Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

Just before he passed out, he heard in a growling voice,
"I  understand.  No, you not taking friends."

---o---

Hoyle awoke while it was still dark, stripped to his small
clothes, his body shivering in the chilly night air.  His body was wracked with
pain; his arms bound the same as his companions, and the wrists, and at the
elbows.  His ankles were also tied.

He looked up to see Valena and Salrissa watching him in the
faint firelight from their positions against the rock wall.  Somehow they had
managed to get themselves upright to a seated position.  Celia was still lying
on her side, facing away from him weeping quietly.  Robart still lay where they
threw him. Unconscious or dead, he couldn't tell.

"About time you showed up, though I was hoping more for
a rescue scenario," Salrissa stated wryly.

"This is a rescue, couldn't you tell?" Hoyle
bantered back, half heartedly, his head still ringing from the blow.  He tried
his bindings, but they were as tight as he could get them.  He noticed movement
as he struggled and saw the silhouettes of a bunch of the stick creatures look
down from two spans above, spears at the ready, their distinct voices echoing
through the darkness.  He stopped struggling.

"Is everyone okay?  Besides Robart I mean?" Hoyle
asked.

"Valena and I are fine, as is Celia physically, though
it appears she's in some sort of trance, as we haven't been able to wake her up. 
Robart was bludgeoned unconscious, and hasn't stirred since.  They have taken
all our things, including Celia's amulet and the large magestone and we are all
in our small clothes."  Salrissa shifted slightly, showing Hoyle that she
had managed to cut her bindings and was just keeping her hands behind her back
to fool their captors.

Hoyle was encouraged; they were not as bad off as he
thought.

Celia was awoken from the dream of her Choosing Day by weird
screams and chittering sounds to find their group surrounded by dozens of
craglings.  She still felt the presence of the magestone in her mind, noticing
that her hand had closed around it while sleeping, but shook off the remnants
of the dream as she stood, crying out "
Cravash!
" and aiming
her motes of light at several of the stick-like creatures.

The motes impacted on the bark-like skin of several, and she
could smell burning wood, one cragling squealed, but the other craglings barely
flinched.  One poked her in the back with a sharpened stick and another smacked
on the head with the side if his, causing her to cry out.  She let go of her
Campfire spell, forcing it to smother the flames, hoping the instant darkness
would disorient their attackers.  As her own eyes adjusted, she could see the
craglings' glowing red eyes in the dark, lending credence to the speculation
that they could see in the dark.

Their group was quickly subdued, hands tied behind their
backs, with their elbows bound, and they were herded out of the cleft in the
rock into the dark.  They were hustled along, Robart struggling all the way,
shouting curses and challenges until finally one of the creatures began
smacking him on the back of the head every time he started to make trouble. 
After an indeterminate amount of time, they were led down a winding path into a
narrow ravine and forced to the ground in front of a small cave opening.

Celia was distracted the entire time things were happening,
as the awareness of the violet magestone was still in her head.  It seemed to
be peeling back the layers of her mind, trying to get to her core.  Celia had
started actively resisting after the first day, but it seemed to now enter her
subconscious when she was sleeping, and she had no defense against that. 

She noted that two of the creatures had returned with a
larger creature.  Celia recognized the creature from a description in one of
her tomes of learning from Mahad'avor.  It was a worvine.  They were rumored to
be mean-tempered and vicious, and usually picked on weaker creatures.  Normally
they were found in larger groups, tribes really, and were rumored to be slaves
to their larger orc cousins in the Blasted Lands, hundreds of leagues to the
north.  What this particular worvine was doing this far south and alone was a
mystery.

She watched, still distracted as the worvine walked to
Salrissa and looked her over as her father might look at a draft horse.  The
filthy creature did the same to Valena and her, and then began a conversation
with one of the craglings in their own language, each gesturing wildly towards
Robart. 

Finally the leader grabbed a club from one of the craglings
and strode forward and smacked the struggling Robart on the side of the head. 
This just made him angrier and caused him to struggle harder.  The worvine
swung the club quickly two more times, hitting Robart on either side of the
head in quick succession, knocking him unconscious, or killing him, Celia could
not tell.

The worvine ordered them stripped down to their small
clothes and then they were herded into a small alcove in the rock and a gate
was placed in the opening.  Celia lay on her side to try a take pressure off
her bindings and let the blood flow back to her hands.  She watched through the
gate as the worvine found her amulet and the violet magestone and then retreated
into his cave.  She tried not to despair, but she could not see a way out of
their predicament.

---o---

Her mind wandered not really her own, jumping from random
memory to random memory.  Each time she resisted.  Each time the stone
overpowered her meager resistance and moved on to the next memory. 

She was five years old, standing in the dining room of their
family's mansion watching her mother and father argue over some trivial thing
that her present mind realized was really about Brucen's death to the coughing
sickness.  Her father was yelling at her mother about the Daughters and
donations, and it went on and on.  Waynten wandered in and she took his hand
and left the room, the sounds of the argument fading.

She was seven years old, laying in her bed, her mother
stroking her hair and singing her an unrecognizable lullaby.  She looked over
sleepily to see Waynten in his bed, already fast asleep.

She was eight years old, standing on the edge of the quarry
with Waynten standing beside her looking down.  They were at the old end of the
family's quarry, where the water had collected over the years, lying crystal
clear over a span below them.  Her brother asked her something about being
sure, and her non-committal response that it would be exciting.  They then
grabbed hands and jumped, hitting the ice-cold water so far below.

She was ten years old, standing at the window in the sewing
room.  It was ironic to her present self that they were wealthy enough to have
a room dedicated to her mother's sewing projects, but nothing in the world
would be able to sew up her heart.  She stood, tears running down her face as
she watched the workers walking down the road from the quarry, her brother
Waynten's body wrapped in a oiled cloth, lying in the bed of the wagon.  He had
died jumping into the quarry pool from a higher ledge and had hit his head and
drowned.

She shook her head trying to deny the images, but they kept
coming.  Finally she managed to shut the stone out of her mind, though not
completely.

---o---

Celia opened her eyes as someone poured a stream of cool
water into her mouth and saw Valena kneeling over her with a small crude bowl. 
She was free of her bindings and Celia found that she was too, and found her
wrists to be rubbed raw.  She rubbed them with her hands as she arched an
eyebrow at Valena and sat up slowly, her muscles stiff from the cold.

She noted that Robart was still lying near where they had
tossed him, though it looked like his hands had been untied and someone had tried
to make him more comfortable.  She suspected that it was Valena who had done
so.  It seemed that it was morning, the dim light filtering through the trees. 
She could see some craglings moving about outside their enclosure, with several
stationed at the gate.  She could hear more chittering up at the top of the
rock walls.  Every once in a while she saw one of them look over the high ledge
at their captives.

Celia looked around some more, noting Hoyle sleeping in a
huddle against one wall, while Salrissa was sitting near the gate watching the
camp surreptitiously, but intently.  She whispered to Valena, "Why haven't
you healed Robart?"

"I have, just not enough to wake him up." She smiled
a little sheepishly.  "Do you think our situation would better if he was
awake or stays unconscious?"

Celia nodded thoughtfully.  Things could truly get out of
hand if Robart was awake.

Something occurred to her suddenly.  "How did they
capture Hoyle?  He wasn't captured with us, was he?"  She was having
trouble remembering anything really clearly last night.

"No, he had managed to evade capture, but was then
caught trying to free us," Valena stated simply.

Celia watched the movement about the camp as the sun climbed
higher in the sky, noting that there were not many of the creatures around. 
She could not seem to recall if one of the tomes she had read during her time
at Mahad'avor had indicated they were nocturnal or not.  Most of those she
could see were tasked with guarding them.

There was not much to do, other than to keep watch and wait
for their chance to escape.  That and move around to keep warm - it was a cold
spring on this side of the Whitetooth Mountains, and with only a thin layer of
linen between her skin and the chilly air, moving around the confines of the
small cage seemed the best way to stay warm.  Through it all she could still
sense the magestone in the background of her mind.  It was taking most of her
concentration to keep it out, but she was succeeding.

They watched as the worvine came out of his cave later in
the morning and grabbed a piece of meat from over one of the fires.  Chewing on
the meat, he came over and looked at them through the gate bars.  He seemed a
little annoyed that they had their hands free, as he swatted one of the
craglings, gestured and spoke harshly to him before turning away, apparently
disgusted.

They were brought some tickleberries and root tubers
sometime around mid-day.  They ate the berries willingly, once Celia had
identified them for the group.  The tuber they ate reluctantly, though they
found that it had a reasonable texture and flavour, if only a little bland.

While they were eating, Celia watched Hoyle, following his
scars from left ear to chin, and from above his right eye down to his mouth. 
His experiences in the sky citadel dungeon certainly changed him.  He had been
harder, but still with some of his flair.  She did note that he was a little
less cocky, and joked much less - barely at all really.  What she did not
understand is why he had not tried to kill Robart yet.  He surely had reason
to, and means, method and even opportunity.  In this he was a mystery to her. 
Actually, if she was honest with herself, he was a complete mystery to her.  And
she could not leave a mystery alone.

Hoyle noted her looking at him and smiled a wry half-smile
back at her.  He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to Salrissa, listening
to her quiet report of the camp activities.  The two of them kept looking through
the gate at the craglings.

It was late afternoon when Robart groaned and sat up
slowly.  Valena moved over to sit beside him, and offered him some water from
the crude wooden bowl the creatures had provided.  He coughed several times as
he took the water, then brushed Valena's arm away, spilling the water.

After a few minutes he stood on shaky legs and yelled at the
top of his lungs and moved towards the gate.  Hoyle stood up and stepped
between Robart and his destination, putting a hand on his chest to stop him. 
Robart took a swing at Hoyle, missing as his target stepped aside, causing him
to stumble.

Celia watched as Robart's face turned red with rage,
"Get out of my way!" he yelled at Hoyle as he stood again.  Hoyle
looked at Salrissa who shrugged, so he stepped aside, and went back to sit with
her at their vantage point near the gate. 

"Drawing attention to us right now is not too
smart," he said loudly to Salrissa.  They all knew the comment was
directed at Robart.  "But I guess you don't have to be smart to torture
innocent prisoners."  

Robart glowered, "Like you're innocent," he
countered.

"Okay then, bound, helpless prisoners.  Better?"
Hoyle rebutted.

Robart started towards Hoyle, who stood up, but then thought
better of it and went to the gate and began shaking it, yelling at the
craglings to let him out.  After a minute or two, Valena went over to try and
calm him down, with no luck.

"Let me out of here!  Fight me like a man, you
worthless cowards!" Robart continued at the top of his lungs.

Finally Celia could hear the craglings above start into a
heated, clipped exchange that continued as activity in the camp became
flurried.  Celia moved up beside Salrissa and Hoyle to watch, and saw several
of the stick-like craglings disappear into the cave opening.  Several minutes
later the worvine emerged following the same craglings, and started towards
their cage.

"Finally!  You scum-covered coward.  How about letting
me out of here and fighting me like a man?!"  Robart challenged.

The heavily-muscled worvine looked Robart over for a few
minutes, then turned his head in a human-like gesture and said in a gravelly
voice, "You want me fight you like man?"  He paused.

"Yeah, fight me like a man!  I win, we all go free,
with our stuff," Robart challenged again.

The worvine shrugged.  "Yes."  The worvine turned
to the craglings surrounding him and spoke in their weird chittering language
of broken branches and snapping twigs.  He gestured to Robart and the gate and
to the center of camp and then walked toward the fire.

Celia could not believe this was going to be that easy. 
Worvines were not known to be extremely smart, but they were vicious and cruel,
and this one ruled a tribe of craglings.  This one was smarter than most. 
"Robart, this doesn't feel right, it was too easy to get him to
agree," she argued quietly while the craglings moved to let him through
the gate.

Robart waved her off as the gate was opened, with dozens of
craglings pointing spears at him as he strode between them towards the center
of the camp.  The tribe surrounded him, several paces away, all of their
weapons pointing towards the large figure of Robart, who towered over all of
them.

Celia watched as the worvine turned to face Robart in the
fading light of dusk, firelight making the shadows begin to dance from several
points around the camp. 

"You want me fight you like man?" the gravelly
voice asked Robart.

Robart nodded back, "Yes, fight me like a man." 
He moved into a fighting stance and raised his hands.

The worvine reached down and grabbed two clubs from the
ground and threw one to Robart.  Robart seemed a little surprised, but caught
the crude weapon easily.  He smiled.

"Okay, now we fight like man," the worvine stated,
nodding his head.

Celia watched in horror as two of the craglings lunged at
Robart from behind, each driving a spear into the back of one of his legs. 
Robart screamed out as he fell forward to the ground, his club dropping to the
ground.  Valena gasped in shock beside her.

"Man came to village.  Man ambushed my clan.  Man
attack mom cubs with swords.  They no swords.  Man kill mom cubs.  Man kill
baby cubs.  Man tie warrior to stake.  Man torture many warrior many suns.  So
now fight like man."