Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms Read online

  Suddenly, the tall stranger shoved with all his strength, causing the other to stumble backwards, and then flared his cloak, leaping into the air. The other Keltar recovered his balance and followed suit. They met in mid-air and the courtyard rang with blow and counterblow, as their staffs repeatedly made contact.

  By now the crowd in the courtyard had woken as if from a dream. There were screams. Most were backing away, or trying to escape through the nearest street or alleyway. The graylesh were shifting nervously. The soldiers’ hands were at the hilts of their weapons, but they seemed unsure whether they should disobey their previous instructions and try to intervene somehow. Shann stood her ground, following every motion, as if her life were wagered on the outcome.

  The first Keltar grasped one end of his staff and viciously thrust the diamond pointed tip towards the stranger. The stranger avoided the thrust, tumbling through the air as he did so. He landed awkwardly, falling to his side on the rain soaked ground. Shann heard herself gasp as the first Keltar descended rapidly. As he did so, he reached into a hidden recess and drew out a small silver coloured globe, hurling it to the ground. The silver ball bounced once and rolled to a halt in front of the stranger. It was emitting a whine, which steadily rose in pitch then exploded in a blinding white flash. The stranger raised his left arm against the blast. He shook his head, scrambled to get his legs under him and rapidly backed away to Shann`s right. She could see that the side of his face was smeared with mud. He pressed his eyes shut and shook his head once again. The first Keltar landed gracefully and began whirling his staff hand over hand in front of him, like a spinning shield. “Surrender now, or die!” Shann heard him cry. He brought the spinning staff to a halt, grasping it with both hands in front of him, and then rushed at the stranger again.

  The stranger had planted his legs and held out his staff, so as to meet the blow head on. However, the first Keltar reversed one hand on the staff, and met the stranger’s weapon with an upward, twisting motion, which tore it out of his grasp. Shann watched as the staff sailed through the air and landed with a splat a few steps from where she was standing. Without thinking, she ran forward, bent down and grabbed the staff.

  The stranger was stumbling towards her; behind him the first Keltar was advancing in their direction in an unhurried fashion. Shann sprinted towards the stranger, holding out the staff and as he took it, their eyes met. His were blue and sharp as sapphires. One side of his face was smeared with dirt and the other cheek was scratched. His sandy hair was plastered to his head by the rain. He smiled at her in a quizzical fashion; then spun round to face his opponent once more. Shann backed away. The combatants briefly circled one another in silence as the rain gently fell.

  The first Keltar launched another frontal assault, but this time the stranger was ready. He feinted to the man’s left. The first Keltar brought his staff down on empty space, whilst the stranger ducked low to the man’s right and behind him, slashing with his staff. The diamond blade connected with the upper part of his cloak, raking across it and tearing it to ribbons. The first Keltar howled with rage and spun on his attacker. The stranger sprang away but was a fraction of a second too late. The first Keltar swung his weapon from one end, gaining maximum reach, the blade slicing through the stranger’s side as he turned. The side of his mouth twisted in triumph.

  Clutching his side, the stranger, ran toward Shann. He reached inside a pocket and grabbed Shann`s wrist, pressing something into the palm of her hand. The object was cold and sticky. As she closed her fingers around it, he breathed one word into her ear. “Run!”

  The stranger took a step back and jumped, pressing something at his left shoulder. His cloak flared outwards and he rose up, landing on a rooftop behind her. He leaped once more and was gone. The first Keltar jumped and touched his shoulder, but his ruined cloak stayed flat. He fell to the ground, stumbling forward and uttering a curse.

  The Keltar turned his face to the rooftop where the stranger had disappeared, and then towards Shann. There was a flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder, which seemed to rouse Shann from her stupor. She turned on her heel, and bolted down the nearest alley.

  The Keltar pointed his staff and yelled at the soldiers. “After her!”

  ~

  Shann pelted down the narrow alleyway, her heart pounding like a smith’s hammer. She could hear the cries and curses of the pursuing soldiers, but resisted the urge to turn and look. She concentrated instead on avoiding the boxes, barrels, bits of wood and other detritus that littered the passageway. There was a crash and a splintering sound behind her, followed by more cursing.

  Shann’s mind began to race. Corte was her town, the town she had been born in, lost her parents in, made friends in, lived and worked in. She knew every building, every street, every stone in the place, or so it seemed. Her internal map kicked in. Two thirds of the way down the alley, the way was intersected by another passage, which ran along the rear of the properties facing Arian Street. Narrow twisting routes were likely to give her an advantage. Fortunately, Corte had more than its fair share of those.

  She ducked left and sprinted on past the backs of the squat houses with their stone roofs. The Inn where she worked was three streets over. Can’t lead them there.

  Suddenly, she heard the sound of tramping boots from a connecting passageway up ahead. She froze in panic. You fool, she thought to herself angrily. Some of the soldiers had obviously made for Arian Street, and then cut back through the next alleyway to head her off. They had her trapped.

  Shann cast about wildly. To her left was a sheer stone wall; to her right, a fence leading to a back yard–her only option. She jumped, grabbing the rough wooden panel with both hands. Hauling herself up, she scrambled over and dropped to the other side, landing awkwardly. Pain lanced through her right ankle. She grimaced, cursing her own stupidity again, and hobbled towards the building, her teeth clenched.

  She could already hear a commotion in the alley. The rain had all but stopped, and the sky was starting to clear. By Ail-Mazzoth`s dim red light, she saw double doors low to the ground. She pulled at a handle and a door creaked open to reveal the top of a ladder descending into darkness. Shann lowered herself into the gap and quickly pulled the door shut over her. Using two hands and her one good leg, she descended until her foot felt level ground.

  The air smelt musty. Her Kelanni eyes adjusted quickly to the lower light and she spied what looked like a pile of wood in one corner. Shann hopped over to it and dropped down, behind the pile. Her pounding heart began to slow a little. Her ankle yelled for attention but she ignored it. She pulled some pieces of wood over her and lay still.

  Voices. “…climb …are you sure? Captain, over here!” A scuffing of boots against earth. The door to the basement creaked open. “Berin, bring a tinderbox, quickly.” The sound of a match flaring. Shann tried to make herself smaller, pressing herself into the earth.

  Then another voice. “What are you doing there?”

  It must be the owner, Shann thought, none too happy at the invasion of his property. The cellar door banged shut. Muffled voices continued outside. I have to get out of here, now. Next to the wood pile, steps led up, no doubt to the main part of the property. There was a risk that she might run into someone who would raise the alarm, but she had no other choice. She shucked off her wood covering, and struggled up the steps. Lifting the latch, she opened the door as slowly as she dared and then slipped through into a dim unlit room. The door at the other end led to a narrow hallway. She limped down the hallway, opened the door at the end and she was in Arian Street.

  She looked rapidly this way and that, but the street was deserted. Must get to the Inn, she thought determinedly. Hobbling as fast as she could and breathing hard against the pain, Shann headed for the only place she knew as home.

  ~

  Shann slipped into the Inn’s back entrance, closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. Her kitchen garb was wet through and heavy and stuck to h
er skin. Her short black hair was soaked and matted. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. Have to keep moving. She bent down and massaged her ankle. It felt swollen, but the pain didn’t seem as bad. She moved through the kitchen and climbed the stairwell at the side. Her small sleeping room was at the end of the hallway. Inside, she lit the tiny lamp and grabbed a cloth bag, throwing it on her cot. Then she moved about quickly, locating a change of clothes and her few meagre possessions.

  The door to her room opened and Gallar stood at the entrance. She was short and slight like Shann, her face lined with age but kindly. Her white hair was tied straight back. She wore a tan nightgown and bore a handheld lamp. As the flickering light fell on Shann, Gallar`s face fell in concern. “What happened? You look terrible.”

  Shann felt a lump rise in her throat, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she continued shoving things into the bag. “I have to go away for a while, Gall.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have to go away. I will be back as soon as I can.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Lind.”

  “Lind, why Lind?”

  “It’s just… something happened tonight and I have to leave.”

  “Why? What happened?” Gallar stepped into the room. Shann turned to face her, putting pressure on her bad ankle and wincing as she did so.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.” Shann turned away again, but Gallar grabbed her by both shoulders, forcing Shann to face her. Her visage was etched in concern.

  “What happened to you?”

  Shann swallowed. “I tried to help a man, and now there are soldiers chasing me.”

  “Man–what man?”

  “I don’t know. Look Gall, I don’t have much time.”

  Gallar looked at the girl intently, seeming to come to an inward decision. She released the girl’s shoulders. “Wait here,” she said, and ducked out through the door.

  Released, Shann`s muscles seemed to give way. She sat down hard on her cot, her head bowed. She shut her eyes, and her mind replayed the events in the courtyard, but they were like shards; the shattered pieces of a dream that made no sense. Who was the stranger? Why would Keltar, the eyes and ears of the Prophet himself, fight one another? But in truth, it was her own actions that confused her the most. She had moved without hesitation to come to the aid of a man whose life and motives she did not know, only that he seemed to be willing to fight for people who were powerless to help themselves. People like Shann herself.

  With a start, she suddenly recalled the object he had pressed into her hand. She opened her eyes. I must have dropped it in the confusion, she thought. Her hand went to the pocket at the front of her dress and she felt a hard shape. She had not even remembered putting it there. She reached in and pulled it out. It seemed to pull away slightly as if it had some built-in resistance. A disk, less than half the size of her palm, it was stained with a hardened, milky white substance. Blood. She recalled that the stranger had been injured before his escape.

  A basin lay near her cot, with a little water in it. She rinsed the blood off, clouding the water, and dried the disk on her dress. The disk was ebony black; featureless, with no markings of any kind. It seemed too smooth to the touch–her finger appeared almost to slide off it. And there was something else. As she viewed it from different angles, it seemed to have a depth that her eye could not quite grasp. Dark curves and whorls appeared to move over its surface…

  There was a sound at the door, and Shann hastily thrust the strange object back into her pocket. It was Gallar, bearing a basin filled with fresh water and what looked like towels. Without saying a word, she began to help Shann clean off the excesses of dirt and grime. Shann changed her clothing, and then Gallar turned her attention to the girl’s bruised ankle. She produced some white bandage material.

  As she wrapped the bandage carefully around the affected limb, Shann suddenly felt like a little girl again. It was not much more than a turn of the season after Gallar and Poltann had taken her in that she had fallen headlong while playing. She grazed both knees, and arrived at the kitchen door howling. The woman named Gallar had bathed her cuts and then, without a word, had rocked the little girl in her lap until she fell silent.

  She sat silent once more as the older woman worked. “This may hurt a bit.” She tightened the bandage and tied it off. Shann did not wince.

  Gallar stood up, brushing down the front of her dress. “The soldiers are searching house by house from Arian Street. Take this.” Shann glanced inside the small sack, and saw bread and fruit. Gallar continued hurriedly, “Go down to the stables. Take the graylesh that is already harnessed. Go south to Fiveway Point, then head for the western gate.” Shann looked down and nodded. Her eyes started to well up with tears. This woman, though not her mother, had been a mother to her in every way that mattered. Gallar took the girl into her arms, and the two held each other fast and wept silently for a long moment.

  They parted, and Shann wiped away the tears with the back of one hand.

  “Promise me you will come back.” Gallar’s voice was pleading.

  Shann had no idea when or how she might be able to fulfil it, but she gave her answer without hesitation. “I promise.”

  Chapter 2

  Keris sat straight in the saddle and checked her bearings. Ail-Gan, the yellow sun, was already climbing high in the sky. The huge ball that was Ail-Mazzoth loomed motionless as ever, a dull crimson, transected by dark bands. Ail-Kar, the white sun, lay beneath the western horizon, but would be rising ere long.

  She gazed off to the left, searching for Dagmar Tower. She spotted it, jutting up through the morning haze, and noted its position relative to the road on which she was travelling. She pursed her lips. This won’t do at all.

  Kicking the graylesh`s striped sides, she urged the animal into a loping stride, and caught up with the van of a small convoy, consisting of two loaded wooden carts pulled by graylesh and four dejected looking “tribute” captives, two male and two female. The captives were flanked by two soldiers in leather armour, augmented by iron studs. Four more soldiers were posted to the front and rear.

  Keris rode to the front of the line, and shouted, “Rodann!”

  One of the soldiers turned to face her, his armour dusty from the road. He had shoulder length dark hair, a hawkish face, and eyes that squinted against the suns as he looked up at Keris. “My Lady?”

  “Rodann, pick up the pace. At this rate, we won’t gain Chalimar Keep until dusk.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” He turned to the others and began barking orders. Animals and people were urged forward roughly. Keris cast her eyes over those who had been designated “tribute,” honoured with the privilege of entering into the service of the Prophet. They did not look very privileged. They shuffled along with heads and eyes downcast, half-blinded by the dust from their passage. They appeared dirty, dishevelled and uncaring. Keris wondered what their lives had been before. Farm workers, artisans, herdsfolk–it hardly mattered. All of that was gone now. Some might be engaged as servants at the keep. More likely they would end up at the ore camps in the Southern Desert or one of the processing facilities. She noted in passing that each of them wore a harness, tied at the back, with a breastplate at the front. She had not seen tributes arrayed that way before, but keeping them in order was the province of the soldier Captain, and she did not feel inclined to inquire into such minutiae.

  Keris turned away from the convoy, and urged her mount forward, riding ahead a short distance. Pulling up, she scanned the road ahead. A cloud of dust was approaching from the other direction. Gradually, it resolved into a slow moving cart.

  She heard Rodann`s voice behind her. “A wagon, my Lady.”

  “I can see that, thank you.”

  Rodann caught up to her position and stood by her mount’s flank. “The silver, my Lady. We have standing orders to search all transports leaving Chalimar.”

  Keris did not respond. Her face was expre
ssionless as she watched the cart’s languid approach. It was pulled by a scrawny looking graylesh and seemed to have three… no, four occupants.

  Rodann pressed on. “Should I apprehend them and have my men conduct the search?”

  If these are silver thieves, then they have surely fallen on hard times, thought Keris wryly. About a week ago, an official convoy bearing silver astrias to Chalimar had turned up one strongbox short. In Keris` opinion, it was far more likely to have been a bookkeeping error than an organised theft, but the order had gone out to conduct random stop and search nonetheless.

  Keris turned to face Rodann. “No, we have lost too much time already. You will take charge of the escort and make best speed towards the Keep. I will conduct the search and catch up with you in due course.”

  Rodann nodded and made to re-join the caravan. The track ahead carried on straight for a distance, and then bore to the left and came back on itself as it started to rise through a canyon, to the higher ground on which Chalimar stood. If she forsook the road, she could cut across country, and meet up with the convoy farther ahead, but there were gullies and ravines in that direction–too difficult a terrain to ride a graylesh over.

  She dismounted and started to rummage through one of the saddle packs, retrieving her flying cloak. It was neatly folded, of a close woven material and black as pitch. To the Kelanni it was a symbol of the Prophet’s authority–something to be feared. She was sure it was for that reason that many Keltar seemed to wear their cloaks constantly, even when eating or performing routine duties at the keep. To Keris it was a tool, nothing more. Besides, she found the harness and shoulder mechanism heavy and restricting.

  She swept the cloak free, and draped it over her shoulders, making the necessary shoulder and harness attachments. The soldiers marching by regarded her as if she were a curiosity–a stranger in their midst. Which is exactly what I am. She salvaged another small canvas bag and briefly checked the contents before tying it about her waist. Preparations complete, she handed the reins of the graylesh to one of the soldiers.