Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) (21 page)

Hoyle’s chest hurt.  Everything hurt.  He was not sure he
would ever be the same again.  Tears ran freely down his face, his nose leaked
causing him sniffles, which he wiped away with the back of his arm, leaving
slime trails on the sleeve of his only ‘nice’ jacket.  By nice, it was the only
one without holes in the elbows.  “But what would you expect of a twelve-year
old boy?” he had answered Vanda as they looked for clothes that would suit.

Now he stood on the cold ground, looking at the mound of
cold earth that now housed his mother’s cold body.  Tears continued to run down
his face as he looked down, ashamed of the tears.  The Daughter droned on
beside the grave, Hoyle hearing none of it, just a noise that his thoughts
drove him to ignore.

He held Niala’s hand, her ten-year old frame shuddering with
quiet sobs beside him in her yellow dress and flowered sweater, Vanda holding
her other hand.

Finally the Daughter said the final prayers, and the three
of them stepped forward and stuck branches from each of their each favorite
tree in the top of their mother’s grave.  They stood for a while until their
neighbor Haved came up and touched Vanda’s shoulder and whispered something in
her ear.

Vanda gathered them both up and herded them towards Haved’s
wagon.  At the wagon, Haved helped Niala into the wagon beside his portly, but
warm-hearted wife, Fradena, and then helped Vanda climb up to sit beside his
spot on the front bench, as was her due.  That was the tradition after all; the
mate or the oldest born got to ride in the front of the wagon.  Haved turned to
help Hoyle into the wagon, but he shook his head.

He looked at Vanda, who knew him so well.  “He’ll walk,” she
informed Haved.  Haved shrugged his shoulders and gripped Hoyle’s shoulder
firmly, “I’m so sorry, she was a good woman.”  He then climbed into the wagon
and got the ox moving down the slight rise towards town.

He watched silently, without moving, as the few well-wishers
trickled back to town, most walking, some in one of the three wagons brought
out today.  He looked further down the track to the small collection of
buildings they used to call home about a third of a league away.  He could see
wood smoke rising from some chimneys into the cool autumn air.  The two-storey
inn was the tallest in town, and easily visible from the rise the town had
decided to make their cemetery way back in time.

He reflected on those who were here and how few there really
were who came and said their good-byes.  Their mother’s employer was not there
– but of course not, he had been slain too.  He looked to his left; to the
manor on the hill owned by a merchant who had stakes in several businesses in
the town.  The manor was the third point on the triangle, the other two being
the hill he stood on and the town.

The bandits had left no one alive on the estate when they
were finished.  Hoyle did not like to think about what the rumors were saying
had happened, and since only a few people had been to the manor after the event
only a week ago, only those few people knew what might have really happened. 
Those that had been to the manor to collect the bodies and try to clean up
would not talk about what they saw – especially to children.  They would talk
about a couple of things that were now considered fact amongst the townsfolk;
that the manor had been cleaned out of all its valuables and that there was a
name scrawled across one wall in blood - Warfist.

The rumor in the parts was that Warfist was a half-orc from
the Blasted Lands hundreds of leagues to the north, lands said to be infested
with a countless number of the filthy creatures.  He supposedly led a group of
bandits or mercenaries, depending on who you talked to, that robbed and
pillaged as they pleased.

Being a cleaning woman in the household had not spared their
mother from Warfist’s wrath, the same fate as the rich merchant and his wife. 
She was not worth much notice, going about her day without much fuss and had
never hurt anyone in her life, always having a kind word; even for old Bitter
Barg out in front of the tavern.

And now she was gone.  He did not know what they would do
now.  Vanda was seventeen now, old enough to take employment with whomever
would take her, but not really old enough to look after him and Niala.  Hoyle
did not know if she would stay in the town, or escape from the memories.  The
rumor had it that he and Niala would have to go to the orphanage in the city. 
Which city, he did not know, as no one had talked to him about what he wanted. 
Being twelve, he was pretty sure they did not care what he wanted. 
Do I
even know what I want?

He jumped as someone touched his shoulder.  The Daughter of
Shaleesa looked down at him as he turned in surprise.  He had forgotten that
she was still here.

“Shall we walk back together?” she asked politely.  She wore
the typical white robes the Daughters wore, the hood up in the chill air.  Her
black hair framed her face, with a small mouth and button nose under piercing,
but kind, blue eyes.  She held out her hand to him.

When he put his hand in hers, he felt a jolt, and then peace
flowed through him, like he was connected to something greater…  His memories
were still there, but the burden of sorrow had eased slightly.  His chest hurt
a little less.

---o---

Hoyle opened his eyes to see Valena kneeling over him, her
arms still pressed to his chest, where he felt a receding pain.  He looked
around groggily, trying to get his bearings.  Salrissa knelt beside him holding
a bloody arrow in one hand, broken in two pieces.  Valena herself had a large
bruise on her forehead, but seemed otherwise healthy.  He shook his head. 
Where
am I? 

He sat up, but then lay back down, his head spinning
fiercely.  Or was that the vessel?  Violent swaying accompanied the sensation
in his head, and he turned to look towards the helm to see Robart wrestling
with the tiller.  Salrissa, seeing that he was going to survive, gave him a nod
of the head and went to help Robart, to little effect.

He managed to sit up with Valena’s help, and surveyed the
ship.  The drake had done some serious damage when it had landed, ripping a
hole in the side of the ship and roof of the cabin with its claws.  The side
jib sail was nowhere to be seen, the shattered spar the only evidence that
there was supposed to have been something there. 
That was why they were
having trouble controlling the skiff.

Hoyle heard Celia’s tinny voice come through the speaking
tube, but couldn’t hear what she said as Valena helped him to stand.

“You should rest,” she insisted, trying to guide him to the
cabin.

He brushed past her guiding arm as Robart cursed, and
Salrissa ran to the forward port rail and looked over.  “What did Celia say?”
he asked Robart.

“She said ‘We’re almost over the Goralonian Fort, watch out!’”
the large man quoted.

Suddenly Salrissa yelled “Get down!” as she retreated from
the port rail towards the helm where he and Robart stood, both now wrestling
with the helm.  Suddenly, a flaming ball flew above the rail at the top if its
arc, and dropped away in front of them.  He and Robart looked at each other,
and heaved the wheel over to port, turning to pass the fort to the north.

Two more flaming projectiles appeared in the air, one
missing high and the other one behind.  Hoyle let out a breath he didn’t
realize he was holding and went to the edge of the ruined hole on the starboard
side of the ship.  Inching closer to the edge, he peered over at the fort
below.  All he could see besides the vague shape of the fort in the dark twenty
or so spans below, was three more flaming projectiles headed their way – fast!

Jumping backwards, he grabbed the wheel, pushing Robart out
of the way, and spun it to starboard as hard as he could.  With the addition of
the port jib that was catching the wind, the skiff turned quickly towards the
fort, but it was not enough.  The first flaming ball of pitch slammed into the
side of the hull, splattering across the planks on the side of the skiff. 
Flames licked up past the edge of the deck near the damaged section like scall
lizards looking for food.

Hoyle knew they were in trouble now.  Fire at sea was one
thing, but fire on a sky ship was devastating.  He turned the ship back to
port, against the push of the portside jib, trying to put as much space between
them and the fort as possible now that they were almost past.

Suddenly Hoyle’s stomach lurched as the deck fell out from
under them, and then he slammed to the deck as the falling skiff was brought up
short.  Obviously Celia was trying to help dodge the flaming pitch.  Her effort
had failed however; as he saw flames crawling their way down the main sail very
quickly.  Holes were even now forming as bits of burning sailcloth rained down
on them.

He yelled into the speaking tube after climbing to his feet
and resuming his post at the helm, “Celia, please take us down – swiftly, but
not as fast as last time.”

“I will do what I can,” came her reply.  “but we’re in
trouble aren’t we?”  He could hear the sorrow in her voice.

He looked at the flames licking over the side of the deck on
the starboard and the flames consuming the main sail and mast.  “Yes, the ship
is doomed, so we have to get it to the ground as fast as possible, but not too
close to the fort.  We should be able to coax another league out of this before
we have to get off.”

Salrissa and Robart were stamping out the flames as they
landed on the deck from above, but he could see that the starboard fire had
really caught hold.  They may have to get off sooner than he thought.  Looking
forward, he saw a ridge coming up fast, the trees a long line of sentinels
blocking their passage.  Celia managed to ease the crippled ship up and over
the ridge, though several pines scraped the bottom of the hull, one tree
ripping the flaming keel sail free from below.  Thankfully they were now
running with the wind directly astern, or the skiff would have tipped sharply
leeward, and might possibly have tossed someone overboard.

Hoyle could see a shimmering below that looked to be a lake
nestled between the ridges of the mountain, really more like the start of the
foothills into Goralon.  He called to Celia to get on deck with them.

“But I can’t leave it alone, the ship will crash!” came her
reply.

‘The ship is already crashing!” he yelled back.  “Get up
here now!”

He turned the wheel to align them with the small lake that
was now just a dark spot among darker trees, as he felt the ship suddenly start
a steeper dive.

“Get ready to jump!” he ordered.

“What?!  Are you crazy?” Robart responded harshly.  He was
still moving stiffly from his being tossed around the cabin during the drake
attack.  “We’ll be impaled!”

“I have to agree with Robart,” Valena said. “It does seem to
be a dangerous idea.”

He watched as Celia climbed out of the steeply tilted cabin
and grabbed the helm to support herself.  He could see tears running down her
eyes.

“You would rather crash to earth on a flaming wreck?!” he
demanded.  “Just jump when I tell you!”  He waited, as they were almost down to
tree-top height.  He could hear the top of the trees begin to scrape the hull,
the sound growing louder and louder.  Suddenly they stopped.  Hoyle counted to
three and then yelled “Jump!” and hurled himself over the stern, not waiting
for the others.

His stomach lurched again as he plummeted to earth, suddenly
breaking the surface of the lake, his joints aching badly from the impact, but very
quickly the aching subsided due to the bone numbing cold of the water.  He
clawed his way to the surface, his head breaking free.  Taking a huge gasp of
air, he turned to watch the flaming wreck of a ship plummet into the woods on
the far side of the small lake leaving a flaming trail in its wake.

Turning, he noticed four other floating or flailing figures
in the frigid water.  All he could see were shadowed forms of heads, but based
on the noises, Robart and Salrissa were the ones swimming towards the shore,
towing the other two.  He imagined it would be hard to swim in robes, like
those of Celia and Valena.  Turning in a circle in the water to survey the area,
he followed the others toward the flaming beacon of wreckage on the closest
shore.

Besides, for them to survive the night, they would have to
get warm and dry.  What better place than a more than ample fire.

Celia’s feet finally found the gravel of the lake bottom a
couple of spans from shore, and she tried to stand, but Robart was still
dragging her by the back of her robe.  Her limbs were numb, the cold seeping
into her limbs and even into her core.  She wasn’t even sure she could stand. 
But at least they were alive – alive, and lost in the wilds of the Goralonian
foothills.

   Finally, after two more strides, Robart heaved her
towards shore and let go.  She fell where she was, lying in the frigid water,
willing herself to get up.  When that didn’t work, she rolled over in the
handspan of water and levered herself to her hands and knees.  She crawled onto
dry land until her feet were out of the water and then collapsed on her stomach.

Salrissa was helping Valena out of the water, while Robart
was leaning against a tree holding his ribs.  About three strides away was the
path the wreckage made as it crashed.  Hoyle was climbing out of the water,
unsteady on his feet.  The other women made it to a fallen tree and sat down,
Valena trying to wring out her robes with shivering hands.

Hoyle managed to get himself upright by hanging onto a small
birch tree growing near the gravel beach.  “We have to keep moving,” he stated,
“or we’re going to freeze.”

“Who put you in charge?” Robart challenged, still breathing
hard from the swim and broken ribs.

“No one ‘put’ me in charge.  But since no one else seems to
be ‘taking’ it, I thought maybe someone should do it,” he said through
chattering teeth.

Celia struggled to stand, her cold muscles protesting every
motion.  She had lost her staff on the skiff, so could not use it to help
herself stand.  Eventually she managed to get herself upright.  “I don’t care
who’s in charge, as long as we’re walking towards the wreckage of the ship.” 
She started stumbling towards the gap in the trees the wreckage had created. 
If the damage had not been obvious in pointing her towards the downed ship, the
pull of the quafa'shilaar would have led her directly there.  Apparently, she
now had some sort of bond with it.

At first, it was slow going, the underbrush thick at the
water’s edge.  The wreck had only managed to knock branches off, and snap tops
of trees as it first hit the foliage on this side of the lake.  Further in, the
underbrush thinned under the pine and spruce trees, only snagging her wet
clothing half as often, which was still annoying and slowing their progress. 
There were also large, stubborn patches of snow, still lingering in the shade
of the forest, not knowing that spring was right around the corner. 

She had the satisfaction of hearing the others following
behind her.  As she continued, the damage from the plummeting wreckage became
more noticeable.  At first it was flaming or smoldering branches lying in the
still lingering patches of snow.  But that quickly grew into snapped trees
smoldering on their sides, still hanging on to their remaining trunk.  Celia
looked up from a particularly annoying bush to see that she had arrived at the
still burning wreckage.  Though her struggle through the trees had warmed her
somewhat, the heat was welcome.  She moved as close to the fire as she dared,
and held her robes to either side, trying to dry them out quicker.

The rest of the group followed her into the newly created
clearing a mere hundred or so paces from the lake, and spread out around the
fire to dry off.  It seemed that there had been enough snowfall this winter to
ensure the trees had sufficient moisture, as only the trees immediately around
the downed sky skiff were actually burning.  The rest appeared to have
smoldered a little, but the flames had not taken.  That was good, as she had
read an account from a survivor of a forest fire, and she was pretty sure that
she did not want to live through one.  Suddenly she remembered the books in her
pack!

She pulled out the oil cloth wrapped bundle, noting that
everything else in her pack was soaked.  Peeling the cloth off, she saw that
some water had made it inside, but the books were not completely ruined.  She
laid them out against a fallen log on a patch of now dry ground, as close to
the fire as possible.  She brought out her other assorted items; her comb and
brush, her extra clothes, her spare blanket, and started hanging them from
branches to dry.

“We should leave as soon as we’re warm and dry,” Robart said
looking to the dark shadows in the trees.  The flickering fire was causing the
shadows to move and jump.  “We’re not safe here.”

Valena, who was also sorting her pack, and laying some
things out to dry asked, “Where would be safer than here, next to a warm
fire?” 

“In this Robart’s correct,” Salrissa added, “This fire is a
beacon to all things nearby.”

“But animals will be scared of the fire, won’t they?” Valena
responded.

“It’s not the animals they’re worried about,” Celia chimed
in, “it’s the other creatures that may be living nearby.  It doesn’t matter
though, we’re not leaving until the fire’s done and I can get into the
wreckage.”

The rest of the group looked at her like she was totally
crazy.  “What?” Hoyle asked quietly.  “In this one case I agree with Robart, we
need to be off.”  His gaze glanced the big man’s way, but quickly back to
Celia, who ignored the look.

“There is something I need to get once the fire dies down
and we can search the wreckage.  Besides, wouldn’t it be better to camp beside
a large fire that blocks part of the access to us from one side, and also
provides us light to see our enemies?  If any are even close enough to come
calling in the next…” she looked at the eastern sky, “… four bells until dawn?”

“She does have a point.” Salrissa added, wringing out her
socks as she sat on the log by Celia’s books, her boots beside her.  “That
doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep a watch.  I will stay up first.  You all get
some sleep.”

“I’ll stay up too, if it’s all the same to you,” Robart
grumbled.  He pulled his greatsword off his back with difficulty and found a
spot in the shadows at the edge of the clearing, where he stood his sword
beside him against a tree.

Salrissa pulled her boots on and walked over to Hoyle and
gave him a small peck on the cheek and whispered something to him.  She then
went to into the forest opposite Robart and disappeared into the darkness.

Celia watched as Valena walked over to where Robart leaned
against a tree.  She said something quietly to him, and then she watched as the
healer’s hands glowed briefly while touching Robart’s abdomen, then fade. 
Valena walked back to near Celia and grabbed her now dry blanket, and curled up
a little closer to the fire.

Hoyle had by this point found a small hollow between some
tree roots and had curled up, apparently asleep.  She noted that his sword was
unsheathed and in his grip.

Celia grabbed her brush and proceeded to quickly remove the
tangles in her hair, and then braided it to keep it out of the way.  After a
while, she began to get sleepy, the adrenalin now wearing off.  She grabbed her
now mostly dry blanket, wrapped herself up in it and found a fairly level,
fairly dry patch of ground and lay down.  She drifted off before a ten count.

---o---

Celia woke with a start, sitting upright abruptly, her
adrenalin pumping.  The howl that had awoken her was still fresh in her ears. 
She reached for her staff, forgetting she left it on board the skiff and it had
burned in the fire.  Looking around, she noticed the rest of the group was also
awake; Robart climbing to his feet from where he was sleeping; Hoyle moving
into the clearing from where he must have been keeping watch.  Valena was
sitting up, also confused, but Celia noted that the bruise on her forehead was
now gone.  She must have healed it before she went to sleep.  Of Salrissa there
was no sign.

“What was that?” Valena asked with an almost unnoticeable
tremor in her voice.  Celia wondered how old the small woman really was, as her
face put her anywhere from eighteen years of age to thirty.

“I believe that was a hunting cry of the varghul,” Celia
stated more calmly than she felt.  She stood in the pre-dawn light and walked
towards the smouldering wreck that was their transport just hours ago.  She was
glad for the few hours of rest, though her muscles still complained, her
thoughts were clearer.  “It is very unlikely that it is hunting us.  Still we
should not tarry overlong.”  She began to climb the wreckage careful to not
touch anything that looked hot, or get soot on her hands.  She could still feel
the presence of the quafa'shilaar in her mind.

“Then what are you doing?” Robart asked in exasperation.

“If we need to move, Celia, what you’re doing doesn’t make
sense.  Come down from there and let’s get moving.”  Hoyle had moved over to
remains of the bottom of the sloping deck.

“I need something from inside.” She simply stated.  She
climbed up the tilted deck, smearing her hands with soot and burning her hands
twice on still hot embers regardless of how careful she was being.  She managed
to reach the cabin door amid much grumbling from below.  “I won’t be long,” she
called down.

Being careful not to injure herself, she climbed into the
canted cabin, surprised at what little damage the fire had caused to the
interior.  Climbing equally along the wall and floor at the same time, she
managed to reach the small red door and heaved it open.  The quafa'shilaar
still sat in its cradle, deep violet light with flecks of azure radiating from
it.  The rest of the room was a charred wreck, black and burned, the fire
gaining access from the damage the drake had caused she assumed.  The mast was
charred too, but thick enough to withstand the heat without cracking.  The
metal plate holding the magestone was still intact also.

Carefully she reached out and scooped the magestone from
under the flat bar holding it in the metal depression.  As her fingers made
contact with it she sensed a feeling of relief from the stone.  The pulling in
her mind eased.  “I got you little one,” she said to the stone as she turned to
climb out.

As she made her way back through the cabin, she grabbed a
couple of still usable water skins hanging from a hook.  Then she heard
shouting from outside.  Something was happening.  As she came into viewing, she
could see Hoyle and Robart shouting and pointing.  She clambered down the
sloped deck, sliding the final span on her rear end and moved over to the two
shouting men.

“What’s going on?” she shouted into the argument.  She
couldn’t understand what they were saying anyway.  She was not sure they could
understand each other either.  Just at that moment, another long howl cut
through the air.  It was much closer.  “Oh.”  She moved over and began to
collect her now mostly dry books and tomes, re-wrapping them in the oil cloth
to protect them.

Just as she was pulling her pack over her shoulder, they
heard a bone-chilling shriek.  Suddenly the bushes parted as Salrissa ran into
the new clearing holding the bow from the sky skiff, an arrow nocked on the
string.  “Get your weapons ready!” she cried briskly.

Hoyle and Robart grabbed their weapons without question,
Hoyle drawing his rapier and stiletto, Robart retrieving his greatsword from
against the tree.  They moved toward Salrissa who was watching back the way
from which she came.

Valena had stood her pack already on her back.  “Why, what’s
going on?”

Suddenly a large creature leapt from the trees, easily
clearing the new hole in the forest canopy, and landed on the far side of the
clearing.  Turning, it regarded the five of them even as Salrissa, Hoyle and
Robart turned to face it, fanning out slightly in the process.

The creature was a varghul.  It resembled a giant house cat,
with feline eyes, pointed ears, striped black and grey fur, and very sharp
teeth.  That’s where the similarities ended.  This creature was a span and a
half tall at the shoulder, with six muscular legs, the front four evolved to
rend and tear, the rear pair for leaping large distances.  Bony protrusions
like knives extended from the joints of all its limbs, along its back, at the
shoulders and ran along the skull down between its eyes.  These creatures had evolved
to hunt drakes, they were stealthy, could leap huge distances and high into the
air, and grapple their prey with their powerful set of four forelegs.  A long,
bony, armored feline tail extended behind it, two spiny plates extending from
each side near the tip.  It had an arrow protruding from one of its upper
forelegs, and looked extremely angry.

The varghul opened its fang filled mouth and screeched at
them, its ear-splitting howl causing Celia to put her hands over her ears.  She
watched as Salrissa fired another arrow at the creature, managing to hit it in
the dim pre-dawn light.  Unfortunately, the arrow hit the creature on the bony
part of the skull between its eyes, bouncing off harmlessly.  Hoyle and Robart
moved to try and flank the creature, weapons in front of them.

The varghul moved faster than thought, slashing at Hoyle
with his middle right leg, its long claws forcing Hoyle to dive out of the way
into a pile of bushes.  At the same time, its left front leg whipped out at
Robart.  Robart ducked quickly, but a claw still sliced into his shoulder,
drawing blood, knocking him off-balance.  Salrissa let another arrow fly,
sinking it into the shoulder next to the other arrow.

The creature turned to Salrissa and screeched again in
anger, then pounced at her with its powerful legs.  Salrissa dove to the side,
rolling into the shadows under the wreckage of the ship, and vanished from
sight.  The varghul clawed at the wreckage, trying to get at Salrissa.  All
this happened in mere moments since the creature attacked.

"
Cravash!
" Celia intoned, sending her
marbles of light at the back of the beast while it was digging for her most
immediate prey.  They hit the rear end of the creature, singeing its fur,
causing it to yelp.  It turned in a circle, trying to determine the source of
its distress.  Its eyes caught Celia and Valena standing close together near
the side of the clearing by the fallen logs.  It began to stalk towards them,
crouching for a leap.  Just as it was coiling itself, Robart stepped up behind
it and swung his giant sword, hitting the creature in the rear thigh, drawing a
serious amount of blood.  It screeched in pain and swung its armored tail,
slamming Robart across the clearing, slicing a red streak across his chain
armor.  He landed in the bushes unmoving.