Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms (9 page)

“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 all
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.”

“Exactly,” Keris affirmed. “It
makes perfect sense. Where would a man who wishes to free tributes
go, if not to the compound at Gort?”

“I will Ring the
fortress and make sure there is a nice surprise awaiting them at
the compound should they make it there. Excellent work, Keris. How
do you intend to proceed?”

“Well, I certainly don’t intend
to go stumbling about the countryside by Ail-Mazzoth’s light. They
have a day’s head start at most, and they have slow moving morgren.
It should be a simple matter to overtake them. Right now, I intend
to get a decent meal and a good night’s sleep.”