The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (147 page)

“Actually, we almost managed it once before with just three—me, Lyall, and Alondo here. The only reason we didn’t succeed then was because the authorities at Chalimar were tipped off by... someone.”

“All right, let’s say by some absolute miracle we succeed in taking the fortress. What then?”

The others had made no move towards them, but she could tell that they were listening to the exchange. The moment had arrived. Everything hanged on what she was about to do next.

She braced herself. “Lyall... our leader, Lyall, has a plan. A plan to defeat your Captain.”

Rael was on his feet. “Shann—”

She ignored him and ploughed on. “We don’t know all of the details yet, but we believe it has to do with slag.”

McCann’s eyes narrowed. “You mean the runoff from processing refined lodestone? That doesn’t seem likely.”

“Shann, may I have a word with you?” Rael persisted.

“Not right now.” She fixed her attention on McCann. “Is there anything you know about it that might be useful—maybe a way in which it could be used as a weapon?”

The hu-man scratched his unkempt grey beard. “Nope. It’s just dumped in a waste area near the refining plant at Persillan. As far as I’m aware, it’s a waste product—nothing more.”

“You said you were an engineer—a scientist. Scientists can figure out how things work.”

Bass laughter rocked the hu-man’s immense chest. “Sorry, I’m not that kind of a scientist. I’m more of a... tinkerer. My speciality is star flight drives. You want someone to regulate the output wave of Quintessence Dark Energy so that it doesn’t blow everyone to kingdom come, then I’m your man. I also know my way around an avionic and I can fix most other pieces of equipment. But I never worked on the Accumulator and I’m no expert on negative matter—what you call lodestone. Lafontaine—he would have been the person to ask about that.”

Lafontaine.
The pale dried-up hu-man had returned to the stars with most of his people, leaving Wang and his crew to wreak havoc on their world. Or... maybe not. If Rael was right—if Lyall did have a special knowledge of lodestone, then how could he have acquired it? Maybe Lafontaine had not abandoned them after all. Maybe he had foreseen that Wang might refuse to leave and had given Lyall something. Something that the Kelanni could use to defeat the hu-mans once and for all.

However, even if she were right, they were no closer to finding out what that something was. “It’s vital that we discover the significance of slag. I would like you to work with Rael and Alondo to see whether the three of you can determine what it is.”

McCann shrugged. “Like I told you, it’s not my area of expertise. But I will do what I can.”

The hu-man might not have much to contribute, but they could get lucky. More importantly, it would provide a basis for them to learn to work together. Hopefully, Lyall would approve of her actions. She longed for the time when he would return to lead them again, and the weight of the world would pass from her shoulders.

A distant shout carried on a rising wind. Far below, the tiny lights milled about in apparent confusion before striking out on a new path. Away from the tower. She bent her head in silent prayer.

Be safe, Keris.

“Shann.”
Patris was calling from the far side of the platform, beyond the silver sphere. The sailor-thief had a habit of wandering off on his own—maybe he felt he had heard enough of the hu-man’s ramblings. Yet now his voice carried a note of urgency—alarm even. She rushed across the stone roof, followed by McCann and the others.

He was leaning over the parapet, staring at something on the horizon. To the north and west was an isolated butte. Past it, the land rose steadily towards the plateau where the mighty city of Chalimar slumbered. She could see the outline of the city, twinkling with distant oil lamps that illuminated the windows of insomniacs or swung from the hands of diligent watchmen. Yet there was something else. Something impossible.

Suspended in the air, lit up like a terrible curse, was a looming presence. With a growing sense of foreboding, she realised that it was the great keep. Some gargantuan force had ripped it from the city’s heart so that it now hung, suspended far over the heads of the cowering populace, a testament to the Prophet’s final attainment of ultimate power.

The power of lodestone.

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Chapter 33

Keris struck westward, taking a route south of Sakima and Kinnat, skirting the edge of the Southern Desert. Two ebony-cloaked Keltar, backed by a troupe of maybe a dozen soldiers clad in iron-studded leather armour, pursued her relentlessly. She leaped from one lodestone source to another, keeping her distance, yet being careful not to pull too far away. The exercise gave her a grim sense of satisfaction. It was like leading a pack of yelping gundir on a long leash.

She found herself hoping secretly that the Keltar would make use of their superior speed and leave their soldier escort trailing behind, so that she could turn and confront them directly. Two against one. Easy pickings.
Stay out of range; don’t engage the enemy.
Shann’s orders had been clear. Keris’s twisted smile faded to a line of reluctant acquiescence.

Her plan was twofold. First, misdirect the chasing group. Shann and the rest would soon be making their way south across the desert to Gort. A little further on, Keris intended to turn and lead them north past Lind, in the direction of Persillan. At least one of the Keltar would likely be in Ring contact and would report her heading and probable destination. Whatever forces Wang commanded in the region would be directed to head her off.

When she was satisfied that they had taken the bait, she intended to put on a spurt, lose them, and then strike out westward for the Forest of Illaryon and the second part of her plan.

She regretted not being completely honest with Shann, but it had been necessary. The girl saw everything in black and white; she was first and foremost a pragmatist. She would not have understood the demands of honour. Keltar lived by a strict code, and although Keris had cast off the trappings of the Keltar, her basic training—the essence of what it meant to be Keltar—remained, seared into her personality as enduringly as a brand on flesh. Among other things, that meant fulfilling her obligations—regardless of the cost.

She had promised that she would bring the Chandara, Boxx, home to its people. She was determined to do just that. Honour demanded no less.

Timing would be tight. Once the coast was clear and they left Dagmar, the party would probably make for Sakima to secure a couple of morgren— the shaggy, slobbering, mephitic creatures that could survive in desert conditions long after a graylesh would have expired from heat exhaustion.

Accompanied by their lumbering beasts of burden, she reckoned it would take the party at least three days to reach the desert fortress. Figure another half a day for them to formulate a plan of attack and wait for her arrival. Anything beyond that and they would probably assume that she had met with an untimely fate and go in anyway. She would have to deliver Boxx’s remains to the Chandara at the Great Tree and then head straight for the desert if she was going to reach Gort in time to be of any use.

Propelled by her flying cloak and spurred on by her promise, Keris soared above the murrey-coloured ground.

~

Shortly before the onset of dawn, Keris was finally forced to admit that she was in trouble.

From the moment she took her tumble on the stone platform, she had been running. Now she was half a world away, and she was still running. She had no time to treat her injury or even rest up. Keltar were conditioned to endure pain, but they were only flesh and blood— despite some rumours to the contrary. There was a point at which sheer willpower broke down and the body simply ceased to function.

She landed maladroitly on a dusty hillock, stumbling forward on her bad ankle. Her teeth clenched as a keen blade drove through her lower leg. She brushed hair out of her eyes and shot a glance over her shoulder. They were gaining. Sooner or later the chasing group would overtake her and she would be forced to disobey Shann’s order that she stay away from battle.

Her tactical assessment was as cold and hard as marble. Even if she successfully fought off two Keltar and a dozen soldiers, more would be zeroing in on her position. Eventually they would overwhelm her. In shassatan terms she had reached
Lorran
—the point of defeat. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that her efforts had bought Shann and the others the time and opportunity to carry forward Lyall’s plan—whatever that was.

That left one final decision. Continue running, or stand and fight? In the end, the choice was an easy one. She turned, drew her staff slowly and deliberately from its sheath, and set her mouth as a grim line.
She was done running.

~

She stumbled through narrow winding streets, blood-soaked and smoke-choked. Corte, her home town, disfigured, open-mouthed, and bleeding. Familiar places twisted by shadow. Familiar faces contorted by terror. The faces drifted through her consciousness: Gallar... Lyall... Alondo... Keris... Patris... Rael. “Why? Why did you allow us to die?”

She broke into the central courtyard. Raindrops like giant tears pounded in frustration against the unyielding cobbles. They stood in a circle around her—friends, now turned accusers. Beyond the circle, two figures in black fought desperately, the sound of their clashing staffs splitting the night. Suddenly one of them spun around, hooking the other’s staff and ripping it from his grasp. The staff flew through the air in slow motion, turning end over end, before finally clattering against the cobblestones and coming to rest a short distance away.

She tried to move towards it but the circle closed, hemming her in. She stared into their hollow eyes, pleading. In response, they raised their arms as one, pointing at the sky. She lifted her eyes and saw— casting death’s shadow over the courtyard, the mighty keep of Chalimar, impossibly suspended over their heads...

Shann awoke in a cold sweat. She lay there a moment, breathing heavily, too full of sight to go back to sleep. Finally, she threw back her blanket and rose silently. The merest suggestion of light on the western horizon told her that dawn was near. She glanced about the camp. Two blankets were filled by sleeping forms; one was flat.
Rael?

Frowning, she bent down to retrieve Saccath’s staff and began a search. A few heartbeats later she found him standing on a knoll just beyond the camp’s perimeter, gazing skyward. He seemed not to notice her approach.

“Looking for your stars?” she ventured after a moment.

He smiled but didn’t turn his head. “Actually, I was admiring yours—Ail-Mazzath.”

“Ail-Mazzoth,” she corrected. “And it isn’t a star. It’s our mother sun.”

“Actually, it is a star. The stars visible from Kelanni-Skell are nothing more than suns—just a lot further away.”

“They are all suns?”
Again she recalled the star field she had spied through the telescope on her first night at the observatory. A bed of glowing embers—points of light without number. From her discussions with Rael and later with Lafontaine she had thought of them simply as worlds like this one. Was each of them really a sun? If it were true, then the three suns that smiled down on her world—the Three that her people revered so much—were revealed as ordinary. Commonplace. Three unremarkable suns lost amid a cloud of countless others. It all smacked of blasphemy.

“The yellow sun—the one you call Ail-Gan—that is the central star of our solar system. Technically it’s a yellow dwarf. Everything else in the solar system orbits—revolves—around it, including us. We in turn revolve around a brown dwarf—Ail-Mazzoth there—but we are close enough to it that we are tidally locked—its gravity grabs onto us like an immense hand, so that we always keep the same face towards it. That is why Ail-Mazzoth only appears in your sky and why it doesn’t move. It’s also why this side is so much warmer, and why there is an immense storm front dividing our two hemispheres, where the warm and cold air fronts meet. It may help to explain other things as well.”

“What things?” she asked, intrigued.

“Well, one of the predicted effects of a tidally locked planet such as ours would be tectonic stress leading to climate change. We seem to be in a quiet period now, but there does seem to be evidence of sudden climatic change in the recent past. Recall the tower in the Cathgorns. Why would anyone build a structure like that in such a hostile place? It may be that the area wasn’t always so inhospitable.”