Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1)

by Nicholas Andrews

  “You heard true,” Qabala said. “When he brings me the head of the last of the Y’Ghans, he will remain with me as my consort and Dume-General.”

  “It will be an honor to serve with such a man,” Lukas said. “I am most eager to meet one of the Thrillseekers.”

  Would Nerris consent? Not for the first time, she wondered what she truly meant to him. She sensed, even while they were making love, that he held something back. But she needed Nerris. Because she loved him, yes, for the legitimacy his name would bring to her regime, certainly. But also for her task to come. No matter what, she must make him hers.

  That night, Qabala lay in bed, dressed only in a linen shift. Sleeping in the same room where Nerris had killed King Lahnen gave her a perverse kind of pleasure. The Y’Ghan family sigil painted on the doors to her chambers had been blotted out. There would be time enough to have her own sigil added, but it would have to wait until later. She glanced through reports from her men and new officials, asking her for appointments which would be necessary to return the occupied city to a state of normalcy. Meeka’s petite form stirred beside her, naked under the down-filled coverlets.

  There was much to do before she set out to spring the trap she had devised for Prince Lahnel. The men had been given their leave to pillage and rape this day, reward for a well-fought campaign, but on the morrow they must be put back on their leashes. She was not Lahnen the Corrupt, to grant her friends the highest favor and forget the plight of the rest of the people. She had shown them her ire when crossed; now it was time to extend her hand and help them to their feet again.

  The door opened and Falares entered, stopping to salute. Qabala sighed. The man still had not learned to knock. “My Eternal, Meznas is without and begs leave to attend you straightaway. He says he has information about the movements of Prince Lahnel and Dume Rhonor.”

  “Send him in.” Qabala prodded Meeka until she awakened. “Leave us.”

  Meeka yawned and nodded. “Yes, my Eternal.” She slipped from the bed and pulled on a robe.

  Qabala caught Falares staring at the girl, but his gaze immediately snapped back to hers. “Down with you, cur,” she said. “Haven’t you had your fill this day? That one belongs to me.”

  Falares bowed. “Of course.”

  He followed Meeka from the chamber and Qabala put on a dark robe, belting it at the waist. She brushed her hair back into place at the mirror and left the bedroom, heading for the sitting room at the end of the hall. Falares was already there when she entered, along with Meznas.

  Meznas was a menista, which was what the cultists called their priests. He was a tall, bearded man who had come to pay her homage after Nerris departed for Gelnicka. “Come into your power and my children will surely find you,” she remembered the Pale One telling her all those years ago. They finally had. Meznas had spent his adult life unifying the various sects of religious bands known collectively as the Cult of Eversor.

  The cult had once been a powerful force during the years of Yahd the Conqueror’s war, but suffered major casualties in the fighting. Afterward, those who remained had fallen into disarray. King Lahnen turned them out from Palehorse once he ascended the throne, and a lack of strong leadership led to their deterioration. They had splintered into separate sects and wandered the backwoods of northern Yagolhan, their obscure religion outlawed by the crown. They had scarce been heard of since.

  Until Meznas united them into a formidable unit, that is. Their doctrine was hateful, their practices reviled, but that did not stop Meznas from becoming the Grand Menista. The cultists were not soldiers, and not as influential as they once had been, but his people were proving valuable for rooting out information on her enemies.

  “My Eternal,” he said, “I bring news.”

  “Is it the battle?” Qabala asked. “Has Prince Lahnel pushed through Nerris’s forces? Or has Dume Rhonor begun his march?”

  Meznas shook his head. “Neither, I’m afraid. My people caught one of his spies west of here. Lahnel has played you false. He sends Lord Bosmick to distract you and disguise his true intent. Not five days past, Lahnel boarded a ship in Hesmuth. We believe he is bound for Lesta. He does not intend to meet you in the open field right away.”

  Qabala sat down on a cushioned divan. “Then Nerris—”

  “Is walking into a trap,” Meznas said. “Gelnicka is swarming with loyalists and remnants of the United Guard who fled south from your battles in the northern moors and Ryvetsk. Petaka Bosmick plans to lure your forces into the village and spring his trap while Lahnel consolidates his hold on southeast Yagolhan and raises a new host. By spring, you will have two strong enemies on either side of you.”

  “We must send relief to Nerris’s regiment at once.”

  Meznas shook his head. “My Eternal, a force that size will never make it in time. I implore you, let me send word to my people. A lone rider can reach them in two days if he rides hard. We are not soldiers, but we can fight if need be, and are well versed in blood magic. And we are close.”

  Qabala slammed her fist into the cushions. “Very well. And Nerris wished to spare these people. But that time has passed. Send your people, Meznas. Raze Gelnicka to the ground and let it stand as a monument for those who would deceive me.”

  “At once.” Meznas bowed.

  “How have you found out this plan?”

  “A man was caught spying on Commander Palada’s forces,” Meznas said. “He has been sacrificed to the Tattered Man. He gave us knowledge of Prince Lahnel’s absence. A second man, a woodwitch, was caught not far from here, and he informed us on Lahnel’s new strategy. He claims to be an old friend of the family.”

  “Have him brought to the great hall,” Qabala said to Falares. “I would speak with this woodwitch.”

  Falares left to find the man, and Meznas followed Qabala and her guards to the great hall. Qabala had known a woodwitch once. Earth Clerics, they liked to call themselves. They worked magic through the earth itself and everything which grew from it. The one she remembered had been a drunken sot of a man. The people in the village of Verchak worshipped him as if he spoke for Yala. But the woodwitches prayed to one of the spirits of nature, some deity named Ghom... or was it Gobe, maybe? She couldn’t remember.

  When her foster father began to take her into his bed, she had appealed to the woodwitch for help, hoping his influence over the village would force them to put an end to it. But the man had called her a harlot, blaming her for her father’s sickness. He never took his eyes from her after that, and she couldn’t figure out why.

  Until the night he visited her house. The woodwitch had won a sizable bet of some kind, and gave the money to her father. Her father was too jealous a man to let him have her all to himself, so he told the woodwitch they would take her together. That was the night everything changed for her. That night, she killed for the first time.

  She stood at the foot of the dais in the great hall as her guards dragged in the Earth Cleric. He was balding, with short, brown hair, and his brown robe hung from his chubby torso in tatters. Falares flung him down at her feet and he stared up at her, spitting blood from his mouth. Bruises and swelling marred his countenance, one eye involuntarily shut from the blows.

  “What is your name, woodwitch?” she asked.

  “Surnal,” the man said.

  Qabala smiled. “Ah, the great Surnal Listan. Prince Lahnel’s spiritual advisor. Had he not forsaken Yala, the goddess of his ancestors, his war might be going better at the moment, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Many say it was Yala who led this nation to ruin decades ago,” Surnal replied. “Prince Lahnel follows his heart. And it seems he has fooled you. Soon, Lord Bosmick will deal your forces a considerable blow, and come spring Yagolhan will be free from your pretensions.”

  “How do I know that everything you told Meznas is true? Is this another deception?”

  “I’ve told it true,” Surnal said bitterly. “I’ve betrayed my rightful king to his enemies. Would that I h
ad perished under the question.”

  “We beat, burned, whipped, and tortured him,” Meznas said. “No man would have held out that long for a deception.”

  “And what of you, Meznas?” Surnal asked. “No man would treat another as you have me. What does that make you now, follower of Eversor? How many have you sacrificed to the Tattered Man? What will be your reward when the world comes unhinged?”

  Meznas ignored him. “This man has been trying to gather his woodwitch friends to fight my people, my Eternal. I beg you, give me leave to make an example of him.”

  “We will make an example of all woodwitches,” Qabala said, remembering the man from Verchak. “But this one will stay under guard in the dungeons for now. I don’t blame him for trying to fight you, Meznas. Your people have given the Yagols much reason to hate you over the years. Still, it was the Cult of Eversor who came to my aid and not the woodwitches.”

  Surnal met her eyes, torchlight gleaming off his balding brow. “So you would unloose these abominations on our kingdom, Qabala?”

  Falares kicked him in the ribs and he fell down wheezing. “You will address her as ‘my Eternal’ or ‘Queen Qabala Aeterna.’ “

  Surnal cackled from his prone position. “She is no Aeterna. She has no godstone.”

  “No, but I know where to find one.” Qabala leaned toward him. “It is no longer your kingdom, woodwitch. It is my kingdom. You will rot in the dungeons until you see every one of your brethren fall beneath the knife. Then I will give you to Meznas.” She made a gesture to Falares. “Take him away.”

  Falares barked orders and two guards dragged Surnal from the great hall. Qabala turned to Meznas. “Send three riders to your people. Tell them to send every able-bodied man to help Commander Nerris and Colonel Quin. And if you should fail to return my Nerris to me, not even your Tattered Man will protect you. Rest assured of that.”

  Meznas bowed, shaking a bit. “Never fear, my Eternal.” He strode from the room.

  Qabala glanced again at the throne. Such a squat and ugly chair. She would have it fashioned anew once she wore her crown, something grand and befitting the new age she meant to usher in. A unified Cult of Eversor was dangerous, however, and had no place in her vision; once Yagolhan was unified, she meant to stamp it out for all and good. But in the meantime she would use them for as long as was convenient.

  Chapter Seven

  THE DAY DAWNED clear and chilly, and Nerris broke his fast with rabbit left over from the previous night’s supper. It did little to calm his anxiety. A force which exceeded his own by a wide margin lay on the other side of the field, protecting the village of Gelnicka.

  Nerris donned his commander’s sash and helm, mounted his warhorse, and spurred the beast forward. Chalis rode as his escort, carrying the banner of Queen Qabala for all to see. His men had formed ranks at the fringe of the field to the east of the village, right at the tree line. Lord Petaka Bosmick’s men stood strong at the other end.

  As Nerris and Chalis rode out to parlay, two riders broke off from the opposition’s middle. Lord Petaka Bosmick was a heavyset man with a red face, whose hauberk looked ill-fitting on his large frame. His escort carried his wolf’s head banner.

  Lord Bosmick stopped mid-field, and Nerris reined in his mount. “You must be Nerris Palada,” the lord said.

  “Aye,” Nerris responded, “and I was led to believe Prince Lahnel commanded this force. Does he fear to come out and meet me?”

  Lord Bosmick grunted. “The prince fears no man, not even a Thrillseeker. He does not deign to reveal himself yet. But what of you, Nerris? I always heard the Thrillseekers were honorable men, yet here you are, fighting for a usurper.”

  “It’s all in where you stand,” Nerris said. “There are those who call Lady Qabala a liberator. Most of the kingdom, in fact. Just as my people called your Yahd an enslaver.”

  “I suppose it is, at that,” Lord Bosmick said. “Nevertheless, I implore you to return to your Lady Qabala and tell her to seek reason. What she aims to do should not be attempted again by mortal man or woman.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Become Aeterna,” Lord Bosmick said. “My father served an Aeternus once. All it got him was a shallow grave somewhere in western Faerna. And we all know what became of poor Yahd. Slain at the Battle of Culpepper Ridge by your king.”

  “Be that as it may, I have a duty to my employer,” Nerris said.

  “Employer? Is it money you desire? Then come fight for Prince Lahnel. A Thrillseeker on our side would lend great honor to our cause.”

  Nerris shook his head. “Your prince has nothing I want.”

  Lord Bosmick gave a hearty laugh. “I see the way of it. Prince Lahnel can’t warm your bed nightly. What do you think will happen, Nerris? I have double your numbers. Will Qabala mourn you if only your head returns to her? Or will she climb into the bed of the next likely lad who comes along?”

  Nerris froze him with a gaze sharp as steel. “I implore you, Lord Bosmick,” he said deliberately. “Quit this field and pledge your army to Lady Qabala if you wish to live. I promise you, you’ll get no mercy otherwise.”

  Lord Bosmick spat on the ground. “There’s for your mercy. Dume Araka was my eldest sister, did you know? Before she gave up her heritage to serve on the Aeternal Council, she was a proud Bosmick. That’ll do for Qabala and her false Aeternal Council, whichever poor souls she deems worthy.”

  “To battle, then,” Nerris said. “Enough words have been wasted already.”

  “In that we are in agreement. To battle.” Lord Bosmick wheeled his horse around and galloped back to his infantry line, his bannerman following.

  Back at his front line, Nerris summoned Mikaren. “Get word to Rade, and tell him to wait until Bosmick’s soldiers begin the rout before he reveals himself.” Mikaren saluted and rode away. Rade had come to him the night before to bring him news of his endeavors. The old man had harried the enemy troops as much as he could, but Lord Bosmick made sure to march his lines across open ground whenever possible, speeding up to a forced march whenever passing through an area at risk. Still, after smashing the wheels on his supply wagons, he had managed to delay them long enough so he had no choice but to meet Nerris at Gelnicka.

  He wished he had not sent Rade to lead his... well, raids. He missed the old man’s counsel and his cheerful, carefree outlook on life. They were welcome distractions to the carnage and mayhem surrounding Qabala’s campaign. And ever since that night above the glade... Nerris had burned with curiosity about the cultists and that which drove them off, and Rade seemed to know something about what had happened. He wished to question him further. First, he knew details about Nerris’s heritage not many knew, and then that business with the cultists. The graybeard was no retired trapper from northwest Yagolhan, as he had claimed.

  Mikaren returned after a short while, and Nerris gave the command to his archers. They loosed a few volleys at Lord Bosmick’s troops. Only a few penetrated the shields on the front line. The answering volleys they got in return were much more effective, cutting down Nerris’s lightly armored men.

  “Sound the charge,” Nerris told Mikaren. Mikaren blew his war horn, and the infantry troops marched forward, breaking into a jog. Horns blew from the other side as well, as Lord Bosmick’s seasoned soldiers marched out to meet them.

  It happened fast. Jogging became running, and mighty roars from both sides swelled throughout the field. Mikaren blew his horn again and Colonel Quin led his sabres out at a dead run. The infantry smashed into each other and the air became inebriated with the clash of steel and shouts of anguish.

  Nerris waited for another horn blow from the other side, but it didn’t come. Quin’s sabres smashed into the enemy infantry, and soon enough they broke and ran. Nerris called for another blow, and sent a second unit of infantry and cavalry to the skirmish. He would have been with him, but for Qabala’s strict orders that he not endanger himself. He was just as glad to stay with the rear guard; pitched battle
s had always made him nervous. Too many chaotic elements for his liking.

  Finally, the sound of the enemy’s war horn echoed through the field. But he did not send any cavalry to relieve his men, but another infantry unit. Archers ran to the front line as well, catching Nerris’s eye. He saw the glint of flame as the archers nocked their bows, and his eyes grew wide.

  “Call the men back!” he said to Mikaren too late. The archers loosed, and their fire arrows sailed over the skirmish and into the brush in front of his relief column.

  The dead autumn grass went up at once with a dull whoosh. Some of the charging men were too close to the flames and ran right into it. Burning screams of agony joined the choir of voices in the air, as his men ground to a halt.

  His first infantry unit broke under the numbers of the enemy, and retreated toward the trees. Unfortunately, they had nowhere to go, as a wall of flame prevented them from falling back. That wall served as an anvil for Lord Bosmick’s forces to hammer his infantry against.

  “Call Quin back,” Nerris hissed to Mikaren. “They set a trap!”

  Mikaren blew twice, and Quin’s forces wheeled around, only to have the field itself rise in defiance. A force of soldiers and villagers, hidden in the tall grass, revealed themselves while brandishing long spears. They went to work on the horses of the sabres, forcing their riders to fall to the earth. More men at the edge of the field revealed themselves and charged into the infantry.

  “We ride,” Nerris said. “Sound the charge!”

  “But Commander, we must retreat,” Dolias said. “If we commit our forces, Lord Bosmick can circle around us and—”

  “I won’t leave our men out there to be burned alive,” Nerris said. “If Rade joins the battle, we can still win our way free.”

  Mikaren sounded the charge, and Nerris spurred his mount forward. The rest of his contingent followed behind, roaring in rage at the flames and the men slaughtering their comrades. They closed the distance fast, and Nerris met the first spearman with deadly force, cutting his shaft in two with Noruken and slashing through his face with a second stroke. Other men charged him, but Nerris cut a path through. He hoped Rade would see what was happening and not wait for the signal. With horsemen hidden on both sides of the field, he could take the spearmen in the rear and relieve them.