Time of the Stonechosen (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 2)

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Time of the Stonechosen (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 2) Page 6

by Thomas Quinn Miller


  Far below, it looked like Muk was starting to get angry. He was hopping again. Ghile thought about being back in his own body and he was instantly there.

  He was disoriented, tired and extremely hungry. The sound of Muk's croaking flooded into his ears. Ghile shook his head, trying to clear it.

  “You hear me?” Muk said.

  “Yes, Muk. I hear you now. I entered one of the swallows. I was flying,” Ghile said.

  “I didn't say do that. You need listen, not go jumping in animals. That what hurt you before,” Muk said. His voice had gone even higher.

  At least he had stopped hopping up and down, Ghile thought.

  Luckily Adon stepped up and took control of the conversation. “Ghile. You now have the power of two of the soulstones. You need to work on combining their powers as well as mastering each one individually.”

  Adon reached into his pouch and pulled out a stone. Ghile recognized it as one of the stones from the shore. Adon searched the trees and then pointed at one.

  “There, Ghile. See that swallow there on that lower branch?”

  Ghile squinted, but could make out the small blue swallow. He nodded.

  “I'm going to hurl this stone at it. Use your force shield and protect it,” Adon said.

  With that Adon tossed the stone forward and it streaked off towards the unexpecting sparrow.

  Ghile started to say he was not ready when Adon released the stone. But, there was nothing for it. Ghile reached out with his mind. He felt his consciousness streak towards the swallow. He focused on the image of the shield spreading out before him as his mind entered the swallow. He felt the impact of the stone as the shield deflected it. The force of the blow threw him off the branch, but he spread his wings and turned the plummet into a swooping dive. Ghile willed himself back into his body and opened his eyes.

  “What is with you two and trying to kill those poor birds?” Ghile said.

  “That was well done, Ghile” Adon said, apparently choosing to ignore Ghile's question.

  Muk turned and began walking towards one of the many trails that led from the clearing surrounding the Oak.

  “Come, we find something bigger to work with,” Muk said.

  5

  The Book of Hjurl

  Finngyr squeezed the bridge of his broad nose to try and ease his headache. He had spent too many hours staring at these tablets. There were just enough glowstones spread out among the ancient stone tablets to keep him from tripping over one, but not enough to allow for reading. No outside light made it this far into the Ritualist's temple and he had to make due with their feeble light and the resulting headache.

  Were the Ritualist's bats? If Daomur gifted them with the ability to enchant the heavy head-sized circular glowstones to produce light, why couldn't the priests make the effort to have them give off a little more illumination? He wished, not for the first time, open flames were not forbidden near the tablets. What he wouldn't give for a lantern, or some reading candles.

  He straightened and knuckled his lower back. His muscles ached in protest, but he ignored them until he felt a satisfying crack. The stone wall behind him was joined with an outer wall. The room was tall enough to allow for a few arched windows evenly placed to let in more light. Surely the Ritualists could contract one of the journeymen from the Temple of Art to perform such work. The Artisans were always looking for something to chisel on.

  If it wasn't for the headache he would be fine with the dim light. It fit his mood. He had spent too much time in the Temple of Law over the last few weeks poring over these tablets. Finngyr was a dwarf of action and all this time waiting and studying went against his base nature.

  After his meeting with Captain Danuk, Finngyr thought he would have a short wait before being disciplined for his decisions in the Cradle of the Gods. He hurried here, to the Temple of Law, as soon as his duties allowed, to study this portion of the Book of Hjurl concerning the Prophecies, thinking he had little time before he would be summoned to receive his fate.

  All twenty seven tablets filling this small antechamber were etched with the Prophecies of Hjurl. He had read over them to find any clue to where the human vessel would go. As the days wore on and no summons came, he continued to return here and study.

  After the first few days he sought another meeting with Captain Danuk to no avail. It seemed the captain was too busy with the goings-on in the plains to grant him another audience. Finngyr was tempted to storm into his office after the first week, but knew protocol dictated he follow proper channels to request an audience with a superior in the order.

  Damn their bones. Didn't they understand there was a vessel of the Hungering God roaming loose out there? Why was he still here?

  His earlier wanderings further out into the Temple District had not gone well. The district was always filled with priests and politicians debating this law or that edict. He had no patience for their constant blathering or their impertinent stares. It seemed the tales of his deeds spread quickly. More than once he heard his name spoken while passing a cluster of his brethren.

  He confronted one group of adepts from the Temple of Law when he overheard one of them questioning, in a whisper meant to be heard, why the Knight Justice was not already supervising human prisoners in the Underways, an insult of the highest order.

  As if he would perform a job for the lowest of commoners who were not even true citizens of the empire. He was a member of the church and a full citizen.

  Finngyr's jaw tightened, only agitating his headache. If only he could have set those Adepts straight. The silent smirks they gave him when he demanded they repeat what they said still set his blood boiling. Of course, he could do nothing and had not ventured forth into the district since. He was already in enough trouble without adding a public display of emotion on top of things, like some beardling who had forgotten his teachings.

  All dwarves learned from an early age that emotions only clouded thoughts. Daomur's laws called for a clear mind. The open expression of emotion was considered rude behavior, at best. When was the last time his thoughts were clear of anger? Even now it seeped into his thoughts, wearing away at his resolve. Finngyr crossed his arms as if he could crush the unwanted emotion from inside him with sheer strength.

  “His word is meant to be considered with a clear mind, Knight Justice,” a voice said.

  Finngyr relaxed his grip, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

  “I did not hear you enter, Priest Eriver,” Finngyr said without opening his eyes.

  The old priest harrumphed.

  Other than himself, the wizened priest was the only other visitor to this part of the temple Finngyr had seen. He wondered why the priest even came down here. He never consulted the tablets concerning the Prophecies. Was he purely checking up on him?

  “Still with us, I see?”

  Finngyr grunted and pretended to return to his inspection of the tablet in front of him. Brother Eriver began all of their conversations with that statement. If they could be considered conversations. They consisted of the old dwarf talking at Finngyr and Finngyr trying to ignore him until the priest grew bored and wandered off.

  “Always you Knight Justices and the Prophecies!” Priest Eriver said. “As if they were the only tablets ever chiseled.”

  Finngyr continued to stare at the etchings. This portion of the Prophecies was a series of fragmented thoughts concerning Daomur and dreams. At least they were complete sentences. Most of the prophecies were cryptic chants.

  “You know, Hjurl, bless his name, didn't even carve these tablets?” Priest Eriver went on. The priest hobbled over to stand next to Finngyr and waited to see if the Knight Justice would answer this time.

  Finngyr knew it wouldn't matter whether he did or didn't. He looked to the older dwarf and waited.

  The priest's bald pate was wrinkled with age and mostly occupied by a large brown birthmark. It made Finngyr think of spilled gravy and that reminded him he'd not eaten since
early morning. What gray streaked hair remained was wrapped around his head like an old ferret trained to hold up his wispy beard.

  “It was his sons who took up the hammer and chisel when we was too feeble to continue the work on his own.”

  Finngyr heard all this before. To hear them again was bad enough, but with his headache, each word felt like an artificer's hammer chipping away on the inside of his skull.

  “It is too dark in here,” Finngyr said, trying to change the subject.

  “You need spectacles. I have told you this before. You're as stubborn as stone.”

  Brother Eriver had told him this before and the old dwarf's gall still annoyed him. The Lawgivers were a blunt sect. There were few things as direct as a Lawgivers tongue. Normally Finngyr would have appreciated such directness. But, not when it was at his expense.

  “There is plenty of light in the chambers holding the other tablets of the Book, priest. You Lawgivers only care for your dry laws.”

  It was the headache. He wouldn't have taken the bait and referred to the sect with the derogatory name if not for the headache. The Temple of the Ritualists were responsible for overseeing ceremonies and law. It was true they worked closely with the civil government.

  Largest of the three temples they also were the keepers of the Book of Hjurl. Their secondary role was to interpret the laws of society derived from the Book. To refer to them as Lawgivers was to imply they did not interpret Daomur's words, but dictate them.

  Finngyr could see the veins in the old priest's head swell and one of his eyes squeezed tight from the pressure building beneath the surface. Finngyr could see the priest regaining his composure after a few seconds and knew the energy was going to be directed into a reproof that, when it came, burst forth like a river over its damn

  “Lawgivers? Dry laws? Hjurl, bless his name, was the first dwarf. Daomur chiseled him from stone and took a small piece of himself and placed it into the Hjurl's chest to give him life and you consider the discussions those two had, the discussions etched into those tablets out there 'dry laws'? Those first days spent discussing life and existence? What it means to be a dwarf? How our creator meant us to live a life which would honor him? Dry laws indeed!” The priest waved his hand to take in the whole chamber. “These tablets you have spent so much time studying were carved near the end of his life. When Hjurl was decrepit and too old to even hold the hammer and chisel. Ramblings near the end of his life, ramblings of many things.”

  “Prophecies,” Finngyr corrected when Eriver stopped to draw breath. Finngyr was not one to back down. He had spent weeks pouring over these particular tablets. The Temple of Justice was largely founded on the Prophecies. He could not conceal the exasperation from his voice. “This portion of the Book of Hjurl is known as The Prophecies, Priest.”

  “So, the student instructs the teacher, then?” Eriver began tapping his sandaled foot against the stone. The sound echoed in Finngyr's ears and played on his headache.

  “This portion of The Prophecies speak of the mad god, his imprisonment, escape and retribution. The Prophecy of the Vessels,” Priest Eriver recited.

  “Exactly,” Finngyr said.

  The priest stopped tapping and held a gnarled finger up like a sprung trap. “Did you know it is written in those dry old laws, as you call them, that Hjurl, bless his name, spent the last years of his long life lost in a half conscious state? It was his ramblings during that time which fill these tablets.”

  Finngyr's head throbbed with each pulse of his heart. His headache had grabbed the priest's words and slammed them down onto Finngyr's head, mocked all the time he had spent here these past weeks, searching for answers.

  “The Time of the Stonechosen has come, priest.” Finngyr pronounced each word slowly, letting them seethe out of him. He stared hard at the old dwarf.

  Brother Eriver stared back, one eye still wrinkled in consternation. “Oh, you Justices would like that wouldn't you? The Time of the Stonechosen. The Soulstone Prophecies fulfilled. Where are these stonechosen, these vessels occupied by the Hungerer himself to facilitate his second coming?”

  Finngyr tightened his hand on empty air where he wished his hammer to be. The Knight Captain Danuk took Finngyr's report, which Finngyr later dictated to an acolyte of the Temple of Law to be transcribed to the Knight's Council. The Knight Captain said he hoped this would shed some light on the strange occurrences in the Nordlah Plains and help determine if the Time of the Stonechosen had arrived. Then nothing.

  “Always you Justices with your warnings and predictions. Is that how you justify your actions in the Cradle of the Gods, Knight Justice Finngyr? Hmm? Caused an uprising. All those lost profits. Why hasn't the Lord Knight Justice brought this news before the High Council? All I have heard discussed in the High Council was what was to be done about you.”

  The old priest blinked at him and waited.

  I had him and I lost him.

  Finngyr's headache and anger were gone, drowned in thick heavy remorse.

  Eriver must have seen Finngyr's thoughts reflected on his face because the old priest's features softened.

  “I am an old dwarf and rise too quickly to a lively debate. Do not let my words affect you, so. Our sects have always quarrelled so, Knight Justice.” He waved his hands as if they would clear away everything that had just transpired.

  Ghile Stonechosen had been before him and Finngyr had let him escape. The sole reason for his existence was to protect his people, prevent the return of the Hungerer by culling those humans who could be his vessel and he had failed. A Stonechosen was out there somewhere on Allwyn, growing in power because of him and his inadequacies. He had let himself be duped into giving up the hunt by coin mongers and now it was coin mongers who were going to decide his fate. Not realizing they were condemning themselves, all of Allwyn, by condemning him. And now on top of everything, this old priest pitied him.

  “His word is law, Priest Eriver,” Finngyr finally said.

  He walked from the chamber, his thoughts weighing heavily on him. He left the priest there alone, staring after him in the meager light of the glowstones.

  6

  Plans within Plans

  Finngyr tucked his shoulder and rolled with the blow. It was a good strike, he had to give the beardling that. Had he stood his ground, it would have broken bone. As it was, the quick reaction resulted in some pain and maybe a healthy bruise come the evening.

  The sand covering the ground of the temple's training arena cushioned the roll and Finngyr was back on his feet a good defensive distance from both of his adversaries.

  The two young dwarves were in the training rings when he arrived. He came early in hopes of having the place to himself. Finngyr did not care for the Master of Arms and knew he didn't usually arrive until well after breaking fast. He needed to work out his frustrations and the laziness that crept into his bones since his return to Daomount. But these two were already here, going through their fighting forms.

  They were young, barely more than squires. But the one with the thick red hair, Horth was his name, more than made up for his youth with sheer girth. He was the one who almost landed the bone-crushing blow that sent Finngyr diving.

  The other, Kjar was his name, was dark haired and lean. He had the perpetual squint of the dwarves from Orehome, the southernmost mountain city of the empire. The biggest thing about him was his nose. Its deformed shape suggested it had been broken more than once. Not even the thick mustache he grew diminished its size. Finngyr intended to add an additional break to that number this morning.

  The two circled to either side of him, trying to flank him and divide his attention. He shuffled back and to the side, keeping them in view. He shifted his grip on the practice hammer. It was lighter than his own, even with the stone weight placed in its center. But the balance and size were right enough for training.

  Sweat streaked Horth's face. He wasn't use to long drawn out battles. Finngyr could tell he liked to use his size and strength to
end fights quickly. Kjar, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to shift from one defensive stance to the other, squinting all the while over that melon of a nose, biding his time. He was a planner. But, would he hesitate when the time came to strike?

  Finngyr, brought his handle up and forward, turning the weapon's head down past his body in a reverse, upward swing. He couldn't put much strength behind the move, but it was meant more as a distraction. He shifted forward towards Kjar, who reacted quickly enough to avoid the blow, sliding to the side.

  Finngyr carried the swing up and over, turning his body as he went, he brought the swing all the way around and behind him, continuing the momentum. He turned his body, redirecting the swing into a horizontal arc, right into the incoming Horth. The large dwarf had seized the opportunity to launch a strike at Finngyr's exposed back when he thought the attack was focused on his companion. Just as Finngyr knew he would. Finngyr's hammer caught him solidly in the thigh, sending Horth's strike wide. The large dwarf tumbled to the sand.

  Finngyr just had enough time to recover before Kjar struck like a viper, combining blows from both the business end and the tip of the hammer's handle. Finngyr was caught off guard at first. He expected the attack, but was not accustomed to this fighting style. It must be yet another thing the young dwarf brought north along with that squint. It was all Finngyr could do to keep his hammer before him, using both hands to block the flurry of blows. The clack of wood echoed off the circular stone walls.

  Unfortunately for Kjar his blows fell into a rhythm Finngyr detected and when the next strike came, Finngyr let it slide along the shaft of his hammer instead of taking the hit squarely. Finngyr lunged forward, sending the end of his hammer's shaft square into Kjar's nose with a satisfying crack.

  The young dwarf's forward momentum halted as he stumbled to the side blinking. Blood already flowed down into his thick mustache, followed by a string of curses that would have made a dock hand proud.

 

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