Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms

Chapter One

Chapter 1

“He comes!”

A knot of a dozen or so Kelanni villagers stood in the market courtyard, eyes raised skyward. Dark clouds roiled overhead and the rain was persistent, running down their faces and into their eyes, making it difficult to see. At the edges of the courtyard, almost melted into the shadows, were many others pulled by curiosity and repelled by apprehension. In the centre, four downcast youths stood at either side of two laden wooden carts.

As they watched, a shadow moved across the expanse, growing silently, rapidly. It resolved into the shape of a Kelanni, dark cloak flared outwards like a bird with a single great wing. He dropped from the sky with a terrible grace and landed in the space before the knot of villagers, with the cart to his back, the cloak settling about his shoulders. He stood erect, raindrops trickling down his dark olive cheeks like false tears. Close cropped dark hair bristled on his scalp and down the back of his neck. His right hand grasped a dark wooden staff, diamond blades at each of its ends. His tail flicked from side to side.

He walked forward and cast the fold of his cloak to one side, lifting his left hand. The first three fingers were raised; the other two were bent downwards.

“Fealty and service to the Three,” he announced. His voice was hard, confident.

“Fealty and service,” chorused the group, raggedly.

“Which of you is headman?”

A middle-aged villager dressed in plain tan jerkin and breeches stepped forward. He was balding, with a thin, lean face and a thin, lean voice. “I am called Boran. May I know the name of Prophet’s Keltar?”

The dark man ignored him, and turned to the carts. “Why are these not harnessed to graylesh? Were you expecting my soldiers to drag them all the way to Chalimar? Or perhaps you had that privilege in mind for these children of yours? They look to me as if they could scarcely lift a plate of food.”

The man called Boran broke in solicitously. “Forgive me, Lord. Your presence was not expected for another half hour. The animals are being led here as we speak.”

There was a rhythmic tramping from the entrance to the market place. A dozen soldiers entered in ranked pairs, causing villagers to push against one another in their efforts to scatter. The fact that the Keltar had been willing to descend from the sky alone and ahead of his escort seemed only to reinforce his contempt for the villagers.

Following them were two men, each leading a graylesh. They proceeded to harness the animals to the carts whilst the Captain of the escort barked orders and the soldiers took up position at the rear and van. The rain began to ease a little and with it, the drumming of raindrops against the packed earth. As the clouds parted slightly, the dull reddish glow of Ail-Mazzoth began to seep through like a wound.

Boran took a nervous step forward. “May I offer my Lord some refreshment at my home? I would be honoured indeed–”

The Keltar turned without a word and struck Boran with the back of his left hand. The headman went down, sprawling in the dirt. No-one moved to help him.

The Keltar turned back to the carts. “Get these things out of here,” he bellowed.

“Hold!” cried a voice from above.

Perched on the rooftop, a hooded figure could be seen, limned against Ail-Mazzoth's reddish glow. The figure leaped from the gable, dark cloak flaring behind him, and landed in a crouch in front of the Keltar. He straightened and pushed back his hood. The stranger was tall, with hard-set blue eyes and a mouth that quirked slightly, as if ready to smile at any moment. His speckled olive face was topped by waves of sandy hair. His right hand gripped a diamond tipped staff, like the Keltar's.