Chapter 10 #3
The Dervish snorted. It actually was a funny story, now that he came to think about it.
“The sword was in the hands of a minor noble, who had no use for a magical bodyguard, but very much wanted to curry favor with his ruler, who was called the Oleph. So when the Oleph has his son and heir, the noble gives the sword to the infant as a christening gift. They put the baby’s hand on the hilt and help him draw the sword so he’s the wielder.
The Oleph is thrilled that his son now has a magical bodyguard, the noble is in favor, the infant has no idea what’s going on, everybody’s happy.
Except me, obviously, but that’s nothing new.
But then two days later, they bring in the doctor to circumcise the kid and the magic takes very strong exception to somebody taking a knife to the wielder’s genitals, and next thing I know, I’ve got the doctor pinned to a wall with a dagger at his throat, the kid is screaming, the kid’s mother is screaming, the Oleph is screaming… ”
Dog Violet snickered. Edmund covered his eyes.
“Anyway, needless to say, the noble was not in favor after that. It didn’t help that the doctor was also the second in charge of some religious order and they’d been doing the Oleph a huge honor by performing the slicing and dicing.
And the kid is way too young to understand giving the sword away, so he’s the wielder for the foreseeable future.
They sheathe the sword and chuck it into the treasury.
” The Dervish spread his hands. “I have no idea what happened after that. When it got drawn again, it was a whole different language and a different climate and nobody’d heard of the Oleph. ”
“That-is-quite-extraordinary-friend-Dervish.”
“Do I get a question now?” the Dervish asked.
Large Francis touched the tips of his antennae together. “Yes-of-course. Knowledge-must-be-shared.”
“Do you know any way to break the curse?”
It wasn’t a question he’d have thought to ask a few days ago, until Edmund had put the idea in his head that perhaps the distant scholar who’d requested the sword might understand the magic.
Large Francis’s antennae drooped woefully. “I-do-not-friend-Dervish. Magic-has-never-been-a-particular-interest-of-mine. It-has-always-seemed-very—” The music box halted briefly while the pillbug searched for a word. “Arbitrary.”
“It is that,” Edmund said. “An old friend of mine could sense danger because it smelled like rosemary. If there was a lot of danger, she’d have a coughing fit.”
“Seems inconvenient if you’re in danger.”
“Oh, it was. And there was an acolyte at the temple who was a minor wonderworker. Birds loved him. If he stepped outside, sparrows would land on his shoulders.” Edmund smiled wryly. “He hated it. The chickens would follow him around and his robes were always covered in bird droppings.”
“Gnoles don’t have wonderworkers,” Dog Violet put in, pronouncing the word as if it was some exotic disease.
“Do-gnoles-not-have-magic-at—oh-a-snowflake.”
The wretched snowflake drifted downward in front of Large Francis and landed in the middle of the road. All four of them stared at it.
“A gnole thinks we should move faster.”
“Right.” The Dervish gathered up the mule’s reins. She followed. She had been remarkably docile since being liberated from the Sleeveless camp. The Dervish didn’t trust that at all.
The sun came up, probably. The heavy gray sky hung like a flannel blanket and while there was no reason not to believe that there was a sun on the other side, there was no hard evidence.
Possibly it was off with the barnacle pigeons somewhere.
At ground level, the world just got colder and wetter and the Dervish felt like cursing each individual flake as it dropped from the sky.
“Snow is a good thing, knife-man,” Dog Violet said. “Harder to follow.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” He glared upward.
“I’m not used to being on the run. Well, not in snow, anyway.
” By the time he traveled to snowy climates, he’d been with Sarkis’s mercenaries, and there was generally no hiding a mercenary troop.
His brow wrinkled. “Wait, can’t they follow the tracks in the snow, though? Wouldn’t it be easier?”
Dog Violet’s jaw dropped, showing her teeth in what he hoped was a grin. “Sure, knife-man, but who wants to go out in the snow to look?”
“Thanks,” said the Dervish. “For a second there, I was almost reassured. Glad we cleared that up.”
Dog Violet snickered.
“What’s a dog violet, anyway?” The translation in his head was something like “little purple plant dog,” which seemed odd, though after Large Francis Building, who even knew anymore?
“Is a flower, knife-man. Small.” She held up her claws only a little bit apart. “Grows everywhere. Doesn’t have much smell, doesn’t do much.” She smiled slyly. “But it’s pretty and nothing ever kills it, hey?”
“Story of my life,” said the Dervish. “Pretty and nothing ever kills me.”
The gnole giggled. Actually giggled, a sound that managed to be both gruff and giddy at the same time. It startled the Dervish into laughter, too, and Sweetness flicked her ears and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe she was stuck with them.