Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms

by Mark Whiteway

  Grenades. She was loath to use her limited supply, but they would be of little use to her if she were dead. She reached into her pouch, fingers closing on a round metallic shape. Pulling it out, she quickly twisted one hemisphere. A low whine emanated from the lodestone grenade, rising rapidly in volume and pitch. She tossed it in Mordal’s direction. It bounced once on the stone and exploded in a burst of light and flame. Mordal, however, had already leapt beyond the blast. As he settled back to the ground, cloak fully extended behind him, he was laughing and shaking his head. “Keris, Keris. Why not just accept the inevitable? Leave those other fools and come back with me, now.”

  Keris was not listening. She had used the interlude to scan the field once more for lodestone and she detected something she had missed before, something that gave her a faint glimmer of hope. If Mordal had missed it too… She raced to her left, using the small and medium deposits to give her a combined lift, so that she rose up the steep wall of the semi-circular basin.

  Mordal had an amused expression as he extended his cloak once more and thrust upwards, using the momentum of the strong deposit. She saw him hurtling towards her, staff at the ready, in anticipation of the imminent clash. Hers was a risky manoeuvre. It required precise timing and there were too many ways it could go wrong, but she was desperate. As she flew up the side of the cwm, she felt the pressure from her objective, a lodestone deposit embedded halfway up the rock wall. As she drew level, she slammed open her bronze layer, arresting her upward rise, then pivoted feet-first toward the rock wall, withdrawing the bronze and exposing the lodestone layer. She shot forward on a horizontal trajectory away from the wall. Mordal could not react in time, and she careened into him, impacting his lower abdomen. Pain lanced through her shoulder as they were both sent into an uncontrolled spin. The ground whirled crazily as Keris fought to right herself by using her cloak to brake her descent. She was only partially successful, landing in a heap on the stone floor.

  The various cuts and bruises on her body screamed for attention but she dismissed them, casting her eyes about for Mordal. There was no sign. Then she saw it–a dark shape near the rear of the dimly lit basin. It was not moving. Keris got to her feet with a grimace, holding the cut on her right arm with her left hand in order to staunch the flow of blood. She made her way over to the latent form and dropped to one knee, extending her bloodstained fingers to touch his shoulder. Mordal’s eyes were open, expressionless–his neck broken. She got to her feet, tears forming rivulets in the grime clinging to her olive cheeks. Why…why did you make me do it? She ripped the Speaker Ring from her finger and hurled it at the body, excising her final connection to her mentor. The Ring bounced off and plinked on the rough stone before coming to a dead stop.

  Keris, Keltar that was, turned on her heel and strode away. She did not look back.

  ~

  Keris stopped at the bank of the stream and dropped to her knees. Without warning, she felt overcome by a wave of nausea. She began retching uncontrollably. The swirling waters enveloped the contents of her stomach and mercifully swept them away. When it was over, she washed her face, and bathed her wound, ripping off a part of her tunic to form a makeshift bandage. She rose up again, her legs feeling unnaturally weak, and made her way back to camp.

  Lyall and Shann were waiting for her standing side by side in the rosy half-light. Keris noted that they were both clad in their flying cloaks. “You left your watch,” Lyall declared. It was almost an accusation, but not quite.

  Keris felt wracked by pain and exhaustion, but her expression betrayed nothing of her true state. “I…thought I heard a noise. I went to investigate.”

  “And what did you find?” Lyall enquired.

  “Nothing,” Keris replied, her heart heavy and dead as stone. “Nothing at all.” She turned and headed for her blanket to catch whatever fitful moments of sleep she could before morning came.

  ~

  Saccath stood silently over the body of Mordal, allowing a cold rage to consume him. His hand opened, revealing the Ring that had been left next to the body, as distinctive as a calling card. Keris.

  Somehow the woman had convinced him to leave their camp at night without an escort and had then lured him into a trap. His neck was broken with no other sign of injuries. Efficient. Mordal had clearly underestimated the former Keltar. Saccath would not be making the same mistake.

  The Captain of the guard, dressed in a crimson surcoat, marched over, stopping at a respectful distance. “Orders?”

  Saccath allowed the rage to settle in his belly, giving him a new sense of purpose. “We will bury His Excellency. Then you and your men will return to the keep and report all that has happened.

  “But…what of you?” the Captain asked.

  “You will report that I am pursuing the rebel, Keris, and her group. I will exact penance for her actions.”

  The Captain seemed as if he were about to object, then looked down at the figure lying on the ground and appeared to check himself. “Very well, My Lord.” He bowed once and turned away towards the knot of soldiers gathered around the black banner. The three suns and the flame of the Prophet fluttered defiantly in the breeze.

  Saccath regarded the body of Mordal once more. I am coming for you, Keris. You cannot escape. I will pursue you to the very ends of the world.

  Chapter 20

  Lyall, Keris, Shann, Alondo and Boxx looked down from the Gilah Hills at the country spread before them. It was a rural landscape, dotted with what appeared to be small farms. Shann could make out fields of crops, ripening in the summer heat, and pastures containing what looked like domesticated raleketh. To the north and east, there was a river flowing from the hills; a bright ribbon which twisted back and forth before flowing into a shimmering lake. It was a welcome sight after so many days trekking through the barrenness of the Gilah.

  The path through the hills had suddenly opened up onto a bluff overlooking the panorama beyond. Keris was standing near the edge, one leg resting on a small boulder. She was closely examining a small instrument in her left palm. It contained a type of lodestone, one that always pointed south, that travellers used to help find their way. Keris, of course, had never permitted her to have a close look, so she could only guess at its operation. Shann had a wild fantasy where she saw herself creeping up behind the Keltar. One good shove would send her tumbling over the edge. Problem solved. Would any of her travelling companions seriously object?

  Suddenly the tall woman pointed towards the south-east. “Over there.”

  Alondo peered along the line indicated by her finger. “I don’t see anything.”

  “There,” Keris insisted. Shann looked out over the distant lowlands and saw a faint irregular patch of dwellings. “The village is marked on the map as Pinnar in a stretch of land known as the Distrada. Just beyond is the north-south road and a day’s journey east of that lies Kharthrun.”

  “Pretty.” Boxx was standing on its hind legs. Lyall and Shann looked at the Chandara, but as usual, no-one was quite sure what it meant.

  Alondo was still squinting at the horizon, as Lyall placed a hand on his shoulder. “What is the situation with our stores?” he asked the musician.

  Alondo pressed his lips together. “Too low. The food we stockpiled on the Eastern Plains is gone and it’s been slim pickings in these hills. We need re-supply.”

  “Then Pinnar is our next destination. Keris, what can you tell us about these people?”

  Keris gave a blank look. “Nothing, really. The settlements are on the ‘tribute circuit,’ but I was never sent down this way.”

  Lyall sounded cheerful. “Well, let’s see if we can’t make some new friends. Time to move out.” Shann tore her eyes away from the seductive view and followed him to where the sleek graylesh stood patiently. She mounted her animal, patting its neck, and waited for Alondo and Boxx to board the wagon. Keris took up what had become her customary position during the journey along the narrow hillside trails: alone at the van. It was
a prudent defensive measure for someone to watch their rear, but no-one had asked Keris to assume the responsibility. The manner in which the older woman had fallen naturally into the role suggested much about her place within their group. She travelled with them but she was apart from them by her own choice–to preserve her secrets, no doubt, and to make it easier for her to betray them all when the moment came. Shann watched her as she sat high in the saddle, aristocratic and aloof. I know what you are about.

  Since that fateful night by the stream when she and Lyall had lost the woman’s trail, there had been two significant events. The first became evident later the following day, when Lyall returned from his scouting mission and gathered the others before announcing, “They’re gone.”

  “How do you mean?” Alondo asked.

  “The Prophet’s men no longer pursue us.”

  Shann’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. I even found the remains of their last encampment. I think we should continue to backtrack in order to check, but they seem to have withdrawn.”

  Alondo looked worried. “But… why would they do that?” He looked at Keris and the others followed suit.

  Keris, who had been silent up to now, seemed to wake from a stupor. “Why are you all looking at me?”

  “I don’t know,” Lyall interceded. “Maybe we have travelled far enough from the keep that they no longer view us as a threat.” That did not seem very likely to Shann. “In any event, I choose to interpret this as good news.” Despite Lyall’s optimism, the air was one of sombre reflection rather than celebration. Keris turned her back on the others and walked away without a word.

  The second development occurred later that evening, as they sat consuming a portion of their dwindling rations. Alondo was doing his best to keep things light with his generous smile and easy manner. As Keris chewed on a piece of dried raleketh meat, Shann glanced idly at the older woman’s right hand. Her Speaker Ring–it was missing.

  Shann bit into a flatbread and flicked her eyes towards Keris’ other hand. Nothing there. Of course she might easily have taken it off, or placed it somewhere for safekeeping, but during the entire time since she had first encountered their group on the desert road leading from Gort, Shann had never seen her without the Ring.

  Later that night she called Lyall to one side and shared her observations. Lyall absorbed her comments thoughtfully. “Maybe our Keltar has finally renounced her loyalty to her former friends.”

  Shann registered shock. “You’re not serious.”

  “I’m not sure,” Lyall admitted. “It could equally be a sign that she knows somehow that we are on to her. But the Prophet’s men do seem to have turned back from following us. It is tempting to think that there may be a connection. Let’s continue to be watchful, all right?”

  During the intervening days there had been no further sign of pursuit and Keris’ Ring did not reappear on her hand. Shann, however, was not about to be deceived. Somehow, the woman had altered the rules and was playing a different game now. As the party got underway and began descending through the Gilah Hills towards the pasture land below, Shann imagined she could feel the Keltar’s eyes boring into her back. Biding her time. Awaiting her chance to strike.

  ~

  Alondo urged the graylesh forward as the covered wagon pitched and rolled over the rough track between the fields of the Distrada. Lyall pulled up his mount and called over his shoulder, “How’s it going back there?”

  Alondo’s face showed signs of strain. “Well, it would help if you could get down off that beast and fill in a few of these potholes for me.”

  Lyall smiled. “No problem. And while we are at it, Shann and I can jump on those bumps and flatten them out for you, if you’d like.”

  Shann chuckled. “You’d have to make it worth my while. A nice juicy raleketh steak and a cup of narrian wine, I think.”

  “I’d appreciate a four course meal, too, if you could manage it.” Alondo ventured.

  “Well, I’ll buy you both the finest meal in Pinnar, how’s that?” Lyall’s expression became pensive. “Of course the place is pretty small, so that may not be saying much.”

  Shann didn’t care. Right now she was starving, and the talk of food only made her juices run in anticipation. After so many days of living rough in the hills, with the Prophet’s men chasing them, she was looking forward to being able to relax at last with a good meal, a bath and a warm bed. She could smell that steak already.

  Up ahead, the squat stone built dwellings of the tiny rural settlement were clearly visible. To either side of them, a patchwork of fields stretched away. Sounds of animals, wild and domestic, played in her ears and the scent of growing things filled her nostrils. People clothed in rough browns and reds could be seen, bent over and absorbed in their labours. Without warning, one of them pointed at their small caravan and hollered something. His voice was echoed by others, who dropped their implements and began running towards the village. The sound of the repeated shouts carried over the open field to reach Shann’s ears as a single word. Keltar.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Keris riding around from the rear to join them in the front. The tall woman was wearing the distinctive black flying cloak. As she drew level with them, Shann let fly at her. “Look what you did. You scared them off.”

  Keris’ face was impassive. “So it would seem. Their reaction is quite puzzling.”

  “Puzzling? You’re dressed as a Keltar. People are terrified of them,” Shann blustered.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, child. People normally come and do obeisance rather than run away. Ignoring a Keltar can bring about their wrath.”

  “Nevertheless,” Lyall interposed, “we do not want to give the impression that we are in the service of the Prophet.”

  “It seemed a good way to get their attention.” Keris was watching the fleeing villagers.

  “I would rather begin any encounter with honesty.” Lyall was insistent.

  Keris turned to look at him. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

  Lyall turned his mount and faced her squarely. “We will not gain allies by beginning with deception or by posing as our enemies.” His voice softened. “Let’s see if we can talk to these people, shall we?”

  The party rode on into the village of Pinnar and came to a halt in the midst of an open area, ringed by low stone cottages with roofs of rough thatch. Gundir barked at their approach. A flock of black birds with red tipped wings lifted from the gables, flapping against the thick air. There were no other signs of life. Lyall looked around and behind him. “Where is everybody?”

  “Hiding,” Shann scowled, “from her.” Keris did not react.

  “What’s going on?” Alondo called from his seat on the wagon.

  “We’re not sure,” Lyall returned. “Just stay where you are for now.”

  “The graylesh need water and feed,” Alondo reminded him.

  “I know, thank you.” Lyall dismounted, Shann and Keris following his lead. He surveyed the empty village once again. Raising a hand to his mouth, he called out. “Hello, is anyone there? We would like to trade. Hello?” Nothing stirred. The doors of the various crofts remained stubbornly closed. “So how far is the next village?” Lyall enquired.

  “Too far.” Keris’ face was dark. Shann snorted in disgust.

  “Perhaps if we wait for long enough and appear non-threatening, they will come out eventually?” Lyall speculated. As he was speaking, Keris started forward. She was striding towards the nearest dwelling, the ends of her flying cloak fluttering in the light breeze. “What are you doing?” Lyall shouted at her back.

  Keris did not look back. Her tone was menacing. “Getting you your supplies.”

  Shann’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she watched Keris pause before the entrance, lift her right boot and kick the door viciously. What the?

  “Keris–Keris, stop… Keris.” Lyall called out, but the tall dark-hai
red woman was not listening. She seemed to be in a private trance, as if she were taking out days of agony and frustration on the doorway. Her face contorted as she lifted her boot once more–crack. Splinters of wood flew from the impact of her boot heel–crack. Shann could hear the groaning of tortured cross members–crack. The door finally gave way, flying open on its hinges and banging against the opposite wall. Keris marched inside.

  Moments later she reappeared at the entrance. She had two elderly villagers, a man and a woman, by the scruffs of their necks. Keris half dragged them to the open centre of the hamlet and pitched them forward, so that they fell headlong to the hard-packed ground. “Please, Lady–please spare us,” Shann heard the old man whimper.

  Keris ignored him, turning instead to address the shut up stone dwellings. “Get out here–now.” As Shann watched, doors opened slowly, and dejected villagers approached their caravan, heads bowed. Frightened children could be seen hiding behind the legs of their parents. Probably scarred for life, thanks to Keris.

  Lyall stepped in front of Keris, both hands raised. “We mean you no harm. We are not Keltar, despite our appearance. We wish to trade with you. However, if you wish us to leave, we will leave peacefully and not return. And…we will be happy to pay for a new door.” Keris looked at him sharply, but said nothing. Shann knelt beside the elderly couple. “It’s all right,” she soothed, helping them to their feet. Their expressions were confused, but they accepted her assistance gratefully.

  A man with long, straight black hair and a weathered face stepped forward. He wore a simple brown tunic and black breeches. His tail twitched in agitation and his eyes narrowed. “You say you are not Keltar. Yet this one bears the cloak and carries the staff.” His eyes flicked over Keris. “How can this be?”

  Lyall raised his voice to address the assembled crowd. “She was Keltar, but no longer. We do not serve the Prophet. We are…working against his interests.”

  “Last turn of the season Keltar came to this village with their soldiers.” The weathered-faced man declared. “They acted much as your Keltar there. Then they took all that we had and put five of our men folk to death. Their widows and orphans are here before you.”