The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series)

by Mark Whiteway

  “What things?” she asked, intrigued.

  “Well, one of the predicted effects of a tidally locked planet such as ours would be tectonic stress leading to climate change. We seem to be in a quiet period now, but there does seem to be evidence of sudden climatic change in the recent past. Recall the tower in the Cathgorns. Why would anyone build a structure like that in such a hostile place? It may be that the area wasn’t always so inhospitable.”

  Come to that, what was a fortress doing in the middle of a desert? She had asked Lyall that very same question. He told her that there were some who believed that the Southern Desert was once a home to vast purple woodlands set amid swathes of yellow grass. At the time she dismissed his suggestion as mere legend. Was it possible that the ancient stories were true?

  “Ail-Mazzoth may also hold the key to the ultimate fate of our planet,” he continued. “I would have to do some calculations, but the most likely scenario in a dynamic system like this one is that Kelanni will one day spiral in towards the brown dwarf star and be destroyed.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

  His laughed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Shann. It’s not something that’s likely to happen for a great many turns.”

  She felt only partially reassured. Surely they should tell somebody? She resolved to bring it up again when the present crisis was over. “You figured all of this out just standing here?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, it’s based on Hannath’s theories, although I worked on some of the mathematics.” He gazed wistfully at the dull red-black orb that partially filled the sky. “If only he had lived to see... this.”

  “Hannath knew about Ail-Mazzoth without ever having seen it?”

  “He was a genius. It was he who first proposed the tidal lock theory to explain our astronomical observations—like the fact that the yellow sun sometimes moves backwards.”

  Shann recalled the sacred verses. “It is said that Ail-Gan, our father, is searching for one of his lost children.”

  “Actually, it’s caused by the fact that the direction of our orbit around the brown dwarf is opposite to that of our orbit around the yellow primary, so that at certain points the yellow star appears to backtrack across the sky.”

  Try as she might, she could not picture what he was saying. “If you say so.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I don’t know. I think that maybe my people’s explanation holds a greater truth.”

  His laugh was gentle. “I have a feeling Hannath would disagree with you.”

  In the companionable silence that followed, an echo of her recent nightmare returned. At length, she spoke. “The flying keep—what do you think it means?”

  Rael exhaled slowly. “The four components. Wang must have already bypassed the biometric lockouts. We don’t have much time.”

  “He did that with lodestone?”

  Rael nodded. “He must have used the components to convert sections of the keep’s foundation into lodestone, ripping it from the ground on invisible pillars of force. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Fear... intimidation... a demonstration of power... ” He trailed off into contemplative silence.

  The fuse on her patience quickly burned down and ignited. “What’s the matter?”

  “Just something Lyall said. ‘His throne in the heart of Chalimar will be elevated.’”

  She caught his meaning and turned it over in her head. “How could he have known?”

  “I don’t know. If Lyall is behind it, then I can only think it must be a delaying tactic—a way of misdirecting Wang into a useless display of ego until the plan can be put into effect.”

  “Yes, but if he’s on the flying keep, then we have no way of contacting him. We could never reach that high by flying cloak. And without knowing what his plan is... ”

  The boy turned to her for the first time. “If you’re asking whether Alondo and I are any further forward, the answer is no. Bringing in McCann doesn’t seem to have helped either.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you think it was a mistake to discuss Lyall’s plan with him, but we know little enough of the details as it is. I concluded the risk was minimal. I had to take the chance that he might know something useful.”

  She braced herself for criticism, but he merely looked thoughtful. “I’m still convinced the answer has to do with slag. However, I am not a materials specialist. If I could consult the Directorate’s Metallurgy Division or even if I had access to the laboratories at the observatory... ”

  She smiled up at him, encouragingly. “You’ll figure it out.” She turned back to the gradually lightening sky and thought of Qiberon Bay and the place called France where the hu-man Lafontaine had come from. A wild thought occurred to her. “I want to go there one day.”

  “Where?”

  “To the stars—the other suns. I want to see what’s there.”

  “Shann, the stars are unimaginably far away. A person might not be able to reach them in their lifetime.”

  “The hu-mans made it,” she countered. “Will you help me—when all of this is over?”

  “I think you have an exaggerated view of my abilities.” He laughed again. “Sure. Why not?”

  She reached an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. He looked down and smiled at her in the maroon half-light. Kelanni of two worlds turned together and felt the new dawn’s first caress.

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  Chapter 34

  Keris stood rooted to the hilltop and waited for the arms of destiny to embrace her. Fitting. That it should come to this. That she should end her life as she had lived it—fighting for what she believed in.

  The Keltar would have their orders. Death or capture. She could not know which, although the end result would be the same, since if they decided to interrogate her, there would be little reason to keep her alive afterward. In some ways, a quick end would be preferable. She resolved to make the task as costly as possible for them.

  The moving lights jounced closer. Not long now. A wave of fatigue crashed through her but she shook it off, focussing on her training, channelling herself into each passing moment. She began to count her breaths: one... two... three. Slim fingers drummed noiselessly against the darkwood. Time began to stretch.

  A new light winked at the periphery of her vision. Another group attempting to outflank her? No, there it was again. But it was not moving. The answer hammered impatiently at the door of her consciousness. She fumbled at the latch with tired hands. The door creaked open.

  Lind. She could see the silhouette of the town now, framed against a dark crimson sky. It was close—closer than she had imagined. Her mind raced. Lind’s eastern canton, refuge of the poor, the destitute, and the hopeless, was a warren—a maze of narrow, filthy streets and broken-down hovels. There had to be a thousand places where a person could go to ground. If she could somehow make it to the outskirts...

  Casting pride aside, she impressed her staff into service as a cane and began hobbling down the gentle slope, slick fingertips scanning for lodestone to help her cover the ground faster. She could hear the hoarse shouts of the chasing pack, whipped into wild frenzy and baying for blood.

  Two deposits; one ahead of her, the other off to her left. She surged forward, contemptuous of the pain until she felt the familiar repulsive force pass under her, then flared upper lodestone and pushed off with her good leg on a low trajectory. Adrenaline screamed at her to hit the boost control, but she resisted. She was in no condition to endure another bad landing. The ground beneath her slipped by rapidly, but the outline of the town grew with a stubborn slowness.

  Sensing another pressure off to her right, she twisted in the air, squeezing every scrap of thrust she could from the source to her left so as to angle towards the new deposit. The longer she could keep airborne, the better her chances.

  The cries grew louder
, snapping at her heels. A warm wind buffeted her from behind, breathing down her neck. Suddenly, without warning, a jumble of close-packed slum dwellings arose before her. Suppressing the urge to check over her shoulder, she met the ground awkwardly, staggered over the final few steps of open country, and melted into pools of deep, inviting shadow.

  ~

  As darkness enveloped her and the hue and cry died away, the urge to curl up into a ball and drift off to sleep was almost overwhelming. Her tactical sense kicked her in the side. Hard. She was not safe yet—far from it.

  Keris hunkered down behind a broken-down lean-to and tried to put herself in the mind of the chasing Keltar. First, secure all of the town’s exits. Second, Ring Chalimar and have them direct all available troops to this location to help flush the traitor out.

  She felt a perverse rush of pleasure at the sheer number of soldiers and Keltar that she was managing to tie down, single-handed. It was certainly preferable to a heroic death. However, it occurred to her that she may only have succeeded in delaying the inevitable. She was trapped. The Prophet would be marshalling his considerable resources, whilst hers were dwindling rapidly. Soon it would be dawn, and the hunt for her would begin in earnest. She had very little time.

  As she weighed her options, another disturbing thought surfaced. She too was Keltar—in the eyes of these people at least. If Shann’s initial reaction to her proved anything, it was that Keltar were universally feared and hated.

  She had visited this very town more than once to exact tribute. Doubtless the townsfolk would view the current situation as nothing more than a dispute between Keltar. Some might even see it as an opportunity to turn over a fugitive and thereby win the approval of the local authorities. Clearly, she could expect no help from the people here.

  Locating a bolt-hole that would enable her to elude an extensive search would not be easy. But perhaps there was another alternative. Sometimes the best place to hide a thing was right in front of someone’s nose. During her mission to track down Lyall and the others, she had posed as a diamond merchant from Thalissa. If she could just obtain a change of attire...

  ~

  Ail-Gan was poking its first flaming tendrils over the horizon, burning up shadows like tissue paper, when Keris spied a cart loaded with coarse sacks lying idle in a small yard. The first two held broken bits of wood and bric-a-brac. The third was filled with what looked like rags but turned out to be worn-out clothing. Perfect.

  She rifled through the musty contents and found a labourer’s smock, threadbare and stained. She stuffed the prize into her pack. There did not seem to be boots of any description, but most of those in the eastern canton went barefoot anyway.

  As she dropped to the ground, she had an attack of conscience. Stealing was bad enough, but to be stealing from those who had nothing... She reached inside her tunic, drew out half a silver astria, and tossed it into the back of the cart. It was probably more money than the owner would see in a quarter of a turn.

  “Hey!”

  She froze.

  A bony vagabond with tousled hair and torn shirt blocked her path. Instinctively, she reached for her staff. What am I doing? Lowering her hand, she feinted left, then dodged right, slipping past him and back into the narrow thoroughfare.

  The town groaned and began to stir from its restless slumber. She glanced over her shoulder, but the gaunt youth was not pursuing. Of course not. Anyone bearing cloak and staff would automatically strike terror into the peasantry. The boy was probably cowering in a corner somewhere. All right, then. Time to change identity.

  She sought concealment among the piles of rubbish and dilapidated dwellings and found none. She was caught, a creature of night impaled by the gathering daylight. A collection of stained hovels clustered around her like frightened children. Rooftop. One of the flat rough-thatched roofs should afford sufficient cover and an opportunity to change clothing.

  She hobbled forward, scanning for lodestone. One deposit off to her left somewhere. She judged its strength, bent her good leg, and sprang into the air, aiming for the roof of the nearest shanty. Barely clearing the overhang, she pitched forward and landed in a heap on the mass of closely woven reeds. To anyone inside, it must have sounded as if an utharan mammoth had just landed on their heads.

  Cursing her clumsiness, she unclasped the red cloak, set down her burdens, and tore off her Keltar-black tunic and trousers. The smock was burlap-like and rough on the skin and smelled of oppression and old sweat. She re-attached the sheath with its darkwood staff and then pulled the full-length smock over her head so that the weapon was concealed beneath.

  She crawled to the front of the building. The dusty lane was filling up with people. She pulled back and moved to the side, peering cautiously into the narrow, rubbish-strewn alley below. The good news was that it was empty. The bad news was that there was no obvious way down for a one-legged cripple. The lodestone she had used to vault the front of the building was out of position here. She could remain where she was, but that would likely mean waiting until the working day was over before she could descend to street level unobserved. I don’t have that kind of time.

  The heavier sack contained Boxx’s remains. She had not opened it since leaving Helice. To do so seemed irreverent somehow.

  She opened the lighter pack, rummaging through it for inspiration. On top she found the small empty pouch that had contained the smooth oval of refined lodestone used for remote manipulation of locks and latches. Patris had given it as a gift to the little orphan boy in Kieroth. It hardly mattered—she saw no way it would have been any use in this situation. A water canister—near empty. Part of a loaf of that odd-tasting black bread peculiar to the people of Kelanni-Skell—no doubt stale. Her rolled-up blanket. Her tinderbox. Her small lamp. Her coiled-up length of rope. She scoured the rough thatch, looking for some sort of fixture she could tie a rope to, but there was none. With a sigh, she laid it on top of the meagre pile of her possessions.

  There was nothing else. Almost nothing. Languishing at the bottom of the sack, abandoned and all but forgotten, was her old black Keltar cloak. There was no reason to hang onto it, other than sentiment and the fact that she still nursed an inherent distrust of the new red cloak. If it failed somehow, then she wanted something to fall back on.

  As she shook it loose, an old memory fell out. Cooperative mechanics. The technique where one cloak pushes against the lodestone of another. During their descent into the fire pits at Kharthrun, she had used the refined lodestone in one cloak to push off another and successfully traverse a gap in the cliff path.

  She swept the red cloak about her shoulders once more and secured the clasps. Then, carefully, she laid out the black cloak and adjusted its control so as to extend lodestone before tying the rope around its shoulder mechanism in a firm knot. Gingerly, she lowered the black cloak into the alley, hoping fervently that no passer-by would happen to glance in that direction. The cloak settled to the bottom of the alley.

  She blipped the red cloak’s neck control and felt the familiar push from below. Calmly, she stepped off the end of the roof and drifted to the ground. Stooping, she unfastened the red cloak, folding it carefully and stowing it in her pack along with the length of rope and her faithful old black cloak. When finally she stood upright, she was just another wretch desperately trying to grind out a living among the poor of Lind’s eastern quarter.

  She slipped out of the alley, her injured leg causing her to limp convincingly, adding to the effect. Disguise complete, she began to plan her next move. By now, there would be soldiers watching all of the town’s exits. She judged her cover good enough to allow her to blend into the community, but it would never stand up to a detailed search. One look inside her pack would be enough to give away her identity. She thought of leaving it somewhere together with her staff, but the risk of their being discovered was too great and she simply could not afford to risk losing her equipment.

  There was one way she might get out unchallenged, and
that was as a soldier. Keltar were easily recognisable, but soldiers were anonymous. Pretty soon there would be detachments of troops moving through the district looking for her. If she could just waylay some hapless grunt...

  As she travelled up the street she began to notice something odd. People looked at her anxiously and then hurried on as if they had just recalled urgent business. She fought down a rush of panic and performed a self-check, but she did not appear to have overlooked any clue to her true identity. I must be imagining it.

  She rounded a corner into an open area that might once have been a thriving market but was now no more than a feeble smattering of rickety stalls and half-starved livestock. Steam rose from a large iron cauldron where a seedy street vendor was brewing up some foul-looking broth. Hollowed-out phantoms shuffled past, unseeing. She lingered, considering whether she ought to risk assuaging her hunger.

  Something caught the corner of her eye. Instantly, her appetite fled and her training kicked in. There, on the corner of the street from which she had just emerged, a worn-out oppidan in a filthy jerkin that might once have been tan was trying not to look in her direction. He had appeared not long after she left the alley, hanging a little too far back for coincidence. Now he was idling. Waiting for her to make her move.

  There could be no doubt now. She was being followed.

  <><><><><>

  Chapter 35

  Keris stared into the bubbling urn and tried to think who might be tailing her through the bleak streets of Lind. There was no reason to assume that her cover had been blown. This part of town was well known for its lawless elements. The authorities tended not to care what its denizens did to each other, just so long as they kept it within their own community. Thieves and cutpurses were almost as common as they were in Sakara, although the pickings were a lot slimmer. But why target a common labourer? Unless they suspected that she might be carrying something valuable.