The Star Of Jolanest
The Dark Lord Vordas woke abruptly. What had disturbed his slumber? It was only noon—nowhere near sunset. The magestone in the serpent ring on his pinky finger glowed a lurid red. So! One of the Argist line had survived and was using magic. And where there was an Argist, there was usually a Tate. His taloned fingers curled into a fist that he eyed with distaste. He really should do something about his transformation one of these days--but not today. The signs of his favorite habit could linger a little while longer. He’d waited a century to wipe out the heirs of his enemies--to feed off their magic and gain the greatest of the magestones--the Star of Jolanest. The Tate heir would find it and lead him to it. The sorcerer rose and kicked his lackey.
“Wake up, you little village idiot! Rouse the changelings and tell them I have a job for them.” He chuckled, then regarded his graying skin with distaste.
“Somewhere in the land is an Argist mage, and where there’s an Argist mage there is a Tate sorcerer. Find them and bring them to me, alive! And find me that Lufta cat wench—she should have been mine already!” He looked at his hands once more. Hmm, he thought, maybe he should get a manicure on the claws to disguise them.. The cat girl slave would probably know how to do it—if not, she would learn quickly under the lash.
A cock crowed, and Poke’s eyes flew open. He yawned, stretched, and ran his fingers through his tangled, curly locks. The cock crowed again, and Poke groaned. Dim light filtered through the glass window. It was dawn. He’d best be up and about before Master Ragon noticed his absence. Ragon Argist had been in a vile temper lately. Poke rolled off his straw cot and sighed.
Ignoring the ghostly skeleton that popped through the wall, Poke dressed rapidly in his patched tunic and breeches. Then he galloped downstairs, his bare feet pattering on the wood. The boy stopped and leaned over the polished oak banister. The large brick room was devoid of floor sleepers, and six of the seven trestle tables were unoccupied. The flames burning in the great stone fireplace to dispel the morning chill kept turning green, blue, red, and purple. The smoke smelled odd, like sweet burning herbs, and strange, demonic little faces flickered in the flames. An occasional moan came from the inn’s brick walls.
The main hall of the Dancing Dragon Inn held exactly two occupants seated at a table made for six. Poke observed the duo with interest. The barbarian sat with his head on the table, snoring lustily. Ghostly spiders crawled in and out of his mouth and phantom rats scampered over the table.
The other brave soul was the visiting wizard. He wore brown, so he wasn’t a grand master wizard. But then, there hadn’t been a mastermage since Erasmus Tate the First, Poke’s great-grandfather. Ignoring the haunted sights, sounds and smells, the wizard ate heartily of Poke’s mother’s pastries, sidemeat, and coddled eggs. He washed it down with expensive hot chocolate.
Poke winced. Master Ragon always swore at the cost of the stuff and had searched desperately for the secrets of its origins. The cost of chocolate was dear, but the exotic drink usually brought in the guests. Ragon Argist swore at the price of cinnamon and salt, too, and the wizard was consuming enough for several guests. But then, nobody else was here, so why not?
Poke licked his lips and swallowed, taking a sharp glance around. Nobody was in sight, so, again, why not?
If Ragon Argist caught him eating the guests’ food he might get a beating, but Poke was tired of gruel. His stomach growled demandingly. And if the wizard was friendly, he’d have a protector.
The wizard absently flicked at the ghostly spiders crawling on his cinnamon loaf. Obviously, they didn’t spoil his appetite. Even the skeletal ghost of a cat chasing the phantom rats drew no attention from the wizard. The wizard made a gesture and the phantom rats vanished, but the cat just seated itself on the barbarian’s head and began to bathe its bones. Poke took another look around and winced again. No sign of Jarby. Young Master Jarby was probably with Yanith again. Poke sighed. He’d have to cover for his friend should Master Ragon notice his absence.
The wizard hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow about any of the food, so Poke thought it must be safe to eat. Ghost skeletons were one thing, but Poke was leery of rats, real or not. Poke loped into the main room and plopped down beside the wizard, helping himself to the hot chocolate, cinnamon loaves, and fried sidemeat.
What few guests were left weren’t eating, and Poke wasn’t one to let good food go to waste. There was enough here for a dozen guests.
“Good morning, wizard,” said Poke. “I see you’re enjoying my mother’s cooking. I’m Poke.”
The mage, who looked neither young nor old, neither tall nor short, but slim and average, smiled at him. “Norbert Esquire. Is Poke your entire name, young man?”
“No. I’m called Poke because I poke my nose where it doesn’t belong. People call me a chatterbox. My real name is Erasmus Tate the Fourth. My great-grandda was the mastermage Erasmus Tate the First.”
To Poke’s surprise, the mage inclined his head respectfully in his direction. “I know of him. The last grand master and the holder of the legendary Star of Jolanest, greatest of the mage stones.”
Poke stuck out his lip. “It’s gone, destroyed with my great grandda when Jolanest fell.”
“Not necessarily. Lost, perhaps, but great stones are difficult to destroy, dear boy, and usually manage to find their intended masters. Most of them are sky blue stones set in gold rings. A true star magestone will shine a star in the middle of the stone at times. The stars are the most powerful of the magestones.”
Poke shrugged as he swallowed his bread. “Maybe, but the Tates are servants now. I’m master of nothing. Great-grandda cast a spell on his line so the babes born to power had tattoos of protection on them.”
Poke gazed at his small hands in disgust. “Nary a tattoo. Plus, I’m a runt.” Poke sighed as he poured himself more costly hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. The inn prided itself on the high butterfat content of their cow’s yellow cream. White cream was inferior, and the Dancing Dragon Inn was first class all the way. Poke licked the cream off his lip and sighed with contentment. He glanced at the balcony but there was no sign of his master. He was safe—and well-fed.
“Why can’t I be the next great mage like my great-grandda? Jarby has more magic than me, although he denies it.”
The wizard gazed over the brim of his mug at Poke and raised his eyebrows. “Who, may I inquire, is Jarby?”
Poke shuddered as a phantom rat crawled up his arm. The wizard flicked his fingers idly and it vanished.
“Thanks,” said Poke. “Why is this place haunted all of a sudden?”
Norbert swallowed more hot chocolate. “It’s a curse, but I could do a better job of it. Mostly it’s just a bunch of little cantrips designed to frighten away the timid. Illusions, my dear boy. I suspect Paka Sheed of the Crowing Griffin did it. He was certainly eager for customers, but I prefer The Dancing Dragon—cursed or not. What about this Jarby and magic?”
Poke giggled. “Paka Sheed and Ragon Argist hate each other. Better not mention it to Ragon Argist. He’ll have apoplexy.”
“Jarby? He has a magical talent?”
“Oh, Jarby Yates Argist is Ragon Argist’s nephew. His mother died of a pox, and his late dragon-eaten father was a weather wizard. I think Jarby’s one, too. It rained all the way on our trip from Jarby’s village—a fortnight’s journey,but every time Jarby complained about it, it stopped. Jarby’s in love with Yanith the barmaid. Master Ragon’s liable to disinherit him if Master Ragon finds out. Jarby’s family has some relationship to the vanished Argist royalty. The Dumbloods have the Melvish throne now and it’s far away. Yanith has no father, no name, and no dowry to make Ragon Argist overlook her position. I mean, who’d want to be related to a Dumblood anyway? Master Ragon thinks it’s a big thing, though.”
The rats now crawled everywhere. Norbert clapped his hands in annoyance and the rats vanished. Poke sighed with envy.
“Perhaps young Master Argist drew me here,” mused Norbert, “along with some family matters. Some latent magical talent called to me; it was a strong one.”
Poke sighed. “I wish I had the Tate tattoos. I do have a way with animals, so I work in the stables. It’s not fair. I want to be a great wizard and go on adventures.”
Norbert smiled mysteriously as he flicked a genuine spider off his flowing sleeve. It landed in the barbarian’s mouth, who swallowed it, muttering in his sleep.
“Nothing wakes that mound of muscles,” the wizard observed. “Perhaps, Poke, the tattoos can only be seen in certain lighting or by those with mage sight. It wouldn’t do to have a little boy covered in tattoos that screamed ‘I’m a great mage’ on him for everyone to see.”
Poke drew in a sharp breath and started to reply when a bearded, portly man wandered into the room, and, seeing no apparitions, sat near Poke.
“Lad, are you the stable boy?”
Poke drew himself upright. “I’m the head groom!”
The man frowned. “You can’t be more than nine summers.”
“I’m twelve,” Poke snapped. “The stableboy is on duty.”
The man shook his head. “He’s naught to be seen and two of the guest’s mounts are down. I’m lucky I don’t have a mount.”
Poke turned pale and choked. Jumping up from the table he raced to the stable. What he saw sent him running for Master Argist. Maybe the innkeeper wouldn’t notice Jarby’s absence, or the smell of chocolate and cinnamon on Poke’s breath.
“Master!” Poke yelled as he dashed into the kitchen. “The mage’s griffin escaped and ate the barbarian’s warhorse, the unicorn has colic, the cow’s dried up, and your palfrey has thrown a shoe.” The boy ducked aside as a pot came crashing by his head.
“I’m ruined,” groaned Ragon Argist, wringing his hands. “What kind of a head groom are you to let this happen, you little fool! I should beat you.”
He flung a kettle in Poke’s direction; the boy dodged it with the agility of much practice.
“Yes, Master Ragon. I’m sorry. Truly.”
“WHERE’S JARBY? My breakfast is burned, phantom rats are under the beds, there’s a ghost in the pantry, and now this! Where is that rapscallion nephew of mine? How does he expect to inherit this place if he doesn’t manage it?” the man shouted, shaking his fist in Poke’s face. The boy backed away as the stout innkeeper loomed over him, mustache bristling.
“Go find him. And he’d better not be with that lowborn, penniless wench of a barmaid or I’ll fire her. Jarby better remember he’s a prince in Melvia.”
“A prince of nothing, “Poke muttered. “He’d be headless in Melvia if the Dumbloods caught him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Yes, Master Ragon.’”
Ragon Argist groaned as he surveyed the kitchen. “The chocolate is gone. If I get my hands on the thief that took it, he’ll hang! That stuff is worth its weight in gold. Not even the traders know how it’s made, or from what!”
Poke ducked and scampered out of reach before his master decided to take his frustration out on him with a fist.
“Poke, why wasn’t Shan attending the mounts last night?”
“I don’t know, master.” Poke backed away, bowing to avoid another pot that flew by his head.
“If the guest’s beasts are ruined, Shan is dismissed, but first he gets five lashes and you with him! Do you understand? Find Jarby and get him to fix the situation. I don’t care how he does it!”
Trembling, Poke scrambled out of the kitchen and raced upstairs to an attic bedroom. The boy knocked on the door.
“Jarby, it’s Poke. Your uncle wants you.”
Jarby heard the frantic pounding on the door and sighed. He threw on his night coat and opened the door just enough to stick his head out. “Yes, Poke, I heard. Probably every guest in the Inn heard him. It’s barely dawn; his few remaining customers are liable to be irate. Sorry to leave you, Yanith. It sounds like another one of those days. I’ll be back when I can. Look on the bright side, love, at least you don’t have to milk the cow.”
Poke snorted. “If Ragon Argist finds you with Yanith, he’ll probably look for a new heir. You’re lucky your uncle has nobody else.”
“Be quiet, Poke!” Jarby slipped through the door, combing his hair with his fingers. Yanith’s chestnut head leaned out of the doorway. Poke made a face as Jarby kissed her and pushed her back into the room.
“Better get dressed for work, love. You can’t come out dressed like that.”
Yanith crossed her arms over her chest. “When are you going to tell you uncle we’re getting married?” she said. “Eeeek! Jarby, there’s a rat under the bed!”
“Is it glowing?”
“Yes, like a coal.”
“It isn’t real. Just ignore it.”
“It gives me the shivers. Something eerie is going on in this place.”
Jarby sighed. “I know, and Uncle Ragon expects me to take care of it. Today is not a good day to talk to my uncle about anything, Yanith. He expects me to deal with magic. Do I look like a wizard to you?”
Yanith leaned out the door, her nightgown draped about her. “You look like heaven to me,” she murmured, kissing his neck.
Poke frowned at her, then grabbed Jarby by the arm and yanked forcefully at him. “Come on, Jarby, you want to get us both in trouble? You spend too much time with Yanith.”
The young man ruffled the boy’s dark hair as they walked to the stairs. “I’m teaching her to read.” He stifled a yawn. He’d been kept up half the night with upset guests and other inn problems. Now this. Not a good night’s sleep since this curse business started. Jarby stifled a groan.
Poke snorted. “And I’m teaching my grandmother to suck eggs. You’ve taught me to read. I’ll teach her. You’re going to get her in big trouble. Ragon Argist says if he catches her with you, she’s fired.”
Jarby sighed. “I have to find her an extravagant dowry somehow! I wonder how he found out about us. What’s happened now?”
Poke repeated his story, stumbling over the words in his excitement. Jarby sighed again and patted the boy’s shoulders.
“Yanith told me about the cow last night and our hens stopped laying yesterday.” Jarby shook his head. “I’ll really miss those eggs. Uncle Ragon is liable to have apoplexy. Keep Yanith out of his sight. I won’t let him beat you or dismiss Shan if it’s not Shan’s fault. Something strange is going on around here and it smells of black magic. Where is the barbarian?”
“Still dozing at the table in front of the fireplace. He drank himself to sleep and I’ll bet he has a head this morning.”
“Charming,” the young man muttered, running his fingers through his black curls. He scratched thoughtfully at his chin and gazed at Poke. “Better wipe that cream off your face before my uncle notices.”
Hastily, Poke scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.
Jarby nodded. “You got it. Now, tell me about the new wizard. He’s a real wizard? Not just a magical specialist like a weather wizard?” Poke nodded.
“We could use his help. Where is he?” Jarby asked.
The boy pointed downstairs at the slender figure seated at a table. Jarby nodded.
Long legs took the stairs two at a time. Jarby leaped over the banister near the end of the stairs, startling the wizard in the middle of his enormous breakfast. Poke galloped to catch up with Jarby.
“You, wizard. Are you the owner of the griffin parked in our barn? The one who devoured the barbarian’s warhorse?” Jarby pointed at the huge warrior slumbering at the table across from them, his head in his plate. Drunken snores filled the room.
The wizard choked on his hot chocolate, turning white. Setting the tankard down with a trembling hand, he nodded. Jarby jerked his head toward the doorway.
Jarby looked sideways at the ordinary-looking man. He wasn’t at all impressive to the eye. This was a mage? A real wizard? Even a sorcerer? He certainly didn’t look like much.
“Are you actually a real wizard? One who can do any kind of magic?”
The wizard, keeping a cautious eye on the snoring barbarian, hastily continued eating. Casting a final glance over his shoulder, he grabbed the last pastry on the plate and followed the young manager.
“Yes, I am. A real wizard, I mean.”
“Rare as griffin’s teeth, your kind. Since you are an actual wizard, you should be able to fix this mess. I hope.”
Poke stepped on their heels and Jarby turned to the boy. “Go get the horse doctor and the farrier. After that, find the cow. She's probably in the meadow. Talk to her and see if you can get her milking. Otherwise we’ll have to wait and take her to see the butcher’s bull.”
Poke darted off, and Norbert looked speculatively after the boy. He raised one eyebrow.
“Talks to animals, does he? Very interesting. And he looks enough like you to be your brother.”
Jarby stepped into the barn and sighed, shaking his head at the nearly stripped carcass on the floor. It had been a fine stallion. Snores came from the stall where the griffin slumbered, its belly bulging.
The adjoining stall was not as quiet; the unicorn thrashed about, nearly goring his own swollen belly with his horn as he rolled, groaning, in the straw. The pony’s usual blue-gray color was closer to green this morning.
“Whoa, baby, whoa,” Jarby crooned. A blue pod crunched under his foot. Quava beans! The beast got into the garden last night. Where had that dratted stable boy been to allow this mess to happen? He had to keep this from his uncle or Shan would probably get a whipping, at the very least. Jarby grimaced. He’d never allow his uncle to beat Poke. Ragon Argist would have to go through his large nephew to get to Poke, and his uncle was aware of this.
The mage appeared at the doorway, licking the crumbs from his fingers, as Jarby eased himself into the stall. Leery of the flailing hooves and horn, the inn manager tried to get the animal to its feet.
The mage eyed the horned pony with admiration.
“My, he’s a mount of a different color. I heard unicorns could change color, but I’ve never seen it before. Quite amazing.”
“Wizard, quit wringing your hands and help this poor beast,” said Jarby. “If he’s green, he’s very ill! Only Quava beans could possibly make a unicorn ill. They have cast iron stomachs.”
“My name is Norbert,” the wizard informed him, scrambling through the stall door. Chanting in a soothing tone, he laid his hands on the unicorn’s swollen belly. The groans stopped. The manager and the wizard coaxed the swaying mount to his feet. Then Jarby rubbed the unicorn dry with a blanket.
“Why grow Quava beans, Master Jarby?”
Jarby sighed. “For the hens. It gives their eggs better flavor.”
“Is that what does it? I must say, the food here is marvelous. I need a favor, young sir,” Norbert said. “Is that your mount?” He gestured at the fine black mare in the opposite stall.
“No, that one is.” Jarby pointed at the bony old nag placidly munching hay in the stall next to the mare.
The mage sighed. “He’ll have to do. Please, may I have him? I’ll give you a promissory note. Once I return from my journey, I will get you a better steed. Please, sir, it’s a matter of life or death!”
A roar of rage from outside the stable and a look at the mage’s sweating brow convinced Jarby. The barbarian would undoubtedly hold Jarby responsible as well, and the two lads had to be protected from his uncle’s wrath.
“Can’t you just magic the barbarian somehow?”
Norbert blushed and looked at his feet. “I have a phobia about them, actually. It inhibits my spells from working on barbarians at times.”
“All right, Norbert,” Jarby said regretfully. “You won’t hurt Brownie?”
“I won’t harm a hair of his mane. A million thanks, young sir. I shall reward you, I promise.”
The wizard stepped out of the stall, pulling a wand from a flowing sleeve. He waved this over the pile of bones as he chanted, and threw a sparkling powder on the carcass.
To Jarby’s horror, the intact head of the carcass began to resemble his gelding’s, and his gelding blurred in the stall. There, unscathed, stood the warhorse of the barbarian.
“It worked! Finally, it worked!” Norbert rubbed his hands in glee.
“What have you done? You’ve killed Brownie!” Jarby’s fists clenched and his face turned red as he glared at the wizard.
“No, no, no. I merely gave the bones his aspect and transformed him to a young warhorse. He still has the same personality. Of course, it will change once he realizes he’s a stallion.”
The big bay nickered in agreement, just as the barbarian charged into the stable, wild-eyed.
“What have you done with my Zinga?” he roared.
“Calm yourself, good sir, your steed is safe.” Jarby raised a restraining arm, holding the warrior and gesturing to the horse. The barbarian grunted, peering anxiously at his quiet mount.
He staggered over to the horse and crooned into the stallion’s ear in a decidedly un-barbaric tone.
“Good boy, Zinga. Now stay in this stall, and quit switching around.” He slipped the stallion a lump of sugar, then scowled at the onlookers. Swaggering, he headed for the door. He threw a last command over his shoulder as he lumbered toward the Inn, holding his head in both hands. “Take good care of that horse. He’s worth more to me than a woman.”
The wizard sighed, dabbing at his brow with a silk kerchief. “Thank you, young sir. I owe you, so I will tell you this. There is a curse on the Dancing Dragon Inn and I can tell you how to lift it.”
“Who did it?” demanded Jarby.
“Paka Sheed of the Crowing Griffin across the street,” the wizard replied, just as Poke, horse doctor and blacksmith in tow, burst through the door.
Working as a team, Jarby and Poke drenched the unicorn with the healer’s potion. The horse doctor listened to the unicorn’s belly, grunted, and held out a hand for his silver.
Sighing, the manager paid him as the smith looked at the mare’s hoof and pronounced it cracked and abscessed. His uncle would not be happy his favorite mount was lame and the only other horse was gone. He’d make up something about Brownie being rented to Norbert.
“Send my uncle a bill, and have breakfast on the house after you fix Blackbird’s hoof. There’s something I must attend to immediately.”
The smith cleared his throat. “Is my little Yanith serving this morning?”
“No!” Jarby snapped. “It’s her morning off.”
The smith smirked as he lumbered away and Norbert raised his eyebrows. “After your girl, is he?”
Jarby fumed. “He’s old enough to be her father, and he has seven children by his late wife! Onker is the village idiot, but he’s good with horses.” Jarby stopped long enough to stroke Brownie’s changed face. “Goodbye, old boy. Have a great life.”
Jarby followed the retreating back of the wizard. The old rogue was quick when he wished to be, Jarby thought, as the magic-user slipped upstairs and slammed his door.
The manager hammered on the door with his fist and the door opened by itself. Norbert stood muttering over his bag, pulling out more junk than could possibly fit in such a small knapsack.
“Jarby, you are the one I was searching for. You are destined to go on a quest and find the legendary Star of Jolanest. I’m sure you’re a wizard of the Argist line. Most of the Argist kings were wizards of some degree.”
Jarby snorted. “No thanks. I’m a simple innkeeper—not a prince and certainly not a wizard. My late father was a weather wizard who went on a quest. He never returned, and my mother fell ill and died. I won’t do that to Yanith.”
“And what happens to her if you don’t? There’s a treasure in the lost city of Jolanest—enough dowry for a greedy bigot like your uncle to overlook Yanith’s lack of breeding.”
Jarby shook his head. “If I leave her, she’ll marry Onker the village idiot—if my uncle has his way.”
“He won’t do that while you’re gone. You’re the only one he really loves. But he will fire her if you don’t go and find her a dowry. He’s made too big a deal about it to back down now and lose face in front of the servants.”
Norbert found what he wanted in the bag and handed it to Jarby.
“Here, young sir, this is an amulet. Wear it, invoke it with your will, sprinkle the cursed object with the powder, and chant the spell. You better memorize it. Good luck, and goodbye.”
“Wake up, you little village idiot! Rouse the changelings and tell them I have a job for them.” He chuckled, then regarded his graying skin with distaste.
“Somewhere in the land is an Argist mage, and where there’s an Argist mage there is a Tate sorcerer. Find them and bring them to me, alive! And find me that Lufta cat wench—she should have been mine already!” He looked at his hands once more. Hmm, he thought, maybe he should get a manicure on the claws to disguise them.. The cat girl slave would probably know how to do it—if not, she would learn quickly under the lash.
A cock crowed, and Poke’s eyes flew open. He yawned, stretched, and ran his fingers through his tangled, curly locks. The cock crowed again, and Poke groaned. Dim light filtered through the glass window. It was dawn. He’d best be up and about before Master Ragon noticed his absence. Ragon Argist had been in a vile temper lately. Poke rolled off his straw cot and sighed.
Ignoring the ghostly skeleton that popped through the wall, Poke dressed rapidly in his patched tunic and breeches. Then he galloped downstairs, his bare feet pattering on the wood. The boy stopped and leaned over the polished oak banister. The large brick room was devoid of floor sleepers, and six of the seven trestle tables were unoccupied. The flames burning in the great stone fireplace to dispel the morning chill kept turning green, blue, red, and purple. The smoke smelled odd, like sweet burning herbs, and strange, demonic little faces flickered in the flames. An occasional moan came from the inn’s brick walls.
The main hall of the Dancing Dragon Inn held exactly two occupants seated at a table made for six. Poke observed the duo with interest. The barbarian sat with his head on the table, snoring lustily. Ghostly spiders crawled in and out of his mouth and phantom rats scampered over the table.
The other brave soul was the visiting wizard. He wore brown, so he wasn’t a grand master wizard. But then, there hadn’t been a mastermage since Erasmus Tate the First, Poke’s great-grandfather. Ignoring the haunted sights, sounds and smells, the wizard ate heartily of Poke’s mother’s pastries, sidemeat, and coddled eggs. He washed it down with expensive hot chocolate.
Poke winced. Master Ragon always swore at the cost of the stuff and had searched desperately for the secrets of its origins. The cost of chocolate was dear, but the exotic drink usually brought in the guests. Ragon Argist swore at the price of cinnamon and salt, too, and the wizard was consuming enough for several guests. But then, nobody else was here, so why not?
Poke licked his lips and swallowed, taking a sharp glance around. Nobody was in sight, so, again, why not?
If Ragon Argist caught him eating the guests’ food he might get a beating, but Poke was tired of gruel. His stomach growled demandingly. And if the wizard was friendly, he’d have a protector.
The wizard absently flicked at the ghostly spiders crawling on his cinnamon loaf. Obviously, they didn’t spoil his appetite. Even the skeletal ghost of a cat chasing the phantom rats drew no attention from the wizard. The wizard made a gesture and the phantom rats vanished, but the cat just seated itself on the barbarian’s head and began to bathe its bones. Poke took another look around and winced again. No sign of Jarby. Young Master Jarby was probably with Yanith again. Poke sighed. He’d have to cover for his friend should Master Ragon notice his absence.
The wizard hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow about any of the food, so Poke thought it must be safe to eat. Ghost skeletons were one thing, but Poke was leery of rats, real or not. Poke loped into the main room and plopped down beside the wizard, helping himself to the hot chocolate, cinnamon loaves, and fried sidemeat.
What few guests were left weren’t eating, and Poke wasn’t one to let good food go to waste. There was enough here for a dozen guests.
“Good morning, wizard,” said Poke. “I see you’re enjoying my mother’s cooking. I’m Poke.”
The mage, who looked neither young nor old, neither tall nor short, but slim and average, smiled at him. “Norbert Esquire. Is Poke your entire name, young man?”
“No. I’m called Poke because I poke my nose where it doesn’t belong. People call me a chatterbox. My real name is Erasmus Tate the Fourth. My great-grandda was the mastermage Erasmus Tate the First.”
To Poke’s surprise, the mage inclined his head respectfully in his direction. “I know of him. The last grand master and the holder of the legendary Star of Jolanest, greatest of the mage stones.”
Poke stuck out his lip. “It’s gone, destroyed with my great grandda when Jolanest fell.”
“Not necessarily. Lost, perhaps, but great stones are difficult to destroy, dear boy, and usually manage to find their intended masters. Most of them are sky blue stones set in gold rings. A true star magestone will shine a star in the middle of the stone at times. The stars are the most powerful of the magestones.”
Poke shrugged as he swallowed his bread. “Maybe, but the Tates are servants now. I’m master of nothing. Great-grandda cast a spell on his line so the babes born to power had tattoos of protection on them.”
Poke gazed at his small hands in disgust. “Nary a tattoo. Plus, I’m a runt.” Poke sighed as he poured himself more costly hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. The inn prided itself on the high butterfat content of their cow’s yellow cream. White cream was inferior, and the Dancing Dragon Inn was first class all the way. Poke licked the cream off his lip and sighed with contentment. He glanced at the balcony but there was no sign of his master. He was safe—and well-fed.
“Why can’t I be the next great mage like my great-grandda? Jarby has more magic than me, although he denies it.”
The wizard gazed over the brim of his mug at Poke and raised his eyebrows. “Who, may I inquire, is Jarby?”
Poke shuddered as a phantom rat crawled up his arm. The wizard flicked his fingers idly and it vanished.
“Thanks,” said Poke. “Why is this place haunted all of a sudden?”
Norbert swallowed more hot chocolate. “It’s a curse, but I could do a better job of it. Mostly it’s just a bunch of little cantrips designed to frighten away the timid. Illusions, my dear boy. I suspect Paka Sheed of the Crowing Griffin did it. He was certainly eager for customers, but I prefer The Dancing Dragon—cursed or not. What about this Jarby and magic?”
Poke giggled. “Paka Sheed and Ragon Argist hate each other. Better not mention it to Ragon Argist. He’ll have apoplexy.”
“Jarby? He has a magical talent?”
“Oh, Jarby Yates Argist is Ragon Argist’s nephew. His mother died of a pox, and his late dragon-eaten father was a weather wizard. I think Jarby’s one, too. It rained all the way on our trip from Jarby’s village—a fortnight’s journey,but every time Jarby complained about it, it stopped. Jarby’s in love with Yanith the barmaid. Master Ragon’s liable to disinherit him if Master Ragon finds out. Jarby’s family has some relationship to the vanished Argist royalty. The Dumbloods have the Melvish throne now and it’s far away. Yanith has no father, no name, and no dowry to make Ragon Argist overlook her position. I mean, who’d want to be related to a Dumblood anyway? Master Ragon thinks it’s a big thing, though.”
The rats now crawled everywhere. Norbert clapped his hands in annoyance and the rats vanished. Poke sighed with envy.
“Perhaps young Master Argist drew me here,” mused Norbert, “along with some family matters. Some latent magical talent called to me; it was a strong one.”
Poke sighed. “I wish I had the Tate tattoos. I do have a way with animals, so I work in the stables. It’s not fair. I want to be a great wizard and go on adventures.”
Norbert smiled mysteriously as he flicked a genuine spider off his flowing sleeve. It landed in the barbarian’s mouth, who swallowed it, muttering in his sleep.
“Nothing wakes that mound of muscles,” the wizard observed. “Perhaps, Poke, the tattoos can only be seen in certain lighting or by those with mage sight. It wouldn’t do to have a little boy covered in tattoos that screamed ‘I’m a great mage’ on him for everyone to see.”
Poke drew in a sharp breath and started to reply when a bearded, portly man wandered into the room, and, seeing no apparitions, sat near Poke.
“Lad, are you the stable boy?”
Poke drew himself upright. “I’m the head groom!”
The man frowned. “You can’t be more than nine summers.”
“I’m twelve,” Poke snapped. “The stableboy is on duty.”
The man shook his head. “He’s naught to be seen and two of the guest’s mounts are down. I’m lucky I don’t have a mount.”
Poke turned pale and choked. Jumping up from the table he raced to the stable. What he saw sent him running for Master Argist. Maybe the innkeeper wouldn’t notice Jarby’s absence, or the smell of chocolate and cinnamon on Poke’s breath.
“Master!” Poke yelled as he dashed into the kitchen. “The mage’s griffin escaped and ate the barbarian’s warhorse, the unicorn has colic, the cow’s dried up, and your palfrey has thrown a shoe.” The boy ducked aside as a pot came crashing by his head.
“I’m ruined,” groaned Ragon Argist, wringing his hands. “What kind of a head groom are you to let this happen, you little fool! I should beat you.”
He flung a kettle in Poke’s direction; the boy dodged it with the agility of much practice.
“Yes, Master Ragon. I’m sorry. Truly.”
“WHERE’S JARBY? My breakfast is burned, phantom rats are under the beds, there’s a ghost in the pantry, and now this! Where is that rapscallion nephew of mine? How does he expect to inherit this place if he doesn’t manage it?” the man shouted, shaking his fist in Poke’s face. The boy backed away as the stout innkeeper loomed over him, mustache bristling.
“Go find him. And he’d better not be with that lowborn, penniless wench of a barmaid or I’ll fire her. Jarby better remember he’s a prince in Melvia.”
“A prince of nothing, “Poke muttered. “He’d be headless in Melvia if the Dumbloods caught him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Yes, Master Ragon.’”
Ragon Argist groaned as he surveyed the kitchen. “The chocolate is gone. If I get my hands on the thief that took it, he’ll hang! That stuff is worth its weight in gold. Not even the traders know how it’s made, or from what!”
Poke ducked and scampered out of reach before his master decided to take his frustration out on him with a fist.
“Poke, why wasn’t Shan attending the mounts last night?”
“I don’t know, master.” Poke backed away, bowing to avoid another pot that flew by his head.
“If the guest’s beasts are ruined, Shan is dismissed, but first he gets five lashes and you with him! Do you understand? Find Jarby and get him to fix the situation. I don’t care how he does it!”
Trembling, Poke scrambled out of the kitchen and raced upstairs to an attic bedroom. The boy knocked on the door.
“Jarby, it’s Poke. Your uncle wants you.”
Jarby heard the frantic pounding on the door and sighed. He threw on his night coat and opened the door just enough to stick his head out. “Yes, Poke, I heard. Probably every guest in the Inn heard him. It’s barely dawn; his few remaining customers are liable to be irate. Sorry to leave you, Yanith. It sounds like another one of those days. I’ll be back when I can. Look on the bright side, love, at least you don’t have to milk the cow.”
Poke snorted. “If Ragon Argist finds you with Yanith, he’ll probably look for a new heir. You’re lucky your uncle has nobody else.”
“Be quiet, Poke!” Jarby slipped through the door, combing his hair with his fingers. Yanith’s chestnut head leaned out of the doorway. Poke made a face as Jarby kissed her and pushed her back into the room.
“Better get dressed for work, love. You can’t come out dressed like that.”
Yanith crossed her arms over her chest. “When are you going to tell you uncle we’re getting married?” she said. “Eeeek! Jarby, there’s a rat under the bed!”
“Is it glowing?”
“Yes, like a coal.”
“It isn’t real. Just ignore it.”
“It gives me the shivers. Something eerie is going on in this place.”
Jarby sighed. “I know, and Uncle Ragon expects me to take care of it. Today is not a good day to talk to my uncle about anything, Yanith. He expects me to deal with magic. Do I look like a wizard to you?”
Yanith leaned out the door, her nightgown draped about her. “You look like heaven to me,” she murmured, kissing his neck.
Poke frowned at her, then grabbed Jarby by the arm and yanked forcefully at him. “Come on, Jarby, you want to get us both in trouble? You spend too much time with Yanith.”
The young man ruffled the boy’s dark hair as they walked to the stairs. “I’m teaching her to read.” He stifled a yawn. He’d been kept up half the night with upset guests and other inn problems. Now this. Not a good night’s sleep since this curse business started. Jarby stifled a groan.
Poke snorted. “And I’m teaching my grandmother to suck eggs. You’ve taught me to read. I’ll teach her. You’re going to get her in big trouble. Ragon Argist says if he catches her with you, she’s fired.”
Jarby sighed. “I have to find her an extravagant dowry somehow! I wonder how he found out about us. What’s happened now?”
Poke repeated his story, stumbling over the words in his excitement. Jarby sighed again and patted the boy’s shoulders.
“Yanith told me about the cow last night and our hens stopped laying yesterday.” Jarby shook his head. “I’ll really miss those eggs. Uncle Ragon is liable to have apoplexy. Keep Yanith out of his sight. I won’t let him beat you or dismiss Shan if it’s not Shan’s fault. Something strange is going on around here and it smells of black magic. Where is the barbarian?”
“Still dozing at the table in front of the fireplace. He drank himself to sleep and I’ll bet he has a head this morning.”
“Charming,” the young man muttered, running his fingers through his black curls. He scratched thoughtfully at his chin and gazed at Poke. “Better wipe that cream off your face before my uncle notices.”
Hastily, Poke scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.
Jarby nodded. “You got it. Now, tell me about the new wizard. He’s a real wizard? Not just a magical specialist like a weather wizard?” Poke nodded.
“We could use his help. Where is he?” Jarby asked.
The boy pointed downstairs at the slender figure seated at a table. Jarby nodded.
Long legs took the stairs two at a time. Jarby leaped over the banister near the end of the stairs, startling the wizard in the middle of his enormous breakfast. Poke galloped to catch up with Jarby.
“You, wizard. Are you the owner of the griffin parked in our barn? The one who devoured the barbarian’s warhorse?” Jarby pointed at the huge warrior slumbering at the table across from them, his head in his plate. Drunken snores filled the room.
The wizard choked on his hot chocolate, turning white. Setting the tankard down with a trembling hand, he nodded. Jarby jerked his head toward the doorway.
Jarby looked sideways at the ordinary-looking man. He wasn’t at all impressive to the eye. This was a mage? A real wizard? Even a sorcerer? He certainly didn’t look like much.
“Are you actually a real wizard? One who can do any kind of magic?”
The wizard, keeping a cautious eye on the snoring barbarian, hastily continued eating. Casting a final glance over his shoulder, he grabbed the last pastry on the plate and followed the young manager.
“Yes, I am. A real wizard, I mean.”
“Rare as griffin’s teeth, your kind. Since you are an actual wizard, you should be able to fix this mess. I hope.”
Poke stepped on their heels and Jarby turned to the boy. “Go get the horse doctor and the farrier. After that, find the cow. She's probably in the meadow. Talk to her and see if you can get her milking. Otherwise we’ll have to wait and take her to see the butcher’s bull.”
Poke darted off, and Norbert looked speculatively after the boy. He raised one eyebrow.
“Talks to animals, does he? Very interesting. And he looks enough like you to be your brother.”
Jarby stepped into the barn and sighed, shaking his head at the nearly stripped carcass on the floor. It had been a fine stallion. Snores came from the stall where the griffin slumbered, its belly bulging.
The adjoining stall was not as quiet; the unicorn thrashed about, nearly goring his own swollen belly with his horn as he rolled, groaning, in the straw. The pony’s usual blue-gray color was closer to green this morning.
“Whoa, baby, whoa,” Jarby crooned. A blue pod crunched under his foot. Quava beans! The beast got into the garden last night. Where had that dratted stable boy been to allow this mess to happen? He had to keep this from his uncle or Shan would probably get a whipping, at the very least. Jarby grimaced. He’d never allow his uncle to beat Poke. Ragon Argist would have to go through his large nephew to get to Poke, and his uncle was aware of this.
The mage appeared at the doorway, licking the crumbs from his fingers, as Jarby eased himself into the stall. Leery of the flailing hooves and horn, the inn manager tried to get the animal to its feet.
The mage eyed the horned pony with admiration.
“My, he’s a mount of a different color. I heard unicorns could change color, but I’ve never seen it before. Quite amazing.”
“Wizard, quit wringing your hands and help this poor beast,” said Jarby. “If he’s green, he’s very ill! Only Quava beans could possibly make a unicorn ill. They have cast iron stomachs.”
“My name is Norbert,” the wizard informed him, scrambling through the stall door. Chanting in a soothing tone, he laid his hands on the unicorn’s swollen belly. The groans stopped. The manager and the wizard coaxed the swaying mount to his feet. Then Jarby rubbed the unicorn dry with a blanket.
“Why grow Quava beans, Master Jarby?”
Jarby sighed. “For the hens. It gives their eggs better flavor.”
“Is that what does it? I must say, the food here is marvelous. I need a favor, young sir,” Norbert said. “Is that your mount?” He gestured at the fine black mare in the opposite stall.
“No, that one is.” Jarby pointed at the bony old nag placidly munching hay in the stall next to the mare.
The mage sighed. “He’ll have to do. Please, may I have him? I’ll give you a promissory note. Once I return from my journey, I will get you a better steed. Please, sir, it’s a matter of life or death!”
A roar of rage from outside the stable and a look at the mage’s sweating brow convinced Jarby. The barbarian would undoubtedly hold Jarby responsible as well, and the two lads had to be protected from his uncle’s wrath.
“Can’t you just magic the barbarian somehow?”
Norbert blushed and looked at his feet. “I have a phobia about them, actually. It inhibits my spells from working on barbarians at times.”
“All right, Norbert,” Jarby said regretfully. “You won’t hurt Brownie?”
“I won’t harm a hair of his mane. A million thanks, young sir. I shall reward you, I promise.”
The wizard stepped out of the stall, pulling a wand from a flowing sleeve. He waved this over the pile of bones as he chanted, and threw a sparkling powder on the carcass.
To Jarby’s horror, the intact head of the carcass began to resemble his gelding’s, and his gelding blurred in the stall. There, unscathed, stood the warhorse of the barbarian.
“It worked! Finally, it worked!” Norbert rubbed his hands in glee.
“What have you done? You’ve killed Brownie!” Jarby’s fists clenched and his face turned red as he glared at the wizard.
“No, no, no. I merely gave the bones his aspect and transformed him to a young warhorse. He still has the same personality. Of course, it will change once he realizes he’s a stallion.”
The big bay nickered in agreement, just as the barbarian charged into the stable, wild-eyed.
“What have you done with my Zinga?” he roared.
“Calm yourself, good sir, your steed is safe.” Jarby raised a restraining arm, holding the warrior and gesturing to the horse. The barbarian grunted, peering anxiously at his quiet mount.
He staggered over to the horse and crooned into the stallion’s ear in a decidedly un-barbaric tone.
“Good boy, Zinga. Now stay in this stall, and quit switching around.” He slipped the stallion a lump of sugar, then scowled at the onlookers. Swaggering, he headed for the door. He threw a last command over his shoulder as he lumbered toward the Inn, holding his head in both hands. “Take good care of that horse. He’s worth more to me than a woman.”
The wizard sighed, dabbing at his brow with a silk kerchief. “Thank you, young sir. I owe you, so I will tell you this. There is a curse on the Dancing Dragon Inn and I can tell you how to lift it.”
“Who did it?” demanded Jarby.
“Paka Sheed of the Crowing Griffin across the street,” the wizard replied, just as Poke, horse doctor and blacksmith in tow, burst through the door.
Working as a team, Jarby and Poke drenched the unicorn with the healer’s potion. The horse doctor listened to the unicorn’s belly, grunted, and held out a hand for his silver.
Sighing, the manager paid him as the smith looked at the mare’s hoof and pronounced it cracked and abscessed. His uncle would not be happy his favorite mount was lame and the only other horse was gone. He’d make up something about Brownie being rented to Norbert.
“Send my uncle a bill, and have breakfast on the house after you fix Blackbird’s hoof. There’s something I must attend to immediately.”
The smith cleared his throat. “Is my little Yanith serving this morning?”
“No!” Jarby snapped. “It’s her morning off.”
The smith smirked as he lumbered away and Norbert raised his eyebrows. “After your girl, is he?”
Jarby fumed. “He’s old enough to be her father, and he has seven children by his late wife! Onker is the village idiot, but he’s good with horses.” Jarby stopped long enough to stroke Brownie’s changed face. “Goodbye, old boy. Have a great life.”
Jarby followed the retreating back of the wizard. The old rogue was quick when he wished to be, Jarby thought, as the magic-user slipped upstairs and slammed his door.
The manager hammered on the door with his fist and the door opened by itself. Norbert stood muttering over his bag, pulling out more junk than could possibly fit in such a small knapsack.
“Jarby, you are the one I was searching for. You are destined to go on a quest and find the legendary Star of Jolanest. I’m sure you’re a wizard of the Argist line. Most of the Argist kings were wizards of some degree.”
Jarby snorted. “No thanks. I’m a simple innkeeper—not a prince and certainly not a wizard. My late father was a weather wizard who went on a quest. He never returned, and my mother fell ill and died. I won’t do that to Yanith.”
“And what happens to her if you don’t? There’s a treasure in the lost city of Jolanest—enough dowry for a greedy bigot like your uncle to overlook Yanith’s lack of breeding.”
Jarby shook his head. “If I leave her, she’ll marry Onker the village idiot—if my uncle has his way.”
“He won’t do that while you’re gone. You’re the only one he really loves. But he will fire her if you don’t go and find her a dowry. He’s made too big a deal about it to back down now and lose face in front of the servants.”
Norbert found what he wanted in the bag and handed it to Jarby.
“Here, young sir, this is an amulet. Wear it, invoke it with your will, sprinkle the cursed object with the powder, and chant the spell. You better memorize it. Good luck, and goodbye.”