She heard Rodann`s voice behind her. “A wagon, my Lady.”
“I can see that, thank you.”
Rodann caught up to her position and stood by her mount’s flank. “The silver, my Lady. We have standing orders to search all transports leaving Chalimar.”
Keris did not respond. Her face was expressionless as she watched the cart’s languid approach. It was pulled by a scrawny looking graylesh and seemed to have three… no, four occupants.
Rodann pressed on. “Should I apprehend them and have my men conduct the search?”
If these are silver thieves, then they have surely fallen on hard times, thought Keris wryly. About a week ago, an official convoy bearing silver astrias to Chalimar had turned up one strongbox short. In Keris` opinion, it was far more likely to have been a bookkeeping error than an organised theft, but the order had gone out to conduct random stop and search nonetheless.
Keris turned to face Rodann. “No, we have lost too much time already. You will take charge of the escort and make best speed towards the Keep. I will conduct the search and catch up with you in due course.”
Rodann nodded and made to rejoin the caravan. The track ahead carried on straight for a distance, and then bore to the left and came back on itself as it started to rise through a canyon to the higher ground on which Chalimar stood. If she forsook the road, she could cut across country, and meet up with the convoy farther ahead, but there were gullies and ravines in that direction–too difficult a terrain to ride a graylesh over.
She dismounted and started to rummage through one of the saddle packs, retrieving her flying cloak. It was neatly folded, of a close woven material and black as pitch. To the Kelanni it was a symbol of the Prophet’s authority–something to be feared. She was sure it was for that reason that many Keltar seemed to wear their cloaks constantly, even when eating or performing routine duties at the keep. To Keris it was a tool, nothing more. Besides, she found the harness and shoulder mechanism heavy and restricting.
She swept the cloak free, and draped it over her shoulders, making the necessary shoulder and harness attachments. The soldiers marching by regarded her as if she were a curiosity–a stranger in their midst. Which is exactly what I am. She salvaged another small canvas bag and briefly checked the contents before tying it about her waist. Preparations complete, she handed the reins of the graylesh to one of the soldiers.
Waving the convoy on, she stepped in front of the oncoming cart, with one hand raised.
“Hold!”
The cart pulled to a halt. Keris moved to the side. The cart was drawn by a graylesh, but the animal looked half starved. Its normally graceful snout seemed unnaturally thin and sunken, and Keris could see its ribs poking through. The Kelanni seated in the cart did not seem to have fared much better. The driver had a young face, made to seem prematurely aged by lines born of work and worry. He wore a rough shirt and shabby trousers. Behind him were a woman–his wife, it seemed, and two girls. It was the girls who caught Keris` eye. They were both barefoot and had long, untidy fair hair. One, the younger, was clutching her mother as if it meant her very life. The older sat by herself and eyed Keris with what looked like pure defiance. That could so easily have been me, Keris couldn’t help thinking.
“Name and destination.”
“Amion.” The man`s voice was a thin rasp. “We are headed for Saria. We were hoping to find field work on one of the estates.” Amion`s wife shifted uncomfortably, but the older daughter was unmoving, not taking her eyes off the Keltar.
“You are from Chalimar?”
“Yes, Keltar.”
“There has been a theft at Chalimar. I will be conducting a search of your goods.”
“But Keltar,” his pitch rose to a thin pleading. “We have nothing of value!”
“Get down, please.”
The man climbed down resignedly and helped his family to disembark. The younger daughter still clung to her mother and looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Why am I doing this, thought Keris? Words about duty and appearances being deceptive came to mind, but sounded hollow and unconvincing in her head. Nevertheless, she was thorough and methodical. The family stood by, not daring to make a sound. Their possessions were meagre indeed; mainly worn-out bedding and worn-out clothes. She found no money and certainly no silver. She stepped back and motioned for the family to climb back into their cart. “On your way!”
Keris made to turn away but caught the eye of the eldest daughter once more. It felt as if she were looking at her younger self through a long, dark tunnel. She would have been not much older than this girl when her parents, with too many mouths to feed, had placed her in service to a local landowner. There, with sharp wits and determination her only assets, she had earned a grudging respect and ultimately come to the attention of Mordal, the man who had changed her life and ultimately become her mentor. What will be the future for this one, she reflected, this “other me”?
She reached into the canvas sack at her waist and tossed the mother a flatbread and a skin of water, registering the surprised look on the woman’s face. Without waiting for response, Keris turned away from the image of her past and began running to meet the escort where the path to her future lay. Behind her she heard a woman’s voice.
“Blessings of the Three to you, Lady! May Ail-Gan guide your steps…”
Keris resisted the temptation to laugh.
~
Running into open country, Keris leaped upward and flared her cloak, feeling for the pressure from any latent lodestone in the rocky landscape. A deposit to her left. She pivoted in the air, fully retracting the bronze shield in her cloak and exposing the upper layer of tempered lodestone. The repulsive force pushed Keris higher and to the right. As she flew, she sought to feel pressure from any other naturally occurring source. Finding none, she allowed her flight to bring her down to earth in a low trajectory arc. She hit the ground and continued at a loping pace.
Sensing a deposit ahead of her, she angled towards it until she felt it passing under her, and then leaped and flared once more.
The landscape was rough and uneven, as if a giant hand had grasped it at one end and shaken it like a sheet. Boulders were strewn about beneath her like the giant’s discarded playthings. Here and there, a stunted tree or a tangled bush clung stubbornly to a patch of miserly soil. The sky was bright, with all three suns shining forth, broken only by a few wisps of cloud. Keris began to feel hot from her exertions. She landed gracefully on a shelf of red-brown sandstone and reached for a sip of water.
The ground was starting to rise upward to meet the plateau on which Chalimar stood. Far behind her now, the road she had left disappeared into the narrow rift which would convey the tributes and their escort to higher ground. She only needed to bear a little to the right, and negotiate the escarpment to reach the place where the road widened out onto flat terrain. She moved off again, blipping her neck control and scanning for the nearest deposit that would allow her to take to the air once more.
A short while later she stood atop the escarpment. A sudden breeze had sprung up, causing her flying cloak to flutter restlessly, and stirring her long raven hair. She brushed her hair back from her eyes. There seemed to be no sign of the escort. A pair of mylar birds wheeled lazily overhead, searching out rising thermals. Ail-Gan was near to Ail-Mazzoth, washing out its colour to a pale red. Ail-Kar was well above the western horizon.
Running forward once again, she leaped, adjusting her shoulder control until she felt the familiar repulsive push of a lodestone deposit, and then opened up her cloak, as she sailed through the light gravity on a wide arc. She angled toward a low rise in the barren terrain, letting herself descend to the ground gracefully, and walked the few steps to the crest.
Keris could see the road now, only a few hundred feet away, but there was still no sign of the escort. Finally, after looking around, she glimpsed them some distance ahead. But there was something very wrong. The escort was not moving, the soldiers standing
in a knot before it. Then all of a sudden, Keris saw a movement out of the corner of her eye to her right–a darker shape moving erratically away across the landscape. One of the tributes had made a break for it. Why were the soldiers not in pursuit? Then, another movement from near where the carts stood. A small shape arced up and through the air towards the running figure. She watched, transfixed, as the projectile followed its trajectory and then impacted noiselessly. The figure dropped and lay motionless.
Keris was running now, down the other slope and towards where the fallen figure lay. She flared her cloak impatiently, leaped, ran on and leapt again, finally detecting a deposit and pushing against it to gain impetus.
Three of the soldiers were trotting over to where the prone figure lay. As she arrived, one of them, Rodann, was retrieving his weapon, whilst the others were chatting animatedly and clapping him on the back. Keris landed in front of them, and the conversation tailed off. She regarded the victim. It was one of the men; the younger of the two, she remembered. He was laying face down, the wound made by the shuriken clearly visible in his back. His sandy hair moved lightly in the breeze. Keris suddenly felt weak, bile rising up into her throat. Her stomach was knotting. Why did this happen? Closing her eyes with her jaw clenched, she fought to regain control. Finally, she opened her eyes again and turned to face Rodann. His face was unreadable.
“What happened here?” she demanded.
Rodann spoke up, “Escaped tribute, my Lady.”
“He is dead! You did not think to chase him down?” The two soldiers with Rodann shifted uneasily, contaminated with his guilt.
“Apologies my lady, I should have explained to you that we are testing a new method of restraint for the tributes. They have been fitted with lodestone breastplates.”
To impede their progress, she realised. The act of running would cause the lodestone to push the man backwards, the harder he tried to run. He probably panicked, not realising what was happening to him and only pushed the harder. But why kill him? So he could not tell others.
All of a sudden she was struck by a horrific thought. Rodann planned this all along. He had been looking for a way to test his asinine devices. Now a man is dead, and I am responsible. Perhaps someone had put him up to it? The keep had a complex political structure, and her rapid advancement in the ranks of Keltar had made her her fair share of enemies. She thrust the thought to the back of her mind. There was nothing to do now except take charge of the situation. She rounded on Rodann.
“Get back to the others now and remove those breastplates. You will watch the tributes closely, and if they flee, you will chase them down and bring them back. I do not intend to lose another. Do you understand?”
“As you command.” Rodann pursed his lips; then motioned to the other soldiers and they began walking back to where the carts stood.
Keris stood, looking down at the fallen man for a moment. Then she turned and followed the soldiers, her flying cloak flaccid about her shoulders like a useless appendage.
~
The wheels of the carts clattered across cobbled stone as the tribute convoy passed under massive wooden gates and into the great city of Chalimar. Keris had packed away her cloak and was riding the graylesh once more. Following the incident on the road, the remainder of the journey had been conducted without incident and in near silence. Her first instinct had been to report the matter to Mordal, but she was certain it would be a waste of time. There was also the fact that it was likely that she would have to work with Rodann again and it was never good to have an enemy as your Captain. Nevertheless, she resolved that she would have to watch the man more closely in future.
The late afternoon streets were eerily quiet. The city under the Prophet`s “protection” was a depressing place outside of the keep. The houses were of rough stone, with peaked wooden roofs, closely packed together. There were wooden shutters over most of the windows, despite the fact that it was day. A few people glanced nervously at the soldiers and their three tributes, but most ignored them and hurried on. They were passing through the merchants’ quarter and she saw that most of the stalls were empty. The rest of the sellers were engaged in the act of packing away their wares. It felt as if most of the citizens of this once proud city were cowering inside their homes.
They passed through the narrow streets which eventually widened out into a spacious main square. Buildings flanked the square on three sides. They were taller than those on the outskirts, with stone roofs, and up to three stories high. The fourth side was dominated by the Great Cathedral of Chalimar.
Easily the most impressive building in the city, more so than even the keep itself, the cathedral was dominated by three immense spires– one yellow, one red and one white–symbolising the unity of the Three Suns. The cathedral building itself was constructed of immense stones, with narrow slits which admitted only slivers of outside light. There were wide stone steps, leading to a huge wooden door which was firmly shut. Above the door was the familiar symbol of three concentric rings, above which, someone had more recently carved a flame, the symbol of the Prophet. The Three and The One. The addendum looked distinctly out of place–more like vandalism than devotion. Keris rode past and on to the wide uphill street that led to the keep itself.
The gate of the keep swung open to meet them and the small procession clattered into the mustering courtyard. Keris dismounted the graylesh and handed the reins to a soldier. She turned to see Borian, the Gatemaster, walking over to meet her. He was a large man with close cropped dark hair and an easy smile. His skin was a dark olive, and he swished his tail confidently.
“Greetings, Keris. I trust your trip went well.” He cast his eye briefly over the caravan. Servants of the keep had arrived and were busy unhitching the animals, whilst the soldier escort stood together in a knot, speaking in low tones. The three “tributes” were glancing nervously about them, no doubt fearing the worst. Borian turned back to Keris. “Orders. I have been told to tell you that you are to report to Mordal in his chambers as soon as you arrive.”
Keris sighed slightly. “I see. Thank you, Borian.” The man nodded and headed back to the barbican. What now? She had a number of pressing activities she had in mind to be getting on with, the first and most important of which was going to be to stick her head into a bucket of cold water. Well, it looks as if that particular luxury will have to wait.
She started for the keep’s main door. Passing through the atrium, she ascended the central stairs and made for Mordal`s office. She knocked once and then entered.
Mordal sat on a stool behind his desk, seemingly preoccupied with work. He was bald, with glabrous face and small, dark, piercing eyes. He wore a plain scarlet tunic and red-brown trousers. A flying cloak was draped carelessly over another stool near the door. His office always seemed to exude an air of casual efficiency, much like the man himself. The walls were inlaid with ornate wooden panelling and lined with rows of leather-bound books. More books were stacked on the desk, some of them open. A small window behind his head afforded a view of the refectory and the garden.
Keris spoke up. “Fealty and service to the Three.”
The man looked up from his desk. “And to the One.”
“And to the One,” she added.
“Report.”
“Tariff exacted from Hassun. Two carts of produce. Moba and Kassian mainly. However, harvest last year was poor and their stores are depleted. We could be looking at starvation in the eastern settlements in a half a turn or so. Three tributes delivered. One lost en route through…an accident.” Mordal looked up at that and seemed as if he was about to say something, but checked himself. “Rodann is billeting them prior to induction. I am to leave tomorrow for Sakima before Ail-Gan rises.” Keris finished and waited patiently for Mordal`s response.
“No.”
“I don’t–”
“I have charged Niall with that particular task. I have another mission for you.” He stood up, walked around his desk and stood next to her, placi
ng his hand on the small of her back. “Walk with me.”
She followed as he led her out and down the stairs. They went through a side doorway, and Keris found herself stepping into the garden which lay beneath the window of Mordal`s office.
Bounded by the keep itself, the refectory and a high outer wall, the garden was its own private world. The section adjacent to the refectory was given over to vegetables and herbs. However, this early in the year there was not much to see other than neatly tilled soil. Inside the kitchen area, there was an area where young plants were forced, so as to ensure fresh vegetables for those of eminence within the keep’s administrative structure.
The rest of the garden was given over to low shrubs, flower beds and curving walkways. As she walked with Mordal, however, her mind’s eye saw not the serenity of growing things, but a lean girl in a cart with eyes of hatred, and a man lying face down on the ground, his fair hair stirring in the breeze…
She was shaken out of her reverie as Mordal suddenly broke the silence.
“Do you remember when you first came here?” He paused, and then continued. “It was more than twenty turns ago. You were young then; wary of everyone, but curious.” He laughed lightly. “Your eyes were wide like a young child’s, taking everything in, missing nothing.” Indeed, the city had seemed almost overwhelming, with its massive cathedral and daunting keep. Half the time, she had wanted to cower in the corner like some frightened gundir pup.
“I watched you carefully,” Mordal continued, as if speaking to himself. “You said little but you were sharp and learned quickly. And then you got into a fight with…what was his name?”
“Torinn.” Keris remembered the day as if it were yesterday. Torinn was a loudmouth and a bully. When she saw him roughing up a younger boy, she had thrown caution to the winds and set about him like a wild scaran beast. It was an act of nobility, courage and utter stupidity. “He beat me to a pulp.”
The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) Page 3