Bound in Stone 3

by K. M. Frontain

  Bound in Stone: Volume Three

  Third novel in

  The Soulstone Chronicles

  By

  K. M. Frontain

  ~~

  Copyright 2005 by K. M. Frontain

  Smashwords Version ISBN 978-1-927397-17-6

  ~~

  To my Mom, from whom I inherited a love of reading. Thanks, Mom!

  The cover for this novel was made possible by the kindness and generosity of Paul Squassoni. Thank you, Paul.

  www.sexandquantumphysics.com

  ~~

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  No part of this story may be written or reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This story is a work of fiction and any person, living or dead, any places, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and plot are created from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ~~

  Original cover art by Dallas Williams

  www.dallasillustration.com

  Cover design and layout by K. M. Frontain

  ~~

  [1. Fantasy — Fiction. 2. Sorcery — Fiction. 3. Romance — Fiction

  4. Gay — Fiction.]

  First Edition, October 2005

  Second Edition, September 2007

  Third Edition, October 2011

  Fourth Edition, September 2016

  Contents

  Bound in Stone: Volume Three

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Blogs and Websites

  Chapter One

  He found the place easily enough, just above a shop, a confectioner’s. He inspected the red sign hanging overtop the door and eyed the colourful sweets in multitudinous jars lying behind the mullion windows, and he thought it made a sort of twisted sense that Ugoth had decided to house his first mistress above a candy shop.

  “Wait for me here,” he said to the gang of young monks who had surrounded him the long march to the city. They nodded, many of them pressed against the panes to stare at the sweets. Herfod smiled and knew he had better buy some before he left, or he’d pay for his neglect with bruises the next training session.

  He ascended the creaky steps, furthering the racket with a great stomp on each, all the way to the small landing in front of the upper door. With a narrow glare at the entrance, from which no sound issued despite his thunderous warning, he banged on the wood with three sharp slams of his fist.

  “Hi, now! Open up, Ugoth!” His breath frosted in the chill air. He heard a faint feminine gasp and the sound of quick movement. Ugoth hauled the door open a few seconds later.

  “Herfod!” he growled.

  “Hello, Majesty,” Herfod said brightly. “Heard you just got in.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, he thrust his way forward. Ugoth, by force of habit, let him by. Herfod paused for a suspicious scan of the sitting room, but saw nothing threatening. He didn’t see the woman either. She must have run off into the other chamber.

  Ugoth shoved his mussed hair back from his forehead and issued an irritated demand. “What are you doing here?”

  Herfod looked up, noted beads of sweat, smelled an interesting odour and put on his best dolorous monk face. “You aren’t happy to see me?”

  Ugoth scowled, but the beginnings of a grin showed at the corners of his lips. “You pain in the ass. How did you find me?”

  “Oh, that was easy. Just ask anyone. They all point right here.”

  This response wiped out the nearly birthed grin and elicited an even more furious scowl from his long-time friend. Again without invitation, Herfod sat on the closest upholstered chair. An upsurge of heavily perfumed air hit his nostrils. “Gods! She must bathe in it!”

  “Herfod! Why are you here?” his king barked.

  Herfod understood His Majesty’s irritation. Aside from the interesting smell that didn’t belong to him, Ugoth’s clothes were askew and he looked flustered. He had been right in the middle of it, most literally. “To see how it went, of course,” Herfod said with the blandest of tones. He swished his habit aside and noted a violet scarf almost buried between the cushions he sat upon. “I heard you got the one that took your father this time.”

  “I did. Go see its head on the wall!”

  Herfod had seen it. The troll had been a huge monster, judging by the head alone. Great narrow-brained, toothy beast; Herfod had been as awed as his guardians and had made no effort to hide it, as wondrous that Ugoth had managed to kill the monster as the rest. “Were you injured?”

  “Only a large bruise along my side,” Ugoth admitted. Forgetting to insist that Herfod leave, he strode to the divan and lounged across it. “I wish you’d been there to see it. We forced it off a cliff and it still lived.”

  “Who is this woman?” Herfod demanded suddenly.

  “Ahh! So. That’s why you’re here. To reproach me for my sins.”

  “To see after your safety, idiot,” Herfod rejoined. “So? Who is she?”

  “Gods, Herfod! I can take a mistress if I please.”

  “I never said you couldn’t. I asked who she was. You’ve never bothered to take one before. Suddenly you show up with a woman you met on a troll hunt in the mountains near Stohar. I just want to make certain she’s trustworthy.”

  “Herfod,” Ugoth whispered, leaning forward. “She’s the most amazing woman I have ever met. I think I’m in love at last.”

  Herfod blinked at him. In love? Well.

  “So tell me more about her.” He watched as Ugoth lay back, the sapphire of his eyes soft with affection. “And leave the intimate crud out,” Herfod warned hastily. “I just want character.”

  “You have enough for all three of us,” an unforgettable voice intruded.

  Shock froze him momentarily. Slowly his head turned toward the inner chamber. The door had opened a crack. It opened further. He rose from the seat and stared.

  Nicky stared back.

  He was stunned—completely, indescribably stunned.

  “Well?” she said. “You won’t even say hello?”

  Ugoth rose, grinning. He thought he knew why Herfod gawped. Nicky was a beauty and not the typically large-boned Ulmeniran sort. She was a delicate creature of small bones but perfect figure and with the most remarkable green eyes. A pair of emeralds. The eyes alone set her off as above standard, but add in the exquisite complexion and extraordinary features, and she outdid all the women of Ulmenir.

  Ugoth opened his mouth to introduce them to each other, but Herfod leapt forward and grabbed her from the doorway. Ugoth gaped as both laughed and whirled around the room together, grey habit and violet gown whipping about dizzily. Then they froze in place and stared as if the sight of each other staggered both.

  “Herfod?” Ugoth said. “Nicky?”

  They didn’t hear him.

  “You’re taller than me!” she cried.

  “Everyone is taller than you,” Herfod said. Since last they had seen each oth
er, he had grown a good six inches taller at least. He stared at her as if he might eat her. To swallow those brilliant green eyes. To taste the slight upturn of her nose. To kiss those sweet lips. But rather than doing any such unwise act, he taunted her with a mild cruelty.

  “What’s this?” He snatched at her hair and tugged a grey strand from the dark curling mass.

  “Ow! Kehfrey!”

  “You really are getting old.”

  She smashed him on the chest and swore lividly. He only laughed and hugged her again.

  “Herfod!” Ugoth roared. They both jumped and blinked with owlish dismay at him, even yet caught in a tight embrace. Ugoth’s expression frosted with menace. “How do you know this woman?”

  “I grew up with her,” Herfod said, reluctantly separating from Nicky. “I’ve known her since I was seven.”

  Ugoth lost his furious expression slowly. “You grew up with her?” He peered at Nicky uncertainly.

  She nodded and then slugged Herfod hard. “Old!” she screeched. “How dare you say I’m getting old!”

  “Ow!” He skipped away and laughed, dangling the single grey hair as proof. “Hi, now! Are we going to start like that?”

  “You started it!” She laughed and snatched the long hair out of his fingers. “Leave my hair alone, brat.”

  He stood there and smiled all the love he had. With tears in her eyes, she smiled back, incapable of doing otherwise.

  “You’re a monk,” she said presently. “That’s quite a twist.”

  “Isn’t it? You haven’t changed a bit.”

  She scowled. “I take what I please and I took him!” she said, pointing at Ugoth.

  “Take it easy. I wasn’t reproving you for it. Take him. He could have done worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Did you want me to say better?”

  She tried to smash him again.

  “That’s enough!” Ugoth snapped. They stared at him, once more startled. It was as if they’d forgotten his presence. “Tell me. Are you always like this together?”

  They looked at each other and then back at him. “Yes,” Herfod said.

  “Pretty much,” Nicky admitted. She grinned at her royal lover’s flabbergasted expression. “Oh, Ugoth! He was the best friend of my life. He was the very best.”

  “Yes,” Ugoth said, his tone distant. “He’s good at that.”

  “Well, Ugoth. Now that I know you are in good hands,” Herfod said, “I’ll just be off.”

  Nicky cussed him. He laughed, hugged her briefly, and walked to the door. Ugoth stared after him, still befuddled by the coincidental events. Nicky stared as well. She could hardly stop herself. Herfod had become a handsome man, a beautiful man, and he felt like steel beneath that grey habit. He felt just like steel.

  The door shut. Ugoth looked down at her. She grinned, leapt and wrapped her arms about his strong neck. Her legs curled around his waist in a naughty hug. Ugoth was over a foot taller, but she liked her lovers tall, and he liked her bold way of capturing him.

  “Well,” she said. “What were we doing before our mutual devil came to interrupt?”

  Ugoth showed her. Slowly, the feeling that the floor had been blown out from beneath his feet faded.

  ***

  Out on the landing, Herfod stared across the space at the next building and saw nothing. One of his guards called up to ask if anything was wrong. He shook his head and descended the stairs.

  “What about buying some sweets, then?” he suggested as he lit upon the bottommost step.

  The lot grinned. He smiled and went in the shop, followed closely behind by his gang. They spent minutes arguing over the choices. While they bickered, Herfod gazed out the shop window. He stared at the street and saw none of it, not the passers-by who smiled in recognition, not the buildings across from him, not a thing. He felt as if he’d gone blind again. He wished he had gone blind again. Then his heart wouldn’t be breaking in half like it was doing now.

  ***

  “Eight years,” Vik said.

  “Yes,” his brother whispered.

  “She returns after almost eight years,” Vik repeated. He drew Herfod closer and touched a damp cheek with a finger. “After what she said and she shows up herself.”

  Herfod pulled his head back. Tears shone on his face. More were falling. “What do you mean by that?”

  “She came to me,” Vik confessed. “The day you returned after your second hiatus from the manor. She came and told me I had to make you heed Samel’s call.”

  “She came back! Why didn’t you say?”

  “She asked me not to. She said you would seek her out and ignore what you needed to do.”

  Herfod shut his eyes. She had known. She had known he would be a monk. She had chosen for him a life of prayer and servitude instead of a life with her. “Why did she come back?” he said brokenly. “I was managing well enough.”

  “I’ll go ask her.”

  “No! Ignore her! Leave her be!”

  “I’m asking! She owes me an answer!” Vik said sharply.

  “I don’t want to hear it. If she’d meant to be with me, she wouldn’t have come back with Ugoth sniffing after her rear.” Herfod jerked away and retreated to the fireplace. “She takes what she wants and she took the king of Ulmenir,” he said to the fire. He blinked at the dancing flames and saw a stone rotating above the embers. He shook his head to clear the image from his eyes.

  The phantasms had been getting worse lately. And the dreams. He woke each night tortured by two desires, his own and Marun’s. Relieving his physical need in the darkness of his cell before sleeping made no difference. And now, here was Nicky. He thought he might go mad.

  Vik moved to his side and put an arm over his shoulders, avoiding the set of metal-tipped wooden rods protruding at an angle over Herfod’s left side. Early on, when the short staves had first been fashioned, Herfod had experimented with holders at his hip, but the daily chores and prayer sessions in the monastery had made wearing a belted weapon problematic. He’d opted for a shoulder harness, something to which he was already accustomed and which didn’t interfere with kneeling and bowing over cold stone.

  Vik liked to tease his brother and refer to the short staves as spine straighteners; no one wearing them could relax in a chair. Herfod liked to answer that since the monastery had few seats with a back rest, bearing his weapons on his back was a reasonable nuisance. He ignored that, of all the Turamen brethren, he was the one most often offered an upholstered seat to recline against, until Vik reminded him again.

  But now was not the time to rag Herfod over his chosen inconveniences. The atmosphere of Vik’s apartment had darkened perceptibly. Sorrow and pain practically oozed from Herfod’s pores. He’d inundated the confines with gloom. Not the first time such had happened. When Herfod’s soul bled, the world dimmed.

  “Be strong, Kehfrey,” Vik whispered to his aggrieved brother. “You can live through this too.”

  Herfod laughed, derision and despair in the outburst. He had no choice but to live. He couldn’t die. He wiped his tears off, hugged Vik in farewell and left the small apartment.

  Vik let him go without protest. He knew his brother needed time to think. Vik, however, didn’t. Off went the leather slippers with the wool lining. On went the sturdy brown winter boots, on the dark-blue fur-trimmed jacket and matching hat. He grabbed his sword, buckled it around his waist, tossed his cloak over his shoulders, searched inside the pockets for his mittens and stepped into the chill spring air.

  The guardians of the gatehouse refused him permission to leave the grounds until his guards had been summoned. After several minutes waiting impatiently, he rode out toward the city, his gang of protectors around him, all as equally muffled against the cold breeze as he, but still cursing the drafts that went up their habits. Habits really were a nuisance for riding. Vik had suggested a change of uniform for his gang—who were all experienced riders, since Vik disliked walking—but Abbot Anselm was particularly st
ubborn about letting any of the monastery brethren out of the traditional habit, and so Vik’s guards continued to suffer chilled legs. Their winter braies just weren’t sufficient when their habits hiked up above their calves while they were mounted.

  Griping over the chill or not, they were each of them formidable warriors, though none had ever quite equalled their combat training master. Herfod, despite his short stature, was simply the best. They endeavoured daily to reach the perfection he had attained, but he always managed to trounce whoever challenged him for the title of champion. Herfod had become a warrior saint in their eyes, and they worshipped the ground he walked on. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t stop them feeling that way.

  Vik understood how they felt. He felt it himself. Wherever his brother went, problems were solved, hurts were eased, and happiness flourished. If there was an angel on this earth, it was Herfod. He was worth dying for. Some already had.

  The last seven and a half years, the Shadow Master had orchestrated over a dozen attempts on both Vik and his brother. The kidnappings had all failed. Men had been injured and died. On three occasions, despite objections from Herfod that it was too dangerous, Abbot Anselm, abetted by the late King Umer, had sent agents to retrieve the Shadow Master’s soulstone. Every mission had ended in failure. During the last instance, the bodies of the agents had been returned to Ulmenir in pieces. Anselm had promised Herfod never to try again.

  This last year, there had been no kidnapping attempts. Vik understood the reason for the irregularity. This year, the war would at last arrive on Ulmeniran soil. The late spring thaw held back the inevitable. Marun only bided his time before he attempted to reclaim them both with the force of an army behind him.