The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (98 page)

Lyall bowed his head slightly and she returned the gesture, then turned, cloak fluttering in the breeze, and followed Boxx into the dome of grey fog.

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Chapter 35

Keris trailed after Boxx through a featureless grey landscape. She maintained herself at full alert, ready to react instantly to any threat that might emerge out of the flat mist. Whatever beast or berserker inhabited this strange place would feel the edge of her blade. But there was nothing. No enemy to overcome. No-one to fight. And no answers.

The Chandara stopped and turned to face her. “I Speak With Keris.”

She looked down at the shelled creature. Its wide face was like a child’s. “You wish to talk? Why here?”

“We Are Away From The Others. Alone.”

Keris reflected a moment. “Is this a part of the trial?”

“It Is Not A Part Of The Trial.”

“Very well,” she said. “What do you wish to speak of?”

“Do You Recall Your Promise, Keris?”

“Promise?”

“At The Warren. I Showed You The Great Tree. You Promised To Aid Chandara–When The Time Came.”

She nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

“My Time Is Short. I Must Give You Essence.” The little creature reached inside a fold in its underbelly with its upper forelimb. Keris had never noticed a pouch there before. Either she had missed it, or it was a feature that the Chandara had newly acquired somehow. Slowly it withdrew something, holding it out for Keris to see. It was a vial of what appeared to be transparent skin. The vial contained a milky substance, like thin blood. “Essence,” it trilled. “I Must Give. You Must Take.”

Keris reached out hesitantly and took the vial from Boxx. It sat in the palm of her hand, still warm to the touch. “What is this?”

“That Is…Me.”

Keris’ brow creased. “I…I don’t understand.”

“You Must Do What The Tree Cannot. First For Me, Then For All.”

“Do what?” she pressed. “What do you want me to do with this?”

Boxx looked up at her with a serene expression. “You Will Know. When The Time Comes.”

The vial suddenly seemed unnaturally heavy. Keris placed it with the other items in her pouch. She looked up again and saw the Chandara’s mouth ripple. “Begin.”

Boxx disappeared and along with it, the amorphous backdrop, to be replaced by a barren hillside. It was night. The sky was suffused with a dull red colour that seeped from the red sun. Ail-Mazzoth. She was back. Back on the other side of her world. But how? A trick of some kind? Keris drew her staff and held it at the ready as she circled, performing a total surveillance of her surroundings while she allowed her Kelanni eyes to adjust to the gloom. At first, it was hard to make out anything. All was deathly silence. Yet there was something…something familiar about this place.

She glanced again at the static red sun. Its orb filled the western sky, casting inky shadows over the maroon painted heights. That meant she must be well to the east of Chalimar–probably east of the plains. The Gilah Hills? The only time she had ever been this high up in the Gilah had been that fateful night when she had come face to face with Mordal for the last time. If she was right, then the corrie where she had clashed with her former mentor lay only a short distance ahead.

A test.
This whole thing is a test of some kind, she reminded herself. Her instincts told her that any confrontation would likely take place at the site of that encounter. That left only two choices. Advance or retreat. If she hoped to prevail, then retreat was not an option. She sheathed her weapon and started up the rise.

Soon, Keris saw the ancient bowl of rock rising up to meet her. There could be no more doubt–this was the place. She stepped out onto the wide stone floor. The headwall reared up in front of her. In the midst of a slight depression, the bed of a long dried tarn, stood a lone robed figure, half hidden in shadow. Keris’ forehead began to bead with sweat, but it was not from the exertion of the climb.
It can’t be…

She walked forward slowly. It all felt like a dream. As she approached, the figure cast back its cowl, to reveal the bald, full-fleshed head of her former overseer. “It’s good to see you, Keris.”

Sweat was rolling down her temples despite the cool night air. What was this…
deception?
The man was dead. There could be no mistake–she had seen the body with her own eyes. He could not be the person he was pretending to be. And yet…

Keris shook her head. Someone was toying with her, playing some twisted game for their own amusement.
Boxx?
It didn’t seem possible. Besides, the creature had placed its life in her hands only moments before. Someone else, then? Someone with a personal grudge, perhaps? Following her defection from the keep, there were far too many of those to count. Yet she knew none who would have the power to do…this. Of one thing she was certain. When she discovered the identity of the one responsible, she would promptly separate their head from their body.

Keris set her jaw. “You are not Mordal.”

The man smiled quizzically. “Why would you say that? Because I died here?” Keris felt her resolve crumble like a castle made of sand. “Or…am I about to die here? At your hand.” He touched his chin thoughtfully as if considering how to simplify an explanation for the benefit of a small child. “Life and death. Past and future. Right and wrong. They can all become so confusing, don’t you think? I told you of my efforts to cover up your transgressions, invited you to return so as to take up your rightful role as my successor. I…loved you, Keris. And you betrayed me.”

Keris fought back the tears welling inside her. “You left me no choice.”

“We all have choices,” Mordal countered. “You chose to abandon the Prophet and your oath.” He took a step forward. “I must admit, that was a clever move of yours–pushing off a deposit in the side wall up there. I had not allowed for that contingency. You overturned my clear advantage. I was taken by surprise and knocked to the ground. I fell–” he pointed to a spot towards the back of the corrie, “–there. My neck broken.”

Keris stared at the spot, remembering the sight of his crumpled form. Unmoving. Her heart shattered and her tears flowed. “I’m sorry. I…didn’t want to hurt you. I…was just trying to survive.”

Mordal raised his eyebrows. “Is that an expression of regret? But you are Keris. You never turn away from a battle. What is it your new friends are calling you? ‘The Heroine of Gort’? At the keep, you challenged the boy Torinn. Even as a girl, you thrashed the bully who had stolen Alerain’s spinner.” Keris wiped her cheek dry with the back of her hand. Her brow furrowed. The incident with the spinner had taken place long before she had met Mordal, and she had never mentioned it to anyone else.
How could he know about that?
“It was inevitable that you would eventually seek to defeat me,” the overseer continued. “However, the real question is this–” he reached behind and drew his staff weapon, “–can you do it a second time?”

Keris blinked. “You expect me to fight you again?” In answer, the elderly Keltar leapt high into the air with a terrible grace that belied his age, and then plummeted toward her. Keris’ reflexes kicked in and she sidestepped the descending blade, then rolled away to her left. She sprang to her feet like a vara-cat, staff held out defensively to parry any follow-up attack.

Mordal walked toward her slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. “You know, one good thing about being dead is that it gives you a lot of time to think.” His laughter sounded like a razor sharp diamond edge being dragged across stone. “I got to wondering, what would have happened if the Great Keris finally suffered defeat? Oh I’m not talking about the beating Torrin gave you. He inflicted injury, but he couldn’t make you bow down. I’m talking about surrender. The unconditional relinquishing of oneself to the will of another. You have never tasted such a thing, have you?
Have you?
”

Mordal punctuated his challenge with a lightning swing at her head. Keris jerked backwards, then flared her cloak, pushing off the small lodestone deposit that she recalled was near her position. She twisted her body to propel herself back, landing several feet away, putting some distance between her and her former mentor.

Mordal advanced once again, still in no hurry. He appeared to be relishing the encounter. “Let me tell you what it tastes like. Bile. Ashes. Flakes of rust sprinkled on water. Sweet wine laced with poison. That is the true taste of defeat. And it is a cup that I am going to make you drink, Keris. Here. Now. Because, make no mistake–whatever you do, whatever strategy you employ or trick you devise–this time, you will lose.”

Keris shut out his taunts and centred herself. The main lodestone deposits were behind Mordal, beyond her for the moment. There was the further deposit, high up in the side wall, but the element of surprise that she had relied on before was lost. She did not even have the option of using grenades this time. Those she had brought with her from Gort had all been used battling the Kharthrun Serpent. In terms of shassatan, the board game, there was only one strategy open to her. ‘Fool and Dagger’. Adopt a non-offensive role and hope that her adversary would make a mistake, leading to an opportunity for a counterattack.

Mordal had already displayed a degree of overconfidence, a desire to prolong the conflict for his own enjoyment. Perhaps that was something she could exploit? “You always taught me, ‘revenge makes you the subject of exploitation’.”

That same unpleasant laugh. “I told you–this is not about revenge. This is about seeing how you deal with defeat.” He stepped back and flared his flying cloak once more, leaping into the night sky.

His positioning gave him near total control of the lodestone and the power it afforded: superior height, better speed, greater power, more options. It was like battling uphill. If she could not find a way to gain the advantage, then his dire prediction would come true–she would ultimately be overpowered.

Don’t get caught on the ground again.
Keris dashed back across the corrie floor and extended her cloak, pushing off the smaller deposit once more. She adopted a trajectory at right angles to his.
If I can just get behind him…

He saw what she was attempting and angled down to meet her, shutting her off from the major deposits one more. He blipped his bronze layer as he fell to increase momentum, then met her in midair, letting loose a concatenation of staff blows that rang out against the ancient rocks. Keris parried with her own staff, but was forced backwards and began dropping toward the ground. Mordal continued his assault, battering her down, eyes wild with exultation. Keris gritted her teeth as she descended. She could feel her defences crumbling. A burst of agony erupted from her leg as Mordal’s diamond blade connected with her calf. She lowered her staff protectively and Mordal’s blade swept upward, then sideways toward her head. Keris caught the blur of motion and turned her head aside at the last moment. The keen edge flashed before her, slashing her cheek. She fell to the rocky floor, tumbling away before coming to a halt, face down.

Keris grimaced. A dozen or so lacerations and abrasions screamed for attention, but she ignored them, pushing herself up and clambering to her feet. She could feel blood trickling down the side of her face. Her legs wavered under her. She reached for her cloak’s neck control, but Mordal was already on the ground and bearing down on her position. He swung his darkwood staff, adding his full weight to the force of the blow. Keris raised her own weapon to meet his once again.

A resounding crack echoed around the bowl-shaped depression. The force of the blow reverberated up her arms and drove her down on one knee. He shoved, forcing her down farther.
Your first mistake.
Instead of shoving back, Keris suddenly pulled back and rolled to one side, causing the elderly Keltar to overbalance and pitch forward. She veered around and swung her staff so that the wood struck him squarely on the back, knocking him face first to the floor.

The move had bought her vital seconds. She set off on a limping run, making for the rear of the corrie. Breathing hard, Keris took up a dominant position in front of the two larger deposits. She blipped the upper lodestone layer of her cloak, and felt the familiar push. Now it was she who had the decisive advantage in height and power.
I have to make it count.

Mordal had picked himself up off the floor. He was applauding slowly. “Well done, Keris. I would have expected nothing less.” He spread his arms theatrically. “The stage is yours.”