Standback was now a complete rarity in Mount
Nevermind or anywhere else: a speechless gnome.
“Think about it,” she went on. “The draconians want
the weapons. You need the weapons tested. They’re
soldiers. Who could better test them?”
As he still hesitated, she added, “And isn’t the theft by
real warriors a kind of validation that your weapons are
worth testing? You’ll be able to tell that to the committee
and then ask for the hand of Watchout.”
Standback blinked. “But you’re not afraid to let them
use these . . . terrible weapons against your people?”
Mara thought about draconian troops setting off the
Portapults in the field. “They are indeed terrible weapons,”
she said, “but letting the draconians have them will only
make it a more even battle. It’s a matter of honor –
something the knights are big on.”
Standback took her hand, pumping it up and down.
“Never have I met a warrior of so much integrity – ”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
” – and modest too.” He looked back at the
unconscious draconian captain. “I’ll let them escape with
the Portapult, the Flying Deathaxe – ”
“Um, I don’t know that they’ll want the Deathaxe.
Why don’t you let them have the Thunderpack, instead?”
Standback protested. “This is too much. Won’t you
take anything for yourself?”
“Sometimes,” Mara said nobly, “there’s a greater joy
in giving.” She had a sudden thought. “If you don’t mind,
I’ll just take the little failed dowser.” She picked it up.
“The one that can’t even find water? You want it?”
“Just as a souvenir.”
Standback, tears in his eyes, said, “You’re amazing.
Nothing but a trinket for yourself, while you give full-
scale gnome weapons to your worst enemies.”
Mara, pocketing the jewel-finder, beamed. “Well,”
she said modestly, “I’m like that.”
The Promised Place
Dan Parkinson
Once, very recently, this had been a city. Only
days before, there had been a tiered castle on the highest
point of the hill. Studded battlements overlooked the lands
for miles around. In a walled courtyard, throngs gathered.
Below the battlements, spreading down toward the
fields, had been a raucous, bustling city – inns and
dwellings, shops and markets, public houses, smithies,
barns and lofts, weavers’ stalls and tanneries, music and
noise and life.
Chaldis had been a city. But the dragonarmies of the
Dark Queen had come and the city was a city no more.
Where battlements had stood was smashed and blackened
rubble, and all beneath was scorched, twisted ruin. Of
Chaldis, nothing was left. Only the road it had defended
was yet intact, and its surface showed the tracks and treads
of armies just passed. The people who had been here were
gone now – some fleeing, some dead, some led off as
slaves. Where there had been herds now were only
scorched pastures, and where crops had grown now were
ruined fields.
Stillness lived here now. A somber stillness – shadows
and silence, broken only by the weeping of the wind.
Yet in the stillness, something lurked. And in the
shadows, small shadows moved.
Muffled voices, among the rubble: “What kind place
this? Ever’thing a real mess.” ‘Talls been here. Somebody
clobber ’em, I guess.” “This all fresh scorch.” “Forget
scorch! Look for somethin’ to eat.”
And another sound, from somewhere in the lead,
“Sh!” A thump and a clatter.
“Sh!” “Somebody fall down.”
“SH!”
“Somebody say, ‘Sh.’ Better hush up.”
Another thump and several clatters.
“Wha’ happen?”
“Somebody bump into somebody else. All fall down.”
“SSSH!!”
“What?”
“SHUT UP AN’ KEEP QUIET!”
“Oh. Okay.”
Abruptly hushed, the shadows moved on, small
figures in a ragged line, wending among fallen stone and
burned timbers, making their cautious way through the
rubble that once had been a city. For several minutes, they
proceeded in silence, then the whispers and muted chatter
began again as the effect of exercised authority wore off.
“Wanna stop an’ dig? Might be nice stuff under these
gravels.”
“Forget dig. Need food first. Look for somethin’ make
stew.”
“Like what?”
“Who knows. Mos’ anything make stew.”
“Hey! Here somethin’. . . nope, never mind. Just a
dead Tall.”
“Rats.”
“What?”
“Oughtta be rats here. Rats okay for stew.”