Oag held his open journal on a window ledge of his family’s manor house, so the noonday sun brightened its pages. He dipped his quill in ink and penned a mathematical equation. The more he practiced, the better he would understanding derivatives.
Springtime grass, clover, and pinewood scented the breeze. The Knearwood was a dark and lush expanse marching up the slope beyond the barrow mound. Nobody built under those towering redwoods. Monsters dwelled there.
“Aw, you slew me!” a little girl shrieked with playful drama. “I’m dead!”
An older girl giggled. “That was too easy.”
“No fair, you had an army!” the younger girl exclaimed. “Fine, let’s go again. This time you’re the sorcerer and I’m the prince.”
“Fireball!”
Wood clacked against wood. Two of Oag’s sisters burst into the storeroom, whacking mops and brooms together like men sparring in the practice yard.
If only Oag could treat his own sparring sessions like playtime, the way his sisters did.
A maidservant trailed after the young ladies, looking amused. She was their age, but her rough-spun dress and apron differentiated her from the noble maidens.
“Oag, save me!” Sarily wailed with exaggeration. “The sorcerer is too powerful!” She fended off Alismay, blocking her mop with a broom handle. “I need help!”
Alismay glanced at Oag and laughed with teasing scorn. “That knight won’t help you. He doesn’t even have a sword.”
“Lady Ann!” Sarily hollered. “Give the knight a sword!”
The maidservant shyly approached Oag. Ann was no lady in waiting, despite the fake title her mistress had given her. “Milord?” She offered an extra broomstick.
“No, thanks.” Oag closed his math journal and nudged it further on the ledge, but not too far. Glass was an expensive foreign luxury and the windows were open air. Geese honked on the lake.
“Oag, come on!” Sarily begged. “Why are you always scribing? Don’t you want to rescue a princess?” She faked a swoon, flinging one skinny arm over her forehead. “Save me, sir Oag! I don’t want stupid Ermire. I want a real knight to come rescue me!”
Oag stretched out his long legs, pretending to trap Sarily. She was eleven. At nineteen years old, Oag had grown taller than everyone else in his family, even his father, and Lord Eagan was a large man.
But Oag was half the width of his father. The cook described him as a graveyard stork. It was embarassing.
Oag used to force himself to eat bread and other hearty foods. He really tried. But although such food tasted good, he always felt sharp pains of indigestion within minutes of swallowing a bite. He had to spend time on the latrine whenever he experimented with foods. Everyone wanted Oag to put on manly weight, but he figured it wasn’t worth the suffering.
He tried not to envy his brother too much. Ermire never seemed to get a stomachache.
“I thought you were a prince, not a princess?” Oag teased his youngest sister. He tugged Sarily off balance with his legs until she fell into his embrace, giggling.
“The princess is right.” Alismay put a hand on her hip. “Don’t you want to get knighted, Oag? It won’t happen if you spend all your time scribing.”
Alismay was good at mimicking the regal mannerisms of their mother.
“Swords are boring.” Oag was not going to tolerate a lecture from his fourteen-year-old sister. “I prefer magic.”
“Magic?” Sarily twisted around to gaze up at Oag with disbelief. “Aren’t you doing sums?”
“There’s magic in mathematics,” Oag said, not expecting anyone to understand. “It’s a way of quantifying and measuring the world and everything in it.”
Sarily looked impressed.
“Just be glad he’s not an actual sorcerer,” Alismay said. “Magic is evil.”
Right.
Their father and brother had survived a magical onslaught last summer, and they had returned to Oswick defeated and shaken, having witnessed men burned alive in their armor. Magic was all that anyone talked about. It was the reason why crops failed, why sheep died, and why soldiers failed to return from campaigns.
This coming summer, Oag would be dragged into the royal army, forced to squire for his brother, unless…
Well.
Unless he could find a way to escape.
The problem was, Oag could not hope to cross borders unnoticed. If he pretended to be a vagabond, he would be conscripted into the royal army. If he was recognized as a lordling, he would be ransomed back to his father before he could get very far.
He had written furtive letters. But foreign earls and kings had looming concerns about the war, and no one was looking to acquire an extra scribe from the hinterlands.
The occupied territories were close. If Oag was brave enough to trek through the monster wilds, through craggy canyons and marshes, he might sneak into the Merlish annex and…
Beg a sorcerer for help?
It was a fool’s dream. The invaders would not adopt a lordling, even if he begged. They held princesses and queens as hostages. They had executed three different kings. If Oag threw himself on the mercy of the Merlmen, they would either use him as a hostage or force him to kill his own kin on a battlefield. They certainly would not teach him magic.
“Magic may be evil,” Sarily said, “but don’t the sorcerers keep winning?”
“Prince Arranulf will turn the tide,” Alismay said with assurance, echoing what they’d all heard from feast hall gossip. “He’s brave and strong, by all accounts.”
Oag guessed the prince was probably a braggart, like most lordlings, puffed up by his armsmen. The Merlmen had conquered three kingdoms in as many years. They were poised to invade and conquer Rhiod next.
Maybe once they took over, Oag could apprentice himself to a sorcerer.
If he survived the war.
No one knew much about what happened to nobles in the conquered territories known as the Merlish annex. News did not travel easily across the war-torn border.
“A lot of knights died last summer.” Sarily moved off Oag’s lap, her voice subdued. She clasped Oag’s hand as if she could protect him.
He gently squeezed her hand back.
“Our noble ancestors defeated ancient wizards. We can do it again.” Alismay pointed to the faded fresco on the plaster wall.
It depicted a famous battle: a legendary king riding a unicorn, facing off against a wizard in command of gigantic porcupines.
“That happened eons ago,” Oag said. “The enchanted swords are all lost and gone. I don’t think steel plate armor is effective against fireballs.”
“Well, we have to win.” Alismay gave Oag a fierce, pleading look. “Father thinks we have a chance. Good will triumph over evil.”
In the privacy of his own mind, Oag suspected the Merlmen were not so much evil as better equipped. Was swinging a sword morally superior to casting a spell? He doubted it. Magic was just more effective.
“You have to spar and get stronger.” Alismay flexed her bicep, which looked incongruous with her fine blouse and embroidered corset. “Don’t you want to be knighted, like Ermire?”
“I just want to be left alone.” Oag felt like his interests were under siege. “How about if you let me finish what I was doing?”
He hoped his sisters wouldn’t tattle on him. The last time Lord Eagan had caught Oag avoiding military lessons, he had knocked the journal out of his son’s hands.
And that was fair. As a lordling, Oag was expected to lead armed men, not hunch over ledger books as an accountant. The kingdom was facing a bloody invasion. Every able bodied man was needed.
The problem? Oag didn’t want to die from a flaming arrow or fireball on some muddy battlefield.
He also despised the coarse armsmen who bowed and scraped for his father and brother. He didn’t fit in with lackeys like that.
He wasn’t fond of horsemanship, either. He got itchy eyes and wheezing breath whenever he was near the stables.
“Guess what?” Sarily bounced on the bench seat next to Oag, kicking her stockinged feet.
“What?” Oag asked.
“There’s a peddler in town,” Sarily said.
Oag tried to mask his excitement. “Really? I looked south this morning and I didn’t see any travelers.” He climbed the tower every morning, but the road wound through redwoods, so a lot of its bends were hidden from sight.
“All the servants are talking about this traveler,” Alismay said. “He’s a newt.”
Newts were people, but of a different type than most folks. Oag had only ever seen a few newts, since they lived in tribal bands, camping on the fringes of society. They had silvery green skin and long, pointed ears.
Oag hardly cared. A traveler might deliver correspondence.
Or even books. Dare he hope?
Books did not usually survive the long, hard journey. Peddlers tended to get waylaid before they wound up in the hinterlands, or they sold their more valuable wares. Neither Oag nor his scholarly correspondents could pay royal sums to hire an armed merchant company. In total, Oag had only received three books from faraway friends, but he always hoped for more.
“Is there a crowd?” Oag jumped to his feet, towering over his adolescent sisters. “Do you know if this peddler carries letters or books?”
Sarily giggled at his enthusiasm.
“How would we know?” Alismay said with a note of despondence in her tone. “Father forbade us from leaving the keep, remember?”
If the peddler did carry a book, then Oag absolutely needed to get there before old Grindlebuck could hobble over and make a bid. The town scrivener was literate, unlike most people.
“Thanks for telling me.” Oag raced towards the doorway.
“Wait!” Alismay called. “Will you escort us?” She tempered her voice with an attempt at maturity. “I would like to consider a purchase or two.”
Sarily gasped with delight at the idea. “Yes, please!” She latched onto Oag and gazed up at him with her big gray eyes. “Please, please, please? Take us to the peddler in the square?”
Oag did not want to shield his sisters from potential ruffians, but their desperate hope was too much to bear. He caved in. “All right.”
“YAY!” Both sisters shouted, jumping with joy.
Oag laughed. “Go put on your boots and cloaks and meet me in the courtyard.”
The girls raced towards their rooms, laughing and chatting in excitement. Their maidservant hiked up her thick skirts to keep up.
Oag stopped in his own bedchamber, where he unlatched the chest containing his precious sheafs of paper, jars of ink, and goose quills. He removed the false bottom. Lord Eagan gifted a silver to each of his lesser children on their annual name days, so Oag had a coin purse that was mostly full. He pocketed it.
“Goodness!” a maidservant squeaked as Oag rushed into the hallway.
“Sorry.” Oag blushed, backing away from her bosom. Had he accidentally jabbed her with his journal?
And this was the one maidservant he preferred to avoid. Uma had ravenous eyes.
“Such a rush, milord.” Uma sized up Oag like he was a morsel she wanted to devour. He had no idea why she always looked at him like that.
“Sorry,” Oag apologized again. He tried to manuever around her aproned skirt, but Uma did not step aside.
“I came to fetch ye to the great hall,” Uma said. “Your father summons ye.”
Oag hid his dismay. No one refused Lord Eagan. “I was about to meet my sisters in the courtyard. Will you let them know I am delayed?”
Uma hesitated, as if she had something else to say. “As ye wish, milord,” she said after a moment. “Can I take your journal to the ledger room?”
“I’ll handle it.” Oag sidled past her, careful not to encourage her with a look. Uma had a brother and a father, both lackeys who shadowed his brother, Ermire. He wanted no trouble from them.
He passed the kitchen. It smelled of lardvark roast, probably the last of the winter livestock to be slaughtered. The ledger room was nearby.
The hallway shed just enough light for Oag to step past crates of tally sticks and spare armor. Ledger books stood on top of the low cabinet, with a few actual books interspersed among them. Oag slid his journal into its hidden spot between old ledgers.
Most people prayed to their ancestors for a good marriage or a good harvest. Oag prayed for new things to read.
Not that his dead ancestors would care. His forefathers had been illiterate. Lord Eagan himself had never learned to read.
Ah well.
Oag noted that his book on number theory was missing. Had his mother borrowed it? She was the only other fully literate inhabitant of Oswick manor, besides Oag. She had taught him.
As he made his way towards the exit, he caught sight of a slinking shadow near the wall. Oag gave it a wide berth. Cats were necessary in any large house, since they culled the rat population, but felines gave him fierce headaches and fevers.
The creature was carrying a book.
Oag stopped.
This was not a cat. It was a tiny man the size of a barn owl.
The gnome’s orange eyes reflected the dim light. It wore suspenders over a rumpled shirt. Sparse fur grew out of the gnome’s face, tufted whiskers rather than facial hair. Those white whiskers contrasted with dark gray skin, like wet granite flecked with mica.
“You,” Oag breathed.
He had seen this gnome hauling a book once before. But that was years ago, when Oag was a small child. He had reported the tiny thief to his mother and elder sister. Everyone had laughed. They’d assumed young Oag was telling a tale tale.
In the intervening years, Oag had caught glimpses of a fleeting two-legged shadow every once in a great while. If not for that, he would have dismissed his first encounter as imaginary.
“Why number theory?” Oag asked. His own calm surprised him.
The gnome grunted and continued to haul away the book. It must be a great burden for his tiny arms.
Oag followed at a respectful distance. He walked softly. Maybe he ought to alert the household, or try to capture the tiny man, but some deeply buried instinct told him not to ruin this encounter. How many people got to see something blatantly magical?
Well, the Merlish annex supposedly had talking horses and winged people.
But Rhiod wasn’t a land of magic. Sure, monsters emerged from the Knearwood at times. Mandrills, flametails, and slimes posed a danger to peasants who lived on the slopes, and there was folklore about unicorns.
But no magical people.
Oag only knew about gnomes from a book he’d borrowed from old Grindlebuck, an ancient collection of essays about the Uncrossable Mountains in the far west. That region was now part of the Merlish annex.
Was this little man one of the mythical tunneling people? If so, why had he taken up residence in a house so far from his homeland?
The book-toting gnome went behind a shield painted with a goose. Oag waited for him to emerge.
He heard a faint thud.
Then nothing.
Overcome by curiosity, Oag sneaked closer and quietly moved the shield aside, revealing a crack in the plaster whitewash.
Oag pulled the plaster aside. There was a gap between stones, large enough for a kitten to wriggle through.
Faint sounds hinted that the gnome was moving farther away.
Oag dropped to his hands and knees. “Hello?” he called softly.
Candlelight flickered in a miniature stone passageway that angled downward.
Oag listened and heard nothing. The size disparity between himself and the gnome enhanced the otherworldly feeling of this encounter. He imagined the miniature man in a cozy den, reading about polynomial equations by candlelight.
The gnome could read all day and night, undisturbed. No one expected him to tally taxes or spar in the practice yard.
Lucky little guy.
Oag cleared his throat to signal that he was still nearby. “My name is Oagmalo.” He offered his full name, formally introducing himself. “You can call me Oag. May I know your name?”
No response.
A gnome seemed far different from the short people of Dwor, or the ossified man in Anorfic Vale. He might be from the land of sorcery.
“Are you from Merl?” Oag dared to ask.
The flicker went out. The gnome must have extinguished his candle.
Oag rested his forehead against the wall, feeling like a hapless oaf from a fairy tale. “I want to know about magic.” He yearned to converse with someone who understood some secrets of the world, even if it was just mathematics. “I don’t mean you any harm. None at all. I just want to learn.”
“Milord?” Uma asked from the doorway.
Oag jerked upright. He stood and dusted off his breeches, flustered.
“Who were ye talking to?” Uma scanned his dim surroundings.
“Ah, no one.” Oag adjusted the shield over the hole in the wall. “I thought I saw a little person.”
Uma giggled. “Did ye, now?” Her voice was a teasing caress. “Maybe it was a kitten. They like to play in the dark.”
“Did you talk to my sisters?” he asked, joining her in the hallway.
“Aye, milord.” She eyed him in a way that made him feel like a lardvark trussed up for slaughter. “Before ye go to your father…” She pressed his chest with one delicate hand, stopping him.
“What is it?” Oag searched her face. Servants were not usually so bold.
“I want to warn ye,” Uma said. “I have premonitions. I think there are rough times ahead, and I fear that ye ought to leave Oswick today. Alone.”
He studied her large eyes. Her boldness was out of character.
“It was a dream,” she said, “but a strong one.”
“You want me to just leave my home?” Oag asked, unable to quite believe it. “Why?”
Uma blushed. She lowered her face, clearly ashamed by her own strange behavior.
“Where would I go?” Oag asked.
“I don’t know, milord,” Uma said. “I only hope ye will heed my warning. That is all.” She hurried away, hips swaying. “Your lord father is waiting.”
