The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  As they moved swiftly and silently across the grassy hills, Maolsechlan did something he had never done before – he asked her a question. “What can you tell me about the girl – the girl who left?”

  The question caught Erilee off guard, and she turned and stumbled, ripping a sizeable chunk out of her hose when she hit the ground. The others did not stop for her – she knew she had to catch up, and knew the consequences were she to not do so. Regaining her place between them, Erilee told them everything she knew about Zya, from her earliest memories of a girl she thought was her sister, to the recent happenings between Hoebridge and the forest. The two listened carefully, seeming to soak up every detail. As she recalled the events, Erilee wondered how she had ever been a friend to the girl. She was jealous of Zya's freedom, and her obvious popularity. She couldn't understand why the girl was so damned friendly with people she had no reason to trust. Erilee felt that she had led the proper traveller's life and that Zya had never really accepted her place, but had pretended to so others would be lulled by her act. In fact, Erilee reasoned that she had never really liked Zya at all. Even when they were young, Zya did things just to spite her.

  Maolsechlan smiled as Erilee told him all this. Encouraged by the attention that had been so lacking these past weeks, Erilee recalled every slight and every put-down that Zya had used on her. Had Erilee actually been paying attention instead of letting her emotions get the better of her, she would have noticed Maolmordha actually pause to stare at her while he listened to her words.

  When she eventually ran out of things to say about Zya, Erilee started on Tarim, the supposed 'father'. It was at this point Maolsechlan cut her short. “We are not interested in him, just the girl.” The look he gave her cut off any further avenues for conversation, and he moved as if extremely vexed. Head down, shoulders hunched, the dark man looked as imposing as he ever had as he stalked along, the cloaked and hooded figure easily following. Whoever Maolmordha was, he was much slighter than Maolsechlan. Erilee had deduced that much. There's only so much wrapping someone can do to hide their figure from you, her mother used to say, and the rest is simple intuition.

  Erilee gazed ahead at the now empty track the caravan had taken, and wondered why she didn't miss her family. She knew very well that her parents and sister, good people all, would be missing her terribly. The feeling was not returned though. The tiniest pang of worry was quickly replaced with idle curiosity, as if maybe one day she would find the true reason they had not fought any harder to hold on to her when she was taken from them. It was not a pressing matter though, now that they were on the trail of those they were meant to be following. The travellers were just a coincidence, and an annoyance.

  Noting the lazily winding river off to her left, Erilee mentioned the word 'boat' under her breath, drawing the gaze of both of her companions.

  “Elaborate,” was all Maolsechlan would say, whilst his silent companion only watched impassively.

  “Well, we have this river flowing the same direction as the road, why not use it to travel and save ourselves the trouble of lagging behind? We could even reach the next town ahead of them.”

  “Three reasons,” answered Maolsechlan abruptly. “No boat; it keeps us fit and alert, especially when we are only following and watching.”

  Ever hungry for conversation, this had proved more than an adequate meal for Erilee. There was clearly nothing to be gained by pressing the man further, so Erilee followed as the mysterious pair made their way across the countryside behind the freshly cut dirt tracks of her former family.

  Chapter Nine

  The weather had chilled considerably since Raoul and his companions had climbed out of the wholesome protection of the great forest. Used to the climate, Raoul had packed most of his heavier clothes away – at least the clothes he had knowingly packed. A lot seemed to have been misplaced as they rushed to keep ahead of the army that they were sure was pursuing them from the tribe's former encampment. Raoul kept what he had close to him in a leather satchel he had managed to purloin, never losing sight of it. His focus stone he never let out of its pouch in his pocket, and unconsciously checked almost constantly that the golden marble was resident in its proper place. The heavy leather cloak he wore dragged him down at first, but now, he was used to its weight, and thankful indeed.

  As the weeks had dragged on, and summer had tenuously lessened its grip, the temperature had cooled somewhat. Used to being bundled up, snug in a great building, even the subtle drop in temperature was noticeable to him. The cloak however protected him from the chill in the air, and from all but the sharpest of winds. The physical activity that he had never preferred was also having a positive effect, he concluded reluctantly. He never remembered feeling as good as he did now, inhaling the fresh air. It was impossible to imagine these conditions; being cooped up in a city definitely had his drawbacks. In a way, Raoul felt pity for all of the old cronies stuck in their guild house. He knew they would be going through their daily routines of what amounted to futile attempts at existence, prolonging their lives by casting the simplest of focuses. They had no idea what they could do, nor would they ever believe that someone so much younger could have so much talent. That brought constant worry to Raoul. Not since the valley had he seen Belyn, who had gone on ahead, making promises that they would find each other after the rush had subsided. He continually looked over his shoulder, as if Belyn and Yerdu might appear, but they never did.

  The stark surroundings reflected his mood. The stone crunched underfoot, fallen from somewhere higher up, and made good footing for the tracks, placed as it was, in parts, along the main root from Eskenberg to Fallmar Pass. The mountain range, though still not close, loomed ominously to the west. The great grey peaks apparently devoid of anything living, offered no hope of salvation to his mood. The tribesmen and women who had accompanied him stayed close. They were happy to keep quiet. Meaningless conversation had little place in their lives, but Raoul would have given anything for someone to break out in chatter at this point. Shivering as the wind caught under his cloak, he stopped once again to look back. The pitiful trail of those heading West stretched far on either side of him, as everyone made their best effort. He had heard talk of those missing; the occasional grand-dame who had died from the effort, or someone's lost child. He did what he could for them, which was comforting them with words more than anything else.

  Unused to such extensive contact, Raoul found that his empathy for these people had grown. Still, it was Belyn he was worried for. Taking out his stone of polished marble, Raoul faced east, and then concentrated as Belyn had taught him. He became one with the stone and the surroundings, and he shifted his sight eastwards. It was the same as it had been before: the dark-haired people making their best effort to stay ahead of the army they had fled before, and not a glimpse of anyone who looked remotely like Belyn. Raoul knew as a rule that these people were lean and strong, so discerning Belyn would have been easy.

  Bringing his sight back to himself, he released his concentration and found Oslan, one of the warriors, regarding him patiently. “Still no sign of them, Lord?”

  Raoul shook his head, still preoccupied with where Belyn was. He actually found himself worrying. The man he regarded as his older brother in all but fact, was as important to him as Keldron, and he had lost them both. The word 'Lord' brought him back to himself though. When enquiring as to why people kept calling him that, he was told in no uncertain terms by an elderly lady that they had nobody else to turn to, and that the people had to follow somebody. With his teachings in the Old Law, he made the perfect choice. A little more digging revealed that the term was relatively recent to the tribes people, only having encountered it through trading with a group of merchants sent to purchase bargains for their 'Lord'.

  Raoul knew for a fact that the term 'Lord' had not been used in at least an age, as the Dukes were very protective of their so-called 'Duchies', even if the orders would not accept them en masse. “I do not know where they ar
e, Oslan.” he replied in his tired voice. “I think our best course of action is to make for Fallmar Pass and await them there. That is where they will be, or at least where they should be heading.” Fallmar Pass; the name was an elusive mystery to Raoul. From looking up at the grey of the mountain range that spread North and South, it looked impossible that any settlement could be nestled up there, no matter how small. He hoped that Belyn and Yerdu made it there ahead of him, because there was no way a settlement of any mediocre size could support this many people for any length of time. If Belyn made it, at least they could continue onwards and spare more hurt for the tribe. Grudgingly resuming his march to the West, Raoul kept his thoughts private, and despite the merry overtures of many who had never before travelled such a distance, he kept quiet. The adventure had so far not turned out anything like he had expected.

  Lost within his own thoughts, he hardly heard the voice talking down to him from behind and a little above. “What?” he murmured as a reply, too preoccupied to care about what yet another merry person had to say.

  “I said what's got you so down on such a beautiful day?” The sound of Belyn's voice emanating from deep within his rotund frame made Raoul forget what he was doing, so startled was he to hear it. Seeing his friend, and Yerdu too, on the strange contraption that seemed more a collection of planks than an actual cart, Raoul broke out into a wide grin. “I was just thinking about you, Bel.”

  “I bet,” the fiery-haired man replied. “I hope you weren't thinking too deeply, my friend, that look on your face could cause the toughest warrior to faint with fear.”

  Yerdu broke down in peals of laughter at Belyn's comment, causing the 'frame-on-wheels' to shudder. Looking at it, Raoul saw that it seemed to be held together by force of will, rather than any physical fastenings. “Where did you get this wreck?”

  Quieting Yerdu down by placing his hand over hers, Belyn answered. “It was left in the valley by somebody, we know not who. I'm sorry it took us so long to catch you up my friend, but we had to wait as long as possible to see if Keldron and Joleen would make it down in time. We were lucky to escape when we did; it was mighty close.

  Yerdu hopped down from her side of the cart, if it could be called such. “Why don't you two chaps sit together and reminisce? I could do with the exercise. Too much sitting down in this thing and I start to get lethargic.” Seeing the ashen look on Belyn's face, she added softly, “I will not go far.”

  Raoul climbed up carefully into the vacated seat, perched on the edge, and then listened to Belyn convey the story of their escape, as he watched Yerdu jog on ahead. It turned out he was luckier to see Belyn than he thought, as they had stayed literally one step ahead of the mob at almost every turn, sometimes being in actual sight. Raoul marvelled as Belyn introduced him to some new techniques that he had created 'on the hoof' as he put it. “It was startling at first, but then when I thought about it, it made sense,” observed Belyn. “It just happened that we thought ourselves safe, when a mob of the brutes came charging out of the trees off to our right. I cast the focus for hiding from plain sight, not unlike the focus I used on the door back in the guild house. I figured it was our only chance of escape, as we could not outrun them and the wagon was in danger of falling apart. So all of a sudden they cannot see us, and Yerdu looks at me, and points to the axle of the cart, which is now in two pieces, but still working. The shield only melded everything within it together by sheer force! And I haven't relinquished the focus yet, hence the reason it still works.”

  Raoul nodded in the right places, listening to his friend's embellished report of their run from the mob. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would have not believed a word Belyn had said. Still, the occasional correction from Yerdu embarrassed Belyn, leaving his face as red as his fiery beard. Raoul was sure that this time, Belyn had come as close to the true happenings as he could be expected to. “So the reason I could not see you with the far-sight focus is because you had this shield up.”

  This excited Belyn again. “Yes! I am no longer sure of the limits for what was believed a simple focus that fools the eye! If you could not see me with that focus then it can only mean one of two things: the focus I created either reflects the energy of your focus, or it absorbs it. The possibilities are endless! If it reflects it, then can we use the reflection to adapt unwanted focuses to our own advantage? If it absorbs it, does the energy absorbed make the focus stronger? So much can be done, that was not thought of before! We could almost…AHHHH!”

  Belyn jumped from his seat to the ground, causing Raoul to instinctively grab the reins and the cart to crumble into its component parts. Sitting there feeling foolish, Raoul looked up at his friend, who had his hand up the back of his robes. “What? What is it, Bel?”

  Raoul looked beyond Belyn, to see a grinning Yerdu almost hopping with joy, a water skin in one hand. “Have you noticed how he gets such a big head on his shoulders that you just have to give him a cooling down?” Still holding the reins, Raoul collapsed into peals of helpless laughter. Yerdu redoubled her efforts, and eventually Belyn also started to chuckle, caught up in the mirth of the situation. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with his free hand, Raoul looked at the damp, if now merry Belyn. “Looks like you have met your match there, my friend.”

  Belyn smiled. “You may well be right, brother. There is a lesson to be learnt here I think. Always look over your shoulder more when amongst friends than amongst enemies, for you never know where the next splash of ice-cold, bloody freezing water is coming from!” This set them all off in further fits of laughter, drawing odd looks from all those walking past. As the merriment passed, Raoul untacked the horse from what remained of the harness it had worn. Leading it by its reins, he walked alongside his friend. “Will they come after us?” Belyn knew exactly whom Raoul meant – there was no need to name them.

  “That's the odd thing. Once we passed a certain distance, they just stopped coming. Something felt different, I know that for a fact.”

  “The forest boundary,” Yerdu added.

  “It is the limit of the forest heart's protection.” Belyn looked inquisitively at Yerdu. She seemed so diminutive in his presence, yet she could hold her own with the best of them, as Belyn had continually found. “Why did you not mention this before?” Belyn asked her.

  Yerdu shrugged, as was her way. “It was not appropriate at the time, oh mighty Wizard of Stones.” Raoul grinned. Yerdu had one again disarmed Belyn's ego with the simplest of statements. This strange and yet darkly pretty tribeswoman was the perfect tonic for him. Humility had never been one of his strong points, and Raoul knew that this would help him get closer to the Old Law in many ways. “The heart of the forest has always had limits,” Yerdu continued. “But that may change now…”

  “Because the heart of the forest was based around that focus, and the focus was damaged,” Raoul completed for her.

  Yerdu nodded in silence. “I felt it as much as any of you. The heart of the forest was a place as pure in the Old law as any I have ever come across. It just felt right to be there. Did you not feel it too, Bel?”

  Belyn looked thoughtful as he walked. “I felt that if I had had the chance to spend a month there, I could have unravelled all the secrets our benefactor left behind to be discovered. The proximity of a focus of that colossal size would have worked miracles. I could have returned to the order and shown them…”

  “Belyn, you could not return to the order no matter what you have learnt,” Raoul interrupted, not bothering to hide the impatience he usually masked so well. “You know as well as both Keldron and I do that we burnt any bridges we had the day we left. No doubt they will have discovered our rooms, to their misfortune, but that would have sealed any chance of us ever showing our faces in the order house again, let alone in Eskenberg. If Obrett has been linked to us in any way whatsoever, you can bet all those focus stones of yours that he is no longer in the order either.”

  Belyn screwed his nose as he shook his head in di
sagreement, a habit that had the unfortunate effect of making him look like an overly large dwarf. “The old man would make sure he wasn't connected to us. He is too wily to be caught by any of those ancient cronies.”

  Seeing Yerdu's total lack of comprehension of the subject of their discussion, Raoul sought to elaborate for her. “Obrett was our mentor; he taught and trained us in the art of the focus.”

  “And you fear for this man?” asked Yerdu in reply.

  Raoul stared off at the desolate peaks in the distance, trying to find something positive out of all of this. “I should not really, I suppose, but with what we have seen I cannot help it. I worry too much, Belyn would say, but I think it is justified. Who knows where Keldron has gone? I worry about him more than for anybody else.”

  Yerdu nodded Sympathetically. “I too worry for my sister. She can take care of herself, of that I am confident. But there were so many of those men in the forest. Even the most adept can become overwhelmed by numbers.” Raoul looked at Belyn, who nodded back. There was no need to say anything. They both knew Keldron would survive if he could, and maybe if he was with Joleen then together they had a chance. Belyn reached for one of his stones, and immediately began to concentrate on looking.

  * * *

  Keldron, meanwhile, strode along the bank of a shallow brook, many leagues North of where his friends hoped to find him. The Merry Stream bubbled and danced as it made its way around the rocks and twigs that it encountered, trying to fulfil its destiny of reaching the sea. The forest had become peaceful since turning North, away from the men who pursued them. Not far ahead, Joleen found simple pleasure in watching skylarks dance above the tree line. Malcolm meanwhile kept a wary eye for anything out of place. He had still not spoken about the village or what had become of his family. Even when Keldron mentioned it as subtly as possible, Malcolm grew cold and silent. Yet with many other topics, Malcolm was fine, teaching Keldron what he knew of the forest, which was extensive. Even though they were reaching the Northern edge of the forest, the presence of the focus at its heart was still there, even though it had altered significantly after the blast.