Bound in Stone 3

by K. M. Frontain

“Ugoth, be watchful over Kehfrey. The Ancient Power has tried to have him. It has tried many times. Has he told you this?”

  Ugoth shook his head, feeling very cold. “What are you saying exactly?”

  “Even with Marun, she has attempted to steal Kehfrey’s soul. She tried again just two weeks ago. She tried to pull him down to her.”

  “But why? Why him?”

  “None of us knows. Did he tell you about the cleansing when we came to the monastery?”

  “Yes,” Ugoth answered.

  Vik stared at him. “Did he? I don’t think he told you the full extent of it.”

  “Gods! Vik! Just say it!” Ugoth snapped. His insides were about to rip apart from the tension of not knowing.

  “The cleansing chant created a spire of blue over him, Ugoth. It went straight to the church roof. No one has ever received such approval from the gods. No one! He heard them all speaking at once. He saw trees in heaven. Do you understand this? He’s more important than he even knows. This is why you must watch out for him. Marun will try to take him again. And if not Marun, she will!”

  “Gods!” Ugoth said. “Gods! Why didn’t he tell me this?”

  “It’s something very personal for him,” Vik answered. “Something he rarely admits.”

  “Personal? It’s bloody perilous!”

  “I know, but he is embarrassed by it. He doesn’t enjoy being thought of as special. He hates being followed around and protected constantly. I think he would rather be a complete nobody.”

  “Well, he’s not! Go and see if you can track him down,” Ugoth ordered. “I want him back in here. He has more questions to answer. Little bastard told me he’d say it all! And now I hear this!”

  Vik rose and bowed. Just before he reached the flap, Ugoth called to him.

  “Vik?” He rose and came to Vik’s side. “When did you see me jealous before now?” he whispered. “I don’t ever recall being that way.”

  “But you didn’t know, Ugoth.”

  “I know I didn’t know! How did you?”

  “I saw it many times, while you were both at practice with his gang of protectors especially. Whenever he worked with one of them instead of you, your eyes frosted over.” Vik smiled at Ugoth’s stunned expression. “You reminded me of a cat looking at something it wanted to kill. I knew you didn’t know. If not for Nicky’s interference, you most likely never would have. He would have left you in the dark to the ends of both your lives.”

  Ugoth turned away, set both hands in his golden hair, and stared pensively at the canvas flooring. After a moment, he began pacing, one hand lowering to his mouth, a knuckle entering to ride between his teeth.

  Silently, Vik departed. He understood. Such life-altering revelations required quiet reflection.

  ***

  Standing on the bank of the creek, Samel observed Brother Herfod bathe. Beneath the light of the moon, the young man seemed uninjured. Samel surmised that the dark spell of the soulstone must have taken care of the horrible hurt Herfod had sustained falling from the castle wall. Even so, Samel felt it might be wise to chant for a healing. He said as much to Herfod.

  “I’m fine,” Herfod said. “Most of me healed within two days. It was the memory loss that kept me longer. You should go heal my horse. I almost rode it to the ground getting here.”

  Samel was appalled. “You almost killed a horse?”

  “Well, I gave it a quick heal before I went to the pavilion,” Herfod said. He pulled up straight and smashed his shirt down on a rock. “Horse master said he’d take care of the poor thing.” He dunked the shirt again.

  “What took you so long with the king? We came as soon as we heard you were here. We waited hours for the ward to collapse.”

  “It was a rather rough conversation with the king,” Herfod answered lightly. “He didn’t take the life history well. Not at first. I wish I had soap!”

  “I have some,” a feminine voice said.

  “Oh, no!” Samel whispered. Not her!

  But it was. Uma stepped out of the darkness and toward the bank of the creek.

  “No!” Samel said sharply. “Go away!”

  “Take it easy!” Zini replied, stomping out from the shadows behind her coven leader. “We aren’t going to jump him. We just came to talk before he tried to disappear again.”

  “I’m not disappearing again,” Herfod called from the water. “Where’s that soap?”

  Both women ignored the furious older monk and approached the bank. “If I toss it, you’ll lose it,” Uma said. “You had better come closer. You can use the rocks here for washing your laundry.”

  “You could cast one of your witchy cleansings and save me the trouble,” Herfod suggested, wading in closer. He pulled the remainder of his wet clothing from a nearby rock and pressed forward. “Hi, now! Don’t touch those! I’ve got poison on some!” he barked at Zini. She’d bent to inspect his weapons. He’d left them on a dry patch next to Samel.

  “Just looking!” she protested.

  “Well, just don’t unsheathe any. And stay away from the darts!”

  Samel was incensed enough with both witches that he shoved Zini off. “Go away! Both of you! You stay in that water, Herfod!”

  “Hey!” Zini cried, righting herself. “We said we weren’t going to jump him! Gods! We’re witches! We can’t fuck men!”

  “And Pell isn’t here,” Uma added, momentarily glowering at Zini for her crude language. “So what are you worried about?”

  “It’s indecent!” Samel said. “At least turn about.”

  Zini grinned. “We can look. It doesn’t hurt to look.”

  “Perverse women!” Samel accused. Herfod stepped up to his side, naked except for holding the wet clothes. “Herfod! Back in the water!”

  “Oh, come on,” Herfod said. “Uma can get this dog stench out quicker than soap and water.” He held out the dripping mess, pretty much exposing himself entirely. “Come on, then,” he begged the woman.

  “Oh, my! Isn’t that nice,” Zini commented. “What a waste on a monk.”

  Samel shoved Herfod back into the water. He fell with a huge splash and rose spluttering. His assassin costume started downstream.

  “My clothes!” He snatched the closest and threw it shoreward. He rushed after the rest.

  “See what you did?” Zini accused Samel, who glowered back at her.

  Herfod rounded up his fleeing habit and pants and waded toward the bank. His socks were lost forever, and he was rather irritated by this. They’d been his best ones. “You made me lose my socks! Don’t push me in again, gods bust it! They help birth babies! They know how everything works! And so do you! Stop being such a virgin about it!”

  The women laughed. Thanks to the darkness, Samel’s blush remained hidden, but his mouth became an evident thin line of disapproval. “You are worse than they are,” he snapped.

  “Where’s your humour gone, Samel?” Herfod said. “You weren’t like this a few weeks ago.” He issued from the water, grabbed his shirt from out of the mud and stepped back into the water to rinse it off. Samel glared at the two women as they admired his backside.

  Zini smiled at the older man. “Yes? Where has your sense of humour gone? You were always so pleasant before.”

  “That was before she—!” He cut off what he’d almost revealed.

  “She? Do you have a lover, Brother Herfod? For shame!” Zini mocked. “What am I thinking? Well done! It’s not such a waste on you after all.”

  Herfod scowled. “He’s not talking about a lover. He’s worried about the Ancient Power. We have a long time grudge against each other.” He shoved the clothing forward a second time. “Here, Uma. Get this dog stench off.”

  But the women, their amused expressions crumbling, only stared at him in shock. “The Ancient Power?” Uma repeated. “You know of her?”

  “I’ve met her, so to speak. She tried to suck me down a few times. Seen the crystal mouth once too often. Uma! Come on with the spell, or give me the
soap after all.”

  “The Antechamber,” Uma whispered, eliciting from Herfod a sharp look.

  “Brother Herfod,” Zini said, completely grave now. “What does the Mother want with you?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But I’m guessing that’s why Samel has lost his sense of humour. She tried again two weeks ago. He’s probably worried she’ll use your gang of white witches to take a go at me.” He shivered. “It’s getting cold out here.”

  “She could take a go at you,” Samel said. “The source of their power is the same.”

  “I’ve thought of that. I’ve come up with a solution.”

  “What?” All three of them demanded.

  “The clothing!” he shouted. “My ass is freezing! So are my balls! And what’s left of my cock is going to become an icicle and break off!”

  “Here!” his brother’s voice cut the night. He appeared out of the dark and swung his cloak over Herfod. “Get the clothing cleansed, Uma. The king wants him back now. You all might as well come along.”

  Uma cast the spell quickly.

  “They’re still wet,” Brother Herfod said, completely disgruntled.

  “Yes, but they don’t smell. Oh, give them to me! I’ll carry them for you. Zini! Get those weapons gathered in your apron. It’s time we learned what the hells is going on.” She poked Herfod in the side, making him jump sideways. “Move! We go see the king now.”

  “I’m going! I need my boots. Careful of the darts Zini! The tips are poisoned.”

  “I know already!”

  Samel set Herfod’s boots down before him. Herfod pulled them onto his bare feet and stomped away in nothing but a very large cloak. His brother, two witches and his flustered mentor followed after. It was a rather odd procession back to the pavilion. Fortunately it was dark. Brother Samel prayed his thankfulness to the gods for that.

  ***

  Standing at the table reading reports, Ugoth looked toward the entrance as Herfod bent beneath the flap. Ugoth raised a brow at the large cloak draped over Herfod, which he held up from the ground with a fist. Vik strode in just behind, and the king understood from whom Herfod’s overly long shroud had been borrowed.

  Right on Vik’s footsteps, two witches shoved the flap aside and rounded the taller man. The dumpling held dripping black and grey cloth. The taller had an apron full of leather and steel. Samel poked through the flap and stepped up beside Herfod. And there they all stood, to peer mutely at the king and witness the blue of his eyes frost with disapproval.

  “Did you invite everyone to watch you bathe?” he snarled at Herfod.

  “Gods bust it!” Herfod said. “Just give me some clothing!”

  “They showed up on their own, Majesty,” Brother Samel said quickly.

  “My, my!” Zini said. “That is just fine.”

  Ugoth glanced at her. His spine stiffened further. She was looking him up and down frankly, and he still wore nothing but his leather leggings and boots. Every muscle of his torso was well lined in the candlelight.

  Herfod stomped past him, smirking. “Show them what you’ve got, why don’t you? They have a fine appreciation for anatomy.” He thumped over to a trunk and bent. “What have you got in here?”

  “Clothing. Help yourself.” Ugoth retreated to his armchair and pulled his undershirt off it. He shrugged the garment over his shoulders and sat in the chair. He ignored the grinning witch. “Well?” he demanded, glaring at Vik. “I sent for your brother and you bring me witches. Why is that?”

  “Kehfrey was causing trouble again, of course.” Huffing out an annoyed breath, Vik stomped over to the seat he’d taken before and thumped onto it.

  “I was not,” Herfod protested. “I was about to fix some.” He had dragged a pair of leather leggings from out of the trunk. They were too big, but he hadn’t a choice until Samel provided a spare habit. Keeping his back turned and hiding beneath the cloak, Herfod pulled the leathers on. He had to bend to roll them up, at which point they fell off his butt. He dragged them higher and tightened the laces as much as he could.

  “What trouble might that be?” Ugoth asked.

  “How to get the monks and witches back on track without risking the Ancient Power taking a shot at me,” he answered. He found a matching tunic, but ignored it in favour of a simple undershirt.

  “I see,” Ugoth responded, and the very fact that he didn’t roar furiously informed Herfod that Vik had spoken with him concerning this very subject, likely only minutes earlier. “And what was the solution?” Ugoth went on.

  “Yes, what?” Zini said.

  “Brother Samel is the solution,” Herfod replied. He walked over to Vik and handed the cloak back. He pulled the borrowed undershirt over his slim frame. The garment was far too large and made him look like an underdeveloped boy. Well knowing it, he waddled about, grinning and flapping the long sleeves like a silly child.

  “Herfod!” Ugoth growled a warning. “Why is Samel the solution?”

  “Yes, Brother Herfod?” Samel put in, as perplexed as the rest and eager for an answer.

  “You already know how to take care of it, Samel,” Herfod said with the blitheness of one without a care. He in fact had many, but hid his disquiet well. “Just shoot me.”

  Ugoth stood. “Shoot you! Shoot you with what?”

  “Oh, yes!” Samel cried. “The aura balls!”

  “What?” Ugoth spat.

  “Yes? What?” Uma said. Still with dripping clothes before her, she stepped forward. “What is this?”

  “You know!” Herfod answered. “When a monk prays up a small orb in his hand and tosses it. That.”

  “That?” Ugoth snapped. “That would kill you! It’s for destroying the impure!”

  Herfod grinned and bowed.

  “Shit! Herfod! I mean the unholy!”

  The grin only grew wider.

  “Stop that before I break your head!” Ugoth threatened. He looked toward Brother Samel. “Is he insane?”

  Samel grinned this time. Ugoth scowled very heavily. Samel endeavoured to cut the smile off, but couldn’t quite. “I’m sorry, Majesty,” he said, “but you know he is.”

  Vik laughed, Herfod bowed again, and Ugoth smiled in spite of his dismay.

  “Well, Brother Samel,” Uma said. “Your good humour is back; therefore what revered, yet insane Brother Herfod suggests is workable. Why is that exactly?”

  “Yes, why?” Ugoth asked. “These things kill.”

  “Not him,” Samel answered. “They don’t kill him.”

  “Oh, yes, because of …?” Ugoth eyed Herfod, silently hinting about the soulstone. He couldn’t say it with the witches present.

  “No,” Herfod said. “They didn’t hurt before that either. Don’t ask. I have no idea why this is.”

  Ugoth shook his head in disgust. One more mystery. He looked inquiringly at Samel.

  “He is a very blessed Saint Turamen brother,” Samel said proudly. “The gods just won’t kill him.”

  “Samel!” Herfod protested. “I said to stop saying that.”

  “Why? You might remember to act more reverent if I continue,” his senior snapped. Herfod folded his arms angrily. The sleeves flopped about ridiculously. Samel glowered at the overly-large apparel and turned about. “I will bring you another habit. Then you will come to our section of the camp where you belong.”

  He was just lifting the flap when the king stopped him. “Bring the habit tomorrow,” Ugoth commanded. “I have things to discuss in private with him. You may all leave.”

  Vik immediately rose. Samel, confused but obedient, performed a monk’s bow of farewell. He left the tent quietly. The two witches, still burdened and still very curious, frowned disappointedly at the king, but they didn’t dare object.

  “I’ll hang his clothes up and bring them about tomorrow,” Uma said. Herfod thanked her politely. She nodded and left.

  Zini knelt and let the load of daggers, straps and sheaths drop to the canvas flooring. “Well, Brother Herfod,”
she said as she rose. “You’re full of surprises, and I’m glad you’re on our side.” With that, she followed after Uma.

  Vik was the last to leave, pausing to look back at his brother from the entrance. “I have your sword,” he said.

  “I was hoping so. Is my gang here?”

  “Yes. They’ve been mixing it up with mine. Three broken arms in the last four days. All healed, of course.”

  Herfod grinned. “Lazy bastards. Not one broken leg or a staved in head?”

  Vik laughed. “About the sword,” he said. “I had a belt made for you.”

  Herfod stiffened in concern. “You didn’t toss the harness, did you?”

  “No, but Kehfrey, you always said you’d switch to a belt later. It’s later.”

  “I’m used to the harness.”

  “Your sword will fall out of the sheath,” Vik objected. “There’s no spell to keep the weapon in, not since your induction as a holy brother. You know that.”

  “I’ve figured how to ward it in,” Herfod said. “Bit of holy prayer, and the swords sticks like it’s glued. Until I want it out, that is.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose you can continue to be a stubborn nit and bear the sword in your usual awkward manner.”

  “Yes, thanks, I will,” Herfod said sourly.

  Grinning, Vik waved farewell, and then Herfod and his king were alone in the tent.

  “Seal it,” Ugoth commanded. “Just from intrusion, not from calls for attention.”

  Herfod performed the chant. “We can be heard from outside,” he warned after.

  “But no one can get in?” Ugoth asked. He stepped closer.

  “No, but they can see shadows on the tent walls still. I didn’t seal it from spying. The spy warding is an all or nothing chant.”

  Ugoth’s forward momentum faltered. Smirking, Herfod thumped down on the chair his brother had vacated. He looked at their shadows on the canvas. “I realize Ulmeniran royalty aren’t very interested in luxuries other than better hunting grounds,” he said, “but a summer pavilion with multiple canvas walls to deflect and blur shadows might be a good idea. Not just for privacy, I mean. Enemies shouldn’t be given such a clear view of your location within the structure.”