The Apprentice Stone (Shadows of Time Book 1)

by Darrell Newton

  Abduction! Angelo yelled over the link.

  Miyuki didn’t hesitate. She stunned both Key’ari before Angelo reached her.

  “Ah!” Goliath screamed. “Where are all the dead bodies coming from?”

  Sancho gasped. “One of them is a woman!”

  “It’s the genie-knights,” Francisco said. “Stand firm!”

  Still in stealth mode and with their backs to the militia, Angelo on one side and Miyuki the other, they guarded Francisco’s squad. No other Key’ari appeared on their oc-loks. The frenzy of the Almohad grew cold when they saw their comrades mysteriously pulled to the ground and dead people appear from nowhere. Their hesitation turned into retreat as soon as the next wave of militia caught up and they heard a renewed cavalry charge. At the head of the charge, Francisco saw the banners of King Alfonso VIII and Archbishop Rodrigo.

  Are there more Key’ari? Miyuki cast.

  I’m not sure. This attack is different. It’s an abduction, and that scares me.

  Scares you? You? Why?

  They figured out that Francisco is not a normal recruit. If he was, they would have killed him outright. They want him alive.

  No sooner had he cast that thought than he heard her scream over the link. He turned to see that a knight of Calatrava had stabbed her in the back. The knight’s sword came cleanly through her front. At first, Angelo thought it was an accident: an advancing knight on foot with sword drawn walks into an invisible woman. But the look on the knight’s face told another story. He smiled as he looked down at Miyuki and he wrapped his left hand around her waist. He’s a Key’ari chieftain!

  Angelo used his other specialist implant, the mind-enhancing froneesis, to quickly calculate the best move. The chieftain was too close to her for Angelo to pull him away with focused gravity. Miyuki would be pulled with him. A melee attack with sword was possible, but the militia were between him and her, and there was a 76 percent chance that Miyuki would be killed. Analysis of the sword’s position showed that it likely severed her tenth vertebra and primary internal healing implant. She had a secondary healing implant, but if the chieftain damaged it, she would be dead in minutes without a fieldstone. It was unlikely the Key’ari would risk war for her sake, but Angelo did not want to take the chance. Another option was better. Calculating the mass of his own sword, its center of gravity, and the position of the Key’ari, Angelo focused a 4.5 earth gravity force at a 26.7-degree angle relative to the horizon and 2.1 stadia between him and Miyuki.

  Angelo focused gravity and tossed his sword into the air. Catching the gravity well, the sword came down with such force it cleanly sliced off the chieftain’s arm. Miyuki fell. Two more Key’ari scouts who had come out from the Almohad line turned and fled.

  Intending to ensure Miyuki’s second healing implant was functioning, Angelo stepped forward. Suddenly, something knocked him off his feet. It felt like he had been broadsided by a bull. The chieftain was down. The other Key’ari had fled. Angelo looked up and saw that a mounted knight had bowled him over. The knight, dressed in the mantle of Santiago, dismounted and stared at him.

  Stared directly at him.

  Another Key’ari dressed as a knight? Then Angelo recognized him. “Ceolwulf,” Angelo said in old English, “you’re alive?” Angelo started to focus gravity down on him, making sure to limit it and not crush him.

  Ceolwulf, grunting against the pull, grabbed hold of Angelo’s throat and lifted him.

  Angelo’s concentration wavered, and the Avar-Tek-directed pull abated. Too late Angelo realized Ceolwulf must have a barutis46 implant.

  With his free hand, Ceolwulf pressed something to Angelo’s face.

  Angelo blinked. His oc-lok flashed random images of past missions on his retina. He started laughing, and then cried uncontrollably. It didn’t make sense. Where was mama? And papa? Everyone’s dead. No, that was centuries ago. This is the thirteenth century. He forced himself to focus on simple truths. The volume of a sphere is three-fourths pi radius cubed. The fundamental forces of the universe are the Acilic, Matramon, Felitu, Mnuri, and Siliki. His mind cleared, but a throbbing headache remained that hurt more when he opened his eyes.

  Ceolwulf dropped him.

  It took a painfully long moment for Angelo to open his eyes. Through blurred vision, he watched Ceolwulf hold Francisco by his throat up off the ground. Goliath tried to pull him off, but with a backhand, Ceolwulf sent Goliath flying. Francisco’s face turned blue as he clawed at Ceolwulf’s hands. Angelo, still unable to focus, heard a snap. Francisco’s eyes rolled back into his head, and the Key’ari dropped him.

  Primal fury focused Angelo’s thoughts. With a single, wild shift of gravity, Angelo sent Ceolwulf flying up over the heads of the Spanish troops and into the hills behind them.

  Part 3

  Almohad Empire

  Al-Maghrib

  “One obedient slave is better than three hundred sons,

  for the latter desire their father’s death,

  the former long life for their master.”

  ~ Nizam al-Mulk (1018-1092),

  Vizier of the Seljuq Empire

  Chapter 35

  Francisco

  Road to Cordoba

  Summer, Year of our Lord 1212

  STRAW.

  Straw prickled Francisco’s cheeks.

  Straw dust.

  It clung to his throat and dried his nose.

  He coughed and thought at first that he had fallen asleep in a barn. Did a cow kick me and knock me out? No, the floor is moving, and the sun warms my face. A jarring bump told him that he was on a wagon rolling quickly down a rutted road. He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt. Why? He tried moving his arms and legs but couldn’t. Something bound them. A rope. His hands were bound behind him. Then he remembered the battle, Sancho, Gombal dying, the press of Almohads, the sword in his back, the Knight of Santiago choking him, and darkness.

  He forced his eyes open and looked up at the clear sky. It’s just after noon. Francisco lifted his head, and pain shot through his temples. He blinked and saw Sir Angelo lying bound next to him in the wagon. With smears of dirt and splashes of dried blood on his tunic, it looked like the genie-knight had seen more of the battle than Francisco had. Riding alongside were two mail-clad horsemen in Saracen armor. Saracen? Without waiting to think, Francisco rolled over and forced himself up on his knees. He yelled to the wagon driver, “Almohads! The enemy is upon us!” Too late, he realized the driver was also a Saracen.

  Whack! Francisco felt the blunt end of a javelin hit him hard just under his left ear. Dazed and nearly blacking out, he fell forward next to Sir Angelo. The horseman glared down on him and laughed with the other guards.

  Sir Angelo, who had been watching Francisco, chuckled and said, “Hilt-to-the-head: their word for ‘keep quiet.’”

  Francisco wished he had a hand free to rub his head. My hand, the glove, the stone! He rubbed his fingers with his thumb. No glove and no stone. Oh, dear God!

  Sir Angelo looked up towards the guard who hit Francisco and said something in Arabic. The guard responded, and Sir Angelo answered in Arabic.

  Francisco only knew a few Arabic words, enough to help him barter. Sir Angelo’s tone was enough for him to get the meaning. Angelo was asking for forgiveness for Francisco and asking for permission to talk to the boy. Sir Angelo spoke Arabic so well, Francisco wondered if he was a traitor, but then he remembered many on the border spoke Arabic and Castilian with ease. He recalled Papa telling him that, over the years, alliances between Christian and Muslim kingdoms changed so often that sometimes they were in allegiance together.

  Sir Angelo looked at Francisco and said, “I have assured them of your submission. Do not make me a liar.”

  “You don’t understand. I lost something, something worth than you can—”

  “There are many stones in this world.”

  Francisco’s blood froze. Stone? How does he know? I didn’t say anything about a stone. Did he steal it? Not li
kely. He wouldn’t know how to use it… unless he were a genie, but then he wouldn’t need it anyway.

  “You cannot expect such a precious item to remain intact under these circumstances.” The knight’s voice was filled with tenderness, but his words were firm.

  Francisco lay his head down on the straw and closed his eyes.

  “Don’t be so forlorn over such a small thing,” Sir Angelo said.

  “You don’t understand.” Francisco shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the sun and a life that had spun out of control. “In search of justice,” he said, “I have found captivity; in a lust for honor, I have now lost my family’s most precious heirloom.”

  “Truly I am in the presence of a great poet.”

  Francisco didn’t answer.

  “Your family cherished a thing more than they cherished people,” Sir Angelo said. “Young Francisco, you are their most precious heirloom, not the fieldstone. Stay close to me, and you shall soon lay eyes upon it again.”

  “It seems I don’t have a choice.” Francisco thought of his friends. “Do you know if we won the battle?”

  “According to the guards, the Almohads lost.” Angelo regarded him with piercing eyes. “You are concerned for your friends. The last I saw, they fared well, except for Sergeant Gombal.”

  Francisco shook his head. “I could have saved him.”

  “You were outnumbered.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “According to custom for nobles, I am to be held for ransom at Almodovar Castle. It is governed by an Almohad prince. I would tell you his name, but you would soon forget it.”

  “And me?”

  “Your name?”

  “No.” Francisco shook his head, a painful gesture. “What will happen to me?”

  “Are you high born?”

  “You already seem to know everything about me, so you know the answer is ‘no.’”

  “Will your family offer ransom?”

  Francisco chuckled. “Forgive my impertinence, but that’s insulting. A wise knight from beyond the mountains would know my station by the condition of my rented armor.” Francisco propped himself up on his elbow. “If you are not a knight but something else,” Francisco looked at him intently, “then you would know my lineage. Either way, it is a fool’s question. I have no family.”

  “Then your question is the one of foolishness. You shall be sold into slavery.”

  “Blessed Mother of Mercy.” Francisco tried to cross himself, but with his hands bound behind him, he only managed to bow and bob from the waist. I have no healing stone, no family, and no hope. I cannot escape, and I will not submit to slavery. Uncle Bernat was bad enough. High born. I have no passage into the house of nobility. Unless—“If I am your squire,” Francisco said, “would they take me? We could be ransomed together. I wouldn’t cost much more.”

  “You can’t swear to be my squire without papers or witnesses.”

  “So, you would have me sent into slavery for want of paper?”

  “No.” He squinted, scrutinizing Francisco.

  What is he looking for? He doesn’t have a squire now. Did he ever have one? Who cares for his horse and arms? He would be a fool to pass me up. Maybe he does have one, but he didn’t bring him on the crusade, or maybe he has promised the position to someone else.

  “If you give your word,” Sir Angelo said, “it is binding.”

  “My word is binding even if there are no witnesses.”

  Sir Angelo sighed. “You do not know what you ask for.”

  “I ask for my freedom. I would rather serve you than the enemy.”

  “You don’t know me yet.”

  “I know them,” he pointed his chin towards the guards, “and that’s enough.”

  “Very well. It is customary to have you raise your right hand or stand on the dais before your king, but since your bonds restrain you, we shall forego the requirement. God shall be our witnessing king. You dare not betray Him.” Angelo cleared his throat. “Do you swear an oath of personal fealty between yourself and your master, until you and your master shall agree that this bond is dissolved?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you now swear an oath of fealty to me, Angelo, to apply your soul with all diligence and with full attention of your mind and body to my training?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you swear to serve me in any lawful manner I require?”

  Francisco hesitated. “Lawful? Yes, I do.”

  “Then I likewise swear to train you, Francisco de Toledo, son of Artal del Gado, in full measure and with a minimum of beatings—”

  “Beatings?”

  “Do not interrupt the ceremony.” Angelo cleared his throat. “I swear to train you in full measure all that I am permitted to do under the laws binding me.” Angelo laid his head down on the straw.

  Francisco hesitated. “Is that it?”

  Angelo smiled. “Would you like me to add a line that failure to comply brings death?”

  Chapter 36

  Ceolwulf

  Cordoba

  Local Date: 6 Safar 609

  SOON.

  Soon I can grab my reward and run.

  Soon I will play the fool no longer. Ceolwulf focused on his goals to endure the pain while hanging from chains in the dark training chamber. The end to Eden’s iron-fisted game of humiliation was in sight, but the pain was all too real. He shivered in a cold sweat, a reaction to the poison. Perspiration trickled down his necklace and dripped off his amulet to Wodin, a square with runic inscriptions.

  Ceolwulf had not only disobeyed orders during the Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa by not “staying clear of Angelo,” he tried to kill Angelo and most of the militiamen. Now Ceolwulf hung from poison stocks as punishment. The shackles dug into his wrists and his joints screamed in agony. His healing implants would normally have deadened the pain and mended his wounds, but not while in these stocks. The blinking lights on the shackles showed that the poison stones in them were suppressing both his healing and strength implants. He couldn’t even pull the chains out of the wall.

  Each shackle had a modified healing stone that produced damaging nanites47 instead of healing ones. Ironically, these poison stones were the very ones he himself was responsible for flipping and maintaining, which was a simple, automated procedure even a supposed fool like himself could handle. The stones would revert into their healing state if he didn’t flip them monthly by using a handheld programmer. Poison stones would kill a normal person within seconds, but for someone with healing implants, the process happened slowly, over hours. It was possible to dial up the poison intensity so that it could kill someone with healing stones, but that wasn’t Eden’s intent. For punishment, he had them set so the healing implants fought against the poison stones in a slow battle of attrition. It was always easier to destroy than to create; always more ways for the body to be sick than for it to be well.

  The handheld programmer hung on a peg barely beyond reach of his fingers. If he strained to the very edge of the chain’s length, he could almost touch it. Ceolwulf could also turn down the poison stone’s intensity, if only he could wave his hand over it from left to right. Of course, with his hands in shackles, this was impossible.

  Unlike most tiny shops in the Cordoba souk, Commander Eden’s musical instrument shop had stairs. They led down two flights and through a locked door into an ancient Roman bathhouse. Ceolwulf found the term bathhouse misleading. The underground building wasn’t a house, but a sprawling complex of cramped and spacious chambers that over the centuries had been covered by new buildings. It was Eden’s pride, a miniature version of the Key’ari Chanzoe central command, and he called it Apalota, which meant palace in his native tongue. Everyone else called it the Nest—as in a rat’s nest—but never to Eden’s face. The nest was far from a vermin-infested hole in the ground since it was filled with Avar-Tek: lights, thinking machines, power cables, transport pods, verisuits, plasma weapons, and plexus training beds such as the ones
in the alcoves next to him.

  He looked at the plexus beds.48 Their soft tops promised comfort. He remembered lying down on them to take the Four-Year Cycle training and then having dreams so real he felt tired after the session was done. Within a few breaths after closing his eyes, he saw his trainer standing before him. Although he knew it was in his mind and not real, he could smell the incense burning on a three-legged, low table to his left and felt the jarring pain when he failed to block his trainer’s attack. For every hour on the plexus bed, he felt like he spent six days in the simulation’s grueling training sessions. He suspected it was more than a dream. After one session in which he had been hit in the face, he woke to find his nose was bleeding.

  Ceolwulf moaned and cursed for show. He had to maintain the appearance of an idiot in desperation even though he was the only one chained in this dome-covered room. A bug-like recorder skittered across the tiled walls, making note of his every move and sound. After two weeks in stocks, he knew the room intimately. He hung on the north stocks, and two other stocks hung from the walls on the east and west sides. Between each was an arched alcove containing the plexus beds. At the center of the room, in what the Ancient Romans used as a cooling bath, was a jumble of cables and imagers that displayed oc-lok recordings. The only exit from the room, an arched doorway, was to the south, across from him. No one passed by it, and Ceolwulf expected no visitors except for his tormentor, Commander Eden.

  He repeated the mantra that helped him ignore the pain: Soon. Soon I can grab my reward and run. Soon I will play the fool no longer. He had Eden’s rotating encryption key, but it came at a high price. The Physician’s costs were legendary.

  Two nights before the Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa, Ceolwulf had stolen Eden’s key. Wearing a verisuit, Ceolwulf had crept into Eden’s room while he slept. The bull-necked guards outside didn’t have oc-loks and so couldn’t see Ceolwulf in stealth mode. Having studied the Avar-Tek security system, Ceolwulf had no difficulty disabling it. There are advantages for playing the fool. No one thinks you’re capable of learning. After sneaking into the room, he had stood for a moment looking down on the man who loved to make him sweat. He could have killed Eden, but that would have made Ceolwulf a rogue and an open target for all Key’ari wanting to earn favor from their masters. Instead, Ceolwulf had placed a fieldstone on Eden’s arm, not to heal him, but to deepen his sleep. He had flipped this stone with his handheld programmer. After a moment to allow it to take effect, Ceolwulf had placed his hand on Eden’s face and activated the cerebral extraction device, which delved deeply into Eden’s cybernetic network. Eden’s eyes opened wide and he jerked, but, still under the influence of the stone, did not wake. He would remember only a nightmare at most, and after Ceolwulf took Eden’s encryption key, he would henceforth have access to Eden’s secondary thoughts.