The Magestone

5 Mereth—beginning her account requested for Lormt’s archives: events at Lormt (early 7th Day, Month of the Ice Dragon)

Morfew himself has asked me to record my experiences, commencing with the extraordinary occurrence in one of Lormt’s cellars disclosed by the earthquake. I have thus set aside my private journal to compose this report for the archives. In view of the cascading events that overwhelmed my personal quest, all of our collective energies have become engaged in a more urgent search, upon whose outcome the present fates of whole lands may depend.

But my mind outraces my quill, and fingers stiffened by age require frequent warming at Morfew’s brazier. As any good trader strives to preserve his accounts in order, so shall I begin properly at the beginning of this remarkable tale.

It was near the second week of the Month of the Ice Dragon, and I had resided at Lormt for only two days when I was abruptly jarred from sleep as if by a battle shout. I kindled a night lantern, wrapped myself in my warmest robe, and secured the padded felt slippers that Ouen had given me. The corridor outside my guest chamber appeared deserted. I heard no stirrings or sounds of distress . . . yet I felt irresistibly drawn to descend the staircase and continue to seek more stairs leading farther downward. I had no clear notion of the object of this singular late-night excursion, but I pressed forward through the empty passageways until I simultaneously spied the flicker of other lamps down an adjoining corridor, and heard the muffled rasp of leather and fabric against stone.

Jonja emerged ahead of me, closely followed by Duratan, Nolar, and Ouen. They were evidently as surprised to see me as I was to encounter them.

Duratan raised his lamp as I approached them. “Why are you wandering here at this hour?” he demanded.

Fortunately, I always kept a hand slate and chalk in the pockets of all my robes. “I was awakened,” I wrote, groping for the words to explain my presence. “I found no one near my guest chamber, but I felt obligated to descend and seek the cause of my disquiet.”

Jonja nodded, her face grim-set. “Power is stirring, far beneath the settled levels of Lormt. Each of us was also roused from sleep. We must hurry to determine the source of the disturbance. The Turning exposed many storage areas below this level. I sense a growing pulse of Power thence. Come!”

That earlier distortion of the earth had indeed twisted and tilted the stone paving blocks, as well as cracking some of the walls. We picked our way gingerly around and between the displaced stones as we continued our descent. Suddenly, a great space opened around us. Our small lights were mere sparks within a chamber in which Captain Halbec could easily have moored his trading vessel, masts and all.

Nolar moved her head like a hound questing for an elusive scent. “Can you not feel it?” she asked. “The very air is tingling. Look! Over there, to the left!”

Before any of us could step forward, a spot of opalescent light shimmered at eye level not ten paces away. I stared at it, not knowing whether to advance or retreat. As I watched, the spot of light expanded into a man-sized oval. Duratan’s free hand dropped to his belt. I was heartened to see him draw a substantial, long-bladed forester’s knife. Setting my lantern on the floor, I grasped my staff in both hands. If the need arose, I had not forgotten how to wield it as a weapon.

The oval’s milky surface roiled as a booted foot emerged through it, followed by the remainder of a tall man’s body. Nolar gasped audibly. Had I possessed a voice, I should have joined her. The intruder was obviously an Alizonder soldier.

I had hoped never again to have to look upon those archenemies of our Dales. Their distinguishing features were seared into my memory—feral green eyes, short white-silver hair, hooked noses, teeth sharp as those of their own cursed hounds. From his high-sided boots to his blue-green tunic and tight-fitting breeches, this was a typical Alizonder soldier . . . and yet, on closer examination, perhaps not just a mere soldier. As the oval behind him contracted in size, its light flashed on a decorative gold chain across his chest, and an ornate dagger clutched in his left hand. At the sight of us, his eyes widened with alarm. He swayed unsteadily, gave a sudden strangled cry, and collapsed to the floor, just as the shrinking light spot vanished.

Duratan was the first of us to move, kneeling quickly to disarm the Alizonder. He snatched away the dagger, tossing it out of reach, then removed several other weapons from the wide leather belt—a dart gun, several throwing knives, and some objects I could not recognize.

Without making a conscious decision, I found myself stooping next to Duratan to grasp the intruder’s extended right hand. The Alizonder’s fingers were tightly clenched around a cold metal object—a heavy key, I soon realized, when I pried it loose. The instant it touched my flesh, it seemed to cleave to my hand. I was assailed by a burst of images flowing into my mind. In all my years of sensing ownership ties to objects, I had never experienced such an intense flood of concentrated information. I dropped from my crouching position to sit directly on the floor, squeezing shut my eyes to try to control my disorientation. As soon as I could regain my breath, I opened my eyes, and thrust the key into my pocket to halt its mental intrusion. Seizing my slate, I hastened to write what I had learned.

Nolar had observed my preoccupation. Perhaps fearing that I had swooned, she kindly bent down to brace her arm around my shoulders. When she saw that I was urgently writing, however, she retrieved my lantern and voiced my startling revelations. “I sense from the key in his hand that this enemy is Kasarian of the Line of Krevonel,” Nolar read from my slate. “By magical means he does not understand, he has come here from the vaults beneath his family’s castle in Alizon City!”

The members of the Lormt party exclaimed, all talking at once, but I could not focus on what they were saying. My body was shaking as if with an ague. Violent, conflicting feelings raced through my mind—white-hot hatred for those evil Hounds who had ravaged our Dales, killing my beloved . . . but also equally burning curiosity. What magic could convey a living man so many leagues, and how could I be able to sense identifying facts about my deadliest enemies when I knew only a handful of words in the Alizonian speech?

Ouen’s clear voice suddenly claimed my attention. “We must send for Morfew at once. When this Alizonder recovers his senses, we shall likely require the aid of an Alizonian speaker.”

Nolar gently touched my shoulder. “If I cannot provide healing assistance for you, I can go rouse Morfew.”

“Pray do not be concerned for me,” I scribbled on my slate. “I am amazed rather than ailing.”

“Then I shall hasten to Morfew’s chamber,” Nolar said, taking one of the lanterns to light her way.

Jonja had been carefully examining the Alizonder’s gear. Turning to me, she asked, “Can your gift of insightful touch extract more information for us about this Kasarian before he awakens? The greater our knowledge of the threat he poses, the better.”

Duratan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps his House badge or his baron’s chain may speak to you, lady, for if I am not mistaken, this man is a war baron or a land baron. His array of weapons argues the former, while the quality of his gear suggests the latter.”

At my age, rising from a stone floor consumes inordinate time and effort, so I simply hitched my skirt and crawled back to the senseless figure. His unlined face, relaxed in unconsciousness, seemed superficially vulnerable. I was struck by his relative youth—he could scarcely be thirty years of age. At least, I thought grudgingly, this particular Alizonder was too young to have taken part in the invasion of the Dales.

I could not wholly disguise my reluctance as I reached out to touch the Alizonder’s tunic. I shunned the hateful Hound’s head badge on the right breast, and forced myself to finger his House badge on the left, a finely embroidered patch of three blue darts worked in a triangular array against a white background. The instant resulting pressure of mental images made me recoil, breaking contact. I took a deep breath, braced one hand on a paving stone, and grasped his baronial chain in my other hand.

I shut my eyes, stricken by clamoring images. It was as if I were personally viewing a great torch-lit assembly of Alizonders. I knew it was the recent New Year’s Presentation of Whelps, and the horrifying figure who seemed to have a hound’s head was actually the Lord Baron Norandor, wearing a ceremonial mask. Another richly dressed baron arose from his knees before the Lord Baron’s throne . . . his name came to me, Gurborian. When he drew back and turned, I was jolted to behold my betrothal jewel suspended from his neck chain! I must have swooned at that point, for I was next aware of a flask of wine being pressed to my lips, and Jonja’s voice calling my name.

I gestured for my hand slate. Jonja read the words aloud as swiftly as I could write them. “I have just seen my betrothal jewel being worn by an Alizonder baron at their New Year’s Assembly. He is the Baron Gurborian of the Line Sired by Reptur, murderer of this man’s father, and his archenemy.”

Duratan’s exclamation was lost in the general astonished babble. I remained seated on the stone floor, trembling from its physical chill as well as my sensing experience. Previously, my visions of lost articles or places to search for them had come to me in fragmentary dreams. I could not recall so vivid and coherent an impression as this, and certainly never before while I was awake.

Ouen began to speak, but Jonja interrupted. “Look!” she said sharply. “Our uninvited visitor is stirring.”

“And feeling for his weapons,” Duratan observed. “He will be disappointed to find them missing.”

I reached for my staff, and with Jonja’s assistance, rose to my feet. I did not want to be at a disadvantage to any Alizonder, whether he was armed or disarmed.