Heartstone (Eligium Series Book 5)

by Jake Allen Coleman

  "Just as I suspected!" Medron strode into the clearing, an evil smile on his face. "When I saw Caglion leaving I knew it would not be long before you came back out here. Didn't think it would be so soon, but here you are. The Wizard Council is going to have something to say to you now!"

  Cenric glared at him, "This is none of your concern. Go before you get hurt."

  "Oho, big words!" said Medron, stepping closer.

  "I'm warning you, Medron..." the words were scarcely out of Cenric's mouth when the dark fog rose up, caressing Medron.

  "Here now, what's all this? Make it stop!"

  Cenric shook his head, "You should have turned around when you had the chance. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to."

  Cenric watched in fascination as the fog wrapped itself around Medron, tendrils filling his mouth and nose. His eyes bulged and muffled screams gargled in his throat. Contracting, the fog closed in around him, squeezing tighter and tighter.

  A few moments later Cenric walked out of the clearing, leaving Medron's crushed and mangled body behind as the dark fog swirled and dissipated.

  Chapter Eleven

  The dwarf edged along a dark alley on the eastern edge of Aldmoor. Wary of the city guard, he hoped to reach his destination without attracting any undue attention. Not that they would know who he was were they to stop him, but it was better to be safe in these matters, a lesson drilled into him by his late master. They'd discounted the boy and his ability to control the Eligius. It was a mistake the dark sorcerer, Witek, determined not to repeat.

  Scooting around the next corner, the Golden Crown came into sight, and not a moment too soon. For all its ostentatious name, Witek doubted any of the royal family would come within a hundred paces of the inn. Located in one of the more disreputable parts of the city, the Crown was the perfect place for a meeting such as this one. They provided their unsavory clientele a measure of privacy and avoided asking questions that might be awkward to answer.

  Huddling in a nearby alcove to escape the rain for a moment, he regarded the Crown, reaching out with all his senses. Natural and otherwise. The rain had plagued him for days, turning roads into a muddy mess and slowing his progress. His counterpart should have been here for several days and was no doubt impatient for him to arrive. Assuming he had not been compromised along the way.

  Seizing the opportunity presented through King Ercanbald's demise, the Krenon sent more brothers north to seek out the remnants of magic throughout the kingdom and stamp it out. Witek believed they would move on Cale Uriasz before the month was out.

  All that activity left him cautious. Twice during his travels, he encountered a Krenon hunting party. Under other circumstances, he would have annihilated both parties. Instead, he had constrained himself, hiding until they passed on. It galled him to cower from the likes of these Krenon scum, but there were more important matters at hand.

  Satisfied, he made his way to the Crown's door, dodging an old cart that came clattering down the street and narrowly avoiding the splash from a wheel hitting a large puddle. Passing inside, he removed his cloak and glanced around the interior of the smoky commons room.

  Early enough that only a handful of patrons sat scattered about the room, Witek saw Radomil seated on the far side, near a stairwell that no doubt led to Radomil's room and thence a way out in the event of Krenon interference. The innkeeper sauntered up, a greasy apron covering his thin frame. Witek waved him away and joined Radomil at his table.

  "Took you long enough to get here," grumbled Radomil.

  Ignoring him, Witek got right to it, "What have you found?"

  "Right to business, eh?" said Radomil. "So be it. Nothing or we wouldn't be here with our arses hanging out. Just a bunch of Krenon scum mucking up the countryside. And before you say it I know you can't have found anything either."

  Witek inclined his head, "What of the schism? 'Ave you noticed any more ripples?"

  "Nah. The wizards at Cale Uriasz are being careful." Radomil took a long swallow of his beer, "This would be a damn sight easier if we could just cast a finding spell."

  Pausing as the innkeeper set a mug of beer in front of him, Witek waited until the man passed out of earshot. "We're not going to have that argument again, are we? Who knows what the result would be with the schism in place and magic seeping out all over the place. You might 'find' more than you bargained for."

  "I know it," said Radomil. "But it leaves us with very few other options."

  "We could seek out Kjerstin."

  Radomil laughed, "You jest. That old witch would send us haring across the country on some wild chase."

  "Or she would tell us exactly what we need to know. It's always a gamble with her." Witek took a swallow of the beer. More bitter than he liked, and bready. It wasn't the worst beer he'd had lately, but it was up there.

  "Yeah, one that ends with people dead more often than not. I say we stick with the plan. Will you have any trouble getting into Hallvard?"

  Witek shook his head, "Shouldn't. There's nothing to tie me to what happened at Cinaeth and they never discovered I took the Dragonstone. What about you? Are you certain you can find Ha'vehl'on again?"

  "The library there should have the most complete records of the Ban, assuming the elves didn't spirit them all away when they left. To answer your question, I can find it. I've been to the Ansetl-lea so I know what I'm looking for and I have just enough elven blood to enter the city."

  "It's decided then. We leave at first light." Witek didn't relish the idea of going back out on the road so soon, but they needed to find the Heartstone before anyone else could. With it, they would choose a time and a place to take down the Ban, giving them the magical advantage they needed to see Sterling Lex's vision finally come to pass and ensure the elves could never return to this world in the process.

  Chapter Twelve

  It took Witek more than a fortnight to reach the mountain holdfast of Hallvard, home of the Gundarian Dwarves. With spring turning to summer, the rains subsided, leaving the ground to dry out. Above ground since stealing the Dragonstone, he looked forward to the comfortable familiarity of the underground warren, even if he no longer thought of it as his home.

  Following Asegeirr down the dark passage Witek's eyes rapidly adjusted to the dim glow of the greenstone. Although he knew these caverns as well as the back of his hand, protocol dictated he allow the Door-warden to escort him to the council chamber. Had there been any question of his loyalty or suspicion regarding his role in stealing the Eligium a brick of dwarven soldiers would have greeted him at the gates. No one approached the Gates of Hallvard without being marked.

  Entering the council chamber behind Asegeirr, Witek found the three High Councilors waiting for him, seated on the stone benches atop a dais on the far side of the chamber. Once he declared his purpose in returning to Hallvard went beyond a simple homecoming, they would have been summoned to hear his formal request. That they arrived before him surprised Witek. Perhaps it would be easier than he thought to convince them to give him access to the archives.

  Raghnaid spoke first, surprising him. Generally the Highest, Finnguala, reserved that privilege for herself. Perhaps the political winds changed in Hallvard since the Battle of Cinaeth. There might be an unforeseen opportunity here to influence the Council in alignment with his greater purpose.

  She shifted on her bench, and the light from the stones reflected off the facets in her face. With the appearance of green beryl, Raghnaid was hard, but brittle. Apply the right pressure and she would fall into line. "Greetings Witek," the dwarven leader's voice rang clear. "It has been many turnings since last you darkened our halls."

  "Indeed it has, Councilor Raghnaid. Each day under the sun paled in comparison with the joy of soaking in the light of the greenstones."

  "What news do you bring from the lands?" she continued.

  Witek took a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. Anticipating the question, he'd prepared his answer carefully to lead the conversat
ion in the desired direction. He'd expected Finnguala to take the role of questioner so he modified his intended answer slightly for Raghnaid's ears, intensifying the pressure. "In the days and months since Cinaeth I have traveled far, seeking to understand the effects of the calamity there. With the destruction of one of the Eligius through the careless actions of Uriasz and the boy, Sebastian Pwyll, a Schism has formed in the fabric of magic making up the Ban."

  "A Schism. We have heard reports of wild magic breaking free across Cynneweald. Is this Schism the cause?"

  "It is. Whenever a spell is cast, ripples travel out from the Schism in unexpected ways, wreaking havoc and destruction. The schism must be sealed and the Ban restored."

  "How can this be done?" she asked.

  Witek paused, as if reluctant to answer the question. "I believe that the rift can be healed only through the power of the Eligium Cardium. The Heartstone is the key, it must be recovered and put to use."

  "Surely the Wizards of Uriasz know this and will retrieve the stone?"

  "Will they? All here know my history with Uriasz and that I hold no love for the order. That said, not once in the long years have I spoken ill of my fellow brothers." The three councilors nodded, leading Witek to continue. "I am sad to say I no longer understand their purposes. They have left this untrained half-elf to run free, and provided him unprecedented access to the Eligius. Who is to say what they will do if they recover the last stone. Perhaps even bring down the Ban completely. It cannot be countenanced!" His voice rose in tenor as he spoke, dripping with sincerity and urgency.

  Raghnaid leaned in, “Then what do you suggest?"

  "We find the stone ourselves!"

  Finnguala broke in, defying the rules of the council. Only the designated questioner spoke during an audience such as this, allowing the others to observe and reflect. "Just how do you propose to do that?"

  Not wanting to lose his momentum, Witek responded before Raghnaid objected to the breech in custom, "I believe the answer is HERE, in the deep archives of Hallvard. That is why I have returned, to ask this council for permission to search the records. If I am right, the mystery of the Heartstone's location, and how to retrieve it, will be found there."

  "That is an unusual request and one we must consider carefully," said Raghnaid, taking back control of the audience. "Only our most trusted scholars are generally allowed into the archives."

  "I know well what it is I ask. Were the circumstances less grave, I would not think to make this petition. As it stands, I believe that with every passing hour our peril grows. Either the Schism will continue to grow, raining magical destruction across Cynneweald and into our very homes here, or Uriasz will claim the stone for themselves. I know not which would be more dire for the dwarves."

  "Very well," said Raghnaid, "Give the council one hour to deliberate and then you will have your answer."

  Bowing his head, Witek backed toward the door, "I will await your summons in the first antechamber." Leaving the room, he smiled. That had gone better than anticipated. The council would debate but he was confident they would ultimately give him access to the records he required.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Thirteen

  Krystelle woke to the distant drip of water echoing in the tunnel. It was still dark as she pulled herself into a seated position, but somehow not as oppressively so as it had been in her wanderings. Lifting a hand to the back of her head, she winced, feeling the spot where she had hit the stone floor. There was no blood at least.

  She looked around, taking stock of her situation. It was lighter, but where was the light coming from? Remembering the feeling of panic that sent her running through the dark passageways, she cocked her head to listen for the footsteps that had chased her. She did not know how long had passed since she fell and whomever, or whatever, had been out there might still be close.

  She heard nothing. Nothing except that constant dripping of water. The air smelled different also. Rather than the stale, musty odor she had grown accustomed to, it reminded her of the scent of the ocean. Could she have traveled that far from the palace? She placed a hand on the wall and realized that it was not the worked stone from the tunnels. It reminded her of a natural cave wall. The ground beneath her seemed the same.

  Pulling herself to her feet, she ignored the sharp pain in her head. She had to keep going, but which way? Looking up, she could just see the outline of the opening in the tunnel roof she had fallen through. No going back that way. She looked up and down the cave. It was lighter to her right and the air smelled more wholesome that direction.

  Resolved, she picked Gabirel's Sword up from the ground where it had fallen and trudged off toward the fresher air and the light. The passage curved sharply to the right and she slowed as she approached the bend. Cautious to avoid discovery, she peeked around the corner.

  She blinked once at the sunlight streaming into the tunnel a short distance from where she stood. Through the opening she could see rolling waves breaking across a rocky shoreline. She had made it all the way to the ocean! How far did that tunnel system go? A question for another day.

  Walking toward the cave mouth, she allowed herself to think about her next steps for the first time. Zefran's message indicated Sebastian had a role to play in fixing whatever was wrong with the spells holding the Ban together. However, before she went to him at Daguranso, she would need this journal, and she had no idea where to start looking. She decided the only thing to do would be for her to return to the Dazhberg. In any event, the Council needed to know about the Krenon coup at Naevean.

  Her course set, she emerged onto the beach at the base of a high cliff and scanned the shoreline, looking for a reference point. Recognizing the cliff as one she passed on her way to the palace she breathed a sigh of relief. She was north of the city, meaning she would not have to travel through Naevean to get to the Dazhberg and risk exposing herself to the Krenon. She just had to get to the top of this cliff and she would be on the northern road.

  "Easier said than done," she muttered. The battering of waves against the shore had eaten into the sandstone that made up this part of the coastline, forming the cliff-face. The shear rock towered dozens of feet above her and she would need both hands if she was going to try to climb to the top. She could not leave the Sword, though, and had no scabbard to secure the blade.

  Sitting on a nearby rock, she puzzled over the problem. There was no going around. Rocky escarpments isolated her little spit of beach and any attempt to travel further up the shore would only end up with her bashed against the rocks.

  An errant wave sent spray washing across Krystelle's face, drawing her attention back to the sea. The next wave came a little closer and she got a face full of seawater. The tide was coming in and she was running out of time. She had no choice but to attempt to scale the cliff.

  Gripping the sword's hilt, she reached for a handhold with the other arm and, wedging her foot in a crevice, pulled herself up to begin the climb. One foot at a time, she inched her way up the cliff-face. Within minutes, the arm she used to climb began burning from the effort. She thought about abandoning the Sword. This would be a lot easier with both arms free.

  Rejecting the idea, she resolved herself to the task at hand. Her instructors as a sword-master had put her through worse than this and she refused to give in to any weakness. Months ago, when she had first arrived at the palace, this would have been much easier. She had let herself grow complacent and neglected her training in her time there. A mistake she would not make again, but one she paid for with every excruciating inch forward.

  Halfway up, she reached a small ledge and pulled herself onto it, stretching out her aching arm and legs. Laying there panting from the exertion, she peered over the edge. Waves swept into her cave entrance and crashed against the rocky cliff. She had begun her climb just in time.

  Recovered as much as she was going to, Krystelle resumed her climb. She shifted the Sword to her right hand to give it a break on the second hal
f of the ascent. It did not take long for her left arm to begin burning also. She used her right as a wedge to help keep her balance as she scaled the bedrock.

  Cramming her foot into an indentation in the cliff, she reached to find a new handhold. Grabbing on, her foot slipped as the sandstone beneath her right foot gave way and she slid several feet before managing to brace herself, tearing the knuckles on the hand holding sword and ripping out two fingernails against the rocks. She bit down a scream as blood seeped from the wounds. For the first time since she started, she wondered if she would be able to finish this climb.

  Refusing to give in, she reached up once more, crying out in pain as her hand gripped the rocks. Ignoring the agony, she climbed, slower now than before but still making progress. The world became a haze as she focused on getting to the top. There was nothing but the cliff and the next handhold, the next position to place a foot.

  Reach. Brace. Pull. Shift. Repeat.

  Then she was at the top. Pulling herself over the edge, she allowed the Sword to roll out of her hand. Lying there in the dirt, she cradled her left hand, with its torn nails. Every part of her ached with the effort and hunger gripped her belly, but she had made it to the top.

  She allowed herself five minutes to lay there before she clambered back to her feet. The northern road ran nearby and she was still too close to the city walls to remain long. Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the next, she trudged away from the cliff.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Determined to put distance between herself and the Krenon in Naevean, Krystelle walked for the better part of the day. Arms, legs, and back aching, she pressed forward through the sparse forest that dotted this part of Cynneweald. Following the road would have made for easier going, but she did not dare risk discovery in the open.