Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (16 page)

“From what I remember, a treasure whose price is beyond measure,” Nerris said.

Jhareth frowned. “To tell you the truth, I’m kind of hoping it’s a treasure whose price we
can
measure.”

Dist handed the box to the captain. “It’s all in your protection now, Sir Enric.”

Enric sighed with relief. “Now my task is truly complete.”

Jhareth grinned. “I don’t know, Sir Knight. Who knows what kind of daring exploits lie between us and our fair capital?”

Dist laughed. “What could go wrong in the Stretch? Once we exit the forest, it’s desolate moors from here to the coast. There’s a reason people call it The Bores.”

It took them a couple more days riding west, but they came to the edge of the Great Oak Forest. A small brook ran to the south, past the tree line, but the bridge was in disrepair.

“On the way here, we had to lead our mounts across the brook,” Sir Enric said. “Don’t worry, it’s not deep.”

They dismounted, and Nerris glanced back at Len-Ahl as she walked toward the edge of the forest, humming a lilting tune. His encounter with the maiden of the woods a few nights past caused him to think about the song they had danced to,
Maiden in the Willow
. However, Len-Ahl did not drop to her death when she cleared the trees and stepped into the sunlight. She merely gazed to the western horizon as a breeze wafted through her shining hair, a look of wonder on her face.

“It is so empty,” she said, glancing at the moors ahead and the blue sky above.

Nerris had to disagree with her on that point. Out there in the world was anything but emptiness, which was both relieving and dispiriting. He felt as if he was watching the slow death of innocence, but he had to admit he was glad to be in the strange girl’s company. Whatever lay ahead, he would help her however he could as the wide world claimed another.

Chapter Sixteen

THE TRIP FROM the Great Oak Forest to Faerlin was uneventful. Their party ran into a bit of luck and made it in time to shelter at the Kennels, the seat of House Hallsworth, as a ferocious storm blew in. The castle derived its name from the faithful greyhound which adorned their banners. Hallsworth lands were in the shadow of Faerlin, and the house owed its loyalties directly to the king.

Lady Ceresa lived at court, so it was her steward who opened the gates for them when Sir Enric cited king’s business. Lest they be kept unduly from a brisk arrival at the capital, everyone agreed to keep the Thrillseekers’ identities secret. Nerris had never met the steward, or much of anyone from the Kennels that he could recall, and it was easy to pretend they were mere hired swords.

Len-Ahl tensed as the gates closed behind them. Nerris realized she had never been inside a castle before, and suspected the walls made her feel a bit trapped.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “It is just dead in here. There is no life in stone like in the trees.”

“Wait until Faerlin,” Nerris said. “The entire city is enclosed by walls.”

“The walls hinder the winds. I have trouble hearing the call of Paral.”

“Who?”

“Paral, King of the Wind,” she said. “It is he who my magic comes from.”

“A wind cleric. So that’s what you are.”

Nerris vaguely recalled talk of elemental wizards from throughout his travels. Most of them were gone, and those who remained tended to live alone in remote locations. Their orders had long since scattered, though Yagolhan had housed a fair few sects of earth clerics. Their order had lasted the longest, but he knew that might not be true for much longer. When he had hidden out in Palehorse, it was rumored that Qabala had captured their leader, a Nateus who had tutored Prince Lahnel, and intended to stamp out their presence for good.

“I am many things,” Len-Ahl said, “but yes, it is through the spirit of Paral that I learned my craft. There used to be orders for all the elements, back in the days when most humans still had the inherent ability to sense the faery realm. But then men cut down their forests and raided the earth to put up cities of stone and timber, and the orders dwindled. I fear they are all but gone now.”

“The earth clerics remain,” Nerris said. “They were a functioning order until about thirty years ago. But that means there are people out there who can bend water and fire to their will as well.”

“Yes,” Len-Ahl said. “Those who choose the wind and open skies as their vocation seek out Paral. The earth belongs to Gobe, water to Nixsa, and fire to Jinn. Those were the physical elements. Those devoted to the spiritual elements never had orders; the spirits of those elements lack names or visual representation.”

“Spiritual elements?”

“Thought, reason, knowledge, and desire,” she said. “You will see when the Stonechaser Prophecy is translated. Those words are the work of Angelica, Queen of the Faeries.”

“Are you telling me those scrolls are written in the language of the faeries?” Nerris asked.

Len-Ahl shrugged. “You will see.”

The storm let up in the morning, and they were able to get underway, making the last leg of their journey to Faerlin. The terrain grew hillier the farther west they rode. The northern coast of the Arm was laden with hills and cliffs. After another two days on the road, they arrived at Faerlin around midday.

The capital of Faerna sprawled against the coast. Mount Tamelk stood on the north coast, sheltering part of the city from south-blowing storms. Faerlin was the trading hub of the Aristian Sea, and housed a great many people. Ships from all over Tormalia littered the harbor, and pallid smoke rose in plumes from thousands of chimneys. Faerlin Castle rested on the foothills of the mountain, elevated above the rest of the city. The blue-and-gold kingfisher sigil of House Klaidon flew on the ramparts, billowing in the breeze.

As they entered through the east gate, Nerris could feel Len-Ahl suck in her breath. Unlike the sleepy village they had left behind, the activity here never ended. Carts and carriages lumbered down city streets. A layabout begged them for spare coins. On the other side of the road, a man with a scarf over his face scooped up horse dung with a shovel. And a street corner, two men engaged in furtive argument over some personal dispute until an old woman in the house above opened a window and scattered them by dumping the contents of her chamber pot onto the street.

“This is more people than I have seen in my life,” Len-Ahl said. “Are they all this noisy?”

“In a city this big, you have to be noisy to get anyone to pay attention to you,” Jhareth said. “We’ll take you down to the marketplace tomorrow. Then you’ll see some real chaos.”

Upon arriving at the castle’s main gate, Sir Enric hailed the sentries, who admitted them at once. Back at the Kennels, Enric had sent a rider onward, to inform the castle of their impending arrival. Because of that, they were greeted in the bailey by a formal retinue: a dozen men-at-arms, another half-dozen servants, two of the king’s cavaliers and an old man in a silk robe, who had a mischievous look about him. Nerris couldn’t help but smile when he laid eyes on the man.

“That’s Lord Tarlan Croffer of Green Rock, steward of Faerlin,” Nerris told Len-Ahl. “It’s been years since I’ve seen that old cuss.”

The Croffer family traditionally handled the day-to-day issues of the capital, though they were styled as lords. They even had their own keep on Green Rock, an island out in the bay, which oversaw the ships coming and going from the harbor.

“Oh, mighty Thrillseekers!” Tarlan gesticulated before them. “It is surely an act of divine will which finds all of you here together once more.”

Nerris bit his lower lip and glanced at Dist and Jhareth to see if they were having as hard a time keeping a straight face. They were.

“And it is fitting you make your return here in Faerlin, the Fair City,” Tarlan continued, “a city which is the apex of the known world, brightest jewel of the Tormalian crown, or mayhap the largest pimple on the continent’s ass. Whichever point of view you take.”

Everyone had a laugh at that, even the stoic cavaliers. “Greetings to you, Tarlan,” Nerris said. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still the soul of acerbic formality.”

Tarlan winked at him. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to offend the legendary Thrillseekers. The world might stop turning.”

Jhareth eyed the servants. “I suppose we’re to get our insides ripped out and stuffed for King Maerlos.”

“You know formalities,” Tarlan said. “We can’t let wayfaring slobs in to see his Majesty, after all.”

“I see your mouth is as big as ever too, old man,” Jhareth said.

Dist chuckled. “You’re one to talk.”

Several female servants approached them and led Len-Ahl away as they chattered amongst themselves. She cast a panicked glance back at Nerris, but he smiled to let her know it was all right. Sir Enric and his men said their farewells for the moment as they went off to make their report to the king.

The remainder of the servants, along with the cavaliers, led them to the castle steams, where they were bathed and fitted into formal clothing. Nerris had long ago discovered an enjoyment in keeping himself tidy and dressing up for formal occasions as the situation commanded. Jhareth sometimes had to play at nobility to get whatever he was after, and considered the inconvenience a necessary costume. Dist, however, was working class to the bone, and swore and made grouchy threats every time a servant tried to wash his face or brush dried mud from his hair.

“It’s just as well,” Jhareth told him. “You were starting to look like a walking pigpen. Much longer on the road with you and I would have thrown you into a river myself.”

“Put a hand on me and you won’t get it back, Jhareth,” Dist said between clenched teeth as a servant lifted his arm to scrub the underside.

“You know you have to go through this every time we come here, so why rage about it?” Nerris asked.

“It’s the principle.”

“You’re just fighting for the sake of fighting,” Jhareth said.

“Principle,” Dist insisted.

After bathing, their hair was trimmed. Nerris insisted the ponytail he had been sporting for the past three years be shorn, and he also asked them to shave his beard. Jhareth and Dist already had much shorter hair than him, but Jhareth did get his own whiskers trimmed a bit.

They were given nice doublets and hose to change into next. Nerris sported green with gold trim, Dist red with orange and Jhareth in black and yellow. “Nice of them to color coordinate us,” Dist commented as the cavaliers led them to the antechamber in front of the great hall.

“I don’t care if they put feathers in our collars,” Jhareth said, “as long as I get this matter with King Maerlos cleared up so we can hunt some treasure.”

“At least try to be courteous,” Nerris said. “He
is
the king.”

“Yes,” Dist said. “Don’t be an ass.”

Jhareth put his hand over his heart. “Maerlos is our friend. When he went back on his word, he hurt my feelings.”

Nerris rolled his eyes. “Right.”

A few moments later, Tarlan entered with Len-Ahl on his arm. She had been gowned in an elegant white dress, and she curtsied before them. Her hair was tied into a bun on top of her head, with a few golden wisps rolling past her temple. Nerris stared at her for a moment, not believing the figure she cut in such finery.

Len-Ahl smiled. “Well, Nerris?”

He wasn’t aware he had been asked a question until Dist prompted him by stepping on his foot. “It’s... different,” he managed to get out.

Jhareth sighed in disgust and strode forward, taking Len-Ahl’s hand. “My dear faermaid, you look exquisite. Few mortal men have laid eyes on a goddess, but if I ever do, I will find them wanting next to your radiance this day.” He looked back at Nerris. “Is that closer to the mark?”

Len-Ahl blushed, and Nerris tried to find his voice. Before he could, Tarlan cleared his throat. “My faermaid, gentlemen, and you as well, Jhareth... we need to prepare for our entrance.” He nodded to Len-Ahl and took his place in the lead, right in front of the door.

Len-Ahl took Nerris’s arm and led him to stand behind Tarlan as Dist and Jhareth fell in line behind them. One of the double doors opened a crack, and a servant whispered that the throne room was ready to receive them.

“Aren’t you going to take Dist’s arm, Jhareth?” Tarlan asked without even turning around.

“One of these days that mouth of yours will be the end of you,” Jhareth said.

“I’ve lasted sixty-two years this summer,” Tarlan said. “I’ll lose my ability to speak coherently in the coming years. If my mouth is going to kill me, it had best hurry up.” With a grin, he gestured to the guards, who opened the doors for him.

Tarlan strode into the great hall, with Len-Ahl and the Thrillseekers keeping in step. The king’s throne room was vast. A large banner bearing the Klaidon coat of arms hung behind the thrones, which were situated on a raised dais. The gallery stood on either side of the purple carpet, where many lords, ladies, and courtiers had gathered to feast their eyes on the Thrillseekers.

With a quick glance, Nerris noticed some faces he hadn’t seen in years. Lord Joddeth Blackwine, Sir Gillamo Tosset, and Lady Ceresa Hallsworth were to the left. On the right, he spied the castle’s master-at-arms Sir Felton Lomont, who had a hand on the shoulder of Ceder Duchois, the son of Lord Laque Duchois. The Duchois family had made the unfortunate error of being on the losing side during the Liberation of Agos. When all was said and done, King Maerlos had taken Ceder as his ward and hostage. The lord’s younger son was currently in residence with King Owen in Alicanos. The boys had been children when taken into custody, but Ceder now looked older than Nerris had when he attended Gauntlet.

All eight of the king’s cavaliers were on hand to welcome them, standing stoic at the bottom of the dais. The Queen’s seat was empty, but King Maerlos sat the throne himself. It had been about four years, but his Majesty was beginning to look his age. Nerris had never known him when he was the fierce, young king who had led the forces of the eastern kingdoms against a united Yagolhan and slain Yahd the Enslaver in single combat. The silver hair and beard he remembered, but his eyes looked tired, a bit more sunken than before and many new wrinkles lined his face. Yet with his regal robes and golden crown upon his head, when he stood he looked every bit the respectable, impressive figure he had always been.

Dist and Jhareth moved up to stand next to Nerris and Len-Ahl, and they all dropped to a knee and lowered their heads when the king stood. Tarlan stood off to the side, his arms open as if presenting them to the court.

“Your Majesty, my esteemed lords and ladies, I give you the Thrillseekers,” he said. “Nerris Palada, Dist Schies, and Jhareth Kanave, along with their companion, the faermaid Len-Ahl.”

“It is truly a joyous day for the kingdom of Faerna,” King Maerlos said in his deep voice. “I did not realize when I sent Sir Enric to request the presence of Jhareth Kanave that our favorite sons would be returned to us, whole once more. Rise, Thrillseekers, and you as well, Len-Ahl. You have returned to us during a time of great confusion and turmoil, and it would do this old king’s heart well if he could at the very least look upon you.”

Nerris and his companions rose, and he looked into King Maerlos’s blue eyes. What had he meant by a time of great confusion? With another glance, Nerris noticed several things he had not before. For one thing, he did not see Queen Nelisa anywhere, or Prince Camion. Though he had thought the cavaliers present in full force, he now noted he had been mistaken. Six of the eight knights were present, though with their helms visored he could not tell which ones. He could not tell which two were missing.

“It pleases all of us to see you again, your Majesty,” Jhareth said. “The court has always been generous in its hospitality, and if there is anything we can do to serve you, you need only command it.”

“The Thrillseekers are always welcome in Faerlin,” King Maerlos said. “I am pleased you have returned, Jhareth. I never meant for any rift to form between us, and there is a matter of negotiations to be discussed privily.”