Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Innes

  A loud commotion at the end of the hall preceded several large soldiers coming down the hallway, apparently to collect one of them. Robart “Slowkiller” followed behind them. The torches they carried brightened the hallway considerably, stinging Hoyle’s eyes. One soldier pushed Sathran back into Hoyle’s open cell as the group stopped between the two cells. Two soldiers squeezed into the other small cell, one unlocking Brows from the floor, the other with his sword out.

  “Time to go, you ugly brute!” Robart ordered. He looked at Hoyle from the corner of his eye. “He won’t be coming back, so did you want to say your goodbyes?” he said sarcastically. Hoyle noted a dangerous look in Brows’ eye, but didn’t have time to register it before the commotion broke out.

  Black spikes of shadow flew through the air from the hallway leading to the deeper cells to Hoyle’s right and bit into the soldiers. Two soldiers collapsed in pain, writhing on the floor from the pain of multiple shadow spikes. One spike hit the guard with his sword out in the shoulder, causing his numb hand to drop the sword. The last spike hit Robart in the chest, causing him to grunt in pain, but he remained on his feet and turned to face down the hallway toward the unknown assailant. Hoyle noted the large man touch his ear, which held Hoyle’s firebird earring the large man had taken from him a few sessions ago. He looked at Hoyle briefly as he drew his sword and threw his torch down the hallway.

  Hoyle saw the fourth soldier wrestling with Brows in the small cell that he had resided in for the last several days. Even from his knees, Brows had managed to get the chain linking his hands around the soldier’s neck. With a mighty heave, Brows lifted the soldier as high as he could, bashing the soldier’s head to the stone ceiling. But it was the crack of the soldier’s neck that told Hoyle the guard was dead. Brows dropped the body unceremoniously to the ground, and untangled the chain from his neck. He grabbed the keys from where the soldier dropped them and began to unshackle his limbs while looking at Hoyle with a wicked gleam in his eye. Hoyle pulled Sathran back into his cell, and pushed the door shut with his foot, hearing the click as it locked. Brows smirked at him. Hoyle shrugged.

  In the meantime, the guard with the numb arm had picked up his sword with his other hand and had started advancing down the hallway in front of an angry Robart. The two guards on the floor had stopped writhing. One had passed out – Hoyle could still see his chest moving, but the other had rolled to his stomach and was trying without success to stand.

  “Charge him you dundering oaf!” Robart shouted at the top of his lungs, “Don’t let him cast–“ he began before a beam of blackness hit him in the chest, and he staggered to his knees, and then finally fell onto his back in front of Hoyle’s cell. His eyes were open, but his body was unresponsive. Hoyle crawled over to the bars, reached through and pulled the earring free. He then retreated to the back of his cell and put the earring back where it belonged – in his own ear.

  Brows managed to move out of his cell, now growling again, and kicked the soldier, who was still trying to rise, in the throat. A choked gurgle came from the man as he fell to his side. Brows reached down and picked up one of the discarded swords from the ground and slid it into the soldier’s chest and twisted. The soldier twitched for a few moments then went still. Brows slit the throat of the unconscious soldier casually and then moved over to the prone Robart with a wicked expression as he slowly slid the sword into and through the torturer’s thigh.

  “We don’t have time for this,” whispered the other assailant as he revealed himself to be the man Hoyle only knew by the name he had given him - Whisper. He glanced in at Hoyle and Sathran, the flickering shadows cast by the torch down the hallway making his face seem to dance. He was carrying some sort of leather harnesses over one shoulder.

  Brows got up and walked down the hallway to Hoyle’s left. He heard the hallway door to the guardroom close with a quiet thud. Brows returned with a wicked gleam in his eye. That seemed to be his standard expression. He reached down and pulled the sword from Robart’s leg. Hoyle saw open eyes register the pain, and tear up as Brows drove the sword into the thigh of his other leg, scraping the stone beneath.

  Whisper turned and gestured at Hoyle and Sathran, and Hoyle knew what was coming, so he pulled Sathran towards him, shielding the veklian from the half-dozen shadow spikes that drove into Hoyle’s back. His muscles burned and seized causing him to cry out before he dropped to the floor, immobile. His earring burned white hot in his ear as it absorbed some of the magic, some of its capacity spent on the magic that hit Robart.

  Brows grabbed the bars of Hoyle’s cell and shook it, trying to shake it open.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Whisper again chastised quietly, and began casting again. A large, swirling circle of shadowy clouds evolved into being on the wall beside Brows' cell. It was thin, like a piece of dark fabric, like a painting on the wall, but it had incredible depth swirling like a maelstrom over the ocean.

  Brows growled at the situation, and picked up another sword off the floor, leaving the one in Robart’s thigh. He turned and stepped into the shadow portal with one last glare back at Hoyle, disappearing into the darkness.

  Whisper stepped to the portal and paused, the magestone on his forehead glowing wildly. He looked into Hoyle’s eyes and stated in his quiet voice, “Pray we do not meet again, for if we do, you will not survive a third time.” With that he stepped into the portal and it collapsed behind him.

  ---o---

  It was a long time before Hoyle could move fully. He had listened to Robart whimper slightly every once and a while as he tried to move. All he had been able to do was pull the sword out of his leg, and pull himself up to a seated position against the wall beside Hoyle’s cell.

  In the meantime Sathran had helped Hoyle by massaging his legs and arms with his three clawed paws – hands – whatever. Hoyle was glad to have the pins and needles finally gone.

  “Why you protect me?” Sathran asked quietly so Robart could not overhear.

  “Don’t know” he said as quietly. He thought about it for a minute as Sathran waited. “I guess I thought that you shouldn’t suffer for my actions.”

  “Not understand,” Sathran replied, “but happy that you save my life.” He stood easily in the small cell, and moved to the cell door and opened it with his key. He gestured to Hoyle to follow.

  Hoyle moved from the cell, and stood for the first time in hours, though it felt like days, as much as his back protested. Robart looked up at him, dark eyes in a pale face. Hoyle looked down at all the blood pooling around his torturer’s legs. He tore two strips from his own bloodied rags, the irony causing him a small smile. He wrapped one strip around each of the large man’s legs, tying it more tightly than necessary, eliciting a groan each time.

  “Veklian, you will regret letting this man go,” Robart said weakly.

  “Life for life,” the small creature replied. “Code you remember.” He gestured at the bandage strips Hoyle had tied around the man’s legs, preventing more bleeding. “I send help.”

  Hoyle looked behind him, towards the direction the attack came from and saw the body of the fourth soldier, smoke rising from his mouth and burned out eye sockets. The torch was just about spent, flickering weakly a few feet from where the body lay. He could not see another way in; the hallway ended a good distance away at a blank stone wall. He wondered if Whisper had used one of those shadowy portals to get here.

  “Enjoy the darkness a while brute,” Hoyle stated flatly as he grabbed the nearest of the two torches and a sword from the floor and followed Sathran from the dungeon, not looking back once.

  ---o---

  Hoyle looked at the small creature who had rescued him from his cell as he pulled his boots on over his sore feet. Although his clothes were ruined beyond measure, they had found some boots and a cloak in a locked trunk in a storage room located next to the guardroom. Even without his tools, he had improvised and managed to break into the wooden box. He had smashed the lock with a large st
one. Not very subtle, but he was in a hurry.

  Once Sathran had helped him collect some clothing, he led Hoyle through a series of passageways, hallways and corridors in the underbelly of the Sky Citadel. They met another veklian a few minutes into their journey and Sathran stopped and whispered quickly in his native language to the other. The other one left on whatever errand had been discussed. About twenty minutes after they had fled the dungeon, alarms began to ring throughout the complex. They were loud enough they could feel the vibrations this deep under the main ground level. Once in a while, they would even get close enough to the surface to hear the alarm bells directly. Sathran finally led him through the veklian slave quarters, where many large, black eyes followed his movements. He had to walk hunched over, as the ceilings in this area were built for creatures of a similar height to the veklians. Sathran gestured for him to enter a small storage room, filled with a few crates and barrels. Hoyle could smell dried fish, and what he thought must be moldy potatoes.

  Sathran pushed aside a crate to reveal a small cubby, smaller than the cell he just escaped from. “Hide here, back soon.” Sathran directed.

  “No way! I am not going into that. It’s smaller than my cell was!” Hoyle did not fear a lot of things, but his body was not in any shape to fold itself back into that kind of space. Sathran looked perturbed, which surprised him that he was able to read that emotion from the creature's face. “Tell you what; I will stay in this room. If I hear any soldiers coming I will, at that time, crawl into that hole and pull the crate in front of the hole.” That seemed to satisfy the creature, who nodded his head, turned and left the room.

  That was over an hour ago, and now he was back. He had collected new clothing of about the correct size, including a thin leather jacket, two linen shirts, a pair of wool pants, and a pair of wool socks. The wool itched fiercely on his scratched feet and scarred legs, but the pants and socks were warm. He hadn’t realized how used to the cold he had gotten until he felt the warmth of being fully dressed and not sitting on stone. He pulled his second boot on, still looking at Sathran.

  “Well?” Hoyle finally asked, his patience ended.

  “Yes?” Sathran tilted his head to one side.

  “What is happening? Are they looking for me?” he said slightly impatient, or more probably frantic, he wasn’t quite sure.

  “Many things. Second attack at stable. Priestess saved big man with hurt legs, but he sleep. Another hurt, he also sleep. Many killed. None looking here, for you.” Sathran said. It was the most words Hoyle had heard from the creature - ever.

  “Thank you.” Hoyle graciously offered. So there was another attack on the sky citadel tonight – he had determined the fact that it was night through the one window they had passed in their escape. Were the attacks related? Sathran had said the other attack occurred at the stable. Why did the sky citadel need a stable? What was Whisper carrying? They looked like harnesses to Hoyle, but he had little experience with horses, so they could have been anything. It didn’t really matter, this didn’t affect him other than the fact he was still owed a great deal of gold. But he had his life, as much as they tried to take that from him too. He was starting to get very angry at Brows and Whisper.

  However, he had bigger problems ahead. He was on a floating fortress a hundred spans above the Imperial Palace grounds. There was no way to jump, as he certainly wouldn’t survive, and he couldn’t fly, and had no magic portals to walk through to his freedom. His only recourse was to try and use the magegate that brought him here. Only he didn’t have a plan that wouldn’t get him killed. Yet.

  Chapter 12

  When Celia finally returned to her room following a quiet dinner, after spending most of the day in the small library, she found the note on her desk. When she opened it, she found that it mentioned that a Reegan Hicks had come by that afternoon looking for her. It took her a few moments to connect Reegan Hicks with just Hicks. What does she want I wonder? She looked to her window and noted that the sun was still two fingers above the horizon, she might have time to find her way to the Red Rooster Inn. She quickly grabbed her cloak, and pulled on her walking boots and headed for the front door. This time, she would make sure she got there on time.

  She pulled open the front door, causing the two guards to turn. She pointed to the younger of the two, though still a large and well armed man. “I need to go to the Trade quarter as fast as I can, you will be my escort.” She ordered. It was a good thing they could not see her knees shaking or the butterflies in her stomach, though she was still clutching her quafa'shilaar through her cloak.

  The older guard held up a hand to the younger, stopping him from moving. “You’re not to be out after dark, m’lady,” he responded.

  “Well then, we must be quick then, shan’t we?” she said pointedly gesturing at the sky. “There must be at least a bell and a half before it is truly dark captain.” She had heard that it sometimes helped to offer a man a better title than he had yet earned, to get what a woman wanted done. She truly had no idea what rank he had, but she was certain it was less than captain.

  He looked at the sky and the amount of traffic still about on the street, and nodded to the younger soldier, “Take her there and straight back here. And ensure she’s done her business in a handy time too.”

  The young soldier gestured to Celia and they set off.

  ---o---

  It was quite remarkable how easily and quickly it was to get to the Red Rooster Inn when you had someone guiding you and it was still light out. It had probably only taken a half a bell, with still a bell to go before dark. As she walked up the winding street to the two storey building, she noted how well-kept it was, with the walls freshly white-washed, and the trim painted a deep shade of red. It reminded her of the colour of the robes Theus typically wore. She said ‘typically’ in her head as if she had seen him clothed in any other colour.

  When she reached the front of the Inn, she could hear the sounds of a jaunty tune playing from inside. She turned to the soldier escorting her, “You’re welcome to wait out here, or come inside, but my business is my business, so you’ll not sit at my table and listen in.” Again the trembling knees and butterflies threatened to give her away.

  “Yes m’lady, but don’t go and try anything sneaky. We have all been told what you pulled the other day, and if it happens again, we are to collect you and take you to the Palace to have a discussion with the First Chancellor,” he said matter-of-factly, as if he could care less either way. Celia looked him over. He was taller than her by a small bit, with light brown hair and a cleft chin. He had a pair of small, light scars that crossed in an X on his right cheek. He had high cheekbones below green eyes. As with all the other city guard, he was obviously strong and muscular.

  “What is your name soldier?”

  “Marsen m’lady. Why?” He eyed her cautiously.

  “I want to provide your captain with a compliment about how straight-forward you have been, that is all.” She turned and strode up the stairs now that her legs had stopped trembling. She had managed, by sheer force of will alone, to keep her hand from playing with her necklace the whole time. She had to break herself of that nervous habit.

  “He’s not my captain m’lady. I mean, he’s my sergeant and all, but he’s no captain.” Marsen provided as he quickly caught up to her on the short flight of stairs and proceeded to open the door for her. This time she was prepared for the assault on her senses the Inn provided.

  “Oh not that captain,” she clarified with a wave of her hand, “your real captain, the one that assigned all of you the job of ‘guarding’ the embassy. Now, go find a spot that is out of my way, and I shall come and find you when I’m ready to leave. Or you can watch me from a distance at least, to make sure I do nothing sneaky.” She scanned the large common room for the person she came to find.

  The common room was almost full to bursting, but as it was just past the dinner bell most were just tradesmen finishing eating their dinner and the crowd
had not yet shifted to those taking on the serious task of drinking. A three person band played on the small stage in the corner, now onto a song about a carousing bard that got himself into hot water with a farmer’s daughter. Spending a serious minute or two looking at the faces of the patrons, trying very hard to ignore the lyrics of the song, she did not find Hicks among them. She moved to the bar and waved down a barmaid.

  “Has Hicks come in yet?” she asked.

  “Who is Hicks? He your boyfriend?” the barmaid asked indifferently.

  “No, Reegan Hicks. Medium blonde hair, so high,” she said bringing her hand just above her chin while speaking loudly over the tune playing in the background.

  “Don’t know who ya is talking about luv,” answered the barmaid, who turned away and grabbed a tray full of mugs to distribute to the patrons. Celia turned in a circle at the end of the bar and resurveyed the Inn, Hicks had to be here.

  A portly man with a red beard and hair approached her from the server side of the bar. “You look a little lost miss, can I help?” He was carrying two platters of food which he handed to a different barmaid as she passed. The last song had died off to a quieter tune, so it was easier to hear.

  “I’m looking for someone. The last time I met her – was here.” Celia blurted out, frustrated.

  “And who is it you be looking for?” he asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

  “Hicks” she answered without thinking. She turned to the man as he smiled at her.

  “Well you’ll have to wait; she doesn’t come in until eighth bell. Take that table over there,” he pointed to a table near the fireplace, “and I will see that she gets o’er to you.” As if he was dismissing her, he turned his attention to another serving girl who had brought an order, and went back to his business.