Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Innes

  "I make the rules. Therefore it is impossible for me to cheat," the Emperor responded to the now dead man.

  ---o---

  Yalang walked beside the Emperor as they returned to his chambers down the thickly carpeted hallway. As usual, he walked three paces behind his ruler, two Palace Guards only two paces behind him. Based on the performance that the Emperor had put on just a few minutes ago, dispatching those four armed men by himself, Yalang was not sure what they might expect him to do to harm the man.

  "You obviously have something to report, so proceed." The Emperor was striding confidently forward at a pace that had Yalang struggling to keep up.

  "Your eminence, a report has come in from a small outpost in the Eastern Provinces," Yalang began tentatively. They had reached the Emperor's apartment containing his bathing and dressing chambers. This was one area where Yalang was uncomfortable, but the Emperor did not pause, so he had to hurry and catch up.

  When he entered the Emperor's apartment, he averted his eyes as three nubile, young; mostly naked women were undressing the Emperor. They removed his rope belt and his practice robes, at which point he strode forward down the steps into the large bathing pool, immersing the tattoos covering his body in the hot water. The water was kept hot, fed as it was from a large cistern in the core of the Imperial Sky Citadel where several large fire sprites were bound by magic.

  Two of the women removed their sheer, veil-like shifts and joined the Emperor in the pool. The third took away the Emperor's soiled clothing and would return with the proper attire for the remainder of the day.

  Yalang did not even glance at the women, the whole display a slight to his presence and his cultural upbringing in his homeland, Ratanga, far to the east across the sea.

  "Report." The Emperor knew of Yalang's feelings for his tastes, and made a point every once and a while to put Yalang in this position to prove that he was indeed the master. His voice left nothing unclear that he was being given an order.

  "Apparently, the report is from one Captain Keyth of Farad'avor. It states that the Goralonians have attacked the Empire through the pass. Not only that," Ylanag put up a finger to ask the Emperor to let him finish before asking his question, "the report states that using some dark magic, they were able to get agents up onto Farad'avor itself and capture the sky citadel itself."

  Yalang glanced at the Emperor, now floating on his back, his face a stone mask. Yalang wished he had not looked, as he caught a glimpse of more female flesh than was proper as the women washed the Emperor. He looked away quickly, the images already burned into his mind. He would have to atone for this later, as the Emperor well knew.

  "Call a meeting of my council. Let's give them the impression they have some influence. In the meantime, recall the majority of the western and northern fleets and issue orders to those in the east to increased vigilance."

  "At once, your eminence!" Yalang responded as he retreated from the room in a bow.

  ---o---

  Carbella fumed. He was angrier now than he had ever been, but orders were orders he thought as he went up on deck. This patrol wasn’t even his idea, but as Captain of the Imperial sky ship Chimera, he went where Admiral Jarut told him. And he had just told him in no uncertain terms that he was to return to the Tala’ahar, the Imperial City. Some days Carbella wished the damn Dar'Shilaar had kept their inventions to themselves, or had never come up with them in the first place. Then Admiral Jarut wouldn’t have been able to contact him on that infernal magemirror that all the skyships now carried for just that purpose. They would have had to send a messenger instead, and could not be contacted on a whim. It had taken them and their sister ship Wyvern ten days to get to the northern escarpment on the edge of the Empire, and they had only been here seven, with Chimera patrolling the west, and Wyvern heading east along the extensive cliff edge, but now they were ordered back at haste, told that they must make it back within five days or be docked pay.

  His crew scattered as he stepped up on the deck, pausing to survey his ship. They could sense his mood as if a thunderstorm hovered over his head even as his ship floated above the landscape tens of spans below the keel sail. Turning, he climbed the steep stairs to the aft castle, making for the helm. He stumbled on the ship’s ladder - his conversations on the magemirror always drained him physically as much as they charged him emotionally.

  “Orders, sir?” asked his First Mate Harsen. Carbella regarded Harsen for a moment before answering. The First Mate had been with him for seven years, and had been resilient and stoic, dealing with everything that had come their way in that time. And that had been quite a lot. The scar running down the left side of his face had a story to it, as did the claw marks scarring his left bicep hidden by his golden uniform.

  “We’re to return to Imperial City, at double speed,” directed the Captain.

  “That will put quite a strain on the skygem sir,” stated Harsen.

  “Yes,” Carbella stated frankly. He too was worried, even though no emotion had entered Harsen’s voice at the previous statement. In the last two years, thirteen skyships had mysteriously plummeted from the sky, injuring and killing many on board. Before that, no skyships had failed in the forty or so years the Imperial Sky Navy had been in existence. The Dar'Shilaar that had been sent out by the Empire had yet to find any reasons why this was occurring. “Give the order, and then go check on Marius,” he ordered as he straightened his hat and tugged down his golden coat, taking the helm.

  Marius was the ship’s Dar'Shilaar, assigned by the Empire, supplied by Mahad'avor in payment for allowing them to call the Empire home. That was not a situation that Carbella understood, nor did he really care to. It just meant he had to put up with a Shilaar on his ship due to the necessity of having someone who knew how the skygem powering his ship’s flight worked.

  Harsen was shouting orders to the crew, who leapt to obey, climbing the rigging to the main sails, and adjusting the port and starboard side sweep jibs to their most advantageous positions to begin tacking against the breeze. Carbella watched his crew scurry around, stowing the few loose items on deck, as he leaned into the helm and began to turn the ship. He cursed his luck as he turned the helm and the aimed the ship into the wind. Five days was going to be impossible heading into the wind, let alone beating the ten that it took to get to the northern escarpment in the first place. Carbella knew what he had to do, but was loath to do so. The Chimera, at forty paces of keel, an additional ten pace long front spar, and a beam width of nine paces, with three main masts, the tallest over six spans, or twenty paces from the keel, and four six span side sweeps, she was the standard hull style for the Imperial Sky Navy, but she was his. She carried a compliment of sixty sailors, and a squad of thirty soldiers armed with sabres and studded leather armor all under his command. She also carried four ballista and an aft deck catapult on a swivel. With full sail, she was a site to behold, white sails with the Imperial crest emblazoned in the center likened to the wings of the mythical dragons, not seen for centuries, and the speeds she could reach running with the wind became staggering. But with all that, none of the Imperial skyships could run head on into the wind, but could only tack across at an angle, which basically doubled the amount of distance they would have to cover. Unless... unless it was an emergency, in which the Chimera crew could stow all sails but the keel sail below that provided a small amount of steering and run fully with the skygem propelling them in any direction, even directly into the wind. But at what cost?

  Carbella stared over the forests below to the far mountains ahead that defined the limits of the Empire, only low dark purple stains against the horizon. It was the only option. It didn’t mean that he would have to like it.

  ---o---

  Harsen knocked loudly on the vault door, partly convinced the wizard was either deaf, or daft, and partly because if he wasn’t one of those two, then he just wanted to annoy him. Harsen knew that Marius was always a little distracted, and generally full of himself, so without
waiting for an answer, he pushed open the door. Stepping into the small vault that housed the heart of the skyship, Harsen looked around the small room. Located at the dead center of the ship, the main mast ran from the floor boards below to the ceiling above. Attached to the mast was a small table with a metal bowl-like depression in the center holding a glowing egg-shaped gem the size of Harsen’s fist. In the emerald light emanating from the gem he could see Marius sitting in the chair in front of the gem watching it, but not obviously doing anything.

  “Yes?” Marius whispered, “You banged?” His voice was dry, like a sand viper Harsen thought.

  “Captain’s orders,” stated Harsen gruffly. “We’re ordered back to Imperial City at double speed.” He thought he saw the skygem flicker and dim slightly as he could feel the ship shift into its turn.

  “Of course,” replied Marius. Harsen could not see Marius’s face under the raised hood of his cloak, but though his tone seemed one of indifference, Harsen thought he could sense irritation. “Please send the Captain down.”

  Harsen left the vault without another word, shutting the door behind him, thanking the god Voral that Marius was the Captain’s problem to deal with.

  ---o---

  Carbella stormed down the ship's ladder, through the top hold, down another ladder and stomped his way towards the vault. He stopped himself about three paces shy of the door to the non-descript room to calm himself. The Dar'Shilaar always projected a calm, icy demeanor, and Carbella had not ever seen the man agitated, but there was always something in the man's eyes that indicated a buried fury that may erupt at any time. He was similar to the ocean, calm one instant, then raging the next when a sudden squall whips up.

  Stepping forward after a few moments to get under control, he knocked on the door, waited a moment, and then stepped into the small room. "You requested to speak with me?" the captain asked as calmly as he could.

  "Summoned you, yes." Marius said flatly from under his hood.

  "Well, what do you want?" he responded, ignoring the Dar'Shilaar's attempt to illicit a response to his last statement.

  "I just wanted to let you know that it would be unwise to strain the quafa'shilaar to the extent your lackey just expressed," the cloaked man stated. "In fact, I am not sure it will allow it."

  "What do you mean that 'it won't allow it'?" Carbella asked with frustration. "It's not like that stone is alive."

  "It most assuredly is. All magic is life. All life is magic." It was simply said, but it ran shivers up Carbella's spine just the same.

  "Just do it. We have been ordered back to Tala'ahar and must be there in five days or be docked pay."

  "Well then, by all means," the Dar'Shilaar said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Carbella was well aware that Marius did not get paid; it was a tour of service to keep the Dar'Shilaar in good graces with the Empire, more specifically the Emperor.

  He lurched as the Dar'Shilaar reached out and touched the stone and the ship began to accelerate. He hoped things could hold out until they got back to Tala'ahar.

  ---o---

  Marcon stalked through the courtyard, Goralonian soldiers under his command moving out of the way quickly. He could not blame them, as he was in a foul mood, and expected that his face showed it, in addition, the scar from his most recent fight caused his mouth to turn into a perpetual frown.

  They had captured this sky citadel guarding the pass almost seven days ago in what had been a masterly executed plan, sending magically-enhanced agents in to cut off messages be sent via those mirrors, and close off the magegate for retreat. Once that was done, his master Kartem had used the willing sacrifice of eight Goralonian soldiers and blood magic to open eight gateways into the fortress to allow hundreds of soldiers to storm the floating keep.

  He was still in awe of the thing. Walking through the courtyard, with walls on all sides, you could really forget that you were floating a hundred spans off the ground. Of course, he had walked along the walls one day and even though it was two spans wide and protected by battlements, the view gave him vertigo, and he had not stepped up there since. He had managed to find the two bodies of the slain shadow assassins amongst the other slain, noting one of the sky harnesses was missing, and procured the other harness for himself. He had not tried activating its power, but he felt safer that should the citadel fall out from under him, he would float gently to the ground.

  But now, nothing seemed to be going their way. The floating citadel was still in the same location, over the now occupied former Imperial fort that protected the Pass of Maran'toral. They had not managed to get into the control tower as yet, so they could not move the thing. But that was not even the worst part. He was even now on his way to report to Kartem on the latest developments. He could only hope that the warlock would not take it out on him.

  He stormed to the main keep and up the main hall to the somewhat informal audience chamber which also served the small citadel as its great hall. The tables had been cleared - moved to the giant barn for the men to use as their dining hall - and the throne left as the only place to sit. Which was where Kartem was currently - sitting and tapping his fingers on the oak arm rest with a staccato rhythm.

  Marcon stepped forward without wasted motion and took one knee before him.

  "Report," the warlock said after a moment in his ever present whisper.

  "Six more dead this morning. We have not found the assassin that is hounding our soldiers, and a rumor has started saying that this fortress is haunted. Even the four remaining shadow assassins remain baffled. They are still roaming the fortress after dark, when the murders seem to be taking place." Marcon paused, licking his lips, waiting for the warlock's reaction.

  "Go on," was all the thin man whispered.

  Marcon heaved an inward sigh as that was the worst of the news he brought this day. "We have not managed to breach the control tower yet. The wizard still manages to block our access, but we are certain his food must run out soon. Also, we have managed to use the pulleys and winches we found two days ago and raise and reset two of the eight gates around the fortress. We should have the rest raised within three more days." He stopped, his report done.

  "I see," whispered the warlock, not even looking at Marcon. "Well then, I guess we will have to set an example."

  "What are your orders?" Marcon responded.

  Kartem the warlock, most powerful shadow magic wielder, and advisor to the king told him. Marcon felt himself smile.