Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms (21 page)

Keris looked
back at the pond, debating whether she ought to walk over and
demand that someone relieve her so that she could take a turn to
bathe.
A movement in the reeds to the left
of the pond. Then another on the far side. Dagan? No, there was a
glimpse of shirt. A russet coloured hat.
Keris got slowly to her feet, reaching up to the morgren’s
flank. Her fingers closed around her staff, feeling the smoothness
of the wood. Another faint rustle, again from the other side of the
pool.
Three of them, then.

She moved away
from the morgren, crouching low. Boxx remained there quietly in the
grass. Perhaps it had read the situation; she could not tell. In
any event, it did not speak or try to follow. Circling around
behind the figure to the left, she could see his back clearly now
at the edge of the reeds. He had a dark coat and wavy hair. She
stole up and brought the side of her staff down smartly on the back
of his head. He made an
oomph
sound, and then fell forward, face first. He did
not move.

Keris crept
around the pond, to where she had noted the position of the other
two. She could hear the trickle of conversation from those in the
pond. Then she spotted the remaining two intruders. She still had
the advantage of surprise, but they were too close together to be
taken separately.
Nothing for it,
then.
They were both squatted down near
the edge of the water. She readied herself, and then charged the
one on her left, impacting the woman’s back. Her victim lurched
forward, falling headlong into the pond. There was an almighty
splash, followed by a scream from Shann. Before the man with the
hat could react, Keris was behind him, her staff constricting his
throat.

He held up a hand. “Hold,
friend.”

Keris did not loosen her grip.
“What is your business here?”

“We are travellers, friend…a
hunting party,” he rasped.

“You seek
strange game today…
friend
.” Her last word had a
menacing edge to it.

Lyall had hauled himself up onto
the bank near them. His hair was matted to his head and he was
dripping. He saw Keris with the overweight intruder in a vise-like
hold. “What is going on?”

“We have visitors. I did not
catch your name?” Keris jerked the staff against the man’s neck, as
a way of exacting a response.

“Keris, let him go.”

“Excuse me?” She did not take her
eyes off her captive.

“Let him go, please,” Lyall
requested. Keris loosened her grip reluctantly and stood back. The
portly man began rubbing his neck. Lyall continued, his voice even.
“My companion asked you your name.”

“Zamir.” His voice was still
hoarse.

The woman who had been knocked
into the water was climbing out. She tried to squeeze some of the
water out of her clothes. Alondo was already on the bank, offering
a helping hand to Shann.

“What were you doing?” Lyall
asked.

“We are hunting fresh game.” It
was the soaked woman who answered. “We were curious, that’s all. We
heard a noise.”

“Forgive us, friend,” Zamir
appeared to have regained his composure somewhat, “but there are
all manner of folks on the plains. Your morgren testify that you
have come out of the desert, from the direction of Gort. There are
many a tale of the things that go on in that terrible
place.”

“She is
Keltar,
” the wet woman declared. “I
recognise her clothing. And she wields the staff.
She is a servant of the
Prophet.
”

“She used to be,” Lyall affirmed,
“but no longer. She has turned her back on the Prophet and his
ways. And she saved our lives.” The woman from the pond was
regarding Keris as if she were a foul spectre. “It is the truth, I
swear it,” Lyall added.

Zamir regarded Keris warily; then
looked back at Lyall. “Where are you headed?”

“East, across the plains.” Lyall
had a story rehearsed. “I hear there are communities there where
the Prophet’s arm does not reach.”

Zamir nodded thoughtfully. Just
then, Boxx waddled up, taking its accustomed place next to Keris.
“What is that?” Zamir inquired.

“That,” replied Shann, “is
Boxx.

The round faced man screwed up
his nose. “It looks like a Chandara.”

“It is,” Lyall
confirmed.

“It’s an odd kind of a pet,”
Zamir observed.

Lyall bit his lower lip.
“It…isn’t exactly a pet.”

Zamir shook his head. “Well, no
matter. You have a long journey ahead of you, friend. And those
morgren are far too slow. You will need to exchange
them.”

“We know,” Lyall confirmed. “We
were intending to visit the trading post, which I believe is a
little way north of here.

Zamir put his hands on his thick
hips, threw back his head and roared with laughter. “A fine idea,
fine indeed. If you want to get skinned and hung out to dry, that
is.”

Shann frowned. “Are you saying
the owner is dishonest?”

Zamir’s laugh was disconcerting.
“Of course he is. That’s why he’s such a good friend of mine.” He
registered the looks on their faces and laughed again. “Balbor can
smell innocent gundir like you from the other side of the plains.
But fear not, I have a herd of graylesh, newly broken. I am sure we
can arrive at a fair price. You have coin, friend?” His face
registered a momentary flash of concern.

“We do,” Lyall
assured.

Zamir beamed. “Then you shall
visit my camp and we will deal. After which we will celebrate with
a feast.”

“We will need a wagon,” Shann put
in.

“I am sure we can fix something
up for you… for a small premium.” The chubby man walked over to
Lyall and reached up to place a hand on Lyall’s shoulder, leading
him away from the pond. “A fine thing for you, friend that you ran
across us this day, fine indeed.”

~

Shann crouched down low in the
long grass and waited. A way off to her right, Lyall. Beyond him,
Keris. All three wore the dark cloak. Shann’s senses were
heightened by anticipation. She felt the tension in her muscles and
the touch of the staff at her side; smelt the rich loam and the
scent of growing things; tasted the dryness in her mouth and the
salt on her lips; saw the waving stalks and the dark shapes of her
waiting companions; heard…a low, distant drumming against the
ground.

They were
coming.

A moment later
she heard the shouts of the riders. She kept her eye on Lyall,
waiting for the signal. The drumming sound became
louder…
louder
.
Lyall raised a hand. All three cloaked figures rose up together
like black sailed ships amid a sea of gold. They ran forward as
one, leaped skywards, and then bore down on the advancing herd of
raleketh. The animals were gangly, ranging from yellow to red-brown
in colour, with dark mottling. They made a half grunting, half
squealing sound as they ran. Beaters rode behind the herd on
graylesh, urging them forward. The lead animals saw the dark shapes
falling toward them and turned back in a panic, only to be pushed
forward by the oncoming surge. Shann landed lightly at the edge of
the herd, together with Lyall and Keris.

“Careful,” Keris called out to
her, “don’t get trapped in the stampede.”

Shann ignored
her.
I’m not a child.

Diamond blades flashed as the
three of them set about dispatching the quota needed for food
supplies. The beaters parted their mounts so as to allow the bulk
of the herd to escape. They thundered off, leaving behind their
slain companions as a silent offering.

The two groups had been
travelling together for seven days now, as their routes coincided.
They had been following the course of a river upstream. Soon,
however, the river would be flowing from the north. The plains
nomads would follow it, accompanying the herds in their summer
migration. Tonight would be the last night they would camp
together.

Zamir rode up to them, pulling on
the graylesh to bring it to a halt. Despite his portly frame, he
seemed surprisingly agile as a rider. “Well done, everyone. Our
teams work well together. Are you sure you wouldn’t consider a more
permanent partnership?”

Lyall planted his staff and met
the other man’s eyes. “I’m sorry; we must get as far away as we can
from the Prophet’s men. We must continue heading east.”

Zamir nodded.
“I understand. Very well, then, tonight we celebrate. And tomorrow,
we part as friends.” Three more nomads arrived with a cart, and
Zamir supervised the loading of the fresh meat. As far as Shann
could see, the nomads seemed to spend most of their time
celebrating. Zamir would seize any excuse to hold a feast. She had
never been to so many parties in her life. A part of her secretly
wished that she could just stay with them, and enjoy their carefree
lifestyle. But at night she still lay awake, haunted by thoughts of
Gallar, her home and the tributes at Gort. It felt like a great
weight, as if everyone were dependent on her.
I have to keep moving forward.

She turned to follow the others
back to the nomads’ camp, and her last few hours of
freedom.

~

By the time Shann arrived back at
the camp with Lyall and Keris, it felt as if the celebrations were
already in full swing. There was an air of excitement and
preparation and good humour. Children ran around in circles yelping
at one another, while gundir snapped at their heels playfully. From
the direction of the covered wagons came the wonderful smells of
cooking.

The wagon which sat at the rear
of the caravan had been purchased by Lyall, along with four
graylesh, freshly outfitted for travel. Shann walked over to one of
the animals and stroked its striped flank. It turned towards her.
Bright eyes regarded her from either side of a slender snout. They
were indeed graceful and intelligent creatures.

Lyall had sat down and struck the
deal with Zamir that first evening, during an animated conference
in Zamir’s wagon. Shann had not been invited, and Alondo declined
to sit in. “Money–that’s Lyall’s department,” he maintained, with a
smile. Keris had not been invited either, but she insisted on
attending, nevertheless.

Later, as she was by the fire,
chatting with one of the nomad hunters, Shann spotted Lyall and
Keris exit the wagon and cross to the rear of another wagon farther
down the line. She could discern raised voices, and a sharp
exchange of words between the two. Excusing herself, she got up
from her position by the fire and walked over to their position. As
she got near, the vocal sounds coalesced into words.

It was Keris’
voice. “You
never
give any thought to the consequences of your actions, do
you?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so
upset,” Lyall was trying to pacify her. “After all, it was only
money the Prophet had exacted from poor and honest
people.”

“And that justifies
theft?

“In this case, yes. That money
was intended to be used to free the Kelanni from oppression. Now it
is being used to save our entire race. And you are quibbling about
a few silver astrias that the Prophet does not need and will never
miss?”

“That is
not
true,” Keris
remonstrated. “It
was
missed. And people suffered as a result: houses ransacked, on
the spot searches, random arrests and since I’ve been gone, who
knows what else?”

Shann was not comfortable with
eavesdropping. She walked around the wagon to where the two of them
were. Lyall was saying, “I think if we were to ask them–” They both
caught sight of Shann and the conversation came to an abrupt
halt.

“Is everything all right?” Shann
asked. Keris shot a glare at her and stalked off. Shann looked up
at Lyall.

“She doesn’t like the thought of
being associated with a thief,” Lyall’s voice had a tinge of
regret.

That woman seemed to be
determined to do everything she could to criticize and undermine
their efforts. Shann felt like going up to her and telling her to
take her stupid machine and her stupid story about a message from
the past, and go off on whatever stupid journey she wanted. What
stopped her was Lyall. He clearly thought there was something to
this wild tale, so she had no choice but to go along with it for
now. Until she could convince him otherwise. Shann patted the
graylesh and cooed to it in a soothing voice. At that moment,
Alondo walked up to her. “Are you going to come hear me
play?”

She beamed at him. “I wouldn’t
miss it.”

~

Alondo was fast acquiring a bevy
of devoted fans among the nomad community. One fair-haired girl in
particular always seemed to claim the seat directly opposite him
when he played, smiling enigmatically. Shann couldn’t help but
notice that they had both been missing on certain occasions. Now
Alondo was sitting on his customary stool away from the fire,
tuning his custom-built sabada. The fair-haired girl was already
sitting on the grass in front of him, legs tucked beneath her. A
growing crowd of nomads were settling themselves in anticipation of
what was to come. Boxx stood off to one side on its hind legs,
eyeing the Kelanni with curiosity. Alondo was joined by three other
nomad players, one with a smaller stringed instrument, one with
pipes, and one with a set of percussive wood blocks. At a signal
from Alondo, the music began. The assembled crowd applauded
enthusiastically as Alondo broke into song.