Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms (5 page)

Keris sighed
slightly. “I see. Thank you, Borian.” The man nodded and headed
back to the barbican.
What now?
She had a number of pressing activities she had
in mind to be getting on with, the first and most important of
which was going to be to stick her head into a bucket of cold
water.
Well, it looks as if that
particular luxury will have to wait.

She started for the keep’s main
door. Passing through the atrium, she ascended the central stairs
and made for Mordal`s office. She knocked once and then
entered.

Mordal sat on a stool behind his
desk, seemingly preoccupied with work. He was bald, with glabrous
face and small, dark, piercing eyes. He wore a plain scarlet tunic
and red-brown trousers. A flying cloak was draped carelessly over
another stool near the door. His office always seemed to exude an
air of casual efficiency, much like the man himself. The walls were
inlaid with ornate wooden panelling and lined with rows of
leather-bound books. More books were stacked on the desk, some of
them open. A small window behind his head afforded a view of the
refectory and the garden.

Keris spoke up. “Fealty and
service to the Three.”

The man looked up from his desk.
“And to the One.”

“And to the One,” she
added.

“Report.”

“Tariff exacted from Hassun. Two
carts of produce. Moba and Kassian mainly. However, harvest last
year was poor and their stores are depleted. We could be looking at
starvation in the eastern settlements in a half a turn or so. Three
tributes delivered. One lost en route through…an accident.” Mordal
looked up at that and seemed as if he was about to say something,
but checked himself. “Rodann is billeting them prior to induction.
I am to leave tomorrow for Sakima before Ail-Gan rises.” Keris
finished and waited patiently for Mordal`s response.

“No.”

“I don’t–”

“I have charged Niall with that
particular task. I have another mission for you.” He stood up,
walked around his desk and stood next to her, placing his hand on
the small of her back. “Walk with me.”

She followed as he led her out
and down the stairs. They went through a side doorway, and Keris
found herself stepping into the garden which lay beneath the window
of Mordal`s office.

Bounded by the keep itself, the
refectory and a high outer wall, the garden was its own private
world. The section adjacent to the refectory was given over to
vegetables and herbs. However, this early in the year there was not
much to see other than neatly tilled soil. Inside the kitchen area,
there was an area where young plants were forced, so as to ensure
fresh vegetables for those of eminence within the keep’s
administrative structure.

The rest of the garden was given
over to low shrubs, flower beds and curving walkways. As she walked
with Mordal, however, her mind’s eye saw not the serenity of
growing things, but a lean girl in a cart with eyes of hatred, and
a man lying face down on the ground, his fair hair stirring in the
breeze…

She was shaken out of her reverie
as Mordal suddenly broke the silence.

“Do you remember when you first
came here?” He paused, and then continued. “It was more than twenty
turns ago. You were young then; wary of everyone, but curious.” He
laughed lightly. “Your eyes were wide like a young child’s, taking
everything in, missing nothing.” Indeed, the city had seemed almost
overwhelming, with its massive cathedral and daunting keep. Half
the time, she had wanted to cower in the corner like some
frightened gundir pup.

“I watched you carefully,” Mordal
continued, as if speaking to himself. “You said little but you were
sharp and learned quickly. And then you got into a fight with…what
was his name?”

“Torinn.” Keris remembered the
day as if it were yesterday. Torinn was a loudmouth and a bully.
When she saw him roughing up a younger boy, she had thrown caution
to the winds and set about him like a wild scaran beast. It was an
act of nobility, courage and utter stupidity. “He beat me to a
pulp.”

Mordal laughed out loud. “Of
course he did! He was a head taller than you and twice your size!
But that was only after he recovered from the shock of being
pummelled to the ground by a slip of a girl. That was the day I
made the decision to recommend your induction for training as
Keltar.” He smiled wryly. “I remember I had a long argument with
Lorcar over that. You were too young by almost a full turn, but in
the end I beat him down. It’s a decision I have never
regretted.”

“I am grateful for all you have
done for me, my Lord.”

Mordal blew through his lips and
waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, it is we who should thank you.
You have worked hard and used your talents in furtherance of the
Prophet’s cause.”

“I live to serve.”

“As do we all.” He nodded
thoughtfully. “Well then, to the business at hand.” They had
reached a small arbour near the centre of the garden. A sweet scent
emanated from a profusion of yellow blossoms. There were stools
placed conveniently, but Mordal did not sit; rather, he stood
facing the young woman.

“There was an incident two days
ago in Corte. Garai was collecting tariff and tributes when he was
suddenly attacked by a man posing as Keltar.”

“Posing?” inquired
Keris.

Mordal shrugged. “He had the
trappings of Keltar; the flying cloak and staff. However, he was
beaten rather easily by all accounts and fled using the cloak.
Garai tried to give chase but his cloak was ‘accidentally damaged.’
Personally I think that the impostor gave Garai rather more trouble
than he is willing to admit. At any rate, he seems to have been
aided and abetted by a young woman. The soldier escort gave chase
but lost her in the town and did not have time to complete a house
to house search before they were due to return.”

Keris frowned
as she listened to Mordal`s account. It seemed inconceivable that
anyone would have the
gall
to impersonate a Keltar.

“The Prophet is away from the
keep, visiting Persillan in the north, where he is due to ascend to
the heavens in a few days. We Ringed him of course, to apprise him
of the situation, but he is not overly concerned. There has been no
organised rebellion since the revolt at Persillan, and that was
more than ten turns ago. Nevertheless, two companies of soldiers
under Captain Sallidor have been dispatched to Corte to investigate
and track down the assailants.”

“Sallidor will no doubt do a
thorough job,” Keris offered.

“Sallidor couldn’t find a Utharan
Mammoth if you placed it in front of him and tied a sign round its
neck reading ‘Utharan Mammoth.’ No, Sallidor will knock a few heads
together, but he will turn up nothing of significance…However, this
does furnish us with an opportunity.”

“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. 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 a sound behind her. Footsteps
splashing through puddles 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.