Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms (13 page)

“My apologies, Mordal, I
was…attacked by a perridon.”

“By the Three, are
you all right?”

“I…was injured, but I am fine
now.”

There was
another pause.
“I think you should return
to the Keep, Keris. The fortress has been alerted to expect an
attempt to free the tributes at the compound and the garrison there
has been reinforced. There is no need for you to put yourself at
further risk. Are you able to make the journey back here
unaided?”

She was prepared for this.
“Mordal, there is no need to be concerned. I suffered a mishap, but
I assure you I am quite well. I ask that I be allowed to complete
my assignment.”

It was a critical juncture. If he
insisted that she return, then she would be faced with a tough
choice: obey the command to return and allow the party of three to
fall into the trap Mordal had set, or disobey and show her hand,
thereby becoming a fugitive herself. However, she knew that Mordal
had come to trust her instincts. She hoped it would be enough to
buy her the time she needed.

An eternity passed, before she
saw the Ring’s green radiance.

“I should know by now
not to underestimate your determination, shouldn’t I? Very well,
but I want you to keep in regular contact. I will Ring the garrison
commander at Gort and tell him to give you any assistance you
require. I want the impostor apprehended and you back at the keep
as soon as possible. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“And
Keris?”

“Yes?”

“Be
careful.”

“I will. Thank you.”

She glanced over at Boxx. It sat
opposite, watching her with bead like eyes and an odd quirk at the
side of its mouth, but for once it didn’t say anything.

It was time to carry out her
second decision. Keris made preparations to bed down for the night,
wrapping her cloak around her. Boxx followed suit, rolling up into
a ball, so that only its carapace was visible.

She waited a long time. Whooping
and chirruping sounds came filtering out of the flaming forest at
odd intervals, as nocturnal creatures hunted and fled and ate or
were eaten. The round shell that was Boxx did not move. She had no
way of knowing whether it was asleep. In truth, she did not even
know whether Chandara needed sleep or not.

She rose
without a sound, and moved stealthily away from the tree line. Boxx
did not stir. A line of hills rose to the east and south,
silhouetted against the dark crimson sky. Beyond was the road south
to Gort. She touched her cloak control, seeking the familiar push
of lodestone
. There, to the left and
behind.

Keris leaped and flared her cloak
and was gone.

~

Doubt.
It was not a feeling to which Keris was
accustomed. Her decisions were born from a sea of careful planning.
Effects were carefully considered; consequences assessed;
contingencies met. Thus when action resulted it flowed naturally,
unfettered by hesitation.

Thus it was
that she knew her decision to desert the Chandara was
unquestionably the right one.
Objective–deliver the three fugitives from the trap set for
them at Gort.
To be certain of achieving
that objective she would have to arrive before they did. That meant
travelling as fast as was possible. The Chandara would only slow
her down. It was also a forest dweller, so she had no idea whether
it would be able to survive in the desert. She was probably doing
it a favour by leaving it behind.

Most likely the beast would
return to the Great Tree once it realised it was alone. That was
the only home it had ever known. There was a possibility that it
might try to follow her, she supposed, but she planned to be far
away by morning–farther than it would possibly be able to track.
Eventually it would give up and go home.

The woman from
the past had said something about it being a “key.” Keris did not
know what that meant exactly, but if it proved to be important she
could return here. No, there could be no question, no doubt; this
decision was the correct one.
Why then did
it feel so wrong?

Perhaps you
still haven’t recovered from that bump on the head?
Keris smiled inwardly, but somehow it didn’t make
her feel any better. She was sailing up and over a patch of loose
scree. She felt herself passing over a strong deposit to her right.
Blipping her bronze layer to brake slightly, she twisted in the air
to give maximum push to her left. She soared up the hillside and
landed in a crouched position. Looking up, she saw she was near the
top of the rise. In a moment, she would reach the crest and start
down the other side. From there it would be a simple matter to meet
up with the road heading south.

A movement
caught her eye. A dark shape passed over Ail-Mazzoth’s angry face,
like a presage of danger.
Perridon.
Whether it was the same one that had taken her
earlier or another, she couldn’t be sure. She felt the reassuring
haft of her diamond bladed staff as her eyes tracked the great
bird. She watched as it gained height, heading west.
Towards the forest of Illaryon. Towards
Boxx.

Keris had a disturbing vision.
The monster swept down from the sky, grasping the Chandara in its
huge talons, and carrying it off, while the little creature
screamed. It was ridiculous. The chances of such a thing happening
would have to be pretty remote. In any case, she had no idea
whether Chandara could scream, or even if they felt pain for that
matter. Nevertheless, she owed her life to this odd little being
and its kin. And she had abandoned it.

Cursing her own weakness, she
turned and started back towards the forest.

A while later, she approached the
camp. Boxx was standing upright, as if it were patiently waiting
for her. She moved inside the line of trees, where they would be
relatively safe from avian attack. The Chandara watched her for a
moment, then followed without a word. She lay down as before, and
watched as Boxx curled up into a ball, next to the bole of a tree.
To Keris it seemed as if there was a smile playing about its
lips.

~

“Remember, keep your staff up.
And don’t try shoving against a heavier opponent–which in your case
will be almost all of the time.”

Shann chose to ignore the none
too subtle jibe against her diminutive size. The jokes in that area
were beginning to wear a bit thin, in any case. Instead, she
decided to go on the offensive. “Well, it seems to me that I am
taking lessons from a person who lost the only battle I ever saw
him fight.”

Alondo shot a sideways glance at
Lyall. “She’s got you there.”

Lyall adopted
an air of injured pride. “I did
not
lose…technically it was a draw. Anyway, how was I
to know that the Keltar was carrying lodestone grenades? That’s
hardly fighting fair.”

“Oh, so you expect every servant
of the Prophet you meet to ‘fight fair’, do you?” Shann
retorted.

“She’s got you again,” Alondo
grinned.

“Excuse me, whose side are you
on?” Lyall demanded.

“Why, yours, of course. Can’t you
tell?”

Lyall was beginning to suspect
that he was the victim of a conspiracy. He decided to change the
subject. “Anyway, we will be at the fortress in two more
days.”

Shann became pensive as she was
reminded of their destination. She began to wonder what she would
face. Lyall had been somewhat evasive about the plan. However, she
had no doubt that it would be dangerous, and she was determined to
be as prepared as she could be.

Despite her initial revulsion at
handling the trappings of a Keltar, she found that she was actually
enjoying her training. She had to admit that Lyall was actually a
good teacher: patient, enthusiastic and with a good sense of
humour. He challenged her, without making her feel overwhelmed. As
a result, her abilities were developing rapidly. She had even had
Lyall flat on his back on a couple of occasions, although she was
not completely sure whether he had allowed her to gain the
advantage deliberately as a way of giving encouragement.

Using the
flying cloak was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was
exhilarating to soar like a mylar, feeling the air rush past her
face and looking down at the tiny figure of Lyall watching her from
below. There was a sensation of
power.

Lyall brought her back down to
earth by reminding her of the danger of overconfidence. “Most
Keltar suffer from it. It makes them contemptuous of others, but it
also makes them think of themselves as invincible. Don’t make the
same mistake, Shann.”

The desert, too, was a place
where overconfidence could be fatal. It was tempting to strip off
in response to the heat of the day, but Alondo encouraged her to
stay as wrapped up as possible during the day, to avoid the effects
of sunburn.

When she took a sip of water,
Alondo stopped her. “No, Shann. When you take a drink, you have to
take a full draught, to sustain your body’s vital organs. You know
people have been found dead in the desert with half full water
skins, because they allowed themselves to become too dehydrated.”
She nodded, and took a full drink, wiping her mouth with the back
of her hand. He smiled at her, encouragingly.

The road south was straight as an
arrow and virtually devoid of traffic. They travelled by night,
making camp a short while after Ail-Gan blazed forth in the western
sky. Protected by awnings from the worst effects of the heat, they
snatched what sleep they could. Lyall insisted that one person be
on watch at all times. “There are dangers in this place; I pray we
do not meet up with them.” He ignored her questioning look,
declining to elaborate.

Shann was beginning to think he
was being overcautious. They were only two days away from the
fortress, and had not incurred any mishaps, so far. They had even
found that the second outpost along the road had a well outside
that was completely unguarded, allowing them to refill their water
skins by night, unchallenged. She doubted that the garrison at Gort
would manifest such lax security.

Ail-Gan would be appearing soon,
heralding the heat of day and another rest from their arduous trek.
She decided to ask about the fortress.

“Lyall, I thought a fortress was
built to guard something, but there is nothing in this place. Why
would someone build a fortress out in the middle of a
desert?”

“I am not sure. Some say it was
not always a fortress, but was originally something else. Others
say that in ancient times, the Southern Desert was a land of lakes
and lush forests.”

Shann cast her
eye about the desolate sands. Shifting winds sculpted
crescent-shaped dunes like the waves of a great ocean, frozen in
time. But there was no ocean here. Dry and featureless, it was the
very repudiation of life.
Some people must
have a powerful imagination.

An angry cloud
was roiling in from the west. She watched it curiously for a
moment. It was growing and advancing rapidly in their
direction.
Sandstorm?
She reached up and touched Lyall on the shoulder. As he
looked at her, she pointed at the incoming phenomenon. Lyall halted
the caravan and squinted at where she was pointing. Alondo joined
them.

The cloud crested the nearest
dune and began barrelling down the slip face towards them. There
were shapes in the cloud.

“Sand
scarags!”
Lyall yelled.

Claws clacked and mandibles
snapped as the beasts surged forward, sending the morgren into a
panic. Waist high, red brown and multi-legged, they moved across
the sand at astonishing speed, forward chelipeds raised, eyes
waving at the end of stalks.

“Shann.”
Lyall sprang forward, flaring his cloak, and
lurched into the air in the direction of the oncoming wave. Shann
took the hint and followed suit. They landed in front of the
creatures and began whirling their respective staffs. “Watch out
for their tails,” Lyall warned. Shann saw that each of their tails
ended in a bulbous appendage.
A
stinger.

Diamond blades flashed as they
sliced through carapace and thorax alike. Sand scarags slumped to
the ground while others scuttled around or over the backs of their
fallen companions. Shann thrust her staff downwards, slicing the
shell of one, and then pulling the staff free. As she did so,
another one grasped her leg with its claw. She was pulled off
balance and fell heavily to the ground. Looking up, she saw the
sand scarag’s stinger raised, ready to strike.

There was a blur of motion. A
diamond blade severed the claw from its cheliped, and she was free.
Lyall’s hand grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her to her
feet. The creatures were coming at them from the sides now. They
were in danger of being surrounded.

“Fall
back,”
Lyall called, and the two of them
began retreating towards the caravan. The swell, which had been
halted momentarily, began moving forward again. Dozens.
Hundreds.