Jinx slunk through the snow, bound for the King’s Gate. He’d slept, eventually, but uneasily- and on waking, he’d decided things were too out of hand. Flying objects in his cabin, mysterious words appearing- obviously ‘WARE’ meant beware, what with knives being thrown at him. It implied that there was some mysterious thing trying to warn him, but Jinx disapproved of warnings that only alarmed him worse.
There was nothing for it, but to return to Rainmoor and enlist some help. Peter always understood about these things, and Andrew was a fighter- his Rovers could prove useful. Jinx wondered why they no longer had a guard for his house, until he remembered that he himself had ordered Gordon to go home. Once everyone had returned to Rainmoor, there was no possible need for a guard, he’d thought. Of course, he didn’t bargain for flying cutlery either- things had changed.
It wasn’t easy to find the King’s Gate in all the snow. Jinx found basically the right area, and trod about in the snow projecting earnest desire to enter Rainmoor. Nothing happened. Jinx dug, and positioned himself relative to trees and rocks he remembered being there, and tried again- nothing.
After all this time spent disliking and mistrusting the magic- now that he needed it, now it chose not to work? Jinx sagged, staring helplessly at the ground where a magical opening wasn’t. It seemed terribly unfair.
“Psst!”
Jinx’s head snapped to the side, ears perked in alarm and attentiveness. The sound had come from the treeline, but there was nobody to be seen. He began stalking very quietly in the direction of the sound, briefly considering how horribly un-stealthy his tan and black-striped body was against a field of white snow. He slunk edgily towards the treeline, and, again:
“Psst!”
Something behind a bush winked at him. It waved a hand. It was a person- it smelled familiar- there was no doubt, it was Alan, Mick’s shy woods-hunter friend. He beckoned to Jinx, without breaking cover.
Alan whispered, “I been tracking you since you left your house, King Jinx, and you been moving like you was bein’ hunted. What is happenin’?”
Jinx sighed. “I am. Well… maybe I am. Invisible things are throwing knives at me.”
“What, now?” said Alan, nervously.
“No, no… but last night they were. Something was making the word ‘ware’ at me. It must mean ‘beware’, but I’m not sure what to beware of.”
“Are you here to get yourself help, King Jinx?” asked Alan. “This is where holes open in the ground. I seen it many times and when all the people went back into Rainmoor, they was here.”
“It’s not working,” said Jinx. “There’s nothing but snow.”
Alan considered this, dismayed. “But…” he said, and fell silent, thinking. Finally he spoke, his uncertain, soft, rarely-used voice gaining an unusual tone of decision. “No, ain’t nothing else to do about it. Let’s get you some help, King Jinx.”
“But if I can’t get into Rainmoor from here, how are you going to do it?”
“Din’t say that,” said Alan, and his eyes lit up as he flashed a nervous but impish grin. “It’s a bit out of my way now- but we’re goin’ to Full Hollow and get you some help!”
Jinx blinked at the suggestion, and then smiled, and just about purred with relief. “You don’t usually go there.” he said.
“Neither do you.” grinned Alan. “Happens we have a need.”
With that, the two set off. It was about an hour’s walk to Full Hollow. Alan knew the way, but the man was no conversationalist- he was companionable enough, but the contagious silence of him left Jinx trying to sort out confused thoughts while he walked.
It was beyond disconcerting to have the King’s Gate fail to work for him- and not only because it suggested something was wrong with the magic of Rainmoor. Jinx fretted helplessly over the fate of Elanor and his friends- but there was another level that was even more disturbing- he’d wanted to use that magic, had got so used to having it available that it had lost all its terrors for him. Rainmoor magic was still mostly perplexing to him, but he now knew that he no longer feared it- indeed, he wanted to wield it more than ever now that it was denied him. The safe, magic-free haven he’d thought he had wasn’t really a haven after all- someone had tracked him there, and it could never seem like the enclave he’d pretended it was. Magic was not only part of his history and part of him- it had come actively into his life and he couldn’t continue to ignore it any more.
And yet, it took the failure of magic to teach him this- he’d gone to the King’s Gate to Rainmoor unthinkingly intending to enter, and then to seek help from Peter, Mick- from other powerful mages. To find out who was hurling knives at him, who was saying ‘ware’ so earnestly, to get some control over a situation that was turning terribly hostile- and in all of this, to manipulate, use, and benefit from magic that apparently wished to aid him personally, to make him its King and protect him. And then- nothing. An empty hillside covered with snow, totally unresponsive.
Jinx considered the way betrayal could be all the more jarring when it was from something you’d selfishly taken for granted…
Full Hollow was a fugitive sort of place- you passed a house here, a shop or farm there, and before you knew it, you’d passed it by already. Jinx and Alan stopped at Tim’s house, figuring that the Mayor was probably the person to talk to. They found him out back, banging on a butter churn, watched by unimpressed cows. On seeing Jinx, the cows became more impressed- they backed off and watched him solemnly as he talked with Tim.
“Flying knives, you say?” said Tim.
“Yes- an invisible thing threw knives, then got in a fight with something else. There was a yelling, and something running off.”
“You figure them things are following you? Maybe you best not hang around here,” said Tim. “Well, uh, I mean, King Jinx, you can be around here all you please, I’m just thinking of my poor cows…”
Jinx considered this. “We could step outside.”
“I surely do appreciate it. Is there anything I can do to help, King Jinx, sir?”
“Don’t call me that!” said Jinx. “I live here! I don’t know, but I might need to hide out somewhere.”
Tim thought. “Cold iron! If you’re being troubled by witchery, maybe you can go stay with Rob. You know, our blacksmith…”
“The invisible thing was throwing metal knives at me. Wouldn’t that just give it more things to throw at me?” asked Jinx.
“Oh.” Tim sagged. “Well… if it can throw an anvil, we’re all in trouble. No, I think you should still try Rob. He’s a brave man, and what with his inventings, he’s well off- he’s always got a larder full enough for a crowd of visitors, has to give food away sometimes. You can stay with him.”
“Inventings? Like the backward sword, to give to your enemy?”
Tim laughed. “That’s a draw-knife! Mick tells that story, I see you’ve heard it. Mick’s a silly man, God love him. Anyhow, we’ll go see Rob.”
Jinx had imagined a big stable and roaring forge, blithely failing to consider the relative lack of horses in Full Hollow. As a result, he didn’t notice the smithy until Tim knocked on the door. Alan had accompanied them, perhaps wishing to help, though the shy hunter had begun to hang back and fade off in the direction of the woods- easy to do in the middle of a forest.
The door opened on a skinny, wiry little guy, not unlike Mick. There was the same indeterminate age, the same sharp and level gaze, as if he was sizing you up and accustomed to find some amusement in most people he met. Rob took in Tim and Jinx immediately, and called past them, “E-he! Alan, I see you! What brings you here?”
They entered, Alan most reluctantly. There was no forge, just a wood stove, but the place was a clutter of mechanical implements and tools. Through a back door, Jinx could see a small clearing, the middle of which was clear of snow surrounding a pit in the ground- evidently Rob’s metalworking needs could be addressed by smelting metal in an earth-pit. Rob was already talking. “I’ll ask again on account of maybe you didn’t hear me- what brings you all here? Tim, you drop in all the time, but King Jinx has never visited me and Alan, I’m not sure I believe what I’m seeing. What on earth is going on?”
Tim said, “King Jinx has a problem that maybe you can help with…”
Rob interrupted him gently but ruthlessly. “Well, then, maybe he should tell it me. Looks like he wanted to say something before you butted in.”
“I only wanted to say, don’t call me that.” said Jinx. “Nobody ever calls me just Jinx anymore. I didn’t ask to be King, it just happened.”
Rob looked him over quickly. “That so? That so? Interesting. Well, I’ll be happy to call you Jinx, Jinx, and why don’t you tell me what’s happening?”
“He’s being attacked,” said Tim helpfully, and caught a glance from Rob. “Sorry.”
“That so? Attacked by what?” asked Rob.
“I’m not sure.” said Jinx. “It’s something invisible. It threw a knife at me, and made my tea leaves into the word ‘ware’, and made a sort of storm outside, like a fight was happening.”
“What sort of knife?” asked Rob, promptly. Jinx said, “What?”
“I said, what sort of knife? Skinny dagger thing, bone knife, kitchen knife, what?”
“Oh. It was my knife, the one I use for making dinner.”
“Steel knife, then?”
“Yes.”
Rob considered this. “That complicates things. For a regular mage to be invisible, and still do knife-throwing, he would have to be very good to not break concentration- there are stable hexes for that but out here the forces are too weak to sustain them…”
He noticed everyone staring at him. “Oh, now, you know Mick is always around here! Happens we teach each other things. Now, did you hear anyone walking in your house when this happened?”
Tim grinned. “Told you he was the man to see.”
Jinx said, “No, I didn’t hear anything walking around. But it might be the ghost of King Adrian doing it- I might have seen it.”
Rob coughed, and spluttered, “Like hell! Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you know your history and lore at all? Do you have any idea how daft that idea is?”
Jinx, undaunted, replied, “No, I have no idea and I don’t know that history. I want to know what’s happening, so please tell me!”
“I’d be delighted to.” said Rob, and he sat and began to do so, with an air of enjoyment as if it was a favorite tale of his.
“Not everyone cared for our King Adrian, but here in Full Hollow we loved him. He was an avid hunter with a good sporting spirit, but there’s always been aristocracy who were like that. Adrian liked us, and that was novel. He would come out to Full Hollow (well, to the villages that became Full Hollow) and stay with us, hunting and roistering until the small hours.”
“It was on those late nights that he first began thinking of creating Adrian’s Mail.”
“You see, he didn’t like the aristocracy much. Backstabbing, conniving- it’s just politics, but Adrian couldn’t tolerate it, and yet there was nothing he could do. He knew his own aristocracy was corrupt, and even if he lived long through suspicion and watchfulness, he’d eventually pass over and he would be succeeded by any of a number of treacherous, unsporting nobles. There wasn’t anyone he wanted to give the throne to. So, he decided to do two things…”
“The first thing was, he used his own mage talents and those of others to create a set of mail that was well-nigh invulnerable. It would warn of treachery, it would turn blades even when they were ensorceled- people still talk of Adrian’s Mail, and one part of the story was that he did succeed in creating it.”
“The other part is this: he didn’t create it for himself.”
“Adrian created this armor for the future King that he believed would one day come, more worthy than any of his immediate successors, and once he’d created it, he hid it away, enchanting a key that would guide that person to the hidden place. And, having done so, he began to tell his lords and aristocrats about his plan and the enchanted key, and he made the mistake of showing it to them.”
“He hadn’t even finished speaking before he was stabbed in the back, and died, and the lords fought over the key- and when the dust settled, one faction had it, and their leader became King- and much good it did them, because he wasn’t the man Adrian had in mind, and the key remained stubbornly silent about where the mail was hid. And so it went, the key passing down the generations as part of that faction. They were hunters as well, but with a cruel streak, and they became the Rovers which still exist today.”
“And the key, and the Mail, are still out there somewhere…”
Jinx stared, fascinated to learn so much about the key that Lord Andrew guarded so carefully. Something had tried to steal it. Possibly there was some explanation to it all…
At which point, Rob broke Jinx’s reverie with a snort. “And that is why it’s not King Adrian who turned invisible and tried to stab you in the back! I wonder what’s happening if that ghost is uneasy. Did you see him? What did he look like?”
“Green.” said Jinx. Rob nodded. “That fits.”
They sat for a minute, until Rob said, “So, what are you going to do? Here to pick up a sword?”
“No, I already have one- Tim thought I could hide here.”
Rob blinked. “You think so? I’m not sure that’s what you need to be doing, Jinx. Some things you got to face. But I’ll tell you, it’s getting late- why don’t you stay the night. Tomorrow, we’ll go back to your cabin, and we’ll see what we can find.”
