Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

They were led to within three spans of the throne, and then they
were roughly forced to kneel at the same time as the captain ordered “Kneel!”

“You could have asked
first
,” Hoyle muttered under
his breath quietly.  His chains allowed for some movement in this position, but
he kept his hands down near his thighs.

Brows growled quietly beside him like some barely restrained
hound.

Suddenly the guards around the pair stiffened to attention. 
Soft footfalls came from one of the balcony doorways, and then were overpowered
by the sound of the hard boots of the guards as they escorted the person along
the balcony and down the stairs to the rear of the room.  Hoyle watched as a
middle-aged man in long flowing jade green robes, trimmed in gold, walked up
the steps to the dais, touched the arm of the throne almost wistfully, and then
stood beside it.  His face was of a darker shade than the normal Imperial
subject, with slightly tilted eyes and narrow cheekbones hidden behind a razor
thin goatee.

“Report please captain,” came the gravelly but calm voice. 
The man’s eyes flickered briefly over to the Rak’soraa and the Scaazi standing
to the side, but returned quickly to the captain.

“The raid in the Merchant’s Square was a success, capturing
all of those within the building,” the captain began nervously, and continued
quickly as one of the Rak’soraa stepped forward “except for two women who
reportedly vanished into the shadows.  One was fighting this brute until the Fear
Squad arrived.”  The captain pointed at Brows. The Rak’soraa stepped back to
its previous position.  Hoyle snuck a quick glance at the man on his knees
beside him.  Brows had dropped his head to cover his smile.  He
knew
that Whisper had escaped.

“Was anyone able to get to their magemirror?” A threat hung
unspoken in the air.

“No, your Honour.  Not that we know of.” the captain
clarified.  Hoyle was confused by the title.

“Good.  Tell me of these two.  The large one is obviously
Goralonian by the black hair, overhanging brows, and mean disposition.  The
other man obviously has some Goralon blood in him, but more imperial blood,
based on his features.  I would guess that he hails from one of the Eastern
Provinces.” The robed man paused. 

Hoyle was confused. 
Goralon blood?
  His mother had never
mentioned anything about the father Hoyle had never known. 
Could his father
have been Goralonian?
  He drowned out the next words as his thoughts
drifted.  His sisters had both been fair of skin and hair the same as their
mother.  He still had her features around the eyes, and cheek bones, but his
darker hair set him apart.  He had tried asking his mother about it one day,
but she had distracted him with errands and chores, and he had forgotten that
she had not answered his question.

Something that was said brought him back to the present
moment.

“ – and this man was reportedly stunned on the floor when
taken, just after the two women disappeared into the shadows.” finished the
captain.

“So let me summarize what you have told me captain, just so
I can be clear when I report to the Emperor,” began the robed man as he
strolled over to the taller Rak’soraa and had a quickly whispered
conversation.  Hoyle noted that the robed man never made eye contact with those
glowing yellow eyes of the Rak'soraa.  Walking behind the pair, and around the
guards surrounding them, he continued, “A large man, fitting his description,
was seen by witnesses leaving a scene of a disturbance this morning, though
truly yesterday morning by now.  He left in a dark carriage with a taller,
thinner, older man, who is obviously not this man.”  He gestured at Hoyle,
having rounded the group and now stood in front, one hand to his thin goatee,
apparently thinking.  “Within the back room of the domicile on the second floor,
there was the body of whom the neighbors describe as the owner and shopkeeper
of the shoppe below.  Also found on the premises were: a single crossbow bolt
and a magestone, carelessly dropped beneath the bed.  A magestone I have been
assured was one of the ones stolen from the Dar'Shilaar Embassy not two days
prior.  Is this correct so far?”

“Other than the magestone being stolen, as you are far wiser
than me your Honour, that would be correct,” replied the captain deferentially.

Hoyle had wondered how the Fear Squad had been able to find
them at the Merchant’s Guild, but if they had left the crossbow bolt in the
bedpost, then that would have led the
Scenter
straight to the guild
soldier, and thus the guild.  The magestone was a surprise though.  He would
have thought that even in a hurry, they would have spent the time to collect
them all.  They were each worth a small fortune, unbound.

“So, knowing that
nine
magestones were stolen two –
no... three days ago, and we have recovered only one, that means the Goralonians
still have eight.  And you indicated that none were found within the Guild
tower?  If none were found in the tower, how do we truly know the Goralonians
were even involved?” he asked rhetorically. 

Hoyle started. 
How did this man know
how
many
magestones were stolen? Something bigger is going on...
  He thought he
caught a small smile at the corner of Brows' mouth out of the corner of his
eye, but it was gone when he looked closer.

"Begging your pardon your Honor, but I don't understand
the question," the captain stated.

"Of course you don't Captain, I was merely thinking out
loud."  Tapping his finger to his lips thoughtfully, he continued, “So we
surmise that this brute, or one of his compatriots,” he gestured this time to
Brows, “had arranged to buy stolen magestones...  Why then were you,” he looked
Hoyle directly in the eye, “at the Guild tower, immobilized on the floor by
some dark magic?  I’m guessing that you had a run-in with another that managed
to escape, hmmmm?” He turned and looked at the captain over his shoulder, who
looked a little more than concerned.

“We saw no other,” the captain whispered.

“I’m certain.” He turned and walked back to stand by the
throne, looking away from the pair.  Hoyle noted that Brows had said nothing
the whole time, though he was still growling softly.  “It matters little; we
will get the truth from you both eventually, especially what the Goralonians
want with magestones.  Take them to Robart.  All should be revealed in no
time.”

“Yes, First Chancellor!” the captain saluted.  The Palace
Guards also saluted crisply before lifting the pair of them to their feet, and
began to hustle them along to a fate that Hoyle suspected would not be
pleasant.  Probably far from it...

The sun was hidden just beyond the horizon in the east, bleaching
the sky to a lighter shade of dark, by the time Celia finally managed to find
her way back to the embassy.  As exhausted as she was, she forgot that the
embassy was guarded at all times.  She walked up the stairs, her thoughts elsewhere,
and grabbed the handle to the door.  A hand gripped her shoulder roughly.

“What are you about miss?  This is the Dar'Shilaar Embassy,
and it doesn’t open until ninth bell” one of the guardsmen noted not too
unkindly.

She raised her face to the guard, who was not much taller
than her.  She saw recognition dawn in his eyes and he changed his tone, though
Celia wasn’t sure if it was for the better.  “You! What have you been up to?! 
You know full well that you are not to be out in the City without an escort, it
can be dangerous!” he rebuked, “I am afraid this indiscretion will have to be
reported.”  To who, he did not say.

People were now starting to be more numerous on the street,
mostly merchants getting ready for the day.  Some stopped to watch the confrontation
with the guard.  Celia was too tired to care.

“If you please?” Celia asked quietly, gesturing to the door.

The guardsman looked annoyed, but turned and unlocked the
front door with the key on a heavy chain around his neck.  She stepped through
and heard the key in the lock behind her.  The main petition chamber was
relatively dark, compared to the lightening morning sky outside, with but a few
candles flickering on the tables; tables that separated the petitioners from
the wizard or wizards who would sit at them.  In front of the tables was a low
railing, to prevent people from getting too close.  She saw a few clerks
organizing papers, who looked up at her entrance, but then went back to work
once she pulled her quafa'shilaar out from under her robe.

As she moved through the railing and past the tables to the
door at the rear of the room, she was intercepted by the head clerk.  He stood in
his standard rigid posture just enough in her way to make sure she would have
to step around him if she wanted to ignore him, but not enough in the way to
offend.

“Yes, Wendinard?” Celia asked as politely as she could.  She
had debated whether to walk around him, but relented at the last minute.  She
could already feel her mattress under her back, and did not want to delay that
reality.

“Good morning, Celia Shilaar.  I would like to inform you
that Zazaril Shilaar had inquired as to your whereabouts yesterday afternoon,
and was quite upset when you could not be found within the embassy.  She
implied that I was to inform you immediately upon your arrival that you were to
attend her in her study.” He stated in his crisp, efficient manner.  He looked
her up and down without moving his head, and continued, “It is a shame that I
missed you before you saw yourself to bed, and that I wouldn’t think to check
on you in your quarters until at least the lunch bell.”

Celia rested a hand on Wendinard’s arm as she passed him,
“Thank you,” she stated quite thankfully.

“For what exactly?  I won’t be seeing you until the lunch
bell,” he replied with a slight wink, still without moving his head an inch.

Celia rested her hand on the door handle, and then her head
against the door for a moment.  Knowing that most of the other Dar'Shilaar
would still be abed, she trudged carefully to her room on the second floor. 
She closed the door behind her and latched it quietly.  Shedding most of her
outdoor clothing, she climbed into her bed in just her underclothes, her lumpy
straw mattress the most comfortable thing she could imagine.

She was asleep the minute her head touched the equally lumpy
pillow.

---o---

Celia looked around her, her head foggy with sleep. 
Had
she fallen asleep in class again? 
No, she was lying on the carpet in a
dark hallway.  She stood.  She could see by some ethereal light coming from
nowhere and everywhere at the same time.  She could see dark shapes moving at
the far end of the hallway, but they kept to the shadows that persisted there. 
She could hear a persistent sound coming from the stairway to the left.  It
sounded like claws on wood.  She thought she could recognize it, it sounded
familiar.  She could feel the stirrings of fear.  Looking around, she could
only see one door, behind her at the other end of the long hallway.

She started moving that way, hearing the sound get closer. 
She looked back over her shoulder and could see the grey-skinned scaazi
following her down the hall, its knuckles dragging on the floor, its gills
undulating, tasting the air.  Two pairs of glowing yellow eyes followed in the
encroaching darkness.

Celia began running towards the door at the far end of the
hall.  She could hear the scaazi getting closer behind her.  After a hundred
steps, when it should have been ten, she finally reached the door breathless
and pulled it open, rushing inside and slamming it behind her.

She turned and stifled a scream!  Standing with its back to
her was a tall demon, wings tucked tight to his back, black and red skin oozing
a viscous liquid.  It was tearing into something on the altar in front of it. 
Glowing light came from behind the large shape.

Stepping to the side, into a dark corner, Celia edged around
the room with her back to the wall, trying to get a view in front of the large
beast.  The coppery smell of blood permeated the room.  The beast lifted its
arm, and a strip of something flexible and pale was laid over a spike on the
altar, blood dripping to the floor.  She finally edged far enough past the
creature to see what it was doing.

Lying on the altar was Hoyle, wide awake, mouth open trying to
scream, but no noise came from his throat.  The beast was tearing long strips of
skin off his body, exposing his muscles beneath, draping the skin over the long
spikes of the altar.  Finally a long scream left Celia’s body, her fear and
terror finally taking hold. 

Suddenly loud banging on the door caused Celia to jump. 
Inevitably, the creature turned slowly to face Celia.  The demon had the face
of the warlock that had attacked her and Hoyle last night, glowing magestone
dripping with blood on a horrid spiked crown.  The warlock’s eyes were glowing
red, pulsing to match the magestone on his forehead.  The demon reached a
large, clawed hand towards Celia’s face, blood dripping from the long sharp
nails.  Loud banging from the door turned Celia that direction.  Celia closed
her eyes and screamed with all her heart and soul – and lurched awake.

---o---

She was in her room, bright sunlight streamed past her
curtains.  Her covers were wrapped around her torso and legs, binding her in
bed.  She sat up, and tried to shake the images from her mind.  She washed her hand
over her face, coming away damp with sweat.  A knock sounded from her door.

“Just a moment,” answered Celia.

“Are you okay Mistress?” inquired Wendinard in his crisp,
efficient manner.  “I heard screaming.”

“Just a bad dream,” Celia responded as she untangled herself
from her bedding, and donned her robe on her way to the door.  Unlatching the
door, she saw Wendinard’s concerned face staring back at her.  Well really, it
was just one raised eyebrow.  It was the most emotion she had seen on
Wendinard’s face in the short time she had been in the embassy.

“It is twelve bells Mistress.  I brought lunch,” he said as
he presented a covered tray.  “You should eat prior to visiting with Zazaril
Shilaar.”

Celia winced.  She had forgotten about the request that was
more of an order.  Wendinard stepped into the room, laid the tray on her desk
and removed the cover to reveal a small roast chicken, with roasted vegetables
and a bowl of warm broth.  A slice of thick buttered bread and small glass of
water completed the tray.

“Thank you Wendinard.” Celia said gratefully as the head
clerk quietly left her room, closing the door quietly behind him.  She dug into
the food eagerly, the smell of roast chicken and warm bread overwhelming her
senses.  She cleaned the plate of all but the bones.

With warm food in her stomach, and almost six bells of
sleep, Celia felt refreshed.  She washed her face in the small basin, drying
her hands on the small hand towel hanging from the back of her chair.  Settling
her clean robes properly on her shoulders, and running a brush through her
hair, Celia looked at herself in the mirror.  She was stalling her meeting. 
She
really did have trouble lying to herself
.

Climbing the stairs to Zazaril’s study, her mind went back
to the same trip the morning before where and when all this started for Celia. 
Was it only the morning before?  It seemed like a lifetime.
 She stopped
at the top of the stairs facing the rough oak door, pausing to take a breath.  She
reached forward to knock, when the door opened inwards and another woman
stopped abruptly, coming out of the study.

She was shorter than Celia, but most women were.  She had
straight blonde hair that came to her shoulder and tapered at the front.  She
was wearing a deep purple gown, with a white fur vest over top.  Her deep blue
eyes glared daggers at Celia.  The other woman brushed past Celia and headed
down the stairs.  She was one of the new sorceresses, but her name escaped
Celia.

She stepped through the door and closed it behind her. 
Zazaril stood, turned away from the door, looking through the eastern window
from her study.  The Dar'Shilaar Embassy was located just off the Trade Way, which
ran straight through Tala’ahar from west to east.  From this height, you could
see all the way down the straight road, over the undulating rooftops, all the
way to the Eastern Trade Gate.  That road led to Goralon two hundred leagues
east.

“Puralina was quite upset, as you can imagine, not having a
full magestone to bond with now that her training is done,” Zazaril had still
not turned from the window.  “The fact that the quafa'shilaar were stolen was a
rumor that I had managed to keep contained – until you vanished yesterday and
did not return.”  Celia’s mentor turned to face her, standing as she did so. 
She noted that, though Zazaril only came to her shoulder, Celia had stepped
back and gripped her magestone in her hand.

“Now it has spread like wildfire, if you count the eight
graduates, six wizards, including yourself, me and the clerks.”  She paused. 
“At least this hasn’t spread past the embassy.”  At this, her gaze bored into
Celia without relent, expecting answers.

“No.  Not that I know of...” Celia trailed off under that
penetrating stare.

As suddenly as it was there, her glare was gone.  “Good. 
But I suspect that it will get out eventually.  So, what
did
you learn?” 
Her tone was now frosty, the heat traded for ice.

“I learned that the quafa'shilaar were stolen by Goralonians
who were being sheltered by their Mechants' Guild,” Celia began, wondering to
herself why she had left Hoyle out of the beginning of her story.  “They were
being led by a warlock of some power who has combined ancient Goralonian blood
rituals to amplify the power of the magestones.”  Zazaril’s one eyebrow rose in
question, but she let Celia continue.  “The City Guard raided their Tower, but
the warlock managed to escape using his magic.”  Celia cringed inwardly to
herself as to how many holes her story had. 

“So, you managed to track the stones through the use of your
tracking spell to the Goralon Merchants’ Guild, get yourself invited inside,
met the warlock who arranged the theft of the stones, showed you ancient blood
rituals you are somehow familiar with, and were let go by the city guard during
or after the raid?”  Zazaril asked slightly incredulous, one hand one her hip. 
“Truly?”

Celia withered under that stare.  “I had the help of some...
acquaintances.”

Zarzaril stared at her for a long few minutes.  “Never mind,”
Zazaril waved her off with one hand, turning to the south window and leaning
against the frame, looking out toward the harbor.  Celia could feel the warmth
of the afternoon sunshine spilling into the room, lighting up Zazaril’s red
gown, trimmed in silver thread, her black hair up in a bun today.  It looked to
be a good day outside, water dripping past the window from the eaves above
indicated warmer weather than the day previous.  She could still feel a chill
creeping up her spine.  Something was off. 

“Everyone needs their secrets Celia, just be careful that
they don’t turn on you.  Even though I forbade you to go chasing after the
stones, you did anyway,” Celia cringed inwardly again, “Even when I indicated
that I had taken care of it.  That shows a few things, I think.”  She paused
for a while, Celia not daring to speak.

“You are on petitioner duty this afternoon, tomorrow and the
day after to make up for your absence. Please show yourself out, I need to
think on this awhile.”  Zazaril did not turn from the window as Celia left the
room, knees weak at hearing the disappointment in her mentor’s voice.

---o---

The only thing wrong with petitioner duty
, thought
Celia,
is the feeling of helplessness
.  Each petitioner had a valid
concerns or a heart-wrenching story, but most of the time she was unable to
offer help.  Those times she was able, most could not afford the price.  Of
course, most thought magic was free - it was magic after all, but as a Dar'Shilaar
she knew there was always a cost, even if sometimes she could not define or
explain it.  Trying to explain that fact to the common citizens was the
heart-wrenching part of the day, forcing her to turn many of the petitioners
away to the temples.  Most explained to her that they had already been to this
temple or that, and been sent here instead.  She had no answers.

Celia tried to forget that she had only been at it for four
bells this afternoon and was going to have to sit through two more full days.  She
made her way back to the dining hall in the annex with the others, delicious aromas
lingering in the hallways.  The embassy did have good cooks, and those that worked
petitioner duty generally got served first at supper.