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

by Nicholas Andrews

  At least Nerris thought so, until Jhareth came back from his scouting one evening with some urgent news. “We’ll want to get off the path,” he said.

  “What’s going on?” Nerris asked.

  “Soldiers,” Jhareth said. “A patrol of some kind. Their sigil depicted a warrior brandishing a morning star.”

  “House Garero,” Nerris said. “I knew we shouldn’t have passed so close to the Rockfort.”

  “They’re vassals of House Duchois,” Dist explained to Len-Ahl. “Do you think they’re looking for us?” he asked Jhareth.

  The thief shrugged. “How would I know? It could be a routine patrol, but we don’t want to take that chance.”

  Nerris swore. “All right, let’s find a hiding place. No fires tonight, Dist.”

  They wandered off the game trail they had been following and Jhareth soon found a cave at the top of an incline, shrouded somewhat by the foliage. They led the horses up the slope and into the cavern to wait for the patrol to pass.

  That night, Jhareth returned from scouting once again and made his report. “The patrol isn’t budging,” he said. “I think they’re waiting on us.”

  “News sure travels fast,” Nerris said. “I bet they’re under orders from Zarseille to intercept us in case we came this way.”

  “How many are there?” Dist asked.

  “Two dozen riders, better equipped than we are,” Jhareth said. “Plate armor, gauntlets of lobstered steel, lances as well as swords. You get the idea.”

  Nerris’s heart fell. If it came to a fight, they would not stand a chance against so many. He did not relish having to explain his actions to Lord Laque Duchois. King Owen would probably intervene, assuming their messenger had reached him, and that would set off a whole new slew of political problems for Agos.

  “And that’s not all,” Jhareth continued. “There is a force of men behind us, camped at that ruined stone wall we passed a few miles back.”

  “More soldiers?” Dist asked.

  Jhareth shook his head. “These men wore black robes with white inlays, with runes patterned on them. Some wore metal masks and had long, serrated blades. They had a few locals tied to a tree, and looked to be preparing for a ritual.”

  “Cultists,” Nerris hissed. Congir’s men were pursuing them after all.

  “How did they track us?” Jhareth asked. “They didn’t know what direction we were going.”

  “Eversor has many foul beings at his disposal,” Len-Ahl said. “Some of the more practiced menistas can conjure them into our world to do their bidding. We may be hunted by something we cannot see. Something we do not want to see.”

  “We have to help those villagers,” Nerris said. “They’ll kill them all.”

  “There were thirty of them,” Jhareth said. “Even we aren’t going to prevail against those odds.”

  Nerris turned to Len-Ahl. “Would your magic be able to help us? We could take care of thirty men if your songs disabled them like back in Faerlin Castle.”

  “I am afraid I am not powerful enough to subdue such numbers,” Len-Ahl said. “I found myself in over my head back in the great hall, remember.”

  Nerris clenched his fists, remembering the atrocities he saw in Yahd’s Walk and the village of Gelnicka. “We’re cornered if we sit here.”

  “Soldiers to the west, cultists to the east,” Len-Ahl said, nodding her head. “One of them is bound to find us.”

  Dist rubbed at his chin. “Maybe not.” He turned to Nerris. “I think I can take care of both problems.”

  “What are you going to do?” Nerris asked.

  Dist grinned. “Trust me. Jhareth, I’ll need your assistance.” He stood and grabbed a flint and tinderbox. “Get my satchel, if you would.”

  “Which one?” Jhareth asked.

  “The one that’s marked flammable,” Dist replied.

  Dist and Jhareth disappeared into the night, and Nerris stood watch at the cave mouth. Len-Ahl wrapped a cloak around her body and joined him. “What can they do against so many cultists?” she wondered.

  “I’ve got sort of a general idea,” Nerris said. “You’ll want to watch for it, Len-Ahl. It’s sure to be spectacular.”

  They waited for almost an hour, but Dist came through. The night sky suddenly came alive with multi-colored lights. Explosions in the air drowned out the crickets as the lights spread out in symmetrical patterns like palm leaves, one after the other. Len-Ahl shrank back, her startled breath visible in the cold of the cave.

  “What—”

  Nerris laughed. “Aikite fireworks,” he said. “I haven’t seen those since we attended festivals in Miagama. I see what he had in mind now.”

  Soon, Nerris could hear other sounds in the dark. Shouts of alarm and the thundering of hooves as the patrol raced through the forest in the direction of the fireworks display. Later still, a horn sounded and the clash of steel echoed around them, along with the screams of the dying. After some time, Dist and Jhareth stumbled back through the mouth of their cave, breathless and grinning.

  “Where did you get your hands on Aikite fireworks?” Nerris asked Dist.

  “In Ula Aiko.” He shrugged. “My own special recipe. I spent three years in the Sicorian deserts perfecting my own blend of the ignition powder they use in the east.”

  “I don’t understand,” Len-Ahl said. “It was pretty, but—”

  “We crept down to where the cultists were camped,” Jhareth said, “right on the other side of that stone wall. Dist set off the fireworks directly over them. Then we ran back into the woods and hid. Some of the cultists came looking for us, but the soldiers arrived long before they got our trail. They took one look at what the cultists had planned for those villagers, and well, you can figure out what happened next. We won’t be tailed by the likes of them anymore.”

  “Dist, you’re a genius,” Nerris said, laughing.

  Dist inclined his head modestly. “Just doing what I can with what I have.”

  They made the decision to leave that night, rather than wait for morning. With any luck, they would be past Garero lands by then and be out of the patrol’s range. However, Nerris couldn’t help but wonder if they were in for more problems ahead. If Len-Ahl was correct, whatever had led the cultists onto their trail was still out there, and they were going right into the heart of the Cult’s power. Were the Yagol borders guarded, or was Qabala too busy fighting Prince Lahnel in the south? They were drawing ever closer, and would find out soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  CANDLELIGHT ILLUMINATED THE Aeternica’s royal sitting room, where Queen Qabala Aeterna reclined on a divan. She held an old grimoire to her face, reading feverishly about animal totems. Every so often, she paused to take a sip of wine from a goblet on a table to her left.

  Reading had always been a dull task for her. She never thought to learn until the Tattered Man insisted on it, his pallid face ever looming in her mind. After she freed herself from the ravishing of her foster father, he had led her to a remote cavern in the hinterlands. A treasure trove of gold coins had been stored within. He had called it her inheritance, and she used it to pay her way through the University at Lhan Del.

  She was grateful for the learning now, especially since she had been consecrated Aeterna. A ruler needed to read, and so she did, resisting the impulse to spend her energy on books of astronomy.

  This text was a translation from a tome of ancient times, detailing the Promehan beliefs that every human had an individual kinship with a specific animal. They could use the wisdom of their totem to help guide their lives, shaping their futures and, at times, even share that animal’s form. No record of a successful transformation had survived as far as she could tell, but she held the Doom Rock within her. It would enable her to do much beyond the scope of ordinary men if she could find out how it was done.

  A knock sounded on the door, and the guard outside announced Dume Yorne. Qabala put her book down and bade him enter. The older man once known as Rade entered her
sitting room in full armor. He had claimed his old bones were too weary to hold up the traditional full plate of a Dume-General, but Qabala had insisted and commissioned the suit for the legendary Dume herself. Despite his protests, he wore it well. The suit of armor was gray from head to toe, with a crest bearing the sword and scroll sigil of a Dume-General upon the breast. Yorne carried his helm, an intricate work of steel with curling horns adorning either side, and smiled as he went to one knee.

  “My Eternal,” he said.

  Qabala stood. “Rise, your Constancy.” The old man rose, and she noted the road dust marring his splendid armor. He had ridden fast to arrive here.

  “I bring news from the south,” Yorne said. “We stopped the forces of Dume Rhonor from wheeling around the mountains and flanking Palehorse from the west, but at considerable cost, and Rhonor managed to retreat to Lesta.”

  Qabala frowned. “Prince Lahnel is getting bolder. I don’t like this.” Ever since she took Palehorse, Lahnel had remained entrenched at Lesta. The mountainous regions of southeast Yagolhan were a difficult field to fight in, but it was his ancestral home. Even though Qabala had the numbers on her side, he had repelled all her attempts to secure a foothold in the mountains and launch a campaign against Lesta itself. He had been content to stay holed up in the mountains beating back her soldiers, until recently. This was his second attempt at launching an offensive against the capital.

  “There were others in the foothills as well,” Yorne said. “Not five leagues southeast of here, we were harried by a force of archers as we returned along the highway. Experienced foresters, surely. Their numbers were not copious enough to commit to a serious battle, but they were able to make themselves seem greater in number than they were.”

  “What are they doing this close to Palehorse?” Qabala wondered.

  Yorne shrugged. “Making a nuisance of themselves, mostly. When I sent out men to find them, they melted back into the trees. Testimony from the locals indicates they’ve been there for quite some time. It’s almost as if they’re waiting for something.”

  Qabala thought for a moment. “If they’re too weak to attack and too nimble to catch, there’s not much we can do except warn any force we send down the highroad to beware.”

  “Yes, my Eternal,” Yorne said.

  “What about casualties?” Qabala asked.

  “We lost nearly two thousand, most of them cultists from the front line,” Yorne said. “You were right; they make the perfect vanguard. Say infidel and point at the enemy, and they run off howling.”

  “Well, I have no shortage of cultists,” Qabala said. She had sent the foul zealots into the front line of every battle, but it seemed as if two more showed up for every one that died. Ever since they had taken the city, Meznas had been filtering his people into Palehorse and recruiting from the population. Every day produced new converts, each willing to lay down his life for her in the name of Eversor.

  Yorne noticed the worried look on her face. “This stalemate will not last forever, my Eternal. It was a wise move to dispatch Dume Falares and Dume Lukas to the north. They will bring back many recruits and our ranks will swell. We will wear him down eventually.”

  “It’s not that.” Qabala said. She wanted to share her fears that the Cult of Eversor was gaining too much power, that when her coming quest was complete there would be no need for men to give their hearts over to a stranger from beyond their world. Something about her Dume-General made her want to confide, but she stifled those notions. “Never mind. You are dismissed. I would have you attend me at supper tonight, so I advise you to wash that dust off in the interim.”

  Yorne gave her a small smile and bowed. “You honor me, my Eternal. By your leave.”

  The old man winked before he departed. Qabala hated when he did that, making him seem as if privy to some secret joke. Still, she had grown fond of the wayward Dume-General. He told her many stories about Yahd the Unifier and the other Dume-Generals of his time. He had genuine affection for her as well, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on its nature. He did not look at her like other men did, with lust barely disguised behind their smiles. His affection was more innocent, but no less potent.

  No sooner had Yorne departed than Meznas was announced without. The Grand Menista of the Cult of Eversor had slicked his hair back, revealing a widow’s peak, and walked with his hands joined together by his robe’s wide sleeves. He went to a knee also, and Qabala ordered him to stand.

  “My Eternal,” Meznas said. “How does this day find you?”

  “Restless,” Qabala said, “and Dume Yorne’s report hasn’t alleviated any of my anxiety. I want this war done, Meznas. How am I to restore the Aristian Empire while wasting precious manpower on those barren mountains?”

  “I have faith Eversor will guide us to victory soon,” he said. “My people are restless as well. They yearn to go out into the world, to convert the infidels and set in motion the Rebirth Cataclysmic.”

  “I hear one of your menistas has already begun,” Qabala said.

  “You speak of Congir,” Meznas said. “He was ever a fervent son of the Preserver.”

  “It’s folly,” Qabala said. “Faernans are not like Yagols. The love of Clystam is embedded deep within their souls. Yagolhan feared Yala for three thousand years, and it’s no surprise our people cast her aside once she fled. They were amenable to your faith, but Clystam took a gentler hand with his children. They will resist, and I don’t believe your Congir quite grasps that concept.”

  “Some would say that would be advantageous,” Meznas said. “Chaos in Faerna will make your conquest all the easier. And once Clystam’s followers in Faerna unite under the Tattered Man, all of his children will fall in line. Agos, Hilonia, and parts of Dellain will be ours, in a spiritual sense at least.”

  “And if Congir fails, the Faernans and their allies will unite stronger than ever,” she said.

  “He has the divine will of Eversor on his side,” Meznas said, “and by midsummer the Kolmian Alliance itself will be in turmoil.”

  Qabala rubbed at her eyes. Battles, cultists, princes, menistas, alliances. Her kingdom had more knots than a cat-whip. That was why she had been reading books on magic. She hoped to find the right blade to slice through those knots.

  Meznas smiled. “Do not despair, my Eternal, for I bring welcome news. Speaking of Congir, he had a bit of trouble recently when a sacrifice was interrupted in Faerlin. The perpetrators set off to Orrigo and across the mountains and Congir sent a force after them, along with a malamula to sniff out their tracks.”

  “Malamula?”

  “A gift from Eversor, raised from his realm to aid us,” Meznas said. “An unseen watcher, hidden in shadow, which can cover great distances in a short time. It will follow its target to the end of the world if need be, and report its findings back to its master. In any case, the believers Congir sent after these blasphemers led them to the Gosseen Mountains, where our brethren were eradicated by a patrol from a nearby castle. With no one to report to, the malamula has come to me instead, being the Grand Menista.”

  “Is there a point to this?” Qabala asked.

  “The blasphemers have continued on through our borders,” Meznas said. “One of them is a man who carries a curved blade at his side and answers to the name Nerris.”

  The name sent a jolt through Qabala’s body. “Nerris? Nerris Palada?”

  “The physical description is more or less the same,” Meznas said. “He travels with three others. Two men who are most assuredly the other Thrillseekers, and a woman.”

  “And where are they bound?”

  “Southwest, toward the Lhan Del region,” Meznas said.

  Excitement raced through Qabala’s veins. “You have brought me a great gift, Meznas.”

  “I thought these tidings might please you, my Eternal,” Meznas said. “Now if you will excuse me, I must attend to other matters.”

  “Go now, with my thanks,” Qabala said. The Grand Menista bowed and
made his exit.

  Qabala stood and walked to the window, which overlooked the Blue River, gazing deep into the purple twilight. Her Nerris was coming back to her. Why else would he return to Yagolhan, if not for her? And he had brought help. War or not, she must make a journey soon, and the Thrillseekers were the perfect men to root out what she sought. She had no idea who the woman might be; perhaps a guide through the mountains.

  So much to do. Falares and Lukas would need to dispatch a force with haste to take her love in hand. Nerris deserved a grand welcome back to Palehorse, and only an escort of Dume-Generals would suffice. Their captains could take care of raising a few soldiers. This was much more important, and a thousand thoughts of pleasure washed over her at once.

  The thought of having him back made her so disconsolate she even thought about calling Meeka into her bed. It had once been her pleasure to take her slave nightly. After her experiences growing up, she had not taken a man into her bed for many years. She had been curious about what pleasure men found in sex with women, and when Lord Kelke had gifted her with his personal bed slave upon joining her cause, she felt it was time to find out. Her romps with Meeka ended the first time she shared blankets with Nerris, though the girl still slept in the bed with her at times. She was faithful to her love, even when he had left her.

  A breeze picked up, the candlelight flickering and casting shadows about her sitting room. She felt a presence within the chamber and turned to behold the hazy form of the Tattered Man in his lifeless gray robes. He looked at her with no expression, and his mouth did not move when he spoke, but she heard his voice nonetheless.

  “I see you have finally gotten your wish,” the Tattered Man said.

  Qabala nodded. “I have prayed for this, to Yala and Clystam and to any other god who might answer. For over six months. I have missed him, Pale One.”

  “Yet you still do not give your heart to Eversor.”

  “My heart is my own,” Qabala said. “I have seen what the love of Eversor does to those who truly believe.”