Still shivering from his earlier fall in the puddle and his more recent adrenalin rush; he doffed his cloak and reversed it so that the interior greyish-green was to the outside, the black to the inside, and re-donned it. It wouldn’t fool anyone looking closely, but it was enough of a change that he wouldn’t be recognized out of the corner of someone’s eye. It was also a less suspicious colour now that the sun had crested the horizon.
Taking a circuitous route back to the scene of the struggle, he noted only one guard patrol, and they seemed to be headed the wrong direction. Once he was in the alley behind the buildings across the street from the shoppe, he climbed a drainpipe up the two storeys to the slate roof of a random residence above another shoppe on the main floor. Lying with his back against the cold tile, he braced his foot on one of the peaked dormers and inched his head up so he could see over the peaked roof into the front street below.
A large black carriage was parked out front of the apartment he had just fled from, tethered to two large, black draft horses. The curtain still flapped in the breeze from the second floor window of the residence. More importantly, he witnessed Whisper and Brows exiting the building via the side stair and enter the carriage, Whisper cradling his injured arm. The three remaining soldiers followed them down less than a minute later, two carrying the chest containing his gold. One climbed up into the driver’s seat at the front, the other two hefted his chest of gold into the back of the carriage and stepped up on the running boards, grabbing onto the side handles. All three men looked uncomfortably around as an early morning crowd was starting to collect at either end of the tight street. The driver cracked the reins and the horses began to canter down the street at a leisurely pace, forcing the small crowd at the end of the street to slowly part, allowing the carriage through. Turning the corner heading northbound, it was lost to sight. Hoyle looked at the sky; all this had happened in the time it took the sun to climb a finger width into the morning sky. He knew he should follow the carriage, but realized that by the time he got back to ground level it would be pointless. Besides, a carriage like that was not easy to hide, and would be noticed, so he adjusted to a more comfortable position and settled in to see what events might yet transpire.
A short time later, a squad of six city guards showed up, being led by a small lad who had obviously been sent to fetch them. An older lady at the front of the growing crowd caught the small boy’s shoulder, pulling him back against her dress as she began to spin her tale of events to the squad captain. After briefly listening to the woman, the captain relayed an order; four of the guardsmen unclasped their cudgels from their belts and climbed the stairs into the apartment. The fifth guardsman trotted to the end of the street the carriage had disappeared down and began looking left and right, no doubt trying to see if the carriage was still in sight. One guardsman stuck his head out of the window, fumbled with the heavy curtains still flapping in the morning breeze, finally pulling them inside, and looked each way up and down the street. Hoyle ducked quickly as the guardsman began to turn his head and look up.
After a thirty-count, Hoyle raised himself up to his previous position, hoping that he hadn’t been seen. As he did, he saw a scene that chilled his spine, even though he knew there was a remote possibility it might happen. Two black robed and cloaked Rak’soraa strolled down the street from the east, leading a pale figure on a chain linked to an iron collar loping along between them. A Scaazi, a Scenter, an aura sniffer with pale grey, almost white, skin and long upper arms with oversized clawed hands that almost dragged on the ground when it walked in its normal hunched position. It had large white eyes with no irises, and a wide mouth with numerous razor sharp teeth. But it’s most telling feature was the six slotted gills on the front of its snout. It was rumored that these gills allowed these aberrations of nature to sense auras. More importantly, they could follow the auras left behind across leagues. It was rumored they could even follow these auras through the magegates the Empire used. It was a Fear Squad like this one, one of a dozen, the Rak’soraa and a Scenter, that were personally assigned tasks by the Emperor himself. He noticed that the street was now empty.
Hoyle gulped audibly. What had he gotten himself into? He watched as the squad captain engaged in a brief debate with the taller Rak’soraa before the second cloaked Rak’soraa led the leashed creature up the side stair and into the apartment. Within moments, the remaining guardsmen quickly left the apartment and returned to the street, looking relieved.
A few minutes later, Hoyle saw the Rak’soraa and Scenter return from the apartment. The returning Rak’soraa had a brief conversation with the remaining Rak’soraa and the squad captain, who was obviously not happy. The Fear Squad turned and left the area, in no apparent hurry, causing many doors and shutters to quickly shut with audible clunks and bangs. Shortly thereafter, the squad captain blew his whistle to assemble the squad, and they left too. By that time, Hoyle had shimmied down the drain pipe and was blocks away.
---o---
“You’re joking. You’re not joking.” Hicks stated disbelievingly, “A Scenter? What have you gotten yourself into? You took precautions of course?”
“What do you take me for, a no-wit that just got off the boat? Of course I took precautions,” answered Hoyle. It was rumored Scenters could only find, or smell, people’s auras on solid material. Metals worked best, stone and jewels only moderately less well, but cloth and similar material not-at-all. The guilds had paid very dearly to confirm the rumors. The rumor regarding metal, stone and jewels had proven to be fact, at a cost of a whole squad from his guild. The strength of the aura also seemed dependent on the length of time one had in their possession the object in question. That was the reason he was careful to retrieve his prized stiletto from Whisper’s shoulder, the stiletto he had owned for the last five years. Using it, there would be nowhere in the Empire he could hide. The Scenters would find him eventually. It was also the reason that he had purchased the small pouch for the stones the day before yesterday, and only had the magestones in his possession since yesterday, just in case the rumors of cloth were not true. It's better to be careful than dead.
Hoyle sipped from his mug of still warm cider and looked up at Hicks. Her mouth ended with a small upturned sarcastic smile, her eyes alight with a merry twinkle. Even though she was his best friend, knowing Hoyle could be in trouble always put a smile on her face. Tossing her black hair over her shoulder and glancing around the mostly empty inn, she leaned in and whispered “What exactly did you do?”
Chapter 2
Celia walked down the dimly lit corridor swiftly, her long brown hair trailing behind her, her robe sweeping the floor with each step. She grasped her amulet in one hand, the quafa'shilaar glowing azure through the gaps in her fingers, a nervous habit she had picked up during her training. She had never quite felt good enough to be a Dar'Shilaar, even though she performed in the top half of her class.
It was possible that the theft had not yet been detected, as she had been the one to oversee this batch of quafa'shilaar - magestones to the common man, destined for the next class of Dar'Shilaar graduates. For some reason, this graduation ceremony was to be held in the Imperial Palace instead of Mahad'avor. Celia did not understand the breach of protocol, but it was obvious that some sort of politics was at work, and politics was not her area of expertise - far from it actually.
The unbound quafa'shilaar had arrived three days ago by courier via magegate from Sky Citadel Mahad'avor. She had placed them in the secure vault immediately, activating the wards, and casting a few of her own. And yet, within bells, they had been stolen. She had done everything within her power, yet it was all for naught.
Even if no one else at the embassy had discovered the theft, she had decided she must inform her mentor of ‘the incident’ as she was calling it to herself. Climbing the stairs to the top of the stone tower that housed the Dar'Shilaar embassy in Tala’ahar, the centre of Imperial power, Celia knocked on the rough oak door.
“
Come in,” came the female voice from inside the room.
Pushing the door, Celia stepped into the large round room and closed the door quietly behind her. Turning to face her mentor Zazaril, she surveyed the room. It served as the office of the senior Dar'Shilaar at the embassy, and was filled with simple, yet sturdy furniture. A wide oak desk and chair sat in the middle of the room, facing the door with two additional chairs on Celia’s side. A quill and ink bottle, a stuffed owl, and a small knife for opening letters rested on the top of the desk. Bookshelves filled with books, scrolls, and miscellaneous curios covered the walls between the four large, glass paned windows that faced the four cardinal directions. All the windows were covered with heavy curtains except the south-facing one where they were drawn back, letting in a sliver of the early morning sun. Celia could just make out the view to the boat masts of the harbor through the lightly frosted glass. The embassy’s felia'shilaar, a magemirror, a full length of mirrored glass in a large, ornately crafted, gold embossed frame with stand, stood beside the bookcase to Zazaril’s right. The three quafa'shilaar set in the frame glowing softly azure, vermillion and indigo, each individual combination of touches linking it to a different mirror elsewhere. A small winding oak stair wound its way up to Zazaril’s apartment at the top of the tower, the floor above.
Turning her attention back to her mentor Zazaril, who sat in her sturdy oak chair reading a letter, Celia cleared her throat quietly. Zazaril did not indicate that Celia was to sit in either of the two chairs on Celia’s side of the desk, so she remained standing. Celia studied her mentor, a woman she desperately wanted to emulate, to even be, in the future. Zazaril was so confident that it inspired yet terrified Celia. Her long, raven black hair to the middle of her back, her lithe figure with ample curves that she kept hidden behind a stylish Sarethan gown, the authority with which she presented herself; all caused Celia to feel plain and unworthy. Today the gown was black to match her hair, trimmed in some fur Celia didn’t recognize.
“Quafa'shilaar were stolen,” Zazaril looked up from the letter.
“Yes,” squeaked Celia, holding her amulet in her hand and twisting the cord, “two nights ago.”
“Why did you not bring it to my attention immediately?” her mentor demanded. Deep amber eyes bored into Celia’s.
“Because of the unique nature of this event, I cast a trace spell on the stones as soon as they arrived,” Celia straightened as she answered, slightly indignant. “I was... am planning on dealing with this myself, but needed to be excused from my duties in the embassy in order to do so. This was the first free moment I have had since I discovered the theft to discuss the matter with you.”
Zazaril stared at Celia for a long moment without speaking. “I am impressed by your forethought, but I have already taken care of the problem. We should have the stones back very shortly. You are dismissed.”
Celia’s mouth opened. She stared at Zazaril, who turned her attention back to the papers on her desk. What did she mean that she had already taken care of the problem?
“Please close the door behind you,” her mentor instructed.
Celia stalked out, and just barely stopped herself from slamming the door behind her. As she stormed down the winding stairs towards her room, she decided that her mentor’s answer didn’t satisfy her, and that she would take matters into her own hands. How did the thief get past her wards? Celia fumed. She was angry, at herself and the thief for shaming her in the eyes of her mentor. She also hated herself for the fact that she was intrigued.
---o---
Reaching her room in the two-storey annex at the back of the tower, Celia closed the door and packed some things into her small backpack. She looked around her small room, scanning for any other items she might need, but the room was only so big, with a single bed with a lumpy straw mattress resting just under the window, a small desk, and a wardrobe completing the furnishings. This room, along with the eleven others on this floor were meant as temporary living quarters for visiting Dar'Shilaar, so they had nothing in them but the bare necessities. She grabbed her cloak off the peg beside the door and looked at herself in the small mirror over the desk. Noticing her glowing amulet, and unsure how the general populace of Tala’ahar would react to a Dar'Shilaar walking unescorted through the city, she tucked it inside her robe.
Having only been in Tala’ahar for a month, she had not had a chance to venture more than two streets from the embassy tower. When she had left the embassy previously, she had been ‘escorted’ by one of the six city guardsmen stationed at the embassy. Based on what Celia observed, she was not sure that they were at the embassy only for the protection of the Dar' Shilaar. She decided to leave down the back stairs, past the kitchen and out into the alley running behind the annex.
She stepped carefully out of the back door into the thick snow that was slowly turning to muddy slush. She grasped her amulet through her robe and quietly chanted the words to activate her trace spell. Almost instantly she felt the slight pull in her head, indicating the rough direction, and based on strength, approximate distance, to the quafa'shilaar that had been in her care before they were stolen. Getting her bearings, and pulling her cloak about her for warmth, she set out toward the end of the alley. Once there, she nervously looked around the corner to the front of the embassy to see the two guards standing against the wall on either side of the front door. Celia stepped out from the mouth of the narrow alley, blending in with the crowd of the many other cloaked figures. There was a biting breeze that was coming in off the water of the bay. It was time to track the thief.
---o---
By early afternoon she found herself in the trade quarter of Tala’ahar, standing in Merchant’s Square studying a squat, square stone tower across from her. The quafa'shilaar were within, but she was at a loss on how to proceed. As it was, her stomach complained due to lack of food, distracting her from her ability to concentrate. Browsing among the stalls of the square, she paid a copper for a hot meat tart from one of the vendors and sat on the small fieldstone wall that surrounded the small, currently dry, fountain in the center of the circular plaza, to eat it. Finishing quickly, she returned to purchase another, and then sat facing the tower to observe while she slowly ate the second tart.
Based on the window spacing, the tower was three short stories tall, the battlements perched atop it were no more than seven or eight spans from the ground. The windows were barred on the outside, and none of the shutters were open to the early spring sun. She saw a large, closed wooden gate to the side, connecting the tower and what appeared to be a warehouse or stable of some kind, blocking access to the yard beyond. Turning her attention back to the front of the tower, she noticed a shield with a bull’s head crest hung above the door. She recalled this crest from her history lessons at Mahad’avor; it was the royal crest of Goralon.
It occurred to her suddenly that she could no longer feel the pulling sensation from her trace spell. That could only happen one of three ways: she had dispelled it willingly, her concentration was broken, or another more powerful caster had removed it or shielded it. She was pretty sure her hunger didn’t cause her enough distraction to lose the spell, so she went back and replayed events in her mind. No, it was cut off suddenly! Celia thought. That meant a more powerful caster was within the tower at this very moment.
Chapter 3
Hoyle sat in the late afternoon shadows on the third landing of the side stairs of a four storey building located on the edge of Merchant’s Square. He sat with his cloak pulled tight against the breeze that had not relented all day, watching the squat tower across the square with the Goralon emblem on the shield above the door. From his vantage point, he could see over the gate blocking access to the yard, and it appeared, based on the warehouses behind the tower, this was the Goralon merchant guild's headquarters in Tala’ahar. As it was late afternoon and the spring sun was setting, the merchants were packing up their stalls and wagons for the night, and proceeding home for the day. A few of the more qu
estionable food vendors hawked the items remaining from the day. The other more successful ones had sold out of food by mid-afternoon.
It had taken the better part of the day to track down the final destination of the carriage through his street contacts. He had been double-crossed by someone, or it had always been planned as a trap. Hoyle wasn’t sure which angered him more. He had to be here. The Silent Blades, the thief guild he belonged to, were expecting him to have their cut of the five thousand Imperial Marks by the end of the week, and they did not take kindly to being left out. His motto 'it's better to be careful than dead' screamed across his mind, but he had no choice but to ignore it. 'A roach caught between a boot and a rock' also crossed his mind.
His gaze swept the slowly emptying square. He noted a few other members of his guild working the remaining crowd, as well as a couple from the other guilds. The seven thieves’ guilds each had tried staking claims to a portion of Tala’ahar some twenty years ago, but that had gotten bloody enough that the Emperor was forced to step in and settle things. The three remaining thieves’ guilds were forced to maintain an uneasy truce so that business could continue in the shadows, even though Hoyle was sure someone at a high level was getting their share so the guilds would be left alone.
As his gaze continued to travel around the square, he again noticed the slender cloaked figure sitting on the fountain wall that had been there since he had arrived. The figure stood, took one step toward the same tower he was watching, stopped, and sat back down on the edge of the fountain. He studied the figure beneath the cloak and saw wisps of long brown hair escaping the confines of the hood. The woman stood up again a few minutes later, took a dozen steps forward, and then stopped. She whirled around to face the fountain, arms stiff at her sides, with her hands in a fist. She was saying something, and although Hoyle was very good at reading lips, the distance and lingering light made it impossible. As she turned again to face the tower, she bumped into a squat man with unkempt hair ambling past, and was almost knocked off her feet into the thick mud that was all that remained of the overnight snowfall.
Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) Page 2