Time of the Stonechosen (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 2)

by Thomas Quinn Miller

  “Why would that city be a potential source of a soulstone?” Finngyr said.

  “I chose it because the city was destroyed by Daomur himself. It is written he caused the ground beneath it to open and swallow the city whole. No other city drew his direct attention during the Great Purge.”

  Finngyr nodded. If there was another stonechosen there, then it would make sense that would be the city the boy would go to.

  'Now marked his chosen must gather, where once his progeny thrived' The old human cities.

  “As punishment for your poor decisions in the Cradle you are not going to be assigned to the Nordlah Plains. But, as Captain Danuk has called all able Knights to join him in the plains to confront those gathered tribes and deliver the Rites of Attrition on the barbarians, I still need someone to see what happened to Knight Justice Griff. You and two newly appointed knights are to travel to Dagbar's Freezone to discover what happened to your fellow knight.”

  “There were no messages sent by the runesmiths, sir?” Finngyr said. Something as important as a knight justice not returning would warrant using the runesmiths to communicate with the settlement.

  “Of course. A message was sent and a reply received. It said the Knight Justice arrived, performed the Rite and left. Nothing more.”

  “I assume no troops have been dispatched to the settlement?” Finngyr said.

  “Even if you were not in trouble with the council and I could convince them troops should accompany you, they would not be sent. Dagbar has powerful friends within the trade houses and on the Judge's Council itself. He does not like government troops in his settlement. He is an Allwynian and uses his own guards to protect the Freezone,” Gyldoon said.

  “An Allwynian? How can an Allwynian hold a position of Magister?” Finngyr said. Allwynians were dwarves who worshiped, Allwyn the All Mother. There was no law that said a dwarf must worship Daomur, but as the creator of the dwarven race and creator of their laws and basic tenets of life, almost all did. So much so, those very few who didn't were thought to be mad at a minimum. But they were never given positions of leadership or power.

  “As I said, he has powerful friends and his reach is long. Dagbar is not only a Magister, but an Ambassador to the Elves of the Deepwood. All exotic wares, medicines, logging, mining, sweet leaf and most importantly silverwood, pass through the Freezone.” Gyldoon said.

  “Oh, how the wealthy would tremble if their supplies of silverwood ran low. How else would they determine their status?” Gyldoon motioned dramatically, then looked ready to spit in disgust.

  Not even he would do such a thing in this sacred place.

  “At first, you must not upset Magister Dagbar. Do not presume to assume control of his guards, either. You are there on a diplomatic mission for the temple. Find out what happened to Knight Justice Griff and that is all,” Gyldoon said.

  “Then why the two additional knights, sir?”

  The Lord Knight Justice didn't appear bothered by his impertinence. “Don't be thick. Because you cannot be trusted on your own, of course. So says the Judges Council. Though, I have little doubt why some on the council so readily agreed to this as a satisfactory form of punishment for your transgressions.”

  Finngyr's confusion must have shown on his face because Gyldoon sighed and continued. “They think you will upset Magister Dagbar and give them all the reason they need to point to yet another decision I have failed in and remove the last vestiges of power I have in the say in the running of this city!”

  “We are of like minds and I am putting much trust in you. I would have liked to send others I trust with you, but all able Knight Justices are needed in the Nordlah Plains and I dare not risk drawing attention to your true purpose.”

  “So, two freshly raised squires have been chosen to accompany you, at the behest of the council. Pay heed, they are freshly raised and must not be allowed to hinder your true quest.”

  Finngyr could feel the weight behind those last words. He nodded.

  The Lord Knight's tone went icy. “If there is even a hint of a stonechosen there, you must do whatever it takes to bring it to me. Nothing is more important than that. Nothing. Do you understand?”

  “I will see it done,” Finngyr said, hurriedly taking a knee and bowing deeply.

  Gyldoon lifted Finngyr's head until their eyes met.

  “The Temple of Justice will once again take its rightful place at the head of the Empire. We will lead our people back onto Daomur's righteous path and remove the threat of the Fallen's progeny once and for all,” Gyldoon said.

  “His word is law,” Finngyr intoned.

  The griffon folded her wings tight against her body, pinning Kjar against the strap he was trying to tighten.

  “By the sun and stars, this one detests me,” Kjar said.

  He braced his gloved hands against the griffon's side and pushed, forcing the wing back.

  Finngyr sat impatiently on Safu watching. He had shown up at the stables before first light and had Safu in the paddock, saddled and ready for flight, when Horth and Kjar arrived with the first rays of light barely touching the freshly raked sand.

  “Put your riding gloves on after you have her saddled, Kjar, son of Kath,” Finngyr said. He enjoyed using the young knight's patron names. All dwarves used patron names until they had established themselves and their places in society. As newly dubbed knights, both Horth and Kjar no longer used their patron names, but Finngyr had learned what he could in the short time he had about his new companions, including their lineage.

  “She is only testing you, Kjar. Give her a good knee, that will teach her,” Horth said.

  Finngyr eyed the big lout. Horth had little trouble saddling his own griffon, using his immense strength to keep the creature in line. Finngyr had learned much about this one. Horth's father was a captain of the caravan guard for one of the wealthiest merchant families in Daomount. Horth's belt and riding gloves looked new and were bordered in elegant gilded designs. Finngyr had little doubt where Horth procured the additional funds for such extravagance.

  “I pray your male loses his bridle, Horth, son of Hornuk. I would wager he would have a lesson to teach you,” Finngyr said.

  It was the enchanted bridles, specifically the griffon's head harness, that kept the aggressive creatures affectionate towards their riders. Over time, if the knight treated the griffon with respect, the creature would form a natural bond to its rider. A knight never knew how long he might be in the field and there were not always artificers available to repair and enchant damaged gear. There was more than one tale of a knight being turned on by an unbridled mistreated griffon.

  Horth visibly seethed, but said nothing.

  At least he could hold his tongue when he should.

  Kjar removed his gloves and started in on the strap again. Safu screeched and scratched the sand with her front talons. She too was impatient to take to the air.

  Horth's male griffon ruffled its neck feathers and lifted its head in a show of dominance. Horth quickly tightened his grip on the rein and yanked back sharply.

  “There'll be none of that,” he said. The young male's long leonine tail lashed violently from side to side, but it obeyed its rider.

  “There, that sees it done,” Kjarl said. He climbed into the saddle and locked his riding buckle with a sharp click. He then donned his gloves and took up the reins.

  Finngyr knew he had much to answer for. But he wasn't sure the burden of these two was fair punishment.

  “Safu! Fly!” With that, Finngyr took to the air over Daomount, the other two knights following.

  7

  Aftermath

  Gaidel was tired of walking but knew she had to push on. Her legs ached with the effort of pulling them through the thigh deep water. They should have been resting by now, but she needed to put as much distance as possible between them and where they fought the swamp cats. What other troubles had the noise of battle attracted?

  She looked back at Riff. He was trudgin
g along stoically. He must have felt he was being watched because he looked up from his efforts and gave her a quick smile and a wink, even though the strain of keeping pace was plain on his face.

  She turned before he could see her face redden. How the man infuriated her. He had turned that fire of his on three of the swamp cats before the others finally broke off their attack. The smell of burnt hair still clung to her.

  She had entered the “dream song” and healed Riff's leg. There was no way he would have been able to continue on with such a wound, though under different circumstances she would have left him with a nice limp to teach him some humility.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do for Ghile.

  She was a druid and not being able to heal the Stonechosen troubled her more than she cared to admit. His limp form hung over Two Elks' shoulder. If the additional weight bothered her shieldwarden, he didn't show it. He cut a steady swath through the waters before her, sending out V-shaped ripples in his wake.

  Ghile's two valehounds waded along slightly ahead of Two Elks. They stayed close to Ghile since he fell unconscious. She searched him for any obvious injuries, but there were none. It must have something to do with the soulstones. Whatever the reason, he had not woken up, no matter what she tried. She only hoped he would snap out of it soon. If there was any more trouble in the Ghost Fens, they would need him.

  Far ahead in the distance, she could just make out the line of trees marking the end of the fens and the border of the Deepwood. The mist of the Ghost Fens was not as thick here, but unfortunately there was not much land either.

  They had ran out of the small groups of reed covered ground a few hours ago and been wading through the black waters ever since. The muddy bottom pulled at her boots. At least hers rose up to her thighs and were tied tightly. Riff had to remove his ankle high boots and complained bitterly whenever he stepped on something or felt something slither across his exposed feet.

  She didn't want to think what might be in the water. She just needed to get them into the Deepwood.

  She looked to the skies yet again, the action almost second nature since fleeing the Cradle. The mists were not as thick here as she would have liked. If a culler passed overhead now, they would be easily spotted. Fortunately, the skies were clear of anything larger than birds.

  The only good side of moving into the open water was Riff's constant complaining about the insects had tapered off. It seemed the biting insects that flourished in the fens kept near the pockets of land. Only dragonflies and water striders noted the group's passing.

  Gaidel looked over her arms and noted she had not been bitten once. If not for Riff's constant belly aching, she wouldn't have even noticed the insect's presence.

  Yet another blessing from the All Mother. One of the benefits of entering the Song. Patron Sister Bosand would have been quite perturbed with her novice forgetting something so fundamental.

  She had not seen the Patron Sister since she and Two Elks were bonded.

  The great fire that burned that night not so long ago warmed the front side of her body while the winds of the Nordlah Plains cooled her back. She stood next to Patron Sister Bosand.

  Sister Bosand wore that cynical expression she always wore when she observed something she didn't quite approve of. The graying strands that were normally visible in her otherwise dark hair were hidden by the bonfire's glow, giving her the appearance of someone much younger than her forty something years.

  As a patron sister, Bosand had taken Gaidel under her wing since the day Gaidel's foster father Orson approved of her joining the sisterhood at the summer festival almost two years before.

  Gaidel learned from Sister Bosand what it meant to be a druid. She instructed her in the ways of wood lore and healing. Most importantly, she taught Gaidel how to join the All Mother's Song, the true gift of the Druids. By slipping into a trancelike state, Gaidel could join the essence of herself with everything around her. In this state, she could, look back in time, and given enough practice, the future.

  In those two years since being inducted, this was the first time Patron Sister Bosand had left the Redwood. They traveled deep into its confines, only rarely coming close to the Cradle. But, they always stayed under its protective boughs.

  Even though the Patron Sister never said anything, it was obvious she was as uncomfortable as Gaidel to be among the barbarians who called the plains, with its rolling tundras and vast steppes, home. Every denizen of the Cradle was raised to fear the barbarians of the Nordlah Plains. The residents of the Redwood, which covered the Cradle's southern boundaries, more than most since the barbarians raided into the Redwood every spring thaw.

  Besides herself, Patron Sister Bosand, and her shieldwarden, there were only one other at the bonfire who was not a native of the Nordlah Plains and was the very person who requested their presence at this gathering, Mother Brambles.

  Mother Brambles sat alongside three other Mother Druids, all Nordlah barbarians, in the center of the gathering. The four sat in a line, legs crossed, with eyes closed and hands joined, lost in Allwyn's Song.

  Even though Mother Brambles stood out as much as the rest of them, she seemed completely at ease. Even her giant bear, Babe, was nowhere to be seen. Gaidel noted that the other three Mothers were also not protected by their totem animals. This was the first time Gaidel had seen Mother Brambles without her large protector.

  Here in the middle of a gathering of hundreds of barbarians, Gaidel could think of no better time for a protector. At least Rachard, Patron Sister Bosand's shieldwarden, was nearby. He glanced at Gaidel and gave her one of his reassuring winks. As old as the Patron Sister, Gaidel had come to look at him as a doting uncle. Where the Patron Sister was no nonsense, Shieldwarden Rachard was quick to find the humor in any situation.

  So here she stood, surrounded by tribes from throughout the Nordlah Plains. Hundreds of men and women, every one of them a warrior. She marveled at their great height and builds. Even the women looked formidable. The gathering reminded Gaidel of their summer festival in Lakeside. But where her people spent their days trading and celebrating, the barbarians spent them drinking and fighting. Gaidel was aware of no fewer than five deaths in the two days she had been here. The warrior's wounds too great even for Druidic healing.

  She turned away from the light and heat of the bonfire. She could no longer see the ruins of the city, but the outlines of its tallest buildings jutted out above the horizon, resembling jagged teeth.

  This was the closest Gaidel had ever been to one of the ancient cities of her kind. They were forbidden places. Dwarven law called for death to any humans found within their confines. But here, in the plains, the barbarians held them sacred. And though they did not live in them, needing to follow the great tusker herds for survival, they gathered near them for festivals and ceremonies.

  Some of the barbarians stood on what looked like the remains of giant dwarven statues. Three plainsmen had climbed on top of a nearby bearded stone head, its vacant eyes seeming to watch the ceremony with them. The ground around them was churned up. The stone dwarves looked different from the human ruins, newer. Gaidel wondered if they were placed to ward off the plainsmen. If so, it seemed to have little effect.

  “Daughter Gaidel, pay attention. The ceremony begins,” Sister Bosand said. She tapped Gaidel on the arm the way she always did when explaining something she felt important.

  “Took them long enough. My legs are starting to cramp,” she added, shifting her weight.

  Rachard laid a comforting hand on her side.

  Sister Bosand quickly swatted it away and whispered something harsh to her shieldwarden, that Gaidel couldn't hear.

  Rachard simply smiled and said nothing, staring ahead at the three plainsmen and one plainswoman entering the central clearing.

  They were even taller and more muscular than most of the barbarians, even the woman. Each of them had the long black hair and deeply tanned skin of their kind. The way they carried themsel
ves made Gaidel think they must be leaders or hold other positions of importance.

  Gaidel recognized a couple of them from the combats that occurred throughout the day. She was brought up in the Three Arrows tavern in Redwood Village, considered by many one of the toughest villages in the Cradle, but she had been horrified at the violence she witnessed today.

  The manhood test of her people might result in a few bruises and the occasional broken bone, but rarely was there a death. The feats of strength and combat she had been made to endure today could easily end in the death of one of the participants. Gaidel was at a loss to understand what they were fighting for, but the culmination lead to this ceremony.

  Patron Sister Bosand scolded her for asking too many questions, but Shieldwarden Rachard at least tried to explain things to her.

  “Now understand my grasp of their tongue is poor, Daughter Gaidel. Not much better than my understanding of their ways. But don't let'um fool ya. They may seem barbaric, but the Nordlah tribes have rules for everything. These contests are just their way of determining who from the gathered tribes will have the honor to take on some sacred test,” Rachard said, scratching his beard. “Near as I can tell, all the tribes have come together.”

  “I tried to find out more, but I nearly insulted the one I was talking to by just asking. The way I understand it, the ones who win all these tests will be allowed to enter the ruined city. Though, I don't know what for. Apparently to hunt for something or other that is sacred to them,” Rachard said.

  So at the end of a day of bloodshed, the four victors now stood before the line of Mother Druids. The song of the four mother's grew louder now that the victors arrived. The surrounding plainsmen began a low chant accompanied by the smack of fists into open palms. Gaidel wished she spoke their language so she could understand what they were chanting. Whatever it was, it was the same series of words over and over.

  One of the mother druids opened her eyes and rose from her seated position. Even from this distance, Gaidel could see the flow of the Song in them. Tiny dots of light, like shooting stars, flashed across her eyes.