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

by Mark Whiteway

  “Sand scarags.” He raised his eyes and indicated Shann with a nod of his head. “She can explain them to you.”

  “Er... well, they are desert creatures.” She flattened her palm and indicated her waist. “About this high and they have great big claws and tails with these massive stingers. A group of them attacked us on our way here the first time. We only just managed to drive them off.”

  “Well done.” Alondo continued to fuss over his instrument whilst adopting the air of one charged with the teaching of small children. “Now, can anyone tell me what attracts a sand scarag... ? Anyone... ?”

  Shann had exhausted her knowledge. Patris had little interest in desert creatures, and the other two came from worlds where such things didn’t exist. They regarded each other with empty expressions.

  Alondo snapped his fingers in a ‘time’s up’ gesture. “Sound. Or, more precisely, vibration. And what does this instrument produce?”

  “Vibration.” Rael affirmed, light dawning in his eyes.

  Shann closed her eyes and held up one hand. “Hold on a moment. The last time you used your vortex arm, it drove the creatures away. It didn’t attract them.”

  Alondo stood and raised an index finger. “Correct. However, it should be comparatively simple to re-modulate the emitters to produce a low, steady pulse, of the kind that would be likely to get their attention.”

  “You would need to determine the optimum frequency range,” Rael commented.

  “Exactly,” Alondo said, now thoroughly swept away on the crest of his idea. “That’s what I’m doing now. We’ll see what setting they respond to.”

  “These are dangerous wild beasts,” McCann began.

  “Most certainly,” Alondo agreed.

  “And your plan is to bring them here in droves. Is that wise?”

  “It is today.” Alondo’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry, this is only a test; I’ll shut the thing off long before they get here.”

  McCann’s expression was hard to read under all that facial hair, but Shann could sense scepticism radiating from him in waves.

  Alondo was not in the least bit deterred. “Now, what do you think the Keltar and soldiers at the compound will do when they see a ravening horde of sand scarags bearing down on them?”

  “They’ll run,” Patris said.

  Shann could feel something. More of a sensation than a sound; it hovered at the lower limit of her hearing.

  “Yes, but where? Where will they run to?” Alondo posed.

  “The fortress,” she exclaimed. “They will make for the protective walls of the fortress.” Her headlong excitement slammed straight into a wall and her expression flattened. “But what about the tributes? They’ll be caught out in the open.”

  “Not if we time it right. All we have to do is wait until one of the lock-down periods, when the tributes are confined to their barracks. They should be quite safe in there. I set up the instrument somewhere in the compound, flick a switch, and wait for the fun to begin. Speaking of which... ”

  He was gazing at the horizon. She swivelled around and saw an angry sandstorm brewing to the north. Then one to the northeast and another to the west. All headed straight for them. “Turn it off.”

  Alondo appeared distracted. “What?”

  “Turn it off,” the other four chorused.

  He came to and hit a switch. The low vibration died. After a few moments, the clouds of sand dissipated and the desert was still once again.

  “Well, it works,” he said, unnecessarily.

  Irritation filled air with the beat of its wings. Finally, Patris asked, “So, how exactly do you propose to get inside?”

  Alondo grinned. “Ah, that’s the easy part.”

  “It is?” Shann retorted.

  “Why, sure. When do you think it was that these loyal, dedicated, hard-working troops last enjoyed some quality entertainment?”

  <><><><><>

  Chapter 40

  It was to be the first and only performance of the New Desert Players. However, if everything went to plan, then it would certainly be a memorable one.

  “Which of you can sing?” Alondo had inquired.

  “I’m not very good.”

  “Not me.”

  “No way.”

  “Dance, then.”

  “What?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Alondo spread his hands. “Look, it’s not like this is a playhouse in central Chalimar. You don’t have to do anything fancy. I’m the professional. Just follow my lead, all right?”

  “Well, I’m staying right here,” McCann declared. “I can’t risk drawing that much attention; I might be recognised as a non-Kelanni. And besides, someone has to stay and make sure that no one runs off with that morgren-thing, or the rest of our supplies.”

  “I’ll make my own way in, posing as a merchant or something,” Patris said. “I can keep an eye on you from a distance. In case you get into any trouble.”

  Shann and Rael glared at them.

  “Then it’s decided,” Alondo said cheerfully. “We’ll have the two of you, dancing along with the music.”

  “I told you. I don’t know how to dance,” Shann reminded him.

  “Oh, just show ’em your legs; you’ll get a standing ovation.”

  “Alondo!”

  “Look, this is a remote outpost filled with soldiers longing for any kind of diversion. You’ll be fine. You will need an act of your own, though... ”

  Rael sounded increasingly worried. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Well, it’s going to take time to set up the vortex arm and generate the pulse. I can hardly do that on stage, in full view of the patrons. I’ll have to do it backstage, during the interval, while you keep them amused with your support act.”

  “Support act?” Shann and Rael exclaimed together.

  It turned out to be something called mime. No speech or singing, just acting out part of a story involving two mismatched sweethearts and some hilarious situations. The advantage was that they didn’t need to worry about props, since they would just act the thing out as if the props were invisibly there. “Plus,” Alondo pointed out, “if you make a mistake, no one in this audience will really know or care.”

  He took them through the sequence a couple of times, then announced, “Now for the costumes.”

  A while later, they stood side by side; she in a cut-down version of the pale blue gown she had worn during their night out at the Calandra in Sakara, he in one of Alondo’s changes of clothing—a bright green jacket and vermillion trousers with a yellow stripe running down them. The jacket was short and baggy and the trousers came halfway up his legs.

  McCann and Patris sat watching the spectacle, barely able to contain themselves.

  Rael threw his arms in the air. “I can’t go like this. I look ridiculous.”

  Alondo walked over, carrying his smile, and threw an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the concept, my friend. It’s called en-ter-tain-ment. The sillier you look, the better.”

  Rael glowered at him from behind a cloud. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. That’s the whole point.”

  A short while later, the New Desert Players danced and pranced and juggled and jangled their way along the desert road and arrived at the open gates of wood and iron that lay on either side of the fortress entrance.

  An old soldier with a withering look and bad teeth barred their path. “Wha’s all this ’ere, then?”

  “Good day, handsome fellow.” Alondo bowed expansively, making a sweep of his red hat that encompassed the entire courtyard. “My fellow thespians and I, fresh from our triumphant tour of the Eastern Provinces, where we regaled such notables as the Guildmaster of Sakara and the lords of Leota and Kalath-Kar, having presently arrived at your charming burg, desire to imbibe a small libation and to take our ease at a well-appointed hostelry, to wit, an inn
, in advance of our planned performance this very eve.”

  The soldier stood motionless as a statue. Finally, he stepped aside and spoke in a gruff voice. “All right, on yer way. And don’ be causin’ no trouble.”

  As the party moved off, the soldier was joined by his companion. She heard the words “... bunch ’o bloody actors. What next... ?” and “... place is becomin’ a madhouse... ”

  Alondo led them towards the pens where the morgren were kept. He spoke in low tones. “All right, remember. Stay close. Keep quiet. Let me do all the talking... And smile for goodness’ sake; you’re supposed to be entertainers.”

  He took care of the stabling, then inquired as to the whereabouts of the garrison commander and was directed to a low structure adjoining the inner wall, known as the casemate.

  “Wait here,” he ordered before ducking through the door. A while later, he emerged, announcing, “Well, it seems we have a booking.” He marched away up the narrow street.

  Shann and Rael hurried after him. “Where are you off to?” she asked.

  “To find an inn,” he replied, without looking back. “I need a drink.”

  ~

  “... Fair Conallee, I dream of thee,

  “From far beyond the Borgoth Sea,

  “Where unknown lands lie green and low,

  “And sparkling crystal rivers flow.

  “And when I weary of its charms,

  “Then shall I hurry to your arms,

  “And I shall be once more with thee,

  “My dearest, darling Conallee.”

  As the strains to ‘The Ballad of Fair Conallee’ faded away on the warm evening air, rapturous applause erupted from the audience of soldiers and townsfolk, seated cheek by jowl in the open area of the compound. The Keltar—some fifteen or so individuals in their distinctive black garb—stood separately off to the side but appeared to be enjoying the performance no less.

  Shann brought her dance to a stop and released Rael thankfully. To say that he had two left feet would have been a gross exaggeration of his abilities. Dancing with him was exquisite torture. He had no sense of rhythm, and his arms and legs were everywhere except where they should be—she had the bruises to prove it. The audience, on the other hand, loved their inept performance, taking it to be a comic foil to Alondo’s playing, and they whooped and roared in time with her various injuries.

  Alondo had just delivered the punch line to a humorous anecdote involving two morgren, a washerwoman, and a pair of undergarments. “And now I must leave you for a short while, but I will return soon. In the meantime, I present to you Shannie and Raeloff, who will now render the torrid tale of Callabus and Syntarr.”

  He bowed three times, milking the thunderous applause, and then disappeared behind the hastily erected curtain that formed the backdrop to their performance. The interval. Shann prodded Rael and they began their routine.

  She executed the movements mechanically. Rael’s responses were off, as usual, and the audience’s reaction was muted, but she didn’t care. Her mind was with Alondo and the task he was performing backstage. Come on. Get a move on.

  Then she felt it. Less than a sound but more than a rumble, the pulse had an almost subliminal quality, so that at first she thought it must be her imagination.

  Suddenly, a ragged cry of alarm sounded from the throat of one of the few guards left on duty. Confusion spread through the crowd like a contagion. Shouts. Some stood, seeking the source of the disturbance; others demanded that they sit down and stop spoiling the performance.

  The Keltar, on the other hand, reacted instantly, dispersing, yelling orders, and setting off at a run to check the perimeter.

  Rael dropped his hands and glanced around nervously. Shann was about to hiss at him to pick up where he left off when she caught sight of the first of them. Above the palisade, a cheliped waved in dubious greeting; a flat head and eye stalks appeared soon after. Somewhere in the shifting mass of people, a woman screamed.

  The creature wavered a moment before dropping inside the enclosure. The ripple became a rout as people clamoured for the exit. A smattering of stalwart soldiers braved the clacking mandibles and sting-laden tail until half a dozen more sand scarags began swarming over the stockade. The soldiers took one look, dropped their pikes and short swords, and ran.

  Rael stood immobile, turned to stone by the spectacle being played out in front of him. She grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him behind the curtain. To her surprise, she found Alondo packing up.

  “I shut off the pulse for now. Don’t want them swarming in here. How’s the performance going?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s a riot out there,” she quipped. “Where are you going?”

  “The fortress. With the others. I’ll turn the pulse on again once I’m inside the walls.”

  “No way. You’ll be trapped.”

  He shrugged. “Only until I decide to deactivate it.”

  “But if they discover what you’re doing—”

  “They won’t. Besides, someone has to keep them bottled up so you can free the tributes and get them far away from here. Don’t worry. I’ll catch up to you.”

  He slung the vortex arm across his back, shouldered his pack, pecked her on the cheek, and, before she could react, was gone.

  <><><><><>

  Chapter 41

  Shann stepped out from behind the curtain with Rael in tow and came face to face with Patris.

  The sailor-thief looked from one to the other and back again. “Where’s Alondo?”

  “He’s gone to the fortress to set up the pulse from there,” she replied, her heart heavy.

  Patris’s mouth twitched slightly as if he were trying to frame the obvious question. How is he going to get out of there? Mercifully, the words that came out were different. “I see. Well, I assume the next task is going to be to free the tributes. Let’s get going.”

  They threaded their way through the abandoned possessions that littered the compound. Somewhere off to their right, beyond the stockade, the sand scarags would soon be massing against the fortress’s sheer outer walls, like surf breaking against the foot of a cliff.

  First Lyall. Then Keris. Now Alondo. Was that how it was going to be? Was she going to be forced to watch as each of her friends gave themselves one by one in noble sacrifice, foundation stones in a monument to a great and glorious failure?

  We’re not dead yet.

  At the first hut, she pulled back the iron bolt and hauled the door open; she and Rael stepped inside. Bleary eyes blinked in the half-light, but none she recognised. Her heart flipped and died. She started into her prepared speech. “My name is Shann. This is Rael. We have come to take you back to your homes and families. Please wait outside in the compound while we free the others.”

  “The soldiers,” someone croaked. “The Keltar?”

  “They are gone,” she said, trying to inject some compassion into her tired voice. “No one will harm you. Please, gather your possessions as quickly as possible and come with us.”

  The tributes stared at the girl in the frilly blue dress and the boy in the badly fitting suit, then started to file out through the door, too weary either to laugh or to resist.

  The second hut uncovered more inmates—dazed and disbelieving, like animals led to slaughter—but still no sign of Roanol.

  Leaving Patris to oversee the growing throng, Shann and Rael headed off in the direction of the last hut.

  Rael said nothing, but she could tell what he was thinking. If these people were their new allies against the Prophet’s forces, then their campaign was scarcely any better off than it was before. Most were sick or malnourished. Some had to be carried on litters; others could barely stand. They couldn’t even take on a bunch of raw recruits, never mind Keltar.

  With Rael’s help, she wrested open the door. She hesitated at the threshold.

  Rael put a hand on her shoulder and stepped ahead of her. “All right, listen up all of you. We’re getting you out of here now. Just
follow us.”

  The same bewildered looks. The same blank, uncomprehending stares.

  Then, “Shann.” The cry came from the rear of the group. A youth with bright blue eyes and hair the colour of desert sand broke through the front line and seized her by the shoulders. “Shann, it is you!” He hugged her, leaning backwards so that her feet lifted clear off the ground. She tried to respond but found that she was fighting for air. “I knew you would come.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  Rael deflated like a popped balloon.

  Her boots came into contact with the floor once more and she found her voice. “This is Roanol... ” She trailed off. Suddenly, no explanation seemed adequate.

  “Leskin is in a bad way,” Roanol said. “We have to help him.” He threw an arm around her shoulders, and she allowed herself to be led away. Behind her, the boy who had faithfully followed her across half a world now drifted, alone and bereft on an ocean of hurt.

  ~

  A thin raggedy line crawled, trudged, limped, and stumbled its way through the vast Southern Desert. An army already defeated, without a battle. Their objective, the nameless outpost that lay to the north of Gort, was determined not by some master strategy designed to lead them to victory, but by a single imperative. Water.

  A few able-bodied tributes, including Roanol, had loosely armed themselves with discarded or crudely manufactured weapons and were taking orders from Shann. Leskin—laid up with a fever of some kind— had nonetheless been sufficiently lucid both to recognize her and to bestow his approval. It was enough to settle any question of authority.

  Remembering Keris’s tactics in similar circumstances, she split the volunteers into two groups to cover the column’s rear and van, respectively. She did not give much for their chances in the event of an ambush, but she told herself it was better than nothing.

  It also gave her the opportunity to place Rael and Roanol as far apart as possible. Rael had been sullen and uncommunicative ever since they had freed the tributes. Roanol, on the other hand, seemed to delight in every opportunity to shower her with warmth and affection. She felt confused and under pressure from both of them, and she resented it. However, she also needed them both. Putting them at opposite ends of the column meant that she did not have to try to sort out her feelings—for now at least.