Dragonstone (Eligium Series Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Other Books by this Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

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  A Note from Jake

  People and Places

  DRAGONSTONE

  Book 3 of the Eligium Series

  Jake Allen Coleman

  Copyright © 2017 Mark Coleman

  eBook ASIN:

  All rights reserved. This book or any part therof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the copyright owner and publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  ALSO BY JAKE ALLEN COLEMAN

  The Eligium Series

  Sunstone

  Moonstone

  Dragonstone

  Soulstone (TBD)

  Heartstone (TBD)

  Science Fiction

  Founder’s Day (TBD)

  If you want to be notified about future releases, or would just like to keep in touch, I welcome you to subscribe to my email list by clicking HERE.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cloaked in dark robes a hooded figure made his way up the worn stairway, leaning on a gnarled wooden cane. He had made this fortress his own after the demise of their prior keeper. Empty sconces appeared every so often, devoid of the torches that would light this pathway. He no longer required torches in the dark and scarcely remembered the time when he had welcome light. The darkness was a comfort to him, a gentle blanket that surrounded him and kept him in its cold embrace.

  A new wooden door greeted him at the top of the stairs with faint scarring on the frame the only evidence of the black powder that destroyed its predecessor. A clever piece of work that. Something he might have thought of himself in former days. He no longer required such crude machinations, even with the constraints of the Ban still in place.

  The Ban. It galled him to labor under the constraints imposed cruelly on him and others like him—such as the boy he visited this night. The wheels were turning though and with each passing day the end of the Ban drew nearer.

  Waving a hand over the locking mechanism, he unlocked both the physical and magical locks securing the door. The physical lock turned with a mechanical clunk, falling away as the wards he had placed there dissipated. If all proceeded according to his designs, those locks would soon be unnecessary.

  Entering the room, he found the boy slumbering. Brought here to Cinaeth some days ago, the necessities of food and water had been provided, but little else. The loneliness would have taken its toll along with the subtle spells laid upon his mind. He should be ready.

  Sitting on the one hard-backed chair next to the pallet the old man settled in to wait for the boy to wake. Drawing back his hood exposed a gaunt, drawn face with hollowed out eyes and receding grey hair that slicked back to form a widow’s peak above his forehead. Clean-shaven, the sorcerer’s thin lips curved downward in perpetual displeasure.

  The boy laying on the pallet, with curly blond hair limp and damp, was like a lump of clay ready to be formed and fit for purpose. That clay was now malleable, and it was time to start reforming. Should that fail, he could simply mash the work and begin anew. Fingers peaked in front of his face, he watched as the boy slumbered on, occupied with thoughts of how this tool would fit into his larger plan.

  An hour passed before the boy stirred. Bringing himself back to the present he saw the boy stretch out and wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. It was too dark in the room for the boy to recognize he was not alone and that gave the old man a chance to examine the boy’s state as he woke.

  With enough light, the old man's grim smile would have unnerved the boy. It was not a smile of glee or satisfaction. It was more the smile of grim reaper as he carried his prey to its doom.

  “Who’s there?” said the boy, his voice shaking. He drew himself to a sitting position and curled back as he realized he was not alone.

  “One who would help you,” said the old man in a whisper.

  “If you’re here to help me, why isn’t there any light?”

  Waving a hand, the old man uttered power word and a pair of torches bracketing the door flared to life. “There, is that better?”

  Blinking at the sudden light, the boy’s eyes grew wide seeing the old man sitting so close. “Who…who…who are you?”

  “Who I am is inconsequential…for the moment. All that matters right now is that I want to help you.”

  The boy mustered his courage, “If you want to help me, then let me go!”

  “All in good time young Cenric, all in good time.”

  Cenric Brice blinked in surprise, “How do you know my name?”

  The old man smiled again, “I know a good many things about you Cenric. A good many things. I know you aspire to become a wizard. I know you abandoned in Aldmoor without guidance or direction. I know you have an unquenchable thirst and desire for knowledge. These things are all true, are they not?” He continued without waiting for a response. “I also know you have great potential, but that potential has been stymied and blocked by those protective of their own power and position. You threaten them, Cenric. I know because once upon a time I was as you are now: young, full of life and vigor. My unrealized potential obvious to old men and women sitting on their thrones in Uriasz,” his hypnotic voice seeped into Cenric’s mind, carrying the boy along with the spell. “They looked at me and saw that their time was coming to an end. Do you know what they did then?”

  He paused, considering the effect his words were having on Cenric. A link was forming between them, made up of gossamer threads joining their minds. It an effect of the spells cast when the boy had first arrived at Cinaeth and it strengthened through the words he was speaking now. He sent an exploratory suggestion through the link to gauge its strength and the boy responded as desired, saying in a slurred voice, “Tell me…”

  The old man rose to add effect to his story, “They dispossessed me! They stole from me my birthright. They stunted my growth in the magical arts to prevent my ever reaching the potential that was mine. I was at their mercy. I had no one to show me a different way. No one to help me unlock what lay within me. Eventually I discovered what they had done, but it was almost too late.” He slumped back into the chair. “Through great sacrifice and pain I reclaimed most of what they had thought lost. If only I had someone to show me the way earlier things would have been rather different.”

  The threads linking him to Cenric formed now, thick and pulsing with life energy that flowed back and forth between them. This was going much more easily than he expected. He would not have to make use of the object found on the boy when he arrived. He adjusted his timetable forward. “I would like to give you something, Cenric. Something that will help you reach your potential. Would you like that?” Along with the question, he sent a pulse along the link, dispelling any resistance or warning in the boy’s mind.

  “I would…” Cenric replied. “What is it?”

  “Jus
t something to help you along,” said the old man. Reaching within his cloak he withdrew a long iron chain and held it up toward Cenric. A large red stone dangled from the end of the chain. The stone would allow the boy to access great power, enough perhaps to break free of his influence. But he had his own resources to prevent that, and it would require the boy to recognize there was something to overcome. Giving Cenric the Dragonstone was a gamble, but a good one. “Will you take it Cenric? It will help you.”

  The boy reached out a hand to caress the stone and the old man watched it respond with a pulsing inner glow. As expected, the boy had an affinity to the stone. An affinity the sorcerer would use to control it through this new tool he was forming. Cenric’s head swayed back as if it had come loose and his eyes blinked rapidly. “This is for me?” said the boy.

  “It is. Let me put it on you.” Draping the chain around the boy’s neck, the tendrils linking their minds shifted aside as new threads emanating from the stone joined them. Reaching out through the link, the old man felt the stone's power and, through it, a faraway presence. He dare not use the stone himself. Not yet. That presence would recognize him and the backlash would be fierce. If the link did not provide enough of a buffer to prevent that recognition, it would be necessary to find another tool.

  “Rest now,” said the old man. “I will be back to talk more tomorrow.” He stood, moving toward the door.

  “Wait…who are you? You never said.”

  Turning back, the sorcerer considered the boy for a moment, sending another pulse through their link. “The name you would know is Sterling Lex.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Unseasonable eastern winds kept the Grey Gull sailing at a pace unusual for the fall. Most years, it would be too late to attempt the crossing from Cale Conall to Cale Uriasz. The crew looked on the favorable winds as an omen of good fortune. Wind filled the mainsail, propelling the Gull forward as she skimmed across the waves. Between the jib and her main stay-sail, she ran steady even in the chop of a sea that seemed to know winter was coming. With clear decks save for necessary rigging and the ship’s wheel abaft, there was nothing to shelter passengers from the biting wind when they ventured out from the cabins below.

  For Sebastian, braving the cold wind was preferable to the heaving he felt whenever he stayed below-decks. It was an invisible pendulum that swung back and forth over the five days they had been at sea. Some days the deck was better, some the cabin. He was certain that by the end of this voyage his skin would be a permanent shade of green. Growing up, he’d never had this problem fishing with his uncle on the lakes near Taleros, but they had barely cleared the harbor entrance before his stomach began to protest.

  Sitting with his back to the foremast he kept his focus on the distant horizon. The first mate had told him that was the best way to keep the sickness at bay. It was just the latest in a string of suggestions and remedies. Every one of the crew had their own bit of advice for him. Early on they had told him to wait it out and his sea-legs would come. As the days passed, he ate less and less and the wisdom dispensed by the sailors became more and more far-fetched. One of their early suggestions had been to climb to the top of the main mast. One look at those rope ladders had added vertigo to his list of ailments. Then, just yesterday they told him to try crawling out on the bowsprit after a meal. That had not gone well.

  That adventure had led the officers to take a hand in the matter, keeping the more mischievous members of the crew well away from him. Resigned to a miserable voyage, Sebastian could not wait to get his feet on dry land again in Cale Uriasz. Forlornly, he hoped that not only would his stomach settle with his perch amidships, but he would catch sight of land. Not much chance he would see it before the lookout, but he would not let that stop him from looking. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that this was not a one way trip.

  Knowing it was a dangerous move, he risked a glance at the activity on deck. With no great urgency, the crew went about their duties adjusting sails, cleaning the decks, and maintaining the lines and sheets. Watching them, he decided that the life of a sailor must be exceedingly boring. He had heard about the romance of the sea and all that, but the reality left much to be desired as far as he was concerned. Sebastian let his mind drift, creating one of his stories to keep his thoughts off his stomach.

  Imagining that the Gull was a ship of war he painted a picture in his mind of the crew manning stations and preparing for battle with pirates from far away Cale Druenenn. In a whirl of orchestrated chaos they danced across the decks provisioning the battery of canons and tightening sheets. Ahead, he could just make out the enemy corsair emerging from dense fog. The two vessels were alone in a silent gray globe as their captains glared across the open water. Having done all they could to prepare, the Gull’s crew waited for the order to fire, tension weighing them down like a hundred anchors.

  Across the expanse, Sebastian could make out the barbarian pirates seething in fury. Standing naked to the waist, despite the chill. Tattoos Evil shaped tattoos adorned their bodies, mystical ones painted in the blackest black. It was said Cale Druenenn pirates used the blood of their enemies to create the ink used in their tattooing, an ancient art they stole from the mystics of the island people.

  Closing on the pirate’s vessel the Gull was ready, her crew alert at their posts. “Fire!” the captain’s voice roared, swinging the wheel to starboard to expose the Gull’s broadside to the enemy. As the cannon came to bear on the enemy, a series of concussions shook her stem to stern. Captain Cyrillus timed his maneuver to perfection, an instant before the corsair made her own move. With precision drilled into her crew daily, the Gull’s fusillade pounded the corsair. Sebastian watched in fascination as shards of wood turned into projectiles, ripping into the pirate’s flesh and hurling them across the corsair’s deck. Another thunderclap shook the Gull as the last ball found the corsair’s magazine. A fireball rose into the air and Sebastian could feel the intense heat. The pirates hadn’t gotten off a single shot.

  “Fire!” the captain’s voice rang out again as the third mate hauled Sebastian to his feet and pushed him towards the bow, away from the very real blaze that had caught amidships.

  Sebastian snapped back to reality to find that the deck-house had actually gone up in flames. Every able hand scrambled to fight the blaze. Within moments a double line formed from the gunwale to the flames as the seamen hauled away on buckets of seawater, passing them to the sailors closest to the growing flames. Sebastian stumbled forward, coughing from the billowing smoke. Even to his untrained eye, he could tell that the fire was getting the best of the sailors. It wouldn’t be long before the fire raged out of control, dooming the Gull.

  Gerhard and Krystelle Mora emerged from below deck. The old wizard’s beard got more gnarled and tangled each day they remained at sea, while Krystelle kept her auburn hair braided due to the salt and wind. Gerhard held up his hand to stop Krystelle from joining the fray. He focused his thought, eyes shut. Sebastian bounced on his toes, wishing that whatever the old wizard would do, he’d do it faster.

  With care, Gerhard extended his arms to either side, palms open to the sky. Sebastian could see the wizard’s lips moving, but wasn’t able to make out the words. A waterspout formed off the port bow, pulling the sea upward into the spinning vortex. Gerhard’s eyes snapped open, “Away from the fire!” he commanded the crew. The third mate saw what the old man intended and ordered his men to move away.

  With a sweep of his arms, Gerhard sent the waterspout hurtling towards the blaze. The crew watched in awe as the fire was extinguished in moments. It was one thing to know one of your passengers was a wizard, it was quite another to see his power displayed in open defiance of the Ban.

  Gerhard’s knees buckled beneath him and Krystelle just caught the man before he dropped to the deck. “My lord?” she said, concern for him painted across her brow.

  “I but need to rest. Before the Ban that spell would have been child’s play. Now even the simplest of
tasks requires a monumental effort.”

  “Sir,” the mate stopped short a few feet away, uncertain if he should come closer. “Thank you sir. You…you saved the Gull sir. Without you, I fear we would have lost her to the fire!”

  “Back to your station Boats and leave that man be!” ordered the Captain. “There’s a mess to clean up on my deck and damage to assay.” Saluting, the mate scuttled away all the while shouting orders to the deck crew to begin recovery efforts. The captain turned back to the wizard, “We are in your debt Lord Gerhard. Fire at sea’s a dangerous thing, and that one seemed to have a life of its own. Couldn’t have the bos’n thinkin’ too hard ‘bout that fire, neither him nor the crew. Strangest thing I ever saw as if it was conjured out of nothing. One instant all was well and the next the ship was ablaze.” Cyrillus started, realizing what he was saying. “Be that as it may, I can’t have the crew getting all superstitious on me. ‘Twas strange though.”

  “Strange indeed,” said Gerhard. “I must retire to my quarters to meditate on these events and what they might mean. If you would excuse me Captain?” Cyrillus nodded and turned back to supervise the clean-up efforts. He had ordered the sheets dropped when the fire broke out and wanted to assess the damage and get back under sail as fast as possible. Leaning close, Gerhard hissed to Sebastian, “No more daydreaming!” Leaving Sebastian standing there with his jaw dropping, Gerhard made his way back to the ladder leading below to the passenger quarters, one hand on Krystelle’s arm for support.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sitting in a hardbacked wooden chair in a sparse room devoid of decor or warmth, Sterling Lex contemplated the small crystalline box sitting in front of him on the table. Reaching out, he waved a hand to dispel the wards protecting the box, and its contents. Not that what was inside needed protection. Opening the lid, he pulled out a black piece of silk wrapped around the obsidian stone recovered from Cenric when he had been brought to Cinaeth.