The Prison Stone Read online

  On the surface of it, his job was to advise King Uther, and to do what limited magic he had at his disposal for the good of the Kingdom of Hearth. His real job, however, was to know everything. He sometimes reported this knowledge to Elsorin, the head of his order. But just as often he kept it for himself. Knowledge, he had come to realize, was more powerful than magic, more advantageous than interstellar travel, more efficacious than the sword. Uther might wear the crown, but it was knowledge that made Liaga the most potent person in the throne room.

  Uther called for a tonic, which the court physic brought to him with quick dispatch. The king then settled himself on the throne in readiness for his sons’ arrival.

  Uther hated the throne. He loved being king of Estenlan, and high king of all Hearth and its protectorates, but the throne itself was old, lumpy, and uncomfortable. He sat in it only so long as he had to. Liaga knew the king’s heart, knew the old man would move back to the window seat as soon as decorously possible.

  “The princes Cormoran and Ealon, your majesty,” the doorkeeper called. Liaga moved to the right of the throne and stood with his hands behind his back. He did not stand straight—a kink in his spine from a riding accident in his youth prevented that. But he stood as straight as he could, an expression of pious expectation fixed upon his face.

  The doors swung open and Cormoran entered first, as propriety demanded of the elder son. Cormoran took four swift steps and then knelt, bowing his head and offering his sword, tip to the ground. A moment later Ealon burst into the room behind him. Ealon did not bow, nor acknowledge the king or the court in any way. Instead, he strode with fierce dispatch toward the door behind the throne that led to the royal family’s private chambers above. He slammed the door behind him.

  Liaga’s eyebrows rose at the indecorous display, and he watched the court keenly. Ealon’s behavior was an egregious affront to the king, but as Uther ignored it, everyone else did, too. Cormoran rose, his jaw set and his countenance dour. He approached the throne.

  “Father, I pray the oyarsu have kept you well.”

  “I give thanks that the oyarsu have kept you alive,” Uther responded, “both of you. What news of the battle?”

  “Surely you’ve received report by blips-and-squawks.”

  “Of course, but I want to hear it from you. Battlefield commanders either tell you what they want you to know or what they think you want to hear. Keep that in mind.”

  Cormoran nodded. It was not new teaching, and he knew the truth of it. “Avantir the usurper has been driven back. The cost was great, but his armies are vanquished. Wybrook is once again without dispute under the authority of the crown. Unity has been restored to Hearth, oyarsu be thanked.”

  Uther nodded. Liaga was impressed. Cormoran had given a report that was free of almost all detail. Everything he said might be true, and probably was—Cormoran was no liar, Liaga knew. But there was much more that he was not saying. It was not Liaga’s place to question the prince, but he made a mental note to inquire with his sources to obtain a more robust account.

  But Uther seemed satisfied. “And how did your brother?”

  “Father, we must speak…in private.”

  Uther looked around. The room was not packed with courtiers, as it often was, but there were a few of the more stalwart souls in attendance. Liaga counted six nobles and four servants, himself and the physic. Cormoran was right to be discreet.

  Uther ignored him, however. “Was your brother not with us in battle?”

  “Sunhaven prevented him. Or so he says.”

  “Sunhaven tries to protect him. He’d keep you out of it, if he could.”

  “Good thing I’m better with a sword than Lord Sunhaven, then.”

  It was a joke, but Uther did not smile. He seemed lost in thought, troubled by something just over his own mind’s horizon.

  “Ealon does battle with his own enemies, I fear,” Cormoran laid his sword down on the steps of the dais and then sat on the steps himself. In one motion, he had gone from a subordinate presenting himself to his liege lord to a beloved son conversing with his father. “I tried to speak to him.”

  Uther grunted, but then waved his son’s suggestion away. “No…no, I’ll talk to him. Although I confess I am at a bit of a loss…” he trailed off, not finishing his thought. Liaga understood the king’s frustration with Ealon, but he understood the dilemma of a second son even more, being one himself. “But first I must confer with the generals. Thank you for your…report.” He clapped Cormoran on his armored shoulder. “You need a bath.”

  Cormoran did not dispute this. He smiled affectionately as he stood. He bowed to the throne, and exited toward the family’s chambers.

  Uther gathered his robes about him. “I’m off,” he said.

  Despite his best efforts, Liaga was not welcome in the war council. More than once he had made the argument that a summoner could advantageously advise on warcraft, but his efforts had been rebuffed. Not everyone trusted summoners.

  As soon as Uther exited the throne room, Liaga turned and headed toward the royal family’s chambers. A guard stood in front of the door. The man made to move, then stopped, clearly uncertain what to do. Liaga was a powerful counselor, but the man had a job to do. Liaga smiled patiently. “I need to speak to Prince Ealon. It is a matter of some urgency.” That was not true, but the guard could not know that. The man hesitated a moment, then stepped aside. Liaga pressed the handle of the door and pushed it open.

  Gas lights gave the hallway beyond a comforting yellow glow—even though the flames themselves were blue. The summoner had been in the private chambers before, and knew precisely where to head. He passed through the garderobe to the stairs which led to the second floor. He paused just outside the prince’s rooms and lightly tapped on the door. A few moments later a servant opened it a crack and peered out.

  “I would speak to the prince,” Liaga said to him.

  The door closed and Liaga counted seven before it swung open again. “The prince will see you.”

  Liaga had expected no other answer, and he pushed into the door without another glance at the servant.

  “My lord is in his reading room,” the servant said.

  Liaga thought a moment, then headed east, ducking through a scarlet woolen curtain draped over a doorway—probably to keep the heat of the fireplace in.

  The prince was sprawled on a couch, his foot on a low table before him, knee jutted in the air, higher than his head.

  Liaga bowed. “My lord.”

  Ealon glanced up at the summoner, his face still a mask of anger and resentment. “What do you want?” he spat.

  Liaga had always considered the prince the most interesting of the Summerfield house. Unlike Cormoran, he did not march in lockstep with his father’s wishes. He did not dance the intricate cotillion of court propriety as his brother did, either. Ealon, sullen as he was, was his own man, and Liaga saw in him the promise of something neither his brother or father would ever possess—true cleverness. Liaga pretended to admire much and many, but cleverness was rare and anyone who possessed it was worthy of attention. Cleverness, after all, could be cultivated into wisdom, and who better to tend the king’s garden than his summoner?

  “I can see you are…not at ease. I am not your father’s counselor alone.”

  “Anything I say to you will soon find its way to his ears,” Ealon said.

  “That is not so, my prince.” Liaga smiled gravely. “Summoners are trained to value confidentiality. And I serve you as much as I do my lord the king—if you let me. It just…it seems as though a sympathetic ear might be of benefit to you.”

  Ealon narrowed his eyes. Liaga could tell Ealon was weighing whether or not to trust him. Finally, Ealon sat up and removed his feet from the table. “Forgive me, summoner. I am…not at my best.”

  “May I?” Liaga pointed to a nearby chair.

  “By all means.”

  Much of the anger seemed to have drained from the prince, for now he ap
peared more troubled than angry. It was a welcome shift.

  “Cormoran is a horse’s ass. First that dolt Sunhaven refuses to let me fight, and then… Do you know I nearly killed the Wybrook scion?”

  “Did you?” Liaga wasn’t at all sure this was the truth, but now was not the time to question it.

  “Yes. I had him right in my fist, but Cormoran wouldn’t let me at him, or even ransom him. He…some nonsense about honor.” He howled in rage. When he calmed down, he said simply, “I piss on his propriety.”

  “‘Propriety is the skeleton of state,’” Liaga quoted the political philosopher Entwhistle. Ealon scowled at him. “But I take your point,” Liaga added hastily.

  “Hearth needs a strong hand to keep the peace. Hearth needs a strong leader. But father is…failing. And Cormoran…Cormoran is a stiff. If father dies, he’ll just do whatever the council tells him to.”

  “’Tis true Cormoran lacks imagination,” Liaga agreed, a little tentatively. Liaga was unsure just how much to reveal of his own opinions. Ealon could be mercurial, after all. At the same time, Ealon was the best of his options, he was sure. “But what Cormoran possesses, what is of great advantage to him, is equanimity.”

  “What do you mean?” Ealon asked.

  “Emotion is a fine servant, but a terrible master,” Liaga said, still cautious. “Emotion is like a horse—if it is unbroken, the horse is considered a danger and regarded warily. If a horse is even-tempered, it is trusted and put to good use.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying…” Liaga paused, wondering if he was going about this right. He chose another metaphor. “The man who wins at a game of whist is not a man who shows his cards. He keeps his cards close to his chest, and only reveals them when it is advantageous to do so. He plays his cards, he does not allow his cards to play him.”

  “You are not talking about whist…”

  “No, lord.”

  “You are saying that if I am angry I should not let the court know that I am angry.”

  “Precisely, my lord. Not unless the anger card is clearly to your advantage.”

  Ealon’s eyes darted back and forth. “I will consider what you have said, summoner.”

  Liaga nodded. “I have one more piece of information that might advantage you, my lord.”

  Ealon’s eyebrows rose and he fixed the summoner with a dubious look.

  “My lord…forgive me for venturing into…religious questions, but…what is your opinion of the oyarsu?”

  Ealon blinked. Finally, he answered, “Besides their non-existence?”

  Liaga laughed. He had expected contempt, but he had not expected that.

  “We on Hearth have two epic lays,” Liaga began.

  “The Song of the Scar and The Song of the Stone,” Ealon said. “I read them under master Tippleson. Dead boring. I liked the nursery versions better.”

  “Well, literary concerns aside, when Arrunwulfe brought the Red Horn through and created the scar, he accidentally gave the elder god access to our universe.”

  “Blazing scarlet across the canopy of heaven / A gash of blood through which poured / The bane of elves and men,” Ealon recited.

  Liaga was surprised. “Very good, my lord.”

  “Don’t patronize me, summoner. I was forced to memorize whole sections of those turgid epics.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord. The Song of the Stone tells how the elder god was banished from our universe, even though the Scar remained.”

  “What of it?”

  “Do you think that was just?”

  Ealon cocked his head. “I have not considered the question.”

  “I invite you to consider it now, then, my prince. The elder god was banished because he did not play by the rules, he neither knew nor honored propriety, and what is more, he was more powerful by far than the oyarsu.”

  Liaga could see Ealon thinking. The bait was dancing before him. It was time to set the hook. “Does it not make sense that the one who holds power should rule?”

  “It does.”

  “Then by what logic did we deprive the elder god of the throne of heaven?”

  Ealon stared at him, seemingly motionless, but Liaga could tell there was much going on within.

  “I see a little of the elder god in you, my lord.” It was a risky thing to say. The elder god was widely considered to be evil. Yet, Samael still had his followers, though most performed their worship in secret. Liaga knew this well, because he worshipped the elder god himself. “If Samael were to be liberated from his prison, he would need a man after his own heart on the throne of Hearth.”

  “The only way to end the elder god’s exile is to destroy the Fängelsten.” The Fängelsten was the Dwarfish name for the Prison Stone. One of the first—and greatest—acts of the summoners was to use the Fängelsten to banish the elder god from the universe. The stone had been given to the dwarfs for safekeeping, but that had not worked out as expected.

  “But the Fängelsten was lost,” Ealon said.

  “Yes it was,” Liaga said. “But I have it on good authority that it has been…recovered.”

  Osia Glenfallen struck the heavy oaken door of Summoner’s Keep with his walking staff and waited. A raven perched on his shoulder and cawed into his ear. “Don’t think too much of this, Jaq,” Osia answered. “It will disrupt your digestion. And neither of us needs that.”

  Jaq pecked at the summoner’s ear. “Don’t yell at me,” Osia insisted. “You’re angry because I’m right. You’re letting yourself get all worked up.”

  Jaq grumbled, a series of titters and caws. Osia struck the door again. A moment later, it swung inward, groaning on its great iron hinges. Osia peered into the gloom, waiting. He knew the rules. None entered without permission. An elderly woman with long, wavy hair and bright eyes emerged into the gap of the doors, a guttering candle in one hand. “Osia,” she smiled warmly at him. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Of course you have,” he said. “May I enter?”

  “Since you ask so nicely.” She pulled the door further inward, making room for him to pass. Imras seemed little changed since Osia had seen her last, nearly ten years ago. As guest master, it was her duty to make sure the legendary hospitality of Summoner’s Keep did not fail. Seeing her, he was certain it would not fail him tonight.

  “And a pleasure to see you, too, master Jaq,” she said, giving a respectful nod toward the bird.

  “Hel-lo,” Jaq said. Then he said it again. Then he said it again.

  “Enough,” Osia told him.

  “I have prepared a cell for you. It’s a little larger than usual. This one has a chair for reading.”

  “Ah, Ogthar’s old room,” Osia said.

  “The very one.” Imras nodded and pushed the door closed behind him. “Come. You must be tired. How was the passage?”

  “Harrowing. Dwarf magic may make the engines that can ferry us between the stars, but they can’t stop the blasted ships from shaking.”

  “No. I hate the shaking,” she agreed. “I hope it wasn’t too bad.” She turned and began to walk down a dim stone corridor.

  “The cell isn’t this way,” Osia said. “It’s been a while, but I do know my way around.”

  “The cell isn’t, no, but the kitchen is. One thing about dwarf engines, the shaking makes for some…advanced digestion. You must be famished.”

  “I would certainly not decline a late meal,” he agreed.

  “I have it ready.”

  “You are the best, Imras. I don’t care what they say.”

  She grinned at him. “I have heard that elven ships don’t shake.”

  “’Tis true. They are smooth as glass.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “It is a rare thing to be allowed the privilege.”

  “But you have?”

  “I have. It is because in dwarfish and human ships, the magic is in forging the engine—dwarfish lore, all of it. And by the horn, they do guard their secrets.
But in elven ships, the engines operate by magic. It is no faster, but no slower. It is, however, blessedly calm.”

  “It sounds lovely,” Imras said.

  “Barring the elves, it is.”

  She burst out with a hearty laugh, then covered her mouth.

  “Forgive me,” Osia said. “That was…indiscreet.”

  “It also happens to be true,” she said. “And if you can’t be truthful with your friends…”

  A few moments later, she turned the corner into the kitchen. She turned on the gas lamps and lit them. A warm glow filled the large room, and Osia’s mouth filled with water in anticipation.

  Jaq cawed.

  “I’m sorry, Master Jaq, but I have no crickets in the kitchen, nor berries at the moment. The others’ familiars eat mice and such, which are plentiful, if alive. I do have some stale bread. I hope that will do.”

  “Food,” Jaq said. “Food. Food. Food.”

  “She is not deaf,” Osia complained.

  “Food.”

  Osia sighed. “He’s as hungry as I am.”

  “You just sit yourself down, and I’ll have a platter of cold ham and brittle cheese. There are only scraps of today’s bread, but it’ll go down just as well with the lime marmalade.”

  “You are too good for this place,” Osia said.

  Imras set a tankard of beer in front of him, along with a tiny cup of wine. Jaq leaped from Osia’s shoulder to the table and immediately dipped his beak in the wine. He cawed.

  “Take it easy with the wine,” Osia cautioned. “Remember last time.”

  Jaq ignored him and dipped his beak again.

  Imras quickly set out the meat and cheese and put it in front of Osia. Without waiting for the bread, he tucked in.

  The ham was saltier than he liked, but it was smoky, and he relished each bite. Imras next set out the bread, which Jaq hopped over to and pecked at.

  “I was going to get you your own bread, master Jaq,” Imras put her hands on her hips.