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

by Mark Whiteway

  Splashes of deep claret washed away the golden glow to the east as evening gradually gave way to night. McCann was waiting for them along the track. She felt a ripple of apprehension pass along the line. No one besides her and Roanol had encountered a hu-man before, and the grotesque appearance of this one, with his bulky torso and luxuriant facial growth, was unsettling, to say the least.

  Stepping forward, crimson cloak draped once more about her shoulders, she raised her voice and tried to sound authoritative. “This is Alexander McCann. He is not Kelanni. He is... ” She was not going to lie to these people. “He is hu-man. He is of the same race as Wang, the individual known to you as the Prophet.”

  She allowed a moment for the murmuring to subside. “However, he is working with us now, to free the Kelanni from hu-man domination. You are to trust him as you would Leskin... or me.”

  The expressions on the faces of some showed that this was a lot for them to swallow, but no voices were raised in dissension. She allowed her words to hang in the air a moment longer. Then, “All right, let’s move out.”

  McCann sidled up to her and whispered in her ear, “Thanks for the ringing endorsement.”

  “Shut up.”

  He was another complication she didn’t need right now. She strode off along the rough desert road without looking back.

  A while later, he reappeared at her elbow. “Would you like to know what’s happening at Chalimar right now?”

  She considered various possible replies and opted in the end for sarcasm. “I thought you lost your Ring at Akalon.”

  “Oh, I don’t need to Ring them. The Keltar at Gort will already have done that. The authorities at the keep will be busy plotting our demise.” He began to count off on his fingers. “Say, a day or two for them to marshal a sufficient number of troops. Then two to three days more for them to march down here and stomp all over us.”

  “We’re not dead yet.”

  “No, not for another three to five days at any rate.”

  She wished she had an answer for him. Her determination had been to carry forward Lyall’s original plan to free the captives at Gort and to fulfil her promise to Roanol and the others. Now she was just making it up as she went along.

  They reached the southern outpost shortly before dawn. Leaving the main column a short way off, she advanced on the smattering of single-storey stone constructs with a party consisting of McCann, Patris, Roanol, and a select group of the more agile tributes. Rael was back with the column. When she had ordered him to stay behind, he had not replied or even looked at her. I don’t have time for this.

  First, secure the outpost’s water and supplies. Then she could work out what to do next. She gave a hand signal, and they crouched down together near the road. Two guards were clearly visible flanking the tiny guardhouse. “We need to overpower them before they can raise the alarm.”

  “It won’t matter,” McCann maintained. “When they fail to report in, the authorities at the keep will know exactly where we are.”

  She rounded on him. “If you’d rather go rejoin your hu-man friends, then just say the word.” A dozen pairs of eyes were staring at her.

  Roanol spoke into the tense silence. “Shann is right. We don’t know how many of them there are. We have to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible.”

  It wasn’t what she had meant, but she let the comment stand. She took McCann and five of the others and dispatched Patris, Roanol, and the rest to take care of the other guard.

  The desert was deathly quiet; every rustle or swish of their clothing seemed amplified. Fortunately, their quarry was leaning on his pike and appeared to be on his last legs.

  Shann started to rise up and felt a restraining hand on her shoulder. To her surprise, it was McCann. He made a ‘stay here’ gesture and set off by himself on a low run. A few moments later, a meaty arm whipped out across the sentry’s face, covering his nose and mouth. The Kelanni’s weapon dropped to the sand, and his arms and legs thrashed about before he finally went limp.

  She gestured to the others of her company and circled around the rear. Patris’s group stood in a loose knot. In front of them, the other guard lay flat on the sand. She checked inside the guardhouse, but it was empty. The largest of the stone edifices—that would be the barracks.

  She indicated it and led the reunited team across the open ground. Flattening her back to the wall, with Roanol at her shoulder, she listened. There was no sound from within. She pointed to McCann and the largest of the Kelanni and jerked a thumb at the door. They nodded to each other, stepped forward, raised a leg, and kicked together with all the force they could muster.

  The wood burst from its hinges and they shoved their way inside, the others hard on their heels. Moments later they reappeared, dragging four bleary-eyed soldiers in long undergarments and throwing them unceremoniously onto the sand. The four raised their hands in capitulation. The outpost was theirs.

  She turned to the tall Kelanni who had helped kick in the door. “Take three men and pick up the two sentries. Then put them all in here and post a guard till we decide what to do with them. Roanol. Take three more and locate the stores. Then post another guard and begin taking an inventory. Make a separate list of any weapons you come across. The rest of you are with me. We’ll bring the column in, set up camp, and begin distributing water from the well.”

  The raiding party broke up and set about their various tasks. McCann caught up to her once more. “Nicely done. Clean. Efficient. You did a good job.”

  An isolated way station manned by poorly motivated troops, caught by surprise, and outnumbered two to one. It was hardly the greatest victory of all time. Still, she appreciated the compliment.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “About earlier.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Burdens of command. Think nothing of it. The Captain has said far worse to me in his time.”

  Ever since she had learned of the Prophet’s true origins, she had thought of hu-mans as ruthless, selfish, and dangerous. Yet McCann and Susan Gilmer, the only two she had really known, showed loyalty, patience, and tolerance. Maybe they are not so different from us after all.

  They crested a small rise and caught sight of the tribute column. She caught her breath. No longer spread out along the desert road, they were pressed together in a circle. All around them, fencing them in, stood soldiers with weapons poised, interspersed with Keltar clad in charcoal-black.

  The column was surrounded.

  <><><><><>

  Chapter 42

  Shann stared at the scene spread out before her and trawled for explanations. No detachment sent from Chalimar could possibly have gotten here this fast. Unless they had already been on their way... a relief contingent, maybe? If true, then she and the others were victims of an incredible piece of bad timing. However, there was one other possibility—that these were soldiers from Gort who had somehow managed to break through the horde of sand scarags ringing the fortress and catch up to them here.

  “I’m going down there,” she announced.

  “Shann, you can’t.” It was Roanol.

  “I can’t just walk away. Someone has to find out what’s what. Negotiate with these people if necessary. Wait here.”

  She trotted off down the slope without waiting for an answer.

  Shouts rang out. Two figures broke away and headed in her direction—one in studded leather armour with shining brass plates, the other in Keltar black.

  The Keltar approached to within a few paces and then halted. He was lean and dark as the departing night and his face was contorted into a scowl. “And who might you be?”

  She raised her head and set her jaw. “My name is Shann. I speak for these people.”

  “These people,” he indicated behind him with a flick of the head, “are tributes escaped from Gort. They are fugitives. No one speaks for them.”

  “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 long
er 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.”