The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  The dense woodland gave way to scrub and low, tangled bushes, as they made their way West towards the mountains. The lush soil of the valley was eventually with thinner soil, much less able to hold vegetation. The breeze did not bother Keldron as much as he thought it would have. When he voiced this comment, Malcolm explained that it was just that he was fitter than ever before and more used to the rigours of outside life. At nights they made their camps close into the bushes, trying to ward of the continual breeze that came down from the heady peaks. There was no comfort of warmth from a fire – they all understood how close they had come on several occasions to a fate much worse than a bit of cold.

  Keldron was thankful for the clothes he had with him, and was eager to press on to find his friends. All of the time the immense mountain ridge loomed to the West. He tried to find another word to describe it, but nothing fit the description. The ridge went as far as the eye could see in both directions, and they continued doggedly towards it.

  A few days after leaving the protection of the forest, the three travellers came upon a road paralleling the mountains. Malcolm looked around warily as they approached. Although not ambush territory, for there was absolutely nowhere to hide, they were visible to anybody with the means to see far. Keldron peered up and down the road, more of a gravelled track than much else. It looked exactly the same either way. “So what do you recommend?” he asked of Malcolm, entrusting himself as he did so often to the giant man's sensible judgement.

  Malcolm also peered up and down the road, and then west towards the mountains that seemed so close, one could almost reach out and touch them. “I don't know, Keldron. I have never been here before. You want to get to Fallmar Pass, well that lies South of here. There may be another way across; closer to the North, but it could be a half of a league away, though I don't really know. We could carry on West, but we will either freeze or starve.”

  “Why don't we do a bit of both?” piped in Joleen. “We could go West of the road, and parallel it as we travel to the South. That way we gain less exposure than on the road, and we also see where it leads us. If we need to get somewhere in a hurry we can always return to the road.”

  “Sounds Good.” Keldron and Malcolm spoke almost as one, and within seconds, it was almost as if nobody had been on the road at all. So the three turned South, following the road, and staying well hidden, for Malcolm concealed their tracks well. As they hurried South to join the other tribesmen, they failed to notice the watcher. Hidden almost out of sight in a rocky crevice, she observed the three as they hastened towards the pass. Once they were well out of sight, she dropped from her place of concealment, and ran back the other way.

  * * *

  While Keldron hurried South with Joleen and Malcolm, Belyn frowned as he concentrated on his focus stones. He had tried several different types in an effort to breach the shield he was sure Keldron was holding in order to protect himself to the East. He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice that they had reached the mountain town of Fallmar Pass.

  The town was built to look very crowded, but this aided the townspeople. Not only did it provide a source of warmth against the cold of howling winds up at this altitude, it had also protected them from numerous raids. Many mobs that had attempted to overwhelm the stolid town had found themselves lost and confused within its maze-like streets. A lot of the streets had been roofed, so it was easy to lose track of where you were. Passageways passed around houses, even through them in places, all designed to battle against the perpetual winter outside. For the townsfolk, it was a shock to have such an influx of people into the town, and none of them with hostile intentions. The merchants and shopkeepers kept a wary eye on the dark-haired mass of people; they too had heard of the recent outbreak of murders so vile, they created a legend on their own. A few of the older widows made signs to ward off evil, convinced that these people were here to spear them. Eventually they relaxed though. A few of the mass chose to remain in the town, including the Wizards, Yerdu, and the band following them. Most were content to barter for furs and other warm clothing, and then move on.

  Even when they arrived at a tavern, Belyn was still immersed in his study of the stones, convinced he could find Keldron. When he showed no sign of putting it down, or of even moving, Yerdu's impatience got the better of her, and she snatched it away from him. Blinking as if waking from a long sleep, Belyn turned to her sharply. “Do not ever do that again.”

  “It is cold out here, Belyn, and we want to get inside. That means you too, as you claim to be with us, but sometimes I wonder.” Yerdu grinned cheekily at him, and he had no choice but to grunt in defeat.

  Climbing slowly down from the rickety cart he looked around the corridors of Fallmar Pass for the first time. “Are we in a building of some sort?” The bright blue sky was visible through cracks and small gaps, but it was the series of lanterns that were maintained continually that made it look like somewhere indoors.

  “This is how Fallmar Pass was constructed.” Yerdu explained, and then continued to tell Belyn what she herself had only recently learnt about the town, its population and the history of the place. Belyn listened intently, captivated with learning something new, as his friends would have been too, had they around. On conclusion of Yerdu's presentation, Belyn enquired after Raoul.

  “He is already inside the tavern.” Yerdu replied. “He went straight in and took a room for himself, muttering something about Orin or a rat and the cold or something.”

  Upon hearing this, Belyn cheered up visibly.

  “What?” asked Yerdu.

  “Something to ward off the chill,” Belyn replied cryptically. “Don't worry my dear, you will find out soon enough.” With that, Belyn hurried into the tavern in search of his friend, leaving a rather confused Yerdu behind him.

  “Drat and confusticate him,” Yerdu growled as she steered the horse into the yard, and then smiled.

  Belyn found Raoul in a room with one bed, but his friend did not see him. He had his eyes closed, and a stone grasped firmly in his right hand. Belyn recognised it as the stone they had used to transfer food from the warehouse. Looking around the room, Belyn noted the lack of furnishings. Minimalist, just as his friend liked it. The window, however, gave a better view than many paintings. Facing towards the West, it was one of the few above the line of roofs that blanketed the town. The mountains rose to either side, leaving the pristine white of the windswept but still snowy pass to battle with the cobalt blue of the completely clear sky. The sun reflected the ice crystals from overhead, making it impossible to stare for more than a few moments, but even that was enough. Despite Belyn's attempt at staying quiet, Raoul knew that he had entered the room; he found the creaky stairs quickly, knowing that they would make an excellent if unusual alarm. He grinned in spite of himself – Belyn had never been a quiet man, it was not in his nature. “You can stop creeping around now, brother,” he said while keeping his eyes closed to concentrate on his task. The rattle of the floorboards meant he had totally surprised him and made him jump.

  “I know what you are doing, Raoul, but how can you talk too?”

  “Practice, my friend. I assume you know what I am doing.” Sensing the bed move, Raoul cold tell that his friend had now decided to sit down beside him.

  “I know that stone to be one used to bring supplies from Eskenberg, but to be honest, I wouldn't think those I paid would still be loyal after this amount of time.” Raoul looked around. The room was pretty well stocked, if not as perfectly as it had once been.

  “I think somebody is still trying to look after us, my friend.” Finding what he sought in a large keg, Raoul extended his awareness to enclose it, and then felt that peculiar feeling associated with translocation. Opening his eyes, he saw the great bearded man who was Belyn smiling in appreciation of the keg on the floor in front of him.

  Brushing the dust from it, Belyn looked at him. “I knew what you were on about by what you said to the others, but I honestly didn't know you still had th
e stone.”

  Raoul flipped it from one hand, catching it on the back of his other. “To be honest, neither did I. But when you were concentrating on your stones so much I thought of some things I might try myself and there it was, nestled in a deep pocket alongside my focus stone. I knew that if nothing else had been replaced, the kegs of Orit would still be there. Plus, I felt we would need a bit of funding if we are to remain here for any length of time.” Raoul shook his sleeve, and one of Belyn's pouches of gold flopped out onto the bed.

  Belyn laughed out loud. “How did you know about those? I hid them within the tables.”

  Raoul shrugged in answer. “When you are in a focus like that, certain things stand out, especially those of a pure element. The wood was almost transparent compared to the pouch of gold. Try it yourself, brother. If you know what to look for it is easy.”

  “Maybe I will, later perhaps. But for now, I think we should get the others settled in. Aside from us, we have Yerdu and three of the tribesmen to house. I also want a room each for Kel and Joleen. Seeing as we are still being looked after by my friends in Eskenberg, we should not have a problem with that.”

  As he made the arrangements, Belyn found that the inn was nearly empty and that rooms were abundant. They had been so intent on other purposes that they had not considered the weather at this altitude. To his chagrin Belyn learnt that the pass would be easy for maybe another half season. What was mid to late autumn for the rest of the land was as good as midwinter up here. He gathered the others into a private dining room later that evening and relayed his thoughts on the matter.

  The general opinion was that they waited as long as it took for the others to catch them, though Yerdu's take on the matter was somewhat different. Placing her glass of iced water carefully on the table, she stood and walked around the room. “I care for the rest of the people making this Journey, wizards. But Joleen is my sister and therefore my first concern. However, from what you say about the state of the weather in this pass, I feel that we must give them some time, but not too long. I am prepared to wait thirty days to see if Joleen and Keldron catch us up. If they are not here within that time, we should leave and head for the lowlands.”

  Raoul shifted, and Yerdu looked at him. He appeared unconvinced. “What if we leave the day before they arrive, or a week?”

  “We could 'what if' all night long, wizard. What if they get mobbed on the way up here and we never see them? What if they get stuck in the snow? What if they decide they are going to try following the mountain chain around and risk losing us entirely? It is simple. We wait over-long, and we get stuck here for the forest only knows how long. We make a deadline and stick to it, we will be all right.”

  Raoul conceded the point, and Yerdu sat down. She looked diminutive, compared to the huge chair, but Belyn saw qualities in her that went beyond her size. Here was a woman with a will of iron, who knew how to get things done, and could see right through somebody with the merest of glances. Fascination did not begin to describe what he thought of her. Seeing that the conversation had ended with Yerdu's decision, Belyn bent and carefully lifted the keg onto the table. Raoul smiled, and the keg suddenly became the centre of attention. Belyn proceeded to carefully broach its top, and then filled the set of glasses he had borrowed from the innkeeper. The slightly-tinted, transparent liquid stuck to the edge of the glasses where he poured – Raoul had selected one of his best batches.

  “This, my friends is something to ward off the chill of such a hostile climate.” The three warriors and Yerdu picked their glasses up and sniffed suspiciously. “What is it?” asked Handel BroadBough, a typically tall and lean warrior with the trademark dark looks of his people. His curt question did not carry any air of suspicion; more of interest with a slightly intrigued air, suggesting he had not expected something like this.

  “We call it Orit, my dear fellow,” Belyn replied with a flourish. It is a liquor made from the finest spices, blended with skill by the artisans of distant cities, and it warms such nights as these.”

  “In truth, we make it ourselves,” Raoul added. “It is subtle and flavoursome, but it packs a kick like an angered horse if you have no respect for it. We have a saying that accompanies the drinking of this; I hope sincerely that Keldron rejoins us soon, for it is a saying he found.”

  Raoul raised his glass. “This is to my brother Keldron, may he find shade and shelter. Aey-ar, Aey-ar, Bossaek, Wounk, Filake!” Belyn echoed his friend, and both downed the liquid and sat, smiling with satisfaction.

  Looking from each other across the table, they found that none of the others had touched the drink, and Yerdu was staring at them with her mouth hanging open. “How did he find that?” she asked in near shock. Confused, Belyn asked what her concern was. Yerdu put her glass back onto the table, setting it carefully away from the edge. “That saying has a meaning for our people, Belyn. It was a series of statements believed to have been uttered by the Earth Goddess before the cave was lost to our ancestors. We do not know what it means ourselves, but the very words are believed to be holy. To hear them uttered in a salute to drinking is a shock to say the least.”

  Looking to Raoul for any further explanation, Belyn found his friend deep in thought. “I believe Keldron once spoke about those words having to do with a salute and prosperity, but I could not say for certain. The best person to ask is himself. A good reason to wait for him, wouldn't you say? But please, do not let the drink go to waste. We are on the way to discovering something magnificent, friends. When those who are currently lost to us rejoin us then we will truly set off on an adventure. If our toast upsets you, I am sorry. But let me offer this instead. Here's to finding what is lost, and the answers to our questions.”

  Raoul picked up his glass, conveniently filled by Belyn, and this time Yerdu echoed Raoul. “To friends lost.”

  “And to friends we will see again soon,” Yerdu added. All six drank this time, and the tribesmen breathed out in satisfaction.

  “That is some drink you brew, wizard,” complemented Arden Silverbark. Raoul grinned wickedly, the gaunt face seeming almost to grimace but for the humour that abounded within it. “There is plenty more where that came from, my dear Arden. Drink up and let's see how much of a dent we can make in our supply.”

  Chapter Ten

  Zya parried the blow that would have cut into her arm had she not been more careful, and returned in kind.

  Ju grimaced, as he knew Zya had gotten past his defences once more. “That is not fair,” he complained. “Your stick is much longer than mine.”

  Zya withstood Ju's complaints with patience only something as slow as the formation of granite could understand. Ju refused to accept that Zya's natural reach and height advantage gave her the edge in these mock combats. He instead decided to repeatedly blame it on the willow switches she had cut for them while he watched. She had even made sure of cutting them exactly the same length, but still the boy would not accept the fact that she had advantages. Not replying, but instead deciding upon a different tactic, Zya decided to let him win. True enough, thanks to a slip in form by Zya, Ju managed to scrape his switch across her ribs, if only barely. He then proceeded to cheer enthusiastically, trying to goad Zya into another fight to prove it was not a one-off.

  She refused to be baited, and eventually he gave up. Zya shared her father's appraisal of the boy's talents. He was not much of a swordsman; mediocre at best. The bow however, seemed to be a natural extension of his body. In the time it had taken them to travel the distance they had covered since they had left the caravan, perhaps a hundred leagues, perhaps more, Ju had repeatedly proved himself a natural. Using his only arrows, he picked out soft targets that were unlikely to break them. A mound of earth here, a leaf on a low lying branch. Her father would not let him hunt though, despite all of his insistence. Tarim maintained that such arrows were not to be wasted on game, though Zya suspected the reason was different. She knew her father did not want Ju to experience killing at such a young age. He
was much too young to hunt, he had said through howls of protest from the boy. But still, if the hunting was not allowed, the preparation of whatever Tarim caught was shared equally amongst the three.

  Many things Zya had forgotten she had learnt from Gren, she remembered during these sessions. Ju was as enthusiastic as always, but both Zya and Tarim made a point of watching very carefully when the boy was skinning a rabbit with a knife in his hands. Zya found herself drawn to using the dagger her father had given her for such chores, bringing dark glances, but no outspoken comments from her father. The blade never needed sharpening, and always came away clean. She made a point of washing it nonetheless, but she never needed to. Using the blade brought contentment and peace, and not once did Zya wonder why this would be.

  Tonight's meal was rabbit stew, and they set the camp out as if they were still with the caravan. Horses tied up nicely in a small rope pen, fire as small and unobtrusive as possible, with the minimum of fuss and maximum amount of efficiency. Zya hummed to herself as she went about the simple task of chopping various roots, slicing them lengthways with her dagger. Ju sang some ditty about a fighter and his wenches as he performed the more macabre task of separating the meat from the bits not needed. He went to great lengths to ensure the skins were undamaged, his intention being that he was going to cure them and make them into a hunter's hat, or so he said.

  Tarim meanwhile, kept watch on the route they had taken. Never one to expect surprises, her father had even given Ju a shift, all be it an early one. The boy had once been so eager to be a mercenary guard when he grew up; he was now learning that it was not all heroic battles and pay-days. As for Erilee, Zya spent the occasional thought pondering about the girl, but most of the time, her thoughts were occupied by the guilds. What guild would she join? What suited her best? She had concluded that maybe Anita was correct, that she should join a guild associated with the Earth Goddess. Zya refused to rule out anything though, not knowing enough about other guilds to be able to make a well-informed decision.