The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (150 page)

“Please... please come away from the window, my Lady.”

Keris turned to face the slight, nervous woman in the centre of the room. The woman’s forehead was lined with worry or premature aging—it was hard to tell which.

“Keris. Please, just call me Keris.”

“As you wish, Lady Keris.”

Keris groaned inwardly, struggled to a worn-out wicker chair, flopped into it, and closed her eyes.

Keris is our leader... Keris is our leader.
Once more she was the tall, lean, overly serious girl who had driven off the bully and rescued the boy Aleiran’s toy, to the delight of his young friends.
Keris is our leader.

I never wanted this.

The bare floorboards creaked. She opened her eyes. The woman was flanked by two more people she recognised—one was the older man who had first welcomed her; the other was the young girl with wide eyes and downturned mouth who had trailed after her through Lind carrying an empty basket. This was significant somehow, but it took a few moments for her exhausted synapses to fire.
The people who followed her and the group that kidnapped her; they were one and the same.

The older man spoke first. “I am Miron. We need to talk, my Lady. We should also treat your injury.”

The older woman turned to the girl. “Hot water and bandages. Quickly.”

“Yes, Mother.”

As the girl hurried off, Keris felt a twinge of empathy for this mirror image of her younger self. She tried to think of something comforting she could say when the girl returned, but her storehouse of courage was empty.

The woman retreated into a corner. Miron stepped forward and bowed deferentially once more, giving a glimpse of his balding crown.

“I apologise for the rough treatment, but we had to get you off the

street. The danger was too great.”

Keris blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Indeed,” he replied. “You are Keris, the Heroine of Gort.”
The Heroine of Gort.
It was the description Oliah used in her reports from Sakara. Alondo had teased her about it. She, for her part, dismissed it as foolishness. Childish talk. “You are she who attacked the desert fortress and bested ten Keltar and a hundred soldiers in order to free the tributes.”

And yet the tributes were not freed. Explain that.
“I think you have some of the details a little cockeyed.”

He pulled up another battered chair and sat across from her. His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps. But if people stretch the truth into hope, who can blame them? The people need hope, Keris—now more than ever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The elevation of the keep, of course.”

“Elevation... ?”

“Surely you are aware of what has transpired in the city?”

Keris shook her head. “I only arrived at Dagmar half a day ago.” His mouth parted, but the question remained frozen on his lips. “It’s a long story,” she added.

“I see... well, three nights ago, the Prophet returned from the heavens, where it is said that he had obtained an object—a vessel of great power. The next day he used it to tear the keep from its foundations and raise it high above Chalimar.”

“What do you mean, ‘raise it’?”

“The keep is suspended over the city.”

“You mean, in mid-air?”

“Yes, my Lady. It... was assumed that you had returned in response to this display of power. That you had finally arrived here to lead us.”

It was all Keris could do to keep awake. “Lead... lead who?”

“We are called Kai-Alavi, the Fourth Circle.”

“The Fourth... ?”

Miron leaned forward; his voice had a faraway quality. “The Prophet has etched his flame symbol above the three circles on the cathedral at Chalimar—the Three and the One. The Fourth Circle is the people. The people will extinguish the flame.”

“You’re going to rise up against the Keltar?”

“You showed us that the Keltar are not invincible, Keris.”

She felt as if the world were closing in on her. “I told you. I didn’t do those things.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The fact remains that you inspired this movement. You must lead us.”

The wide-eyed girl returned with a steaming basin and towelling draped over one arm. She knelt before Keris like a servant, not daring to raise her head. Her hand reached out, trembling.
I don’t need to be waited on.
Keris waved her away, immediately regretting her brusqueness. The girl took refuge next to her mother and tried to disappear into the wall.

An organised insurgency—and all at her command. There was a time when such a thing would have been beyond her wildest dreams. Yet if these people—unskilled and poorly equipped—were to go up against the Keltar, hundreds, maybe thousands would die.

This is war
, she had told Lyall on the Eastern Plains.
There are probably going to be a lot more deaths before we are finished.
Yet now, as she contemplated the horror of it, she found herself recalling Lyall’s response.
I am not at war with my own people. There is only one who is responsible for all of this. If we stop him, then the oppression will end.
At the time she had perceived Lyall’s pronouncement as weakness and ridiculed him for it. Yet now, as she looked into the trusting faces of these people...

“No.”

Miron looked as if she had just slapped him across the face. “No?”

“You are to take no action until you hear from me.”

He exhaled through his teeth. “My Lady—”

“You want me to lead you? Then those are my orders. Wait. Lay low. Do not attempt an uprising.”

A battle of wills clashed silently in the space between them. Finally, Miron lowered his eyes in defeat. “May I ask what you intend to do?”

Keris debated with herself. She could not risk revealing their plan to take the desert fortress of Gort. Everything depended on the element of surprise; the fewer who knew about it, the better. Besides, there was still the possibility that these people were part of some elaborate ruse to get her to talk.

“I must get to the Forest of Illaryon.”

Understanding dawned across his features. “The decree. Of course, of course. Forgive my blindness. I fear, however, that you are too late.”

“Decree?”

“The Prophet. Two days ago he decreed that the Great Tree of the Chandara that lies at the heart of the forest be burned to the ground. It is done.
The Tree is no more.”

<><><><><>

Chapter 36

“Why? Why would he do such a thing?”

Even as Keris spoke the words, her heart already knew the answer. Annata, the woman from the past who had appeared to them from the midst of the machine of red, silver, and gold, and later in the chamber at Kynedyr, had expressed her fear that the Chandara might pay a heavy price for helping the Kelanni. Now it seemed that that fear was prophetic.

“It is said that the Chandara are seeking to overthrow the Prophet and to dominate the Kelanni people,” Miron said.

“That’s absurd.”

“Indeed. It is well known that Chandara-speak is nonsense, but I don’t believe they would meddle in Kelanni affairs. They care for nothing outside their forest.”

Keris made to stand up. Her leg reminded her none too gently that it was a bad idea. “I can’t stay here.”

Miron raised a restraining hand. “Please, my Lady. You are injured and need to rest.”

“I have to get to Illaryon.”

“We can arrange to smuggle you out of town, but not before nightfall.”

She shook her head. “Too long. Just let me leave. I will find my own way.”

“The Prophet’s men are moving through the streets, engaged in a house-to-house search. You would be picked up in no time.”

“Not likely. I am disguised as one of you.”

Miron exhaled slowly. “May I speak freely?” Keris felt a flash of irritation at the man’s sudden coyness but ignored it and bade him continue. “There is more to a disguise than clothing.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Your eye is bright. Your hands—they are clean and free of calluses. And your bearing... ”

“Go on.”

“Your bearing, my Lady, is not that of a peasant. Rather, it is that of a noblewoman dressed as a peasant.”

The odd, fearful looks. The stolen glances of passers-by. It all made sense now. She might as well have been at the head of a noisy procession, proclaiming her presence.
These people probably saved my life.
She tied off her leg bandage, enduring a sharp stab of pain.

“Someone was following me—an older man in a tan jerkin.”

Miron nodded. “My older brother, Baracca.”

“He approached Glaisne. Promised to lead the Keltar to me.”

“A diversionary tactic. Baracca is doubtless even now leading your Keltar friend on a fascinating tour through the back streets of our charming little town.”

“He should not have done that. Glaisne will string your brother up when he discovers that he has been deceived.”

“I doubt that.”

Her face darkened. “You do not know Glaisne as I do. He has a reputation for ruthlessness.”

“Perhaps. But he is also not stupid. The Keltar rely on informants for gathering intelligence and as a means of crushing dissent. If they were to start blithely executing those who came forward, their network would dry up faster than the river Alvar in high summer.”

She was not nearly so confident that Glaisne’s wrath would be tempered by pragmatism. That was not at all his style. However, debate seemed pointless, as the man’s fate was out of the hands of either of them.

She contemplated her next step. Her mission to Illaryon was now in tatters. The Great Tree was gone, the Chandara dead or scattered, who knew where. There seemed nothing for it but to head straight for Gort and join the others.

“I must leave here as soon as possible,” she reiterated.

Miron pushed himself up from the chair. “I will make the necessary arrangements. There is a cot in the next room. Rest here. Peira and Farilla will bring you sustenance.” He bowed once and left, the two women following silently in his train.

Keris stirred her weary body and located the bed. It was small, but clean and fresh as a cloud. She dropped her burdens in the corner opposite the door, curled up, and, in moments, was fast asleep.

~

Keris woke with a start. A faint rustling tickled her ears, banishing any remaining urge to slumber.
Minnabaras.
How she hated those things. Tiny pointy-eared creatures with quadruple beady eyes and jet-black scales, which scurried across floors and lurked in the dark places. Native to the open plains, they seemed to prefer the company of the Kelanni in their towns and cities. The feeling was most definitely not mutual.

She rose silently, seeking out both the source of the disturbance and for something to throw. Then she saw it. Not a minnabara, but the back and legs of a small child. It was diving into the sack containing Boxx’s remains.

“Get out of there.”

The tiny figure stiffened, turned, and fled the room, screaming. It was a little girl, no more than three or four turns of the season. Keris let out a sigh.
It’s your own fault, idiot. You should know to stow your possessions more securely in an unfamiliar location.
Still, it seemed that no harm had been done. She resolved to find someone later and apologise for her outburst.

She heard the sound of running feet and the doorway suddenly framed three people. One was the thin girl with wide eyes and downturned mouth whom she had met earlier. She carried the toddler, who sobbed gently against her shoulder. A boy, maybe eight turns, peeked out from behind them.