Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms Page 6

  Shann shook her head.

  “Lodestones.” Registering her look of incomprehension, he continued. “The stones fall all over the world, but how do you find them? If a stone were to fall in the mountains, or even here in the valley, how would you distinguish it from other stones? However, suppose you had a smooth, featureless landscape. Any stone that fell from above would easily show up as a dark shape on the surface.”

  “Like in the desert.”

  “Exactly. However, the Prophet needs people to scour the desert and collect the stones. That’s what the ‘tributes’ are there for. The fortress has a compound attached to it, where they are kept and sent out, sometimes to die. But the Prophet maintains his supply of the stones. I intend to go there and free the ‘tributes.’ We will need others who are prepared to join us. We will also be cutting off the Prophet’s source of supply, so it will be a double victory.”

  “I want to go with you, to help free them. I want to make it stop–the Keltar, the Prophet–” Lyall and Alondo were looking at each other with amused expressions. “You’re making fun of me.”

  Lyall’s face straightened. “No, no, we’re not. Look, Shann, what we are proposing to do is highly dangerous. There’s a good chance we won’t succeed.”

  “Shann, think about this.” It was Alondo. “We can arrange to look after you, and return you home after the hue and cry has died down. You shouldn’t risk your life any further.”

  Her slight frame and delicate face were resolute. “No. I’ve decided; I’m coming with you.”

  Lyall’s blue eyes were looking directly into hers, as if locked in a battle of wills. After a moment, his shoulders slumped. “Well…we’ll talk about it.”

  That night she dreamed of flying, soaring above Gort. The desert fortress reared up towards her, soaked in Ail-Mazzoth`s crimson light. Far below her parents stood with their backs to her. She cried out and her father turned, but it was no longer her father. It was a tall man with sandy hair and diamond blue eyes. She heard him speak.

  “I can make it stop, Shann.”

  Chapter 5

  Alondo regarded the morgren in its pen with a dubious expression. Morgren were without doubt the ugliest creatures he knew. Of course, one could almost deal with that–if it were not for the smell. Fudoro, who was in charge of the stables here in Lind, insisted that you got used to it after a while, but Alondo seriously doubted that.

  The morgren stamped its splayed feet and snorted from its single hairy nostril as if affronted. A few specks of slobber hit Alondo`s coat, causing him to step back out of range. The creature appraised him with its rheumy eyes and apparently satisfied, resumed munching on a bale of kalash.

  Morgren were considerably slower than graylesh and had none of the latter’s grace of movement. They were stubborn and ill-tempered, but they could survive in arid conditions long after a graylesh`s bones would have been picked clean. Morgren had been known to go fifteen days in the desert without water, so there really was no option. He was purchasing this malodorous beast whether either of them liked it or not.

  “How much?” he heard himself ask.

  Fudoro ran a hand through his thinning hair. “One fourth…each.”

  Alondo’s eyes widened. “One fourth of an astria? That seems a lot.”

  The stableman shrugged. “Times are hard, friend. Everything is in short supply. The Prophet’s servants cut the fat and leave nothing but bone… Tell you what; I’ll throw in a pack saddle, bells if you need ’em and a full load of kalash for each animal, at no extra cost.”

  Alondo nodded agreement grudgingly and doled out payment.

  Fudoro`s palm closed around the coins. “Will you wait while I outfit them for you or will you return?”

  “We’ll wait.”

  Fudoro turned and headed towards the back, casting a glance at the hooded figure in the corner. Shann looked as if she were trying to appear unobtrusive. Still, Alondo was starting to feel glad that she had agreed to come along. He had set out with five silver astrias this morning, and it was going down fast. At least she would be able to testify that he hadn’t frittered it away swigging horge at every inn along the way.

  Although he had known her for less than three days, Alondo found himself growing profoundly concerned for the slender, frail-looking girl. Driven from her home; pursued by soldiers; taken in by strangers; and now on top of everything else, Lyall claiming they could solve the problems of the entire world, when the poor waif scarcely knew how to cope with her own.

  Last night she had once again avowed her determination to join them on their fool’s mission. A mission that will most likely end in all our deaths. What was Lyall thinking? Alondo almost wished he had left her there at the bottom of that crate of stinking moba root. She would likely have lived longer.

  Fudoro had returned. The morgren were out of their pens and the stableman was making final adjustments to saddle packs. Alondo thanked him and took the reins of one animal, motioning for Shann to take the other.

  Outside, he turned to her. “I have to meet with someone briefly. Would you mind looking after the morgren and the rest of our things for a bit? I won’t be long.”

  Shann threw her hood back. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to find an inn, aren’t you?”

  Alondo smiled enigmatically. “Not this time.”

  ~

  The Eastern Canton. Home to the poor and destitute of the town of Lind. A place of worn out rags and broken dreams, where squat wooden shacks sat cowering like frightened children. Alondo, maker of music, bringer of joy, felt totally out of place in this blighted neighbourhood. Old and young alike watched his passing from hollow doorways and through hollow eyes. This is what must change. No-one should be forced to live like this.

  He came to a ramshackle hut and ducked at the low entranceway. An old man with white bones jutting out beneath desiccated skin sat on a stool next to an unlit fireplace. His eyes were bright but unfocused.

  Alondo walked up and placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Hello, Ennas.”

  The man raised his own hand, and placed it over the hand of his visitor. His voice shook slightly. “Alondo. It’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s me. How are you keeping?”

  “I am just fine. Malan is not back from the fields yet. How is Hedda?”

  “Oh, mother is still her cheery self.” Alondo pulled up a crudely fashioned stool. The wooden floor of the shack was swept clean. There was an old chest in one corner and two rough pallets in the back, but it was otherwise bare.

  “It’s kind of you to visit an old blind man. Malan will be sad to have missed you. He often speaks of you and Lyall. Are you two still together?”

  “We stay in touch, yes.” Alondo looked down at his hands, feeling a mixture of anguish and guilt. Ennas had lost two sons at the revolt in Persillan some ten turns ago. Malan, his third son, had melted away in the ensuing confusion, along with Lyall and himself. When Ennas’ wife died a turn later, his last surviving son had taken him in. It was clear that times had been hard for them in the intervening years.

  “Ennas, I have a confession to make. I came to ask if you know anything about what’s happening in Corte.”

  “You mean the incident with the Keltar?”

  “So Malan told you about it?”

  The old man made a harrumphing sound. “The talk among the field workers is of little else. The Prophet’s soldiers left that night, but the following morning two more companies arrived and began shoving people around. Word is that they have a local innkeeper under arrest and are interrogating him for information about a girl that worked there.”

  Alondo’s mind was working furiously as he absorbed the news. This is bad. If Shann’s former employer talks, then the troops will be here next. In fact, they may even be on their way right now.

  Alondo took the old man’s wrinkled hand in his own. The skin felt leathery. “Ennas I’m sorry, I have to leave. I have someone waiting for me. Will you be al
l right?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Malan will be home soon. Are you sure you can’t stay?”

  “Tell Malan I have to go away for a while, but I will see you both when I return.” He paused, then reaching into his coin purse, took out half an astria and placed it firmly in Ennas’ palm, closing the man’s gaunt fingers around it. Whatever Lyall thought of his other purchases, Alondo was certain he would approve of this one.

  He stood up and turned to go. As he did so, the old man spoke. “The man in Corte, the man who fought a Keltar and tried to free the ‘tributes’?” Ennas’ blind eyes seemed to see farther than any sighted person. “I’d like to meet him one day.”

  ~

  Lyall sat thoughtfully for a moment in the farmhouse’s comfortable sitting room, weighing consequences. Then he met Alondo’s questioning gaze. “We have to leave, now.”

  “You mean, for Gort?”

  Lyall nodded.

  “Ennas was all fired up by what happened in Corte. I imagine a lot of people are. I wonder what he would say if he knew it was you?” Alondo paused, “You know, Malan would have come with us without hesitation if you had asked him.”

  “I know. But if anything were to happen to Ennas` last son, how could I look the old man in the face?” Lyall`s expression was dark.

  “What happened at Persillan was not your fault, you know.”

  “I know.”

  There was a silence between both men, charged with the memory of loss. A complex of oddly shaped white buildings. People in white clothing running in all directions. The discovery of a large bronze coloured globe, with strange protuberances. An incandescent white light. Then death, destruction, the broken and charred bodies of comrades…

  It was Alondo who finally broke the mood. “What are we going to do about Shann?”

  “She’s coming with us. I had considered trying to persuade her to stay with Hedda or Moina, but that would put everyone at risk. We have no choice.”

  “But she’s little more than a child, Lyall. Besides, where we’re going isn’t safe.”

  “Safer than here in a little while, I think. You were right not to tell her about the situation at her home. There’s nothing she could do.”

  Alondo had a faraway look as he stared out of the window. “I know she suspects something. She asked why I was being so quiet on the way back from Lind.” He smiled, “You know I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings.”

  “She probably thinks you’re just worried about our mission.” He rose from his stool, walked over to Alondo, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Shann is tougher than she looks. Besides, I can teach her to defend herself. We will both look after her. She will be fine.”

  Sure. Just like those poor devils at Persillan.

  Lyall went to the door and called out, “Shann.”

  A moment later, she stood at the doorway dressed in farm worker’s coveralls. Her face was flushed. She had been helping Moina feed and water the animals. “Yes Lyall?”

  Lyall smiled. “We’re headed for Gort.”

  “When?” she asked.

  “Right now.”

  She wiped her hands down her front and headed for the stairs. “I’ll get my things.”

  ~

  Shann sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring into the fire as it tapered and danced, sparks flying upwards to merge with Ail-Mazzoth`s ember glow. The flames made a pleasant crackling sound.

  Only a few hours before, they had said their goodbyes at the farmhouse. The little party assembled in the yard as clouds were gathering, partially obscuring the late afternoon suns. The morgren were stamping their feet as if they were impatient to be underway. Hedda and Moina kissed the two men and the girl. Shann was surprised to see Hedda hug Alondo as if she would not let go.

  Moina was fussing as usual. Lyall received the lecture patiently. “Mind you take care of that bandage now. I won’t be there to patch you up. And take good care of the girl. I expect to see all of you back here safe.”

  Lyall forced himself to smile at his aunt. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon enough.”

  Shann addressed Hedda. “Please as soon as you can, could you get word to the Wayfarer in Corte? Tell Gallar and Poltann that I am all right, and that they should not worry.”

  Hedda stroked Shann’s cheek. “Don’t worry child; I have not forgotten.”

  They said final farewells. Then, with Lyall and Alondo leading the two beasts of burden, the little procession headed for the road that would take them south.

  Shann took a last look back over her shoulder at the two women who were watching them depart in silence. Will I ever see them again?

  A log within the fire made a snapping sound. Lyall was standing next to her, poking the fire with a stick, provoking it. The firelight cast a long shadow from his tall form.

  A shape appeared at the edge of the firelight and moved towards them. Alondo dropped lightly to the ground next to Shann and grinned at her, firelight and shadow lending his visage a ghoulish appearance.

  “No signs of pursuit,” he declared.

  “All right.” Lyall retrieved his stick and began drawing in the sandy soil as the other two watched. “Two days to the edge of the Southern Desert.” He drew a line. “Then five more days across the desert to Gort.” He placed a stone to indicate the position of the fortress. “There are outposts here.” He pointed. “And here, where there are water holes and supplies. However, I think it best that we skirt around them.”

  Alondo pursed his lips. “No point in taking on the Prophet’s soldiers before we have to.”

  “Actually, I’m more concerned about them raising the alarm. The powers in Chalimar will no doubt have Ringed every town, village and outpost from here to the Aronak Sea.”

  “Ringed?” Shann broke in.

  “Yes.” Lyall turned to her, “You remember that I mentioned that there were different kinds of lodestone? There is a kind that allows two people to communicate at great distances. I don’t know exactly how they work, but the Keltar use them. It seems unlikely that Keltar would be stationed at a desert outpost, but I would rather not take any chances.

  “When we reach the desert we travel by night to conserve water. We rest during the day. Try to stay covered up to avoid sunburn. And keep alert. There are dangerous creatures in the desert.”

  “What happens when we get to Gort?” Shann asked.

  “Yes, well… I have a plan, but I think it best we discuss the details when we get nearer our destination. If we can free the tributes, I believe many of them will join us. In any event, we will have dealt a serious blow to the Prophet’s supply of the stones. And that is only the beginning.”

  He poked the fire with his stick once again. The fire coruscated into the night sky. What will be the Prophet’s reaction when we start poking sticks into his schemes?

  “At any rate, it seems we are not followed,” Alondo offered, “That part of the plan seems to have worked, at least.”

  ~

  Keris sat on the bed in her room at the Silver Flagon in Lind. A small closet stood in the corner and there was a table by the bed with a bronze oil lamp. As Keris watched, it flickered slightly.

  This investigation was taking its toll. She had arrived at the town in late morning to find that the Spring Gratitude Festival was in progress. Acolytes in red robes herded people into the chapel, relieving them of “offerings” and marking young people for tribute.

  She needed information, but with the service in progress, there wasn’t much more she could do but watch the proceedings. It struck her as ironic that the name had been retained; the participants looked anything but grateful. Before the Prophet’s arrival, the festival had been a joyous, pastoral occasion. Now, gratitude for the Three had been replaced by “gratitude” to the Prophet, although for what she wasn’t sure exactly. You’re starting to sound like a heretic.

  A burly acolyte stepped up and grabbed a youngster by the arm, yanking him away from his
mother. Keris watched as the woman cried out and tried to hold on to the boy. A brief tug of war ensued until a second acolyte strode over and struck the woman in the face. She cried out as the boy was dragged off to have the flame marking of the Prophet branded into his neck. The woman fell to her knees. Hands covered her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.

  Keris felt her eyes starting to water. What “grand purpose” of the Prophet could justify this?

  “Faith,” Mordal would say. “Faith and Patience.” The words had a hollow ring as she watched the celebrants file silently past the woman, who was still kneeling on the grey stone floor.

  There could be no question of her intervening. Keris the diamond merchant was a simple trader, nothing more. Keris the Keltar had no authority to interfere in the selection of tributes. She turned away, feeling as helpless as a flame at the mercy of every draught of air. The lamp by her bed guttered once more.

  Keris centred herself on her obligation and her duty. It was time. She raised the back of her hand to her mouth and spoke a word into the Ring on her third finger. The Ring was bronze, set with a single dark stone.

  “Keris.” The Ring glowed with a delicate green phosphorescence as she spoke.

  A moment later, the Ring glowed once more.

  “Report.” It was Mordal. He had never had any time for pleasantries.

  Keris spoke directly into the device. “There is no word on the impersonator. He does not appear to be known by anyone I have spoken to. However, I have discovered that his accomplice fled to Lind, so I have journeyed there to pursue the investigation.”

  “Captain Sallidor has returned,” the Ring luminesced. “He says you ordered him to return to the Keep.”

  His men attacked me! Keris realised that to tell Mordal that, however, would only make her reasons for ordering the withdrawal appear petulant. “He was making no progress in the investigation. He had executed an innkeeper and was only succeeding in antagonising the townspeople.”

  There was a pause. “I see…continue.”

  “Two people were buying up supplies in town yesterday. The man is a local musician. I don’t yet know how he is connected. However, the girl fits the description of the impostor’s accomplice. Among the items they purchased were two morgren from the stables.”

  There was another pause. Then Mordal completed the thought. “They are headed for the Southern Desert, the fortress of Gort.”