Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1)

by Nicholas Andrews

  However, Maerlos stroked his beard in thought. “Do not be too hasty to discount your lineage, Nerris. I do believe Jhareth has found a way to acquire what he desires without asking me to break my word as a Klaidon.”

  “I thought that tied it up neatly, myself,” Jhareth said, grinning.

  “Very well,” Maerlos said. “I will lend you the Stonechaser Prophecy, for all the good that lot of gibberish will do you.” He stood. “But for now, we celebrate. We have been planning this feast since Enric’s outrider reached us with the news of your reunion. Tonight, we will make merry, toast to the fallen, and pray for the absent. Best make ready.”

  The Thrillseekers and Len-Ahl stood and bowed to the king and he dismissed them. Tarlan escorted them to their chambers, winding through the depths of Faerlin Castle. Dist and Jhareth batted around leads on translating the prophecy, but Nerris pondered what the king had said. There could only be trouble afoot if Maerlos was at odds with the Church of Clystam, and the people were taking sides. He had been relieved to come home after carving his way through war torn Yagolhan, but more and more it seemed the peaceful home of his childhood was not so tranquil after all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WHILE PREPARING FOR the banquet later that evening, Nerris was graced with a visit from someone he had not seen in years. As he looked himself over in the mirror, making sure the good clothing he had been given was not wrinkled, a knock sounded on the door of his chambers. A good-looking youth with short brown hair entered, dressed in a purple tunic identifying him as a knight.

  Nerris grinned and clasped hands with the young man. “Cousin,” he said, “I was wondering when I would see your face.”

  “I’ve been away,” Sir Astoren Palada replied. “I got back to the city today.” Astoren was the son of Nerris’s uncle Tettias and heir to the castle of Brookbel back in the Great Oak Forest. He had squired at court, however, and still lived in Faerlin.

  “You’re looking well,” Nerris told him. “Last time I saw you, you were squiring under Sir Caros. It seems you’ve changed your raiment since then.”

  Astoren presented his tunic. “What can I say? It wasn’t easy, but I fooled them into giving me a knighthood.”

  On their way to the banquet hall, they reminisced about the days when the Thrillseekers first appeared at court. Nerris had known nothing about his connection to the nobility back then, and Astoren was the first family he had ever met, aside from his mother. Though separated a good five years, they developed a fond rapport, and Nerris was glad to see his cousin.

  “What was so important you almost missed our triumphant return?” Nerris asked.

  Astoren stopped in his tracks and lost his smile at once. He beckoned Nerris into the shadows. “Truthfully?”

  Nerris nodded. He had meant his question in jest, but Astoren looked almost afraid to speak.

  “Strange things have been happening,” he whispered. “I trust you heard about the queen’s death? And maybe about the Church’s part in it? Well, there was a connection, but the Dominarch had nothing to do with it. Prince Camion asked me to help escort him to Renoa, to be under the protection of his mother’s family. He feared those responsible would come after him next in a further attempt to goad King Maerlos into moving against the Church of Clystam.”

  “Who would want to put the king at odds with the Church?”

  Astoren glanced in the direction of the banquet hall. “You’ll meet him soon. The prince’s information points to the new prime minister, Congir.”

  “Congir?” Nerris asked. “I admit I’m not familiar with recent Faerlin politics, but what happened to Lord Bower?”

  “Back in Ladstone, relieved of his duties,” Astoren said, “shortly after Congir arrived at court.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Nobody is sure,” Astoren said. “King Maerlos has always allowed certain commoners on his council, better to keep in touch with the needs of the people. Congir was supposedly leader of the city’s smithy guild, but he has talked little of forges or metalwork since being appointed. I, and others, believe this to be a front. He’s been ingratiating himself with King Maerlos since his first day.”

  “Really?” Nerris asked. “Then let us adjourn to the banquet. I’m eager to meet this Congir for myself and take his measure.”

  The nobles who permeated the banquet hall wore their best clothes, showing off their individual opulence under the mellow light of many candelabras. Musicians playing various stringed instruments occupied a dais on the east side of the room, with the king’s table to the north. The hall filled with the sound of spirited conversation. Upon his entrance, two trumpeters standing on either side of the door blew a single note.

  “Presenting Sir Astoren Palada of Brookbel, and Nerris Palada of the Thrillseekers,” a nearby herald called.

  Most in the hall went silent and stared at him as they entered. A few men standing close bowed with respect, and others approached him to clasp hands. Nerris caught the eye of King Maerlos at his table, who raised his wine glass in salute. Nerris acknowledged him with a nod. A fierce-looking man with a white beard and broad shoulders sat beside the king. He eyed Nerris as well, but made no move to welcome him.

  “That’s Congir,” Astoren muttered. “He’s not the sort you would call warm.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Nerris took a closer look at the man. He was of an age with the king, and with his broad shoulders looked like he could be a blacksmith as he claimed. But was he trying to frame the Church for murder? Nerris had been at court before and been privy to all sorts of conspiracy theories. He knew he could not take them at face value, but this one was a bit more serious than the usual petty accusation.

  Nerris scanned the room, searching out his friends, but the approach of a young man in a blue doublet interrupted him. Ceder Duchois was fair-faced, his tawny hair parted down the middle with bangs hanging past his eyes. Nerris extended a hand and the young ward took it, though without any warmth.

  “Ceder,” Nerris said. “I trust your time in Faerlin is treating you well.”

  “Tolerably,” Ceder said. “Though I look forward to the day when the king deems my father trustworthy enough to send me back to Lakeside Keep. I long to once again fish the waters of Lake Zarseille. I have a sister I have not seen since she was an infant, and a mother whose face I have forgotten, thanks to the Liberation.”

  “Your father was wise to bow to Owen when King Ullas fell,” Nerris said. “Otherwise, he may have died in battle as well and Zarseille would have been sacked, your family disinherited. Surely a few years away from home is a small price to pay for a family intact. That’s more than I ever had.”

  “Nerris!” Astoren said.

  He had not meant to speak harshly to Ceder, but the boy’s attitude had always grated on him. Perhaps Nerris still held some resentment for all the friends he had lost in the Liberation of Agos. Lord Duchois had been the principal bannerman supporting the late King Ullas, and his forces put many of Nerris’s comrades to the sword. However, none of that had been the fault of young Ceder, who had been all of six when taken away to a strange kingdom to serve as a glorified hostage.

  Nerris smiled. “My apologies. Ceder, I am sure you will return home soon. After all, it has been over ten years and your father has not raised a word in defiance to King Owen. At least, not as far as I’ve heard. You would do well to ask King Maerlos to make a betrothal on your behalf. You are the heir to Lakeside Keep, and a marriage to a pretty noble faermaid would do much to quell any enmities that remain between Zarseille and Faerlin.”

  Ceder disregarded the notion with a jut of his chin. “I have no time for such things. I have found a higher calling, and merely wish to return home and spread what I have found to my own people, so they might feel as I do. My regards to the Thrillseekers.” He walked away, hailing Lady Hallsworth.

  “That was a little blunt,” Astoren said. “Not even so much as a hello to me. I thought everyone in Tormalia loved the legendar
y Thrillseekers.”

  “No one is that legendary,” Nerris said, wondering what Ceder had meant by a higher calling. Perhaps he meant to join the Church.

  They continued into the hall, and Nerris went back to looking for his friends. He spotted Jhareth first, in animated conversation with the king’s brother, Lord Derian. A young woman with blonde hair and a toothy smile gripped Jhareth’s arm as if afraid he might fly away. For Jhareth’s part, he fidgeted as if he wished he could, but for an inability to sprout wings.

  Astoren followed his gaze. “Lady Nolota, the king’s niece,” he said.

  “That’s Nolota?” Nerris asked. The charming adolescent he had met during his first visit to court had grown into a fully endowed young woman. He realized she had been fourteen the last time he saw her. “Jhareth saved her life, did he?”

  “Yes,” Astoren said, “and now the young faermaid is absolutely smitten with him. The whole court knows. All she’s done since he left is stay in her quarters and moon over him. She doesn’t even have the heart to go riding anymore.”

  “That may have something to do with almost riding off a cliff the last time,” Nerris said. As he watched Jhareth try his best to ignore Nolota while being gracious to her father, his first instinct was to assert that Nolota could never be with someone as far below her station as Jhareth. But as he had found out four years before, noblemen were practically willing to throw their daughters at the Thrillseekers if they could get a folk hero in the family. If it were his wish to marry, he knew King Maerlos would give Jhareth any title he wished in order to make their union legitimate.

  He shook his head. Jhareth would never accept a life like that. Not for long, at least. Poor Lady Nolota was in for some heartache in the near future.

  Jhareth received his reprieve when the herald announced the banquet ready to begin. The guests shuffled toward their tables, and Nerris made his way to the king’s dais, joining Jhareth. Dist joined them a few moments later, and Len-Ahl appeared soon after. She took Nerris’s arm and he led her up the steps and pulled her chair out for her. She gave a shy curtsy to the king before sitting.

  “My dear faermaid, the sight of you in that dress releases the vestiges of my youth,” King Maerlos said with aplomb. “You must honor us with the tale which led to you sharing the road with the Thrillseekers.”

  “Actually, it was Nerris who I fell in with, your Majesty,” she said. “My home was lost to fire. My head was swimming, I did not know what to do. Not until Nerris appeared and offered his aid.”

  “Truly the Thrillseekers watch over all of us, together or apart,” the man called Congir said.

  “I apologize,” Maerlos said as if remembering Congir’s presence. “The four of you have not met the new prime minister. This is the honorable Congir.”

  “A pleasure,” Nerris said as Dist and Jhareth made their bows. Len-Ahl merely looked downward, engrossed in the multitude of silverware presented before her. Congir did not acknowledge the Thrillseekers at all, but stared at Len-Ahl for a few moments with a look Nerris could not quite place. It was as if he could not fathom how someone like her came to be here, seated with the king. Finally, the prime minister averted his eyes and coughed, taking his place next to Maerlos.

  “Jhareth, I see my niece finally cornered you,” Maerlos said.

  Jhareth emitted a nervous chuckle. “Yes, your Majesty. Your brother has been most gracious in his thanks, and Lady Nolota is a sweetheart. They’ve both made some, ah, interesting proposals to me.”

  Dist covered up his snort with a napkin as the banquet’s first course arrived. Choice portions of beef and venison came their way, as well as exotic fruits not native to Faerna, such as oranges and pomegranates. Their wine glasses were filled as well, and Dist attacked the meal with gusto. Nerris helped himself to some venison, as Jhareth took a long draught of Dellish Red.

  Len-Ahl stared at the wall of meat before her a bit apprehensively, until a serving girl filled her plate with orange slices, grapes, dates, pistachios, and figs. She looked up at the king, who gave her a knowing wink.

  “Sir Enric made a point to mention your unique dining preferences to me,” he said.

  Len-Ahl smiled. “I am grateful, your Majesty.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Dist told her. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

  “You better not let your mother hear you said that,” Jhareth said.

  “My mother never had such fine foods to work with.”

  The king, Dist, and Jhareth made amicable chatter with the other council members seated with them as the feast wore on, but Nerris’s energies were focused on Congir. The guildmaster had been quiet, even guarded, since laying eyes on Len-Ahl. Nerris decided to acquaint himself with the prime minister.

  “Lord Congir, you’ve not said much this evening,” he said. “Are spectacles such as this so common in Faerlin it now bores you?”

  Congir smiled. “It is not that, young Nerris. Much like yourself, I grew up common. I am still acclimating myself to the ways of the court.”

  “You must learn quickly. I’m told you’ve been on the council a short time, but now you’re prime minister.”

  “A bit of an exaggeration,” Congir said. “True, I have not been on the council as long as some, but it has been two years since I came to court. More than enough time to demonstrate my talents to his Majesty.”

  “I see.” Congir hid it well, but Nerris had the benefit of extensive travel in Tormalia, and the prime minister definitely had an accent. Perhaps western Agos or northern Yagolhan. Regardless, he got the distinct feeling the man was not from Faerna. What exactly that meant, Nerris could not say. And what was his issue with Len-Ahl? She seemed to be going to equal lengths to ignore Congir’s presence at the table.

  Nerris shook his head. None of this was his business. He should let the nobles sort out their own problems. If it were any other kingdom, he would let it be. But this involved his cousin, the king, the prince, people he cared for very much.

  Once all the courses had been served the guests ate and drank their fill, the dancing began. Lady Nolota once again sought out Jhareth to coax him onto the floor, and Nerris glanced at Len-Ahl, thinking it would not be the worst thing if she wanted to dance with him again. But she was moving fruit around her plate with her fork, seemingly lost in thought.

  When the councilman seated on Nerris’s other side stood and wandered off, Dist walked over and took his chair. “Does anything about this seem off to you?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, normally there’s a blessing said in the name of Clystam before a feast like this,” Dist said.

  “You’re right,” Nerris said. “Usually the king keeps a few priests around for rites and sermons as needed, but I haven’t seen a single one since we got here. The Church must be angrier with the king than we realized.”

  “Something’s going on,” Dist said. “I heard a few guards talking. Apparently the Dominarch is on his way here as we speak, to take a meeting with his Majesty.”

  Fresh from a waltz with Nolota, Jhareth sauntered over and put his arms around his friends. “Gentlemen,” he said, “let’s not forget why we’re here. We need to find a way to decipher those scrolls and get away from this place as soon as possible. These royal courts have a way of pulling you in.”

  “Astoren was saying something about our dear Congir trying to coax the king into a move against the Church,” Nerris said. “This is serious business, Jhareth. Could you imagine what would happen if tensions were to escalate? A war between Maerlos’s men and the Church’s loyalists. The country would be torn apart.”

  And he could think of a certain someone in Palehorse who would love for that to happen as she prepared an eastward march. Could Qabala, improbable as it seemed, be connected to this?

  “All right,” Jhareth said, “so what can we do about it?”

  “We stay a while and find out more,” Nerris said. “At least until the Dominarch
gets here. We can’t just walk away.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  MUCH CLAMOR FOLLOWED once it became known the Dominarch was on his way. The Thrillseekers were almost forgotten as the court moved on to the next big event, and Nerris felt it was just as well. Now that they had a chance to breathe, Jhareth began his work on the Stonechaser Prophecy and Nerris took the opportunity to introduce Len-Ahl to city life.

  He took her to the harbor to show her the fishing skiffs, pleasure barges, and merchantmen which sailed in and out of Faerlin Harbor on a daily basis, all under the watchful eye of the island known as Green Rock, where the Croffers kept vigil over the Sea Gate. He took her to Tam’s Market, the center of commerce in Faerlin, and all the chaos which came with the constant haggling. They next visited the University, where scholars walked the well-kept grounds studying scrolls and books as warm spring breezes blew up from the south. He even brought her to Loskin’s Square, the Thieves’ Market, to show her the shadier side of Faernan society.

  Len-Ahl was becoming more accustomed to being around people, and she no longer clung to Nerris’s side like a nervous child. At Loskin’s Square, she darted from shop to shop well ahead of him, looking at the wares which gave the area its name: rope, grappling hooks, knives, and if you knew the right passwords, specialized lock picks. Nerris still kept a watchful eye on her; people were known to disappear into this part of town, voluntarily or not.

  They were on no timetable, so they were able to visit most of the city’s landmarks over the course of a fortnight. Nerris figured it wouldn’t be long before Len-Ahl found a place she wanted to stay, and he and his friends would be off to look for the Exemplus. Perhaps King Maerlos would find a place at court for her. He was glad she was enjoying herself, but again felt a certain pang on the inside, much stronger than he had back in Haladast.

  On one sunny afternoon, he took her on a picnic to the slope of Mount Tamelk, north of the city. A breeze descended on them, and Len-Ahl closed her eyes, breathing with the wind and letting it blow her golden hair at will. As Nerris set up their meal, she busied herself with her fipple flute. She was almost done. It had been hollowed out, and holes fashioned along the top.