The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (22 page)

“We have visitors. I did not catch your name?” Keris jerked the staff against the man’s neck, as a way of exacting a response.

“Keris, let him go.”

“Excuse me?” She did not take her eyes off her captive.

“Let him go, please,” Lyall requested. Keris loosened her grip reluctantly and stood back. The portly man began rubbing his neck. Lyall continued, his voice even. “My companion asked you your name.”

“Zamir.” His voice was still hoarse.

The woman who had been knocked into the water was climbing out. She tried to squeeze some of the water out of her clothes. Alondo was already on the bank, offering a helping hand to Shann.

“What were you doing?” Lyall asked.

“We are hunting fresh game.” It was the soaked woman who answered. “We were curious, that’s all. We heard a noise.”

“Forgive us, friend,” Zamir appeared to have regained his composure somewhat, “but there are all manner of folks on the plains. Your morgren testify that you have come out of the desert, from the direction of Gort. There are many a tale of the things that go on in that terrible place.”

“
She is Keltar,
” the wet woman declared. “I recognise her clothing. And she wields the staff.
She is a servant of the Prophet.
”

“She used to be,” Lyall affirmed, “but no longer. She has turned her back on the Prophet and his ways. And she saved our lives.” The woman from the pond was regarding Keris as if she were a foul spectre. “It is the truth, I swear it,” Lyall added.

Zamir regarded Keris warily; then looked back at Lyall. “Where are you headed?”

“East, across the plains.” Lyall had a story rehearsed. “I hear there are communities there where the Prophet’s arm does not reach.”

Zamir nodded thoughtfully. Just then, Boxx waddled up, taking its accustomed place next to Keris. “What is that?” Zamir inquired.

“That,” replied Shann, “is Boxx.

The round faced man screwed up his nose. “It looks like a Chandara.”

“It is,” Lyall confirmed.

“It’s an odd kind of a pet,” Zamir observed.

Lyall bit his lower lip. “It…isn’t exactly a pet.”

Zamir shook his head. “Well, no matter. You have a long journey ahead of you, friend. And those morgren are far too slow. You will need to exchange them.”

“We know,” Lyall confirmed. “We were intending to visit the trading post, which I believe is a little way north of here.

Zamir put his hands on his thick hips, threw back his head and roared with laughter. “A fine idea, fine indeed. If you want to get skinned and hung out to dry, that is.”

Shann frowned. “Are you saying the owner is dishonest?”

Zamir’s laugh was disconcerting. “Of course he is. That’s why he’s such a good friend of mine.” He registered the looks on their faces and laughed again. “Balbor can smell innocent gundir like you from the other side of the plains. But fear not, I have a herd of graylesh, newly broken. I am sure we can arrive at a fair price. You have coin, friend?” His face registered a momentary flash of concern.

“We do,” Lyall assured.

Zamir beamed. “Then you shall visit my camp and we will deal. After which we will celebrate with a feast.”

“We will need a wagon,” Shann put in.

“I am sure we can fix something up for you… for a small premium.” The chubby man walked over to Lyall and reached up to place a hand on Lyall’s shoulder, leading him away from the pond. “A fine thing for you, friend that you ran across us this day, fine indeed.”

~

Shann crouched down low in the long grass and waited. A way off to her right, Lyall. Beyond him, Keris. All three wore the dark cloak. Shann’s senses were heightened by anticipation. She felt the tension in her muscles and the touch of the staff at her side; smelt the rich loam and the scent of growing things; tasted the dryness in her mouth and the salt on her lips; saw the waving stalks and the dark shapes of her waiting companions; heard…a low, distant drumming against the ground.

They were coming.

A moment later she heard the shouts of the riders. She kept her eye on Lyall, waiting for the signal. The drumming sound became louder…
louder
. Lyall raised a hand. All three cloaked figures rose up together like black sailed ships amid a sea of gold. They ran forward as one, leaped skywards, and then bore down on the advancing herd of raleketh. The animals were gangly, ranging from yellow to red-brown in colour, with dark mottling. They made a half grunting, half squealing sound as they ran. Beaters rode behind the herd on graylesh, urging them forward. The lead animals saw the dark shapes falling toward them and turned back in a panic, only to be pushed forward by the oncoming surge. Shann landed lightly at the edge of the herd, together with Lyall and Keris.

“Careful,” Keris called out to her, “don’t get trapped in the stampede.”

Shann ignored her.
I’m not a child.

Diamond blades flashed as the three of them set about dispatching the quota needed for food supplies. The beaters parted their mounts so as to allow the bulk of the herd to escape. They thundered off, leaving behind their slain companions as a silent offering.

The two groups had been travelling together for seven days now, as their routes coincided. They had been following the course of a river upstream. Soon, however, the river would be flowing from the north. The plains nomads would follow it, accompanying the herds in their summer migration. Tonight would be the last night they would camp together.

Zamir rode up to them, pulling on the graylesh to bring it to a halt. Despite his portly frame, he seemed surprisingly agile as a rider. “Well done, everyone. Our teams work well together. Are you sure you wouldn’t consider a more permanent partnership?”

Lyall planted his staff and met the other man’s eyes. “I’m sorry; we must get as far away as we can from the Prophet’s men. We must continue heading east.”

Zamir nodded. “I understand. Very well, then, tonight we celebrate. And tomorrow, we part as friends.” Three more nomads arrived with a cart, and Zamir supervised the loading of the fresh meat. As far as Shann could see, the nomads seemed to spend most of their time celebrating. Zamir would seize any excuse to hold a feast. She had never been to so many parties in her life. A part of her secretly wished that she could just stay with them, and enjoy their carefree lifestyle. But at night she still lay awake, haunted by thoughts of Gallar, her home and the tributes at Gort. It felt like a great weight, as if everyone were dependent on her.
I have to keep moving forward.

She turned to follow the others back to the nomads’ camp, and her last few hours of freedom.

~

By the time Shann arrived back at the camp with Lyall and Keris, it felt as if the celebrations were already in full swing. There was an air of excitement and preparation and good humour. Children ran around in circles yelping at one another, while gundir snapped at their heels playfully. From the direction of the covered wagons came the wonderful smells of cooking.

The wagon which sat at the rear of the caravan had been purchased by Lyall, along with four graylesh, freshly outfitted for travel. Shann walked over to one of the animals and stroked its striped flank. It turned towards her. Bright eyes regarded her from either side of a slender snout. They were indeed graceful and intelligent creatures.

Lyall had sat down and struck the deal with Zamir that first evening, during an animated conference in Zamir’s wagon. Shann had not been invited, and Alondo declined to sit in. “Money–that’s Lyall’s department,” he maintained, with a smile. Keris had not been invited either, but she insisted on attending, nevertheless.

Later, as she was by the fire, chatting with one of the nomad hunters, Shann spotted Lyall and Keris exit the wagon and cross to the rear of another wagon farther down the line. She could discern raised voices, and a sharp exchange of words between the two. Excusing herself, she got up from her position by the fire and walked over to their position. As she got near, the vocal sounds coalesced into words.

It was Keris’ voice. “You
never
give any thought to the consequences of your actions, do you?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Lyall was trying to pacify her. “After all, it was only money the Prophet had exacted from poor and honest people.”

“And that justifies theft?

“In this case, yes. That money was intended to be used to free the Kelanni from oppression. Now it is being used to save our entire race. And you are quibbling about a few silver astrias that the Prophet does not need and will never miss?”

“That is
not
true,” Keris remonstrated. “It
was
missed. And people suffered as a result: houses ransacked, on the spot searches, random arrests and since I’ve been gone, who knows what else?”

Shann was not comfortable with eavesdropping. She walked around the wagon to where the two of them were. Lyall was saying, “I think if we were to ask them–” They both caught sight of Shann and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.

“Is everything all right?” Shann asked. Keris shot a glare at her and stalked off. Shann looked up at Lyall.

“She doesn’t like the thought of being associated with a thief,” Lyall’s voice had a tinge of regret.

That woman seemed to be determined to do everything she could to criticize and undermine their efforts. Shann felt like going up to her and telling her to take her stupid machine and her stupid story about a message from the past, and go off on whatever stupid journey she wanted. What stopped her was Lyall. He clearly thought there was something to this wild tale, so she had no choice but to go along with it for now. Until she could convince him otherwise. Shann patted the graylesh and cooed to it in a soothing voice. At that moment, Alondo walked up to her. “Are you going to come hear me play?”

She beamed at him. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

~

Alondo was fast acquiring a bevy of devoted fans among the nomad community. One fair-haired girl in particular always seemed to claim the seat directly opposite him when he played, smiling enigmatically. Shann couldn’t help but notice that they had both been missing on certain occasions. Now Alondo was sitting on his customary stool away from the fire, tuning his custom-built sabada. The fair-haired girl was already sitting on the grass in front of him, legs tucked beneath her. A growing crowd of nomads were settling themselves in anticipation of what was to come. Boxx stood off to one side on its hind legs, eyeing the Kelanni with curiosity. Alondo was joined by three other nomad players, one with a smaller stringed instrument, one with pipes, and one with a set of percussive wood blocks. At a signal from Alondo, the music began. The assembled crowd applauded enthusiastically as Alondo broke into song.

“There was a merry, merry maid,

“Who danced o’er fair Kallar.

“She twisted through the Tragar hills,

“’cross vale near and far.”

Some of the audience were tapping; others were getting to their feet and pulling up others, ready for dancing. Shann looked up to see Lyall standing in front of her, proffering a hand. She took it joyfully and rose up. He put a hand lightly around her waist, and they joined the nomads who were already laughing and moving to the rhythm.

“She skipped along from morn to eve,

“And on into the night.

“Twirling round and round she went,

“By Ail-Mazzoth’s light.

“She spun her way towards Alvar,

“Beside its banks did hop.

“She capered as its waters grew;

“Her feet she could not stop.

“She tripped on down the western coast,

“Through the streets of Gan-Dathlie,

“Leaping now from wave to wave,

“Across the Borgoth Sea…”

Lyall was spinning Shann around. She was becoming breathless. “I never heard this song before. It’s like a tour of Kelanni. How long does it go on for?”

“I’m not sure,” Lyall shrugged. “Every time I hear it, he seems to have added more verses.”