by Dora Machado
The keeper began to ask, “Then how will we—”
“This is a matter for stone.”
Sariah worked quickly, attaching the stones she had brought onto the bars with weaved twine soaked in frog slime. The grill was about two spans wide and consisted of four vertical bars crossed by a dozen or so horizontal bars. She was careful not to touch the stone wall, placing her eight stones at the innermost bars’ crucible, opposite to each other and above the muck line. She worked them two at a time, pressing her palms against the amplifying stones she placed in between, seeking the stones’ primal heat and stoking it with her mind.
She had done this once before, in the Shield's fortress. It had taken her days. Now she was better prepared. Not only had she selected the darkest basalts she had been able to find, but the addition of the amplifying stone served as a speeding catalyst. Within a few moments, the first set of bars began to glow as red as her bracelet. As soon as the bars gave way, Sariah folded the melted metal out of the way with her weaved hands, and moved down to the next pair.
Delis whistled. Even the Hounds were impressed.
She was a bit dizzy when she was done. “Careful now.” She climbed over the lower bars and slid sideways through the narrow opening. She motioned for the others to follow. “Whatever you do, don't rattle the bars.” She breathed again only after the last man passed through.
“Your turn, Jol.” Sariah pointed to the shaft overhead. “It's straight, narrow and slippery.”
“We'll get you up.” The keeper whispered a curt set of orders. Torkel planted himself beneath the shaft. The others surprised Sariah by coiling some rope around her waist and lifting her onto Torkel's well-muscled shoulders.
“All you have to do is keep your balance,” the keeper said.
Balance wouldn't be a problem. She took a peek up the shaft. It was too narrow to allow for a fall. That's why the Guild used children to scrub the walls. Sariah was full grown now. She worried about getting stuck in there. The methodology for going up became clear an instant later.
“I go next.” Delis puffed and grappled.
Beneath Sariah's boots, Torkel's shoulders strained with effort.
Delis tapped her calves. “Shift your feet to my shoulders.”
Sariah rose up the shaft by Delis's full height. The Hounds were building height with their bodies, propelling her upwards by intercalating one man at a time on top of the base man, the only possible point of insertion. She felt sorry for Torkel, bearing the tower's full weight at the bottom of the pile. She was glad for his strength.
The ascent had its moments. They struggled to fit in the narrow shaft, the Hounds and Delis more than Sariah, on account of their larger build. The human lift progressed. Illuminating the way with her bracelet's glow, Sariah kept count of the side shafts as she passed. She was thankful for each unoccupied privy seat.
At last, she arrived to the last side shaft, where the main tunnel ended. A burst of fresh air hit her face. She leaned to one side and saw the dark shape of the round privy seat framing a hint of silver light. Someone had left the privy turret's window open. Now she had to figure out how to climb up the last few paces of the secondary shaft.
The howl startled her into action. It was the night's first signal. Somewhere, a Hound was unwrapping his ward and beginning his run. The side shaft was slippery. Despite Sariah's efforts, she kept on sliding backwards.
“Can you give me a boost somehow?”
A whispered discussion ensued below and quickly thereafter, a count of three. The entire human structure where she stood flexed like a copper spring, launching Sariah a few feet into the side shaft, enough that she could grasp the privy seat's wooden edge with both hands. She hung there for a moment, gathering her strength for the final push.
She hauled herself up through the seat's opening, first the coil of rope, then an arm and a shoulder, then her head, then the other shoulder, until she was finally half-out of the shaft. Crawling up the privy shafts. There had to be an easier way. She had just managed to twist her hips out when a strangulated gasp echoed in the tiny chamber. Her head snapped up. Standing by the open door, a dark-robed stonewiser stared at her, openmouthed.
She read it all in his darkening eyes. Surprise. Disbelief. Had she fallen into the privy? Denial. Suspicion. He opened his mouth to call the alarm. By then Sariah's knee was anchored on the privy seat and her stone was loaded in her whirling sling. Her shot found his temple just in time to mute his cry. He crumbled on the floor like a fallen boulder.
She rushed to drag him into the privy turret and closed the door. She snapped the bolt shut, just in case. Hurry now. Her plan had been three seconds away from being foiled. She tied the knotted rope to the window bars and dropped it down the shaft. Despite the recent fright, she was amused when Delis's head popped out of the privy, followed, one by one, by the keeper, Torkel and a host of full-grown Hounds. Stinking, scraped, but smiling, they huddled in the small turret like mischievous pledges plotting a prank.
“Saba?” Torkel gestured at the man on the floor. “You?”
“Make sure they don't find him for a while.” He would have a bad headache tomorrow.
Now to the second part of her plan. She cracked the door open and scoured the deserted hallway. With the others in tow, she tiptoed down the hall to the first door on the right. She listened. As she expected, no one was in the dressing room. The black stonewiser robes were folded neatly, stacked on floor-to-ceiling shelves and organized by sizes. It took them all but a few moments to change. They tucked their dirty weaves at the bottom of the laundry pile.
Sariah was shocked when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Dressed in the black robe, the stonewiser that stared back at her was not really her, but rather her old self, the foolishly naïve lease she had once been. The only thing missing was her stonewiser's brooch.
No, nay, no. She was a different person now. The stonewiser in the mirror was tanned and toned, slightly wider at the waist, wary and alert. The gaudy bracelet was glowing on her wrist. She also sported long bangs and plaited hair. So did some of her companions. That would be a sure giveaway.
“Wear a hooded mantle.” Sariah grabbed one from the shelves. Guild wisers were issued the additional garment during the chill. It was the best concealment that she had been able to think of and it would have to do. She took care to cover her bracelet's glow as well.
If she remembered correctly, they didn't have too far to go. She marched her little party down the hall and up a circular set of stairs. It felt strange to walk these halls. She had once belonged here. Now she was an intruder.
“Where are we?” the keeper asked.
“We're in the Hall of Stones’ living quarters,” Sariah whispered. “This next floor is bound to be more active.”
Indeed, at the top of the stairs, a pair of armed guards blocked their way.
“Halt, stonewisers,” one of the guards said. “What's your business here?”
Sariah managed to keep her voice steady. “We've been summoned to the Prime Hand's quarters.”
“At this hour?”
“The Prime Hand never sleeps.”
The guard's pinched expression relaxed. “You know her well. Go ahead.”
Sariah walked on. She didn't look back when she heard the guards’ muffled grunts. They had been dutiful young men. Now they were dead.
The doors to the Prime Hand's chambers were to her right, flanked by additional guards. Sariah turned left and up a smaller set of stairs to reach a smallish door leading to the darkened gallery. There would be no eager pledges crowding the private gallery this late, no little future stonewisers waiting nervously for the Prime Hand's weekly admonishment. The keeper closed the door behind the last man and bolted it from the inside. There was no turning back.
Protected by the gallery's pitch darkness, Sariah and her companions crawled to the balcony's edge. Her hands were shaking. Her sight was blurred. Her heart was beating too hard. The first time she had stood in this
gallery as a child, she had been sent to the box. The last time she had seen Grimly, the Prime Hand had commanded her death. Sariah had a sudden urge to run away from the keep, from the Guild she had renounced, from Grimly. Instead, she braced herself on the rail and looked down into the Prime Hand's private bed chamber.
Thirty-three
THE PRIME HAND'S bedchamber was an expansive, luxurious realm, contrasting in all ways with the average stonewiser's ascetic cell at the keep. A huge bed stood as the chamber's centerpiece, adorned by an exquisitely carved headboard and a heavy set of silk and velvet curtains. A massive table stood at the foot of the bed, directly beneath the gallery. There, sitting on a high-back chair and surrounded by a host of lit and perfumed candles, was Mistress Grimly.
From where she was, Sariah could see the top of the Prime Hand's head, the even crown of bristling white hair bent over the map spread on the table. There were others in the room, but Sariah's eyes were glued to the small white stone that moved of its own accord along the section representing the keep's wall on the map.
“Tell them to set a trap at the south bend,” Mistress Grimly was saying. “She'll be there in moments. We have her now. She'll never know how we knew.”
The mistress was wrong. Sariah had figured out that the tracking stone Horatio had put in her pocket had a matching stone, following her progress along on the mistress's map. It had been a risk, to allow the Prime Hand to track her that closely, but Sariah had wagered that Grimly wouldn't send her guard out of the keep for fear of Arron's Shield. She had been right.
“What's this?” Grimly said. “The stone has stopped. Do we have her? Well?”
A man's voice came from the window. “The fire signals indicate that they're looking. Wait. There's a change. No one's there.”
“What do you mean?” the mistress said. “She was there a moment ago. She has to be there!”
Sariah let out a slow breath. With luck, the Hound running that track had buried the stone he carried and made his getaway.
“Look,” the other stonewiser said. “She's moving again.”
The tracking stone was now on the opposite side of the keep, moving swiftly through the orchards.
“Tell them,” the mistress said. “Hurry. They can trap her at the presses.”
The man at the window played with his flares, conveying a new direction.
“She's too fast.” The other stonewiser leaned over the Prime Hand's shoulder. “Look at her go. She's running straight for the ponds. She has nowhere to go.”
It was one of the riskier tracks Sariah had devised. She wondered if it would work. The second howl of the night sent a chill down her spine.
“What's that?” the mistress asked.
“Wolves, I think.”
All of a sudden, Sariah recognized the man's voice. A quick peek over the railing confirmed her suspicions. Julean, who had been Horatio Maliver's second in command when Horatio was the Main Shield, was now working for Grimly. He had been forced by the Prime Hand to take over the Shield's command when Horatio had deserted his post and abandoned the Shield in the battle against Arron at the broken wall. Not only was the Guild divided, but the Shield also had been split by Arron and Grimly's fray. Julean must have suffered more than defeat at his first command, because the scars of a terrible burn deformed a large patch on his cheek.
“Wolves?” the Prime Hand asked. “So close? Are you sure?”
“Tracks have been found,” Julean said, “and a dead sheep last night, outside of town.”
The Hounds were thorough in all they did.
“We'll catch her soon,” Julean said. “She'll be brought into the keep as she deserves. In chains.”
The tracking stone stopped again.
“What's happening now?” the mistress said. “Where is she?”
Sariah prayed for the Hound she had sent into the icy ponds. Hurry, she urged the next man. As if he had been listening, the stone moved abruptly to the other side of the ponds and began a rapid run.
“How could she go that far, that fast?” the mistress said. “Did she swim? Is she riding?”
“We've no report of horses,” Julean said from his post at the window.
“We're going to lose her. Julean, those fools of yours are useless. Forget the flares. Go to your men and lead them yourself.”
The clatter of Julean's boots on the floor announced his obedient departure.
“Worthless bunch of buffoons,” the Prime Hand muttered. “Nothing's right since the Guild split.”
“And all because of a rogue wiser,” the other stonewiser said. “All of this because of Sariah.”
“Ilian, refrain from foaming at the mouth for the moment, won't you?” the Prime Hand said. “You're here for the night, to witness Sariah's capture, nothing else.”
Ilian? Sariah's mind spun with the shock. She dared another look over the balcony. She had been so keen on the tracking stone that she had neglected to identify the other stonewiser in the chamber. What was Ilian doing here? Ilian was Arron's creature; she wouldn't cooperate with the Prime Hand unless… Did Arron want Ilian to work with Grimly?
“Now?” the keeper asked.
The prospect of facing the Prime Hand had been frightening. The prospect of facing both Grimly and Ilian was daunting. It was not too late. Her baby's safety increased in direct proportion to her distance from the keep. Forget the beam. Someone else could finish the job. She had wised the seven twin stones. She had wised Leandro's game and the sages’ statues. Wasn't it enough?
Two fortnights or the darkness of generations.
Twenty-seven nights had passed.
Sariah fortified the protective weave about her womb and fisted her hands around the rope the keeper had tied to the rail. She swallowed a gulp of fear and mouthed “Now.”
As kidnappings go, this one went as well as planned.
It took the Hounds but a moment to secure the chamber and the two women. The days of planning, the fear and anxiety, they were all worth it to see the surprise on Grimly and Ilian's bewildered faces.
“Is this a trap?” Ilian whirled on the Prime Hand. “We had an agreement, safe conduct to witness Sariah's capture. Arron will have your head for this.”
“No, it's not a trap.” The Prime Hand kept her calm. “Our dear Sariah has come home.”
Home? Sariah couldn't believe her ears. “Those claws at your back must be making you delusional.”
“Didn't you get my messages recalling you?”
“I got your messages fine, the ones that put a price on my head, the ones that bribed a good many for my capture.”
“I sent people to look for you, that's true, but I never wanted you hurt. I wanted you safely returned.”
“You mean like Horatio Maliver? You told him you had his son and he believed you.”
“Given the proper motivation, I knew that Horatio would find you. I wanted to help you.”
“With help like yours, who needs hindrance?”
“Now child, I warned you about the dangers. I told you about the violence of the world outside the keep.” The mistress took a step towards Sariah. A flash of claws stopped her in her tracks. She ran a single finger over one of the Hound's blades. “Very clever. I see that you have some new friends. What happened to your old friends? Are these, err, gentlemen from the land beyond the Bastions?”
“I'm not inclined to lengthy conversation,” Sariah said. “I came for something and you're going to help me get it.”
“The beam, yes, of course. I'll be happy to take you there. I'm most anxious to know what that's about.”
“I wager you know more than you're saying.” Sariah nodded to Delis, who stepped up to knot a leather string with a large stone around the Prime Hand's neck. “I can make it burst with a thought, even if it's my dying thought.”
The mistress only paled a little.
Ilian, on the other hand, had to be held down while Delis secured another bursting stone to her neck. “You should have shared Sariah's w
hereabouts with us,” she said. “Arron's Shield could have found her anywhere in the Goodlands. Now you've gotten both of us caught. She's here to kill us. Can't you see?”
“Why would Sariah kill us if we give her no cause?” Grimly said. “She knows my death would mean the collapse of order in the Goodlands, the Guild's destruction. She wouldn't do that. She's a stonewiser.”
Sariah opened the door and indicated that the mistresses should walk ahead of her. “If any of the guards approach us, command them to stay away. Any of my people die, and you die.”
The mistress strode down the hall. “How did you do it? How did you mislead us into thinking you were in one place, when you were in another?”
Sariah kept a stubborn silence.
“Did you copy the wising? Did you give the stone to someone else to run it for you? No. It was moving too fast.” The mistress's knowing smile fractured her wrinkled face. “Of course. I see it. Clever. You broke the stone into smaller parts and somehow managed to retain the full wising. You must have packed the stones in what? Soil? Then you timed the relay runs, to make sure only one section at a time was sentient to my tracking stone. The runners must have buried their stones when their time as decoys was up. Marvelous. Simply marvelous.”
The woman's amusement irked Sariah almost as much as her skillful guesses. The mistress was no fool. She knew her craft. She was capable beyond the others.
They walked down to the courtyard and out through the keep's gardens. Sariah had expected to see the beam landing on the Hall of Stones, possibly over the Sacred Vaults, where the oldest and rarest of stones were buried under prohibition. But as they made their way down the steep, icy stairs, she could see that the beam had landed far from the Hall of Stones, on the other side of the keep, an area forbidden to most stonewisers in the Guild.
They walked through the keep's dormant gardens, powdered with a fine dusting of snow. Despite the weather, Julean and a hundred of his men were waiting for them in the courtyard in front of a large portal. The brilliant beam made a spectacular background for such an uneven encounter.
