Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (2 page)

The stables were empty inside, except for a few horses sleeping in their stalls. He saw no one, and just when he thought they had left without him, a pile of hay to his right stirred. Nerris turned toward it, one hand on the hilt of his sword, but Mikaren, Rade and Chalis emerged from the feed, brushing loose straw out of their hair.

“Is it done?” Rade asked.

Nerris took his hand from the hilt. “It’s done.”

Chalis clapped his hands together and looked as if to break out in a victory jig, but Mikaren caught him by the shoulder and shook his head. Rade simply nodded. “Good. There’s a secret tunnel here that will take us under the walls. Once we’re out of the city, we’ll follow an old smuggling trail back to Lady Qabala’s camp. If we get separated, head north. Her Ladyship won’t be hard to find.”

Nerris nodded and closed his eyes, letting a sigh escape. The release he craved had eluded him this night and had come for King Lahnen instead. He wasn’t sure that made him feel happy or sad. Or whether he felt anything. But for now, he would return to Lady Qabala and receive the only pleasure left to him.

Chapter Two

THEIR INFORMANT SHOULD be showered with riches, Nerris decided. The old smuggling trail wound through the thick forest north of Palehorse, and none of the king’s men had spotted them. Their mission could not have gone better.

That was not to say they hadn’t sighted Lahnen’s soldiers. They hid whenever they heard their shouts in the distance, and Chalis taught them how to cover themselves in mud to fool the sharp noses of their pursuers’ hounds. When the errant soldier or dog emerged from the brush, they lay still in the forest’s muddy glades as their trackers walked right past them.

Lady Qabala herself had given Rade coin before they left, a pouch bursting with silver sepps and copper helms. It was enough to buy four horses once they emerged from the forest, and they wasted no time procuring their mounts. They were able to find a horse trader at the first village they encountered. Rade haggled so hard he had enough left over to bribe the villagers, in case soldiers came looking for them.

The farther north they rode, the less they had to fear pursuit. They were entering rebel territory under the control of her Ladyship, the young woman many were referring to as Qabala the Unbreakable. Not a year before she had been a dissenting voice, one of the many people fed up with King Lahnen and his endless taxes and policies. Now she led a vast host made up of soldiers, militia, and mercenaries.

Nerris’s thoughts were interrupted as Chalis shoved a smoking haunch of rabbit in his face. Nerris pushed it away. “No, thank you.”

“You should eat something,” Rade said, sitting on a boulder he had rolled up to their crackling fire. “The game gets scarcer as the weather turns.”

“I’ve been through a few winters,” Nerris said. “I run faster when I’m hungry, that’s all.”

“Run?” Chalis asked.

“What do you call this?” Nerris gestured around them. “Mikaren didn’t wander off just to take a piss.”

“I reckon old King Lahnen took a piss when you came up on him,” Chalis said.

Nerris nodded. “He did.”

“So what happened back there?” Rade asked.

The question’s directness startled Nerris. Ever since they fled the Aeternica, none of his companions had asked him about what had transpired in the king’s chambers. “I’m a man who enjoys his privacy,” he said. “I don’t kiss and tell, with my lips or my blade.”

Rade shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m surprised a man like you would take on the mantle of assassin, that’s all.” The old man got to his feet and shoved the boulder away, allowing him to pull his bedroll closer to the fire.

“And what do you know about me?” Nerris asked.

“A great deal more than you believe I do, Nerris Palada.”

Nerris scoffed. “You’ve been listening to blowzy barmaids and fickle farmers.”

“Who says I do? No, no one has given you away. I know who you are because of Derrin Palada.”

Nerris stood. “How do you know my father’s name?”

Rade lay across his bedroll, blanket draped on top, his back to Nerris. “You have your secrets, Nerris. Allow an old man the same courtesy.”

Nerris stared, but Rade made no further comment. He turned back to a wide-eyed Chalis.

“You’re—”

Nerris sighed. “Yes, I am Nerris Palada of the Thrillseekers. Let’s not spread this around, all right?”

Chalis still gaped at him, unable to answer. Nerris turned toward his own bedroll to find Mikaren sitting by the fire, warming his hands. Nerris didn’t even flinch at the older man’s stealth. He was used to Mikaren’s comings and goings by now. “Find anyone?” he asked.

“Two men,” Mikaren said. “Outriders, most like. They won’t be reporting back.”

“Good.” Nerris pulled his own blanket over his body.

Chalis pointed at him. “But you’re Nerris—”

“Go to bed, Mikaren,” Nerris interrupted. “Chalis is obviously too excited to sleep, so we’ll let him have first watch.”

A cold, stiff rain fell on them the next day as their mounts slogged northward through the mud. Rade determined they were far enough along, and could risk the Yellow Highroad without worrying about pursuit. They came out of the brush around midday and found the highway connecting Palehorse to Ryvetsk, the small city nestled in the center of the Yellow Plains.

Nerris was tying his brown hair back into a ponytail when Rade called him up. Nerris spurred his mount to catch up with the old man, whose gaze was locked in a continuous scan of the horizon.

“We’re no longer followed,” Nerris assured him. “No one living even knew what we looked like or how many we were. And Mikaren laid a false trail.”

Rade grunted. “I’ll rest easier when we’re back at camp.”

“That will be soon enough.”

“I had it from someone in the last village that Lady Qabala sacked and burned Ryvetsk,” Rade said. “She now marches to Palehorse, and we should intercept her soon.”

“I’m glad I was away, then.”

Rade cast him an unreadable look. “You didn’t want your share of the spoils?”

“I’m a mercenary,” Nerris said. “I fight when I want. Pillaging is something I want no part of.”

“I see the stories of the Thrillseekers’ honor hold up,” Rade said. “That’s why I was surprised to find you as an assassin.”

“Was there something you wanted?”

“I wanted to apologize for what happened last night,” Rade said. “I should have understood what happened between you and King Lahnen would be an uncomfortable subject. Killing someone that way cannot be easy, for one of your kind.”

“Assassination isn’t really a habit of mine,” Nerris said. “I don’t often hire my sword out for such tasks. This was only the second time. No harm done, Rade. But if you feel you wronged me, you can repay me with information. Many know the names of the Thrillseekers. But how did you know my father’s name?”

“I knew him,” Rade said, “back when we were still young, during the Enslavement War.”

“He died shortly before I was born.”

Rade nodded. “Yes. So you know your heritage?”

“My mother was part of the extended royal family of Faerna. Dist, Jhareth, and I found that out some years ago when we visited Faerlin. But of my father, I still know little.”

“I see. I suppose that makes sense. His activities back then earned the wrath of some powerful people. They wouldn’t have wanted his exploits to be widely known.”

“How did you know my father during the Enslavement War? You would have been on opposite sides.”

Rade shrugged. “How have you come to be here in Yagolhan, paving the way for a revolution? You never know where the luck of life will drop you, Nerris. It is interesting indeed that you are here. I’ll have to think on this.”

“I take it you’re not going to tell me the nature of your relationship.”

“I don’t know if it’s my place.” Rade glanced behind them, where Chalis and Mikaren chatted in hushed, hyper voices. “I think you’re winning some followers of your own.”

Nerris chuckled. “Let them talk. I’m used to it.”

Try as he might, Nerris could never keep his identity hidden for long. Nerris was not an uncommon name for a Faernan, but when his surname inevitably came out, people reacted. For almost ten years, he had traveled with his friends in a band known as the Thrillseekers. In that time, their deeds and legend grew, spreading like wildfire over the continent of Tormalia until they were akin to modern folk heroes. He did not seek the overbearing attention which came with all that, but he had to admit to himself he did not hate it either.

He allowed himself to drift to the rear, past the curious sidelong glances of Mikaren and Chalis. He reflected on his companions as he kept a careful eye on the road behind them. Each had been carefully chosen for this mission, once the plan was laid out. All of them were fierce and intelligent warriors, but had other skills as well. Mikaren and Chalis had been foresters before joining up, their main concern being the escape from Palehorse. Rade had a knack for supervision and carrying out complex tasks. And of course Nerris, for his stealth and determination.

That night, smoke plumes littered the distant horizon. The army of soldiers, refugees, and mercenaries known as the Qabalan Horde was close. Mikaren used their fire to send up smoke signals and alert her of their presence. Lady Qabala anticipated their return, and would have men watching. Sure enough, an escort emerged from the horizon the next morning. Rade shook Nerris awake, and he beheld their silhouettes in the distance, galloping straight for their camp.

One rider carried the banner of Lady Qabala: a stone split down the middle, one half white and one half black, circled by a wreath of flames. The leader, a large man a few inches taller than Nerris, dismounted and approached them. He removed his horned helm.

Rade nodded to him. “Falares.”

Falares grunted some semblance of a response. He was Lady Qabala’s bodyguard, a brute with no real rank. The men surrounding him gave a wide berth, not out of fear, but because of the stench emanating from beneath his leathers and furs. Rade, Nerris, Mikaren, and Chalis lined up, but did not salute. Falares glared at them with cold eyes and when he spoke, he revealed a mouth of broken teeth.

“Lady Qabala, Blade of Yala, the Unbreakable, Aeterna of the Yagol People, bids you welcome and thanks you for your duty in service to her kingdom,” he said. The last part of her title surprised Nerris; Aeterna was the female derivative of a title not held since Yahd the Enslaver. He was even more shocked  Falares had remembered all the words. There was a reason some men referred to him as the Lady’s Ape.

“We will convey you forthwith to my Eternal’s pavilion, where you will receive your reward for services sundered.” Nerris rolled his eyes; looked like he had given him too much credit. Obviously he meant
rendered
.

With formalities completed, Nerris and his companions broke camp, riding across the plains to the Aeterna’s encampment. Tents and cook fires littered the yellowed grass as they rode through, and the standard bearer called out for the Horde to make way. They did so gladly, and frequent cheers rang out behind them. Nerris and the others had taken the long way back to throw off pursuit. News of the King’s death had probably reached them days ago. Every follower of the rebel queen’s revolution rejoiced at the news.

Not many were sure how it began, but everyone knew where. Lady Qabala first rose to notoriety in the city of Lhan Del, the old capital of North Yagolhan. Seemingly overnight, she emerged as the voice of the cityfolk, crying out for justice and fairness from Lord Pieth Skovil. Her notoriety grew every time the lord tried to arrest her, only to have Qabala vanish and emerge days or weeks later, inciting sedition anew.

The more Qabala had spoken out, the more people had poured into Lhan Del to take her part. Lord Skovil ran himself ragged in his pursuit, and their game continued through the city streets. And when the lord was foolish enough to have his soldiers punish the people, it reached a boil. Qabala led them in revolt, and they overwhelmed his men and surrounded his castle gates.

Lord Skovil had laughed, looking down on this young girl, barely a woman, from his lofty parapet. To shame her, he suggested they settle their dispute in single combat. He had not expected her to accept, and also did not expect the following slaughter.

The cityfolk surged against the gates before the lord had succumbed to his wounds. Lord Skovil’s men hastened to close them, but shock at the defeat of their lord made them hesitate. The people stormed the castle, and the city of Lhan Del had been taken. At least, that was the story by the time Nerris had joined up. He knew firsthand how these tales could spread until factual events were a mere shell of repeated legend.

Lady Qabala’s pavilion was the largest in the camp, stretching across forty feet of ground or more. They dismounted, and the rider with the banner planted it to the left of the entrance. Falares instructed them to wait, and went inside. Nerris looked around. Few by few, they had acquired a tail as they rode through camp and many Yagols packed the space around the pavilion.

The tent flap opened, and Lady Qabala stepped out before them. She was of medium height for a woman, a few inches shorter than Chalis, with a petite figure and swarthy skin. She wore form-fitting clothes, leather trousers and hauberk, and her short brown hair hung past her ears, curled a bit at the edges. Chalis, Rade and Mikaren went to one knee, but Nerris merely placed a fist across his chest and bowed as he would to a superior officer.

His first thought was that he should have bowed if he did not want his name known. It was known that the Thrillseekers bowed before no ruler except the King of Faerna, the monarch of their home country. This would cause the camp to talk. However, it was too late to change position now.

Qabala acknowledged them with a nod. Her curt expression made her appear older, her wide eyes the only hint to her extreme youth. “Rise,” she told them, and Nerris’s companions found their feet. “Friends,” she said, raising her voice and calling out to the throngs who had amassed. “Rumors may fly swifter than the falcon, but now the proof stands before you. I present to you, the heroes of the day, returned from their mission to continue the fight alongside us. The tyrant Lahnen of House Y’Ghan is dead!”

A tumultuous cheer went up from the men, and Falares drew his longsword and held it aloft. “Long live Lady Qabala Aeterna! Unbreakable! Forever our queen!”

“Lady Qabala! Unbreakable! Forever our queen!” the men shouted as one.

Lady Qabala held up a hand for silence. “I am deeply moved by your show of loyalty, and every man here will reap reward when the crown is placed upon my head. We will throw off the blanket of tyranny and once again see sunlight, as our poor country stands united once again, but with richer quality. This will be reward for all, but before us stand four men who deserve commendation forthwith. Even as we took Ryvetsk and I cleaved through the body of Dume Araka, they stole into the Aeternica and ended the life of Lahnen the Tyrant, Lahnen the Incompetent, Lahnen the Corrupt!”

As the men cheered again, Nerris sucked in his breath. Dume Araka dead by Qabala’s hand? The surprises kept coming. Araka Bosmick had once served Yahd Y’Ghan Aeternus as part of the Aeternal Council, and though that ruling body had since been disbanded by King Lahnen at the end of the Enslavement War, she had retained that title and served as a loyal general ever since. Nerris could see the symbolic implications of Qabala defeating another renowned female warrior.