Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) (32 page)

Wendinard watched as the head of the embassy stepped through
the gateway, and then turned and smiled wistfully, he thought, at him.  He
nodded and then stepped up to the magegate and worked the mechanism that bound
the keystone to the frame on the left side of the large, gold frame.  With deft
hands he removed the stone, and abruptly the room was cast into shadow, the
only light from a flickering candle set on the bench behind him.

He walked over and picked up the candle in its holder and
walked into the hallway.  He set the candle on a small table set out for just
this purpose.  He turned and pulled the heavy vault door half-way closed.  He
looked at it for a minute, admiring the construction, it being made of a metal
that he was unfamiliar with.  He then stepped into the room and walked behind
the partially closed door and placed the keystone into a mounting bracket made
of the same material.  It pulsed as he placed it in its mounting, and he felt a
tingling up the back of his neck.

He turned from the stone, and made his way back into the
corridor.  He pulled the door the rest of the way shut, and there was a quiet
clanking and the seal of the door radiated light for a brief moment and then
was dark.  He tried to open the door, just to be sure, but it absolutely did
not budge.

He nodded to himself, went down the hall, up the stairs and
out into the night, closing the embassy doors behind him carefully.  He did not
lock them, for those that would be coming the next day, or the day after, would
not be stopped by something as trivial as a locked door.

He began his trip home, quietly humming to himself, happy
that those that did come would not find what they were looking for.

First Chancellor Yalang knew the Emperor would not be
pleased.  In fact, he would be furious, and Yalang had to figure out how to
deflect that anger before it consumed him.  He carried the letter, sealed and addressed
to the Emperor, and the other object they had found in Zazaril's study in his
sleeve pocket.  He did not know what the letter read, but could guess based on
the condition of the embassy when they arrived to detain the Shilaar
headquartered there.  He did, however, know what the other object signified,
and was both concerned and surprisingly proud of Zazaril for having done what
she had done.

Of course, it also ate at him the entire walk back to the
palace surrounded by Imperial Guards.  He had already dispatched a number of
patrols to search the city for any Dar'Shilaar still remaining, but he was
certain none would be found.  He had to figure out an angle in which to play
this to his advantage, or he would be the next personal 'guest' of the Emperor
when his birthing day came around, and he certainly did not want that.

They entered the palace through the smaller man gate to the
side of the main courtyard and the guard dispersed, leaving only two to guard
the First Chancellor.  He laughed really as he thought about it; his value to
the Emperor as related to the number of guards he was assigned.  That being
said, no one got more than two within the palace, most getting none.  Only when
outside the palace walls was he, and others, escorted by more, and he was not
entirely certain if that was to protect him, or ensure he returned.  He never
wanted to test that theory if he could avoid it.

He decided he had better get his meeting with Emperor
Randramas over with as soon as possible, and thought he had figured a way out
of his wrath, if any appeared.  He was never certain.  Generally the Emperor
was icy calm and controlled, but every so often, he would vent his anger.  It
was usually directed at the nearest target, which in this case would be him.

He entered the palace, barely registering the grand
hallways, carved in their bas relief, showing the various battles of the
Emperor's rise to power.  He turned at a hallway midway down the grand hallway
and began to climb a set of stairs to the upper levels.  It was past the dinner
bell and so Randramas would not be found in the audience chamber, but in the
shrine in the Emperor's quarters.

Reaching the third level, he came to the large bronzed doors
that protected the Emperor from the outside world when he wished.  Four large
Imperial Guards stood in front, alert, hands on the pommels of their swords. 
Small hand crossbows hung from a hook on their belts.  Their plate and chain
armor shone in the lamplight that lit the hallway.

Yalang nodded to the guards, who barely registered his
presence, but opened the door a small ways.  It was enough for his thin frame,
but not by much.  Even he did not have much influence in the palace - at least
not as much as he projected to outsiders.  The doors closed quietly behind him
as he walked down the thickly carpeted hall, his slippers not making a sound. 
He counted three doors down on the right, and he came to the open door to the
Emperor's shrine to Benraw.  He approached quietly, and stood just outside the
room as he watched the kneeling form of Emperor Randramas praying before the
altar to his god.

It was a fact only he and a select handful of Imperial
guards knew; that Emperor Randramas was actually a former Brother of Benraw,
the God of War, Destruction and Chaos.  Somehow he had retained his
god-bestowed powers, and Yalang presumed it was due to his devotion, as he was
showing now.

"You may enter." The Emperor said.  No matter how
quiet he was, Randramas always knew when he was there.

"Your eminence," he replied, and entered with a
bow.   He knelt the prescribed three strides inside the door.  He saw the
sacrifice on the altar and turned his gaze away, his stomach turning.

"What have you to report?" the Emperor queried
with a knowing tone.

Yalang proffered the letter from his sleeve, and held it up,
his head down, eyes turned to the floor.  "Zazaril - the head of the
embassy - left this letter for you."  He was proud that he did not flinch
as the Emperor removed the scroll from his hand.

The emperor broke the seal, and turned to slowly pace in
front of the altar as he read.  "Do you know the words within?" the
Emperor asked quietly.  Yalang could sense no anger in the tone; the Emperor's voice
was ice cold, controlled.

"I have not laid eyes upon the words on that parchment,
your eminence."

"But you know what they say."  It was not a
question.

"I suspect that I know the general content of the
letter, yes your eminence."

"Report."  Randramas turned to face Yalang,
meeting his eyes and boring into them with intent.  Yalang could not turn away.

"When we reached the embassy, we found the doors
unlocked.  Entering the building, we found no sign of anyone.  It appears that
they left, effectively closing the embassy.  Therefore, I surmise that the
response to your demand of magestones was in the negative.  When we reached the
study of the head of the embassy, the head of the Dar'Shilaar in your city, we
found the letter that you now hold... and this."  Yalang held out the
other item that was left on the desk, sitting on top of the letter - Zazaril's
ruby red magestone amulet.

The Emperor stood for a long time, studying the amulet
hanging from Yalang's hand; long enough for his arm to tire.

"I see," was the Emperor's reply. "Was there
anything else?"

"No, your eminence.  All magical artifacts were removed
or possibly placed in a vault in the basement.  There is no way to know for
certainty, as the guards were unable to open any of the doors in the
basement."  Yalang's arm was tiring even more, starting to sag towards the
ground slightly.  He could feel the muscles in his arm twitching, but could not
afford to appear weak now.

"So, the Dar'Shilaar have refused a direct request from
the Emperor, thereby rejecting the Empire."  He crumpled the parchment in
his hand.

"Yes, your eminence, it appears they have." 
Yalang made sure his eyes were on the floor.  "What are your orders?"

The Emperor told him.

Marisha'ilea had tears running down her cheeks.  She had
needed to be strong for the last two days, but now she was alone.  Alone with
the knowledge given to her by the Staff of Everilon; knowledge as accumulated
by almost one thousand years of Dar'Shilaar.  Knowledge of things she would
rather not know, things that were now her burden to bear.

It had created a huge uproar the morning after the attack,
only yesterday really, and more importantly Endergot's death, when the Council
met to choose a new leader.  Doratellan walked in beside Marisha'ilea, who bore
the staff into the council chambers, and placed it on an ornate stand before
taking up her place as Recorder at the lectern she always stood at while in
this chamber.  She noted that only one other Recorder was at their place, and
then remembered that the third had been the perpetrator of the attack.

The Council began its discussion once the heavy doors were
closed, trying to decide whom should be the next Head of the Council.

"This attack just proves that the next head of the
Council must be strong and decisive!" Brilon argued fiercely.  His dark
brows matched his dark demeanor as he frowned at the staff.

Avara'etha responded quietly, "That is true, however,
as much as you wish it, that is not how the Head of the Order is chosen." 
She was dressed simply as always, her brown linen robe clinging to her ample
curves.

Brilon leaned forward and scowled in her direction. 
"Then how is the new Head of the Order chosen?" he almost demanded.

"The Staff be doing the Choosing." Doratellan
answered calmly.  Marisha'ilea noted the hint of a smile, and he winked at her
when he noticed her watching.

"What?"  Brilon seemed stunned.  Even Marisha'ilea
was taken aback.  She did not know that fact either.

"The Staff contains all the knowledge and wisdom from the
essence of all its previous owners for almost one thousand years.  It chooses
the next head of the order." Avara'etha replied calmly.  As the oldest of
the Council members, and an elf besides, she knew the history of the Staff of
Everilon better than anyone else in the room.

Brynden and Dar'ell both nodded slowly in apparent
understanding, but stayed quiet. 

Norella folded her hands in her lap and nodded sharply,
"Then that is how it is to be.  How does the choosing happen?  Can you
please guide us through it my dear?" she directed at the diminutive elf. 
Even though Avara'etha was almost twice as old as Norella, she treated anyone
without hair as grey as hers like a grandchild.

"Certainly Norella," she replied, standing and
moving to the center of the room.  "Each one of us will try and pick up
the Staff.  If the Staff chooses one of us, it will mean that we will have to
elevate one other Shilaar to round our numbers out to seven.  If it does not
choose one of us, then we will open the room up to the other full Dar'shilaar,
and each will have a chance to be chosen."

"Wait!  You're saying that it could be someone not
currently on this Council that could become the Head of the Order?" 
Brilon's anger and confusion seemed ready to boil over.

"That is precisely what I am saying." Avara'etha
replied.  "Only the one that can wield the Staff can lead the order.  It
has been that way ever since Ever'ilon himself wielded the Staff over five
hundred years ago, and passed it into Dar'Shilaar hands for safe keeping before
his end.  Since then, it has been surmised that the Staff has evolved,
retaining an essence of its former owners, and thus this method of choosing has
become more than tradition.  Only the wielder of the Staff will gain the
knowledge the Staff contains, and therefore the right to head the order."

Doratellan stood before anyone else, "I have a suggestion,
if ye do be so kind as to be hearing me out?"

Brilon bristled.  "Let me guess, you want to be
first?"

"Nay.  I want Marisha'ilea to be going first."

The statement stunned Marisha'ilea, and caused an enormous
outburst throughout the chamber.  Even the normally quiet Brynden and the aloof
Dar'ell chimed in against the idea.

"That's absurd!"  "Never heard of such a
preposterous thing!"

Her eidetic memory heard it all and filtered it for later
understanding.  She looked at all the Councillors, now standing in front of
their chairs, some yelling, others gesturing widly.  Avara'etha still stood in
the middle of the room near the Staff.  She was the only one besides Doratellan
who had remained quiet.  She let the clamor die out as she stood silently,
regarding Marisha'ilea with her penetrating eyes.

As soon as the noise began to die down, Avara'etha spoke
into the developing silence as everyone retracted into their own thoughts.  "This
is not the tradition.  Why should we break from this time honored way of
choosing the one to lead us that has been the way for five hundred years?"

"Oh, ye can be doing it the old fashioned way, if ye be
wishing.  However, I be having a suspicion that I would be saving ye some
time."  Doratellan waved his hand dismissively at the rest, and sat down
in his seat and threw one leg over the left arm, dangling it there. 
Marisha'ilea noted a smug grin barely hidden on his face.

"Oh, I do be wishing!" Brilon said in a tone
mocking Doratellan's Seven Isles accent.

Doratellan swished his hand at Brilon, "Then, by all
means, do be going first then."

Avara'etha brisled slightly, but stood aside as Brilon
stepped forward in front of the Staff of Everilon.  He paused briefly, and she
noted a tentative look of fear on his face, though she could only see him in
profile.  He took a deep breath and grasped the Staff.  He exhaled, thinking he
was triumphant when a small shock went up his arm causing him to yelp, most likely
more from surprise than pain, and drop the Staff back into its holder.

Doratellan smirked openly now, but said nothing.  The rest
all tried with the same result, though none yelped like Brilon.

---o---

And now she was the Fal'Shilaar, the head of the Order of
Dar'Shilaar and held the Staff of Everilon, an artifact almost one thousand
years old; wielded by the greatest elf Dar'Shilaar the world has known for over
five hundred years; wielded by another group of powerful individuals over the
course of the remaining five centuries.  And contained within the Staff, stored
the collective knowledge of all the amber quafa'shilaar's experiences for all
that time, with all those owners.  No, that word did not feel right.  '
Owners
'
was the wrong word.  '
Companions
' had the right ring to it though.

She was the head of the Order now, with all the good and bad
that the position brought with it.  Privilege, but responsibility too; the
latter far more heavy than the former.  Knowledge came also, but always at a
price. 

And thus she was standing alone on a ledge high above a
hidden valley, a recently used gatal'shilaar behind her, with tears streaming
down her face.  Tears of joy mixed with tears of sorrow.  For the Staff had
imparted to her the secret of the quafa'shilaar - the magestones - and had
given her the exclusive knowledge to use the portal to travel here.

She stared up in wonder, and saw the magical dome that
protected, but also contained the creatures of the valley.  It was iridescent
in the sunlight, shimmering in a rainbow of colors, casting them far and wide
across the untouched meadows, and forests and rivers below.  She looked down
from her lofty height at the creatures, believed to be only myth, flying
through the air above and below, a myriad of colors mirroring the dome above. 
She saw ultimate beauty, perfection really, in their forms, and this was part
of the reason for the tears; for she had never seen a more beautiful sight.

But now she knew where magestones came from, and what they
were, and that is the other part of why she was crying.

Magestones were the eggs of dragons.

###