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

by Nicholas Andrews

“Listen to this passage,” Borrel said, clearing his throat:

  Stonechaser and companions will come

  A catalyst to guide and others to defend

  Go forth and walk xenea dolchin

  When the threat is imminent

  Dist scratched his head. “What the hell?”

  “Cryptic, yet it tells us much,” Borrel said. “Stonechaser is singular, not the plural more commonly heard. It refers to one particular person, who will be joined by others to go on a journey. The Xenea Dolchin.”

  “What does that mean?” Nerris asked.

  “Literally translated, the Faery Footpath,” Borrel said. “Though it sounded a bit trite to my ears, so I kept the original term. It sounds more... majestic.”

  “Is the whole thing like that?” Dist asked.

  “Much of it recounts the history of the faeries,” Borrel said. “Nothing we weren’t told as children. How the faeries breathed life into the world, how Angelica was born out of a flower created by the elemental kings, that sort of thing. It may take a while to sort it all out into something useful.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have long,” Nerris said. “The threat referred to is upon us. Do you know the name Eversor, Professor?”

  “I’ve... come across several mentions of the name in my studies,” Borrel said tentatively. “It’s a name which appears throughout history, usually spoken of with fear and loathing. I grew curious a number of years back and devoted myself to tracking down the origin of that name. What I found was revolting, and I resolved never to query it again.”

  Nerris nodded. “Then you know more than most people. If we don’t find the Exemplus, Eversor or his agents will. And that would be disastrous for the world as a whole.”

  Borrel gulped. “You speak of the Rebirth Cataclysmic?”

  “What’s that?”

  “There was a man who lived about a thousand years ago,” Borrel said. “He stated this Eversor would one day find his door into our world, and when he did, the world would be remade. Everything destroyed, to be rebuilt in his vision. A fragment of the man’s testimony had survived, in an obscure collection of works called the Black Prophecies.”

  The sky outside the library windows seemed to darken, though it was most likely clouds passing under the sun. A few other patrons browsing the shelves caught his eye, and Nerris gave them an apologetic smile. A lot of noise emanated from their table, not the least of which was Professor Borrel, whose voice tended to rise the more he talked.

  Borrel noticed also. He looked to Len-Ahl and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The Stonechaser Prophecy uses the word aem to describe the One of Destiny. All translations have reverted it to the default masculine, but aem in Xenean has female connotation. Are you telling me you’re—”

  “I believe so,” Len-Ahl said.

  “And I have been called the Catalyst by a man much more knowledgeable of these events than any of us,” Nerris said, remembering his dungeon conversation with Rade. He looked Borrel in the eyes. “The forces of Eversor are already moving, and if we don’t do something we’ll be too late. Is there anything in there about where we go from here?”

  Borrel’s eyes fell to his parchment and his finger drifted down the page to stop at a passage near the midpoint. He lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead and read:

  Perilous will be the xenea dolchin,

  The road to Exemplus

  There shall be beacons to light the path

  Attracting those with the desire

  To aid and hold

  So I shall say no more except to seek

  The first in high land

  Let the breath of Paral be your guide

  And lead you to the path’s beginning

  “Why does it sound so choppy?” Jhareth asked.

  “Nuances of language,” Borrel said. “I wanted to make as literal a translation as possible to avoid the flourishes which corrupted succeeding copies of the document.”

  “The Road to Exemplus,” Nerris said.

  Len-Ahl nodded. “We are in for a much longer journey than anticipated. The text spoke of beacons to light the Faery Footpath. This was meant to guide us only to the first beacon. Each will in turn lead us to the next until we reach the end of the road.”

  “And then what?” Dist asked.

  “Exemplus.”

  “There are other characters following that passage.” Borrel took one of Jhareth’s copied parchments and laid it in front of them. He pointed to a few lines toward the middle of the page. “I have not seen those letters before, if that’s what they are. I don’t know what they mean.”

  “The answer is there if we can but see it,” Len-Ahl said.

  “What’s the breath of Paral?” Jhareth asked.

  “Paral is the King of the Wind,” Len-Ahl said. “It is said when the world was young, Paral created the wind and air from a single great bellow. Perhaps it is telling us to let the wind guide us to our destination.”

  “This is northern Agos, Len-Ahl,” Nerris said. “The wind can blow four directions in a single day.”

  Len-Ahl frowned, staring intently at the parchment with the unknown markings. Each was uniform in its construction, with tiny variations and elevations on the page distinguishing them. Jhareth began to peruse the rest of what Borrel had translated, but Len-Ahl put a hand on his arm to stop him. “There is no need, Jhareth. We have the information we seek.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can feel it, the same force which guided Angelica’s hand when she wrote this prophecy is here now. It speaks to me.”

  “What does it say?” Nerris asked.

  “It does not speak in words,” Len-Ahl said, “but in feelings. Deep feelings that have no name or logic, and—” Her eyes went wide. “Of course. The Spiritual Elements: thought, reason, knowledge, desire.” She snatched up the parchment with the mysterious letters and held a finger in front of them. She moved the parchment up slightly, then down. Finally, she set it back on the table and laughed.

  “What is it?” Borrel asked.

  “You were about to ask me if I was the Stonechaser,” Len-Ahl said. “I said I believed so because in spite of everything I was told and everything I have seen, I was never fully sure. How could one such as I hold a world’s fate in her hands? I wield no powerful weapons, my magic is rudimentary at best, I have no knack for leading men or armies. But now I see the truth before me and it is so simple. Any doubts I had are now gone.”

  “Then you know what those letters mean?” Nerris said.

  “Not letters,” she said. “Notes.” She lifted her fipple flute to her mouth and played. A triumphant, uplifting tune emerged, and gained speed as she went on. Several early morning book browsers cast an annoyed look in her direction, but she continued to play.

  When she reached a crescendo, the windows of the library burst open. A stiff wind blew in, extinguishing all candles and whipping Len-Ahl’s hair about her. Books fluttered open, and parchments blew across the wide room as the library patrons ducked behind wide stone pillars to avoid the gust. Even Borrel dove under the table, a wild-eyed look on his face.

  Len-Ahl pointed in the direction of her billowing hair. “That is our destination,” she shouted over the howling wind. “We follow the Faery Footpath and complete Angelica’s hope. Let all clouds of doubt flee before this mighty wind, for the world shall be mended and Eversor denied. I say this as the One of Destiny. I say this as the Stonechaser.”

  Nerris watched her with one arm shielding his face. With her billowing hair, raised chin and shining green eyes, Len-Ahl looked almost a queen herself. Her newfound confidence filled him, as if blown into his senses by the wind around him.

  At the same time, an anxious feeling crept into his mind. Len-Ahl had pointed in a west-southwestern direction, and unless their destination resided close, one land lay in their path. Their road led to Yagolhan, where they would have to wade through a war zone, Eversor’s cultists, Qabala, and the gods only knew what
else.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THEY LEFT AT first light, as the sun crept over the eastern peaks, bathing Orrigo in soft orange sunlight to chase away the last vestiges of the night. Nerris wanted to wait until Borrel had a chance to fully translate the scrolls, but Jhareth insisted on an early departure.

  “Congir has had ample time to collect himself by now,” Jhareth said. “Unless you think it might be fun to play hide-and-seek with the Cult’s blades all through Orrigo, I suggest we stay one step ahead. Besides, Len-Ahl says we know what we need.”

  Len-Ahl agreed. “The Cult protects its own. Congir is a menista, a leader of one of the various sects. He will seek to capture us and use us to further his own goals if we remain here.”

  “Not to mention we’ll want to get past western Agos before Lord Duchois finds out about the death of his son,” Jhareth said. “I don’t relish a visit to the dungeons of Zarseille just now.”

  Jhareth had purchased four sturdy mounts, in addition to a pack horse, and they saddled them in the inn stables before walking them out to the street. Nerris was a bit worried Len-Ahl would have a difficult time, never riding a horse alone before, but once again she alleviated his fears. She stroked her brown mare’s mane, emitting a sound into its ear which sounded half whisper and half hum. The horse accepted her without making a noise, in stark contrast to Nerris’s stallion, which clamped its teeth down on Nerris’s hand when he tried to pat him. Nerris cried out and pulled his hand away, favoring it.

  “Careful,” Jhareth said. “That one bites.”

  “You’re supposed to tell me before it does that,” Nerris said.

  Professor Borrel came out to see them off as they made their final preparations. “Thank you, Nerris,” Borrel said. “I have waited for the chance to look upon the Stonechaser Prophecy for years, and I finally have. Rest assured, I will continue to translate the text should you ever need to peruse the rest.”

  “I appreciate that, Professor,” Nerris said. “Thank you for all your help. One thing I’m curious about, however. You mentioned you had laid eyes on these Black Prophecies once. Where did you come across them? I think we would be at an advantage if we could learn more about the enemy.”

  Borrel sighed. “Alas, they are no more. As I said, I was quite zealous about tracking down the name of Eversor. I found myself all the way at the western fringe of Yagolhan, a place called Regnak Manor in the Mount Zoko region. The man who owned the house had long since passed away, but a few sepps for the caretaker granted me access to the library. A year later, in an unrelated inquiry, I heard the manor burnt to the ground.”

  Nerris was disappointed, but something tingled in the back of his mind. Hadn’t Rade’s surname been Regnak, or was it something else?

  Jhareth interrupted his thoughts. “All right, let’s get on the road. First stop, Gauntlet.”

  They decided the best route to take would be through the western Gosseen Mountains, skirting the northern shore of Lake Zarseille. If Lord Duchois had learned Nerris killed his son, he would surely have patrols out around Zarseille, so the highroad was no good. Before that, they had to make a brief sojourn.

  The city’s west gate led out to a dirt trail, which wound up a steep slope. After a mile, it ended at a battered down gate overcome with vines and moss. Beyond, the ruins of the fighting school Gauntlet stood silent, watching over Orrigo even now. Jhareth led them past a shattered tower and to a stone building with no roof. It was the size of a longhall, and the southern wall had been battered in, the stones strewn about the cracked floor.

  “This is Gauntlet,” Nerris said to Len-Ahl. “This is where it all began for us. We didn’t know anything about the world before we came here.”

  “You mentioned this was a place for nobles to learn the art of combat and command,” Len-Ahl said. “How is it they allowed in three boys with no notable birth?”

  “It began that way, true,” Nerris said, “but as the school expanded, they offered their services to others who could afford it. By the time we came, about a fifth of the school’s roster was commoners. Those with no money were put to work in the kitchens and stables as a way of paying for their tuition.”

  “And the noble gits loved sharing their classes with the help,” Dist said. “I don’t think I ever suffered as much verbal abuse in my life as when I was here.”

  Nerris flashed him a grin. “That stopped soon enough, once we began knocking them in the dirt in the practice field.”

  Once they were inside the wide broken building, they dismounted and Dist prepared a fire while Jhareth retrieved some food from their packs. “Breakfast,” he announced. “Who cooked last?”

  “Who can say?” Dist said. “The last time we were on the road by ourselves was three years ago.”

  “I’ll cook,” Nerris said.

  Jhareth grimaced. “Thanks all the same, Nerris, but I made a holy vow never to eat your cooking unless starvation is close. Even then it’s up in the air. It’s hardly a good omen if we begin this expedition with indigestion.”

  Nerris threw up his hands. “Pardon me,” he said, walking away.

  “Let’s just draw lots,” Dist said.

  “No,” Jhareth said. “I remember now. I cooked last. We had rabbit stew, garnished with spices from Lord Minoku’s kitchen.”

  “The hell you did,” Dist said. “You’re making things up. There’s no way you could remember that, Jhareth.”

  Nerris saw to the horses while his friends argued. He knew why Jhareth had picked this place. This building was formerly the mess hall, where they had taken most of their meals while at Gauntlet, since eating outside was a privilege granted to those past their second year.

  The school had grown over quite a bit in the past ten years. When King Ullas had declared intent to shutter Gauntlet and demanded the heads of Owen the headmaster and his son, Lord Gaviel Feigh had stood with the Palwells, calling his banners in defiance. King Ullas laid siege to the city, a feat not easily accomplished from the land side, as the only road to Orrigo led from the south and was guarded by a sprawling stone wall straddled between two cliffs.

  Len-Ahl came over to him. “What happened to this place?”

  “The forces of King Ullas Tornette,” Nerris said. “Gauntlet was always thought to be safe. The road here is through the west gate of Orrigo, and it is well situated in the mountains. Only a few secret paths lead down into the valleys.”

  “And they found these paths?”

  Nerris nodded. “We were betrayed by one of our own. Valez Vaed, the third son of a highlord from western Yagolhan. He had friends of his own, two Agossean nobles named Tarias Dinge and Maria Whitewater. Tarias and Maria were torn between their loyalty to their best friend and their love for the school. Before they ran off with him, they returned to Gauntlet to warn us. We fought fiercely, but in the end we were forced to retreat to the city, and Gauntlet was destroyed.”

  “That is sad,” Len-Ahl said. “So many memories for so many people wiped away in one battle.”

  Nerris pointed to a stone stair which used to lead to the armory, but now led nowhere. “I remember our first year here. That stair was part of an obstacle course which led throughout the school, a grueling course fashioned to push our physical abilities to the limit. Every student had to complete it three times during term. And it changed every year. It was the graduating class’s task to design the new path for the coming term.” He grinned at her. “Imagine trying to get to the privy with much older boys barreling down the hall at you at frequent intervals.”

  Len-Ahl laughed. “That does sound inconvenient.”

  Nerris pointed out the main yard, where they had practiced at combat, first with their hands, moving up to staves and swords, and finally picking a weapon to specialize in. He gestured to a building with half the wall missing, which had been called the Healer’s Hut, where those with healing intensive schedules had learned their craft. Trees had sprouted up amongst the ruins where the library and classrooms had once bee
n. Most of the outer walls were still intact, but many of the crenellations were missing.

  “Gauntlet had no guards,” Nerris said. “The students learned basic military procedures by keeping watch themselves. No one was exempt. It doesn’t look it, but this was once a formidable fortress. Some say that’s what made the king so paranoid.”

  “And no one ever restored it?” Len-Ahl asked.

  “King Owen planned to, once his father was crowned,” Nerris said, “but Owen the Elder died of his wounds and his son elevated to the throne. With matters of state and other priorities, the rebuilding of Gauntlet never got off the ground.”

  By then, the smell of bacon had begun to waft into his nostrils. Looking back, he saw Jhareth reclining against a large piece of stone while Dist toiled over a frying pan and a pot of oatmeal, muttering curses. It was plain to see who had won that argument. Nerris and Len-Ahl rejoined them, and they ate amongst the ruins and shadows.

  They set out again after breakfast and wound their way through the valleys and ravines of the Gosseen Mountains, stopping every night to camp under starlit skies. Jhareth scouted ahead, often climbing up a rock face to get a better view of any hazards which lay ahead. On one particular occasion, they had to lead their horses three miles out of their way to get around a gorge, which dropped off right out of a tree line.

  Occasionally, Len-Ahl would play the tune she had learned from the Stonechaser Prophecy on her flute. Every time, the wind picked up into a similar gust they had experienced back in Orrigo. The direction still led toward the southwest, but they stayed on their own western course. It was all but certain the Faery Footpath would lead them across the border, and they could hone in on the first beacon of the Exemplus once they were safely across.

  After nearly a week, they crept close to the Yagol border. It would not have taken so long had they cut across northern Agos to the Tormalian Highroad, which ran west to Zarseille and around the southern part of Zarseille Lake. There were no ravines and gorges to navigate around in that fertile stretch of land, but plodding through the mountains would keep them out of the sight of potential foes.