Moonstone, Magic That Binds (Book 1)

by Guy Antibes

  “You might not have to be so careful in the future,” Mander said, as he came out of his office. “I’m closing up the shop. The king desires that I take up rooms in the castle.”

  “Why?” Lotto stood dripping on the floor. “Oh. Peace is crumbling and he wants you at his beck and call.”

  “Indeed. He made it clear, no bookshop. I might be able to convince him to let me stay in my house, but I’m afraid you will be out of a job.”

  Lotto looked outside at the snow piling up.

  Mander laughed. “I’m not evicting you, Lotto. You can stay here as long as you like. I won’t be selling the shop since half of the books I use for personal reference are here. I suggest that you pursue your military and magical studies as you have, but now you’ll have more time. Don’t worry about anything, since I’ll still provide you with a stipend. Consider it a scholarship rather than wages.”

  Lotto didn’t know what he felt, but it certainly wasn’t elation. He missed the constant interaction with Mander lately and now the man would be too busy to help further interpret the world for him.

  “You can still come by? Fessano has finally complimented me on my power shield, so I won’t suck all of the life-force from you.”

  Mander laughed. “Well, I’m certainly glad for that. Still, think of this as your house and its vast library as your own. I’m afraid Fessano won’t be able to tutor you as often, either. The tipping point wasn’t the Oringian border troubles where your Princess Restella has been making a name for herself, it’s worse than that. The king of Prola is acting strangely as are the dukes and barons in the northwest, including the liege lord of Heron’s Pond. I fear a larger crisis.”

  Lotto didn’t know what to think. War? He had left his weapons at Kenyr’s and felt like he needed them for protection until he remembered that he still had his poker at the shop. Kenyr had trained him for two full sessions in its use as an offensive weapon and a defensive weapon a few weeks ago. The timing had been propitious, now that he’d have access to a weapon that he knew how to wield more than well enough to more than thwart a burglar, common or otherwise in the confines of a bookshop.

  “I understand. I’ll do my best until something happens.”

  Mander furrowed his eyebrows. “What can happen here?”

  “It’s not here that I’m talking about. I’m an able-bodied swordsman. If we go to a real war, then I’ll have to join up.”

  “That’s absurd,” Mander said in protest. “You’re just a boy.”

  “Nineteen and a few years over the age acceptable to the crown. I know how to use a number of weapons and I’ve even gotten to the point where Kenyr isn’t giving me chances.”

  Mander put his hand to his chin. “I know and you’ve certainly become fit enough. Let me know before you do something rash. I can use my influence to put you in the right place in the army.”

  Lotto remained silent. That didn’t seem fair to him, but he didn’t feel the need to do anything yet. With Fessano out of the picture, he’d start studying history and strategic tactics instead of magic, not that those made much sense to him, yet.

  “Can I come to the castle for talking about war strategies?”

  Mander shook his head. “I don’t think so, but if you stick around here, I can take walks in the city, for exercise, mind you, and can make sure you haven’t burned down my shop to the ground from time to time. I’ll be gone tomorrow. Make an appropriate sign and put it in the window.

  Lotto nodded. “I have to take off these clothes.” He started to shiver as the snow turned to cold, cold water.

  “Go ahead. I wouldn’t want my floor to rot from dampness.” Mander grinned. “I’ll be back just after lunch the day after tomorrow. Oh, and Anna still wants you to come for dinner from time to time.”

  “Sure.” Lotto stood as Mander opened the door and walked past the shop window giving him a wave.

  As he ascended the stairs to his rooms, Lotto didn’t like his life changing now that he had gotten used to the stimulation that would be lost on his old self. He frowned while he changed his clothes and wondered where he would start his studies. He fixed himself a tray of bread and fruit and took it downstairs to the little kitchen. He’d be damned before he holed himself up in his rooms on the third floor.

  Mander had left a note on the table:

  Lotto,

  I’m sure you are as concerned as I am with my news. You have the key. Consider your rooms above the shop as your permanent home. We will still cross paths often enough. I’d like you to continue your studies. I put together a list of resources within the shop that will allow you to get as knowledgeable as anyone with the exception of me, of course.

  If I’m unavailable, you can always write a note and give it to a guard and it will be delivered to me quickly. The same, I am told, goes for Fessano.

  Faithfully yours,

  Mander

  The list included a number of books that had interested Lotto in the past, but Mander had told him to wait to read those later. He’d follow the list in the exact order since he respected Mander’s judgment. Lotto sighed and took a bite out of his bread. He frowned that it had gone a bit stale, so some tea would have to be brewed.

  While he waited for the kettle to heat the water, he traipsed up to the second floor where most of Mander’s good books were, but didn’t find what he sought. He found all of the books on the list on the third floor. Mander’s prized books were located there and that brought a smile to Lotto’s lips as he read the titles on the spines. He’d enjoy learning from these books.

  ~

  The worst of winter had passed and Lotto had made his way through most of the books and, with Mander’s help, he had come to a new understanding of politics and warfare. Mander had started to discuss the actual situations that he had faced with the king and sought Lotto’s perspective, making his studies more worthwhile than he had thought.

  Kenyr had also changed up his program. Lotto began to learn field tactics in the books and Kenyr taught him to use the weapons that were used by soldiers in the field so he could understand how best to employ the various advantages of different weapons. It all interested him, but he felt disconnected and alone. Kenyr never permitted him to act morose at the Golden Sword, but as soon as he left, Lotto’s smile faded.

  He sat one day, reading the journals of a long dead general when he heard a knock on the door. The door sign still said that the shop had closed until further notice, so he wondered who would be disturbing him?

  A man stood at his door. “Lotto of Heron’s Pond?” said the stranger. “I have a note from a woman named Shori. I’ve just come from Walkington.”

  Lotto rummaged around in his pocket and found a five-penny piece and dropped it in the man’s hand. ‘Shori paid me plenty, but thanks. I can use plenty of ale on a day like today.” He waved and shuffled off through the snow.

  Dear Lotto,

  I hate to write about foul news, but I knew you’d like to know. Jessie died the week before the Harvest Moon. The village that she settled in ended up being close by the border with Oringia and a raiding party escaped through our lines and put three villages to the torch, killing men women and children. Jessie had been spared when the raiders came through the village, the first time, and went back to care for the injured villagers. They came through on their way back to Oringia and caught Jessie doing what she dedicated her life to, healing others.

  I loved my aunt and I know she loved you. Please keep her safe in your memories. I’m sorry it took so long to get this message to you, but I just recently found out.

  If you ever pass through Walkington, please visit. I’d love to see you again.

  Shori Spinner

  A searing pain of loss clouded Lotto’s vision. Jessie, dead. He couldn’t believe it. She didn’t deserve to die that way. He re-read the letter, letting his despair turn to anger. A vision of fighting the Oringians came to mind. He yearned to hold his sword in his hand and fight the enemy. For the first time, he want
ed to trade places with Restella on the frontier fighting Oringians, but then the fighting had dwindled during the winter as it always did.

  He tossed and turned that night, guilty for living safely under a roof after knowing about Jesse’s death. His declared that his studies had just ended. He vowed to visit Mander the next day. He would find Lotto a suitable position from where he could avenge Jessie’s death.

  ~

  The day dawned bright as Lotto trudged through melting snow towards the castle. Guards barred his way in.

  “I need to see Mander Hart,” Lotto said. The guards frowned at him. Lotto hadn’t encountered any problem getting into the castle before, but he hadn’t tried since his training with Fessano.

  “I’ll send a man.” The guard said, calling a page over to him. “Lord Hart?” After a few whispers, the boy walked into the castle.

  Lotto nodded. After nearly an hour’s wait in the cold Lotto spotted the page returning. The boy whispered into the guard’s ear.

  “Not today, son,” the guard said. “Come back tomorrow.”

  Lotto stalked away, angry at his rejection. He wandered around the town and ended up standing in front of an army recruiting office. Mander could get him reassigned, even if he did sign up today. Resolving to get his enlistment over with, Lotto walked into the tiny office of the army recruitment center. From his readings, he realized that any real efforts at mustering a large force would come in a month or two.

  The floor was dirty and there were a few poorly scrawled posters on the dingy plaster walls. Perhaps he could get better training by joining up now, before there was a rush of new recruits.

  “What do you want?” a grizzled soldier said, walking into the room from a back door and taking a seat behind a table that had seen much better days. He had a hook for a right hand and Lotto suspected the injury qualified him for a non-combat job. An unruly stack of papers sat next to him on the old wooden table. A divided bookcase held more piles of paper. Lotto could smell the musty clothes and body odor from the soldier.

  “I’d like to join up.”

  “Sponsor?”

  “I don’t have a sponsor.”

  “Family?”

  “I know Mander Hart.”

  The man looked up, not believing him. “Do you have a letter or any evidence of his sponsorship?”

  Lotto shook his head and the recruiter squinted at him, sizing him up. Lotto didn’t know what for.

  “Infantry training then.” The soldier pushed a form towards him. He took his time reading it. All Lotto needed to do was sign his name and declare his allegiance to the king. He took a deep breath and scrawled his name with the broken tip of the quill pen.

  “Know how to write your name, eh? Never mind.” Lotto thought that an odd comment. “Through the door and there’s a wagon just leaving for the training camp.”

  “But I need to get my sword.”

  The sergeant laughed. Lotto thought it a sinister kind of laugh.

  “You wouldn’t have the kind of sword you’ll be learning to use. You’re in the army now, so you have to follow my orders.”

  Lotto shrugged and did as the man said. He could get it later or have Mander send it to him. Five other younger boys sat in the back of a wagon shaped like an oversized wooden box. They sat along two hard benches attached to either side. One couldn’t call it a coach. It looked like something to transport prisoners. Is that how the army saw its new recruits? Lotto certainly felt like one at this point. He wondered if he had done the right thing. Perhaps he’d been too hasty. Mander could have seen him tomorrow.

  He waited along with the others. Rows of holes had been drilled along the top around the wooden box to provide ventilation, but were too high to even look out unless someone stood on a bench.

  “Here we go,” a black-haired boy said. He looked much younger than Lotto. “On to training camp.” He grinned in the dark confines of the coach. “I signed up last week and had to wait for the day.”

  “We all did,” said another. “How about you?”

  Lotto made a face. “I came in and didn’t even get to go back home for my things.” The others had small sacks with them. “He just ordered me inside as soon as I made my signature.”

  “Oh,” the black-haired boy said. “No way to tell your father?”

  Lotto shook his head. “I don’t have family,” especially now with Jessie gone. “I did have some things I wanted to bring with me.” He had to leave a message for Mander and Kenyr. A soldier opened the door and Lotto took the opportunity to break out of the coach.

  “I need to notify my friends that I’ve joined the army,” Lotto said.

  “Get back inside,” the soldier said, holding a truncheon in his hand ready to strike. Lotto could tell that his request wasn’t going to be fulfilled, but he had to try again.

  “I have to leave word for my family.” Family had just popped out of his mouth. Were Mander and Kenyr all what were left of family?

  “No you don’t, get back inside!”

  ‘I need to at least leave a message.” Lotto began to walk back towards the office when he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and blacked out.

  ~~~

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ~

  THE TRANSPORT WAGON ROCKED FROM SIDE TO SIDE finally waking Lotto from his enforced slumber.

  “How long have I been out?” He couldn’t see and wondered if he had been blinded. He sat up and spots appeared before him in the darkness forcing him back down. Lotto looked up at his fellow recruits sitting on the benches.

  “It’s only night since we left. We haven’t stopped once and my bladder is about to burst,” one of the recruits said. “You did something pretty stupid.” The voice definitely wasn’t the black-haired boy.

  He didn’t consider not being prepared for impressment as stupid—naiveté, perhaps, but not blatantly stupid. Walking past a man ready to use a truncheon, that was stupid. He sat up again and noticed thin shafts of moonlight terminated as shaking spots on the wall of the coach.

  Lotto didn’t want to use power to light up the space and now regretted that he didn’t learn more specific spells than the magical theory that Fessano drilled into him. He could see that they had been joined by a few more recruits and he slowly rose amidst the bucking of the carriage and sat down on a blank spot along one of the benches. Most of the other recruits were asleep.

  A few minutes later the carriage stopped. Torchlight filtered through the holes at the top of the coach. Lotto found that his stomach carried on it’s own personal conversation enough to wonder if he’d be able to get anything to eat.

  “Get out, you mugs!” a soldier said. Lotto had no way of knowing if that particular soldier had put a dent in his skull. He wouldn’t risk another blow so he filed on out with the rest. “Behind the inn, you can do your duty against the wall.” The soldier laughed and Lotto realized that man had been the one to beat him. A glimmer of hate rose faintly within his aching head. He’d never really hated before, but he could hate the Oringians for killing Jessie and this man for his cowardly act.

  He filed along wall with nine other recruits. A few of them shuffled from foot to foot and sighed when they relieved themselves. Lotto turned up one corner of his mouth and shook his head, but just like them, he did the same, realizing that he had done worse back in Heron’s Pond. He had no idea how long their next stint outside the coach would take.

  “Have any of you got money for food?” the soldier said. Lotto didn’t like the man’s tone of voice or the grinding laugh. Lotto checked his purse, only to find it gone. The soldier had stolen it or his fellow travelers and now Lotto only possessed the clothes on his back. He clenched his fists and schooled himself not to strike the soldier. He didn’t really know the rules of the army, but striking another soldier wouldn’t be met with any tolerance. At least that seemed to be the case in his military studies.

  They filed back into the coach as another soldier put a basket of stale bread and a single skin of
water in the coach and locked the door. They took off again.

  Lotto made sure he got his share and grabbed the water skin while the others grabbed the bread. Lotto was bigger than all of the other recruits so he didn’t have to push as hard as some of the others, another might be as tall, but not as broad. Still, he only took as much as needed to leave enough for the others.

  He shook his head and wondered what would become of him. He’d have to find a way to get a message to Mander. Where would he be when he got the chance? Lotto had no idea where the wagon headed.

  ~

  The castle didn’t seem as much like home as it did when Restella left months ago for the Oringian border. She felt guilty about sleeping in her own suite in the castle after spending nights in her tent surrounded by the troops she had ended up commanding while they pacified the border. These border flare-ups had happened constantly ever since the founding of the two kingdoms, but she didn’t know what had happened to cause the recent flare-ups. The Oringians were de-populating the border, but she had done her part to stop it.

  Once the snows arrived, the incursions stopped and most of her life as a soldier consisted of crushing boredom brightened by weapons practice. Now she carried a scar that would always remind her of military duty, a token that made her proud.

  Nights were interrupted by nightmares that centered on fighting the enemy or filled with visions of burned villages and slaughtered villagers. She fidgeted with her hands as she sat eating breakfast in her suite and she succumbed to the drive to leave the rooms. Restella yearned to hear rumors about possible troop positionings. It frustrated her to know that whatever strategies that her father and Mander Hart created wouldn’t come to her. Captain Shortwell instructed her to wear civilian clothes unless she was summoned as Lieutenant Beecher, so she wore now-unfamiliar dresses. She’d have to go out and try to overhear information. Roaming the halls, she passed Mander Hart. She resisted the urge to follow him. He would know everything.