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

by Nicholas Andrews

  Dist grinned. “It’s been a while, Tessa.”

  The woman blinked. “Have we met?”

  “I used to come here often when I was at Gauntlet,” Dist said. “You insisted I was too young for such revels, but your sister said my money was good as anyone else’s.”

  Tessa stared at his blond hair for a moment, sized him up and down and broke into an even wider smile. “Dist! What a surprise!” She turned toward the kitchens. “Alessa! Come out, quick! Dist is here!”

  A brown-haired woman almost of an age with Tessa emerged from the kitchens, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at him and cried out in surprise. “Dist!”

  Dist laughed. “It’s good to see you both in good health.” The two women were joint-owners of the brothel. Though Alessa was a few years younger than Tessa, they could have passed for twins. Both had the same brown hair styled in braids, and the same oval-shaped faces and wide smiles. It had been ten years since he had seen them. Though their youth had deserted them, they remained lovely women still.

  “What have you been up to all these years?” Tessa asked him. “We’ve heard all sorts of stories about you and your friends.”

  “I remember Jhareth,” Alessa said. “He preferred blondes, if I remember right.”

  “Nerris never bought anything but a drink, though,” Tessa said. “He always looked like he wanted to run out of here when one of the girls approached him.”

  “Don’t you remember?” Alessa said. “He was smitten with that noblewoman Aledine. He wasn’t going to risk her finding him carousing with whores.”

  “Ladies,” Dist said. “As glad as I am to see you, I need to ask a question. Does Fayla still work here?”

  Tessa nodded. “I had a feeling you would want to see her. Have a seat, and I’ll go find her.”

  Dist thanked the sisters and sat down at a nearby table. As he looked around, his mind filled with visions of his old comrades. Not just Nerris and Jhareth, but others he had known during his time at Gauntlet, many of which never even frequented this place. Their faces came to him nonetheless. Their combat instructor, Rhodias, the former berserker, who was cut down at the Battle of Crossroads while taking up the fallen banner of House Sallidon. Joras Blackwine and Errin Staker, who had died in each other’s arms at Gosseen. And of course the Owens, the elder who had lived long enough to be crowned king before dying of his wounds, and his son who reigned in Alicanos to this day.

  He looked up as a young woman approached him. Fayla had been thirteen when Dist met her, same age as him. She had been a young skinny thing who made a living braving the streets on her own. She had filled out in the fourteen years since, a little plumper around the hips and bosom, and her face more wan than he remembered. But she still had the dark eyes and tawny hair which had attracted him all those years ago.

  “Dist,” Fayla said warily. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “Hello, Fayla,” Dist said. “I trust you’re well.”

  “I can’t complain.”

  Dist gestured to a chair. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Fayla sat without a word, her unblinking eyes never leaving him. Dist couldn’t blame her for staring. The Thrillseekers had returned to Orrigo on occasion during their travels, usually to catch a ship to somewhere else, but Dist had never come back to visit her. The only news he had of her was in a letter from their mutual friend Aledine Feigh about a year after the Liberation of Agos. It was because of that letter he had finally come.

  “I brought a gift.” Dist drew out a pouch filled with silver sepps and laid it on the table.

  Fayla stared at the coin-filled pouch dubiously. “Dist...” she said, glancing toward the second floor. “We shouldn’t, it wouldn’t be right—”

  “It’s not for you,” Dist said. “It’s for the boy.”

  Fayla sucked in her breath. “Ah. So you know.”

  Dist nodded. “I’ve known for years.”

  “Why did you never come back?”

  Dist sighed. “I don’t know. I think I was scared. We were so close once. You went with me and the others when we fought against King Ullas. You talked about giving up the life of a prostitute, of marrying me. Then one day you vanished from my tent without even a goodbye. I found out later you came back to this place.” He leaned back in his chair. “When I found out you had a child, I was even more confused. But I never had the courage to come here and ask you why.”

  Fayla put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “Ten years is a long time to carry that around,” she said. “I can’t say I blame you for wanting naught to do with me. You were always the one talking about marrying me and all the rest, Dist. But I knew what lay in your heart. You were destined for great things with Nerris and Jhareth, and I was right. You love your friends more than you ever loved me.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Don’t deny it. For what it’s worth, I never hated you for it. I only wanted what was best for you. Looking back, I handled it wrong. I found out I was with child, and I panicked. I never wanted to hold you back from the life that awaited you.”

  “I see,” Dist said. “I guess I can understand that. Just know I’m not here to blame you for what you did.”

  “Why did you come back after all this time?”

  Dist let out a big breath. “Nerris and Jhareth are in the city too. We’re going after something big this time, most likely dangerous. You know how Jhareth gets; you mention the word treasure and his eyeballs become gold coins. Nerris is so devoted to his ideals and goals that he doesn’t even stop to consider the danger. No one does, except me. We’ve often been in over our heads, but this seems different, somehow weightier. I have this rumbling in the pit of my stomach telling me there’s a chance we won’t make it through this one. Funny how I’ve never had that feeling until now.”

  Fayla chuckled. “We’re all getting older. We see the world differently now.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Would you like to see him?” she asked.

  “Does he know about me? Who I am, what I’ve done in my life?”

  Fayla shook her head. “I didn’t want him to grow up hating you for not being here. He understands what I do, and thinks he was the result of my job.”

  “Then maybe it’s best he doesn’t meet me,” Dist said.

  “You don’t have to meet him,” Fayla said. “But if you would look on him, peer out that window.” She pointed to an open window close to them.

  Dist stood and walked over. A breeze picked up, cooling the cobblestone square somewhat. The same group of children he had seen before were still playing at their game. He did not need Fayla to point out his son. He was the right age, around nine or so, and had the same bright blond hair and stocky build Dist had as a child. He noted the boy shared some of Fayla’s more delicate features as well, such as her nose. The boy played his game well, taunting the child wearing the blindfold into coming for him, and stepped out of his reach at the last moment. The blindfolded boy toppled headlong into the fountain, to the howling laughter of the other children. He watched them play for a few minutes before turning away.

  “What’s his name?” he asked Fayla.

  “Garias,” she said. “I named him after my brother.”

  “Garias Schies,” Dist muttered.

  “Are you sure you won’t meet him?”

  Dist had to think long and hard about it, but concluded it was not the right time. “One day, Fayla. If I make it through this.” Dist gestured to the pouch on the table. “Use that to buy him an apprenticeship or something. He’s my son, so he should prove to be good with tools.”

  Fayla nodded. “Of course.”

  Dist said his goodbyes and exited to the street. He avoided looking at the group of children as he headed back toward his inn. Shame overtook him. He could not meet his son, could barely look upon him, and all he had to give him was a few silver coins. He had been sure before he had come that he was doing the right thing, but now doubt gnaw
ed at him. He took a deep breath. All he could do was survive. Survive and come back someday.

  He went on his errand to hire a messenger for King Owen, and found a likely man at a tavern where freeriders were known to frequent. He gave the man the message Nerris had written, along with a few sepps, and sent him off to Alicanos. After that, he felt in need of a few drinks himself and threw back a few at his table while listening to the freeriders telling stories.

  The sun was setting by the time he got back to their room at the inn. He, Nerris, and Jhareth had decided to share a room to give Len-Ahl her privacy, so Jhareth was waiting when he arrived, hunched over on the bed. He gave Dist an acknowledging smile as he entered, and Dist glared at him.

  “Who kicked you in the puss?” Jhareth asked.

  “No one,” Dist said. “Is Nerris back yet?”

  Jhareth shrugged. “Haven’t seen him. It will take some time before our scholar is able to translate the scrolls, and that’s if he’s as good as we’ve heard.” He gestured to the corner of the room, where a number of pots, pans, and canvas sheets were piled. “I got a great deal on supplies. I didn’t even have to steal any of it. Our horses aren’t the most robust animals, but they’ll do. I put them up in the stables when I got back here. Did you find a messenger?”

  Dist nodded.

  “So can I have my silver back?”

  “Sorry,” Dist said. “Had to spend it all.”

  Jhareth stood. “All of it? You were supposed to hire one messenger, not a whole platoon.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Dist said.

  Jhareth sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to break out my shell game tomorrow. I’m running low on funds.”

  Nerris and Len-Ahl returned a short time later. Dist noted they were missing the copy Jhareth had made of the Stonechaser Prophecy. “We found him,” Nerris said before Jhareth could even ask. “The man’s name is Borrel, and he led us a merry chase around town. First, we went to his home, where his mother told us he spent most of his days at a brothel on Stoneman’s Way. The women at the brothel sent us to a tavern on Wagon Road, and the barman there told us to go to the Great Library of Orrigo, which was where we finally found him.” Nerris clenched his teeth. “And where he had been all day. Apparently, he likes to play this game with people who come to ask him questions.”

  “Why?” Jhareth asked.

  “Scholars,” Nerris said, though Dist was not sure that was his answer to the question or if he was dismissing all learned men. “I’m glad we cut our teeth at Gauntlet. If we had gone to a proper university like at Faerlin or Locraw, I would have gone mad.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Well, he was thrilled to get his hands on the prophecy in its original dialect,” Nerris said. “We left it with him. He wanted to start translating right away, and he said to check back with him tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that’s fine.” Jhareth reclined on the bed. “Just a little more time and we’re off to write our names in the history books.”

  “I would not be sure a simple translation will bring the answer,” Len-Ahl said. “Queen Angelica was much more clever than that. I would prepare for the ultimate test of the mind, Jhareth. Once we know what message she meant to give us, we will still have a long way to go.”

  Jhareth sat up. “Ultimate test of the mind, huh?”

  Dist grunted. “Are you sure she meant this message for us, Len-Ahl?”

  “Is there a problem?” Len-Ahl said.

  “He means we were built for action, not thinking,” Jhareth said. “If we have to think our way through this, we’re doomed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE GREAT LIBRARY of Orrigo was situated in the west end of the city among the extravagant homes of the well-to-do. Surrounded by a brick wall with a wrought iron gate at the entrance, the building had long been a source to draw upon for scholars from all sorts of universities and schools, as well as being available for anyone with the ability to read. A cobblestone path with a well-trimmed verge led to double wooden doors of polished wood.

  “This brings back memories.” Remembering library rules, Nerris kept his voice down as they entered. “When we were at Gauntlet, we had to come here often for additional study.”

  “I thought Gauntlet was a fighting school,” Len-Ahl said.

  “Not entirely,” Jhareth supplied. “It began as a way for nobles to train their heirs in the art of combat and command, but over the years the headmasters attracted all sorts of instructors, and the school expanded. Those enrolled in a healing intensive schedule went on to become great doctors. Those with a combat intensive schedule, like us, became great warriors and high paid mercenaries.”

  “They also gave us basic education,” Nerris said. “The written word, history, geography, arithmetic. My mother taught me to read when I was small, but Dist and Jhareth never learned until we came to Gauntlet.”

  Professor Borrel sat in the same spot Nerris had left him at the evening before, at a long table in the library common room. The space was a wide expanse of tables and chairs. The walls of the building were lined with shelves of books, broken up occasionally by a window sill. A stained glass dome towered above, illuminating the ceiling with a depiction of Saint Lorpe, the priest of Clystam. Hundreds of years ago, he had made books and writing from the Marble Sanctum available to all the folk of the city.

  Borrel was writing feverishly on a piece of parchment as they entered, the Stonechaser Prophecy spread out in front of him. Piles of books were stacked close by and the candles he had been using were now wax nubs.

  Nerris had been quite irritated when he and Len-Ahl had caught up with him the previous day. Borrel explained his repute was so widespread that he got too many questions to handle. He had devised a goose chase around the city in order to deter all but the most serious querents. When Nerris showed him their copy of the scrolls, however, the delight shone on his face and he vowed to get to work on them right away.

  “Have you been at it all night, Professor?” Nerris asked.

  Borrel looked up from his work. The man was quite young by scholarly standards, somewhere in his mid-thirties. His tall frame and thin face gave him a bug-eyed look, and he did not choose to adorn himself in the pretentious scholar’s robes and wig. He wore a silk doublet over a white shirt, untied at the neckline with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was a fashionable look currently in Orrigo. His short brown hair parted on one side and was fashioned into a quiff in the front.

  He flashed a grin. “Ah, Nerris, is it morning already? Once again, I have to thank you for bringing me this gift. I’ve wanted a look at these original runes for my entire career, but I could never get the Klaidons to part with them.”

  “Were you able to translate them?” Jhareth asked.

  Borrel jumped to his feet and hurried to clasp hands with him. “You must be Jhareth Kanave,” he said. “Of course, I’ve heard all about the Thrillseekers. Is it true you used to study in this library?”

  Jhareth gave him a mocking bow. “I was the very soul of academia, my good professor.”

  Dist snickered and Nerris smiled.

  “More like the ghost of academia,” Nerris said. “We never knew if you were coming out or not, and you only moaned and groaned when you did.”

  “I must confess I found the accounts of your exploits to be nothing more than fiction,” Borrel said, “but since you were able to get your hands on this prize, I’m curious as to where that fictional line truly begins or ends.”

  “We’ll have to save the tales for some other time,” Nerris said. “It’s very important we know what the Stonechaser Prophecy has to say.”

  “Right,” Borrel said, organizing his notes. “It’s simple enough when you get down to it. The language of the Xenea is not incredibly difficult to fathom. Very structured, and almost musical in quality.”

  “How does one learn the language of the faeries?” Dist asked him. “From what we understand, faeries and humans haven’t mingled in several thousa
nd years.”

  “That is true for the most part,” Borrel said, “but in my studies of language, I often sought out ancient and obscure dialects and a year or so back, I managed to track down a Nateus of the Earth Clerics. I had to go to the far western reaches of Yagolhan to find one, but it was worth it in the end.”

  “Yes,” Len-Ahl said. “The orders were established by the kings of the elements themselves. Those at the top of the hierarchy passed down the language from generation to generation, but the orders have all but vanished in recent times.”

  Borrel brightened at that. “The lass did her research.”

  “Wait, you learned an entire language in a year?” Dist asked.

  “As you may have heard, I’m somewhat of a genius,” Borrel said without a trace of conceit. He was not bragging, but merely stating fact.

  “Then I take it you’re familiar with the story the Stonechaser Prophecy tells,” Jhareth said.

  “In times of doom impending, seek out Stone of Worth in veiled fetter,” Borrel quoted. “An excerpt from Augury of Angelica, prepared by Sachias Limme in the year 2302, New Tormalian. Every boy who ever dreamed of adventure knows the story, Master Jhareth. The problem is the prophecy has been filtered through so many languages throughout the centuries that much of its meaning has been lost entirely.”

  “We figured that was the case,” Nerris said.

  “More like I figured that was the case,” Jhareth said.

  Dist rolled his eyes. “Yes, Jhareth, we’re all very impressed.”

  “In Limme’s time, doom was a word which was used in place of destiny, for example,” Borrel said. “The phrase Stone of Worth is what has caused much confusion. Worth was a synonym for power at the time.” He gestured toward his parchment. “I have long held a theory that the quest Angelica spoke of was not an invitation for every adventurer under the sun to search for the Exemplus, but instructions to a specific group at a specific time. This version you have brought me has validated that theory.”

  “How so?” Nerris asked.