Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Innes

  “Wha-“ Zazaril began as she jumped a little.

  “I said ‘what should we be expecting?’” she repeated. The others were all looking at the Embassy headmistress.

  “How should I know?” she retorted. “I was only hoping to talk to First Chancellor Yalang. How was I to know that it was all somehow connected?” She began to wring her hands again slowly.

  “So you didn’t get us the audience with the Emperor? Seven Hells! This is bad...” Salrissa started pacing again. She moved to a window and checked to see what was outside and if they opened. After determining that they did not, and were barred on the outside, she went and listened at the door. Meanwhile Hicks had collapsed in the chair facing Zazaril, with her head in her hands.

  Celia moved to the door and gently touched Salrissa’s arm. “Can’t you get us out, like you did in the tower?” She noted that Hoyle had moved closer too, and had overheard her quiet question.

  “Yes, can you get us out?” he added.

  “Which one of you?” she asked loudly enough for everyone to hear. Zazaril and Hicks looked up. She must be frazzled to lose her cool demeanor in such a manner. “I can only take one, and even then, that would only be if there were enough shadows in this room - which there are not.” The last was said in a more normal, quiet voice, such that neither Hicks nor Zazaril could hear. Salrissa paced back to the front of the fire and stood staring into it.

  Celia looked at Hoyle, concern and resolve showing in his eyes. It gave him a dangerous look that she hadn’t seen before, a less flippant air, quite different than the Hoyle she had met just a week ago.

  Time crawled ever slowly onward, the sun tracking across the wall towards the windows and escape. If only we could escape so easily, thought Celia. Once it was dark though, Salrissa and one other could escape easily enough, but what wrath would come upon the other three.

  With nothing to do in the room but watch the sun and with it, the evidence of passage of time, she became restless. But what else to do? She didn’t want to wear herself out pacing like Salrissa, or stare into the abyss like Zazaril. At least Hicks and Hoyle were now talking quietly on the divan on the side of the room. She hadn’t even thought to bring any of the tomes she was researching. Thinking this trip would be rather brief, she hadn’t brought anything she wasn’t wearing. Well, I’ll never do that again. Next time I will be prepared.

  Finally, after several bells, they heard sounds in the hallway, and a key in the lock. They all moved toward Zazaril and the fireplace between the windows, as far from the door as possible. Celia stood behind the armchair with Zazaril in it. Hicks went and sat in the other, while Hoyle rested his hand on the back, standing to the side of the chair. Salrissa turned her back to the door, and faced the flames, which were very low by this point – they had run out of firewood about a bell before, and hunched her shoulders, trying to appear small.

  The door opened and two towering palace guards in their chain and plate mail, with blood red cloaks streaming behind them, entered the room, checked for danger and made the chamber suddenly feel small. Celia froze as the pair of guards parted and she saw the scaazi on its leash ahead of a pair of cloaked Rak’soraa. The Fear Squad stepped aside, moving against the wall, as First Chancellor Yalang followed in his shimmering purple robe, gold sash and cap. He looked over the group sitting and standing in front of the fireplace with a sneer and ordered, “You will kneel.”

  As the group of them complied – Hoyle and Celia beside the armchairs, Zazaril and Hicks in front of them, and Salrissa huddled down as small as she could make herself between the armchairs, directly in front of the fire – they saw the Emperor through the doorway.

  The Emperor glided into the room, deep red robes flowing along just above the floor, giving the appearance of floating, followed by two more muscular palace guards, also in the standard chain and plate mail. The five of them all looked down to different degrees, but Celia kept her head up just enough to see through the top of her peripheral vision. It appeared as if Hoyle was trying to do the same.

  The Emperor stood in front of the door as one of the guards closed it. Celia couldn’t tell from her vantage point, but it felt as if the Emperor was scrutinizing each of them with his gaze.

  “It appears to the Throne that you are all tangled up in some plot against the Emperor,” First Chancellor Yalang began in his nasally voice. At this pronouncement Celia’s heart leapt into her throat as her fear took hold. “Especially you three,” Yalang gestured at Hoyle, Salrissa and Celia.

  “There is some testimony on behalf of your character from people the Throne trusts, but the fact remains that you were identified as being at the location of a raid by the city guard on a suspected anarchist hideout by our security team. Though this is only implicating by way of the circumstances, your guilt or innocence is still in doubt.” Yalang paused in his litany. Celia thought she could see the Emperor checking his nails as he stood over them.

  “Therefore, you will be required to prove your innocence to the Throne.”

  “How?” Hoyle blurted out sullenly at the same time as Zazaril cried out, “Surely you can’t mean me?” Celia could see the rage on Hoyle’s face and the confusion on Zazaril’s. Hicks and Salrissa still knelt, motionless, heads drooping ever so slightly more.

  “I am so glad you asked.” And then the First Chancellor told each of them exactly what they were going to do as the Emperor looked on. They were not happy. Not happy at all.

  Chapter 15

  Hoyle stood, contemplating the last day since the Throne had told them each what they needed to do, as they waited for the magegate to open on their destination. He looked around at the odd group, as they stood uneasily amongst each other. Well most were uneasy, but more than likely due to the fact that they would be travelling with a Fear Squad, more than with the remaining people. The Fear Squad stood calmly at the front, one of the Rak’soraa moving to open the gate.

  Of the five of them, only three were tasked with accompanying this group; himself; Celia; and Salrissa. The three from the tower. They were given time to return to the surface and collect their travelling gear, such as it was, after the Emperor made a good show of having the scaazi scent each of them, and especially their most personal items: his firebird earring that he had worn since his tenth birthing day; Celia’s magestone amulet that she must have worn since her graduation to full Dar'Shilaar; a hidden knife found on Salrissa that she had been allowed to keep. Hoyle thought he saw a small smile on the Emperor’s face from the corner of his eye upon discovery of the knife.

  Before heading back down to Tala'ahar, Hoyle made an indignant demand for his rapier, stiletto, cloak and boots, which surprisingly they returned to him once he returned to the surface through the magegate in Parr’ador. It was nice to feel the familiar weight on his waist again, and the comfort of his own footwear. He hated breaking in new boots with a passion. He checked to see if his lock-bypassing hardware was still in his left boot, and was happy to find that the thin slits of metal were still there.

  That was yesterday, when they were told to return to the gates of Parr’ador at lunch bell today. For if not, they would be hunted down by the same Fear Squad that accompanied them now. It had not been said what would happen to them after they were hunted down.

  Looking over Celia, who was standing closer to him and Salrissa more than any of the others, he could see that she had changed her attire the most. She wore dark blue wool robes to her ankles that hid her sturdy leather boots. A heavy wool cloak in the same shade of blue covered her head in the light mist that was condensing around them. Hidden beneath the cloak looked to be a medium sized backpack that was shaped as if holding books or tomes of some kind and possibly some clothes. She was holding an oak staff in her left hand that was as tall as she. When she turned and looked at him, he could see that she had her magestone amulet hidden beneath her robes. He could also see the apprehension in her eyes. It was a feeling he shared.

  Salrissa had donned her standard bl
ack leather armor and cloak, knives sheathed about her body, with only her glacier blue eyes visible above the face shield. She had no need for a backpack with her magical pouch, but she carried a small one anyway, but lightly stuffed Hoyle was sure. Salrissa stared at the magegate unwaveringly. Hoyle could not guess what she was feeling, and she had not opened up to him last night, spending the majority of it prowling the streets.

  Hoyle himself had returned to the Red Rooster Inn and had promptly fallen asleep for the afternoon, the twelve hour rest he had managed in the Warrens obviously not enough for his tired body. He then ate a generous, though quiet, supper. Since neither he nor Hicks wanted to talk about the terms of the task of proving themselves innocent in the eyes of the Throne, and Salrissa had not returned with them to the Inn, they ate without speaking. He had listened to other conversations throughout dinner, and the main topic of rumor and speculation was the closed border with Goralon. When he prompted Hicks on this topic all she did was grunt. Once she was finished eating, she had excused herself to go about her business of “washing the Throne off my hands.”

  Once he had finished supper, most of the shoppes he would need to visit for the equipment he needed were closed for the night, so he spent a relaxing evening stretched out by the fire. He sat with his feet up by one of the fireplaces in one of the four overstuffed armchairs, his feet propped up on the matching ottoman. They were comfortable, even with the worn and faded velvet and grease-stained cushions, and Hoyle closed his eyes and relaxed as the latest band began to play. He mentally tried to tighten and relax each muscle in his body, a skill he had learned in the first years in Tala’ahar, but had yet to master. This time his body resisted, his muscles remembering the torture that ended less than a day ago.

  Finally, he went up to his empty room, noting that Salrissa had not been there since he had awoken just before dinner bell, and undressed and promptly fell asleep.

  He awoke the next morning relatively early, to the smell of bacon frying coming from the kitchen below, its essence permeating the entire Inn. Edvard knew how to get his patrons up in the morning – that was for certain! He dressed in his own clothes that he kept in the dresser in his continually rented room, and threw the borrowed, slightly ill-fitting, clothes in a pile on the floor in the corner of the room. He went downstairs and had a good breakfast of thick bacon, scrambled eggs, sliced ham and porridge. Once he was full, he went out and managed to find all the things he figured he would need, and a new slim backpack to carry them in.

  Now he was standing in his new burgundy leather armor, two-sided cloak – also with the hood up to keep the mist off his head – and his familiar weapons by his side and footwear on his feet. The backpack he had brought was tight to his back, under his cloak to keep the rain off. His firebird earring was comforting against his cheek as he surveyed the remainder of the group.

  Robart “Slowkiller” was standing near the Fear Squad, crutches no longer needed, apparently. He was dressed in chainmail over black leathers with a large greatsword a span long slung across his back, the pommel sticking up over his right shoulder. A smaller longknife was in a hilt on his belt, strapped to his left thigh for quick drawing. A dark wool cloak graced his shoulders, but he kept the hood down, letting the mist condense on his smooth head. It looked a little like his bird-of-prey tattoo was weeping. Every once in awhile he would look over at Hoyle and his frown would deepen; he would then quickly look away. He carried a small backpack over one shoulder.

  Beside him was the small healer from the throne room, a Daughter of Saveesha, dressed in the temple’s typical white hooded robes, hands crossed within the folds of the voluminous sleeves, her head bowed as if in prayer. She was carrying a small rucksack over her shoulders that did not seem very full.

  By now the Rak’soraa had begun the incantation to activate the magegate, and Hoyle felt the inevitable pull on his body that he had experienced every time he had travelled through one, which was now thrice. Twice in the last twenty-four bells, and he was going to step through another one. Well the same one really, just for the fourth time...

  He saw Celia slump a little as the pull became stronger, so he stepped forward and grabbed her elbow, helping her remain standing, barely managing to do so himself. She looked at him with a look of tired gratitude. It seemed as if the magegate took longer than usual to create the link with the other end, but once it did, he saw why. Once the gate coalesced into a fixed image, they found themselves looking upon a mirror-image, a shaded room with open arch to a sunset sky over battlements. Where they were standing now it was just past lunch bell, almost one bell into the afternoon, but on the other side of the gate, it seemed near or past the dinner bell. Hoyle didn’t need geography or mathematics the scholars touted, or the fact that they had been told where they were being sent, to figure out that the other end was hundreds of leagues to the east.

  The Rak’soraa stepped out of the way and gestured toward the gate. Robart and the healer moved forward and stepped through into the lengthening shadows of dusk in the other sky citadel - the sky citadel guarding the mountain pass to Goralon. The glowing eyes of the Rak’soraa fell on the trio with warning, as they paused. Hoyle, Celia and Salrissa, after a glance at each other, moved forward and stepped through the magegate. The Fear Squad followed immediately behind them.

  ---o---

  Hoyle looked around the courtyard of Farad’avor, which was only about half the size of the Imperial Sky Citadel, but still impressive. He noted the sun reflecting off the tops of the mountain peaks surrounding the sky citadel, and the red streaking the sky. To some, it was seen as a bad omen, meaning blood would be spilled this night. He did not put much stock in superstition. Nonetheless, “It's better to be careful, than dead,” after all, he thought.

  The guards of Farad’avor were not as imposing as those of the Imperial Guard stationed in the imperial sky citadel, but were still as heavily armed and armored. The guards led him, Celia, Salrissa, Robart and the healer through a large gate in the wall, its portcullis raised, to another courtyard fronting a large keep. The building towered above the walls, with turrets flaring out from the sides of some of the towers. In the waning light, he could see the catapults and ballista stationed on those vantage points, with a man keeping watch at each. The contingent of guards continued up and through a large doorway that was currently open, but had a portcullis ready to drop at a moment’s notice. A long hallway riddled with murder holes on the walls and ceiling finally led them to a small, austere reception hall.

  The hall contained long trestle tables to each side, leaving a wide aisle down the center which led to a chair on a raised dais. Torches had been lit around the walls of the hall to fight the coming night, and the thick smell of burning pitch tainted the air and stung the eyes. Several sturdy oak doors, banded in metal, led away from the room.

  They were led before a tall, carved wooden, high-backed chair and the man seated there upon. A middle-aged man, probably in his early forties with deep brown eyes that showed laugh lines and thick salt-and-pepper hair, leaned forward to examine them as they stood before the raised seat. He was lean and muscular, and wore simple brown leather armor and carried a simple shortsword in a scabbard on his belt.

  Standing beside the chair was a woman who worried Hoyle, but he could not immediately place why. She also wore simple leather, only black in color, and carried a slim rapier similar to his on her hip. She had unrelenting green eyes and short blonde hair, the contrast to her armor quite striking. She was standing quietly and apparently relaxed, but he sensed an inner spring ready to coil. He noted only then that the Fear Squad had not followed them into the hall.

  Finally the man stood, showing himself to be a height with Hoyle, and nodded to Robart as equals, before walking around the rest of them, as if to examine cattle at a market. “I am Captain Keyth. This is my second-in-command, Thandria,” he gestured to the woman, who nodded her head slightly. “Farah’avor and the fort in the pass below us are under my command. My miss
ion here is to protect the people of the Empire from any threat from Goralon to the east by making sure this pass is sealed tight when required. As of several days ago, Goralon closed their border to our merchants, turning them away, so we in turn closed the gates to the pass.” His voice was crisp, but not harsh as he came around to stand in front of them again.

  “Word was sent ahead of your arrival, and your mission,” the Captain continued. Salrissa looked at Celia with an I-told-you-so look, which caused Celia to shrug her shoulders. Celia noticed that the other woman had removed her face shield. “I am to help you in any way I can, without sacrificing the safety of this citadel or the fort below. First, I need to show you something.”

  He gestured to the guards, and they moved to one of the doors on the side wall. Opening the sturdy portal, they came upon a winding stair that led upwards. Following the Captain, they ascended the stairs for several minutes, unspeaking. At the top, every one of them other than the Captain and his second-in-command, were winded beyond measure. I thought I was in better shape.

  As Hoyle stood from catching his breath, he found it caught in his throat. They were in a room at the top of the tallest tower in the sky citadel, about ten paces across. Eight large panes of glass looked out of the center of each wall of the octagonal room. It seemed like they could see forever. Large, snow-capped mountains loomed in shadow to the north to the west, all the way around to the southeast. To the east, the land opened below them into rugged foothills barely seen in the dusk light. Beyond that the shadows from the Whitetooth Mountains around them obscured the features of Goralon. They could see faint glimmers of light in the distance, which looked like fireflies dancing in a group. The sound of wind whistling through the cracks in the stone and around the window frames added an eerie quality to the room.