Moonstone, Magic That Binds (Book 1)

by Guy Antibes

  Moonstone

  Magic That Binds

  the Warstone Quartet

  Book One

  Guy Antibes

  Map of Goriath

  Moonstone

  Magic That Binds

  CHAPTER ONE

  ~

  LOTTO NORMALLY WOULD HAVE STARTED TO RUMMAGE through the garbage heap behind the little inn that served Heron’s Pond, looking for food or interesting baubles travelers might have cast off. Despite the gnawing hunger in his stomach, something told him of vastly more interesting things to do in the muck and mire of Heron’s Pond, the little body of water that lent its name to the village.

  Perhaps he could beg for a crust of bread from the old lady that let him live on the side of her cottage after he finished looking at the treasures in the pond’s mud. Most days, she’d let him eat her leftovers. People thought of the old lady as a witch, but Lotto didn’t really know what a witch did. He only knew that the Heron’s Pond people didn’t want her living right in the village any more than they did him—a dark thought that he threw out of his mind.

  He laid out all of the loot he had recently retrieved from the pond, while it was uncharacteristically empty of water, and let the afternoon rain wash the worst of the mud off of his treasures. The boots were full of gooey mud, so he cleaned the insides out with a scrap of wood from the old lady’s pile. As the rain soaked his treasures, including himself, a strange feeling drew him to the left boot. He picked it up and shook it, but nothing rattled. He thrust his hand down to the bottom and felt a big bump, but couldn’t find out how to get to it. Finally he ran his hands along the entire shoe and wiggled the tall heel. It moved!

  He struggled to pull the heel aside and took a thin rusty rod of iron from the treasure pile in his lean-to and pried the heel off to find a huge gem the size of a plum. It looked white, like a hard ball of milk, yet there were swirls of pale color inside. He touched the orb, but as soon as he did, his vision exploded in brilliant white light and then it faded to normal. Why did it do that?

  Lotto shook his head before spreading out the wad of thin cloth from inside the other boot. He used it to wrap up the ball and hid it in his lean-to. The stone made all of his other treasures less interesting. His stomach growled again, reminding him that it was time to root around for some dinner.

  ~

  Restella, the youngest princess of the King of Valetan, leaned against a fencepost of the corral, looking at a stablehand putting a bridle on a new horse that her father had just received as a present from the Duke of Happly. The early morning rain had long since passed and the afternoon sun made the soil of the paddock just right. She longed to be the one on the bare back, fighting against the animal until it broke and could be trained. The nearly-black horse, not much past being a colt, rolled its eyes and reared up. The stablehand clamped his knees to stay mounted on the slick coat, now showing flecks of foam. The smell of the horse and of working men combined with the dust and dirt brought a smile to her face.

  Her father wouldn’t approve of such behavior, but Restella didn’t care. So what? If only she could grow a few more inches and weigh a few more pounds, she could train with the men to be a warrior and perhaps be the one to break horses. She would love to be on a horse, showing it who the mistress was. Restella, the Warrior-Princess. Oh how wonderful life would be—better than her current one, stuck inside the castle, waiting for her father to marry her off to some elderly earl or baron. Her three sisters had already taken all of the really eligible noblemen and no one really wanted to deal with a headstrong eighteen-year-old. She grinned at the thought of her carefully planned persona, but then she remembered that one of her sisters had married at her age. That thought made her frown. She shook her head to rid herself of the prospect of marriage when a messenger interrupted her thoughts.

  “Fessano, the Court Wizard, suggests that the Princess attend him.”

  “When?” Restella said in a demanding voice to the nervous man. She knew her temper had put messengers and servants and ladies-in-waiting off and loved the control that ranting and raving brought.

  “As soon as it pleases the Princess, but he has news of an important nature. That is all I know.”

  She ignored the man and ran past him up through the orchard, the fastest way to the castle. What would be noteworthy enough to compel Fessano to send a messenger?

  She growled as she hurried on her way. She couldn’t avoid the patches of mud in her way, soiling her shoes and her everyday gown. The path improved as she passed under the garden gate when she walked on stone pavers. Up stairway after stairway until she burst onto the castle wall, the fastest way to the East Tower where Fessano lived.

  Out of breath, she sat on a bench outside an open window composing herself so she could act with the proper amount of disdain in Fessano’s presence. What could it be? A warrior spell? Invisibility, so she could escape undetected? She stood again and straightened her dress, noticing the smears of mud going down the hem and covering her shoes. No time to fix that! She pulled her shoulders back and climbed the last flight of stairs and stood at the wizard’s door.

  “Restella, come in, come in!” Fessano said, as she held her fist up to knock.

  “Amazing,” she said. “You knew I was there!”

  The shortish old man laughed, making his long white beard shake. “I do have a peephole and you didn’t exactly stay silent, Princess. You’re breathing like a horse! I like that healthy flush on your face, so I’m sure the journey did you good.” He grinned as he showed her to a seat by the empty fireplace.

  Fessano lived in a suite of interesting apartments set aside for the Court Wizard. He had lived in the same place for as long as Restella remembered. By the fireplace sat comfortable chairs and tables, looking much like her father’s study. In another section of the large room were tables filled with curious things and against all of the walls were shelves filled with books, scrolls, portfolios and more curiosities. She thought that even Fessano’s indoor privy probably had shelves filled with tomes of this or of that.

  He brought a folio with him and opened it up.

  “I suppose you’ve never heard of the Warstones?”

  Restella tried to blink away a stare of incomprehension. “No.”

  Fessano grinned. “I’ve felt one of the stones waking up. We only know of two of them. You’ve at least heard of the Red Kingdom’s Bloodstone? There’s one other that disappeared a generation ago.”

  She nodded. Everyone knew of the Bloodstone and it was the symbol of the Red Kingdom’s monarchy. “So there are three others?”

  Fessano cleared his throat. “That’s my girl. When a great Emperor ruled all Goriath from the continent of Ayrtan, an Imperial General ruled the entire Bessethian continent and used the Bloodstone as a symbol of his power during the Great Empire. The Emperor might have created them or an unknown wizard in the Emperor’s court. The Moonstone belonged to the regent on Zarron and the imperial general of Roppon held the Sunstone. The emperor on Ayrtan communicated to his regents with a stone of his own, called the Purestone.”

  “But there’s nothing on Ayrtan but savages and poisoned lands,” Restella said, interrupting Fessano. She wished he would get to the point of this boring history lesson.

  “I’ll come to it soon. The Emperor held the Purestone. With it, he could communicate instantaneously with the others in the Empire. The Bloodstone, Moonstone and Sunstone gave extra powers to the holders. The Bloodstone gave youth and the Moonstone bound two people, but also improved their physical and mental capabilities. The Sunstone was called the ‘truth stone’.

  Each stone for a continent and each holder subjugated that land, so the stones became kn
own as the Warstones.” Fessano shook his head. “So much lost. My colleague Unca, the Red Kingdom’s court wizard, told me long ago that since the Bloodstone has something to do with aging. The monarchy is so afraid that an immortal tyrant might arise, that those rulers must be void of power. It now only serves as the symbol of rule for the Red Kingdom that takes its name from the color of the Bloodstone. There hasn’t been a wizard as king for many generations.”

  “Please get to the point,” Restella said tapping her toe on Fessano’s dusty stone floor.

  “Something happened this morning. This folio contains a supposition that the Purestone destroyed itself or somehow had been spirited away, killing the Great Emperor and poisoning the entire continent of Ayrtan. The Emperor of Dakkor has a stone of power called the Darkstone, which he claims was the Purestone.” Fessano closed the folio. “Today I sensed a pulse that could only have come from one of the two missing stones. There is solid evidence that the Moonstone, taken some years ago from Zarron was lost in Valetan.” He rose and went to large table underneath one of his windows. “Here.” He beckoned Restella over with the crook of his finger and used its tip to point to a dot on the map to the north of the castle. “A place called Heron’s Pond, some two or three weeks away. My sources tell me that the Moonstone might have come to life there.”

  “Came to life? Do these stones live?”

  Fessano walked back over to his chair and sat down. “No one knows. The Bloodstone certainly has never shown any indications. Each one holds power—much power. The others, as I said, have their own characteristics. The Moonstone had been in the possession of the Mistad family for generations. It allowed a linked pair to share their thoughts and reportedly gave those in possession of it greater size and physical strength. “Unca knows little more than what I have told you.” Fessano waved his hand as if to change the subject. “I think you should send someone for this Moonstone as soon as you can.”

  “Why don’t you?” Restella squinted her eyes as she wondered what motive the wizard might have.

  “I’m healthy enough, but I have no wish to travel for weeks, but you, Restella, want to be a warrior. What if the Moonstone gave you the edge that you seek so you could fight your wars?” He gave Restella the smile that she knew so well—a smile filled with the promise of adventure.

  “I’ll send a bird to Walkington, it’s the closest town with a royal agent and start out first thing tomorrow. By the time I arrive in Heron’s Pond, our men will have located the stone. I’ll be the first to touch it.”

  “You won’t. Someone else has. Only someone with power could prompt the stone to send the pulse of power that I felt with my Affinity.”

  ~~~

  CHAPTER TWO

  ~

  THE WORMY APPLE IN LOTTO’S HAND came courtesy of his last foray through the garbage heap outside the inn. He didn’t care about the worms and let the apple juice flow down his smiling face, looking up at the brightness of the sun. The pond had filled up again but with the on and off again rains of the last few weeks, he had cleaned up his treasures. Unfortunately everything hadn’t done very well underwater and when the boots had dried out, even his little feet and skinny legs had cracked the leather. His other clothes seemed to have shrunk a bit and that confused him.

  The old clothing only served as more padding for his crude sleeping pallet and as a covering for the jewel, wrapped back up in the rag. What to do with the thing? He heard the old lady, who kept an eye on him for as long as he could remember, singing to herself as she walked back from the village. Lotto grabbed the jewel, now wrapped up in a rag and knocked on the old crone’s door.

  “I have something to show you, old lady!” Lotto yelled his words at the closed door.

  “My name is Jessie, young man. How many times do I have to remind you? Give me a second to get comfortable.” Lotto figured she had immediately found her chamber pot when she got home. He giggled and rocked from foot to foot in excitement. The woman opened the door and looked down at Lotto and let him in. She always had a smile for him.

  “You look clean enough today. It looks like you’ve gained a little bit of weight, Lotto. I must say, you even look taller.” She pointed to her table. “Sit in that chair,” she said as she poured apple juice into a couple of earthen mugs and handed Lotto one. She took another chair at her table and looked across at Lotto, who laughed as he drank the juice in one huge gulp, juice dribbling down his chin. “Now what do you have?”

  “What is this?” He put the dirty rag on her table. She sighed and shook her head and then shrugged. Lotto just grinned as he uncovered the overgrown gem. “Don’t touch it! It gave me the shivers when I first did.”

  She tentatively reached out, but she withdrew her hand when she got close. “An object of power! Where did you get such a thing?”

  “Heron’s Pond. When it just about dried up, I poked around in the mud for nice stuff. I found some old clothes and this was hidden in a boot!” He laughed at the ridiculous thought of a gem in a boot.

  Jessie squinted and looked at the youth. “Did anything happen when you touched it for the first time?”

  Lotto nodded his head vigorously. “The thing was big,” he made a circle out of his hands, “A flash of light, like I was looking at the sun, and the shivers. It made me see blurry for a bit. It’s pretty isn’t it?”

  “It is. Don’t show this to anyone. Who knows what it might do? I thought I felt a shimmer in the air a few weeks ago or so. You touched it soon after the rain started, didn’t you?”

  How did the old lady know? Lotto nodded his head vigorously and wondered at the thought, but he trusted her more than any of the mean people in the village. He hadn’t been inside the old lady’s house since winter when he’d been sick. He liked the smells in her house. Herbs and dried flowers. Sometimes she would give him one or two of them and ask him to go looking for them in the woods. She gave him treats when he came back with the same plants, so he had gotten good at finding things for her.

  He wondered if she would give him a treat if he let her keep the milky white orb. No. He knew he couldn’t do that. Something else might happen with that thing, so he would keep it. His mind seemed to buzz. Lotto shook his head and thoughts seemed to be clearer for some reason. He just didn’t have to think as hard.

  “What does it do?”

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t know, boy.”

  She shook her head and pulled at her lower lip. “Is it hard? I won’t touch it.”

  Lotto ran his hand over the gem. “It is. Hard as a rock.” He picked up the rag to polish it, but the old lady grabbed his wrist and pulled the rag through his fingers.

  She moved over to a shard of light coming from her window and looked at it closely. “This is old silk. Not much silk in Besseth, except at palaces and castles. All of the world’s silk comes from southern Dakkor. Common people wouldn’t wear anything like this. The boot? Was it a farmer’s boot?”

  Lotto ran out the door and found the boots in the back of his lean-to. “Here they are.”

  The woman’s eyes rose. “A fine boot, this was, when new. You missed the silver buckles, tarnished black as they are, made in a strange design.” She tapped the black metal with her finger. “Enough of the shiny stuff in those to keep you fed all winter long, Lotto.” The woman closed her eyes and leaned back against the high back of her chair. “I remember the tale of a lord and lady that traveled through our lands and disappeared. Men from Zarron came from the north in pursuit of them. It happened before I came to Heron’s Pond. I wonder…” She fingered the buckle. “It was just about that time when you were found ailing and wailing on the steps of the inn. Maybe…” She shook her head. “No. Wouldn’t happen.”

  “What wouldn’t happen?” Lotto said. He liked mysteries and grinned.

  “Never you mind. You don’t go around showing this to anyone. Hear? Finish up that juice.” She poured more in the mug. “I’d like some herbs picked in the forest. I’ll fix you some stew if you find me
some of these flowers.” The old lady gave a few sprigs to Lotto and showed him some pictures of flowers in a folio that she had lying on her table.

  He grinned. “Soon as I put this back.” He ran out, putting the orb in his pocket and darted into the forest thinking about having a real dinner. They didn’t come often.

  ~

  A man dressed in black hailed Restella and her ten guards before they entered the village of Heron’s Pond.

  “You have found the stone?” she said as he held the reins for Restella while she dismounted along with two of her guards.

  He shook his head. “No one knows anything and I’ve been sufficiently persuasive. I haven’t gotten to the village healing witch. A village idiot supposedly lives with her.”

  Witch? With power?” Restella asked, remembering that Fessano had said that power had activated the stone. “It must be her,” she said, looking at the sky, “and it’s getting dark.” She mounted and left the others scrambling to catch up with her.

  She let the scout from Walkington catch up to ride in front of her. She had taken off without having any idea where to go. Restella had to calm down. What if the stone didn’t do anything? She took a deep breath as they rode through the village and prepared for disappointment. She refused to accept that her long ride from Beckondale would be in vain.

  The witch’s cottage didn’t look broken down at all until she spotted an old disheveled shack-like thing leaning against one of the sidewalls. The witch lived there? She stood back as one of the guards pounded on door.

  “You are the witch called Jessie?” the scout said.

  “My name is Jessie. I wouldn’t count myself as being a witch. I have some Affinity, but I don’t need it to give medicine for a fever or a poultice for a boil. Are any of you hurt?” She stepped out of her house and looked around.

  Restella could sense a touch of fear in the woman’s demeanor, but then if twelve armed people from outside of her father’s kingdom showed up on her doorstep, she would have had reason to be uneasy. She dismounted and walked up to the woman.