Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms Page 4

  “Opportunity?”

  “Indeed.” Mordal smiled weakly. “I am getting along in years now, Keris. Soon the time will come to name my successor.” He looked at her steadily. “I would like it to be you.”

  Keris was silent for a moment, trying to absorb the import of Mordal`s words. She had never thought of herself in such a role. Indeed she was quite certain that no-one else in the keep had either. In fact there would probably be quite a number, and she could rattle off their names, who would be shocked or even angered by the suggestion. Finally she spoke. “My Lord, there are a great many others with more experience than I–”

  “But they do not have your insight or your instincts. I need to know that after I am gone, the Prophet’s mission will be in good hands.”

  Keris found herself lost for words.

  “However,” he continued, “I need to convince the Prophet that you are indeed the right person for this task.” Mordal put a hand on her shoulder. “To that end, I want you to go to Corte. You can pose as common traveller or a merchant. Make discreet enquiries and find the conspirators. I do not care what happens to them, whether you take them alive or bring back the bodies, but we need to know exactly how they managed to obtain the cloak and the staff.”

  “This is to be your task and yours alone, Keris. You will report directly to me. When you return, I will bring your efforts to the attention of the Prophet and make my recommendation. I have every confidence in your success.”

  Keris nodded. “I shall begin preparations immediately, my Lord.” She made to turn away, but something stopped her.

  “Mordal?”

  “Yes, Keris?”

  “Does the Lord Prophet really ascend to the heavens?”

  “Indeed,” Mordal replied, “I have seen it with my own eyes.”

  Chapter 3

  The clouds had begun to part and were tinged with Ail-Mazzoth`s soft reddish glow as Shann urged her mount towards Lind. There were no lights visible from the town, which lay in somnolent shadow.

  The apprehension she had felt during her flight from Corte had slowly been replaced by exhaustion, so that after a while she no longer checked over her shoulder for signs of pursuit. She simply clung to the sides of her mount and rode on, as if she and the graylesh were the only things left in the world.

  As she approached the edge of the town, she eased herself off the graylesh`s back, half falling off in the attempt. Her bad ankle hit the ground, and she went down on one knee, grimacing in pain. Gingerly, she eased herself up and checked her surroundings.

  The street she was in seemed to consist mainly of stables, workshops or warehouses; it was hard to tell in the dim light. She did not have anything approaching a plan, but she knew she could not go on much farther and she didn’t know anyone in this town. I need a place to hole up, at least until morning, she decided.

  She started towards an adjacent building, when suddenly there was the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles from behind her on the hard-packed road. She saw an open crate and hobbled over to it as fast as she could. She climbed in and lay still. A smell assailed her nostrils. Lining the bottom of the crate was a layer of moba root and most of them seemed to have gone bad. She fought down the urge to gag.

  As she tried to lie still, a light appeared at the corner of her vision. An oil lamp was casting a gentle radiance. She looked up and saw a freckled round face bending over the crate. The face was smiling disarmingly, and even more bizarrely, was topped off by a jauntily placed cap.

  The lips on the face moved. “Good evening!”

  I must have fallen asleep or passed out, Shann concluded. But her ankle still hurt, so that didn’t seem right.

  All of a sudden, the nose on the face sniffed and its expression screwed up. “Pooooohhhh, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  A hand reached down and Shann grasped it without thinking, allowing it to pull her up. The hand and the face belonged to a short man, not much taller than she. He had wavy brown hair, and what seemed like a permanently amused expression. He appeared neat and well dressed, which made Shann wonder if he were a clothier.

  The man spoke to her as if he were speaking to a lifelong friend, rather than to a stranger whom he had only just dragged out of a smelly crate. “I have a question to ask you, and I must apologise if it seems strange. Has anyone given you anything tonight?”

  Shann had no idea what this odd little man was talking about, but then she suddenly remembered the disc she had been given. She reached into her pocket and grasped it. It pulled slightly against her in that odd fashion she had noticed before. She opened her hand and held it out in her upturned palm.

  The man smiled again. “Do you mind if I borrow this? I promise to return it.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he grasped the disc and secreted it about his person. His gaze turned back to her and became one of concern. “You look exhausted. Come, there is a meal and a bed awaiting you.”

  He started off down the street but she merely stood stupefied, watching the capped figure. He stopped, turned to her, and extended a beckoning hand in her direction. “Don’t worry. You are among friends now!”

  ~

  Shann was seated on a stool in the kitchen. The generously proportioned range was giving off a glowing heat which threatened to lull her to sleep. The man with the cap called out. “Hedda?”

  Moments later, a middle aged woman entered, clad in brown work robes and white apron. Her freckled olive face was as round as the man’s, but unlike him, she seemed to bear a permanent frown. She looked at the man, then at Shann, then back at the man again.

  “Is this her?” she enquired.

  By way of reply, the man reached into his pocket and held the disc out for the older woman to see. She nodded once and turned her attention to the girl.

  “Right then, I’m sure you are hungry. I’ll get you a bowl.” She went to the range and began to bustle with pots.

  The man stood nearby, watching them both. Despite the fact that they were inside and in a warm kitchen, he still wore that absurd cap perched precariously on his head. Shann wondered idly if he wore it to bed. Her body seemed to be reviving slowly. Her throat was dry, but she found her voice and rasped, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  It was the older woman who answered. “By the grace of the Three, boy, did you not even tell this poor girl who you were before dragging her in here? I’m sorry, child; this is my unworthy son, Alondo. Alas, I have made my hairs grey trying to instil a measure of civil behaviour in him, but he remains as stubbornly boorish as ever.”

  Alondo made a deeply wounded expression, and then smiled sheepishly. “Yes mama.” Shann quickly realised that this was a regular banter between two people who used deprecation as a way of expressing their love for one another. She could feel herself starting to relax a little.

  Hedda placed a steaming bowl in front of Shann, and then turned to Alondo. “What are you doing standing there idle? Go make up a bed for our guest.”

  Alondo gave a mockingly exaggerated bow and left through the door. Shann lifted the bowl to her lips. The stew tasted wonderful and began to warm her stomach. She turned to the older woman. “Thank you.”

  Hedda was still bustling. “It’s the least we could do. You did a very brave thing tonight.”

  Shann felt confused. No-one had ever called her “brave” in her entire life. What was more, she could not think what she could have done to earn that title now. She decided to change the subject. “How did you know where to find me?”

  Hedda smiled. “How many young women do you think have arrived in a bedraggled state on the road from Corte tonight? Alondo was sent to keep watch for you. A good pair of eyes is one of his few attributes. We could not be certain, of course, but the road east from Corte goes towards Chalimar, and it did not seem likely you would head towards the serpent’s nest, with the serpents after you. We also knew you had been given the disc, so there could be no confusion as to who you were.”

 
Shann`s mind was still a little foggy, but she digested the implication. “You know the man who gave me the disc?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Who is he?”

  Hedda pressed her lips together. “Enough for tonight. I can tell you are exhausted and the night is well along. You need to rest. There will be time enough for answers in the morning. And you will have another journey to make then, if you are strong enough. Wait here. I will see if my fool of a son has made up your room yet, or whether he has forgotten the task he was sent to do and is instead composing another one of his airy ballads.”

  She got up and swept through the kitchen door, leaving Shann alone for the moment. Shann suddenly felt an all-enveloping sense of weariness. She pushed her bowl away, folded her hands on the table and rested her head. Within minutes, she was sound asleep.

  ~

  Keris, diamond merchant and traveller from the mines of Thalissa, deep in the mountains of Tragar, entered the Inn of the Leaping Dagan just off the market square in Corte.

  The atmosphere within the Inn was redolent with the odour of horge, a sweet liquor distilled from kalash. The décor was sparse, a plain wooden floor covered with sawdust and unadorned wooden walls. A shassatan board was laid out on a table in the corner, but no-one was playing. There was a small serving area, fronted by a loose scattering of tables and stools. Behind the serving area stood a tall man with sharp features, wearing an apron. He cast an appraising eye over his patrons as if he were somehow weighing their coin purses.

  It was early evening, and there were no more than eight customers. Even so, Keris` limited experience with places like these suggested that they were usually far more raucous, even with a limited clientele. By contrast, this establishment seemed positively subdued. Men and women sat hunched together round tables, murmuring to each other in low tones and sipping like gentlefolk. A few glanced in Keris` direction as she entered and then returned to nursing their drinks, as if disappointed.

  Keris strolled to the serving area, pulled up a stool and sat down. She sighed and shook her hair loose, feigning the symptoms of a hard day’s work; then reached inside her surcoat and tossed a collection of small coins in the tall man’s direction.

  “Horge.”

  The man’s face lit up at the sight of the coin. “How do you like it?” he asked.

  “Hot and sweet.”

  He swept up the coin with a practiced sleight of hand and produced, as if from nowhere, a steaming mug of horge. Keris cradled the earthenware mug and sipped at the hot dark fluid. It was sweet, with a subtle aftertaste. Horge was served at the Keep, but she was accustomed to taking her meals at the refectory with water. Of course, to walk into a place like this and order water would have only attracted amusement or suspicion or both.

  She surfaced from her drink. “Nice,” she lied.

  “Only the finest horge you will taste in the whole of the Eastern Provinces,” he declared loudly, as if advertising the fact to everyone within earshot. No-one looked up.

  “Would you by any chance have a room for the night?” she inquired.

  “You are fortunate,” he declared. “I have but one room left, for the modest rate of one twelfth of an astria, stranger.”

  She took a further coin from her pouch and pushed it towards the man firmly. It disappeared in the same manner as the others. “Keris,” she affirmed.

  “Welcome to the Dagan, Keris. I am called Morran.” He began to busy himself behind the serving area. “Will you be staying long in Corte?”

  “That depends.” She started into the cover story she had carefully rehearsed. “I need to try to establish local contacts.”

  Her garb had been chosen judiciously so as to identify her to any casual observer as a merchant, though not too prosperous.

  “What is your business?” Morran asked conversationally.

  “Diamonds.”

  “Well, they are a common enough commodity.” No doubt he was expecting a sales pitch, and Keris was ready.

  “Ah yes, but you see with diamonds, it is all about the quality.” She produced a pouch and emptied it out. A dozen raw crystals of assorted shapes tumbled onto the wooden counter. Morran picked one up between his thumb and finger and regarded it closely from all sides. He hasn’t a clue what he’s looking at, she thought, amused

  “These are from Tragar,” she continued. “My brother and I recently inherited a mine. Our uncle who owned it died after a long illness and the place has been left sadly neglected. However, it was known for producing top quality stones, and my brother is convinced it can become a going concern once again. He is back there trying to reinstate production and it was left to me to establish contacts with diamond cutters in Chalimar and the lowland towns, possibly even an investor or two.”

  She smiled at Morran hopefully. Morran looked at her, and quickly returned the stone he was holding to the others. She shrugged, still smiling, and scooped up the stones into the bag once more.

  She had led the conversation skilfully to this point. Now it was time to make her move. Taking another sip from her mug, she added casually, “These really are the finest quality diamonds. Several of the cutters in Chalimar said they were the finest stones they had seen. Good enough even to grace a Keltar`s staff weapon.”

  A large man sitting at the table nearest the counter jerked his stool back so that it scraped against the wooden floor, and slammed his mug down on the table. Horge slopped over its sides. Keris glanced back, but the man was looking straight ahead and not at her.

  Morran leaned over the counter towards her and lowered his voice. “Careful, friend. The Prophet’s servants are not well regarded here at present.”

  “Has something happened here?” Keris asked innocently. However, it was the big man at the table who answered.

  “Nothing but the wanton murder of a good man.” The man’s voice was a bass rumble with a hint of menace. Keris` expression of shock was genuine. Sallidor had been sent to investigate, nothing more. What had gone wrong?

  She turned to face the man at the table. “Forgive me, friend; I did not mean to give offence. I deal only with the cutters. I am a simple merchant, arrived in your town but late this afternoon. I had no idea something so ill had transpired here.”

  Then something quite unexpected happened. The figure sitting next to the man cuffed him squarely on the shoulder. The big man flinched. The figure spoke up, and it was a woman’s voice. “Jadar!” She was easily half his size, which made the scene appear that much more comical. She had delicate features, and her dark hair was combed straight back.

  “I apologise for my partner,” she glanced in his direction, but he had assumed a morose silence. “What has taken place here is no excuse to resort to suspicion and bad manners. Please, won’t you join us?”

  She gestured to a third stool at their table. Keris took the opening gratefully and sat down. “May I get you a drink?” she offered.

  “You are kind,” the woman responded. “But as you can see for yourself, Jadar has had quite enough for one evening.”

  The big man was still staring straight ahead. “Poltann was a good man,” he repeated more to himself than anyone else.

  “That was the man who died?” Keris asked the other woman.

  “Executed,” continued Jadar. “Strung up and left to die by the Prophet’s soldiers.”

  “Why? What did he do?”

  Keris learned that he was the owner of the Wayfarer, another inn fronting the next street over. It was where the girl who was involved with the incident three days ago had worked. That explained the connection, but not why the man was now dead.

  She listened to the parts of the story she already knew, registering shock and concern in the appropriate places. A strange man impersonating a Keltar had tried unsuccessfully to set free the tributes and then fled. She listened closely to the description of the impostor. A few people had caught a glimpse of him, but it seemed he was unknown in these parts. The couple seemed sincere, and Keris had
no reason to disbelieve them. That left the girl as her only lead.

  The girl had worked in the kitchens there. It seemed unlikely that such a person could be a part of an insurgency movement, but it could be part of a cover, Keris supposed. In any event, her next move was clear.

  The woman, who she had learned was named Fallon, had a kind, easy manner. Even Jadar seemed to have shaken himself out of his black mood and smiled slightly. Keris found herself drawn to the two of them and would have liked nothing better than to have whiled away the evening in their company, but she had work to do.

  She excused herself on the pretext of retiring for the night and located her room. Once the door was closed behind her, she located her flying cloak, black tunic and black trousers. Moments later, Keris the diamond merchant was no more; in her place stood Keris the Keltar. She opened the window latch, climbed onto the window sill and glided to the street below. Moving between pools of shadow, she headed for the Wayfarer

  ~

  The rear of the Inn was quiet, with no lights showing. That was unusual. Innkeepers normally kept late hours, although the owner of this particular establishment was dead, so perhaps the guests had taken rooms elsewhere. That would make her task rather easier.

  She approached the kitchen door silently. A simple catch on the inside. She reached inside the pouch at her belt and felt for an oval shaped lodestone. It resisted her pull on it slightly. Taking it out, she placed it carefully against the door, a little way beneath the catch. Its repulsive force was enough to push the latch up. In a single fluid movement, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

  The stairway to the left would lead to the staff chambers. She ascended and came to a hallway with three doors set in them. All right, we do this one by one. The first door was unlocked. She entered and shut the door behind her. A brief search turned up nothing of interest. She was about to turn to go when she heard a scraping sound. A split second later, the door to the room flew open and two silhouettes burst in, weapons drawn.

  Without taking the time to turn, she jabbed her elbow backward. She heard a satisfying “Ooomph” as she made contact with the intruder’s stomach. As the body doubled up, she jerked her fist upward, feeling her knuckles make contact with the face as it descended. She spun around in time to see her attacker stagger backwards and fall to the floor on his rump. The other was advancing, weapon raised. She crouched down and launched a spinning kick which took out her opponent’s legs from under him.