Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (9 page)

Rade’s eyes twinkled again. “Perhaps not, my Eternal. Yahd held a shard of a godstone, this is true, but it lost its power. There are two true godstones, and the one the shard came from was not buried in that crypt. Otherwise, King Lahnen would have found it out and claimed it for himself.”

Qabala gave him a sharp look. “And how would you know of such things?”

Rade drew himself up. “I may have been called Rade these past thirty years, but I was born under a different name. My name is Yorne Radenos Regnak, and I was the cousin of Lord Gorran Regnak. When I was fifteen, I was taken to the University of Lhan Del and trained to become a Dume-General. For many years, I served and advised King Yahd Aeternus, the Unifier, until the day he set his eyes eastward. And now I would serve and advise you, my Eternal, until I cease to draw breath.”

As he saluted, Nerris and Qabala stood rooted on the spot, silent. Finally, Qabala spoke. “There is a tale about a man named Dume Yorne, called the Lost Dume. He disappeared at the onset of the Enslavement War.”

Rade nodded. “If you wish to see proof...” He lifted his tunic and pulled the side of his trousers down, and they could see a brand burned into his hip. It was a mark of sword and scroll. “Only the Dume-Generals were given this mark. I trust you saw a similar one when you burned the body of Dume Araka.”

“Indeed I did,” Qabala said, still awestruck. “Why serve me, Dume Yorne? Why not return to the family you were sworn to?”

“I was sworn to Yahd Aeternus, and briefly King Kolmat,” Rade said a bit sadly. “I never took a vow for any of their successors. But my purpose is a higher one, and it has led me to you.”

“I must find seven men or women to take up the mantle of Dume-General,” Qabala said. “I would be honored if you would be among the first, your Constancy.”

She extended her hand, and Rade knelt before kissing her fingers. “My Eternal. With your permission, I would escort you back down to the crypts. It is there, hidden behind a secret wall, that I placed the godstone Fatexion with my own hands, near thirty years ago.”

Qabala shook with excitement. “Very well, your Constancy. Make your preparations and I will do the same. Nerris, come.”

“I would have a word alone with this, er, Yorne,” Nerris said, never taking his gaze from the graybeard.

She nodded. “You two must have much to talk about. I will be in my chambers.”

Qabala exited, and Nerris rounded on the old man as soon as the door shut. “What are you playing at, Rade?” he asked. “Are you really the Lost Dume?”

“I am sorry for never telling you my real name, Nerris,” Rade said. “I know you must be wroth with me.”

“Wroth doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Nerris said. “You were a Dume-General. Yet you say you knew my family, fought alongside them—”

“It’s a long and complicated story, and not one for the telling just now,” Rade said. “But I swear to you, that was the truth.”

“You served Yahd the Enslaver!”

Rade nodded. “Until the day I met Angelica. Though I never took up arms against Yahd or my fellow Dume-Generals, I quit Yagolhan for a quest, left behind everything I ever knew and everyone I cared about. I thought it fulfilled when it led me to your father, but I see now it was you I was meant to find.”

“What are you talking about?” Nerris asked.

“This will wait until after I present Qabala with the Fatexion,” Rade said.

“So you would enable her to be a monster after all?”

“No,” Rade said. “This must happen, to avert disasters to come. Nerris, have you ever read the prophecies of the faeries?”

“You mean the Stonechaser Prophecy? I chanced upon a copy once when I was at Gauntlet,” Nerris said. “Indecipherable gibberish, even if you believe in that sort of thing.”

Rade grunted. “I see you’re still not ready to open your mind. Come down to the crypts with us. It may help you understand.”

Rade placed a gentle hand at the small of Nerris’s back and led him from the room. A variety of emotions swirled within Nerris at once. Anger, curiosity, even a little fear. He was not sure what to expect down in the crypt of the Y’Ghan family, but he was sure he was not going to stay behind on this adventure, even if faced with the ghost of the Enslaver himself.

Chapter Nine

QABALA STOOD WITH her arms up as Meeka slid a silken shift over her head. The cloth fit tight over her taut body, and she adjusted it to a more comfortable position. She would need a tight fit, she mused, to keep the butterflies in her stomach from flying away. In an hour’s time, she would dip her head in Aristian Flames, and emerge as the Great Aeterna, speaker of the gods, and rightful ruler of all lands she deemed to touch.

“But you know the gods are no longer here,”
the presence in her mind told her.
“They fled this world long ago. Only you remain to right this world.”

She had heard that voice in her mind ever since childhood. It had grown more prominent ever since she took Palehorse. He sometimes appeared in her mind’s eye as a man with pallid skin and dried, brittle hair. Every color about him, including his clothing, was a murky gray, a dead, neutral hue. Except for his hands, which were the purest white she had ever seen. Because of that she had called him the Pale One.

But his robe’s tattered condition finally made the connection for her. This was the same Tattered Man the Cult of Eversor made their sacrifices to, she was sure of it now. But what interest did he have in who ruled over Yagolhan and the rest of Tormalia?

No matter. The Pale One had always shown her kindness. With his help she rose above the chains her foster father imposed on her body and soul. With his help, she had become a scholar, a warrior, a political dissenter, and finally, a leader. And with his help, she would make the world anew.

Qabala glanced at herself in the mirror. Clad in only a shift, she looked too plain for her liking. She wore no jewelry, and nothing to enhance her face or lips. She remained barefoot. Even Meeka looked more impressive at the moment. But Rade had said it was traditional for the new Aeterna to show humility before receiving the blessing of the godstone.

The sudden appearance of Yorne Radenos Regnak had been unexpected, but welcome. Though he had left Yagolhan before the Enslavement War, his name still commanded respect. His training had begun after Yahd’s reunification of the kingdom, and he had far outstripped his peers in matters of intellect and diplomacy. On the battlefield, it was said he rivaled even Zaon Skovil, a fellow Dume-General whom he considered a brother.

Rade had been evasive about reasons for hiding the godstone Fatexion in Yahd’s tomb, other than the simple fact that it kept his successors from getting their hands on it. She had searched the tomb herself upon taking the Aeternica, but had turned up nothing.

With Rade, Falares, and Nerris in tow, she had once again descended to the lower levels of the Aeternica, below even the dungeons and the Fury Pit, a torture chamber King Lahnen had been fond of using on his enemies. Rade led them under all that, and into the crypt of the Y’Ghan family.

A great stone door stood as barrier to Yahd the Unifier’s tomb. It took both Nerris and Falares to open it enough to allow them access. Inside was an opulent room, filled with personal affects and the weapons of Yahd himself. A stone sarcophagus was embedded on the back wall. Rade gave his torch to Nerris and pried the lid off.

“We’ve already searched his body,” Qabala said a bit impatiently.

“It was not the body you should have searched,” Rade said, gripping the bones within and hauling outward. The skeleton fell to the floor, its bones scattering amongst their feet.

Falares gasped. “You would defile an Aeternus’s corpse, old man?”

“That isn’t Yahd,” Rade said, indicating the skeleton. “I don’t know what poor sod they got to stand in for him, but my Eternal never would have wanted to spend his forever days lying inside a box. Nerris, with me, please.”

Nerris moved to assist the old man, who pressed his body into the back of the sarcophagus. Nerris joined him in his efforts, and stone creaked and scraped. After some strain, the interior slab of Yahd’s resting place toppled forward, revealing a hidden threshold. The slab disappeared into blackness, but she heard it hit stone beyond, and slide downward.

Qabala held the torch overhead and saw stone steps had been hewn into the ground, which led even further into darkness. “Amazing. All right, Nerris, you’re the treasure hunter. What now?”

“Let me lead the way,” he said. “There may be traps.” He glanced at Rade.

“I assure you I did not place anything dangerous within,” he said. “However, I was not the one who fashioned this space. There may still be something there yet.”

“Right, you two make sure it’s safe,” Qabala said. “Falares—”

“Yes, my Eternal?” The big man snapped to attention.

“Hold my torch.”

Her bodyguard grunted in disappointment and took the torch from her. One by one, they climbed into the sarcophagus and descended even further into the catacombs. At the bottom of the stairs, Nerris and Rade went to sconces set against the wall and lit the torches contained there, and orange light filled the entire room. At the end of the long hall sat another dais, this one with a throne atop it. On the throne sat another skeleton, this one wearing the crown of a King of Yagolhan, its black eye sockets seeming to watch their every move. A trick of the light, most like.

As Qabala approached, a different colored light sprang forth. In the lap of the Unifier rested a rock the size of a man’s fist. It emitted a blackish-purple light, and she felt the stone’s power reverberate in her very soul.

“Behold, the godstone Fatexion,” Rade said, “known more commonly as the Doom Rock.”

A rattling noise distracted her, and she turned toward the source. Had there been a trap after all? Yet it seemed Nerris was the one rattling, and he appeared as surprised as she did. He looked at his side, where his blade, Noruken, vibrated within its scabbard.

“What—” Nerris began.

“Pay it no mind,” Rade said. “The Doom Rock can have that effect on magical blades.”

“My blade isn’t magical,” Nerris said, “just old.”

Rade winked. “Some would say old is another word for magic. At least, that’s how the ladies I’ve known describe me.”

Qabala turned back toward the Doom Rock, which glowed brighter as she came closer. Faint sounds emitted from it, as well. Cries, wails, and the occasional scraping sound of splintering stone. It was almost hypnotic. She reached out a hand, but Rade rushed forward and stopped her.

“Not yet, my Eternal. Without the proper preparations, these stones can be dangerous to hold. It would not do to have you destroy something you may grieve to remember later.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the city of Palehorse, for example.” Rade reached out and grasped the stone in both hands. The outpour of its glow intensified, but Rade tensed as if bracing himself against a boulder.

“Can you hold it?” Nerris asked.

“I’ve held it before,” Rade said. “I know what it’s capable of doing and can handle it for short periods of time. Still, it’s best we quit this place. I would cleanse my hands as soon as possible. I didn’t dirty them on the tomb, but they reek of a different filth at the moment.”

After they returned to the Aeternica, Qabala had declared her coronation ceremony would be three days hence, and her men struggled to make the proper arrangements in time. Finally, the day had come and she spent this last hour making herself as plain as possible. Rade had said the godstone would be easier to control with a humble heart. If someone with base and selfish desires touched it, the stone would feed off them, and terrible things could happen.

A sharp sting in her skull jolted her. “Ouch!” she cried, as Meeka pulled a hairpin away. Her hair had grown a bit over the past few weeks, and the slave girl had been trying to pin it behind her head. Qabala smacked her, and Meeka turned her head, crying out in shock. “Stupid girl. I need to concentrate, and you keep poking me.”

“I am sorry, my Eternal,” Meeka said, her eyes downcast.

“Leave my hair alone,” Qabala said. “I am supposed to have no adornment.”

A short time later, Rade knocked on her door to let her know it was time. Qabala told Meeka to stay in her room and left the royal chambers, making her way toward the great hall. Rade and Falares flanked her steps, their boots sounding heavy against the stone floors. Qabala’s own feet made the barest of noises, yet in combination with her heartbeat, she could feel it echoing off the walls of the Aeternica just as loud.

Lukas Kord and Nerris each held one of the double doors open for her to enter the great hall. The setting sun shone through the long windows as she entered, bathing her path in golden light. All her officers stood off to the side of the crimson carpet leading up to the dais. Meznas and several of his cult members stood at the foot of the throne. All bowed before her, though one man seemed hesitant to do so.

A flash of recognition caught in her mind as she passed. The man was Chalis, one of the slayers of King Lahnen. As a landowner of hefty acreage, he had been allowed to be present for this ceremony. Of course, Nerris and Rade were to be among her first Dume-Generals. But the other, Mikaren... she had been told he met his end at the Battle of Gelnicka.

She tore her gaze from Chalis to look upon the great earthen bowl positioned at the top of the dais, about five paces in front of the throne. It was filled near to the brim with water, and the tiny vibrations of her steps made it ripple as she approached. She stood behind it, facing the gathered crowd. They were all silent, gazing upon her with eager eyes.

Qabala took a breath and spoke. “Good people of Yagolhan, you have followed me as Lady Qabala. Some of you call me queen, and some already name me Aeterna. But now we find out the truth behind these words. I have a godstone, and if it accepts me, I will reign for the rest of my days as your Aeterna. I will use it to protect our people, to destroy our enemies, and to create a new world, putting an end to injustice and sorrow. Those who are hurt shall be healed, and remain so as long as life persists.” She glanced to Rade. “Dume Yorne, bring me the godstone Fatexion.”

The crowd broke out into murmurs at the mention of Rade’s true identity, and the old man nodded. At his orders, four servants entered the great hall, bearing a small litter. A velvet cushion sat atop it, and the Doom Rock rested in the center. The godstone was inactive at the moment, looking for all the world as an ordinary gray rock.

The servants presented the litter to Rade, and he grasped the Doom Rock with both hands. The stone broke out into a purple glow, and Nerris’s scabbard rattled again. He placed a hand on Noruken’s hilt as Rade ascended the steps and dropped the godstone into the waters of the earthen bowl.

White flames sprang up, and Rade barely got out of the way in time. The Aristian Flames crackled and emanated a great heat, and the sweat rolled freely down Qabala’s face. If this worked, she would be consecrated as Aeterna, the supreme ruler of all. If not...

“If not, who will miss the poor village girl, the one too afraid to stand up to her own father, too frightened but to lie there and take his abuse?”
She heard the voice of the Tattered Man, clearer than ever.
“Through everything up to this moment, you have been as nothing. Do it now, and answer to no one from this day forth.”

Qabala gritted her teeth, gripped the sides of the bowl and plunged her head into the flames. A bright light flashed, and the world went silent as she immersed herself in the waters below. She held herself under for a moment before wrenching her head from the bowl, flinging droplets of water in every direction.

She opened her eyes, looking at the bowl. The flames were gone, and the water was empty. However, she did not need to ask where the godstone had vanished to. She could feel it within her, empowering her, permeating her skin. She saw with more clarity, moved with greater speed and without strain, heard even the faintest whisper uttered. All over, she tingled, and she touched her own face with a plaintive hand. She felt no scarring or burning; the flames had not harmed her.

Meznas stepped forward. “Behold, the new Aeterna! By Eversor’s will, she comes to save this world from its own misery!”

The throng of men all went to a knee and bowed low. All, except one, who stepped out onto the crimson carpet. “No!” shouted the man known as Chalis. “I don’t know who this Eversor is, but after what I saw in Gelnicka, I will suffer no monster on the throne of my beloved country.”

Nerris and Rade strode forth to stop him, but Chalis bowled through his old comrades with a desperate strength. He pulled a short blade out of his boot as he approached, and Qabala reached for her own saber, realizing too late she still wore her plain shift and no weapons.

Meznas barked orders, and two of his cultists rushed Chalis with their own blades. Chalis did not flinch, but cut through them with the fury of a madman. They fell screaming to the carpet, frantically trying to hold in their own entrails. Meznas moved forward himself, but he was too slow.

Chalis plunged his blade through Qabala’s stomach, and she leaned forward in surprise. Nerris, Rade, and Meznas were there now to drag him away, but she could not hear anything they said through her shock. Chalis yelled something about her betraying Yala, and Nerris rushed back to her.

“Qabala,” he said, taking her hand.

She looked into the handsome face of the man she loved, his big hazel eyes faltering with worry. She felt the blade within her, piercing her organs and feeling the blood flow from her. Yet she didn’t lose her feet. Instead, she drew herself up and placed Nerris’s hand on the hilt of the blade. Together, they pulled it out.

She felt the organs and skin tissue mend themselves as the blade left her. It was instant, as if the effects of the blade itself were being reversed. She still felt the pain, but the bleeding stopped. She was alive. For as long as she held the godstone within her, she always would be.

Nerris witnessed this as well, and dropped the blade in surprise. Qabala felt the skin where it had pierced her. Not even a scar remained. It was as if her body had been made of a clay statue, molding itself back into form as the intrusion left her. The only evidence anything had happened to her at all was the bloodstained hole in her shift.