Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Innes

  The Rak’soraa facing the magegate uttered a complex web of syllables in the language of magic and the magestones flared to life. The Rak’soraa raised a gloved hand and touched the stones in a series, each magestone flaring brightly as it was touched. Hoyle felt something pulling at him, draining his energy, and tried to brace against it. Brows grunted next to him, and even some of the Imperial soldiers seemed to be feeling what he was feeling, several gritting their teeth. As the center of the magegate wavered, like a swirling pond instantly stilling, showing a view of a dark courtyard like through clear glass, Hoyle felt himself physically drained.

  The Fear Squad gathered together and stepped through the magegate, looking like water rippling around their forms. Hoyle and Brows were ushered into the gate roughly, giving no time to comprehend that they were going to travel hundreds of spans in distance with one step. Hoyle tried to brace himself, but felt only as if a quick chill breeze passed over his body as he stepped down onto the flagstone courtyard of the Imperial Sky Citadel.

  ---o---

  Hoyle looked around him as they found themselves in a small courtyard, the magegate mounted in a covered alcove behind them, near the wall of a tall spire-like tower. They appeared to be near the center of the sky citadel. Hoyle could see the lights of towers high above, surrounding the citadel on all sides, with high walls running between.

  They were marched through a small gate in a wall to their right, finding themselves in a large courtyard facing the main fortress. Behind them the curved wall revealed itself to be the base of the central spire, the tallest tower at the center of the sky citadel. There appeared to be no entrance from this courtyard either. Lights glowed from sconces around the courtyard with evenness that no torch or candle could match, their light a cool white, casting shadows without flicker. It gave the scene an unearthly quality that ran a chill up Hoyle’s spine.

  As they were prodded across the courtyard, he noticed palace guards on the high walls, some moving, some motionless. Turning his head toward the front of the fortress, he could see why the Emperor did not fear to show them the way to him. That was assuming they were being taken to the Emperor in the first place. There were so many guards, gates and secrets you would need to know and bypass just to get this far. And they hadn’t made it through the doors ahead.

  These doors appeared made of iron, banded in some other shimmering metal Hoyle could not identify. Each door had mounted to it a sculpture of a different monstrous face made of the shimmering metal. Each face had two eyes that appeared to be ruby-coloured magestones glowing eerily. The faces were each set with a fanged grin. He would not want to meet the creatures they represented, if in fact they were real.

  Each Rak’soraa moved to one of the faces and placed one gloved hand inside their mouths. Hoyle had a suspicion as to what might happen, but he noticed Brows flinch as the mouths clamped shut on each of the Rak’soraa’ wrists. He wasn’t close enough to tell, but he was pretty sure the fangs bit into their wrists. The ruby eyes flared brightly, and then the doors creaked and then groaned as they swung open on their hinges.

  Inside, the doors opened to a short hall that ended at another, less ornate set of doors. Guarding the room was eight palace guards in their shiny plate and chain mail, blood red cloaks hanging down their backs, each wearing a sword and hand crossbow. They all stood at attention, polearms raised and eyes wary. They were huge. Hoyle was not short, but these guards dwarfed even Brows by a handspan or two. The closest one had muscular arms as thick as Hoyle’s legs. As the group moved forward, the guards stepped aside, opening the interior doors.

  Prodded from behind, they were ushered forward, immediately behind the Rak’soraa. Hoyle glanced at Brows from the corner of his eye, and saw the fury there, barely restrained. He wasn’t sure if the larger man would try anything stupid, but he could tell that he wanted to. They were led into a vast chamber that dwarfed anything Hoyle had ever been in. Arched stone columns and ribs soared overhead to meet at the roof at least ten spans high. A balcony ran down both sides of the room about a third of the way up. Large fireplaces along the walls battled with the sconces throwing light around the room, but won the battle in removing the chill from the air. There was no furniture in the room aside from the throne on the dais at the far end of the room. Many doors and doorways entered the room, each guarded by two palace guards. Hoyle made a mental note, ten entrances – twenty guards. Tapestries of many varied scenes covered the stone walls between the fireplaces.

  They were led to within three spans of the throne, and then they were roughly forced to kneel at the same time as the captain ordered “Kneel!”

  “You could have asked first,” Hoyle muttered under his breath quietly. His chains allowed for some movement in this position, but he kept his hands down near his thighs.

  Brows growled quietly beside him like some barely restrained hound.

  Suddenly the guards around the pair stiffened to attention. Soft footfalls came from one of the balcony doorways, and then were overpowered by the sound of the hard boots of the guards as they escorted the person along the balcony and down the stairs to the rear of the room. Hoyle watched as a middle-aged man in long flowing jade green robes, trimmed in gold, walked up the steps to the dais, touched the arm of the throne almost wistfully, and then stood beside it. His face was of a darker shade than the normal Imperial subject, with slightly tilted eyes and narrow cheekbones hidden behind a razor thin goatee.

  “Report please captain,” came the gravelly but calm voice. The man’s eyes flickered briefly over to the Rak’soraa and the Scaazi standing to the side, but returned quickly to the captain.

  “The raid in the Merchant’s Square was a success, capturing all of those within the building,” the captain began nervously, and continued quickly as one of the Rak’soraa stepped forward “except for two women who reportedly vanished into the shadows. One was fighting this brute until the Fear Squad arrived.” The captain pointed at Brows. The Rak’soraa stepped back to its previous position. Hoyle snuck a quick glance at the man on his knees beside him. Brows had dropped his head to cover his smile. He knew that Whisper had escaped.

  “Was anyone able to get to their magemirror?” A threat hung unspoken in the air.

  “No, your Honour. Not that we know of.” the captain clarified. Hoyle was confused by the title.

  “Good. Tell me of these two. The large one is obviously Goralonian by the black hair, overhanging brows, and mean disposition. The other man obviously has some Goralon blood in him, but more imperial blood, based on his features. I would guess that he hails from one of the Eastern Provinces.” The robed man paused.

  Hoyle was confused. Goralon blood? His mother had never mentioned anything about the father Hoyle had never known. Could his father have been Goralonian? He drowned out the next words as his thoughts drifted. His sisters had both been fair of skin and hair the same as their mother. He still had her features around the eyes, and cheek bones, but his darker hair set him apart. He had tried asking his mother about it one day, but she had distracted him with errands and chores, and he had forgotten that she had not answered his question.

  Something that was said brought him back to the present moment.

  “ – and this man was reportedly stunned on the floor when taken, just after the two women disappeared into the shadows.” finished the captain.

  “So let me summarize what you have told me captain, just so I can be clear when I report to the Emperor,” began the robed man as he strolled over to the taller Rak’soraa and had a quickly whispered conversation. Hoyle noted that the robed man never made eye contact with those glowing yellow eyes of the Rak'soraa. Walking behind the pair, and around the guards surrounding them, he continued, “A large man, fitting his description, was seen by witnesses leaving a scene of a disturbance this morning, though truly yesterday morning by now. He left in a dark carriage with a taller, thinner, older man, who is obviously not this man.” He gestured at Hoyle, having rounded the group and now
stood in front, one hand to his thin goatee, apparently thinking. “Within the back room of the domicile on the second floor, there was the body of whom the neighbors describe as the owner and shopkeeper of the shoppe below. Also found on the premises were: a single crossbow bolt and a magestone, carelessly dropped beneath the bed. A magestone I have been assured was one of the ones stolen from the Dar'Shilaar Embassy not two days prior. Is this correct so far?”

  “Other than the magestone being stolen, as you are far wiser than me your Honour, that would be correct,” replied the captain deferentially.

  Hoyle had wondered how the Fear Squad had been able to find them at the Merchant’s Guild, but if they had left the crossbow bolt in the bedpost, then that would have led the Scenter straight to the guild soldier, and thus the guild. The magestone was a surprise though. He would have thought that even in a hurry, they would have spent the time to collect them all. They were each worth a small fortune, unbound.

  “So, knowing that nine magestones were stolen two – no... three days ago, and we have recovered only one, that means the Goralonians still have eight. And you indicated that none were found within the Guild tower? If none were found in the tower, how do we truly know the Goralonians were even involved?” he asked rhetorically.

  Hoyle started. How did this man know how many magestones were stolen? Something bigger is going on... He thought he caught a small smile at the corner of Brows' mouth out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone when he looked closer.

  "Begging your pardon your Honor, but I don't understand the question," the captain stated.

  "Of course you don't Captain, I was merely thinking out loud." Tapping his finger to his lips thoughtfully, he continued, “So we surmise that this brute, or one of his compatriots,” he gestured this time to Brows, “had arranged to buy stolen magestones... Why then were you,” he looked Hoyle directly in the eye, “at the Guild tower, immobilized on the floor by some dark magic? I’m guessing that you had a run-in with another that managed to escape, hmmmm?” He turned and looked at the captain over his shoulder, who looked a little more than concerned.

  “We saw no other,” the captain whispered.

  “I’m certain.” He turned and walked back to stand by the throne, looking away from the pair. Hoyle noted that Brows had said nothing the whole time, though he was still growling softly. “It matters little; we will get the truth from you both eventually, especially what the Goralonians want with magestones. Take them to Robart. All should be revealed in no time.”

  “Yes, First Chancellor!” the captain saluted. The Palace Guards also saluted crisply before lifting the pair of them to their feet, and began to hustle them along to a fate that Hoyle suspected would not be pleasant. Probably far from it...

  Chapter 8

  The sun was hidden just beyond the horizon in the east, bleaching the sky to a lighter shade of dark, by the time Celia finally managed to find her way back to the embassy. As exhausted as she was, she forgot that the embassy was guarded at all times. She walked up the stairs, her thoughts elsewhere, and grabbed the handle to the door. A hand gripped her shoulder roughly.

  “What are you about miss? This is the Dar'Shilaar Embassy, and it doesn’t open until ninth bell” one of the guardsmen noted not too unkindly.

  She raised her face to the guard, who was not much taller than her. She saw recognition dawn in his eyes and he changed his tone, though Celia wasn’t sure if it was for the better. “You! What have you been up to?! You know full well that you are not to be out in the City without an escort, it can be dangerous!” he rebuked, “I am afraid this indiscretion will have to be reported.” To who, he did not say.

  People were now starting to be more numerous on the street, mostly merchants getting ready for the day. Some stopped to watch the confrontation with the guard. Celia was too tired to care.

  “If you please?” Celia asked quietly, gesturing to the door.

  The guardsman looked annoyed, but turned and unlocked the front door with the key on a heavy chain around his neck. She stepped through and heard the key in the lock behind her. The main petition chamber was relatively dark, compared to the lightening morning sky outside, with but a few candles flickering on the tables; tables that separated the petitioners from the wizard or wizards who would sit at them. In front of the tables was a low railing, to prevent people from getting too close. She saw a few clerks organizing papers, who looked up at her entrance, but then went back to work once she pulled her quafa'shilaar out from under her robe.

  As she moved through the railing and past the tables to the door at the rear of the room, she was intercepted by the head clerk. He stood in his standard rigid posture just enough in her way to make sure she would have to step around him if she wanted to ignore him, but not enough in the way to offend.

  “Yes, Wendinard?” Celia asked as politely as she could. She had debated whether to walk around him, but relented at the last minute. She could already feel her mattress under her back, and did not want to delay that reality.

  “Good morning, Celia Shilaar. I would like to inform you that Zazaril Shilaar had inquired as to your whereabouts yesterday afternoon, and was quite upset when you could not be found within the embassy. She implied that I was to inform you immediately upon your arrival that you were to attend her in her study.” He stated in his crisp, efficient manner. He looked her up and down without moving his head, and continued, “It is a shame that I missed you before you saw yourself to bed, and that I wouldn’t think to check on you in your quarters until at least the lunch bell.”

  Celia rested a hand on Wendinard’s arm as she passed him, “Thank you,” she stated quite thankfully.

  “For what exactly? I won’t be seeing you until the lunch bell,” he replied with a slight wink, still without moving his head an inch.

  Celia rested her hand on the door handle, and then her head against the door for a moment. Knowing that most of the other Dar'Shilaar would still be abed, she trudged carefully to her room on the second floor. She closed the door behind her and latched it quietly. Shedding most of her outdoor clothing, she climbed into her bed in just her underclothes, her lumpy straw mattress the most comfortable thing she could imagine.

  She was asleep the minute her head touched the equally lumpy pillow.

  ---o---

  Celia looked around her, her head foggy with sleep. Had she fallen asleep in class again? No, she was lying on the carpet in a dark hallway. She stood. She could see by some ethereal light coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. She could see dark shapes moving at the far end of the hallway, but they kept to the shadows that persisted there. She could hear a persistent sound coming from the stairway to the left. It sounded like claws on wood. She thought she could recognize it, it sounded familiar. She could feel the stirrings of fear. Looking around, she could only see one door, behind her at the other end of the long hallway.

  She started moving that way, hearing the sound get closer. She looked back over her shoulder and could see the grey-skinned scaazi following her down the hall, its knuckles dragging on the floor, its gills undulating, tasting the air. Two pairs of glowing yellow eyes followed in the encroaching darkness.

  Celia began running towards the door at the far end of the hall. She could hear the scaazi getting closer behind her. After a hundred steps, when it should have been ten, she finally reached the door breathless and pulled it open, rushing inside and slamming it behind her.

  She turned and stifled a scream! Standing with its back to her was a tall demon, wings tucked tight to his back, black and red skin oozing a viscous liquid. It was tearing into something on the altar in front of it. Glowing light came from behind the large shape.

  Stepping to the side, into a dark corner, Celia edged around the room with her back to the wall, trying to get a view in front of the large beast. The coppery smell of blood permeated the room. The beast lifted its arm, and a strip of something flexible and pale was laid over a spike on the altar, blood d
ripping to the floor. She finally edged far enough past the creature to see what it was doing.

  Lying on the altar was Hoyle, wide awake, mouth open trying to scream, but no noise came from his throat. The beast was tearing long strips of skin off his body, exposing his muscles beneath, draping the skin over the long spikes of the altar. Finally a long scream left Celia’s body, her fear and terror finally taking hold.

  Suddenly loud banging on the door caused Celia to jump. Inevitably, the creature turned slowly to face Celia. The demon had the face of the warlock that had attacked her and Hoyle last night, glowing magestone dripping with blood on a horrid spiked crown. The warlock’s eyes were glowing red, pulsing to match the magestone on his forehead. The demon reached a large, clawed hand towards Celia’s face, blood dripping from the long sharp nails. Loud banging from the door turned Celia that direction. Celia closed her eyes and screamed with all her heart and soul – and lurched awake.

  ---o---

  She was in her room, bright sunlight streamed past her curtains. Her covers were wrapped around her torso and legs, binding her in bed. She sat up, and tried to shake the images from her mind. She washed her hand over her face, coming away damp with sweat. A knock sounded from her door.

  “Just a moment,” answered Celia.

  “Are you okay Mistress?” inquired Wendinard in his crisp, efficient manner. “I heard screaming.”

  “Just a bad dream,” Celia responded as she untangled herself from her bedding, and donned her robe on her way to the door. Unlatching the door, she saw Wendinard’s concerned face staring back at her. Well really, it was just one raised eyebrow. It was the most emotion she had seen on Wendinard’s face in the short time she had been in the embassy.

  “It is twelve bells Mistress. I brought lunch,” he said as he presented a covered tray. “You should eat prior to visiting with Zazaril Shilaar.”