The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  Chapter Two

  Keldron Vass worried a lot, and it showed on his face. He worried about his health, his distinct lack of a social life and what people thought of him. Most of all he worried about his work. The twenty-five seasons of stress showed plainly on his face. Worry lines creased it, accentuating the brilliant flashes of silver that were the prematurely greyed hairs on his temples. 'Venerable' some might have called him. Venerable he was not. In his profession, his mere fifty-three seasons still marked him out as a youngster. Most of the gibbering old folk he surrounded himself with were closer to eighty, many over ninety. With their long yellowed beards, and mumbling gestures, these were the types who decided if, not even when, he would advance in his chosen profession. He quite often found that he was the lone voice of reason in a mob of insanity, but as a custodian in the Order of Law he either had to accept his place or leave. As an apprentice, he had learnt many skills in wizardry according to the laws of the land, and had a fair amount of power at his disposal. The problem was order politics.

  The Guild of Law, as it had become known to the common man, was responsible for justice and everyday affairs in the land. It was here the problem lay. His solutions to everyday problems were in his mind better than the official guild line. But with his lack of authority, and the 'set-in-their-ways' elders of the order refusing to acknowledge any rule newer than them, hardly anything was done about it. He handled his stress orb frequently; the subtle bell-tones resonating from within was usually a comfort, but not tonight. His concern was over an event that had happened twenty or so years ago that had made history. On midsummer night or the Night of Spears as it had been colourfully named, many people in the lakeside town of Eskenberg had been impaled. There seemed to be no pattern to it. In their homes, in the street, even on a flight of stairs in one case. There had been reports of this across the duchy, and from other duchies. There was no obvious pattern, but Keldron refused to believe in this theory, and for over two decades had been trying to fathom out the reason behind the mystery. There had been not one sighting of the people responsible for the murders. From Keldron's best guess, the murders all happened at roughly the same time, late in the evening. So either these people were stealthy, unlike any person he had ever met, or magic was involved.

  A lot of the rumours pointed towards the Merdon traders, a group of tribesmen who came from Northern climes and set up a trading camp in the nearby great Forest of Merdon. The rumours had all been recent. During the last twenty or so years, there had been sparse reports of an impaling every summer; exactly on midsummer's night. It was true that a few people had been found, but it was mostly hearsay coming from the Far Lands. This last midsummer though, there had been a whole batch of impalings. The Guild had decided that they would officially distance themselves from the Merdon traders as the rumours were pointed at them, but as was usually the case, Keldron was the lone voice. He looked at the reports he had gathered for at least the fourth time. These reports were taken from local dignitaries while the scenes were still fresh in their minds. The only thing in common with the murders of the past was the fact that spears had been used. The difference was this latest batch had been sloppily executed. With few exceptions, the original night of spears had used ritual spears engraved with runes and a crosspiece attached. It was the old rumours of a 'dark people' mixed with the fresh rumours that had led his ancient colleagues to their pronouncement – that any traders mixing with Merdonese did so at their own risk, and that the Merdon traders were not allowed within Eskenberg. It was preposterous really; the traders had never wished to enter the city anyway, else they would have already been here. The fact that it was official made it worse though, and people were very cautious around the outskirts. Taverns were empty; food stalls were not selling food. The north-west sector was a ghost town. And all because some 'over the hill' useless old men had not listened to his advice and added the most pointless point of law to date.

  The half-dozen oil lamps flickered, causing wraith-like shadows to appear over his desk, and then vanish in the blink of an eye. The reports he had been given this morning caught his attention and he picked them up. As he read, it was again confirmed in his mind that this was an entirely different set of killings. The spears had not been set in the ground; they had been shoved in at every conceivable angle, causing hours of unending agony for the victims. Keldron felt for them. At least the victims of twenty years ago had died relatively quickly. Some of these appeared to have lasted all night. He felt safe in his small study. In the rafters of a three level building in the governing district, he was alone at least. The shelves were packed atop cupboards built from dark wood. His old, comfy chair was jammed against a frayed old desk beset by rot after it had been left in the courtyard during a move. Where there was space on the walls, charts covered the poor attempt at decoration. The charts showed far off islands and river estuaries that Keldron could only dream of visiting.

  The room suited his purpose though. In his tiny eyrie-like loft, he was even cosy. His warm room was in the middle of a great city in the middle of a continent. He felt like he was in the middle of nowhere, a thousand leagues from anywhere. The small window facing South gave an excellent view of Great Lake Eskebeth. Keldron dreamed of actually seeing the other side one day. He had travelled extensively while he was an apprentice, but upon reaching Eskenberg, had remained rooted firmly in the Law building. Still, in his safe, cosy room he could not suppress a shudder for what had happened. To calm nerves that had seemed beyond the extent of fraying for years unending, he poured himself a glass of spiced Orit. The bland liqueur came from Kimarul, to the South.

  One of Keldron's hobbies was to purchase cheap Orit, and refine it, adding a spice mix to the drink. The process not only flavoured it pleasantly, but also had the added effect of distilling the brew. The first time he had tried it, he remembered nothing until he woke up in an alleyway with two of his colleagues. These two, Raoul Za and Belyn Stroddick, had formed the group 'The League of Orit' with him, and dispensed the liqueur for a tidy profit.

  It was a coincidence that as he was thinking of his two closest companions, as well as sipping a glass of Orit, that the oil lamps again flickered, this time in response to the movement of his study door on silent hinges. Keldron could not abide unnecessary noise, and made sure that he was disturbed as little as physically possible. Raoul Za poked his head in.

  “And with not a sound, nay, not even a whisper, the mighty Raoul Za explodes into existence within this lonely treetop.” Raoul always had a sense of drama that nobody could ever understand. Keldron grinned.

  “Come in you rake, before your ego breaks the door frame.” Rake was a description Keldron often used, for as Raoul entered, only one word could describe him – skinny. He wore clothes that emphasised his long shanks. Narrow and dark, with a long, black cloak; he claimed it was a look that intimidated the 'stiffs', as he liked to call them. Keldron just assumed it was another facet of his over dramatised ego, as it never seemed to have any effect. He looked like a collection of bones in rags most of the time, as there seemed to be next to no flesh on this person. But Raoul was a good person to have around. He had joined about the same time as Keldron, and was the only member of the order younger than him. Their views were similar, though Raoul was a little sheepish, which often lead to those 'stand alone' moments that Keldron experienced in assembly meetings.

  Keldron passed a small glass of the spiced liquid to his companion then raised a toast. “Aey-ar Aey-ar Bossaek Wounk Filake,” they intoned, adapting a drinking chant of the Uporan tribesmen for drinking the Orit. Upon finishing the drink, which both men were used to by now, Raoul looked up as if hit by a revelation.

  “That was what I came here for! There is a meeting of the assembly, and we are all asked to attend!”

  “Wow, they are actually gathering everybody in one place? It must be real important if they need us as well,” replied Keldron, with more than a subtle hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “When
was the summons sent out?”

  “About two chimes of the bell,” replied Raoul, indicating, a period not long after luncheon.

  “Ah, we will still have plenty of time to get good seats near the front then, as most of the stiffs will still be waking up.” Raoul looked less than happy at this prospect. He would have preferred an alcove at the back, but would be led along by the enthusiasm Keldron showed. Still, no emotion was betrayed on his face. The reason for the scowl that he wore subconsciously underneath the hair cut too short, was that he didn't like people to know what he was thinking. He claimed it gave him an edge.

  The pair made their way down rickety flights of oak stairs that had been robbed of any polish seasons ago, and along old corridors that had also seen better days. If numbers counted for votes in the order, then spiders would dictate the Law without question. A long time ago, the order had moved its headquarters from a distant island to this central position, and had taken over an old palace, abandoned by some nameless monarch. This had been when Eskenberg was a mere dream of the thriving city it was today. It was easy for the order to claim the building, but not easy to renovate it. As a result of this, most of the building was unused, with the several hundred members of the order crammed into a few large rooms. One room was reserved for the meetings; this room, Keldron surmised, must have been the throne room, as it was the largest. A few other rooms had been converted for the elder members to smoke their clay pipes and doze off in, but Keldron and his associates preferred the privacy. Thus began their exploration of the building, eventually resulting in a basement office-cum-brewery for Raoul, and a mid-level suite for the more 'regal' tastes of Belyn.

  As it was they knew they would beat most of the members to the audience chamber, so the pair stopped off to pick up Belyn. Entrenched in a chair the size of most good thrones, sat a fiery red-haired man with a beard to match. The man was concentrating on a piece of parchment spread across the desk in front of him. The joke between the trio was that his 'desk' was bigger than most people's living space, but he still managed to find enough rubbish to clutter it with. As the pair approached him, he glanced up from the map and greeted them with

  “Woe.”

  “Pardon?” replied a confused looking Keldron, whilst Raoul merely grinned. “Woe. The teeth of woe. That's what they are called. The Sandstone pillars on the Southern coast of the Isle of Thiwa. I found an old map with a description. Look here!”

  Raoul stepped up to look, while Keldron looked on. Belyn had an obsession of sorts with natural phenomena, and was currently studying the great sandstone pillars that appeared in a few places throughout the known world. It showed an ancient map of the known landmass with script so old and feathery that it took a good eye to decipher it. Keldron was less than impressed with this, as he was more concerned with worrying about the killing, the meeting, and just about anything he could think of. Raoul at least gave him credit.

  “Where ever did you find such a map? Was it from one of the ancient cities? Or perhaps the main Library in a drawer somewhere?” Belyn suppressed an excited grin. With his flaming red hair it was like watching a volcano try and keep itself from exploding.

  “One of my associates came across it, you'll never guess where, in the Labyrinthine district!”

  “Intriguing. Hang on, you actually have people who know their way around that maze?” Keldron asked with a great deal of incredulity.

  “Sure I do, but I don't take any chances with them. Anyone I may be associated with in that district would have to know it beyond any doubt to have any association with me. Unfortunately, that cost me a fortune in focus stones, but there are always more where they came from.”

  As he was saying this, Belyn was staring at the doorway, and the window. One could never be overconfident when speaking in a place such as this. Even with their remote locations from the rest, there were subtler ways to eavesdrop available to many of the order, especially the many adepts at focus magic. This was a magic long practised by many orders, and many of the richer citizens to a lesser extent. They believed they could buy the power, but it demanded a will of iron and concentration to a level unknown by most. They were rarely successful. The magic involved focussing the energies inherent in the body, the stone and even the area around to accomplish a purpose. For many years, marble had been the stone of choice, and an oval or egg shape, usually the shape of choice. It was believed that this shape best suited the focussing power and the elements involved. However, when an apprentice had suggested a different shape, and even different types of stone, he had been highly ridiculed by the establishment. Those who knew him found that he was highly successful, but he disappeared suddenly about twenty years ago. The magic performed with the original focus stones was elaborate enough – eavesdrop spells, soundproofing areas and the like, but nothing more. Belyn upon learning about this had set about the task with as single-minded an intent as Keldron had ever seen. He had gathered stones from distant parts and moulded them into various geometric shapes, and had greatly varied results. One time he had turned a solid brick wall into mud, to the dismay of the stiffs who had been dozing close by.

  On the other hand, when focussing on a sphere of obsidian, he had opened up a whirlpool of what seemed to be liquid fire, which fortunately disappeared as soon as he realised what he had done and stopped focussing. The result was that although the senior order-men were still ready to dismiss the findings, despite blatant evidence, the rich were even more in demand. This had paid for any number of Belyn's projects. In short, Belyn had continued the work of someone long disappeared, and he was getting credit for it. A couple of works had been published; lists of shapes and types that had proven successful. The Law order might not acknowledge it, but other orders were, and Belyn had been acclaimed as a true master of the rites of the focus stone.

  “Looking back at this map, I see great potential for different rock types across this land, and I believe that special places such as these may concentrate the power of the land into the rocks.” Belyn looked up.

  “Where was I? Oh yes, did you come to accompany me to the meeting?”

  “You knew about it?” asked Raoul, thinking he had been the only one to know. He liked to be the first to know. Good intentions, but nosy as an old lady, and proud of being the only one who knew.

  “I have been playing around with the stones, and I have found that black marble has a much greater effect on mind spells then the traditional type.” He held up a rough block of black stone.

  “Even with this rough cube I can penetrate the sound shields that the elders have so painstakingly constructed, but if used too long I believe they will know. Anyway, I can tell you what they are going to say.” Belyn looked back down at the map, his sharp gaze scanning the map as if to search out a hidden clue or piece of information. What he searched for his friends could only speculate; his mind was as closed to them as anyone, and they were closest to him. As he slumped back in his throne of a chair, Belyn noticed Raoul and Keldron staring at him.

  “Well? Tell us then!” demanded Raoul, whose impatience was tempered only by his training, but was free to surface when he got agitated. Keldron grinned. He knew Belyn was only doing this to wind Raoul up, and it was one of their favourite pastimes.

  “Well dear fellows, it seems we are going on a little trip. Our mighty superiors seemingly have had enough of our stirrings, and have decided that the ancient temple needs some upkeep. We are being sent to restore it, or at least spend the rest of our lives searching for it.” The normally vocal Raoul's jaw dropped, and his face appeared to lose colour.

  Keldron on the other hand quietly commented, “Pray tell, good sir, where is this temple of which thou speakest? For the ancient texts mention it but a few times.” Belyn chuckled. Keldron's impressions of the elders made him do that quite often.

  “I have been researching the land for a while now my friends, and I can safely say that the ancient temple is located on the remote island of Caighgard.”

  “Where
exactly is that, Belyn?” asked Raoul. “I have never heard of this place, let alone the temple.” Belyn pointed at the top left corner of the map, where it had faded to a scuddy brown with age. There could be seen a whisper of an outline deep within the faded parchment.

  “There lies our destination, and our way out of this hole for good. Hey, what's the problem? I thought you always wanted to get out of here?” Raoul sat down heavily, his dark attire managing to crease despite the fact that it clung to him like a babe to its mother. He looked flustered, as if he had drunk one too many glasses of Orit the previous night.

  “I always thought they would never do this. I have looked towards expanding the order and moving away from this bureaucracy for years now. The Gods alone know how much I have argued our case in the hall. I never actually thought they would be awake long enough to actually do something about us.” A rueful smile manifested itself on his face, making him look somewhat like a Jester of death, with his pale face. “Now they have actually gone and done it, and I feel a tad more uncertain than I would have thought possible.”

  “Do you want to go with us?” Keldron asked his companion. “You don't have to. I mean once we are out of the city you can do what you want.”

  Raoul looked up, the colour returning to his face making him look normal again. “Not a chance my brothers! I know I am apprehensive but I would not stay here. Not now the stiffs are finally waking from their comatose state. Who knows what they may end up announcing.” Keldron looked relieved, and even Belyn seemed to breathe easier with Raoul's announcement.

  “We have a lot to plan,” Keldron said as he strolled around the palatial room, idly flicking objects with a large feather – his way of thinking.

  “I have learned through contacts and research that there has got to be more to these murders than the common people believe. I think my answers lie elsewhere, and travelling may be the way to pick the unsoiled truth from somewhere less corrupt.”