Their group was quickly subdued, hands tied behind their backs, with their elbows bound, and they were herded out of the cleft in the rock into the dark. They were hustled along, Robart struggling all the way, shouting curses and challenges until finally one of the creatures began smacking him on the back of the head every time he started to make trouble. After an indeterminate amount of time, they were led down a winding path into a narrow ravine and forced to the ground in front of a small cave opening.
Celia was distracted the entire time things were happening, as the awareness of the violet magestone was still in her head. It seemed to be peeling back the layers of her mind, trying to get to her core. Celia had started actively resisting after the first day, but it seemed to now enter her subconscious when she was sleeping, and she had no defense against that.
She noted that two of the creatures had returned with a larger creature. Celia recognized the creature from a description in one of her tomes of learning from Mahad'avor. It was a worvine. They were rumored to be mean-tempered and vicious, and usually picked on weaker creatures. Normally they were found in larger groups, tribes really, and were rumored to be slaves to their larger orc cousins in the Blasted Lands, hundreds of leagues to the north. What this particular worvine was doing this far south and alone was a mystery.
She watched, still distracted as the worvine walked to Salrissa and looked her over as her father might look at a draft horse. The filthy creature did the same to Valena and her, and then began a conversation with one of the craglings in their own language, each gesturing wildly towards Robart.
Finally the leader grabbed a club from one of the craglings and strode forward and smacked the struggling Robart on the side of the head. This just made him angrier and caused him to struggle harder. The worvine swung the club quickly two more times, hitting Robart on either side of the head in quick succession, knocking him unconscious, or killing him, Celia could not tell.
The worvine ordered them stripped down to their small clothes and then they were herded into a small alcove in the rock and a gate was placed in the opening. Celia lay on her side to try a take pressure off her bindings and let the blood flow back to her hands. She watched through the gate as the worvine found her amulet and the violet magestone and then retreated into his cave. She tried not to despair, but she could not see a way out of their predicament.
---o---
Her mind wandered not really her own, jumping from random memory to random memory. Each time she resisted. Each time the stone overpowered her meager resistance and moved on to the next memory.
She was five years old, standing in the dining room of their family's mansion watching her mother and father argue over some trivial thing that her present mind realized was really about Brucen's death to the coughing sickness. Her father was yelling at her mother about the Daughters and donations, and it went on and on. Waynten wandered in and she took his hand and left the room, the sounds of the argument fading.
She was seven years old, laying in her bed, her mother stroking her hair and singing her an unrecognizable lullaby. She looked over sleepily to see Waynten in his bed, already fast asleep.
She was eight years old, standing on the edge of the quarry with Waynten standing beside her looking down. They were at the old end of the family's quarry, where the water had collected over the years, lying crystal clear over a span below them. Her brother asked her something about being sure, and her non-committal response that it would be exciting. They then grabbed hands and jumped, hitting the ice-cold water so far below.
She was ten years old, standing at the window in the sewing room. It was ironic to her present self that they were wealthy enough to have a room dedicated to her mother's sewing projects, but nothing in the world would be able to sew up her heart. She stood, tears running down her face as she watched the workers walking down the road from the quarry, her brother Waynten's body wrapped in a oiled cloth, lying in the bed of the wagon. He had died jumping into the quarry pool from a higher ledge and had hit his head and drowned.
She shook her head trying to deny the images, but they kept coming. Finally she managed to shut the stone out of her mind, though not completely.
---o---
Celia opened her eyes as someone poured a stream of cool water into her mouth and saw Valena kneeling over her with a small crude bowl. She was free of her bindings and Celia found that she was too, and found her wrists to be rubbed raw. She rubbed them with her hands as she arched an eyebrow at Valena and sat up slowly, her muscles stiff from the cold.
She noted that Robart was still lying near where they had tossed him, though it looked like his hands had been untied and someone had tried to make him more comfortable. She suspected that it was Valena who had done so. It seemed that it was morning, the dim light filtering through the trees. She could see some craglings moving about outside their enclosure, with several stationed at the gate. She could hear more chittering up at the top of the rock walls. Every once in a while she saw one of them look over the high ledge at their captives.
Celia looked around some more, noting Hoyle sleeping in a huddle against one wall, while Salrissa was sitting near the gate watching the camp surreptitiously, but intently. She whispered to Valena, "Why haven't you healed Robart?"
"I have, just not enough to wake him up." She smiled a little sheepishly. "Do you think our situation would better if he was awake or stays unconscious?"
Celia nodded thoughtfully. Things could truly get out of hand if Robart was awake.
Something occurred to her suddenly. "How did they capture Hoyle? He wasn't captured with us, was he?" She was having trouble remembering anything really clearly last night.
"No, he had managed to evade capture, but was then caught trying to free us," Valena stated simply.
Celia watched the movement about the camp as the sun climbed higher in the sky, noting that there were not many of the creatures around. She could not seem to recall if one of the tomes she had read during her time at Mahad'avor had indicated they were nocturnal or not. Most of those she could see were tasked with guarding them.
There was not much to do, other than to keep watch and wait for their chance to escape. That and move around to keep warm - it was a cold spring on this side of the Whitetooth Mountains, and with only a thin layer of linen between her skin and the chilly air, moving around the confines of the small cage seemed the best way to stay warm. Through it all she could still sense the magestone in the background of her mind. It was taking most of her concentration to keep it out, but she was succeeding.
They watched as the worvine came out of his cave later in the morning and grabbed a piece of meat from over one of the fires. Chewing on the meat, he came over and looked at them through the gate bars. He seemed a little annoyed that they had their hands free, as he swatted one of the craglings, gestured and spoke harshly to him before turning away, apparently disgusted.
They were brought some tickleberries and root tubers sometime around mid-day. They ate the berries willingly, once Celia had identified them for the group. The tuber they ate reluctantly, though they found that it had a reasonable texture and flavour, if only a little bland.
While they were eating, Celia watched Hoyle, following his scars from left ear to chin, and from above his right eye down to his mouth. His experiences in the sky citadel dungeon certainly changed him. He had been harder, but still with some of his flair. She did note that he was a little less cocky, and joked much less - barely at all really. What she did not understand is why he had not tried to kill Robart yet. He surely had reason to, and means, method and even opportunity. In this he was a mystery to her. Actually, if she was honest with herself, he was a complete mystery to her. And she could not leave a mystery alone.
Hoyle noted her looking at him and smiled a wry half-smile back at her. He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to Salrissa, listening to her quiet report of the camp activities. The two of them kept looking through the gate at the craglings.
It was late afternoon when Robart groaned and sat up slowly. Valena moved over to sit beside him, and offered him some water from the crude wooden bowl the creatures had provided. He coughed several times as he took the water, then brushed Valena's arm away, spilling the water.
After a few minutes he stood on shaky legs and yelled at the top of his lungs and moved towards the gate. Hoyle stood up and stepped between Robart and his destination, putting a hand on his chest to stop him. Robart took a swing at Hoyle, missing as his target stepped aside, causing him to stumble.
Celia watched as Robart's face turned red with rage, "Get out of my way!" he yelled at Hoyle as he stood again. Hoyle looked at Salrissa who shrugged, so he stepped aside, and went back to sit with her at their vantage point near the gate.
"Drawing attention to us right now is not too smart," he said loudly to Salrissa. They all knew the comment was directed at Robart. "But I guess you don't have to be smart to torture innocent prisoners."
Robart glowered, "Like you're innocent," he countered.
"Okay then, bound, helpless prisoners. Better?" Hoyle rebutted.
Robart started towards Hoyle, who stood up, but then thought better of it and went to the gate and began shaking it, yelling at the craglings to let him out. After a minute or two, Valena went over to try and calm him down, with no luck.
"Let me out of here! Fight me like a man, you worthless cowards!" Robart continued at the top of his lungs.
Finally Celia could hear the craglings above start into a heated, clipped exchange that continued as activity in the camp became flurried. Celia moved up beside Salrissa and Hoyle to watch, and saw several of the stick-like craglings disappear into the cave opening. Several minutes later the worvine emerged following the same craglings, and started towards their cage.
"Finally! You scum-covered coward. How about letting me out of here and fighting me like a man?!" Robart challenged.
The heavily-muscled worvine looked Robart over for a few minutes, then turned his head in a human-like gesture and said in a gravelly voice, "You want me fight you like man?" He paused.
"Yeah, fight me like a man! I win, we all go free, with our stuff," Robart challenged again.
The worvine shrugged. "Yes." The worvine turned to the craglings surrounding him and spoke in their weird chittering language of broken branches and snapping twigs. He gestured to Robart and the gate and to the center of camp and then walked toward the fire.
Celia could not believe this was going to be that easy. Worvines were not known to be extremely smart, but they were vicious and cruel, and this one ruled a tribe of craglings. This one was smarter than most. "Robart, this doesn't feel right, it was too easy to get him to agree," she argued quietly while the craglings moved to let him through the gate.
Robart waved her off as the gate was opened, with dozens of craglings pointing spears at him as he strode between them towards the center of the camp. The tribe surrounded him, several paces away, all of their weapons pointing towards the large figure of Robart, who towered over all of them.
Celia watched as the worvine turned to face Robart in the fading light of dusk, firelight making the shadows begin to dance from several points around the camp.
"You want me fight you like man?" the gravelly voice asked Robart.
Robart nodded back, "Yes, fight me like a man." He moved into a fighting stance and raised his hands.
The worvine reached down and grabbed two clubs from the ground and threw one to Robart. Robart seemed a little surprised, but caught the crude weapon easily. He smiled.
"Okay, now we fight like man," the worvine stated, nodding his head.
Celia watched in horror as two of the craglings lunged at Robart from behind, each driving a spear into the back of one of his legs. Robart screamed out as he fell forward to the ground, his club dropping to the ground. Valena gasped in shock beside her.
"Man came to village. Man ambushed my clan. Man attack mom cubs with swords. They no swords. Man kill mom cubs. Man kill baby cubs. Man tie warrior to stake. Man torture many warrior many suns. So now fight like man."
The worvine spoke some more orders in the cragling language and more of the creatures stepped forward and stuck Robart with spears, and struck him with clubs as he writhed on the ground. Once he stopped moving, the worvine gave more commands and Robart was dragged over to a large stake in the ground and tired securely to it in a seated position. Blood ran from various puncture wounds all over his body.
The worvine stepped forward and splashed some water onto Robart's face from the wooden bowl he had retrieved from nearby. Robart's head barely moved, but Celia could hear him groaning from where they were.
"Now we torture man many suns," the worvine stated without emotion.
---o---
Celia stood before the magegate to Mahad'avor, her sponsor standing to one side. She couldn't believe that she was finally here, or almost, at least. Once she had made her Choice those two long years ago, she thought she would immediately come to Mahad'avor with the Dar'Shilaar who had accepted her and turned away her father's wrath.
"But that was not the way of things," Gundan Shilaar had responded when she had asked him that night in the Gilded Pear on Farthing Way.
"Then what is the way?" she had asked.
"We travel the world for the span of two years. We learn of other lands, other cultures, other governments. We experience charity, hatred, fear, loathing, worship and despair. Only then can we understand ourselves. And only after we understand ourselves, can we hope to tame the magical forces of our world. Only then will we be worthy to channel those forces."
And so, they had left on a ship the next morning, hiring themselves to a crew of Sarethans who had no real use for magic, but did not fear it either.
The two years proved hard. Gundan lead her through various countries, from one experience to the next challenge for the two full years.
And now, it was her eighteenth birthing day, and she was standing in front of the magegate in the Shilaar embassy in Port Destrium of The Seven Isles, waiting for Gundan to activate it.
"Remember, just because I accepted you, and you have spent your two requisite years travelling the world, does not mean you will be accepted as a full Dar'Shilar after training. You still have to bond a stone."
"I know," she replied. "You've only told me a hundred times."
"It hasn't been a hundred," he responded cheerily.
With that, he chanted the words of magic to activate the gate, touching the five magestones mounted in the frame in quick succession. The gate swirled, along with her stomach, as the gate focussed into a courtyard hundreds of leagues away. She stepped forward into her future.
---o---
She stood in line with seven of her classmates at the head of the hall facing their gathered peers, or soon to be peers. All the Dar'Shilaar that could make it were assembled within the large hall, their teachers, their sponsors, and of course The Seven. Against the size of the gathering hall, the one hundred and eighteen in attendance looked a mere pittance. Prior to this graduation ceremony, she had learned that she and those of her classmates that had shown exceptional skill, if not much power in her own case, were joining the ranks of only a few hundred Dar'Shilaar worldwide. She had always assumed that it was more.
Of course, nothing was certain right up until the point that Dar'Shilaar chose their magestone and were bonded to it. Sometimes the bonding did not take, and the student was allowed to try another stone again the following season. If the bonding did not take after the third try, the student was asked to leave Mahad'avor - forever.
The first student was called forward by the Fal'Shilaar, the First, a wise old wizard who was first among equals, the wielder of the Staff of Everilon, Endergot Shilaar. The student, Falin, stepped up to the choosing table, where sat eight stones of various hues, glowing softly on the table. She tucked her long red hair behind one ear and held her hand above the table like they had been taught. She moved her hand back an
d forth slowly until she stopped it over a deep crimson magestone. She reached down and scooped it up carefully into the palm of her hand, and stared at it for many of Celia's breaths.
Suddenly the stone flared brightly, and then settled itself back to normal. Falin smiled deeply and stepped back into line, her precious stone clutched in her hand. She would have the opportunity to have the stone set in any piece of jewelry she wished by the jewel crafter that had resided on Mahad'avor for many decades.
Each student stepped up to try and bond with a stone. Five before her tried, and only one failed. Alian'adira stepped back from the table, her face an elven mask of controlled emotion. She had all the time in the world to try again, however it was rumored that this was her second try. Celia was glad that this was her first try, and fervently hoped that this would be her only try.
It was now her turn to step forward. As she stepped to the table, her eyes travelled over the shoulder of the diminutive Fal'Shilaar to those of her sponsor, Gundan. He smiled and nodded once, indicating his trust in her and that she would do fine. In her three years since coming to Mahad'avor to begin her real training, Gundan had visited only a handful of times. He had insisted that he would not miss this day every time he visited. And he was true to his word.
As she stepped up to the table she looked down into the kindly eyes of the leader of the spell wielders. He smiled up at her and gestured to the table. "Seek acceptance," he whispered cryptically, for her ears alone.
She raised one hand over the four remaining stones, each glowing a different colour; indigo, amber, azure and vermillion. She moved her hand slowly back and forth, trying to sense the stone as she had been taught the day before. She stood like that for what seemed like forever, willing herself to feel.
Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) Page 25
