The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (93 page)

“So, who is next for trial?” Lyall asked.

The Chandara turned toward Patris, who was lurking behind the others. The sailor-thief’s face registered alarm. “Oh, no. There’s no way I’m going in there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “especially after what just happened to him.”

“You knew that the purpose of coming here was to undergo these trials,” Keris pointed out.

Patris adopted an air of exaggerated patience. “Our agreement–if you recall–was for you to provide protection for me until we return to our world. Not for me to undergo some kind of ritual test.”

“You would rather see the Prophet destroy our world?” Keris challenged.

Patris shook his head. “I can’t…I won’t be responsible for the problems of an entire world. My job is to protect my crew, my guild and my city–that’s it.” He looked around at the accusing faces. “Look, as I understand it, you need three more…custodians. There are four of you. You don’t even need me.”

Lyall stared at him, then turned to Boxx, “Can one of us take his place?”

“No,” Boxx replied.

“Why?” Patris demanded. “Why do I have to go?”

Boxx looked directly up at him. “Ordinal Sequence Is Determined By Recursive Algorithm.”

Patris squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “What…What did it say?”

Keris stood toe to toe with him. “That’s enough. You will leave Boxx alone.”

“Fine.” Patris threw his arm up. “Fine, I’ll leave it alone. Just so long as it leaves me alone.” He stormed off toward the collection of tents.

Lyall watched him leave. “Boxx, what happens if Patris refuses the trial?”

“Then The Trials Are Concluded.”

“And we will have failed?”

“Yes,” Boxx said.

“What are we going to do?” Shann asked.

Lyall’s expression was grim. “Stay here. I’ll take care of it.” The rain was steady now. An onshore breeze buffeted their backs. Lyall followed Patris into one of the makeshift shelters. Shann heard raised voices. Moments later, Lyall reappeared. Shann’s jaw dropped. He was half carrying, half dragging the dark-haired sailor. Patris grunted and protested, his arms flailing, but he could do nothing to prevent his being propelled across the platform.

She could hear his strangled cries. “Get off me…I won’t…you can’t make me.” He hauled the thief past them and on toward the nubilous grey dome. “Arrrgghh.” Lyall grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hurled him into the fog.

He turned back and addressed Boxx, breathing hard. “He’s in there.” Boxx cocked its head to one side, then headed in after Patris.

Keris approached Lyall. There was a wry smile on her face. “Well done. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Lyall ignored her. He began walking back toward the tents. “I’m going to check on Alondo,” he called over his shoulder. “Let me know when he reappears.”

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Chapter 31

Patris lay face down on the ground while his feeling of shock ignited into burning fury. He hauled himself up and saw Boxx looking down on him. Behind the Chandara there was nothing but a uniform grey flatness. The thief got to his feet and cast his eyes about him. There was nothing but the grey mist. “Show me the way out of here now,” he commanded.

The Chandara’s eyes were smouldering coals. “Begin.”

The fog vanished along with Boxx, to be replaced by smoke. Patris coughed as the acrid fumes caught in his throat. His eyes were stinging from the smog.
Fire.
He cast about wildly. Wisps of smoke curled about his head, and he could hear the crackle and roar of flames coming from somewhere nearby. He was in a large room with stone walls and a wooden staircase leading to the next level. Wherever this place was, he had to get out, now.

Patris stumbled in the direction where he thought the door was likely to be. He tripped over an obstacle on the floor and fell forward, banging his knee. Cursing, he turned around and saw a body lying face down. He crawled back on hands and knees and turned the motionless form so that he could see the face. His stomach turned over as he recognised Arrogo, a member of his own thief crew. Blood covered the side of the man’s head, and his eyes were fixed open.
In the name of all that’s holy, where am I?

He got to his feet and staggered on till he found a wall. He felt along it, coughing as the smoke continued to invade his lungs. Suddenly, a section of wall swung open, and he spilled out onto a cobbled street. He fell to his knees, gasping for air. Smoke billowed into the night air from the windows of the three-story stone building behind him. He stood up, slowly and painfully. The street wound its way downhill, giving him a panoramic view of the town, the wharf and the inky black sea beyond. The town was dotted with fires. They seemed to be raging out of control. Out in the harbour, he could see ships aflame. This was without doubt the Port City of Sakara. His city. And it was being destroyed before his very eyes.

How can I be here? How can all of this be happening?
Oliah had been communicating regularly through the Ring that Alondo carried. She had reported that the Prophet’s troops had been consolidating their hold on the city, and that they were doing their best to hunt down Skippers from the Thief Guild, with little or no success. However, there had been no mention of reprisals as yet, and certainly no indication of the widespread destruction he was witnessing. This had to be some sort of a dream–but he could feel the pain in his knee. No, this wasn’t a dream. It was all too vivid…too real.

A shadow moved against the maroon tinged clouds in the night sky and alighted on the street directly in front of him. The pitch-black outfit and flying cloak were unmistakeable.
Keltar.
Patris took a step backwards as the stranger pushed back the hood to reveal a visage of beautiful severity, framed by long raven tresses. The thief squinted in the dimly reflective light. “Keris?”

The tall woman’s smile held a twist of cruelty. “Patris. So we meet again. I was wondering which corner of this filthy hole you would be cowering in.”

“What’s happening?” Patris demanded. “What are you doing here? Where are the others?”

“Others? …Oh, you must mean Lyall and his band of miscreants. Dead. Or in hiding. It hardly matters. The Prophet now rules everywhere. He is due to arrive here in person shortly. However, it turns out there are rather a lot of vermin in this city. I was asked to do a little…housecleaning, prior to his arrival. What do you think of the results so far?”

“But…you no longer serve the Prophet. You turned your back on all of that and joined Lyall and his party.”

Keris laughed without mirth. “Really, Patris. I thought you were more intelligent than that. You must know that Keltar never leave the service of the Prophet.” Patris’ head was swimming. None of it made sense. Unless…unless this was some twisted vision of the future? Some warning of what would, what could happen. But why? Why was he being shown all of this? The woman looked at the ground, then up at him again. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

“I…I don’t know,” Patris replied carefully.

“Oh, come now,” she retorted. “Honesty is the key principle of the Thief Guild–you told me as much yourself. You despise the values that I stand for. They are so different from the ideals espoused in your beloved Sakara. Still, that shouldn’t prevent us working together. ‘It’s not the dealer; it’s the deal’. Isn’t that what they say here? Well, I have a proposition for you. But first I thought we might enjoy a little sport. If you survive, I will give you the opportunity to save both yourself and this city. The alternative would be to kill you here and now, but then, where’s the fun in that? So what do you say? Do we have an agreement?”

Patris had never felt more helpless in his life. He nodded.

Keris smiled. “Excellent.” The smile vanished and her eyes blazed, reflecting the fires from the burning buildings.
“Now run.”

~

Patris pelted through the city, glancing back over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. The street seemed clear, but he was astute enough to realise that meant nothing. Keris’ flying cloak gave her access to roofs and housetops, alleys and shortcuts. He was like a small rodent running for its life. His only hope was to go to ground. It seemed prudent to assume for now that all of the regular safe houses had been compromised. That meant making it to a sewer entrance or one of the other boltholes that, as a member of the Thief Guild, he had burned into his memory.

It was completely absurd. One moment he had been on an ancient metal platform; the next, he was in a flaming city halfway across the world, fleeing for his life. And yet that was far from the only thing that did not make sense. Patris prided himself that he was a pretty good judge of people. You simply didn’t get to rise to the position of Skipper within the Thief Guild without that particular talent. He had spent more than enough time with Keris to know what made her tick, and there was absolutely no way that she had been secretly serving the Prophet all this time. Which meant that either she was lying, or…or that was not Keris. At least, not the Keris he knew.

However, there was another trait that was absolutely essential in the Thief Guild, and that was an instinct for survival. He knew that whatever this was–this purgatory into which he had suddenly been thrust–it was no illusion. In a very real sense, his life was at stake.

He passed another burning building to his left. The structure was fully ablaze, its windows aflame. One side of the building had fallen in, sending sparks coruscating into the night sky. A wooden cart had been ignited, blocking the route. Next to it were two more broken bodies lying on the cobbles. Patris skirted around them and hurried on. His path was taking him toward the wharf area. A little farther on, a narrow side road branched off to the left. About halfway along, a storm drain led down through a culvert and out through sluice gates to a stone covered beach near the harbour wall. If he could make it there, perhaps find a small boat…?

The fires were like spotlights, picking out his position. Patris did his best to keep to the shadows. His gaze swept over the roofs opposite and his heart sank as he saw a hunched shape on one of the gables, eagerly tracking his movements like a ravenous bird of prey. The dark outline spread its cloak like a single great wing and glided toward street level. Ignoring the pain in his knee, Patris sped on. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the side street he recognised and turned onto it, slipping on the slick cobblestones and falling onto his side. Keris was closing on him. It felt as if she were breathing down his neck. He scrabbled to his feet and stumbled on.
Just a few more yards.

In front of him, doors slammed shut and terrified townsfolk watched from behind shuttered windows. Very likely, there was a curfew in operation. It was clear he could expect no help from these people. Finally, he reached the grating. He dropped to his knees and looked back. There was no sign of his pursuer. Patris did not stop to question. He threw back the catch and pulled on the iron ring. Metal grated against stone as the drain cover gave way and he dropped down onto the floor of the cloaca, his boots splashing in the brackish rainwater. He ducked and entered the downward sloping watercourse.

Away from the drain opening, gloominess rapidly descended. he felt his way along the curved damp walls, ignoring the side tunnels that fed into the central channel. If he were evading a mark, following a theft, he would have had his escape route clearly mapped out. He would also have all of the necessary equipment with him, including a knife for protection and a lamp to light his way. Thanks to Lyall, he had been pitched into this situation with none of those things. For the nth time, he cursed the self-styled rebel leader. The city’s foul-smelling runoff swirled around his boots. Something moved in the inky water, then slithered away. He gritted his teeth and sloshed onward. The tunnel widened out into a culvert. He put out his hands to steady himself on the threshold and froze. Bobbing lights were moving up the passage toward him, accompanied by raucous shouts. The way to the sea was cut off.
How could they know that I would be coming this way?

There was no time for speculation. Patris retreated into the tunnel and hurried back toward the last intersection. He would have to follow the route and climb back up to street level, to find another way around. There was a passage leading off to the right. He kept his head low and swashed along the gently rising conduit. Behind him, he could hear the chasing group growing closer. He surged forward as rapidly as the darkness would permit. At last, he saw a patch of dull red light up ahead, where another drain gave access to the surface. He stood underneath the metal grille and pushed his fingers through the slats to operate the latch. He pushed the cover open and hauled himself to his knees. Panting with exertion, he raised his eyes to see a pair of boots, long legs and a cloaked figure standing before him. Darkwood spun and sliced through the air like a keening wind. He felt the diamond blade at his throat.