Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) (33 page)

I wanted to take a moment to thank you.  I hope you've enjoyed
reading this book as much as I have enjoyed writing it.  I know you took a
chance on me as a new author, and I hope that your chance paid off for you and
that this tale of swords, sorcery, flying sailing ships and floating citadels
has whetted your appetite for more.

For new authors like myself, word of mouth is the most
important way that we can get the our name out, so if you really enjoyed my
work, please share your comments on Amazon, on your blog, if you have one,
facebook, twitter, pinterest, snap chat and whatever new social media app has
been developed since I have written this blurb.  Goodreads.com is another great
place you can leave a comment.

Good reviews  inspire people to take a chance on a new author
- like me. And we new authors can use all the help we can get.

And if, on the off chance you did not enjoy it, but did get to
this point, I do sincerely thank you for your time.  I do know how valuable my
time is to me, so for you to stick it out to the end means the world to me.

Thank you again for taking a chance on this book, and me.

Richard C. Innes

When I started this book in March of 2014, little did I know
that it would take a full year of nights (some of us still want to keep the day
job) to get this novel written, proofread, cover art completed and all the
little pieces fit into place.  Well of course this was not a one person show,
and though this book is fully self-published, and a culmination of a dream of
mine, there were many people along for the ride.

Many thanks to my selfless proofreaders:

 Tracy Kass Palmer (self described grammar Nazi - her words,
not mine), long-time friend from high school who was the first to jump at the
chance to correct me, who did an amazing job of it, and found the majority of
the spelling mistakes and typos in the first go around.

Suzanne Baril, my aunt-in-law, who, though she barely knows
me, helped out and found inconsistencies in the book no one else (including I,
obviously) found.

Janice McDonald, a friend and Junior High School teacher,
spent many hours of her summer vacation plowing through the first half of my
book.

Lauren Staples, a friend and co-worker who pointed out that a
woman would not calmly comb her hair immediately after surviving a shipwreck,
flying or otherwise.

John Kuperus, a friend and colleague who took time out of his
busy schedule to sift through and find the last few items that stood out.

Thank you to some others indirectly responsible for helping:

A great big thank you to Jim and George Thompson for
introducing me to Dungeons & Dragons™ when I was 10 years old.  If it were
not for that first roll of the dice, this book would not exist.

Thank you to my parents, Dick and Laurel, who always supported
me in all my endeavors, and were the first ones to push me into reading at an
early age, when it was "for school" and therefore - of course - I
hated it.  Well  they ensured that I read my first two books "for
school" and then made me do a book report on any book I wanted.  That's
when I found the fantasy genre, where even an Assistant Pig-Herder could become
the hero of the story and save the kingdom.  From that point on I was hooked.

And finally, to my wife Lisa, and my children Jocelyn,
Christopher and Benjamin.  Without you, there would be less of a reason for
doing this, following my passion, my dream.  Every day I am thankful for you,
and want to do better, be better, and prove than anyone can do anything they
set their mind to.

Thank you all.

Richard C. Innes was introduced to Dungeons and Dragons when
he was ten, and has since spent the rest of his free time telling fantasy
stories to his friends around the gaming table.  He also got a hold of and
devoured any fantasy novel that came along, enjoying the works of Lloyd
Alexander and Taran the Assistant Pig-keeper in the Book of Three and of course
The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings when he was a child.  The works of R.A.
Salvatore; Robert Jordan's
Wheel of Time
Series; Steven Erikson's
The
Malazan Book of the Fallen
Series; and Brandon Sanderson's
Mistborn
and
Stormlight Archive
Series; and dozens if not hundreds of other
books, has sated, if ever only temporarily, his thirst for fantasy.

Richard lives in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada with his wife Lisa,
his daughter Jocelyn, and twin sons, Christopher and Benjamin.

Connect with Me

You can contact Richard several ways:

On Facebook at:
https://www.facebook.com/magestonechronicles

On Twitter at:
@RCInnesAuthor

On his blog at:
http://rcinnesauthor.blogspot.ca/

Or by email at:
mailto:[email protected]

If you want to know when the next book is being released, send
me an e-mail and I will put you on my mailing list.  I will never spam, sell it
or do anything with it but send you announcements about the next book. 

Or if you prefer, follow #magestonechronicles or #magestone on
twitter for updates.  Or last, but not least, just 'Like' the facebook page,
and you will get updates there.

Magestone Chronicles: Book 2

War Unleashed

Goralon has captured the Floating Fortress of Farad'ahar
that protected the border and has invaded the eastern lands of the Kastrum
Imperium.  As the Goralonian hordes push into the Empire, Hoyle and Celia fight
to stay ahead of the flood of soldiers.  Scrambling, they are each forced to
choose a path to try and make a difference as town after town is destroyed by
the invading army.

The Dar'Shilaar are trying to come to terms with the recent
attack and murder of their leader for the last several decades, and adjust to
the new leader in Marisha'ilea, while she tries to understand the implications
of the revelations shown to her by the Staff of Everilon.

Meanwhile, dark forces move in the background as the warlock
Kartem begins to manipulate the pieces in the game he is playing; a game in
which he unknowingly is also just a piece; a game that could consume the whole
world.

Read on...

Preview: War Unleashed

Prologue

Old Gabion sat where he always sat first thing in the
morning, on the barrel in front of the Rusty Nail Tavern.  This morning
promised to be pleasant, clear and sunny.  The sun had yet to rise, but he
could not any sign of a cloud in the predawn sky.  As usual, he was the only
one up this early in the morning, before the cock crowed.  Today he expected
that everyone would be late risers, with last eve being Spring Planting's Eve,
along with all its festivities and excesses.

The Rusty Nail sat on the main road through town.  Well,
they called it a highway, the Imperial Highway in fact, but Gabion was not too
sure.  If packed earth with the odd flat stone slab and four wagon wheel ruts
could be called a highway, then this was a highway by the Seven Hells.  But in
his mind it was a road -
the
road, rather.  The only one he knew.  It
ran in an east-west direction straight through the town of Byfrond Hollow.  He
heard it said that to the west it ran all the way to the Imperial City and
past.  To the east, he had heard that it ran through the foothills of the Whitetooth
Mountains, up through the pass and on to the Kingdom of Goralon.

Of course, he had been born in this town, had grown up in
this town, and had never had the urge to venture more than a half a day's walk
from the town, and that barely got him to the edge of the woods to the west, or
to the first hill of the foothills to the east.  Of course from there, he could
see that a wider world existed, he just was not much interested in exploring
it. 

Just as with any other day, he pulled out his tabaac pouch
containing his favorite - Sommerton Leaf - and tamped some into his pipe.  He
used his flint to get the leaf going, and then took a long pull, letting the
cloying aroma and smoke fill his mouth and filter into his lungs.  He held for
a three count and then exhaled.  He shook his head, all these long years and he
still found the same pleasure in this one thing.

As the morning sky began to brighten, he looked to the
east.  The mountains there looked like the bottom teeth of some horrid
creature, dark and shadowy against the coming of the sun.  He noted a figure on
the road, still outside of town proper, but walking towards the town with a
determined gait. 

Gabion watched as the man approached, his shadow preceding
him by a long distance as the sun just poked through the eastern pass.  He was
a middle-aged man, probably in his early forties with deep brown eyes with dark
circles underneath, and thick salt-and-pepper hair.  He was lean and muscular,
and wore simple brown leather armor inscribed with the Imperial crest, two
hands praying.  He wore a simple shortsword in a scabbard on his belt.  The man
approached him directly.

"The town garrison?" the man asked.

Gabion raised one eyebrow in question, but said nothing. 
He took another pull from his pipe and exhaled slowly.  "Nope." He
finally offered.

"A constabulary?  An officer of the Empire?" the
man continued.

"Nope," he responded, taking another pull off his
pipe.  He could tell it was almost done.

"A mayor, elder, or other person of authority?" the
man ventured, looking a little more concerned with each query.

"Aye, one of those we have," he replied, nodding
his head.  The man looked relieved as he watched Gabion intently.

"Well?" the uniformed man asked.

"Well what?" Gabion responded.

"Five Gods man! Who are they and where can I find
them?!" the man asked appearing frustrated.

"Ah... That would be Cyrus Hardtack, down yonder,"
he said, gesturing down a crossroad to the north.  The man started in the
direction indicated.  "If I can offer you some friendly advice, I suggest
you don't wake him until the lunch bell."

"I am afraid we don't have the luxury of time,"
the man said cryptically as he picked his pace up slightly.

---o---

Yalang walked briskly down the carpeted hallway, his
slippers making no sound on the thick wool.  He could not believe the message
that he had received from the Officer of the Record, but knew it had to be
delivered to the Emperor at once. 
Bad news two days in a row
he
thought,
I hope I survive this
.  Only yesterday had he delivered the
message of the Dar'Shilaar's embassy being abandoned to his master, the
Emperor.  Instead of caving in to the Emperor's demands to provide two hundred
magestones, they had fled back to their floating citadel leaving no one behind
to punish.

It was shortly after sunrise the day after Spring Planting,
the festivities of two nights ago all but forgotten.  Yalang knew that the
Emperor Randramas would be in the training hall, sparring with today's
'opponents'.

The Emperor allowed the Keeper of The Depths to select four
prisoners that he thought worthy of reprieve each day and bring them forth
before breakfast to spar with him.  Those that survived for a bell earned their
freedom, those that did not - well they earned a freedom of another sort.  It was
rumored that anyone that injured the Emperor and survived for the bell would
earn their weight in gold.  There had been only one to manage that feat - or so
rumor went.  Yalang knew the truth of the matter.

The whole arrangement was an elegant solution to many
problems, including keeping the prison population low and providing the Emperor
with ample training opponents with no reason to hold back.

As he approached the doors to the training hall, he could
hear the sounds of heated battle echoing from the training room.  He stepped
inside the large, vaulted chamber to witness the tail end of today's sparring. 
He noted one body on the stone floor, already bleeding out from a deep wound
across his grimy chest. 

The Emperor stood in the center of the practice arena,
equidistant to the remaining three, in a combat stance.  He held his double
bladed spear, with a forearm length, double-edged blade at each end in his
right hand, the other end of the staff portion resting on his right shoulder. 
His left arm was out straight out to the side, slightly above his shoulder. 
His feet were spread apart at an angle, knees bent slightly.  It looked like
all three of the Emperor's opponents were breathing hard, and had retreated
slightly to rest.  One of them glanced at the sandglass to one side of the
arena.  Yalang estimated that only a few minutes remained.

He looked around; noting that the Keeper of Prisons, a
grimy, hairy man with a slight hunch was standing to one side with his arms
crossed had a slight smile on his face.  He must think that one of his current
charges might make it to the end of the bell.  Not that it mattered much to him
one way or another, but Yalang suspected the guards placed bets on the outcome
of these daily training sessions.  Several other prison guards stood to one
side of the room, near the Keeper, but not with him.

The Palace Guards were also present, but they stood at
attention, as always around the perimeter of the room, two per doorway. 
Several other advisors stood around the arena talking quietly to each other, or
watching the spectacle in front of them.

Finally it appeared that the three remaining prisoners had
silently agreed upon a tactic, and two of them rushed the Emperor.  The first
brought down an overhead chop with his sword, which the Emperor blocked with
one of the blades of his double-bladed spear.  The second, seemingly sensing an
opportunity, stepped in with a thrust of his sword towards the Emperor's back. 
The others around the room gasped, thinking the emperor was doomed, but Yalang
had seen this spectacle enough to know better.

The Emperor twisted out of the way, and swung the first
opponent's sword in a wide arc, which he stepped under, and then stepped wide. 
The second prisoner drove his sword up to the hilt in the first prisoner's
chest, eliciting a grunt of pain and nothing else as the man died.  With the
shock of what he had done still on his face, the second prisoner froze.  The
Emperor quickly brought his staff around and cleaved off the man's arm that was
holding his sword, still stuck in the chest of the other.

The man screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching his
bleeding stump, the Emperor having cut the arm off above the elbow.  The
Emperor stepped forward and swung his staff spear, cutting the man's throat and
silencing his screams to a gurgle.  Randramas turned to face off against the
third prisoner, glancing at the hourglass as he did so.  But the man had
quietly closed the distance while the Emperor was dispatching the other two,
and with a flick of his wrist, sliced a cut across the Emperor's cheek.

The Emperor stopped, slightly taken aback.  He reached up
and felt the blood that had begun to run down his cheek.  The observers around
the room now held their collective breaths; as all had heard the rumors, but
none hear had seen the Emperor ever take a wound - Yalang included.

The man paled slightly, but kept his sword up to fend off
the Emperor in case he renewed his attack.  The prisoner's eyes flicked over
the shoulder of the Emperor towards the sandglass and relaxed in relief.

"Time's up," the prisoner stated, lowering his
sword slightly.

The Emperor turned around and looked at the sandglass. 
Yalang could see the steel in his eyes.  "So it would appear."  The
Emperor turned back to the prisoner and hurled his double-bladed staff spear
into the chest of the last remaining prisoner.  The prisoner's eyes widened in
shock as he dropped to his knees and fell to his side, dying.

"You... cheated..." the man whispered into the
completely silent room.

Yalang watched as the Emperor strode towards the dying man,
and chanted something quietly under his breath.  A red glow appeared around his
hand as he bent down and touched the prisoner on the chest, holding him down
with that hand, while he removed his weapon from the man's chest with the
other.  Yalang saw the look of fear pass across the man's face as the Emperor
stole the man's dwindling essence, using it to heal the wound on his cheek.

"I make the rules.  Therefore it is impossible for me
to cheat," the Emperor responded to the now dead man.

---o---

Yalang walked beside the Emperor as they returned to his
chambers down the thickly carpeted hallway.  As usual, he walked three paces
behind his ruler, two Palace Guards only two paces behind him.  Based on the
performance that the Emperor had put on just a few minutes ago, dispatching
those four armed men by himself, Yalang was not sure what they might expect him
to do to harm the man.

"You obviously have something to report, so
proceed."  The Emperor was striding confidently forward at a pace that had
Yalang struggling to keep up.

"Your eminence, a report has come in from a small
outpost in the Eastern Provinces," Yalang began tentatively.  They had
reached the Emperor's apartment containing his bathing and dressing chambers. 
This was one area where Yalang was uncomfortable, but the Emperor did not
pause, so he had to hurry and catch up.

When he entered the Emperor's apartment, he averted his eyes
as three nubile, young; mostly naked women were undressing the Emperor.  They
removed his rope belt and his practice robes, at which point he strode forward
down the steps into the large bathing pool, immersing the tattoos covering his
body in the hot water.  The water was kept hot, fed as it was from a large
cistern in the core of the Imperial Sky Citadel where several large fire
sprites were bound by magic. 

Two of the women removed their sheer, veil-like shifts and
joined the Emperor in the pool.  The third took away the Emperor's soiled
clothing and would return with the proper attire for the remainder of the day.

Yalang did not even glance at the women, the whole display a
slight to his presence and his cultural upbringing in his homeland, Ratanga,
far to the east across the sea.   

"Report."  The Emperor knew of Yalang's feelings
for his tastes, and made a point every once and a while to put Yalang in this
position to prove that he was indeed the master.  His voice left nothing
unclear that he was being given an order.

"Apparently, the report is from one Captain Keyth of
Farad'avor.  It states that the Goralonians have attacked the Empire through
the pass.  Not only that," Ylanag put up a finger to ask the Emperor to
let him finish before asking his question, "the report states that using
some dark magic, they were able to get agents up onto Farad'avor itself and
capture the sky citadel itself."

Yalang glanced at the Emperor, now floating on his back, his
face a stone mask.  Yalang wished he had not looked, as he caught a glimpse of
more female flesh than was proper as the women washed the Emperor.  He looked
away quickly, the images already burned into his mind.  He would have to atone
for this later, as the Emperor well knew.