(no subject)
A tall man leaned inside the last standing doorway in a collapsing stone wall and squinted out into the sunlight.
The field below the castle ruins undulated soothingly as his eyes again passed over it, the yellow grass bending and gyrating as if some unseen hand were contemplating its texture. The man bowed his head and passed a dirty sleeve over his sunburned face, wiping away the sheen that had developed in the heat.
“Where in blazes are you?” he murmured.
There was no answer apart from the sound of the wind passing over the grass. The man allowed his eyes to drift back toward the ruins, over the mounds of cracked earth and blasted rubble that protruded from the ground near the outer walls. The wind swelled for a moment and a tiny pebble came loose from a fortification above, bouncing down the battlement’s rust-streaked face to rest on a fragment of pavement next to the doorway.
The man didn’t know the name of this place and doubted that anyone did. Despite whatever grandeur it may have boasted in ages past, the ruin was now only a wound on the land that war and rain and centuries had gradually begun to reduce to a grassy scar. In the meantime, however, it served as a bazaar for quiet business; a lonesome place where the old stones lay silent and still.
The man coughed and sat down in the doorway, crushing a few dry leaves that had gathered in the threshold. He drew his hood over his head to shade his face from the reclining sun, rubbed his eyes, and rested his head against the shattered jamb. A flock of small dark birds emerged above the field to the west and swerved away, their long shadows following them into the distance.
Reaching down for the fallen pebble, the man began to rotate it gently between his fingertips.
The shadows began to pool among the rubble. Dusk was not far off.
The man woke with a start to the sound of a cricket chirping a few inches from his ear. He saw that he had been sleeping for maybe an hour-the last rays of the departed sun still shone in pink and orange on the bellies of the highest clouds. The man watched as even this meager light withered and failed, giving way to bluish twilight and finally darkness. Out in the grass, the man saw a firefly awaken and ignite, and then several more. Before long the entire expanse of the field rippled with the ghostly lights of thousands of them-perhaps, mused the man, even millions. The larger, darker forms of what could only be bats jerked to and fro, glutting themselves on their conspicuous prey.
The sound of something crashing through the grass at the edge of the field wrenched the man’s attention back downward. He craned his neck and stiffened, but he could distinguish only the amorphous shapes of the rubble mounds that stood between the ruins and the field. The noise came again and he stood up-just as what appeared to be a large toad hopped deftly out of the grass. The toad sat still for a moment, its whitish throat distending like a balloon. Then, as though it had considered the situation and was satisfied, it bounded forward toward the ruins.
The man made way for the creature as it approached. He saw that its wide mouth was stained with the still-glowing viscera of fireflies, a mark that revealed its presence even in the deepest shadows among the mounds. Instead of continuing on past the man into the ruins, however, the toad stopped a few feet away from him in the darkness. The man got the distinct impression that the toad was looking at him.
“I apologize for my lateness,” said the toad in a gravelly voice.
The man took a step back, startled.
“And for the disguise. But if it were known that I had dealings with you,” the toad continued, “my distinction in the eyes of some of my other clients may be somewhat diminished.”
Realization flooded through the man. Realization, and wry amusement.
“Your other clients don’t pay half as well,” he said.
The toad seemed to contemplate this.
“No,” it said. “They certainly do not.”
“Each has his price,” said the man, shaking his head. “Nevertheless, you shouldn’t have bothered with the costume. I have been here all day-we are alone.”
“Excellent. The effect should begin to wear off in a few moments anyway.”
The man nodded. “I see you’ve been sampling the indigenous cuisine.”
“Oh, yes. They go down smoothly and leave a cool feeling in the throat. Quite the opposite of what you would expect. And snatching them out of the air is tremendous fun.”
The man chuckled. “Interesting,” he said. "So do you have it?”
The toad emitted what was probably the amphibian equivalent of a sigh. “I may,” it said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that the price we agreed will not be enough to account for the-what is the proper word?-‘expenses’ that I incurred on your behalf.”
“Very well then,” said the man. “Is double sufficient?”
“Triple.”
“Done.”
The toad sat silently for a moment. The man noticed that some of the clouds had begun to clear, and a sliver of the first moon was beginning to rise in the east.
“You first,” said the toad. “I believe I’m beginning to change back.”
The man knelt and began to rummage through his pack.
“This is my least favorite part,” said the toad in a more familiar voice. “Sometimes it hurts. One would think that with all these mages running about, one could develop a less painful version.”
The man glanced up from his search to see that the toad was indeed in mid-transition, the smooth green amphibian skin expanding and lightening as the small creature transformed back into the man he knew as Tegor Snoh. The disguise had obviously been done professionally-there were none of the intermittent bursts of sparks or tendrils of acerbic smoke that indicated a hastily or ignorantly prepared enchantment.
The man finished his search and tossed a small leather pouch to the figure that now stood where moments before had been a toad. The bag clinked as Tegor caught it.
“It’s all here?”
“All of it.”
“You anticipated my asking for triple?”
“No. There’s more than triple in there; keep it.”
Tegor stared at him for a moment, suspicion evident in his eyes. The man noticed that the wrinkles in the antique dealer’s face seemed substantially deeper than they had been the last time they had met. His straight hair appeared to have developed a gray cast to it as well, though it could very well have been only a trick of the moonlight. The shadows around the thin man’s eyes and cheekbones had definitely deepened, however; all told he looked haggard and beaten down, as if he had been gnawing on discarded bones for weeks.
Tegor poured the contents of the bag into his hand and stirred them around with his finger.
“Still, no trust,” said the man.
Tegor did not seem amused. “Forgive me for not placing my most implicit trust in a man who is about to pay a prince’s ransom for an object which qualifies as little more than pawnshop miscellany.”
“Count your money, then,” said the man. “But you know I’ve never deceived you.”
Tegor snorted and continued pushing the coins around in his hand.
“It’s all here.”
“I told you.”
“Give me a moment to find yours.”
“Certainly.”
The field below the castle ruins undulated soothingly as his eyes again passed over it, the yellow grass bending and gyrating as if some unseen hand were contemplating its texture. The man bowed his head and passed a dirty sleeve over his sunburned face, wiping away the sheen that had developed in the heat.
“Where in blazes are you?” he murmured.
There was no answer apart from the sound of the wind passing over the grass. The man allowed his eyes to drift back toward the ruins, over the mounds of cracked earth and blasted rubble that protruded from the ground near the outer walls. The wind swelled for a moment and a tiny pebble came loose from a fortification above, bouncing down the battlement’s rust-streaked face to rest on a fragment of pavement next to the doorway.
The man didn’t know the name of this place and doubted that anyone did. Despite whatever grandeur it may have boasted in ages past, the ruin was now only a wound on the land that war and rain and centuries had gradually begun to reduce to a grassy scar. In the meantime, however, it served as a bazaar for quiet business; a lonesome place where the old stones lay silent and still.
The man coughed and sat down in the doorway, crushing a few dry leaves that had gathered in the threshold. He drew his hood over his head to shade his face from the reclining sun, rubbed his eyes, and rested his head against the shattered jamb. A flock of small dark birds emerged above the field to the west and swerved away, their long shadows following them into the distance.
Reaching down for the fallen pebble, the man began to rotate it gently between his fingertips.
The shadows began to pool among the rubble. Dusk was not far off.
The man woke with a start to the sound of a cricket chirping a few inches from his ear. He saw that he had been sleeping for maybe an hour-the last rays of the departed sun still shone in pink and orange on the bellies of the highest clouds. The man watched as even this meager light withered and failed, giving way to bluish twilight and finally darkness. Out in the grass, the man saw a firefly awaken and ignite, and then several more. Before long the entire expanse of the field rippled with the ghostly lights of thousands of them-perhaps, mused the man, even millions. The larger, darker forms of what could only be bats jerked to and fro, glutting themselves on their conspicuous prey.
The sound of something crashing through the grass at the edge of the field wrenched the man’s attention back downward. He craned his neck and stiffened, but he could distinguish only the amorphous shapes of the rubble mounds that stood between the ruins and the field. The noise came again and he stood up-just as what appeared to be a large toad hopped deftly out of the grass. The toad sat still for a moment, its whitish throat distending like a balloon. Then, as though it had considered the situation and was satisfied, it bounded forward toward the ruins.
The man made way for the creature as it approached. He saw that its wide mouth was stained with the still-glowing viscera of fireflies, a mark that revealed its presence even in the deepest shadows among the mounds. Instead of continuing on past the man into the ruins, however, the toad stopped a few feet away from him in the darkness. The man got the distinct impression that the toad was looking at him.
“I apologize for my lateness,” said the toad in a gravelly voice.
The man took a step back, startled.
“And for the disguise. But if it were known that I had dealings with you,” the toad continued, “my distinction in the eyes of some of my other clients may be somewhat diminished.”
Realization flooded through the man. Realization, and wry amusement.
“Your other clients don’t pay half as well,” he said.
The toad seemed to contemplate this.
“No,” it said. “They certainly do not.”
“Each has his price,” said the man, shaking his head. “Nevertheless, you shouldn’t have bothered with the costume. I have been here all day-we are alone.”
“Excellent. The effect should begin to wear off in a few moments anyway.”
The man nodded. “I see you’ve been sampling the indigenous cuisine.”
“Oh, yes. They go down smoothly and leave a cool feeling in the throat. Quite the opposite of what you would expect. And snatching them out of the air is tremendous fun.”
The man chuckled. “Interesting,” he said. "So do you have it?”
The toad emitted what was probably the amphibian equivalent of a sigh. “I may,” it said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that the price we agreed will not be enough to account for the-what is the proper word?-‘expenses’ that I incurred on your behalf.”
“Very well then,” said the man. “Is double sufficient?”
“Triple.”
“Done.”
The toad sat silently for a moment. The man noticed that some of the clouds had begun to clear, and a sliver of the first moon was beginning to rise in the east.
“You first,” said the toad. “I believe I’m beginning to change back.”
The man knelt and began to rummage through his pack.
“This is my least favorite part,” said the toad in a more familiar voice. “Sometimes it hurts. One would think that with all these mages running about, one could develop a less painful version.”
The man glanced up from his search to see that the toad was indeed in mid-transition, the smooth green amphibian skin expanding and lightening as the small creature transformed back into the man he knew as Tegor Snoh. The disguise had obviously been done professionally-there were none of the intermittent bursts of sparks or tendrils of acerbic smoke that indicated a hastily or ignorantly prepared enchantment.
The man finished his search and tossed a small leather pouch to the figure that now stood where moments before had been a toad. The bag clinked as Tegor caught it.
“It’s all here?”
“All of it.”
“You anticipated my asking for triple?”
“No. There’s more than triple in there; keep it.”
Tegor stared at him for a moment, suspicion evident in his eyes. The man noticed that the wrinkles in the antique dealer’s face seemed substantially deeper than they had been the last time they had met. His straight hair appeared to have developed a gray cast to it as well, though it could very well have been only a trick of the moonlight. The shadows around the thin man’s eyes and cheekbones had definitely deepened, however; all told he looked haggard and beaten down, as if he had been gnawing on discarded bones for weeks.
Tegor poured the contents of the bag into his hand and stirred them around with his finger.
“Still, no trust,” said the man.
Tegor did not seem amused. “Forgive me for not placing my most implicit trust in a man who is about to pay a prince’s ransom for an object which qualifies as little more than pawnshop miscellany.”
“Count your money, then,” said the man. “But you know I’ve never deceived you.”
Tegor snorted and continued pushing the coins around in his hand.
“It’s all here.”
“I told you.”
“Give me a moment to find yours.”
“Certainly.”