Moonstone Page 3

  “Do what?” He hadn’t expected Cenric to hear him over the sound of the water.

  “Never mind. Is it me or is the current getting faster?”

  “You’re right, we’re speeding up” said Krystelle from the stern. “Look ahead, the cavern is narrowing.” High stone walls closed in on them from either side. Midnight blue water frothed with white around the gunwales of the boat and both Cenric and Sebastian pulled their paddles inboard. Krystelle gripped the tiller, her knuckles white as she braced herself against the rush and the small craft careened into the narrow chute. Turning to Sebastian, a wide grin on his face, Cenric let out a cry of exhilaration as the wind of their passage blew icy spray in their faces.

  “Help me steer!”

  Sebastian lurched back to pull on the tiller with Krystelle. “Eimhin didn’t say anything about the current being so strong.”

  “Shut up and steer! We have to keep the bow with the current or we’ll capsize.”

  At the front of the boat, Cenric held on tight while Krystelle and Sebastian fought the powerful currents. Hauling the tiller in unison first right, then left, they skirted boulders and stalagmites to keep the boat from shattering on jagged stone. Approaching a sharp turn to the left, Sebastian braced himself and felt the stern begin to slip out of line. “Pull hard!”

  Muscles in his back and arms quivering with the strain, he leaned heavily into the tiller while Krystelle leaned back to the railing. With the gunwale inching closer to the churning underground river, Cenric shifted his weight to the opposite rail to give them that last bit of advantage. Careening through the curve, they released the tiller in unspoken agreement and the craft righted itself. He breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

  The very next moment he felt himself flying through the air amidst an explosion of rock shards and wood splinters as the boat shattered itself on an unseen boulder. He hit the water hard and the shock drove the breath from his lungs. Struggling to right himself he gulped a huge swallow of the frigid water. When his head finally popped to the surface he coughed and spluttered briefly before dunking back under the surface.

  Tumbling downstream, lungs burning, Sebastian managed to get his head back above the water and drew in a huge breath. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up onto a remnant of the boat. Catching his bearings, he saw that Krystelle and Cenric had fared better than he. Each of them had managed to cling to a large part of their boat and she had pulled him onto her portion of the stern. The current swept them into the darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Guardsmen lined the battlements atop the Dazhberg’s curtain wall, sun glinting from their steely helms, fresh strung bows in their hands. Pages hurried to fill the wire frame quivers attached to the wall at each archer’s station. More than half of the positions were unmanned, owing to the attrition in the Gabirelian Order since its peak during the Dragon Wars. Mikula, Gabirel’s quartermaster was everywhere, ordering the disposition of supplies and armaments to keep the defenders stocked during the coming battle. Even in the chill air, sweat plastered steel-grey hair to the top of his skull.

  “You there, get that artillery ready!” he called out to the engineers struggling to prepare two large trebuchet designed to hurl rock and debris on any attacking force. Normally the engineers would have had at least a day’s warning to prepare their armaments, but the Dragon Guard’s sudden appearance demanded a quicker response.

  Since the terrain prevented the enemy forces from assembling in a standard line of battle their commander, General Cornelius Njord, had arranged them in multiple pyramid formations at strategic points along the wall. A semi-circle of infantry troops surrounded the Miltiades in an inverted hedgehog just outside the range of the archers manning the gate. Behind them the full contingent of Krenon Catchers had resumed their own vigil, pressing in on the wards protecting the fortress.

  Triumphant horns echoed throughout the valley from the midst of the besieging army, followed by the strident thrum-thrum of war-drums. Pipers took up the beat, their eerie melody lilting up to bring discomfort to the defending troops. Four wedge formations of troops began moving forward towards the fortress wall, with the majority of the attacking force holding in reserve.

  “Nock!” the command echoed up and down the wall. “Draw!” each of the archers readied themselves. “Release!” General Njord’s force raised their shields in protection as the first hail of arrows pounded down into the infantry wedges approaching the wall. The archers continued firing in their cadence as the Artillery Master signaled for the trebuchet to begin firing.

  Engineers released the arm on the first machine. A falling counterweight caused the lever arm to sling the payload out over the wall. Slamming into one of the enemy formations, the boulder hurled broken bodies into the air. At the second engine, they made a few final adjustments before activating the mechanism. With a loud crack, the lever arm shattered, sending the payload careening down the length of the wall. Bowling through a dozen defenders it crashed over the edge, weakening their defenses that much further. The contingent of engineers scurried around the remaining trebuchet, inspecting it for weaknesses before they fired again.

  Dozens of feet below, two of the attacking wedges reached the wall. Huddling as close as possible to the wall, they managed to deny the archers any angle of attack for their arrows, they took up a defensive posture. Within each group a trio of sappers chiseled at the base of the wall. Oblivious to the skirmish around them, the sappers worked rapidly to create a space for their bundles, while the archers above them moved to a new position to gain a firing angle on the sappers.

  As they ran, one of the archers shouted down to the Swordmasters gathered inside the courtyard, preparing for the inevitability of a breech in the fortress’s defenses. “Master Raginald! Sappers on the wall below.”

  Raginald, reputed to be the finest Swordmaster in all of Gabirel shouted to his fellows, “Follow me!” Running en masse toward a sally port hidden on the side of the Maw, the Swordmasters threw themselves into the battle as the archers rained down on the sappers and infantry huddled against the wall. Their first flight pounded into the attackers, felling a great many of them, including several of the sappers. The archers let out a shout, celebrating, even as they began firing aimed arrows into the mass huddled below them, focusing on the groups farther from the sally port to give the Swordmasters coverage as they emerged.

  As the Swordmasters reached the group of infantry closest to the gate, the first few arrows hit their marks and the archers began settling into a confident rhythm of disciplined fire. Every battle has a feel to it, a momentum that can swing from moment to moment. To Raginald, this battle felt good. Their defenses were strong and, even with the loss of the trebuchet, their well-drilled defensive plans seemed to be working.

  Had any of the defenders been keeping an eye on the Krenon, still out of range of the archers on the wall, they might have foreseen their counter before it came. A translucent dome sprang into existence above the infantry and sappers on the wall. It did not stop the arrows, but it was enough to slow them down and render them ineffectual. The Dragon Guard let out their own shout and pressed in on the Swordmasters.

  “We’ve lost our cover!” shouted Raginald, his face bleeding from a stray blow that got past his defenses. “Back to the fortress.” Step by step, the group of Swordmasters retreated back through the sally port, sealing it behind them.

  Having done its job, the Krenon shield began to dissipate while the sappers finished their work and broke away, running from the wall, with the battalion of troops close on their heels. The defenders cheered as they fled, harrowing them with flights of well-aimed arrows. Passing out of range of the archers, less than half of each wedge remained. In unison the pipes and war-drums ceased, while the horns took up a new, ascendant note.

  Rock and stone exploded outward from the bundles the sappers laid at the base of the wall in an avalanche of sound, smoke, and fury. For an instant, the battlefield went silent in the aftermath of
the concussive blast. Slowly at first, and then with increasing momentum, the wall around the two blast points crumbled down, taking many of the archers and the remaining trebuchet with it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Deep within the Aodhan Bret, the three wizards sat in stillness, contemplating the battle raging outside. They felt more than heard the two successive blasts. “The wall is breached,” said Philon. “My friends, we must delay the Krenon as long as possible. They must not be allowed to lay claim to the Sunstone. You both know what we must do. We will tap into the power of the Eligius Siothrun to seal off the Aodhan Bret. That should give Krystelle and the others time to recover the Moonstone. Are we agreed?” His companions nodded. “Gerhard, I would have you to my right hand. Darden, to my left.”

  Rising from the stone table, they strode to the alcove containing the Sunstone, the wizards assuming their assigned positions. Leaning on his staff, Philon looked first to Darden and then to Gerhard, preparing himself for the task ahead. Lowering his head and, closing his eyes, focused his thought on the Eligius Siothrun.

  Before they could begin, Lord Eoghan returned to the chamber. His face was ashen and his normally immaculate hair disheveled. “Have you begun?”

  Philon shook his head, “No, and you should not be here.”

  “I…you must…” Eoghan trailed off, hand to his head.

  Darden took a step toward the Councilor. “My Lord…”

  “…are you well?” Gerhard finished his sentence, a habit the two had formed during long years working together in solitude.

  Eoghan pulled himself up to his full height, drawing his sword from its scabbard. “You must not work this spell. I cannot allow it.”

  Darden and Gerhard gasped as one. “What is this treachery?” they said.

  Philon turned toward Eoghan, thunderheads forming in his eyes. “Explain yourself Lord Eoghan.”

  “The time for magic as a solution to our problems is past. The Ban sees to that. Yet year after year you wizards sit in our councils, preaching the return of the very thing that almost destroyed us all! No more. The Krenon and the Dragon Guard are here to see you stopped and I am with them.”

  “What of your oath?” pleaded Philon.

  “This is the only way to fulfill those oaths. The High Council has lost its way. We seek magic rather than reason and might. Quick solutions rather than the slow workings of diplomacy and peacemaking. Gabirel must be brought low and the poison you’ve injected purged.”

  “…and you are the one to bring that purge?” said Darden.

  Eoghan said nothing, simply staring at the three wizards, daring them to challenge him. Gerhard tried a different tack, “I do not believe this is your thought alone. This is the will of Sterling Lex. You are being manipulated.”

  “Silence wizard!” said Eoghan. “I’ll not have you casting one of your spells on me as you’ve done over the council these many years.”

  “That is foolishness,” said Philon. “You know me. You know us. We have been comrades in arms. Think about what you are doing.”

  “I have thought about it. This is the only way.” Eoghan his sword-point at the three wizards, “Now step away from the Eligius Siothrun.”

  “So be it,” intoned the Arch-mage, holding his staff high and uttering a single word of power. As he brought the staff down, it impacted the ground, sending a wave of power toward the mutinous lord. It struck him down, while Philon himself staggered back from the release.

  Darden and Gerhard rushed to the old man’s side, catching him before he fell. Worried, Darden examined the Arch-mage with both his natural sight and through the lens of his own magic. He did not like what he saw. “Arch-mage, you must allow one of us to lead. That spell took too much out of you. I fear raising the ward around the Aodhan Bret will require more of you than can be spared.”

  Philon waved a hand, “I will be alright. It may be that my time to lay down the burden has come at last. You have not the authority to cast this spell, and we both know it,” he paused. “I do appreciate the offer though,” he said at last, a wry smile on his face.

  The three wizards resumed their stations around the alcove, Darden and Gerhard aiding Philon as best they could. For a full quarter of an hour, the wizards stood, locked in silent concentration. As the minutes ticked by, the Sunstone pulsed brighter and brighter. A translucent barrier coalesced around the perimeter of the room, beginning at ground level and stretching upward to form a dome high overhead. Light burst from the Sunstone in waves of red, orange, and yellow to be absorbed by the dome of energy. In one final burst of white the Sunstone grew silent and the barrier crunched down into a solid, crystalline dome that extended into the very walls of the Aodhan Bret.

  Philon collapsed to the floor, his staff clattering down. His fellow wizards knelt down beside him, taking his hands in theirs. “My friends…” he said, drawing in a ragged breath, “the strain…it is too much. You must…you must hold the barrier as long as possible. Guide them…they will need your wisdom.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Eimhin hurried up the spiral staircase ahead of the two pursuing soldiers. He had not been exaggerating when he told Cenric that there were two hundred steps that led up to an abandoned chamber, regardless of the apocryphal story about the princess locking herself there. The ruse was one of many he had used through the years to keep the curious from visiting this place. It had always worked. No one ever suspected that in building this fortress, and it’s escape route through the mountains, Eimhin’s people had put certain safeguards in place should an enemy ever breech the walls. This failsafe should ensure that no one could track the three young ones he had sent on their way. He just hoped they heard what he said about the green stones.

  Reaching the top, he pulled a key from beneath his tunic to unlock the iron-bound door. As seneschal, he had keys to every chamber in the fortress. This was one of the few he kept with him at all times. It was a long-standing tradition he had once thought absurd. Now he found himself admiring the foresight of his predecessors. Pushing the door closed behind him, Eimhin scanned the room. It wouldn’t take those soldiers long to break through that door, or worse, alert others. Inevitably, the invaders would find the passage down to the underground river and that would lead them to Krystelle and her companions. He had to stop that from happening.

  Hacking and coughing with the flying dust, Eimhin pulled aside a set of cured hides covering an apparatus standing on the stone dais in the center of the room. He had never been in this chamber himself. Indeed he was not sure that the door had been opened since that day so long ago when the finishing touches had been put on the mechanics. He had heard it described, though, and he had been schooled on the workings of the machine, as well as what would happen when he activated it.

  Studying the runes chiseled into the top, he worked on the first of three large crank-wheels protruding from the side of the machine. Turning it once, twice, three times, he watched as the stone pointer connected to the wheel shifted along the runes, a grinding coming from deep in the machine. He was surprised at how easily the wheel turned. It was a testament to the workmanship here. If he had more time he would have liked to study everything. That time was past now.

  The pointer reached a particular rune, shaped like two intersecting chevrons. Satisfied with the setting on the first, he moved to the second wheel. A pounding on the door signaled that the chamber had been found. His time was short. Two more to go.

  Turning back, he pulled on the second wheel and grunted when it would not move. That was more like what he had expected after all this time. Over the long years, water must have somehow seeped into this second set of gears. He stepped back a moment to consider. Adjusting his angle, he braced himself against the stone and heaved, muscles bulging. Sweat beaded on his forehead and a sharp crack came from the door behind him. They were breaking through already.

  Looking around the room, he saw an old pick leaning against the far wall. Luck was with him, now if the wood was not rotted
away. He grabbed the pick and found it to be carved of strong ironwood. The water that had affected the workings of the machine had not reached the axe. He thrust one end of the handle through the wheel and wedged it between the stones. Pushing down with his full weight he strained, praying for the wheel to start moving. He felt it beginning to loosen and gave it one more burst of effort. A dull scraping came from inside the machine and the wheel lurched into motion. Eimhin fell halfway to the floor before catching himself, and then began turning the wheel. It still stuck at first, but loosened the more it turned. The second pointer moved into position above the X-shaped rune with the diamond at the middle and he stumbled to the third crank. It turned easily and Eimhin spun it into position, trying to ignore the sound of the disintegrating door.

  “There you are little man!” said the first soldier through the door.

  “Little man, am I?” he halfway turned to face the two men and threw back his cloak in defiance. “I suppose you’re big enough then.” He lunged at the lever to activate the mechanism as the two soldiers charged. The lever clicked into place and a deep rumbling rose up from far below.

  One of the soldiers lost his footing completely as the room shook and tilted, the other braced himself on the side of the dais. Eimhin clung to the machine until the shaking stopped. He had done it. Looming over him, the soldier raised his sword high and brought the hilt down hard. Everything went black.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Baladeva considered the crystalline barrier blocking the door to the Aodhan Bret. The Krenon leader wore a blood-red robe, tied at the waist with rope. A strict ascetic, he was devoted to his cause and allowed no other ornamentation on his body. He often thought that if the other Krenon followed his example they would be much further along in fulfilling their calling. Now that he had assumed this high rank, he was already starting to put the reforms in place. Recovering the Eligius Siothrun and ending Gabirel would give him the capital he needed to see it all come to pass.