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by K.C. Shaw
Fantasy, 14 pages.
Originally Published in Renard's Menagerie #5, 2008
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The king’s castle in Midriver sat at the top of a steep hill. Gray stone steps, treacherously smooth, led from the market at the hill’s base up to the castle’s forecourt. A stag was climbing the steps.
The stag was dark brown, the size of a large pony. He reached the top of the steps and trotted purposefully toward the castle, where two werewolf guards lounged just inside the doors. The doors were propped open; the green and brown flag of Endra hung above them.
Neither the castle nor the flag were very attractive—the castle was squat and gray, its four towers mismatched in size, and the rampant figure on the flag was so ill-rendered that it might have been any animal at all. But the stag looked up at both with a quick sigh of pleasure.
One of the guards was in his wolf body, panting in a triangle of shade; the other was in his human body, dressed in wolf furs despite the heat, his dark skin shiny with sweat. He said to the stag, “The king’s in the carriage yard, Kristof. He’s got a new horseless carriage that runs on magic.”
The stag jerked his head in a nod and set off down a path that followed the castle’s wall, curving through oak and magnolia trees. A minute later he clattered onto a road paved with flagstones and slowed to a walk—and then the stag was gone, replaced at the same instant with a lean young man dressed in deerskins.
Kristof was all brown: brown skin, darker brown hair that curled loosely although it looked rather snarled at the moment, and brown eyes with all the liquid depth of a deer’s. He entered the carriage yard, his moccasins almost silent on the flagstones.
Only the king—tall and thin, with pale skin and black hair in a long braid down his back—and three of his sorcerers were in the carriage yard, although to Kristof’s sensitive nose it was crisscrossed with scent trails of people who had recently passed through. He smelled fresh paint as well, which seemed to be coming from the four-wheeled dogcart the sorcerers were gathered around.
As Kristof approached he realized the cart was making a noise, something between a growl and a purr. He slowed his pace, looking at the cart with suspicion. It was quite small, open like a wagon, and had two leather-covered seats; one seat faced forward and the other faced back, and Kristof stopped entirely to stare at the rear-facing seat in consternation. The cart’s wooden sides were painted glossy black.
The king opened a hatch in the cart’s front and the growling sound increased. The sorcerers all bent down to look into the hatch, and the king hovered over them like a mother hen over her chicks. He said, “After the initial spell to start it up, the engine will keep going with very little magical concentration. It’s a marvel of magical engineering—built along the same principles as the university’s clock.”
One of the sorcerers said, “Have they made others?”
“Just this one, as part of the course in practical applications of magic. Look at how compact the engine is,” the king added enthusiastically. He glanced up and noticed Kristof. “There you are. Want a ride?”
Kristof hadn’t looked away from the cart. “It’s magic?”
“Yes, magic. It’s a car. You and the other messengers can use it; you’ll be able to take parcels and even passengers with you.” The king smiled, as though offering a treat.
Kristof licked sweat from his upper lip and regarded the car with evident loathing. “Weres can’t work magic.”
“Well, Dougal is rather good at it. Come along and have a ride, anyway.”
Kristof joined the king and his sorcerers, but when he got within a few feet of the car the growl of its engine fell silent. The sorcerers gathered around the open hatch again. “It’s stopped,” one of the sorcerers said. “Why?”
Kristof waited, looking bored, while they discussed the engine’s magic. Finally he said, “Do you want your messages now, sire, or should I give them to you when I get back from lunch?”
“What? Oh—now.”
Kristof recited several messages, repeating not only the words but the speaker’s intonation. The king listened closely, then nodded. “No replies. You’re welcome to go eat now if you like. You can have a ride afterwards; we’re sure to have the car fixed by then.”
Kristof hurried across the yard, but he hadn’t gone far when the car’s engine rumbled to life again. He changed to his deer body and bounded away as though he hadn’t heard. Behind him the sorcerers uttered glad exclamations and congratulations.
Ordinarily Kristof enjoyed eating in the castle’s dining hall, where he could flirt with the serving girls and talk with his friends in the castle guard. Today, though, he sat at a table in the corner, morosely eating his roast chicken, carrots, and bread.
He wasn’t pleased when Dougal joined him. Dougal was another of the king’s messengers; he was human, with black hair and an expression that Kristof -- [End of Preview.]