Soulstone (Eligium Series Book 4) Read online

  With the increased light, their guards released them. Krystelle rubbed her arm where her escort had gripped. Asegeirr turned to her, “Wait here, Krystelle Mora. I’ll just be letting the Council know y’ve arrived.” He lumbered through an archway at the room's far end.

  Although their escort moved off to another part of the chamber, it was evident they were there to keep an eye on Krystelle and her party and to discourage any exploration. Krystelle looked over her companions to gauge their reactions to the situation. Jerrod had moved closer to the wall to inspect the glowing seams of ore. His hand crept up to the greenish substance and then back as he stared. Bartok stood to the side, hand on his waist near where his sword normally resided. Lids drooping, his expression would lead a casual observer to believe him bored. Only someone who did not know him the way Krystelle did would make that mistake. That melancholy exterior demeanor masked his readiness to take action should things prove hostile.

  Zefran worried her. His hands quivered and he appeared strung as tight as a new bow, glaring at the remaining guard. The wrong word would ignite an inferno. She caught Bartok’s eye and inclined her head towards Zefran. Looking over, Bartok pursed his lips and nodded. He made his way to the man and leaned to whisper in his ear. Zefran jerked and blinked, staring at Bartok, then shook his head and laughed at whatever Bartok said. It always amazed Krystelle when she watched the man defuse a situation that way, with the right word and a laugh. She herself struggled with leading in that manner, relying more on orders and position.

  As they waited, more Dwarves filed into the chamber in groups of two and three. A few joined the guards while the others distributed themselves throughout. Krystelle noticed that the Dwarves positioned themselves between the humans and every exit.

  Bartok made his way back to Krystelle, “I have a very bad feeling about this. I though the Dwarves were supposed to be our allies?” he said, just loud enough to prevent his words from carrying across the room.

  Krystelle nodded, “Supposed to be is the key. There’s been little contact since the end of the Dragon Wars. A lot can happen.”

  “I don’t have a lot of hope if we should have to fight our way out of this warren.”

  “Nor do I. Keep Zefran cool. We may have to talk our way out.”

  Asegeirr returned, cutting off Bartok's response. “Krystelle Mora, the Dwarven Council awaits you.” The four humans moved towards the entrance to the council chamber. Asegeirr held up a hand. “Only ye Krystelle Mora. Y’er guard must remain without. ‘Tis our custom that outsider men are not allowed in Council.”

  Her three guards tensed and Bartok looked to Krystelle for orders. She gave her head a shake. Krystelle had no wish to die in a pointless fight against these odds. Besides, she did not yet understand their true circumstances. By the terms of the Ban, only a woman could be sent as envoy to the Dwarven Council. Perhaps this was why. “We will abide by your custom, of course. Lead the way.”

  More green stones illuminated the dimly lit Council Chamber. It was much smaller than the Aodhan Bret, but had the feeling of great age. Three robed and hooded figures sat on stone benches atop a dais at the far end of the room. Approaching the dais, Krystelle bowed low and waited for their acknowledgment.

  As the silence stretched on, Krystelle schooled herself to stillness. When the figure in the center spoke, it was like listening to glass breaking. “Greetings Krystelle Mora, emissary of Gabirel. I am Finnguala, Highest of the Gundarian Council. It has been a long time since mankind ventured into these caverns. I would know why you choose to darken our doors now.”

  “Hail Finnguala, I would that my journey to you been made in better times. I bring dire news. Sterling Lex has returned and gained a march on us all, attempting to retrieve the Eligium for his own dark purposes. Three stones have been returned to the Aodhan Bret. The Sunstone, the Moonstone, and the Dragonstone.” The council members stirred at that last. “Somehow Sterling Lex gained possession of the Dragonstone, causing a great catastrophe at Uriasz before we were able to recover it. Gabirel seeks your wisdom as to how the stone came to the Dark Wizard.”

  Finnguala leaned forward, “And ‘ave you brought the Dragonstone with you, then?”

  “I have not. It stands in the Aodhan Bret in its rightful place.”

  “Rightful place? Its place is here, in this chamber. Or do ye not remember the Accord?” She did not wait for Krystelle to respond. “The Siothrun was given over to mankind, the Ealadha to the Elves. The Eligius Muliach was given to the Dwarves, and we paid a heavy price for it. Twas the Dwarves who awakened the great wyrmms and twas the Dwarves who broke them, harnessing them for use in the wars. The cost of the Ban to us was the loss of the magic that allowed us to tame those mighty beasts and they protection they provided us. Small consolation that the Dragonstone would be given over to us. A constant reminder of what we lost. We demand what is owed us.”

  “My Lady Finnguala, I can not speak to what has come before. Forces are moving across the land and I am come to seek the counsel of the Dwarves and the might of your axes. Rather than bring the Dragonstone across the lands, we beseech you to join it in battle. Or are the dwarves as greedy as the stories say?”

  “Ignorant child! Do you have any idea what it cost us the last time we went to war on behalf of mankind? Do you understand why Dwarven men crave and covet the gems of the earth, leading to accusations of greed and avarice? I can see you do not, so I will tell you. And show you. Cast your gaze upon that which mankind has not seen in a thousand years, the face of a Dwarven woman!”

  Krystelle gasped as Finnguala lowered her cowl, revealing her face. Where the men she had seen looked like they were carved of granite, Finnguala shimmered and shone like the richest, purest diamond. The two other members of the council likewise lowered their hoods. One emerald and one sapphire.

  “I have not set foot outside these caves to gaze on the light of day in my lifetime, Krystelle Mora. There was a time when Dwarven men and Dwarven women mingled with the outside world. Then the hearts of men grew greedy, looking upon us and coveting what they saw. In the dark of night they took and slaughtered our womenfolk. Slaughtered them for the stuff of their being to make baubles and jewelry to drape on their women. Only a handful of Dwarven women survived it and retreated to the caves, defended by their menfolk. We cut ourselves off from the world to rebuild our people.”

  “After many long centuries, Dwarven men returned, to the world of men. In the long generations, mankind had forgotten all they had done, yet their women still wore the gemstones. It is true, some had been mined from the earth. But when a Dwarf sees a diamond necklace, a sapphire ring, an emerald bracelet, they do not perceive a mere stone. They see a mother, sister, cousin, lover. And mankind calls us greedy.”

  “I’m sorry, I did not know…”

  Finnguala interrupted her. “You are sorry. Bah. Your words are meaningless without the Dragonstone. We poured our magic into the stone and with it, the magic that sustains our race. It is our lifeblood and we would have it back. It was stolen from these halls and I doubt very much that Sterling Lex had anything to do with it. Gabirel and Uriasz. Those are the real thieves here. As Gabirel’s representative, you will be our hostage until the stone is returned. Guards!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sebastian’s day started before dawn when Jarmo Dale burst into the barracks hall with his standard mantra, “Rise you lads! We’ve work to do if ever a one of you is fit to ride out on behalf of Gabirel!”

  Jarmo was a thick man, his legs bowed out from years in the saddle. A veteran of every engagement in the past twenty years, a grey swath of hair framed his deep-lined face. Sebastian always had trouble keeping himself from staring at the stump of the man’s right arm. The story went that Jarmo lost the arm in Sterling Lex’s assault on the Dazhberg. Another man might retire in relative peace, not Jarmo Dale. He was a soldier’s soldier and if he could no longer ride to battle, he would serve Gabirel as Drill-master.

  Pity the raw re
cruit slow to respond to Jarmo’s call, the rest of their day would find them mucking stalls and clearing latrines. Sebastian made that mistake only once since his formal induction to the ranks of the Squires.

  Sebastian was no stranger to rising with the sun. Life on his Uncle Caleb’s farm in Taleros had disciplined him to hard work. Still, so many weeks on the road with Krystelle got him used to setting his own schedule and making his own decisions. That changed once they returned to the Dazhberg with the Dragonstone and Cenric in tow. In Lord Teoma’s eyes, he was one more raw recruit to mold into a warrior worthy of the title Knight of Gabirel.

  Egilhard Teoma was Lord Commander of the Knights of Gabirel and was a stern leader with the grim task of rebuilding the mightiest guardians of peace in Cynneweald. At its prime, only the fabled Dragon Guard rivaled Gabirel. Now, Gabirel was in shambles from its defeat at the hands of the Krenon and the Dragon Guard itself. For the first time in an hundred years, the High Council was sending recruiting parties out to convince young men and women to join the cause.

  Each day the Squires spent their mornings moving through an orchestrated training regimen. Split into squads of twelve they rotated through sword-practice, archery, horsemanship, javelin, hand combat, and a myriad of other weapons depending on the day. Today saw Sebastian’s squad assigned to sword-work with Swordmaster Raginald, reputed to be one of the finest sword-masters Gabirel had ever seen. They arrived at the training ground in the bailey just as the sun peaked into view.

  “All right you cubs,” said Raginald, “You’ve been hacking away at each other up to now, learning the basic patterns. Today I’ll give you a real challenge. The sword is more than strength and brute force. It’s also about control and patience. You’re to work the patterns at one-quarter speed. First to score a hit earns an extra ration of mead on Friday. I catch you going faster than that one-quarter and you’ll be back out here in the yard at fourth watch tonight learning patience. Now pair up and fight!”

  Sebastian stood off against Martino, a recruit from Cale Conall who had arrived with a recruiting party not long before Sebastian returned. Since the Cale was one of the few places Sebastian had spent any time in his travels he formed a burgeoning friendship with the boy. Martino stood a hand taller than Sebastian and was thin as a rail. All arms and legs, he was deceptively graceful, and it showed in practice bouts. He could ride circles around the finest horsemen and was almost unbeatable at hand-to-hand. For all his grace, he did not seem to understand the sword and had yet to win a bout. Sebastian won a good two-thirds of his own bouts, only losing when faced with an opponent raised with the sword.

  Facing off with the boy, Sebastian began a standard series of strokes designed to throw the balance of a taller opponent. Martino parried and feinted with more skill than Sebastian expected, trying to force him to increase his tempo. Sebastian chided himself for forgetting one of Raginald’s first rules: Never underestimate your opponent. Even if you know their every move and have defeated them every time, they may bring something new this day. It reminded him of something his uncle would have said.

  “You’ve been practicing!” he said. Martino ignored the comment and began a second series, putting Sebastian on the defensive. They worked their way across the practice ground in a slow dance of death. Once or twice he heard Raginald call out to a classmate, “Watch your speed there! I’ll see you at fourth.” Sweat poured down Sebastian’s face and, as the mock battle continued, his muscles screamed from the effort. He had not realized the effort required to battle at this pace.

  At the edge of his vision, he knew Martino and he were the last pair fighting. The rest had either dueled to a draw or been called out for their pace. That moment of distraction cost him. He watched in vain as Martino’s wooden blade inched toward him. Despairing, he moved his own weapon to block. So close, but to no avail. Martino’s blade got there first, and the boy drew the edge along his side, simulating a killing blow.

  Reginald made his way over to the duelists, motioning the rest of the cohort to gather in close, “Well done, lads. That was how it is done. Control. Patience. Martino there kept his focus and flowed with the sword. Now Sebastian, what was your mistake?”

  Sebastian replayed the end of the fight in his mind, “I was distracted, Swordmaster. I split my focus between Martino and the rest of the cohort.”

  Reginald furrowed his brow, “Now listen here each one of you. There’s a razor’s edge of difference betwixt distraction and awareness. Each one of you needs to learn to walk that blade for themselves. In practice it’s one versus one. In a real battle it may be one-to-many, many-to-many, or many to one. Martino, did you know yours was the last bout?”

  Martino shook his head, “No, Swordmaster!”

  “Had this been a real battle and one of those bouts ended with an ally of Sebastian it would be you with the sword in his gut. Awareness is never a mistake and is like to save your hides one day. Learn the difference. Martino, you’ve earned that ration of mead and I’m of a mind to make it a double portion after that display. That’s enough for the day. You’re all dismissed to the mess. Be on the wall for the duty just after.”

  Sebastian filed out of the dingy mess with his squad after an uninspiring luncheon. The higher ranks rated better fare, while the Squires made do with old beef and even older bread, with broth to moisten it all. There were no light eaters in the ranks, but they knew they needed every morsel for the day's work. In better times the cooks might have tossed it into the midden. These were not better times. This was not exactly the glory Sebastian had dreamed of in his younger days.

  Making their way to the eastern wall, each recruit picked up a heavy cloak for warmth in the chill afternoon, and a pair of heavy gloves to protect their hands. Emerging from the hall, Sebastian squinted at the bright sun that provided scant warmth. No worries, they would be warm enough once they got started.

  Martino moved up next to him in the queue. “Well, Sebastian, what do you think Master Builder Jezreen has for us today? Breaking boulders? Digging out new? Mayhap we’ll have the chance to lay stone.”

  “I’d not count on that if I were you. I overheard Raginald telling Jazreen that we weren’t to lay stone. Too much chance of crushing our fingers he said, and he wants us fit for the Challenge.” Every year the full cadre of Squires took part in a tournament for scoring and ranking. It served several purposes; including informing the Masters which skills were lacking, which recruits ready for Raising, and which dismissed. This would be Sebastian’s first Challenge.

  “I hope we’re not set to breaking stone again today. My back ached for days last time.”

  Their squad, and two others passed through the breach in the east wall to find their Drill-master, Jarmo Dale waiting for them. Master Builder Jazreen was no where in sight. Sebastian cast an eye over the dwindling pile of stone carved out and waiting for the builders. He leaned over to Martino, “Look at the stone. We’ll be breaking more for sure.” Martino groaned and Sebastian agreed. His own back and shoulders still ached from their mock battle.

  “You have seen that pile of cut stone there,” said the Drill-master, “and I reckon you know what that means. You’ll be cutting more for the Builders. That stone you digged out last week ‘as been moved up and is ready for the cutting. Squads one and three, get to breaking. Squad two, you’re to move the cut stone into position for the builders.” Sebastian groaned this time. Their’s was the third squad.

  Under the watchful eye of a master stone-mason, Sebastian’s squad picked up their wedges and hammers and moved to the huge pile of uncut stone to begin working. Each piece of stone had to be squared off and made fit for the Builders to piece together into a huge jigsaw puzzle to seal the breach in the wall. The exact size of each piece was not so important, it was the squaring off that gave the builders what they needed.

  Working in tandem with Martino, the other lad placed the stone and held the wedge in place while Sebastian hammered away. With one stone squared off, they moved to th
e next, leaving it there for someone in the second squad to collect. They fell into a rhythm that left no room for conversation unrelated to the task at hand.

  It was back-breaking work and after just a short time, Sebastian threw off his heavy cloak, sweat rolling down his back even in the fall chill air. His back and shoulders screaming, he pushed through the pain. He told himself this was no worse than a long day spent hauling crops. Jarmo Dale was vocal with his opinion that hard work toughened the recruits and hardened them for the rigors of war.

  The afternoon passed quickly and soon Jarmo called a halt, sending the recruits off to the baths to “wash the stink off of them.” Thankfully, a natural hot spring warmed the water in the baths at the Dazhberg and Sebastian luxuriated for a few moments, letting the heat penetrate his tired muscles. Tossing his grimy tunic into the wash pile, he pulled on a fresh one and made his way down to the mess, where he found supper to be a repeat of luncheon.

  The squad rounded out their day in lecture on the history of warfare and strategy. This day, they focused on an obscure battle out on the grasslands. It was all Sebastian could do to keep from nodding off. Or worse, daydreaming. He’d been very careful to keep his daydreaming in check since returning to the fortress. Lord Teoma had made it clear he was to discipline himself and not to use the wild elven magic running through his veins.

  Unsure his squad-mates even knew of his abilities with magic, he was less sure of their reaction should they discover the full extent of his skill. To be sure, Gabirel aligned closely with the Wizards of Uriasz, but these youth had grown up under the Ban. The common folk distrusted any use of magic, and the nobility considered it treasonous. They tolerated the alliance between Uriasz and Gabirel because it existed, in their minds, to sustain the Ban itself.