Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Innes

  She turned back to her desk reluctantly and placed the other item on top of the letter, just in case an errant gust came through when the soldiers arrived, she didn't want the letter to be lost. It was important that he understand. There had been no other choice really, and the attack on Mahad'avor last night had forced the decision, truly.

  A cough sounded with a light knock on the open door to her study. She looked up at Wendinard, his ever crisp uniform impeccable as ever, even though it was the late hours of the night. Well, really the early hours of the morning.

  "It's time, Mistress," he said in his ever proper manner.

  "Yes, I know Wendinard. Thank you. I will be down promptly." She responded with a small wave of her hand. He nodded and left her.

  It had taken the better part of the day after receiving her orders from the new head of the order to get all the Dar'Shilaar in Tala'ahar rounded up and brought back to the embassy. The biggest difficulty had been that most had been scattered around the city recovering from the Spring's Planting Eve partying the night before.

  She passed on the grave news, her voice catching in her throat as she told the rest about the attack on their surrogate home and the subsequent death of Endergot, the only head of the order that some had ever known. There were many questions, mostly about who had become the new head of the order. Most were surprised when she told them, many stunned, a few slightly outraged. The other questions she answered as best as she could, but could not tell them why or by whom. The events of the attack were still unclear as yet, having just been told her mentor was dead, she had not been able to collect herself enough to listen properly.

  She passed on the final order, and was surprised when there was little resistance. Everyone went quickly about their tasks, even the servants. The first Shilaar to head back to Mahad'avor left only two hours after they had been given the news, eight hours after Zazaril had been informed. Most of those were fairly new, and had little in the way of possessions located in the embassy, thus found it easy to pack. Truth be told, they seemed almost eager to leave Tala'ahar and the insidious oppression of the Emperor.

  Others took longer, and the magegate worked well into the evening, sending the rest of the Dar'Shilaar back to the floating citadel that was their home; or at least the home of their order. She could feel the pull on her every time the gate was activated, which had been eight times up until four hours ago when she herself had activated it, an occurrence of about once almost every hour.

  Now, only she and Wendinard remained. She had passed through the embassy earlier, casting protective spells to seal the library and vaults to all but another Dar'Shilaar. Into the casting she wove a warning and a simple message as to why they had left. A true Shilaar would know where they went to, and could follow if they chose. She watched the last of the flames die out, the parchment now curled black sheets of charcoal that she tapped with her foot to crumble them into an indiscernible pile of ash.

  She left her study, pausing at the door to look back only once, and vowed to herself to return someday. She started down the steps of the empty tower to the empty lower levels, and finally to the basement. She entered the vault that housed the gata'shilaar, currently inactive, and walked up to Wendinard who was holding a pack.

  "All of your possessions went through on previous trips," he stated. Her eyebrow went up questionably as she looked at the pack. "I took the liberty of going through Celia's room and packed what remained of her things. I figured that we shouldn't leave her stuff here, when all others have left."

  "I agree, that was very kind," she said quietly. "What would we do without you? More importantly, what would I do without you?"

  His face was very solemn. "I am afraid that you will now have to find out."

  "Are you absolutely sure?" she asked. They had already had this conversation once today, but she just wanted to make sure. "There would be a place for you in Mahad'avor. It is quite a wonderful home."

  "I am sure Mistress, but this is my home. I have family here."

  "Really? I didn't take you for the marrying kind," she prodded gently.

  "Oh I'm not married. My brother Mortimar and his wife live in the city. My niece and nephew are a handful, and he could use my help. He works in a cobbler's shoppe over on Merrywine Road. Anyway, I couldn't leave them here alone."

  This was the most Zazaril had ever heard come out of her steward's mouth in all the time she had known him.

  "I understand Wendinard. Thank you for everything and be well. Do you remember your instructions on what to do once I am through the gate?"

  "Yes, Mistress. It will be as you say."

  "Good. It may very well save hundreds of lives." She took the pack of Celia's belongings and turned and faced the large gatal'shilaar. Calling out the incantation, she pressed the sequence of magestones that would open the doorway to Mahad'avor. As the gateway materialized into place, the courtyard she had known for many years visible, she turned and smiled at Wendinard. She stepped through into Mahad'avor, seeing some figures waiting for her outside the gate chamber. She turned and watched Wendinard stride up to the gateway's other end and fiddle with something to the side, and finally the gate winked out.

  She turned and met the figures waiting for her.

  Wendinard

  Wendinard watched as the head of the embassy stepped through the gateway, and then turned and smiled wistfully, he thought, at him. He nodded and then stepped up to the magegate and worked the mechanism that bound the keystone to the frame on the left side of the large, gold frame. With deft hands he removed the stone, and abruptly the room was cast into shadow, the only light from a flickering candle set on the bench behind him.

  He walked over and picked up the candle in its holder and walked into the hallway. He set the candle on a small table set out for just this purpose. He turned and pulled the heavy vault door half-way closed. He looked at it for a minute, admiring the construction, it being made of a metal that he was unfamiliar with. He then stepped into the room and walked behind the partially closed door and placed the keystone into a mounting bracket made of the same material. It pulsed as he placed it in its mounting, and he felt a tingling up the back of his neck.

  He turned from the stone, and made his way back into the corridor. He pulled the door the rest of the way shut, and there was a quiet clanking and the seal of the door radiated light for a brief moment and then was dark. He tried to open the door, just to be sure, but it absolutely did not budge.

  He nodded to himself, went down the hall, up the stairs and out into the night, closing the embassy doors behind him carefully. He did not lock them, for those that would be coming the next day, or the day after, would not be stopped by something as trivial as a locked door.

  He began his trip home, quietly humming to himself, happy that those that did come would not find what they were looking for.

  Yalang

  First Chancellor Yalang knew the Emperor would not be pleased. In fact, he would be furious, and Yalang had to figure out how to deflect that anger before it consumed him. He carried the letter, sealed and addressed to the Emperor, and the other object they had found in Zazaril's study in his sleeve pocket. He did not know what the letter read, but could guess based on the condition of the embassy when they arrived to detain the Shilaar headquartered there. He did, however, know what the other object signified, and was both concerned and surprisingly proud of Zazaril for having done what she had done.

  Of course, it also ate at him the entire walk back to the palace surrounded by Imperial Guards. He had already dispatched a number of patrols to search the city for any Dar'Shilaar still remaining, but he was certain none would be found. He had to figure out an angle in which to play this to his advantage, or he would be the next personal 'guest' of the Emperor when his birthing day came around, and he certainly did not want that.

  They entered the palace through the smaller man gate to the side of the main courtyard and the guard dispersed, leaving only two to guard the First Chance
llor. He laughed really as he thought about it; his value to the Emperor as related to the number of guards he was assigned. That being said, no one got more than two within the palace, most getting none. Only when outside the palace walls was he, and others, escorted by more, and he was not entirely certain if that was to protect him, or ensure he returned. He never wanted to test that theory if he could avoid it.

  He decided he had better get his meeting with Emperor Randramas over with as soon as possible, and thought he had figured a way out of his wrath, if any appeared. He was never certain. Generally the Emperor was icy calm and controlled, but every so often, he would vent his anger. It was usually directed at the nearest target, which in this case would be him.

  He entered the palace, barely registering the grand hallways, carved in their bas relief, showing the various battles of the Emperor's rise to power. He turned at a hallway midway down the grand hallway and began to climb a set of stairs to the upper levels. It was past the dinner bell and so Randramas would not be found in the audience chamber, but in the shrine in the Emperor's quarters.

  Reaching the third level, he came to the large bronzed doors that protected the Emperor from the outside world when he wished. Four large Imperial Guards stood in front, alert, hands on the pommels of their swords. Small hand crossbows hung from a hook on their belts. Their plate and chain armor shone in the lamplight that lit the hallway.

  Yalang nodded to the guards, who barely registered his presence, but opened the door a small ways. It was enough for his thin frame, but not by much. Even he did not have much influence in the palace - at least not as much as he projected to outsiders. The doors closed quietly behind him as he walked down the thickly carpeted hall, his slippers not making a sound. He counted three doors down on the right, and he came to the open door to the Emperor's shrine to Benraw. He approached quietly, and stood just outside the room as he watched the kneeling form of Emperor Randramas praying before the altar to his god.

  It was a fact only he and a select handful of Imperial guards knew; that Emperor Randramas was actually a former Brother of Benraw, the God of War, Destruction and Chaos. Somehow he had retained his god-bestowed powers, and Yalang presumed it was due to his devotion, as he was showing now.

  "You may enter." The Emperor said. No matter how quiet he was, Randramas always knew when he was there.

  "Your eminence," he replied, and entered with a bow. He knelt the prescribed three strides inside the door. He saw the sacrifice on the altar and turned his gaze away, his stomach turning.

  "What have you to report?" the Emperor queried with a knowing tone.

  Yalang proffered the letter from his sleeve, and held it up, his head down, eyes turned to the floor. "Zazaril - the head of the embassy - left this letter for you." He was proud that he did not flinch as the Emperor removed the scroll from his hand.

  The emperor broke the seal, and turned to slowly pace in front of the altar as he read. "Do you know the words within?" the Emperor asked quietly. Yalang could sense no anger in the tone; the Emperor's voice was ice cold, controlled.

  "I have not laid eyes upon the words on that parchment, your eminence."

  "But you know what they say." It was not a question.

  "I suspect that I know the general content of the letter, yes your eminence."

  "Report." Randramas turned to face Yalang, meeting his eyes and boring into them with intent. Yalang could not turn away.

  "When we reached the embassy, we found the doors unlocked. Entering the building, we found no sign of anyone. It appears that they left, effectively closing the embassy. Therefore, I surmise that the response to your demand of magestones was in the negative. When we reached the study of the head of the embassy, the head of the Dar'Shilaar in your city, we found the letter that you now hold... and this." Yalang held out the other item that was left on the desk, sitting on top of the letter - Zazaril's ruby red magestone amulet.

  The Emperor stood for a long time, studying the amulet hanging from Yalang's hand; long enough for his arm to tire.

  "I see," was the Emperor's reply. "Was there anything else?"

  "No, your eminence. All magical artifacts were removed or possibly placed in a vault in the basement. There is no way to know for certainty, as the guards were unable to open any of the doors in the basement." Yalang's arm was tiring even more, starting to sag towards the ground slightly. He could feel the muscles in his arm twitching, but could not afford to appear weak now.

  "So, the Dar'Shilaar have refused a direct request from the Emperor, thereby rejecting the Empire." He crumpled the parchment in his hand.

  "Yes, your eminence, it appears they have." Yalang made sure his eyes were on the floor. "What are your orders?"

  The Emperor told him.

  Marisha'ilea

  Marisha'ilea had tears running down her cheeks. She had needed to be strong for the last two days, but now she was alone. Alone with the knowledge given to her by the Staff of Everilon; knowledge as accumulated by almost one thousand years of Dar'Shilaar. Knowledge of things she would rather not know, things that were now her burden to bear.

  It had created a huge uproar the morning after the attack, only yesterday really, and more importantly Endergot's death, when the Council met to choose a new leader. Doratellan walked in beside Marisha'ilea, who bore the staff into the council chambers, and placed it on an ornate stand before taking up her place as Recorder at the lectern she always stood at while in this chamber. She noted that only one other Recorder was at their place, and then remembered that the third had been the perpetrator of the attack.

  The Council began its discussion once the heavy doors were closed, trying to decide whom should be the next Head of the Council.

  "This attack just proves that the next head of the Council must be strong and decisive!" Brilon argued fiercely. His dark brows matched his dark demeanor as he frowned at the staff.

  Avara'etha responded quietly, "That is true, however, as much as you wish it, that is not how the Head of the Order is chosen." She was dressed simply as always, her brown linen robe clinging to her ample curves.

  Brilon leaned forward and scowled in her direction. "Then how is the new Head of the Order chosen?" he almost demanded.

  "The Staff be doing the Choosing." Doratellan answered calmly. Marisha'ilea noted the hint of a smile, and he winked at her when he noticed her watching.

  "What?" Brilon seemed stunned. Even Marisha'ilea was taken aback. She did not know that fact either.

  "The Staff contains all the knowledge and wisdom from the essence of all its previous owners for almost one thousand years. It chooses the next head of the order." Avara'etha replied calmly. As the oldest of the Council members, and an elf besides, she knew the history of the Staff of Everilon better than anyone else in the room.

  Brynden and Dar'ell both nodded slowly in apparent understanding, but stayed quiet.

  Norella folded her hands in her lap and nodded sharply, "Then that is how it is to be. How does the choosing happen? Can you please guide us through it my dear?" she directed at the diminutive elf. Even though Avara'etha was almost twice as old as Norella, she treated anyone without hair as grey as hers like a grandchild.

  "Certainly Norella," she replied, standing and moving to the center of the room. "Each one of us will try and pick up the Staff. If the Staff chooses one of us, it will mean that we will have to elevate one other Shilaar to round our numbers out to seven. If it does not choose one of us, then we will open the room up to the other full Dar'shilaar, and each will have a chance to be chosen."

  "Wait! You're saying that it could be someone not currently on this Council that could become the Head of the Order?" Brilon's anger and confusion seemed ready to boil over.

  "That is precisely what I am saying." Avara'etha replied. "Only the one that can wield the Staff can lead the order. It has been that way ever since Ever'ilon himself wielded the Staff over five hundred years ago, and passed it into Dar'Shilaar hands for safe keeping before hi
s end. Since then, it has been surmised that the Staff has evolved, retaining an essence of its former owners, and thus this method of choosing has become more than tradition. Only the wielder of the Staff will gain the knowledge the Staff contains, and therefore the right to head the order."

  Doratellan stood before anyone else, "I have a suggestion, if ye do be so kind as to be hearing me out?"

  Brilon bristled. "Let me guess, you want to be first?"

  "Nay. I want Marisha'ilea to be going first."

  The statement stunned Marisha'ilea, and caused an enormous outburst throughout the chamber. Even the normally quiet Brynden and the aloof Dar'ell chimed in against the idea.

  "That's absurd!" "Never heard of such a preposterous thing!"

  Her eidetic memory heard it all and filtered it for later understanding. She looked at all the Councillors, now standing in front of their chairs, some yelling, others gesturing widly. Avara'etha still stood in the middle of the room near the Staff. She was the only one besides Doratellan who had remained quiet. She let the clamor die out as she stood silently, regarding Marisha'ilea with her penetrating eyes.

  As soon as the noise began to die down, Avara'etha spoke into the developing silence as everyone retracted into their own thoughts. "This is not the tradition. Why should we break from this time honored way of choosing the one to lead us that has been the way for five hundred years?"

  "Oh, ye can be doing it the old fashioned way, if ye be wishing. However, I be having a suspicion that I would be saving ye some time." Doratellan waved his hand dismissively at the rest, and sat down in his seat and threw one leg over the left arm, dangling it there. Marisha'ilea noted a smug grin barely hidden on his face.