The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (156 page)

“Excuse me, Lord Darrago.” The armoured man stepped forward. He had a handsome face, with deep-set eyes and a scribble of cropped black hair. “But recovery of the tributes is my duty and responsibility.”

A flicker passed over the Keltar’s features. “Very well, Commander. I leave the matter to you. However, when you are finished with this one, you will turn her over to me for interrogation. She bears the cloak and staff—an act of sacrilege under the Law of the Prophet.”

“Indeed,” the commander observed. “It is said that a band of criminals has been roaming the countryside posing as Keltar.”

Darrago’s tone was like the crack of a whip. “That is not for you to know or speculate. Attend to your duty, Commander.”

As Darrago strode off, Shann noticed the briefest of smiles play about the commander’s lips. Then the moment was past and he addressed her directly. “I am Grackas, commander of the garrison at Gort. I assume you are responsible for staging this little breakout.”

“I am.”

“Mind telling me how you got those desert creatures to attack the fortress in their hundreds?” Her heart skipped a beat. They had not uncovered Alondo’s involvement, which meant that wherever he was, he was probably alive and safe.

She kept her face carefully neutral.
“‘The suns for warmth and the beasts for food, but The Prophet controls them all.’”

He smiled at her recitation of the sacred verse. “Cute. Very well, then, keep your secrets. It doesn’t matter now. Your brave effort ends here.” He turned away.

“Not if the garrison stands with us.” She held her breath, shocked by her own audacity.

He stopped in mid-step but did not turn back. “It’s been tried. My predecessor met with an unfortunate accident as a result. One does not defy the Keltar.”

“The Keltar are not all-powerful. They have simply been taught how to manipulate natural forces through something called science. There is a boy down there who could explain it all to you.”

He shook his head. “It does not matter how they derive their power. It exists. You cannot combat such power with courage alone. Your failure here is proof of that. I’m sorry... ”

Shouts from below.
Something was happening. Heads were raised. Arms pointed skyward. From the direction of the dawn, a great shape sailed effortlessly through the sky towards them. With two flaps of its immense wings, it slowed and began to descend towards the rough desert road.

Shann and Grackas exchanged a look of mutual astonishment and raced down the hill. As she approached, she could see that the flying creature bore a red-cloaked figure on its back.
Keris.
But how... ?

Soldiers, Keltar, and tributes alike were staring at the spectacle, weapons lowered or held loosely as if they no longer had a purpose. As if they themselves were now in the grip of something they could not control.

The flying creature alighted beside the road and Keris dismounted in a single smooth movement. She strode purposefully towards the assembly, cloak fluttering in the light wind, drew her staff, and planted it in the sand beside her.

Her voice rang in the morning silence. “Soldiers of Gort. Some days past, I came to Gort and met with Ferenek, your former commander. I told him of a truth I had uncovered—that the Prophet is not who he claims to be. He is not Kelanni. Furthermore, he is enslaving our people in order to produce large quantities of lodestone, which he intends to use to annihilate us.

“When Ferenek attempted to act on this information, he was done away with. I suspect there are many of you who already know this to be true. He was a good soldier, but he was also a man of conscience. A man who could not simply stand by and see his people destroyed. I call upon you now to honour his memory by finishing the task that he began—that of throwing off the yoke of oppression that has been placed on the Kelanni people.”

As her words faded, the air filled with a deafening silence. Then, one by one, the cries went up.
“The Heroine of Gort... Hail the Heroine... No to oppression... End the Keltar yoke... End it now... Hail the Heroine... Hail... Hail... ”

The Keltar began to back off, weapons held at the ready, eyes wild with fear. Groups of soldiers advanced on each of them. Growls. Threats and counter-threats. Then an authoritative bark from Darrago. The black-cloaked figures turned and ran, leaping away across the desert to mighty cheers from soldiers and tributes alike.

People laughed or hugged one another or sat down, disbelieving, on the sand. Grackas stood rooted to the spot, slack-jawed and turned to stone. Shann smiled up at him. “Welcome to the crucible of a new dawn, Commander.”

~

They sat in a circle in the middle of the compound, the fortress of Gort hunched beside them like a brooding giant. Yet all eyes were drawn, not to that ancient symbol of tyranny, but to the fabulous, white-winged creature now in their midst.

Earlier, she had gazed down at Shann with great golden eyes and addressed her in melodious tones, deep, yet familiar. “Greetings, Shann. It Is I, Boxx. I Have Changed.”

It was, by any stretch of the imagination, an understatement.

Keris had given Shann an account of her journey and explained the plight of the Chandara in Illaryon. “I think I know a way to help them,” she said. “But first we have more immediate problems.”

Boxx sat to Keris’s left, followed by Shann and Rael. Rael still did not seem to be able to look at Shann directly—a fact that only added to her irritation—but Boxx’s transformation seemed to have piqued his scientific curiosity, at least.

He had asked Boxx a number of pointed questions and had scribbled the answers on the tablet he permanently carried with him, although what with Hannath’s passing and he being away on the other side of the world, it was far from clear who he intended to report his findings to.

Next to him came Patris, who for once was not content to sit on the sidelines. His intelligent eyes flickered over the others in the circle as if trying to catch them in some subterfuge.

Then there was Grackas. Recovered now from the shock of Keris’s dramatic arrival and the Keltar’s swift withdrawal, his expression showed he had once more resumed the role of commander. Determined. Resolute. Next came a pale Leskin, skin stretched taut over razor-sharp bones, looking as if he ought to still be in bed. Or a coffin. To his left, the hu-man McCann, there at Shann’s insistence, and finally, Shann herself.

Alondo had declined to take part in these high-level discussions. “When you big boys decide what you’re going to do, then come tell me.” He had gone back to tuning his instrument.

Keris glanced at Shann, who gave her the briefest nod of approval. Then she began. “We have taken Gort. That is an astounding achievement. However, capturing a stronghold and holding it are two very different things. If we hole up here, then the Prophet’s forces will sooner or later descend on us and lay siege to the fortress—possibly attempt to starve us out.”

“You could talk to the soldiers,” Shann suggested. “Attempt to persuade them to join our cause, as you did with the garrison here.”

Keris drew her lower lip across her teeth and shook her head. “The only reason that worked was because Mordal did away with Ferenek— a popular commander. This is a remote outpost—some distance from the Prophet’s main sphere of influence. You may be sure that the troops Wang dispatches here will be hand-picked and Keltar-led. Trust me; they will not be so easily turned.”

“So what is it you propose?” Grackas asked.

Keris took a deep breath. “Remaining here will only lead to defeat in the long run. We could march west—attempt to persuade the people of Gan-Dathlie and the western coast to join us. However, their loyalties are uncertain.

“If we went east, we might hope to pick up some support from the disaffected communities of the Distrada and possibly join up with the underground resistance in Sakara. Reports indicate that they have been waging a highly effective campaign against the Keltar-led occupation there.

“The problem with either of these strategies, however, is that they give the Prophet free rein to consolidate his power base at Chalimar. Some of you will have heard rumours that he is no longer dependent on ore collection—that he has acquired the ability to manufacture lodestone at will. Those rumours are, unfortunately, true.

“That means that he is now capable of producing weapons sufficiently powerful to destroy all Kelanni, and in a fraction of the time that was necessary before. If we do not move against him immediately, then whatever path we choose will ultimately be doomed to failure.”

Leskin raised his head and croaked. “There are thousands of soldiers lying between us and Chalimar. Dozens of Keltar. We could not hope to be successful.”

“There’s also the matter of the keep itself,” Grackas growled. “It sits high in the sky, casting its deathly shadow over the city.”

“We have seen it,” Shann said. “Not even a Keltar could fly that high.”

“They must be re-supplied somehow,” Patris reasoned.

“There are two small platforms which float up and down between loading areas on opposite sides of the keep,” Grackas explained. “I do not know how they work. They are powered by Keltar lore.”

Dual-layered, presumably. Lower lodestone, upper bronze. Lodestone in the platform pushes against the transformed lodestone in the ground and the upper bronze layer. Bronze pulls the lower lodestone layer, resulting in a steady lift. Of course, when they approached the transformed lodestone in the base of the keep, they would have to compensate somehow.

“Both entrances are heavily guarded,” Grackas pointed out. “We’d never get a sizeable force in that way.”

“Unfortunately, I agree,” Keris said. “Our only other resource is an underground movement centred in Lind, but they are untrained and ill-equipped for a direct confrontation with the Keltar.”

“All right, then; where does that leave us?” McCann demanded.

“Lyall.” Heads turned towards Shann. She swallowed. “He... infiltrated the Prophet’s ranks. He has a plan to defeat the Unan-Chinneroth and the Keltar once and for all.”

Grackas’s face emerged from behind a cloud. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“Rael?” Shann prompted. The boy was still staring at his boots. She felt like jabbing him in the ribs and telling him to buck up, but she restrained herself.

Finally, his mouth moved. “It’s hopeless.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure whether he was speaking of the current dilemma or of their relationship. Then he continued. “Lyall indicated that it all had to do with this stuff.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a dull, flat metal slab. “Slag. It’s the runoff that’s produced when lodestone is refined from ore.”

“So, what does it do?” Leskin asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea. As far as I can tell... ”—Rael tossed it onto the ground in front of him—“... it’s worthless.”

Keris leaned forward. “Are you quite certain?”

The boy let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe we misinterpreted Lyall’s signals. Or... ”

He glanced sideways at Shann for the merest instant, but she caught the full force of the unspoken accusation as surely as if he had slapped her across the face.
Or maybe he was deliberately trying to mislead us.
She glared at him, but his face was turned away from her once more.
No. I won’t believe that.

Grackas finally shattered the hiatus. “Well, if that’s all, then I suggest we each retire and consider what is best for our people.”

He got up without waiting for consensus. Slowly, like sleepwalkers, the others dispersed. Keris, the last to leave, opened her mouth as if to say something, then clamped it shut and wandered off, leaving Shann seated all alone in the place of slaves.

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Chapter 43

It was a lake of pure ice, marred by a single scission. It was a dammed-up flood. Waters upon waters. Pressure building. It was a flow of magma, heaving against an ancient cap of rock...

She found him seated alone on an empty pallet in one of the former tribute huts. Hands wrapped around his knees. Sullen.

“What was that about?”

No reaction. No indication that he had even heard her.

“Are you listening to me? I said, ‘What was that’?”