The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price

by C. L. Schneider

  “If you believe that,” Jarryd countered, “then you’ve never been to Kabri.”

  “My naïve, young messenger,” Malaq laughed. “The bay in Raymorre is a blue you could never imagine. The sand is silk. The fish practically jump onto the shore to be eaten. In no way could Kabri’s drab, rocky slopes compare.”

  I kept walking. I listened now and then, to ensure their debate didn’t come to blows. Malaq enjoyed riling Jarryd simply because it was an easy thing to do and I suspected, eventually, it would earn him a punch in the nose. Today though, their conversation remained lighthearted. Jarryd relented to a chuckle. Malaq threw his head back in genuine laughter. It was a well-needed relief of tension. I might have even joined them in it. But as I glanced back, the late afternoon sun glinted off the edges of the serpent clasp at Malaq’s throat, and I started thinking about what Draken would do when he saw it.

  When Langor’s egocentric King realized Malaq had something that belonged to him, death was a good possibility. Slow torture was more likely. If, by some miracle, Malaq actually managed to talk his way into Draken’s good graces, I couldn’t imagine he would last long masquerading as a son of Langor. Pretending to be one of them, living inside the walls that echoed his mother’s screams. It would break him, perhaps even before Draken did.

  Stopping once more, I looked up at Malaq. “Draken’s keep. Do you know why it bears the name Darkhorne?” I could see by his face that he didn’t. “The castle was constructed over seven hundred years ago on a summit halfway up one of the tallest mountains on the western shore. It was commissioned by one of the members of the Ruling House of the Shinree Empire. It was to be a palace. But no Shinree ever lived there.”

  “They didn’t build it either,” Malaq said as he and Jarryd came to a standstill. “Darkhorne was constructed entirely by Langorian slaves, and Shinree whips.”

  I nodded. “What else do you know?”

  “It’s difficult to get in uninvited.”

  “The whole area is difficult,” I corrected him. ‘The ground is unstable. The mountains are stripped bare and full of abandoned mines. There are no trees, no cover. It’s desolate and dreary no matter the season. The keep itself is well fortified. It’s built on great deposits of hornblende. One of the dark stones.”

  “So that’s where the name came from,” Jarryd cut in. “What does it do?”

  “On its own? Nothing. But when a Shinree channels with hornblende nearby, it takes over. It sickens good intentions. Twists even the most carefully crafted spells. Hornblende was a favorite tool for assassins and traitors during the last years of the Empire, when the ruling houses were fighting amongst themselves like spoiled children. It was easy work, tricking a man to kill someone he thought to heal. All they had to do was plant a sliver of it near their mark and the deed was done. But before then, before it was known what it would do, countless died from spells gone wrong. Langorians and Shinree. They died in the mines, in the slave camps—on the steps of the very keep they sought to build. Ultimately, Darkhorne was abandoned. It stayed that way a long time, until your forebears, Malaq, broke free and founded their own realm. When the first King of Langor was crowned, he claimed the keep as his own. He had it completed and ordered the mine underneath be worked by the condemned, turning it into the most feared prison in all of Langor.”

  “I’m not Shinree,” Malaq said. “The hornblende won’t affect me.”

  “It’s a dark place, Malaq.”

  “It is a place made of rock, like any other.”

  “Goddamn it.” I shook my head wearily. “Why does every conversation we have end with me wanting to wrap my hands around your throat?” In no mood to hear his response, I turned around and resumed my trek down the steep, stony path. I pulled Kya as quickly as the terrain would allow, and gradually, the ground flattened. The trail widened. Rock gave way to patches of dirt and grass. Trees replaced the barren cliffs we’d been following all day. Saplings at first, and then then thicker, more established groves, popped up to line both sides of the path.

  Not far up ahead they would close in tighter. The trail would narrow again. It would dip down and curve into the deep woods, where it would stay for some time. When it came out again, the dirt would start changing over to sand. The vegetation would thin and Rella would be visible on the horizon. Not long after, Kabri.

  Even with the spell pulling me back, I didn’t want to go.

  Pushing his mount past Malaq, Jarryd came to ride beside me. He leaned down, grinning. “Care to wager on how long it’ll take our Prince to catch something?”

  “The wager won’t work if we’re both betting against him.”

  Jarryd’s grin widened. “I think I have a biscuit left he can use for bait.” Standing in the saddle, he twisted to rummage through his packs. “There it is. One left.”

  “You sure you want to waste it?”

  “Oh, it’s not a waste.” Closing the flap of the bag behind him, Jarryd chuckled, “Especially if he falls in.” As he turned back around, I caught the brief flash of something in the air.

  Arrow, I thought, but I had no time to say it out loud. Steel ripped through the side of Jarryd’s face and kept going.

  EIGHTEEN

  The next arrow stuck in his saddle. The third mine. Scores more riddled the ground as I yelled for Malaq to take cover and hauled Jarryd down off his horse.

  We headed into the trees, but it was no better there. Langorians soldiers filled the forest. More rode in to block both directions of the trail. Weapons were drawn, orders were shouted, and we were surrounded. The soldiers held position, but they were doing so reluctantly. Every Langorian in sight was salivating with the urge to attack, except one.

  Malaq Roarke was the only man among us not on edge. Having chosen not to heed my warning, he still sat in the saddle, his rowdy mount stomping the ground, while he assessed the situation with a calm, curious eye. In flawless Langorian he demanded to speak to the officer in charge, and I left him to it; turning my attention instead to the blood emptying out of Jarryd’s head.

  “On the ground.” I pushed him down. Jarryd leaned back against a tree and I squatted beside him to examine the horizontal slice dividing one side of his face. Carving a path just shy of his mouth, all the way across his left cheek, the arrow had cut fairly deep, but clean. Where it exited, through his ear, was another matter. A good measure of flesh had been ripped away and what was left behind was badly torn and mangled.

  I needed water and bandages.

  I looked at Kya. She was just out of reach. I knew any move I made for her would be seen as a threat, but asking permission wasn’t going to work either. It was a waste of time appealing to the Langorians sense of decency. They didn’t have any.

  Removing the dagger from my boot, I improvised. “Thought I was going to have to part with some hefty coin to replace that nice, white tunic you gave up for me in Kael. But I’d say this makes us even.” Stretching out the bottom of my shirt, I put the blade through the hem and cut it off. Dividing the cloth further, I bunched up one of the pieces and pressed it against his head.

  “I can do it myself.” Jarryd yanked the cloth out of my hand.

  I resisted the urge to yank it back. Drawing a sword, I laid it across his lap and said emphatically, “Last resort only. Got it?”

  “This feels pretty last resort already. There’s at least—”

  “Stop counting. It won’t change their numbers.” Naturally, I’d already tallied them, and the result wasn’t good. With more than a dozen mounted troops scattered across the hill and at least twice that many in the woods and on the trail, there was no way I could have missed a force so large. Magic had definitely masked their approach.

  One of the mounted soldiers broke off from the rest. He moved into the canopy of trees. As he headed straight for us, Jarryd’s hand tightened on the grip of my sword. He started breathing faster. “Come on…” he muttered, and I almost took my sword back.

  “Stay put,” I told him. I put a han
d on his shoulder as I got up. “And keep your mouth shut.”

  “To hell with that.” Jarryd started to stand and I shoved him back down.

  Clipped and harsh, I said, “Don’t. Do. Anything.”

  “I’m just supposed to take this?” he said, gesturing at his face.

  “For now.” He started to object and I cut him off. “Don’t start fights you can’t win, nef’salle.” I thought the Shinree expression of friendship might soften my words, and his reaction. I was wrong. His eyes were charged with so much rage, I could almost see the memories of Kabri’s fall shooting through his mind.

  “I can’t just sit here,” he said tightly. “I won’t.”

  “You will. Or I’ll knock you out myself.”

  Upon us now, the Langorian brought his warhorse to a causal stop. I gave Jarryd one last, stern look and then raised my eyes. My intention was to take measure of what I was in for, but my goal fell apart as I got lost in the multitude of scars crisscrossing the Langorian man’s body. In addition to the recent, circular symbol of rank branded into his cheek, on his face, neck, arms, and hands were ruts and furrows, raised, jagged lines, pockmarks, and uneven blotches of burned skin. Nearly every bit of him that I could see was disfigured, damaged, or marred in some fashion. Even his nose had the look of being broken at least twice. I didn’t even want to imagine what the rest of him looked like.

  Yet, gruesomeness aside, the man was no tavern rat like Danyon. His head of thick, black hair was combed and contained. Instead of a wild beard like most of his kin, he sported only a small tuft in the middle of his chin. He carried no extra weight either. Sizeable muscles protruded from his sleeveless, leather vest, as if his body had been built by years of hard work.

  “Troy,” the man said cordially. “Captain Krillos, at your service.” Smiling down at me like an old friend, he crossed an arm over his waist and bent in a dramatic bow. As he straightened, and our eyes met, his held no animosity whatsoever. Only a simmering amusement and far more intelligence than most Langorians were blessed with.

  “Captain,” I nodded. “I didn’t think Langor had any high ranking soldiers left from the old days. Or any soldiers for that matter.”

  “I was out of your line of sight, Shinree. We all were.” Grinning openly, he spread his arms in a sweeping gesture at his men. None were quite as distinguishable as Krillos, but they were all rough and nasty looking.

  “Where? Prison?” I asked, and the captain’s jaw tensed. “Gods,” I laughed. “I’m right. You weren’t even in the army during the war. You were in a cell.”

  “Captain Krillos!” Malaq called out. “I believe you would do better to deal with me. I’ve been dispatched by the realm of Kael to discuss peace with your King.”

  Krillos slid his eyes to Malaq. “I know who you are.”

  “Is that a threat?” I cut in.

  “Troy,” Malaq cautioned. He raised a hand to silence me. I didn’t like it, but Malaq seemed to think he could handle the situation so I backed down, and prepared to watch him waste his refined, diplomatic skills on a man whose head should be in a bag on my saddle.

  “If you know who I am, Captain,” Malaq said, with a frigid smile, “then you are either witless or disloyal. Unless, you have another explanation as to why you have accosted my party and have yet to address me with the honor in which I am due.”

  Krillos backed his mount out of the trees. He returned to the path and halted in front of Malaq. “My deepest apologies, My Lord Prince,” he said; sounding more facetious than sincere. “It was not my intention to offend you.”

  Carelessly, Malaq drew Natalia and rested her across his lap. “Then, what is your intention, Captain?”

  “To bring you home to Langor,” Krillos answered.

  “As a prisoner?” I jumped in.

  Krillos tilted his head at me. “Our task is to ensure the Prince’s safe arrival at Darkhorne.” He glanced between us. “Or did you think King Draken unaware?” His grin was wicked, yet lighthearted, as if he found the whole thing entertaining. “He knows you’re coming, Prince. He knows you are all coming.”

  “Then I look forward to a proper welcome,” Malaq said evenly. “But, as you can see, Captain, I already have an escort.”

  “A Kabrinian pup and a used-up witch?” Krillos grunted. “Forgive me, Prince, but I don’t believe these men are fit to escort a Rellan goat herder.” He laughed and a vigorous round of chuckles ran through the troops.

  “And what of you?” Malaq asked. “Are you fit?” His tone was quiet and a little bit frightening. “Would you give your life to protect me, Captain? Would you give it now, if I asked?”

  Krillos went still as stone. “I’d prefer not, My Lord. But you must understand. Whatever we were before, we are now avowed soldiers of Langor. We are duty-bound to protect you. Honored as well, if you have half the character you’ve displayed so far. But these men you travel with are enemies to the realm. Your brother would not approve.”

  “I owe my brother nothing.” Malaq’s gray eyes burned. “I owe you even less.”

  “As you say.” Krillos bowed his head. “But I would be lax in my duty if I didn’t ask you to reconsider. They are questionable company for a Prince.”

  “You dare judge me?” Malaq laughed. It was a dark, menacing sound unlike any I had heard from him before. “I choose my own companions, and my own enemies. And I choose carefully. I suggest, Captain,” he said, equally sinister, “that you do the same.”

  Krillos said nothing. He just stared at Malaq, and Malaq stared back, and the silent contest of wills went on long enough to make me sweat.

  Wisely, Krillos broke first. “I am here to serve, Prince. So I will honor your wishes and leave you with your,” he paused, “chosen attendants. But I must insist on taking that.” His dark eyes fell to the shard at my neck.

  “Why?” I asked him. “What does Draken want with it?”

  “How should I know?” Krillos smirked. “Maybe he wants to give a bauble to his bride on their wedding night…if he finds her soft, Rellan flesh pleasing enough.”

  Jarryd bolted to his feet. “Neela will never marry Draken!” He stepped toward Krillos. I put an arm out to stop him and he bared his teeth at me.

  “Damn it, Jarryd,” I snarled back. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “That’s right, Troy,” Krillos snickered, “control your pup. I’d do it for you, but I’ve filled my quota of Rellan beatings for today.” Leaning back in his saddle, he waited for his men’s laughter to die down. “Now if you don’t mind…the stone?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll give you the same terms I offered the last dead man that asked for it. Take it. If you can.”

  “Now, that,” Krillos said, a twinkle of excitement in his eyes, “is without doubt the best offer I’ve had all day. Unfortunately, I have other, pressing business in the area that doesn’t leave me much time for grinding your face into the dirt.”

  I took a guess. “You’re going after Kael’s troops.”

  “We are. But rest easy, Troy. Draken and Guidon have a temporary accord. Our orders are only to observe the Kaelish and report back their numbers.”

  “And if they raise arms against you?”

  “That would be foolish.”

  One of his men leaned in. “We were sent for the Prince and the stone, Captain. We can’t go back empty handed.”

  “Actually you can.” I pulled my other sword. “If you go back now, Krillos, your hands may be empty, but they’ll still be attached.”

  “Ian,” Malaq cautioned. “There are better ways to settle this.”

  “It is settled,” I told him. “Isn’t that right, Krillos? You’re under orders not to engage us.” I gave the Langorian a deliberate smile. “Draken knows it would be a waste of men to try me.”

  “Cocky bastard,” Krillos murmured. He shook his head, laughing to himself. “I have to say, I’ve rather enjoyed our little exchange. It’s almost a shame you’ll be dead soon. In fact, I don’t have to
do a damn thing. I can wait for the Arullans to catch up to you for Aylagar’s murder and haggle with them for the stone over your headless corpse.”

  “Kill them, Ian!” Jarryd bellowed at my side. “Don’t let them leave here alive!”

  Krillos let out an amused snort. “Lack of blood must be affecting your vision, Messenger. Your witch, brave and dashing as he is, can’t possibly kill us all.”

  “Oh, I think I could.” I looked down at the stones at my wrist and started spinning them, round and around, to get his attention. “It’s just a matter of how.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Krillos said brashly. “You don’t have the stomach for magic anymore. Haven’t cast a spell in years, I’m told.”

  “You were told wrong.” A bit of the mirth faded from his eyes as I laid it out for him. “You were set up, Krillos. Draken doesn’t care about you. If I kill you right here and now he’ll just pick some other witless fool to run errands for him.” I called to the stones. One by one, they began to glow. “Or, you could take him a message. Tell Draken I won’t deal with his lackeys. Let him get his own hands dirty for once.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If he wants something he can come ask for it himself.”

  “You realize,” Krillos frowned, “that I might not survive the conversation?”

  I shrugged. “I can live with that.”

  He frowned a moment more. “All right. I’ll give Draken your message. And if I’m still alive after, you and I will take this up again. Soon.”

  “I look forward to it, Captain.”

  Giving Malaq a quick nod, Krillos spun his horse around and took off up the hill. In his wake, the mounted soldiers fell into line and followed. The ones on foot came out of the trees and marched away. As their dust settled, Malaq turned to me. “I’ll make sure they don’t double back.”

  He took off in pursuit. I put my weapon away and looked at Jarryd. One hand gripping my sword, his other gripping the sopping, red cloth, the entire side of his face and neck was painted in blood. It dripped down, darkening the white of his shirt and trailing off his arm to speckle the long stalks of grass around his legs.