Free Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms by Mark Whiteway Page B

at
great distances. I don’t know exactly how they work, but the Keltar
use them. It seems unlikely that Keltar would be stationed at a
desert outpost, but I would rather not take any chances.
    “When we reach the desert we
travel by night to conserve water. We rest during the day. Try to
stay covered up to avoid sunburn. And keep alert. There are
dangerous creatures in the desert.”
    “What happens when we get to
Gort?” Shann asked.
    “Yes, well…I have a plan, but I
think it best we discuss the details when we get nearer our
destination. If we can free the tributes, I believe many of them
will join us. In any event, we will have dealt a serious blow to
the Prophet’s supply of the stones. And that is only the
beginning.”
    He poked the
fire with his stick once again. The fire coruscated into the night
sky. What will be the Prophet’s reaction
when we start poking sticks into his schemes?
    “At any rate, it seems we are not
followed,” Alondo offered, “That part of the plan seems to have
worked, at least.”
    ~
    Keris sat on the bed in her room
at the Silver Flagon in Lind. A small closet stood in the corner
and there was a table by the bed with a bronze oil lamp. As Keris
watched, it flickered slightly.
    This investigation was taking its
toll. She had arrived at the town in late morning to find that the
Spring Gratitude Festival was in progress. Acolytes in red robes
herded people into the chapel, relieving them of “offerings” and
marking young people for tribute.
    She needed
information, but with the service in progress, there wasn’t much
more she could do but watch the proceedings. It struck her as
ironic that the name had been retained; the participants looked
anything but grateful. Before the Prophet’s arrival, the festival
had been a joyous, pastoral occasion. Now, gratitude for the Three
had been replaced by “gratitude” to the Prophet, although for what
she wasn’t sure exactly. You’re starting
to sound like a heretic.
    A burly acolyte stepped up and
grabbed a youngster by the arm, yanking him away from his mother.
Keris watched as the woman cried out and tried to hold on to the
boy. A brief tug of war ensued until a second acolyte strode over
and struck the woman in the face. She cried out as the boy was
dragged off to have the flame marking of the Prophet branded into
his neck. The woman fell to her knees. Hands covered her face as
she sobbed uncontrollably.
    Keris felt her
eyes starting to water. What “grand
purpose” of the Prophet could justify this?
    “Faith,” Mordal would say. “Faith
and Patience.” The words had a hollow ring as she watched the
celebrants file silently past the woman, who was still kneeling on
the grey stone floor.
    There could be no question of her
intervening. Keris the diamond merchant was a simple trader,
nothing more. Keris the Keltar had no authority to interfere in the
selection of tributes. She turned away, feeling as helpless as a
flame at the mercy of every draught of air. The lamp by her bed
guttered once more.
    Keris centred
herself on her obligation and her duty. It
was time. She raised the back of her hand
to her mouth and spoke a word into the Ring on her third finger.
The Ring was bronze, set with a single dark
stone.
    “Keris.” The Ring glowed with a
delicate green phosphorescence as she spoke.
    A moment later, the Ring glowed
once more.
    “Report.” It was Mordal. He had
never had any time for pleasantries.
    Keris spoke directly into the
device. “There is no word on the impersonator. He does not appear
to be known by anyone I have spoken to. However, I have discovered
that his accomplice fled to Lind, so I have journeyed there to
pursue the investigation.”
    “Captain
Sallidor has returned.” The Ring
luminesced. “He says you ordered him to
return to the Keep.”
    His men
attacked me! Keris realised that to tell
Mordal that, however, would only make her reasons for ordering the
withdrawal appear petulant. “He was making no