Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms (22 page)

“There was a merry, merry
maid,

“Who danced o’er fair
Kallar.

“She twisted through the Tragar
hills,

“’
cross vale near and
far.”

Some of the audience were
tapping; others were getting to their feet and pulling up others,
ready for dancing. Shann looked up to see Lyall standing in front
of her, proffering a hand. She took it joyfully and rose up. He put
a hand lightly around her waist, and they joined the nomads who
were already laughing and moving to the rhythm.

“She skipped along from morn to
eve,

“And on into the
night.

“Twirling round and round she
went,

“By Ail-Mazzoth’s
light.

“She spun her way towards
Alvar,

“Beside its banks did
hop.

“She capered as its waters
grew;

“Her feet she could not
stop.

“She tripped on down the western
coast,

“Through the streets of
Gan-Dathlie,

“Leaping now from wave to
wave,

“Across the Borgoth
Sea…”

Lyall was spinning Shann around.
She was becoming breathless. “I never heard this song before. It’s
like a tour of Kelanni. How long does it go on for?”

“I’m not sure,” Lyall shrugged.
“Every time I hear it, he seems to have added more
verses.”

The song did
indeed last a while, with partners joining and leaving as they
willed. As the final chords were sounded, Shann thanked Lyall and
excused herself so she could seek out a cup of narrian wine, the
light refreshing liquor brewed by the nomads. Shann had developed a
real taste for it. She had a theory that the wine was a principal
reason for the nomad’s perpetual good humour. It certainly seemed
to have a comparable effect on her. She found a trestle on which a
small barrel had been set up, and helped herself to a full cup. The
light was starting to fade, making the bonfire a focal point of the
celebration. She sipped her drink, looking round at the revellers
and allowing the fresh sweet flavours to refresh and invigorate
her. The music was already starting up again, and couples were
forming. A nagging thought tugged at the back of her mind like a
persistent gundir, threatening to shatter her growing bonhomie. She
thrust it away, but it came back snapping at her, finally breaking
through her consciousness
. Keris. Where is
she?

Shann
heightened her perception as she scanned the gathering of nomads,
trying to pick out the tall, dark-haired woman. She was nowhere to
be seen. Leaving her cup on the table, she headed away from the
circle of firelight, towards their newly acquired wagon at the rear
of the train. She looked around it; then went to the back. Pulling
aside the flap, she poked her head inside. She allowed her eyes to
get accustomed to the dimness, and raked every corner with her
eyes.
Nothing.

She made her way back towards the
fire where food and drink were being passed around and the party
was once again in full swing. Lyall was chatting amiably to the
rotund figure of Zamir and his partner, who was called Anka. Shann
started towards them. Then from between two wagons, she saw a tall
dark figure approaching the edge of the gathering. Keris glided
forward and sat on the ground by herself, unnoticed by the others.
Shann stopped in her tracks.

Her first
instinct was to tell Lyall, and for them both to then go to the
woman and confront her. However, Keris was far too clever for that.
Shann was certain that she would be able to come up with a lying
but perfectly plausible reason for her absence. Or she might deny
it utterly, claiming it was nothing more than Shann’s fevered
imagination. In any case, leaving a festive occasion was not a
crime. She
was
up
to something; Shann was convinced of that. But her gut feeling was
not evidence and would only sound to Lyall like unfounded suspicion
or petulance. Worse than that, she would have tipped her hand to
the Keltar, letting her know she was being watched. Shann needed
more information–more evidence–before she could approach
Lyall.

Watch and wait. You
are crafty. But sooner or later you will make a mistake.

Shann started forward once more,
towards the music and laughter, forsaking deceitful shadows for the
unalloyed probity of the light.

Chapter
14

The covered wagon, flanked by
three riders, swept across the Eastern Plains like a stone flung
across a golden pond. Alondo drove the wagon, urging the graylesh
on, so that the wagon’s wheels bounced and spun over the rough
track. Keris rode on one side; Shann and Lyall on the other. Shann
was dressed in a loose fitting brown tunic and trousers that Lyall
had procured for her at the nomad’s camp. She had ditched the
tribute’s coverall, as well as her old set of clothes that she had
had with her since Corte. It felt satisfying, like dispensing with
two unwanted personas, the kitchen hand and the slave. She was glad
to see the backs of them both.

Shann had never actually ridden a
graylesh before. She found the experience exhilarating. Alondo, who
seemed to have assumed responsibility for the animals’ welfare, had
selected the one that seemed most placid and had given her a quick
lesson. It had not taken her long to get the hang of it, and she
found that she was able to keep pace with the others easily. She
loved the feel of the wind caressing her hair, the steady loping
rhythm of the animal’s stride and the constantly changing sights of
the landscape flowing by her.

Slow moving herds of raleketh
crossed their path, heading north on their seasonal migration,
juveniles who had yet to develop spots trotting beside their
speckled parents. Mylar birds wheeled far overhead, as if tracking
their progress. She spotted other creatures she could not name. A
flock of birds with iridescent wings of green and blue rose as one
from a nearby lake, their flapping like a round of applause. Cute
creatures with large ears and pointed snouts scampered away into
the long grass. “Jarka,” Lyall told her. “Good eating.” He smiled
at her look of disgust.

The sight of
the helpless creatures brought back to her mind the tributes at
Gort, and she felt a pang of guilt.
We
will be back for you all.
That was what
she had promised them. Now she was headed farther and farther away.
But the truth was she could not free them on her own. She had to
have Lyall and Alondo’s help, which meant convincing them that this
woman was a liar.

Keris pulled back to the wagon’s
rear and crossed to Lyall and Shann’s side, catching up to Lyall’s
mount and riding alongside. “There is a stream off to the left. I
suggest we stop and rest the graylesh for a while. According to the
map, we will soon be at the fork where the trail splits. One way
continues east, the other south-east. Taking the south-east route
will bring us close by the tower.”

“Very
well…
Alondo,
”
Lyall called out, raising a hand.

“Yes?”

“We’re taking a
break.”

Alondo pulled firmly on the
reins. “Whoa.” Slowly he brought the wagon to a halt. “My graylesh
thanks you and my buttocks thank you.” He rubbed them, as if to
illustrate the point. “Couldn’t someone put in proper roads? Or at
least invent a cushioned buckboard?”

“If we run across a town or a
trading post out here, I’ll buy one for you.” Lyall
promised.

Alondo jumped down and bowed
expansively. When he drew himself erect, there was a twinkle in his
eye beneath his ever-present cap. “Why, thank you. That is why you
are such a good leader. You always put the comfort of your troops
first.”

Keris pulled her mount away,
wordlessly. Lyall swung himself down from the graylesh, and Shann
followed suit. She patted its striped sides, talking to it gently
as she had gotten into the habit of doing. Then she addressed
Lyall. “How far are we across the plains?”

“Why don’t you ask the one with
the map?” he asked innocently. Without waiting for her reply he
answered, “A little less than half way, I think. Why, are you
getting aches and pains, too?”

She smiled at him. “Not me. I
could ride the plains for the rest of my life.” They led the sleek
animals in the direction of the stream that Keris had indicated.
They had only got a short way, when they heard Keris’ voice behind
them.

“It’s
gone
.”

They turned around. Keris was
rifling through her saddle pack. She looked agitated. “What’s the
matter?” Lyall called after her.

“My pack with my cloak and the
other lodestone devices; it’s been taken.”

Lyall was frowning. “Are you
sure?”

“Of course I’m
sure,” she snapped back impatiently. “They were there this morning,
just before we…
the nomads. They stole
them
.” Keris muttered a curse. “We have to
turn back,
now
.”

Boxx was standing next to Alondo,
who was quietly watching the exchange. Without warning Alondo bent
over and reached into the wagon, producing something with a
flourish. “Is this it?”

Keris’ eyes
were wide and her nostrils flared. “What are
you
doing with my stuff?” She
sounded dangerous.

“Well, I saw one of the nomads
going to your pack and ‘acquiring’ some of your things, so I sort
of ‘acquired’ them back… Oh, and you’re quite welcome.”

Keris walked up and took the pack
he offered. “Thank you.”

Lyall and Shann
were both trying to suppress a giggle. “Actually, I do seem to
remember
someone
saying we should watch ourselves with those people,” Alondo
recalled.

Keris grinned in spite of
herself. Lyall and Shann turned and resumed their course to the
stream, breaking out into paroxysms of laughter as they went. Keris
shook her head. “You do know you’re nothing but a great big child,
don’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Alondo
replied happily.

~

Saccath drew his arm back and
struck Zamir with the back of his hand. The force of the blow
snapped the caravan chief’s head to the side. White blood and
spittle flew from the side of his mouth, and the heavy man sagged
to his knees. The dark-robed Keltar loomed over him like a presage
of doom. Then he turned on his heel and strode over to where two
more Keltar waited. A couple of soldiers moved in and picked Zamir
up from under his arms, dragging him backwards. They deposited him
in a heap beside one of the wagons, where Anka and three small
children were cowering.

Saccath took a cloth from his
pocket and wiped his hands with a look of distaste, as if he were
cleaning off excrement. The other two Keltar watched as he
performed the small ceremony. One was young and thin, with straight
fair hair, tied back. His mouth was angled wickedly and his eyes
were set too close together. The other was shorter than both of
them, slightly stooped, face hidden by a hood. “Well?” The hooded
figure inquired.

Saccath tossed the cloth away.
“The chief admits to aiding and abetting the fugitives who attacked
the compound at Gort. He sold them fresh animals and supplies. He
claims he didn’t know who they were, and that he wouldn’t have
traded with them if he had known. Personally, I think his kind
would do anything to line their pockets.”

“Are you certain it was them?”
the one with the hood probed.

“There can be no doubt of it,”
Saccath affirmed. “Two men and two women: the impostor and the girl
who was his accomplice in Corte, the woman Keris and another man
whose description I did not recognise; a musician, of all things.
The first three bore the cloak and wielded the staff of Keltar.
They even hunted with these people as Keltar.”

The thin young
man’s expression turned to disgust. “
They
must be stopped
.”

“Patience, Nikome,” Saccath
soothed. “What I want to know is why would a genuine Keltar join up
with the likes of them?”

“That is not your concern.” The
mouth moved beneath the hood. “Did you learn which way they were
headed?”

Saccath nodded once. “They parted
company where the river Talar turns north. The fugitives continued
due east from that point.”

“How long ago?”

“Just this morning,” Saccath
reported. “It should be a simple matter to overtake them. Should we
eliminate them or take them into custody?”

The hooded face remained half in
gloom. “For now your orders are to track their progress but
maintain a distance. Do not attempt to engage them.”

Saccath’s brow furrowed. “May I
ask why?”

“It is the Prophet’s orders.” The
stooped figure raised a hand slightly, as if to display the
speaking Ring which encircled an index finger. The other two caught
the significance of the gesture, and bowed their heads in
deference.