The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (143 page)

“The hu-mans—yes, I know,” Byrdach replied. “A young lodestone hunter named Yaron found one of them in the Cathgorns. This hu-man confessed to him that they were behind the attack.”

No, surely, it couldn’t be.
“Did your hunter happen to mention the name of this hu-man?”

“McCann. He said the hu-man’s name was McCann.”

Keris’s eyes widened. “Listen, Byrdach. We know this hu-man. He is extremely dangerous. Do you have any idea of his current whereabouts?”

“Dangerous, you say?” Byrdach frowned. “That’s odd, because Yaron said that the hu-man saved his life. Not only that; this McCann also managed to flag down one of the avionic pilots and knock him out.

He flew off in the direction of the island.”

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“Yaron is young, but he is a good, steady lad. Intelligent. Reliable. If he says that is what happened, then that is what happened.”

It made no sense. She had used the spy’s mistrust and suspicion to send him to an icy death. Why would he save a Kelanni? And why would he turn on his own people?

She suddenly recalled the casual murder by her escort of a boy taken as tribute and, afterwards, the brutality she had witnessed at the Spring Gratitude Festival in Lind—a mother sitting broken on the stone floor of the chapel, sobbing for the son who had been snatched away. She had not realised it at the time, but each event was one step along a road that ultimately caused her to turn her back on her life as a Keltar. Her eyes took in the broken buildings of Kieroth once more and settled finally on the little boy in Byrdach’s arms, now orphaned. Had McCann been similarly moved by conscience? Or were his actions part of some elaborate deception?

For the moment, it didn’t matter. She had a task to perform and she was not about to let McCann, or anyone else for that matter, deflect her from her purpose.

“Might I ask what happened to the rest of your party?” Byrdach enquired.

Best not mention the drach. Or Lyall’s act of betrayal.
“We destroyed the hu-man weapon, and the main body of hu-mans left, but a small number managed to... acquire the ancient device. The rest of our group stayed behind to retrieve the instrument and destroy it if at all possible. We came back to warn you... too late it seems.”

“It’s not your fault that this happened,” Byrdach soothed. “What do you intend to do now?”

“We have to help,” Patris said.

Keris shook her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, there’s no time for that.”

“These people need us.” Patris’s voice held a determined edge.

“Please,” Byrdach intervened. “Do not be concerned. We have the situation here under control. You should return to your side and help your people to mount a defence.”

“That is our intention,” Keris added quickly. “In fact, we would like your permission to use the sky ship you have assembled.”

“If you mean the Diametric Drive, then I’m afraid you’re too late. The hu-man avionics attacked and destroyed it before moving on to here. I’m sorry.”

I should have predicted that something like this would happen.
She cursed under her breath and then turned to Patris, who held up a restraining hand. “If you’re thinking of taking Annata’s Reach back through the storm barrier, forget it. My jerry-rigged repairs to the hull would never stand the stress; plus we had three with flying cloaks then and now we only have one. There’s no way you could pull the ship on your own; I don’t care how much more powerful your new red cloak is.”

He was right, of course. Which left just one possibility. She turned back to Byrdach. “This Yaron you spoke of—he is a hunter?”

“A lodestone hunter, yes. He scours the glaciers and upland slopes of the Cathgorn and Meurig mountains with his brother, in search of lodestone.”

“Would he consent to be our guide, do you think?”

Byrdach blinked. “Your guide to where?”

“There is a place in the mountains I need to reach.”

“You must mean the ancient tower. The Directorate were supposed to be organising an archaeological expedition, but as you can see, we now have more pressing matters to attend to. I don’t think they want anyone else going near it, but,” he winked, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She gave a formal bow. “Thank you. Can you perhaps tell us where we might find this Yaron?”

“I believe he returned to his village east of here, near the foot of the Cathgorns. I can have someone accompany you there, if you’d like.”

“No,” she said. “I appreciate your offer, but you need every available hand here to help with the relief work. Patris and I will find our way.”

“I see. Well, thank you for taking care of Machon here. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes. Do you know if Hannath is currently at the observatory?”

Byrdach’s face fell, and Keris braced herself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Hannath is dead.”

~

As they climbed the hill to the observatory, Keris’s boots felt like great blocks. Winter lingered in this land, and snow clung stubbornly to its slopes, smothering any growing thing that might give a hint of spring. Casting a look over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the town, the once-proud collection of noble edifices now burned, blackened, and beaten. A few thin trails of smoke rose vertically into the sky like silent cries for help. She dragged her eyes forward, but the view was scarcely more comforting. The great dome with its adjoining house was gone. Keris’s heart sank. There seemed little chance that anything could have survived the conflagration.

Byrdach had handed the orphan Machon to a bright-eyed, spare-boned young woman as she dug through a broken wall with a team of others. The boy did not cry or protest but clutched the small, oval lump of refined lodestone to his chest as if his life depended on it. Keris wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she had neither the means nor the words. Never in her life had she felt so completely helpless.

As they passed beyond the outskirts of the town, the Prefect’s mood had grown solemn. Patris, too, had fallen into a brooding silence. The brash thief who had snatched their money purse in Sakara, who cared for nothing other than his ‘crew’ and his beloved city—that person was no more. The new Patris was a changed man—willing to extend compassion to strangers half a world away. She genuinely regretted vetoing his offer of help.

Miraculously, the large iron gates were still intact. They swung open at her touch. Here on the hilltop, the charred ruins had acquired a light covering of snow which filled the cracks and smoothed over the rough edges, giving them an almost pleasing appearance, like a smile on the face of a corpse. She glanced at Patris, and the two of them began to pick their way towards what had once been the back of the house. Stooping down, she began examining the rubble. Patris followed suit.

Byrdach hovered at the edge of the building and showed signs of increasing agitation, as if she and Patris were intruding on holy ground. Impatience finally got the better of him. “May I ask what you’re looking for?”

“Something important,” she called back without looking up.

“Something Hannath was working on. Don’t worry. We’re only seeking to recover our own property.”

“Over here,” Patris shouted. She stood erect and picked her way to his position. Byrdach shuffled from one foot to the other. Finally, he overcame his qualms, crossed the threshold, and made his way towards them. Against the corner of one wall was what had once been a workbench, and on it, half-covered in soot and snow, were the remains of a small apparatus—a once-circular base, now contorted, its mechanism of red, silver, and gold smashed and exposed.

“What is it?” Byrdach asked.

She gently brushed away the snow and picked up what was left of the device, rotating it slowly. “A gift from a very old friend. At least, it used to be.”

“What does that mean?”

Keris let out a heavy sigh. “It means that we are on our own.”

<><><><><>

Chapter 30

Keris pulled her crimson flying cloak tight around her body in a futile attempt to stave off the cold of the mountain. She could feel the familiar push of lodestone from somewhere beneath the snow. How easy it would be to extend the upper lodestone layer of her cloak and simply fly up the mountainside, but that would leave Patris in the lurch, not to mention that it would amount to an insult to their guides, who had been kind enough to escort them this far. Consequently, she was condemned to trudge through the snow, along with the rest of the common folk.

They owed Byrdach a debt of gratitude. Not only had he managed to supply their guides with drach weapons so that they would be able to fend off any denizens of the mountain that they might encounter, but he also furnished them with the exact location of the ancient tower— something that the Directorate had determined should be kept a secret. When he handed over the map, there was a twinkle in his eye. For someone charged with maintaining law, he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in breaking it.

They shuffled along in single file, with Yonach and Yaron, the two guides, up ahead, then Keris, with Patris bringing up the rear. Keris had lost no time in interrogating Yaron regarding his dealings with McCann. Yaron confirmed that he and his brother had indeed rescued the hu-man from the mountains and then the boy had taken it upon himself to transport McCann to Kieroth. The reasons were complicated and seemed to involve the internal politics of the lodestone hunters and his brother’s status with their ruling Directorate. Suffice it to say that during the journey, the two encountered a pack of dangerous creatures known as valthar, and McCann somehow saved Yaron’s life, creating a bond of friendship between the two.

She told herself that the boy was young and inexperienced and could easily have been duped by a wily hu-man spy, but for some reason, she could not quite bring herself to believe that comforting explanation.

At length, Patris broke into her musings. “You do realise the problems with this plan, don’t you? Assuming we don’t get eaten by wild beasts, that is.”

She found conversing on a different subject a welcome distraction. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Recall that there are four towers—two on this side and two on ours. However, the tower on the Eastern Plains was destroyed by the Prophet’s soldiers when you attempted to use it. That leaves just one working tower on our side—Dagmar.”

“That’s correct,” Keris affirmed.

“Dagmar happens to lie close to Chalimar, right in the heart of the Prophet’s territory.”

“Then we will be exactly where we need to be.” She gazed up at the twin orbs of Ail-Gan and Ail-Kar burning steadily in the deep azure sky. “It’s day on this side. When we transfer to the other side, it will be the middle of the night.”

“That won’t help,” Patris insisted. “When you activated the globe at the top of the Tower of Akalon it lit up the sky like a lightning storm. When we arrive at Dagmar, I’m afraid someone’s going to notice. My guess is that every Keltar, hotshot soldier captain, and curiosity-seeker this side of the Tragar Mountains will be making a beeline for the tower. There’ll probably be vendors selling flatbreads with barrog meat and baked moba. It’ll be a circus.” Patris’s overly colourful scenario notwithstanding, he did have a point.

“The tower is sealed just like the one at Akalon,” she pointed out. “The Prophet’s forces might go to the tower to investigate, but they would have no way to reach us.”

“And then what? Do we stay up there for a day? Two days? Ten? Sooner or later we would have to come down—or else transport ourselves back to this side.”

As she considered the problem, an idea occurred to her—one that might give them the opportunity to escape and at the same time allow her to perform an important task of her own. “I’ll take care of it, although... it will be necessary for me to leave you for a short while. You will need to explain it to the others. Tell them not to worry.”

Patris’s eyes narrowed. She could see his mind working, attempting to figure out her plan and see through to her true intent.

Before he could reply, there was a shout from up ahead. Yaron was pointing at a jagged wall of obsidian broken by a narrow cleft. They started towards it, then froze. A deep-throated growl reverberated about the hillside. It grew into a chorus that filled her ears and jarred her teeth.

“Murghal.”

Yonach and Yaron pushed through the deepening snowdrifts towards the fissure. Keris drew her staff and began circling, seeking the source of the guttural noises. Patris took up a position alongside her, but she gestured with a flick of her head. “Go on. I’ll cover you.” He looked as if he was about to say something, but he turned and hastened after the two escorts.