Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

A short time later, a squad of six city guards showed up,
being led by a small lad who had obviously been sent to fetch them. An older
lady at the front of the growing crowd caught the small boy’s shoulder, pulling
him back against her dress as she began to spin her tale of events to the squad
captain.  After briefly listening to the woman, the captain relayed an order;
four of the guardsmen unclasped their cudgels from their belts and climbed the
stairs into the apartment.  The fifth guardsman trotted to the end of the
street the carriage had disappeared down and began looking left and right, no
doubt trying to see if the carriage was still in sight.  One guardsman stuck
his head out of the window, fumbled with the heavy curtains still flapping in
the morning breeze, finally pulling them inside, and looked each way up and down
the street.  Hoyle ducked quickly as the guardsman began to turn his head and
look up. 

After a thirty-count, Hoyle raised himself up to his
previous position, hoping that he hadn’t been seen.  As he did, he saw a scene
that chilled his spine, even though he knew there was a remote possibility it might
happen.  Two black robed and cloaked Rak’soraa strolled down the street from
the east, leading a pale figure on a chain linked to an iron collar loping
along between them.  A Scaazi, a
Scenter
, an aura sniffer with pale grey,
almost white, skin and long upper arms with oversized clawed hands that almost
dragged on the ground when it walked in its normal hunched position.  It had
large white eyes with no irises, and a wide mouth with numerous razor sharp
teeth.  But it’s most telling feature was the six slotted gills on the front of
its snout.  It was rumored that these gills allowed these aberrations of nature
to sense auras.  More importantly, they could follow the auras left behind
across leagues.  It was rumored they could even follow these auras through the
magegates the Empire used.  It was a Fear Squad like this one, one of a dozen, the
Rak’soraa and a
Scenter,
that were personally assigned tasks by the
Emperor himself.  He noticed that the street was now empty.

Hoyle gulped audibly. 
What had he gotten himself into?
 
He watched as the squad captain engaged in a brief debate with the taller Rak’soraa
before the second cloaked Rak’soraa led the leashed creature up the side stair
and into the apartment.  Within moments, the remaining guardsmen quickly left
the apartment and returned to the street, looking relieved. 

A few minutes later, Hoyle saw the Rak’soraa and
Scenter
return from the apartment.  The returning Rak’soraa had a brief conversation with
the remaining Rak’soraa and the squad captain, who was obviously not happy. 
The Fear Squad turned and left the area, in no apparent hurry, causing many doors
and shutters to quickly shut with audible
clunks
and
bangs
.  Shortly
thereafter, the squad captain blew his whistle to assemble the squad, and they
left too.  By that time, Hoyle had shimmied down the drain pipe and was blocks
away.

---o---

“You’re joking.  You’re not joking.” Hicks stated
disbelievingly, “A
Scenter
?  What have you gotten yourself into?  You
took precautions of course?”

“What do you take me for, a no-wit that just got off the
boat?  Of course I took precautions,” answered Hoyle.  It was rumored
Scenters
could only find, or smell, people’s auras on solid material.  Metals worked
best, stone and jewels only moderately less well, but cloth and similar
material not-at-all.  The guilds had paid very dearly to confirm the rumors. 
The rumor regarding metal, stone and jewels had proven to be fact, at a cost of
a whole squad from his guild.  The strength of the aura also seemed dependent
on the length of time one had in their possession the object in question.  That
was the reason he was careful to retrieve his prized stiletto from Whisper’s
shoulder, the stiletto he had owned for the last five years.  Using it, there
would be nowhere in the Empire he could hide.  The
Scenters
would find
him eventually.  It was also the reason that he had purchased the small pouch
for the stones the day before yesterday, and only had the magestones in his
possession since yesterday, just in case the rumors of cloth were not true. 
It's
better to be careful than dead
.

Hoyle sipped from his mug of still warm cider and looked up at
Hicks.  Her mouth ended with a small upturned sarcastic smile, her eyes alight with
a merry twinkle.  Even though she was his best friend, knowing Hoyle could be
in trouble always put a smile on her face.  Tossing her black hair over her
shoulder and glancing around the mostly empty inn, she leaned in and whispered
“What
exactly
did you do?”

Celia walked down the dimly lit corridor swiftly, her long
brown hair trailing behind her, her robe sweeping the floor with each step. 
She grasped her amulet in one hand, the quafa'shilaar glowing azure through the
gaps in her fingers, a nervous habit she had picked up during her training. 
She had never quite felt good enough to be a Dar'Shilaar, even though she
performed in the top half of her class.

It was possible that the theft had not yet been detected, as
she had been the one to oversee this batch of quafa'shilaar - magestones to the
common man, destined for the next class of Dar'Shilaar graduates.  For some
reason, this graduation ceremony was to be held in the Imperial Palace instead
of Mahad'avor.  Celia did not understand the breach of protocol, but it was
obvious that some sort of politics was at work, and politics was not her area
of expertise - far from it actually.

  The unbound quafa'shilaar had arrived three days ago by
courier via magegate from Sky Citadel Mahad'avor.  She had placed them in the
secure vault immediately, activating the wards, and casting a few of her own. 
And yet, within bells, they had been stolen.  She had done everything within
her power, yet it was all for naught. 

Even if no one else at the embassy had discovered the theft,
she had decided she must inform her mentor of ‘
the incident’
as she was
calling it to herself.  Climbing the stairs to the top of the stone tower that
housed the Dar'Shilaar embassy in Tala’ahar, the centre of Imperial power,
Celia knocked on the rough oak door.

“Come in,” came the female voice from inside the room.

Pushing the door, Celia stepped into the large round room
and closed the door quietly behind her.  Turning to face her mentor Zazaril,
she surveyed the room.  It served as the office of the senior Dar'Shilaar at
the embassy, and was filled with simple, yet sturdy furniture.  A wide oak desk
and chair sat in the middle of the room, facing the door with two additional
chairs on Celia’s side.  A quill and ink bottle, a stuffed owl, and a small
knife for opening letters rested on the top of the desk.  Bookshelves filled
with books, scrolls, and miscellaneous curios covered the walls between the
four large, glass paned windows that faced the four cardinal directions.  All
the windows were covered with heavy curtains except the south-facing one where
they were drawn back, letting in a sliver of the early morning sun.  Celia
could just make out the view to the boat masts of the harbor through the lightly
frosted glass.  The embassy’s felia'shilaar, a magemirror, a full length of
mirrored glass in a large, ornately crafted, gold embossed frame with stand,
stood beside the bookcase to Zazaril’s right.  The three quafa'shilaar set in
the frame glowing softly azure, vermillion and indigo, each individual
combination of touches linking it to a different mirror elsewhere.  A small
winding oak stair wound its way up to Zazaril’s apartment at the top of the
tower, the floor above.

Turning her attention back to her mentor Zazaril, who sat in
her sturdy oak chair reading a letter, Celia cleared her throat quietly. 
Zazaril did not indicate that Celia was to sit in either of the two chairs on
Celia’s side of the desk, so she remained standing.  Celia studied her mentor,
a woman she desperately wanted to emulate, to even be, in the future.  Zazaril
was so confident that it inspired yet terrified Celia.  Her long, raven black
hair to the middle of her back, her lithe figure with ample curves that she
kept hidden behind a stylish Sarethan gown, the authority with which she
presented herself; all caused Celia to feel plain and unworthy.  Today the gown
was black to match her hair, trimmed in some fur Celia didn’t recognize.

“Quafa'shilaar were stolen,” Zazaril looked up from the
letter.

“Yes,” squeaked Celia, holding her amulet in her hand and
twisting the cord, “two nights ago.”

“Why did you not bring it to my attention immediately?” her
mentor demanded.  Deep amber eyes bored into Celia’s.

“Because of the unique nature of this event, I cast a trace
spell on the stones as soon as they arrived,” Celia straightened as she
answered, slightly indignant.  “I was... am planning on dealing with this
myself, but needed to be excused from my duties in the embassy in order to do
so.  This was the first free moment I have had since I discovered the theft to
discuss the matter with you.”

Zazaril stared at Celia for a long moment without speaking. 
“I am impressed by your forethought, but I have already taken care of the
problem.  We should have the stones back very shortly.  You are dismissed.”

Celia’s mouth opened.  She stared at Zazaril, who turned her
attention back to the papers on her desk. 
What did she mean that she had
already taken care of the problem?

“Please close the door behind you,” her mentor instructed.

Celia stalked out, and just barely stopped herself from
slamming the door behind her.  As she stormed down the winding stairs towards
her room, she decided that her mentor’s answer didn’t satisfy her, and that she
would take matters into her own hands. 
How did the thief get past her
wards?
Celia fumed.  She was angry, at herself and the thief for shaming
her in the eyes of her mentor. She also hated herself for the fact that she was
intrigued.

---o---

Reaching her room in the two-storey annex at the back of the
tower, Celia closed the door and packed some things into her small backpack. 
She looked around her small room, scanning for any other items she might need,
but the room was only so big, with a single bed with a lumpy straw mattress
resting just under the window, a small desk, and a wardrobe completing the
furnishings.  This room, along with the eleven others on this floor were meant
as temporary living quarters for visiting Dar'Shilaar, so they had nothing in
them but the bare necessities.  She grabbed her cloak off the peg beside the
door and looked at herself in the small mirror over the desk.  Noticing her
glowing amulet, and unsure how the general populace of Tala’ahar would react to
a Dar'Shilaar walking unescorted through the city, she tucked it inside her
robe.

Having only been in Tala’ahar for a month, she had not had a
chance to venture more than two streets from the embassy tower.  When she had
left the embassy previously, she had been ‘escorted’ by one of the six city
guardsmen stationed at the embassy.  Based on what Celia observed, she was not
sure that they were at the embassy only for the protection of the Dar' Shilaar. 
She decided to leave down the back stairs, past the kitchen and out into the
alley running behind the annex.

She stepped carefully out of the back door into the thick
snow that was slowly turning to muddy slush. She grasped her amulet through her
robe and quietly chanted the words to activate her trace spell.  Almost
instantly she felt the slight pull in her head, indicating the rough direction,
and based on strength, approximate distance, to the quafa'shilaar that had been
in her care before they were stolen.  Getting her bearings, and pulling her cloak
about her for warmth, she set out toward the end of the alley.  Once there, she
nervously looked around the corner to the front of the embassy to see the two
guards standing against the wall on either side of the front door.  Celia
stepped out from the mouth of the narrow alley, blending in with the crowd of
the many other cloaked figures.  There was a biting breeze that was coming in
off the water of the bay.  It was time to track the thief.

---o---

By early afternoon she found herself in the trade quarter of
Tala’ahar, standing in Merchant’s Square studying a squat, square stone tower
across from her.  The quafa'shilaar were within, but she was at a loss on how
to proceed.  As it was, her stomach complained due to lack of food, distracting
her from her ability to concentrate.  Browsing among the stalls of the square,
she paid a copper for a hot meat tart from one of the vendors and sat on the
small fieldstone wall that surrounded the small, currently dry, fountain in the
center of the circular plaza, to eat it.  Finishing quickly, she returned to
purchase another, and then sat facing the tower to observe while she slowly ate
the second tart.

Based on the window spacing, the tower was three short
stories tall, the battlements perched atop it were no more than seven or eight
spans from the ground.  The windows were barred on the outside, and none of the
shutters were open to the early spring sun.  She saw a large, closed wooden
gate to the side, connecting the tower and what appeared to be a warehouse or
stable of some kind, blocking access to the yard beyond.  Turning her attention
back to the front of the tower, she noticed a shield with a bull’s head crest hung
above the door.  She recalled this crest from her history lessons at Mahad’avor;
it was the royal crest of Goralon.

It occurred to her suddenly that she could no longer feel
the pulling sensation from her trace spell.  That could only happen one of
three ways: she had dispelled it willingly, her concentration was broken, or
another more powerful caster had removed it or shielded it.  She was pretty
sure her hunger didn’t cause her enough distraction to lose the spell, so she
went back and replayed events in her mind. 
No, it was cut off suddenly!
Celia thought.  That meant a more powerful caster was within the tower at this
very moment.