gifted servant’ in the old tongue.”
“Do you know how to find it?” asked Sham.
“Aieh.” The old man stared vaguely at the carved handle of his staff for a moment. “I think perhaps it may find you as it did Maur.”
“Are there any other stories?” asked Kerim. “Every Southwoods man I’ve ever met has stories about some sort of magical creature or the other.”
The wizard snorted with surprised laughter. “Have you heard of the demon of the Castle? No? It is an obscure tale in truth; more because of the efforts of the rulers of Landsend than any lack of evidence or interest, hmm. He’d have nobles leaving in droves—unless they were Easterners, too sophisticated to believe in such errant nonsense,” He chortled to himself for a while.
“Would there be records?” asked Sham. “If this is something that has happened before, maybe someone has come closer than we have to solving it.”
Kerim shook his head. “I don’t know. When I got here, a lot of things had been destroyed. I sent what was left to the temple for safekeeping—Talbot can have some of his people go through them and see.”
“If we find the demon,” said Sham slowly, “what can be done with it?”
“Those wizards who know of demons and such are hunted down by their own kind. I have told you what I can about the demon.” With a wave of his staff, the room filled with greasy, odoriferous smoke.
Coughing, Sham ran for the door and tugged it open, allowing the smelly fog to escape the malformed little cottage. When it had cleared, the mage was gone and illusion once more cloaked the interior of his workshop.
“Well,” said Shamera, as Dickon and the Shark helped Kerim onto his horse, “the good news is that we know something of the Chen Laut. Unfortunately, if the mage was correct, it has survived at least a thousand years during times when mages of my strength were as common as church mice in Landsend. We still don’t know how to find the thing—or kill it when we do.”
“Do you think he told us all he knew?” asked Kerim.
It was the Shark that answered with a wry grin. “Haven’t been around Sham long, have you? Getting a straight answer out of a wizard is like waiting for a fish to blink—it won’t happen. He probably knows quite a bit more that he’s not telling you—but you’d need a rack to get it out of him.”
Dickon had been riding quietly behind the Reeve, staring at the ground. He cleared his throat and said, “Isn’t anyone else surprised to find that Lord Halvok fancies himself a wizard?”
“What?” asked Kerim sharply.
“I said—” repeated Dickon slowly, as if to someone who was extremely slow of thought, “—don’t you think it’s odd that Halvok thinks he’s a wizard?”
“You believe the old wizard was Halvok?” asked Shamera.
The servant frowned at her. “I admit that his impersonation of an old man was good, but under the hood of his cloak he was clearly Lord Halvok.”
Kerim looked at Sham. “I didn’t see Lord Halvok.”
The Shark had begun to smile, looking at Dickon. “An Easterner? How strange, I thought that the magic had been bred out of you all.”
Sham, ignoring the Shark, muttered a few words and held out her hand,.
“What am I holding, Dickon?”
The servant frowned at her, but he answered. “A stone.”
She looked at the frog resting on her hand, it blinked lazily twice and then disappeared, leaving a small rounded stone in its wake.
“What does that mean?” asked Kerim thoughtfully.
Sham shrugged, putting the stone back in her pocket and urging her horse back toward the Castle. “I suppose that it means that Lord Halvok is a wizard—a clever one.”
“And?” asked Kerim, while Dickon looked uneasy.