Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Innes

  “Zazaril would like to see you. Immediately, I might add,” the little blonde woman said with venom in her voice. Apparently, she still felt that it was Celia’s fault that the quafa'shilaar had been stolen.

  “Please let her know I will be there promptly,” she responded as politely as she could manage, head still full with sleep, and not enough of that. She closed her door, but Puralina’s foot blocked it. “Do you mind?” she asked, this time without any false politeness.

  “I was told to bring you immediately, so you are coming as you are.” The little woman stared up at Celia with a hatred she had only seen once before in her entire life. Puralina grabbed her wrist, and began to drag Celia out of her room. Celia began to panic, slapping at the other woman’s hand, leaning backward, her feet planted on the floor in her stockings.

  Her grip was like a vise, one Celia could not get to release. Puralina had managed to drag her a span or two down the hallway, before the commotion caused some of the dorm rooms to pop open. Two of Puralina’s fellow graduates, those without quafa'shilaar, came out first and began to laugh under their breath at the spectacle that was occurring. Theus came out in his deep red sleeping robe, confused or thoughtful Celia had trouble telling while being dragged.

  Finally she had enough. “Ravax!” she intoned waving her hand in a swirl through the air. Suddenly a big gust of wind gathered along the floor, rippling robes, swirled past Celia’s feet and coalesced around Puralina, lifting her from the floor, causing her to scream. She began to spin in the vortex, which, along with the surprise, caused her to release her grip on Celia’s wrist. Celia let her spin a span off the floor in the whirling vortex of air for a short while more. The vortex collected several loose parchment sheets, a hairbrush, a few old leaves and some dust clumps from under someone’s bed. As suddenly as it began, the vortex vanished as if nothing had happened, dropping Puralina a span to the hard stone floor along with the rest of the debris. Her scream ended with a grunt.

  Puralina looked up at her in abject horror. Her fellow graduates had stopped laughing and were staring incredulously at Celia. Theus was smiling behind the hand covering his mouth, trying to look serious.

  “Do not ever touch me again. Do you understand?” Celia directed at Puralina slowly, emphasizing each word carefully. She waited, glaring at the young woman, until she received a slight nod of the head in response. She returned to her room and slammed the door. She was not sure what or who she was madder at; Puralina for being insanely mad at her for something beyond her control; the situation itself; the fact that they couldn’t find Hoyle; the fact that she had let Puralina make her angry; or, the warlock who was apparently at the center of the whole mess. She paced back and forth in her room, trying to calm herself down. She had never gotten so angry before. How dare that woman!

  Finally she tried some calming breathing exercises taught to all students at Marah’ador in their first year. It was taught that only with calm serenity could you tap and harness the powers of the quafa'shilaar. Then they tested your ability to stay calm by putting you in stressful situations. She passed that class by a hair only. But in the hall, she was angry and it seemed to her that her magic was more powerful – she had never been able to lift a person off the floor with her Vortex spell prior to this. Something else to think on. By this time, her breathing had returned to normal, and she felt calmer.

  She got dressed and ran a brush through her long hair, trying to get the tangles removed, but failing. She was so tired after the run and the adrenalin of fear last night that she had pretty much passed out as soon as she was dressed for bed. And even getting changed had taken every dram of energy she had left. She certainly did not have the energy to run the brush through her hair the seventy-seven strokes she normally did each night. She gave up on her hair with a sigh, and twisted it up in a bun and clipped it in place. She did still have to go see Zazaril after all.

  Checking herself in the mirror, she gave herself a barely passing grade and made her way to towards the stairs to Zazaril’s study. She noted that the debris in the hallway had already been swept up by one of the serving maids. She passed Mindeela and Arandella separately on the way to Zazaril’s study; Mindeela giving her a pat on the arm and some polite words; Arandella just giving her a wide grin.

  She knocked on the door that she was beginning to dread coming to, even though Zazaril was supposed to be her mentor and Celia used to cherish their time together. She was invited in almost immediately.

  Zazaril was standing facing the full length magemirror to one side of her desk, the image of Endergot, the Head of the Council of Seven, fading from view. Zarzaril turned and faced Celia, walked the two paces to her desk and sat down, offering Celia to do the same. So this was not to be a reprimand session.

  “I am sending the graduates back to Mahad’avor after supper.” Zazaril began looking at Celia out of the corner of her eye. “It seems they are eager to get quafa'shilaar. Some more than others, apparently. It seems wiser for them to wait for the next batch in the safety of our sky citadel.” Celia was sure she was referring to the incident with Puralina.

  “Oh. Have The Seven given up on getting the stolen quafa'shilaar back?” Celia asked carefully.

  “No, still hoping, not really expecting, I believe." She paused for a short time. "About that, have you learned anything new about the stolen stones?” Zarzaril queried. She picked up the quill at the side of her blotter and began to fiddle with it.

  “Not so much more, no.” Celia started carefully, “why?”

  “Because, I have... changed my mind. I would like you to continue your investigation with any resources you need from the embassy. Or from me personally.” Zazaril hadn’t yet looked Celia in the eye once.

  Celia considered. Was that what Endergot was checking in on? He rarely called the embassy, and Celia was pretty certain that Zazaril enjoyed the autonomy that running the embassy gave her, so would not contact him often. Maybe only when there was a major political issue, or when the embassy needed something only Mahad’avor could provide. Like quafa'shilaar.

  “I do have one item I can think of that is of immediate urgency,” Celia paused.

  “Well what is it?” Zazaril finally asked after Celia had not continued.

  Celia told her. Zazaril stared at her with her mouth open – speechless.

  Chapter 13

  Hoyle awoke to someone shaking his shoulder. Sathran was standing beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. He had fallen asleep, even when he had no intention to, but even though it didn’t appear to have lasted long, it was the best sleep he had had since being brought up to the sky citadel – he was warm. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, and saw several pairs of black eyes peeking around the doorway, curious about him he guessed.

  “How long was I asleep?” Hoyle asked his rescuer. He pulled his boots back on.

  “Twelve bells,” Sathran responded.

  “Twelve bells?!” he said incredulously, “Wow, I must have been really tired...” he trailed off as he remembered that his last thoughts before bed were about trying to figure out a plan on how to get back to the city.

  “You must come,” the diminutive figure gestured to the doorway anxiously. Sathran started out the door, shooing away the curious onlookers. Hoyle wondered if they had been watching him sleep. He shivered slightly at the thought.

  “Where are we going?” Hoyle bumped his head as he tried to stand after pulling on his remaining boot. He stooped and chased after the quickly moving creature.

  “You must come,” Sathran said again, not stopping.

  “You said that already,” he replied, his anger rising a little. Why was this creature, whose life he had saved, and who had basically returned the favor, being so mysterious – or was it evasive?

  Sathran said no more as Hoyle followed him through the veklian warrens. Finally they reached a small chamber of normal height, and when Hoyle stood fully erect he found himself faced with two Palace guards. He turned his gaze on Sathran, feeli
ng betrayed.

  “Come with us,” one of the two towering, plate and chain armor covered guards ordered gesturing. They made no move to take his weapons, he noted. He was confused.

  “You go. Be well.” Sathran offered as the guards escorted him from the veklian portion of the sky citadel, closing the door behind him.

  Hoyle bade his time, waiting for his chance to make a break for it. He decided he had better assess his condition before being too hasty. His muscles were sore, but now warm. His joints ached, but moved better now that he had been out of the cell for many hours. The days of torture, followed by healing, followed by more torture had left his body and soul weary, but his resolve not to return to the cell was growing within. He would escape, or die trying.

  The Palace guards led him through the sky citadel, down a myriad of corridors, through doors and across various chambers until he was ultimately turned around. At this point, he would not be able to find the courtyard with the magegate at the center of the citadel, which was basically a circle of stone floating in the sky surrounded by tall walls and taller towers.

  Finally they exited the building into a courtyard through a small wooden door. The sunlight seared his eyes, and he had to stop for a minute or two to let them adjust. Hoyle recognized the location from the night he was brought here. They were in the main courtyard. They had entered the courtyard from a side door, but he could see the door to the throne room ahead and to the left, the archway to the magegate slightly closer on the right. Beyond those, other wooden doors entered various buildings and covered walkways that Hoyle could hardly guess the function.

  As they passed the archway, their destination apparent to him as the open doors to the throne room, Hoyle made a dash for it. His guards cried out, ordering him to stop, but he was not going back to his cell. He could hear them chasing him, calling for others to help. Hoyle raced for the archway, and the open arch, through which a Palace guard was coming. The guard stood and planted himself blocking the way, his mace now in his hand.

  Hoyle used the guard’s towering height to his own advantage, and dropped to his knees, sliding between the large man’s planted legs. He leapt up, his muscles screaming with exhaustion, but responding to years of training, and propelled himself through the arch. As he fled through, he grabbed the left side of the opening turning his direction and momentum to the left, and towards the room the magegate resided.

  Suddenly he felt himself falling, a spear shaft stuck between his legs from an unseen guard. He managed to break his fall with his arms, but the breath was knocked from him. He rolled over, shading his eyes with his arm to see another large guard standing over him smirking. He was holding his spear at ease as the other three guards approached from behind.

  “You found him. Where?” the spear wielder inquired.

  “In the Warrens. Robart suggested we look there,” said one of Hoyle’s escorts.

  “You’re to go before the Emperor himself,” the second escort directed at Hoyle. “He wouldn’t look kindly at us if we let you escape before that happened.” He didn’t sound as angry as Hoyle expected he should be.

  He threw on his best grin, as difficult as it now was to smile, and offered, “Well, it was worth a try.” He brushed himself off the best he could, hiding his confusion at the exchange. “Lead on,” he directed at his escorts – now numbering four – two in front, two behind.

  They returned to the main courtyard and passed through the large iron doors with the shimmering metal faces. The guards ahead opened the second set of doors into the large audience chamber to which Hoyle was brought when he first arrived. He noted that there were several dozen people kneeling with their heads down on either side of a wide aisle that led directly to the throne.

  Hoyle looked to the end of the aisle and the group of people clustered there. A handful of people knelt at the foot of the throne heads down, several paces back. Four Palace guards stood at immediate attention at four corners around the group. But what Hoyle’s eye was drawn to most of all was the figure seated on the throne. Another person was kneeling erect beside the throne.

  He recognized the First Chancellor from that night, kneeling beside the throne, this time in a shimmering purple robe. It looked like Valkiir silk to Hoyle, but it was only a guess. A gold sash crossed it from right shoulder to left hip, and he was also wearing a simple skull cap of the same gold material. However briefly he drew Hoyle’s eye, his gaze riveted on the figure on the throne.

  Emperor Randramas Kastrum, having ruled now for the last eighty-nine years sat on the throne, back straight, piercing eyes locked onto his own, did not look more than thirty years old. His shaved head was covered with tattoos, one of which wrapped around his left eye in a stylized wing. He had several piercings, including his right eyebrow, his left nostril, and many in each ear. A small gold chain ran from the ring in his left nostril to one in his left ear. Many of the earrings sported chips of magestone, and glowed with inner light. He wore shimmering robes of deep red, similar to the priests of Benraw, the Twin. It was belted at the waist with a golden rope, the ends hanging beside his knees.

  Hoyle was led up beside the other group of what appeared to be four women, and made to kneel. Two of the women had black hair, one blonde and the fourth brown. He could not make out much else, as they all had their heads bowed in supplication, or obedience at least. He tried sneaking a glance to the side, but the woman’s brown hair concealed her face.

  “You are Hoyle?” The voice came from the First Chancellor, not the Emperor, as he had expected.

  “Yes, Eminence.” He directed towards the Emperor, still with his head down.

  “It seems these four women here,” he paused such that Hoyle assumed he was gesturing to the women beside him, even though everyone in the audience chamber had their heads lowered, “have vouched for your honor.”

  He turned his head to look out of the corner of his eye, and saw Celia’s face appear briefly from behind her brown hair. She was smiling with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. He turned his head back forward, lifting it ever so slightly, such that he was able to see the First Chancellor out of the top of his peripheral vision.

  “They have indicated that you were caught up in the raid on the Goralon Merchants' Guild by mistake, and were there on business completely unrelated to the reason of the raid.” Again he paused, “However, the Throne is not convinced.”

  At that statement, Hoyle looked up at the First Chancellor shocked. He heard gasps from the women to his right, and saw Celia cover her mouth with her hand, and another down the line put one foot under her before being knocked forward onto her stomach with a grunt. Hoyle noticed that the guards who had escorted him had arranged themselves immediately behind the group. He looked over and did a double-take. He had never seen Salrissa in a flowery dress with a bow in her hair before. The effect was even more out of place, with her laying face down on the floor.

  At this point, none of the group had their eyes down; all of them were watching the First Chancellor as he gestured behind him. Celia immediately began to shiver and whimper, clutching her amulet and huddling in on herself beside him. Hoyle watched as a Fear Squad walked up past the First Chancellor and approached the group. He was pretty sure it was the same squad that participated in the raid. The grey-skinned scaazi led by the two Rak’soraa, whose glowing eyes passed over the group with what looked like hunger.

  The scazzi Scenter sniffed each of the women with his multi-slit snout, his clawed knuckles dragging on the stone floor, vacant eyes staring at all. The Rak’soraa watched the scaazi intently, as it paused briefly at Celia and Salrissa.

  In a dry, raspy voice the taller Rak’soraa intoned, “These two women were in the guild also on the same night. Somehow they fled capture. One is not as she seems.” He drew out the ‘s’ in each of the words. Hoyle imagined that might be what a snake might sound like if they could talk.

  “Your Eminence, may I speak?” spoke a voice he did not know, from the woman at the far end of the
row. She was small, with long black hair to the middle of her back, and could see an amber magestone on a brooch of some kind pinned to her stylish gown. She looked at the First Chancellor with slight annoyance, to which he shook his head slightly. What was that about?

  The Emperor’s gesture was non-committal, seemingly disinterested in the proceedings. Apparently it was some signal to allow her to speak. The First Chancellor nodded his head at the woman.

  “It may be better if this conversation was limited to only those involved in the incident, Your Eminence,” the woman proposed carefully. The First Chancellor seemed shocked, and the Emperor looked directly at the woman. The woman backtracked quickly, “What I meant to say, rather, was that it may be better for the security of the Empire if this conversation were private.” The woman had gone several shades lighter during her clarification, though he had to give her credit for not stammering – much.

  The Emperor stood in front of the throne and made a gesture. The guards spent several minutes clearing out the nobles who most assuredly did not want to leave, and tried to linger as long as possible, hoping to overhear a tidbit or two. Some were indignant more for show than because they had the power to do anything about it, but they did leave. At another gesture from the Emperor, the guards closed the massive doors leading from the audience chamber.

  Hoyle was now locked into the giant hall with only four women, one he did not know – he had determined the fourth was Hicks during the commotion of clearing the hall. The remaining people in the hall were the Rak’soraa and scazzi Fear Squad; a large number of the Palace Guard; the First Chancellor; and the Emperor himself. He did not like where this was headed.

  “You have my complete attention.” The voice of the Emperor was quiet, yet strong and powerful. His grey eyes bored into the small woman. Hoyle could tell he was trained in some sort of combat, as his stance was ready, even while looking innocuous.