A Leaf and Pebble

by Andrew Monroe

  Volant joined me, and we both stretched slowly and carefully in the tight confines of the cage. When we stopped in front of a nondescript building, not with the Guard’s emblem emblazoned across its door, but that of a Councilman, even the effeminate squad leader was clutching his reins with clear nervousness.

  I arched an eyebrow at Volant, who replied with a shrug.

  A “he” had been referred to repeatedly, but my assumption that it was a high-ranking Guard seemed to be wrong. Looks like we had stolen that dull toron stone from a very nasty, and evidently powerful Kalaran official. One that we were finally going to see face to face. Iron bars creaked as the cage opened. Guards with weapons drawn surrounded the exit, like an inverted porcupine and giving off the temperament of a rabid dog. “Nothing funny now, or you are handed over looking like a pincushion,” a high-pitched voice holding a quivering spear said in the second row.

  Rolling my eyes as melodramatically as a merchant’s youngest daughter, I hopped out of the wagon cage and landed squarely in the middle of two squads worth of fidgety men standing in a half circle holding sharp, stubby, iron tipped pieces of wood. “Sergeant,” I called to the man in charge. “I sure hope you already have a wife.”

  Volant dropped down next to me, chuckling though we both were probably more worried than they.

  Curiosity got the better of the man. “Why?” the alto pitched voice asked.

  “Because,” I said, winking at the closest Thumper, “when the girls of Kalaran hear of how you hid behind your subordinates, and then hear you speak with that exceedingly annoying voice of yours, you’ll be lucky to find someone that doesn’t laugh at you at first blush.”

  “Not to mention, the first man that tries to take you, mistaking you for one of said women,” Volant added.

  Nervous chuckles escaped some of the men, though none lowered their weapons in the slightest. The whole group of us stood in front of the building for a few more minutes, the men and women mumbling violent threats and curses at us, and no one knowing what to do since we weren’t immediately trying to escape. The middle window on the second floor lit up with soft light, taking everyone’s attention.

  “Paschal!” cried the Thumper in voice that could possibly shatter glass. “Announce us to the Councilman!”

  A woman standing near the back row that was roughly my size stepped back and toward the door, saluting toward the sergeant. “Aye Sir!”

  Three large men opened the door and stepped out onto the street before Paschal had a chance to do any announcing though. Behind the three slabs of street muscle, Cralil stepped out, hands clapping together in applause. Backlit in the odd light that made up Kalaran’s perpetual twilight, he looked like a storybook villain. The way he moved sold it though. Instead of the twitchy, nervous merchant he’d presented on Captain Andreska’s ship, he now moved with a serpent’s predatory slide.

  “I thought he was a friend of your mother’s,” I hissed to Volant once my jaw stopped hanging open.

  “We thought so, too.” Volant recovered far less quickly, eyes still bulging in a mix of shock and anger as Cralil patted the sergeant on the back while handing him a pair of purses bulging with coins.

  Three large men pushed through the Thumpers, grabbing both of us by our manacled wrists before we could say anything else. In no gentle fashion, we were dragged through the doors and up a set of stone hewn stairs to the second floor where someone had looked out when we arrived. Four more men trudged behind us begrudgingly. It was near the middle of the night, so they must have just been woken up. We were deposited in the already lit room through a single door. A single window faced opposite of us. A single lantern lit on the desk.

  A sigh escaped Volant. “What a waste of space. This must be the most austere room in all of Kalaran, yet it has one of the most expensive tables I’ve ever seen.”

  “True. Even the madmen in the tunnels have more welcoming accommodations.” I laughed at the thought, my mind conjuring images of wild haired homeless men sitting together, smoking pipes and drinking wine while surrounded by soft rugs and copious light from the moss. The table was ridiculous. It looked carved from a single tree. Two hands thick, and probably as long as two of me and nearly as wide. Gold and silver had been melted and poured into the imperfections, make small ponds of light reflect from the tables surface.

  A pair of Thumpers showed up, carrying chairs that they sat in front of the wood desk. An attempt to remain standing was quickly squashed as one of the brutes pushed me down into the seat.

  “Alas,” I said airily, “chivalry can never die whilst men like you can provide service to the weak and weary, such as myself.”

  Volant grinned as the brute cuffed me upside the head. Heavy footsteps sounded behind us, along with the distinctive thud of Guard salutes. “Now, now” a languid voice said behind us. “Let’s not be too antagonistic. One of us might do something we regret.”

  My head swiveled in the direction of the voice as it was definitely not Cralil’s. Quite the opposite. A huge man thudded by, wearing a tailor shop’s worth of fabric in an outlandish style of reds, blues, and blacks. He stood across from us, waiting impatiently. A moment passed. All four Thumpers appeared next to Volant, struggling with an oversized and over cushioned chair. When it was placed before him, the man sat heavily, flicking out an honest to god cape over one arm rest. An ocean of wood table separated us, but did nothing to make the man look less obese.

  “So,” he said, purplish-blue eyes glinting against the light, “you are the thieves who stole my prize.”

  Neither of us said anything at first. I took in his appearance, noting the excess fat with horrid fascination. This man was larger than anyone I had seen before. His clothes stretched with the effort to contain his lard. A vest worn over his shirt even had chains instead of buttons looped together in a cross stitch. Bits of chain mail were sewn sporadically about his shirt, more for strategically tailored reinforcement for the clothing so it wouldn’t burst at certain seams, rather than traditional protection against weapons.

  “Well, ‘stole’ is a strong word,” I replied. Since I was chained, my only weapon at the moment was a strong glare, which seemed to be having no effect on the man.

  “And,” Volant started, “I don’t like ‘thieves’ either, while we are on the subject.”

  Sighing, the man flicked his wrist at the men, who wearily trudged back out the door. Cralil entered right after they left, sliding past our chairs to stand next to the fat man.

  “Cralil, what are you doing here?” Volant hissed at him.

  Cralil said nothing in return, but nodded to one of the men behind us. A meaty hand slapped my friend across the back of his head, hard enough to knock him out of the chair. Still not saying anything, the street thug picked him up and sat Volant back in the chair.

  Another sigh from the obese councilman. “Violence should not be the only motivator here, my thieves.” He paused and chuckled to himself. “Actually, violence is what this is all about, but more on that later. Obviously, you know Cralil. My name is Councilman Xylex, though I’m sure you’ve heard of me before.”

  Neither of us said anything. Volant wasn’t even paying attention to the man, his focus solely on Cralil.

  “I see,” said Cralil in his faint lisp. “If neither of you wishes to expedite the matter, we shall play a game.” A malevolent smile tugged at his mouth. “The first of you that tells us where Emerys’ Rock is leaves here alive and wealthy. Whoever is last, loses, and leaves this room dead.”

  “Emerys’ Rock?” I asked, genuinely confused.

  “Don’t play dumb,” Xylex growled at me. “The enormous toron stone you stole from us right before fleeing Kalaran.”

  Comprehension hit me, and I laughed despite the situation we found ourselves in. “I didn’t know that thing had a name! And what a magnificent one it has. Don’t you think, Volant?”

  “Most magnificent,” he replied. “Much better than that-really-big-red-stone as I have been callin
g it. But that’s not why we fled. Someone killed our friends.”

  Now it was their turn to look confused. They looked at each other, then back to us, curiosity replacing anger. “What friends?” Cralil asked finally.

  “The ones at The Stump. Our friend had a toron stone embedded in an engagement ring and proposed to his girlfriend. We came back after running an errand and everyone had been killed and the place burned down.” My throat hurt from just talking about it, even after all this time.

  Xylex laughed, genuinely amused. “Oh! What a happy coincidence, I won’t deny that was my people’s work, actually. I didn’t realize you were those two that had been there. How amazing. My, well… we’ll call her my benefactor, is going to be tickled. How we could have solved all of this then if I’d known you were going to be at that sad excuse for an establishment. The world is such a small and funny place some time.” He looked genuinely amused, those his face seemed to have trouble holding a smile for too long at any given time. “You see, I was acquiring Emerys’ Rock as a separate mission for God’s Fury, and at my benefactor’s request. Before this I was helping oversee some important work in the Mistlands be accomplished. I believe she handled the Stump job herself, having heard of the proposal in advance. Two birds, one stone. My, my, this is turning out to be such a great night.”

  Volant ignored all this, pressing on to the original point. I noticed tears at the corners of his eyes. It was good to see he still felt as strongly about our friends. We’d need that fire rather soon. “So, you work for God’s Fury and the best you can offer us is a Prisoner’s Dilemma?” He mused aloud. “Do those actually ever work? I thought you all were supposed to be clever.”

  Cralil smiled again, stepping forward to join the conversation. I could practically feel Volant’s desire for the signal to try our escape. “It works. If it doesn’t, there’s always torture.” He gestured at the three men behind us. “You might not believe it seeing them, but my colleagues have some of the most precise hands in the game, if you catch my meaning.”

  I turned to Xylex, ignoring Cralil. “I have a question.”

  “Go on,” he said, one eyebrow arched curiously.

  “Well, it’s really two. First, why is Cralil helping you? Second, why does Emerys’ Rock matter so much? There’s no way it economically matches the resources spent just trying to catch us, nor does it do this God’s Fury group anything. If it is some big Toron stone, its dull. It’s practically a paperweight.” Curiosity being one of my bigger weakness, I couldn’t fathom how this all came together nor leave it alone. On top of everything, why were we even hired to steal it in the first place? Not that these guys would know. But maybe if we survived this and found the benefactor, she could tell us.

  Neither man seemed inclined to respond, staring patiently at Volant and I.

  “Might as well,” Volant said, finally looking away from Cralil and turning towards the Councilman. “Not like we are going to talk until you tell us. And really, torture is such a finicky art,” he said, nodding his head back towards the thugs. “We all know it’s better to have voluntary information over the extracted kind.”

  Trying to convey agreement, I smiled reassuringly. “He’s right. It’d be miserable trying to verify truths with a pair of cut up, one-foot-in-the-grave thieves.”

  “And,” Volant interjected, “it’s a tricky business keeping someone alive when torturing. It’s so easy for accidents to happen.”

  Though we both smiled, the Councilman seemed to grow uncomfortable. I’d never had any experience with torture, and doubted my friend had either, but any lie sounded better than hot irons and whatever other painful ideas they could come up with. Cralil gestured, and two of the brutes stepped forward, delivering a solid punch to each of our solar plexuses. Breathing came back after excruciatingly long seconds. Through tear brimmed eyes, I could see the two men across the table chuckling. Anger mixed with pain, and I nearly gave Volant the signal. A desire for answers reined me in, so I merely sat up straighter. We’d not tried to escape because we hoped to figure out how to get the Guard off our trail so we could focus on God’s Fury and their members. But here we were, two birds with one stone, indeed.

  “Very well,” Xylex said with a roll of his eyes. “What kind of host would I be otherwise? And truth be told, you would hear it anyways, as I wouldn’t mind some help.” He paused to get more comfortable in the ridiculous chair. “Eh, help from you, Nil. As it will become apparent, the Natural you travel with wouldn’t be quite as welcome.”

  I looked over at Volant, but he just shook his head, not understanding either.

  Xylex drove on in a deep, orator’s voice. “You see, I am trying to start a war. Nothing so bland as the border skirmishes of old over water and trade rights. I intend full on, all out, us or them kind of war. The sort that has only been talked of in books before the shattering of the kingdom. Long, long before we knew what true civilization was.”

  Cralil was nodding hungrily, his small merchant eyes filled with greedy fervor.

  “It has come to my attention,” Xylex said, “that the Learners of our country are at two distinct disadvantages. The first, old beliefs and superstitions that discriminate against our kind, Nil. Learners, if that wasn’t clear. Second, and more importantly, Naturals are treated as our equals and sometimes betters, for no reason but they seem more natural. In truth, we both know that Learners are far more powerful than any individual, even an experienced Natural. Therefore we have taken it upon ourselves to change the world, and restore its more educated and ambitious persons to positions of leadership.”

  Volant snorted, pausing the tirade. “I know for a fact Cralil isn’t a spawning Learner.”

  Cralil only grinned wider, shaking his head. “I’m not a Natural either. Just a businessman who plans to profit from the highly lucrative arms race a war inspires, and then further my gains by receiving preferential deals from the newly established monarchy when they win the war.”

  “He has also been promised a rather,” Xylex said, spinning his finger in the air as if conjuring the word, “...undemanding, and lucrative position in what shall be the first wholly unified government this land has seen.”

  “Wow. How very original,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed. Turning to Cralil I caught his eyes with mine. “You do know how that ends for you, right? A guy like you has read at least one or two books in his life. The greedy henchman always dies first.”

  While the councilman laughed, the merchant sighed dramatically. “Nil, this isn’t some fluffy piece of prose written about heroes and villains.”

  “Volant, you hear that? Cralil thinks he’s going to live through this.” I continued, ignoring Xylex.

  An animalistic sound, something around a growl and chuckle from Volant. “Oh, you never know. He could just end up terribly maimed.”

  Unsteady silence followed, and the pure hatred from Volant could practically be felt. It was hard to blame his reaction, as Cralil had been well-loved by both him and his mother from the sound of it.

  “No, I take it back. Maiming just won’t do. And anyways, what’s one more death?” Volant asked bitterly. “I’m already a terrible person.”

  The tone actually caused me to shiver involuntarily. I knew we were both working off the same hope to wind them up enough to open our escape route, but Volant’s rang of too much truth. “Well,” I said, focusing back on our captor, “what does the Emerys’ Rock have to do with this?”

  “Ah, now that is a delicious little tidbit there.” The man was becoming more and more animated, whether through an attempt to build a bond between us, or he just enjoyed the sound of his own voice, it was hard to tell. “As you know, a toron stone can multiply a Learner’s range and output. This is mostly based on the size and cut, right?” He looked at us expectantly, so I agreed. Every Learner knew this. “Good, good. So, then you have the Emerys’ Rock. It’s quite large, as you noticed, but that’s not the only special thing about it. By itself, you can access exponent
ial amounts of amplification. But, and this is the really special part, it can be enhanced. It acts as a building block for other Stones. Any of them. Maybe all of them. We don’t know. But when you place a toron stone near it, that energy is absorbed. Every ounce of concentrated power, gone. Poof. The smaller stone goes dull but the Rock is charged without fear of cracking from usage.”

  Now I was impressed. If this thing was able to build off other Torons and combine them into one source, there would be no loss of efficiency like what happened when you chained the smaller ones together in a necklace or similar. “OK, that’s kind of cool,” I admitted.

  Xylex smiled wide, now matching Cralil’s manic look. “Indeed! We have it from a reliable source, one of our Learners who’d found Emerys’ Rock was stolen away the first time, and-”

  “Hold on,” I said, interrupting. “The first time?”

  Cralil answered first, taking a step forward. “What, you think you were the first miscreants to try and steal the most valuable artifact the world has seen? Bah,” he scoffed. “You are the third successful attempt, but by far the easiest to catch. In my opinion, the thing is a magnet for you scum. Cursed, even. We tried to keep the transport of it as low-key as possible. Double blind carrier. Limited guard. They thought there were transporting a few hundred coins worth of jewelry. Yet, someone still hired you two to get it.”

  Neither of us responded, and it was Volant who nodded to the councilman, indicating he had our attention again.

  “This is going to take all night,” he said through clenched teeth. “You two do understand that you are prisoners, right? One of you will be dead shortly. You seem to be forgetting that.” He stared meaningfully.