Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Innes

  Stones Unbound

  The Magestone Chronicles:

  Book 1

  By Richard C. Innes

  Copyright 2015 Richard C. Innes

  Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved

  Kindle 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 your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Note From the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art

  Cover art produced by Alexander Nanitchkov

  http://artofinca.com/

  You can find him on facebook at:

  https://www.facebook.com/Artofinca

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Interludes I

  Part II

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Interludes II

  Part III

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Interludes III

  Part IV

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  To The Reader

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Preview: Book 2: War Unleashed

  Prologue

  Koltan walked swiftly through the arched hallways that were mostly cloaked in shadows. He did not cast a spell to light his way - the shadows worked to his advantage. He knew that he was short on time, as his report was due this night. Although it was not his fault, his master accepted no excuses for failure. It was a dangerous task, but the payoffs would be immeasurable.

  He now knew, by what he had overheard today, that the agent in the Imperial Palace in Tala'ahar had done their job well. A shipment was to be sent to the embassy in the Imperial City. This was the moment he had been told to expect, and now he had to complete his task or his master would indeed be angry.

  He found the chamber he was looking for easily, as he had already spent some nights on duty here. Due to some bad turn of luck he was not on duty tonight, and his other errands had taken him longer than they should have. Damn Faradan to the Abyss! Making him recopy the runes until he got them exactly to his teacher’s liking took bells longer than it should have. He looked at the ink staining his hands. Anyone else would have been satisfied by his first or second attempt. But ten! Curses upon the man!

  He opened the door to the chamber and stepped inside, leaving the door ajar. The student on duty turned from the book of spells he was studying with a quizzical look on his face. “Has my shift ended already?” Koltan remembered the student’s name from some of his classes – Griffan.

  “No, sorry Griffan,” he started as sincerely as possible, “I took too long in copying my runes, so Faradan Shilaar decided that he would send me to relieve you as my punishment.” He kept his annoyance on his face for the other to see, and made sure he used the honorific. Koltan moved over to the table and pulled his own book of spells out as if to study.

  Griffan collected his things into his pack. “It has been a quiet night so far, I took only two messages. They’re in the log. Have fun!” he called back wryly over his shoulder as he left, pulling the door shut behind him. Koltan went and made sure the door was latched and then threw the bolt. He could not be interrupted on the task he was about this night.

  He turned from the door and moved to the desk upon which rested the magemirror he needed. Normally the senior students were tasked with monitoring this room, and two others around the citadel, in case any general messages came in through the mirror. Tonight, he would be sending out a message, a very important message; a message that would make him a very powerful man; a message that would change the world.

  PART I

  I have determined that life is all about choices. Some good, some bad, most with immediate consequences, and some in which the outcome isn’t felt for years, if at all. I’m not talking about what you may choose to eat for dinner, or which cloak to wear; we’re talking about Choices – with a capital ‘C’.

  It was an assignment like any other; steal something rare and valuable for money. And yet, it was different than all the previous jobs I had taken, more danger, but also more reward. It was enough gold that I could retire from my thieving ways, even after the guild took its cut. I was always cautious. Heck my motto was “It's better to be careful than dead.” I looked at every angle, watched all the players, checked the timing, and tested all the angles. I could do it.

  Seven Hells, they had come to me for this assignment. I was the best in Tala’ahar, possibly even the Empire. I wasn’t in it for the glory, only the money, and possibly, if the chance came along – revenge. There was always revenge.

  But I was talking about Choices. And little did I know that by accepting this particular job, by making that Choice to say ‘yes’, that I would set in motion events that would destroy my world, and possibly, just quite possibly, the entire world.

  Journal of Hoyle Dardanel

  The 5th of Jarn,

  In the year 89 IR (Imperial Rule)

  Chapter 1

  Stepping over a steaming puddle laced with floating detritus of human waste at the head of an alley, Hoyle glanced back over his shoulder. With his footsteps sliding in the ankle deep snow along the side of the Imperial Way, he refocused his attention on the road ahead. His furtive glance had not shown anyone following him, but of course, that was the reason he was using the wide, straight avenue through the Imperial City. With its wide expanse of flagstone that would allow four wagons to pass abreast, its narrow boulevard containing the tall, narrow, skeletal worshyr trees, and the wide walkway siding the building faces, there was very little concealment available for his pursuers to use. Of course, it was the morning after the night’s savage spring storm dropped a rare hand’s span of thick, wet snow on the city, piling much higher in spots where it fell off the steeper roofs. And he was out early in the morning, barely dawn really, which meant he was one of the few people on the avenue.

  Stopping to take a short rest from the exertion of slogging through the snow, he stepped into the relatively dry recessed doorway of a dress maker’s shoppe that was yet to open. He caught a glint out of the corner of his eye, but he turned to find that it was only the reflection of the silver firebird earring he wore in his left ear appearing in the shoppe’s window. He ran his fingers over the earring, his only affectation – the earring his sister gave him before she was murdered.

  Hoyle pulled his dark woolen cloak tighter about him against the crisp, damp wind that was all that
remained of the night’s storm, and watched a man guide a team of wagon-pulling oxen through the deep snow yet to be cleared by the veklian slave teams. Looking ahead to his left, he could see the distant Imperial Sky Citadel floating above the shadowy Palace Square at the end of the long, straight thoroughfare newly lined in a cleansing cloak of white snow. Like a vulture hovering over its kill he thought.

  Looking back to his right, from whence he came, from where he should still be, warm under the down-filled feather mattress, the lithe Salrissa at his side, nuzzling at his neck, he felt a pang of reluctance. He let the warmth of that recent memory flood through him to ward off the chill morning air. Turning his face up at the band of sky visible over the avenue, he could see that the clouds had moved off, and that the day was going to be clear. However, it also told him that it was nearing the sixth bell and he was running out of time.

  Hoyle checked the store signs to confirm his location, realized that he only had three more streets to go, one over and two down, and pulled his black cloak even tighter as he stepped from the scant protection of the recessed doorway. Moving as swiftly as he could through the soupy mess that covered the ground, he turned the corner and ran straight into the chest of a man coming the other way. Rebounding off the larger man, he lost his footing and fell to the ground, catching himself awkwardly on his hands. Without apology, but several curses, the barrel-chested man moved off around the corner leaving Hoyle sitting in the slush cursing under his breath.

  Realizing he was going to be late, he picked himself up and brushed off the snow and slush as best he could. His clothes were soaked through, and the wind began to bite through his clothes, causing a chill to run up his spine. Checking to make sure the pouch carrying his precious cargo was still attached to the belt at his back, he settled his rapier and stiletto at his belt and began to run, looking left and right, trying to determine which building he was looking for.

  Once he found himself on the correct street, Hoyle slowed to take a more careful look around. It seemed this street had quite a few early risers based on the foot traffic. He spotted two taverns and an inn further down, possibly explaining the anomaly, however, there were still very few people out in the chilly spring air; he only noted one man several buildings down sitting on a barrel smoking a pipe.

  Hoyle finally located the described building. It was a three-storey stone and wood structure, overhanging the street at the front and crammed nearly to the neighboring buildings on each side. The whitewashed plaster was in bad repair, and falling off in chunks and the slate roof looked in need of repair. He proceeded to the side of the building and down the narrow alley as directed. His steps finally found him at the bottom of a rickety set of wood stairs crammed between the two buildings that led to the second floor and above. He could see through the open stair piles of refuse and broken furniture beyond.

  Hoyle climbed the creaky stairs, and came to the blue door that had been described to him. Following instructions, he knocked twice and pushed the door open quietly. He stood to one side as it opened easily on freshly oiled hinges. Peeking in from beside the door, he noted no obvious danger, in fact no movement of any kind. Stepping inside, and closing the door as quietly as he opened it, he turned to find himself in a dimly lit, sparsely furnished, living area. There was a small table, two wooden rail-style chairs, and a three-legged stool in the middle of the room with a small bed and bedside table in the shadows to his left. Long, heavy curtains that hung almost to the floor shrouded the windows looking out over the street to his right. At least he assumed they looked out over the street, it was the correct direction. In the dim light of the single candle, there appeared to be no one in the room.

  “Hello?” Hoyle whispered, taking a careful look around with his hand on his stiletto. He heard movement from behind a door to his left, hidden in the flickering shadows beside the bed at that end of the room.

  “Just a minute,” came the muffled reply from behind the door. Shortly, a tall, thin man with a hawkish nose, wearing dark robes came through the door, carefully closing it behind him. “You are he?” he inquired quietly with a slight accent.

  “Yes, I’m Hoy-...“

  “Names are not required,” the tall man interrupted with an accented whisper, looking briefly over his shoulder towards the back room. “You have the package, I presume?”

  “You have the money, I presume?” Hoyle quipped back. Although he had already surveyed the room, he kept his eyes on the shadows. Though this thin, almost frail man did not appear to be a threat, he wasn’t about to take any more chances than he already had to get to this point.

  The tall man walked over to a foot locker at the end of the bed, unlocked it with a small key and lifted the lid. Hoyle could see gold glinting in the candlelight. “Five thousand Imperial Marks, as agreed,” the robed man quietly stated with an accent that seemed familiar, but Hoyle could not place. Hoyle’s heart skipped a beat at the number. It was enough to set him up in comfort for the rest of his life. It was also a number to make men brave... or stupid he thought.

  Without further talk, he pulled the pouch from the back of his belt and walked over to the small table. Loosening the draw string, he poured the contents of the pouch upon the table. Nine small stones, each a different color of the rainbow, glowing steadily from within, rolled out onto the table, dramatically increasing the illumination in the room.

  “Unbound quafa'shilaar,” Hoyle stated frankly. "Magestones, to the common man."

  “Power to others,” whispered the tall man. “How did you obtain so many?”

  “Stealth, skill and no small portion of luck.”

  Still staring at the stones on the table, the tall thin man waved dismissively at Hoyle, “Take your gold and go.”

  Hoyle stood where he was for a moment, slightly annoyed. A little appreciation and awe wouldn’t have been too much to ask for, would it? He turned from the table and cautiously walked over to the chest, closing and locking it with the small key still in the lock. Crouching down, he went to lift the chest, and was barely able to move it – five thousand gold marks weighed a lot! A quiet creak of hinges alerted his highly tuned senses, honed through years on the streets, causing him to drop and roll to the side as a loud thunk sounded from where he had been. He turned and saw a quarrel was stuck in the bedpost above the chest, still quivering from the shot. Still in his low crouch he saw the door to the back room now wide open, with shadows moving towards the opening. Hoyle jumped forward with his back to the wall beside the door as the hiss of swords leaving scabbards echoed throughout the dark back room. Hoyle tried to pull the door shut, but it was wrenched from his hand by a large man in dark leather armor, who began to advance through the portal while drawing his broadsword.

  Backpedaling away from the door, Hoyle assessed his options. The tall, thin man (whom he had just decided to call Whisper) was holding the magestones and chanting quietly in the middle of the room. As the magestones flared brightly, he saw that the large man was through the door maybe two strides from him now, with two more men behind him. A fourth was on his knees, reloading the crossbow that had nearly claimed Hoyle’s life mere seconds ago. Hoyle drew his thin rapier and stiletto.

  Whisper’s voice grew louder, and the glow of the magestones grew brighter, based on the increased illumination on the walls. Hoyle did the only thing he could think of – he lunged. The large man with the thick eyebrows who was advancing on him was caught off guard, but managed to parry Hoyle’s quicker rapier with his heavier steel. It accomplished what he had intended. The move brought his opponent’s forward momentum to a halt, trapping the other two soldiers with swords in the back room. Turning quickly, he deftly sent his stiletto turning end-over-end at Whisper with a quick flick of his wrist. It wasn’t meant for throwing, but it still hit Whisper awkwardly in the shoulder - point first, eliciting a cry of pain, scattering the magestones around the room, and disrupting what could only be a magic spell of some sort. Ducking a swing he felt must be coming from behind by
dropping into a crouch, he heard, more than felt the blade whistle over his head. Finally, he jumped high, spinning with his foot out, to kick the large man in the center of his chest before he could recover his back swing. Staggering back, the large man (he had by now decided to call Brows) bumped into his compatriots, yet again blocking their progress from the back room.

  In the flickering illumination from the scattered magestones, Hoyle noticed that the crossbowman had managed to reload by this time and was waiting for a clear shot. Inspiration came to him – so he lunged a second time. Or at least he pretended to. As Brows flinched from his fake lunge, Hoyle turned and ran, aiming for the heavy curtains at the far end of the room. As he ran past the wounded Whisper, he grabbed his stiletto from the man’s shoulder, eliciting another cry of pain.

  “Thank you for holding that,” he quipped as he took three more steps and hurled himself shoulder first as hard as he could at the curtains. His shoulder jolted as it made contact with, and broke through, the thin glass pane behind the curtain. As he fell towards the street, he grabbed the heavy fabric to slow his fall. He finished his fall, unrolling from the tangle of the heavy fabric curtain and dropping the last two paces to the ground into a crouch. He heard shouting from up above, and heard the door at the side of the building crash open. Looking up he saw the crossbowman fighting his way through the now flapping curtains, as the breeze was still up and was tossing them about, impeding a clear shot.

  Hoyle turned and ran down the still empty street.

  ---o---

  Three blocks later, Hoyle stopped and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Peeking back around the edge of the building, he could not see any sign of pursuit. He could hear the whistles of the City Guard several blocks over, however. Maybe they had caught his ambushers, but he knew he was going to have to check – his gold was still back there.