Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

Marsen nodded briefly and sat on the stool against the wall
beside the door.  Hicks moved over and sat on the bed, while Salrissa remained
standing, looking like a caged Valkiiran leopard Celia had once seen in a
travelling menagerie when she was a small child.  She shrugged and moved to the
wooden chair by the desk.  At least this one had a small cushion.  She turned
the chair to face the room and sat.

“Okay, when we last parted you indicated that you were going
to ‘assist’ our friend and that you needed help from no one.  Correct?” Celia
asked of the assassin, who nodded her head once.  “Now, based on what I know,
and that’s not a lot, you have been all over this city looking for him, and
have obviously not found him since he would be sitting here with a silly grin
on his face and a sarcastic remark.  Or at least a sarcastic grin and a silly
remark.  So do you still insist that you do not need anyone’s help, freely
offered?” she asked quietly.

Salrissa paced back and forth a few times.  Yes, a Valkiir
leopard indeed.  “What do you have in mind?” she finally asked reluctantly.

“First, tell us what you know for certain, and then we can
formulate a plan.” Celia strategized.

“All I know, and it’s little at that, is that he’s not in
The Depths.”  At the mention of the name Marsen sat straighter and opened his
mouth to speak, but Celia cut him off.

“Our friend was caught in the raid on the Goralon Merchants'
Guild last week, there upon some unrelated business, and we have been trying to
locate him since,” she directed in Marsen’s direction.  Celia couldn’t actually
say he wasn’t a criminal.  That would be lying.  And she had a code about
lying.  Omitting a portion of the truth was occasionally necessary, but lying –
objectionable.

“I have checked with all my contacts, and no one has heard
from him.  I have searched The Depths, and he is not there.  None of the
Goralonians would talk to me, no matter how much I tried to ‘persuade’ them. 
Most knew nothing, or at least professed to, and I was inclined to believe
them.  It’s not like we were obvious in our visit.”  Celia nodded at that
comment.  Salrissa continued, “Those that thought they knew something had a
greater fear of Kartem, whoever or whatever that is, than I.” Salrissa stated,
frustration evident in her voice; a voice normally as cold as the glaciers of
the Icewall Mountains to the far north.

Marsen made to speak again, and Celia raised a finger in his
direction.  He was fidgeting something fierce as he settled himself down on the
stool.

“Since then, Goralon has closed the borders to trade.” Hicks
offered into the momentary silence.  “So obviously the King was made aware of
events happening in Tala’ahar, and had reacted.”

“The mirrors,” Salrissa muttered under her breath as she
stared at Celia, who could only shrug in reply.

“Yes, they must have acquired a magemirror, or possibly
more.  Or they have some other way to talk over long distances.” Hicks
summarized.  "There’s nothing to be done about that.  The question is what
do we do about our ‘friend’?”

They simmered in silence for a few moments until Marsen
finally spoke into the void.  “I know where your friend might be, but I’m not
sure you can get to him.  I’m not sure he will even be alive.”

All three women turned to the guardsman, who recoiled
slightly from their stares.  They said nothing, and he fidgeted under their
glare.  He finally continued, “I was there last week, on the raid I mean.  We –
me and my partner – didn’t get past the second floor.  Orders were to find the
magemirror and make sure no one got a chance to use it.  We found it in a room
on the second floor, and decided to smash it, but those things are impossible
to break.  Wore us out trying, so we just guarded the room until we were told
the tower was clear.  Once all the Goralonians were rounded up, we escorted the
prisoners to Parr’ador.  Two prisoners were killed trying to escape; most of
the rest went to The Depths.  Two went topside.”  He stopped talking, like his
explanation answered all their questions.

“Topside?  You mean the sky citadel?!” Hicks asked
incredulously, looking pale.

“Yes, the sky citadel.” Marsen stated plainly.  “Even if he
was as innocent as you say, they have ways of getting information that would
cause most to confess, just to stop the pain.  Of course, that assumes he was not
one of the two that tried escaping.”

“So how are we going to find out if he is alive or dead?”
Hicks asked into the quiet room.

“We ask.” Celia stated.  The others looked at her
incredulously.

---o---

It was fully dark when Celia and Marsen left the Red Rooster
Inn, heading back to the Embassy.  Marsen seemed to be in a mood, so Celia let
him stew for a while before engaging him in conversation.  “How much trouble
will you be in when we get back?”  She didn’t like reminding him of a future
fate, but it was her fault they would be late getting back, and she felt a
little guilty.

“Maybe a little, but you didn’t sneak off, and I’m returning
you healthy and whole.  So it won’t be too bad,” he paused for a long while,
“but that’s not what I’m upset about.”

“I suspected as much,” Celia responded quietly.  “What
bothers you?”

“I guess I am a little bothered by the fact than an innocent
man may be tortured,” the guardsman said.

“Well, I wouldn’t call him innocent, exactly,” responded
Celia while still watching the shadows to either side.  They were taking one of
the wider avenues now with oil lamps two spans high, lit every five or six
spans.  All this did was to make the alleyways appear darker.

Every once and a while, they would see a city guard night
patrol walking with their maces in hand, looking for trouble to break up.  They
had serious faces on, all mean men with hard eyes and scars, and standard issue
leather armor and skull caps.  Each team consisted of eight men.  Each time
they passed one, Marsen would bow his head, in submission or respect, Celia couldn’t
tell.

“So why was he at the merchants' guild tower that night?” he
asked her, looking at her sideways in the light from the lanterns.  She noted
that he had one hand on the pommel of his mace, and it appeared that it had
been so all along.

Just as she was trying to come up with an answer that
wouldn’t implicate Hoyle, distant bells began to cry out in alarm.  She and
Marsen stopped where they were for a brief moment to determine their origin.

“The sky citadel!” cried Marsen.  “I have to get you back to
the embassy as fast as possible m’lady.  We’re going to have to run the
remainder of the way.”  He started to drag her down the Trade Way.

She pulled back.  “Just a minute!  Why do we have to hurry? 
What’s the danger down here if alarms are going off up there?” Celia demanded
gesturing to the flickering lights floating above the sleeping city.

Marsen stopped tugging briefly while he explained.  “If
there is a problem up there that’s important enough to ring those bells, then
the streets down here will be flooded with troops in less than half a bell. 
And you do not want to be on the street once that happens.  All Tala’aharians
know to close up their doors and windows, and get off the streets if those
bells begin to ring.”  He gestured around him with his free hand, still hanging
on to her arm with the other.  His free hand returned to the handle of his
mace.

Celia looked around, and could now see people hurrying
about, many ducking into the Inns or Taverns fronting the Trade Way, others
hurrying past.  They were the only ones standing still on the avenue.  “Okay,
let’s go, but stop dragging me!” she said exasperated, “I can run on my own.”

They set off east towards the embassy at a jog, crossing the
wide bridge over the Aerilynn River as the road dipped into the shallow, wide
valley the river made as it entered the bay.  The bridge was made of stone,
with life-like weathered statues of various creatures lining both sides of the
bridge.  It was said that this bridge was the collaboration between elves and dwarves
millennia ago, before the Elf-Orc war, and the dwarves retreated into their
mountain homes, the elves to their forests.

She hardly had time to admire the bridge this night, as the
oil lamps spaced evenly between the statues flickered, giving them false life,
turning them into scary monstrosities to be avoided.  They jogged across the
bridge and up the gentle incline to the east, noting that troops were starting
to disgorge from the tower barracks that littered the city.  The problem they
faced, now that she thought it over; was that the Imperial Sky citadel was
roughly located just off the Trade Way that they were following.  It hovered
over the Palace, which was located on a small bluff looking down onto the wide
avenue.  They would almost have to run right underneath the thing to get back
to the embassy.

As she looked closer, passing the barracks closest to the
embassy, it seemed that though the troops were amassing outside their barracks,
but they appeared to be awaiting orders.  She guessed those would come via
magemirror to the commanders in each tower, but must not have arrived yet.

They turned the corner onto “Friendship Way”, the road that
many of the embassies were located on.  They arrived to find two new guards in
front of the door to the embassy.  They proceeded up the steps as Marsen gave
greeting to his peers.

“Thank you guardsman,” Celia offered to Marsen as she waited
for one of the clerks to answer her knock.  If all else failed, she could cast
her spell, and enter the building, but protocol stayed her hand.

“You’re welcome m’lady,” Marsen responded.

“There’s Seven Hells to pay, I’d wager,” offered one of the
guards without prompting.  “Julgasar mentioned to tell ye that once you
returned.”

Just at that moment, a troop of at least twenty city guards
turned the corner, and proceeded up the road that ran past the embassy.  The
leader was ringing a brass bell of warning that must have some specific meaning
to the city folk.  Marsen gestured to her to get inside, and the three guards
stepped to the top of the stairs, blocking her from their view.

Celia decided that protocol be damned, and began her
unlocking spell.  At just that moment, the door opened and Wendinard gestured
for her to enter.  He closed the door crisply upon the scene unfolding outside
as the troop of guardsmen had reached the embassy.  He made a gesture to be
quiet, and they listened to voices on the other side of the thick oak door. 
The voices rose in pitch, and then died off.  They waited for a few minutes, and
then they heard three taps on the door from outside.

“That is the ‘all clear’ signal m’lady.  It is safe to go to
bed now.  The guards outside have dealt with any issues that might have arisen
if you were seen.” Wendinard declared.  He must sleep in his dress uniform, since
Celia noted that he was still impeccably dressed even though it was close to
twelfth bell, and everyone else would be asleep.

She thanked Wendinard, and proceeded to her room.

---o---

Waking the next morning to knocking at her door, she opened
it to find Puralina staring up at her with her piercing blue eyes.

“Zazaril would like to see you.  Immediately, I might add,” the
little blonde woman said with venom in her voice.  Apparently, she still felt
that it was Celia’s fault that the quafa'shilaar had been stolen.

“Please let her know I will be there promptly,” she
responded as politely as she could manage, head still full with sleep, and not
enough of that.  She closed her door, but Puralina’s foot blocked it.  “Do you
mind?” she asked, this time without any false politeness.

“I was told to bring you immediately, so you are coming as
you are.”  The little woman stared up at Celia with a hatred she had only seen
once before in her entire life.  Puralina grabbed her wrist, and began to drag
Celia out of her room.  Celia began to panic, slapping at the other woman’s
hand, leaning backward, her feet planted on the floor in her stockings.

Her grip was like a vise, one Celia could not get to
release.  Puralina had managed to drag her a span or two down the hallway,
before the commotion caused some of the dorm rooms to pop open.  Two of
Puralina’s fellow graduates, those without quafa'shilaar, came out first and
began to laugh under their breath at the spectacle that was occurring.  Theus
came out in his deep red sleeping robe, confused or thoughtful Celia had
trouble telling while being dragged.

Finally she had enough.  “
Ravax!
” she intoned waving
her hand in a swirl through the air.  Suddenly a big gust of wind gathered
along the floor, rippling robes, swirled past Celia’s feet and coalesced around
Puralina, lifting her from the floor, causing her to scream.  She began to spin
in the vortex, which, along with the surprise, caused her to release her grip
on Celia’s wrist.  Celia let her spin a span off the floor in the whirling
vortex of air for a short while more.  The vortex collected several loose
parchment sheets, a hairbrush, a few old leaves and some dust clumps from under
someone’s bed.  As suddenly as it began, the vortex vanished as if nothing had
happened, dropping Puralina a span to the hard stone floor along with the rest
of the debris.  Her scream ended with a grunt.

Puralina looked up at her in abject horror.  Her fellow
graduates had stopped laughing and were staring incredulously at Celia.  Theus
was smiling behind the hand covering his mouth, trying to look serious.

“Do not ever touch me again.  Do you understand?” Celia
directed at Puralina slowly, emphasizing each word carefully.  She waited,
glaring at the young woman, until she received a slight nod of the head in
response.  She returned to her room and slammed the door.  She was not sure
what or who she was madder at; Puralina for being insanely mad at her for
something beyond her control; the situation itself; the fact that they couldn’t
find Hoyle; the fact that she had let Puralina make her angry; or, the warlock
who was apparently at the center of the whole mess.  She paced back and forth
in her room, trying to calm herself down.  She had never gotten so angry
before. 
How dare that woman!