The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (5 page)

“What happened here?” she demanded.

Rodann spoke up, “Escaped tribute, my Lady.”

“
He is dead!
You did not think to chase him down?” The two soldiers with Rodann shifted uneasily, contaminated with his guilt.

“Apologies my lady, I should have explained to you that we are testing a new method of restraint for the tributes. They have been fitted with lodestone breastplates.”

To impede their progress
, she realised. The act of running would cause the lodestone to push the man backwards, the harder he tried to run. He probably panicked, not realising what was happening to him and only pushed the harder. But why kill him?
So he could not tell others
.

All of a sudden she was struck by a horrific thought. Rodann
planned
this all along. He had been looking for a way to test his asinine devices.
Now a man is dead, and I am responsible
. Perhaps someone had put him up to it? The keep had a complex political structure, and her rapid advancement in the ranks of Keltar had made her her fair share of enemies. She thrust the thought to the back of her mind. There was nothing to do now except take charge of the situation. She rounded on Rodann.

“Get back to the others now and remove those breastplates. You will watch the tributes closely, and if they flee, you will chase them down and bring them back. I do not intend to lose another. Do you understand?”

“As you command.” Rodann pursed his lips; then motioned to the other soldiers and they began walking back to where the carts stood.

Keris stood, looking down at the fallen man for a moment. Then she turned and followed the soldiers, her flying cloak flaccid about her shoulders like a useless appendage.

~

The wheels of the carts clattered across cobbled stone as the tribute convoy passed under massive wooden gates and into the great city of Chalimar. Keris had packed away her cloak and was riding the graylesh once more. Following the incident on the road, the remainder of the journey had been conducted without incident and in near silence. Her first instinct had been to report the matter to Mordal, but she was certain it would be a waste of time. There was also the fact that it was likely that she would have to work with Rodann again and it was never good to have an enemy as your Captain. Nevertheless, she resolved that she would have to watch the man more closely in future.

The late afternoon streets were eerily quiet. The city under the Prophet`s “protection” was a depressing place outside of the keep. The houses were of rough stone, with peaked wooden roofs, closely packed together. There were wooden shutters over most of the windows, despite the fact that it was day. A few people glanced nervously at the soldiers and their three tributes, but most ignored them and hurried on. They were passing through the merchants’ quarter and she saw that most of the stalls were empty. The rest of the sellers were engaged in the act of packing away their wares. It felt as if most of the citizens of this once proud city were cowering inside their homes.

They passed through the narrow streets which eventually widened out into a spacious main square. Buildings flanked the square on three sides. They were taller than those on the outskirts, with stone roofs, and up to three stories high. The fourth side was dominated by the Great Cathedral of Chalimar.

Easily the most impressive building in the city, more so than even the keep itself, the cathedral was dominated by three immense spires– one yellow, one red and one white–symbolising the unity of the Three Suns. The cathedral building itself was constructed of immense stones, with narrow slits which admitted only slivers of outside light. There were wide stone steps, leading to a huge wooden door which was firmly shut. Above the door was the familiar symbol of three concentric rings, above which, someone had more recently carved a flame, the symbol of the Prophet. The Three and The One. The addendum looked distinctly out of place–more like vandalism than devotion. Keris rode past and on to the wide uphill street that led to the keep itself.

The gate of the keep swung open to meet them and the small procession clattered into the mustering courtyard. Keris dismounted the graylesh and handed the reins to a soldier. She turned to see Borian, the Gatemaster, walking over to meet her. He was a large man with close cropped dark hair and an easy smile. His skin was a dark olive, and he swished his tail confidently.

“Greetings, Keris. I trust your trip went well.” He cast his eye briefly over the caravan. Servants of the keep had arrived and were busy unhitching the animals, whilst the soldier escort stood together in a knot, speaking in low tones. The three “tributes” were glancing nervously about them, no doubt fearing the worst. Borian turned back to Keris. “Orders. I have been told to tell you that you are to report to Mordal in his chambers as soon as you arrive.”

Keris sighed slightly. “I see. Thank you, Borian.” The man nodded and headed back to the barbican.
What now?
She had a number of pressing activities she had in mind to be getting on with, the first and most important of which was going to be to stick her head into a bucket of cold water.
Well, it looks as if that particular luxury will have to wait.

She started for the keep’s main door. Passing through the atrium, she ascended the central stairs and made for Mordal`s office. She knocked once and then entered.

Mordal sat on a stool behind his desk, seemingly preoccupied with work. He was bald, with glabrous face and small, dark, piercing eyes. He wore a plain scarlet tunic and red-brown trousers. A flying cloak was draped carelessly over another stool near the door. His office always seemed to exude an air of casual efficiency, much like the man himself. The walls were inlaid with ornate wooden panelling and lined with rows of leather-bound books. More books were stacked on the desk, some of them open. A small window behind his head afforded a view of the refectory and the garden.

Keris spoke up. “Fealty and service to the Three.”

The man looked up from his desk. “And to the One.”

“And to the One,” she added.

“Report.”

“Tariff exacted from Hassun. Two carts of produce. Moba and Kassian mainly. However, harvest last year was poor and their stores are depleted. We could be looking at starvation in the eastern settlements in a half a turn or so. Three tributes delivered. One lost en route through…an accident.” Mordal looked up at that and seemed as if he was about to say something, but checked himself. “Rodann is billeting them prior to induction. I am to leave tomorrow for Sakima before Ail-Gan rises.” Keris finished and waited patiently for Mordal`s response.

“No.”

“I don’t–”

“I have charged Niall with that particular task. I have another mission for you.” He stood up, walked around his desk and stood next to her, placing his hand on the small of her back. “Walk with me.”

She followed as he led her out and down the stairs. They went through a side doorway, and Keris found herself stepping into the garden which lay beneath the window of Mordal`s office.

Bounded by the keep itself, the refectory and a high outer wall, the garden was its own private world. The section adjacent to the refectory was given over to vegetables and herbs. However, this early in the year there was not much to see other than neatly tilled soil. Inside the kitchen area, there was an area where young plants were forced, so as to ensure fresh vegetables for those of eminence within the keep’s administrative structure.

The rest of the garden was given over to low shrubs, flower beds and curving walkways. As she walked with Mordal, however, her mind’s eye saw not the serenity of growing things, but a lean girl in a cart with eyes of hatred, and a man lying face down on the ground, his fair hair stirring in the breeze…

She was shaken out of her reverie as Mordal suddenly broke the silence.

“Do you remember when you first came here?” He paused, and then continued. “It was more than twenty turns ago. You were young then; wary of everyone, but curious.” He laughed lightly. “Your eyes were wide like a young child’s, taking everything in, missing nothing.” Indeed, the city had seemed almost overwhelming, with its massive cathedral and daunting keep. Half the time, she had wanted to cower in the corner like some frightened gundir pup.

“I watched you carefully,” Mordal continued, as if speaking to himself. “You said little but you were sharp and learned quickly. And then you got into a fight with…what was his name?”

“Torinn.” Keris remembered the day as if it were yesterday. Torinn was a loudmouth and a bully. When she saw him roughing up a younger boy, she had thrown caution to the winds and set about him like a wild scaran beast. It was an act of nobility, courage and utter stupidity. “He beat me to a pulp.”

Mordal laughed out loud. “Of course he did! He was a head taller than you and twice your size! But that was only after he recovered from the shock of being pummelled to the ground by a slip of a girl. That was the day I made the decision to recommend your induction for training as Keltar.” He smiled wryly. “I remember I had a long argument with Lorcar over that. You were too young by almost a full turn, but in the end I beat him down. It’s a decision I have never regretted.”

“I am grateful for all you have done for me, my Lord.”

Mordal blew through his lips and waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, it is we who should thank you. You have worked hard and used your talents in furtherance of the Prophet’s cause.”

“I live to serve.”

“As do we all.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Well then, to the business at hand.” They had reached a small arbour near the centre of the garden. A sweet scent emanated from a profusion of yellow blossoms. There were stools placed conveniently, but Mordal did not sit; rather, he stood facing the young woman.

“There was an incident two days ago in Corte. Garai was collecting tariff and tributes when he was suddenly attacked by a man posing as Keltar.”

“Posing?” inquired Keris.

Mordal shrugged. “He had the trappings of Keltar; the flying cloak and staff. However, he was beaten rather easily by all accounts and fled using the cloak. Garai tried to give chase but his cloak was ‘accidentally damaged.’ Personally I think that the impostor gave Garai rather more trouble than he is willing to admit. At any rate, he seems to have been aided and abetted by a young woman. The soldier escort gave chase but lost her in the town and did not have time to complete a house to house search before they were due to return.”

Keris frowned as she listened to Mordal`s account. It seemed inconceivable that anyone would have the
gall
to impersonate a Keltar.

“The Prophet is away from the keep, visiting Persillan in the north, where he is due to ascend to the heavens in a few days. We Ringed him of course, to apprise him of the situation, but he is not overly concerned. There has been no organised rebellion since the revolt at Persillan, and that was more than ten turns ago. Nevertheless, two companies of soldiers under Captain Sallidor have been dispatched to Corte to investigate and track down the assailants.”

“Sallidor will no doubt do a thorough job,” Keris offered.

“Sallidor couldn’t find a Utharan Mammoth if you placed it in front of him and tied a sign round its neck reading ‘Utharan Mammoth.’ No, Sallidor will knock a few heads together, but he will turn up nothing of significance…However, this does furnish us with an opportunity.”

“Opportunity?”

“Indeed.” Mordal smiled weakly. “I am getting along in years now, Keris. Soon the time will come to name my successor.” He looked at her steadily. “I would like it to be you.”

Keris was silent for a moment, trying to absorb the import of Mordal`s words. She had never thought of herself in such a role. Indeed she was quite certain that no-one else in the keep had either. In fact there would probably be quite a number, and she could rattle off their names, who would be shocked or even angered by the suggestion. Finally she spoke. “My Lord, there are a great many others with more experience than I–”

“But they do not have your insight. Your instincts. I need to know that after I am gone, the Prophet’s mission will be in good hands.”

Keris found herself lost for words.

“However,” he continued, “I need to convince the Prophet that you are indeed the right person for this task.” Mordal put a hand on her shoulder. “To that end, I want you to go to Corte. You can pose as common traveller or a merchant. Make discreet enquiries and find the conspirators. I do not care what happens to them, whether you take them alive or bring back the bodies, but we need to know exactly how they managed to obtain the cloak and the staff.”