The Prison Stone Read online

“We’ll share,” Osia told her.

  “Good enough.” She set a pot of marmalade beside him. Then she pulled a mug of wine for herself and sat across from him. Osia appreciated that she did not ply him with questions about his latest mission—she knew better. And she also knew that guests often needed time and quiet. Osia was suddenly grateful for the complex ministry she had and how well she performed it. There was a sad smile on her face as she watched Jaq pick at the bread.

  “Rumor has it Objor has died,” Osia said between mouthfuls.

  “The rumor is not true, although Elsorin has done nothing to counter it. Objor suffered a failure of heart. He lives, but he is very frail. He sleeps in a bed for the first time any living summoner can remember. No one knows whether he will ever resume his post. Myself…I think he will not.”

  “I am truly sorry to hear that. I will look in on him before I go.” Osia thought a moment. “The oracle is famous. He isn’t beloved, but the idea of him is beloved—”

  “Yes.”

  “I fear, if the rumors spread, people might panic,” Osia said.

  “People will.”

  Osia grunted. “But the truth about his condition might cause just as much panic. If people know he is failing…”

  “I think this is the dilemma that Elsorin wrestles with. Among many others, of course.”

  Osia shook his head. “I am ever grateful not to rule.”

  “You are young, yet,” she smiled.

  He laughed at this. “Back to Objor, if you will. I heard he uttered a prophesy.”

  Imras looked away.

  “Ah. But Elsorin is trying to keep that a secret, too.”

  “How much do you know?” Imras asked.

  “Only what came over the blips-and-squawks. So…not much. Little more than dwarfish gossip.”

  “Dwarfish gossip is not as spurious as the gossip of men.”

  “It’s still gossip. I want to hear it from the source.”

  “The source is dead.”

  Osia swallowed and smiled. “You’ll do.”

  “You should ask Elsorin,” she still wasn’t looking at him.

  He reached out and touched her wrinkled hand. “Imras, you know as well as I do that Elsorin will tell me only what advantages Elsorin.”

  “He is the head of our order.”

  “True, but his power is not absolute, as you well know. We must keep each other accountable.”

  “But it is his decision who should know what, not mine.”

  Osia grunted again and picked up some of the brittle cheese.

  “He’ll want to see you,” she added.

  “No doubt he will. But whether he will be pleased to see me is another matter.”

  “He sees you as a threat.”

  Osia did not need to answer. He let the cheese melt on his tongue and savored it.

  “Food,” Jaq said.

  “Try a bit of the cheese,” Osia told him. The bird picked at the bread. Osia rolled his eyes.

  “You are a threat,” Imras continued, “because you are a plain dealer. Not everyone likes you, Osia, but everyone respects you.”

  “I don’t know about that—”

  “It’s true enough,” Imras said. Osia could see she was struggling. He covered her hand with his and this time, kept it there. He waited until she met his eyes. He smiled. “You are my friend,” he said. “I do not ask you to break your covenants.”

  She blinked. “Fine,” she said. “Objor said, ‘Soon, the whole universe will be ablaze…’”

  3

  “Summon the crown prince…and my enforcer.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Liaga gave a curt bow and turned from the window seat in which King Uther sat staring out at the sea.

  Uther did not know why the sea gave him such comfort, but it did. Probably he loved it because she had loved it, Melasenvia. The country she had come from was landlocked and the open water had held endless fascination for her. Once he had taken her aboard the royal yacht, for a clandestine tour of the harbor at night. He could not take her by day, for none could see them together. The boat’s crew had been…expendable, and their lives were worth the one precious evening they’d spent together. At first, they’d watched the lights of the harbor as they bobbed and shimmered. Then they’d gone below deck for another kind of spectacle. But they could never be together. He was the high king, he must keep and enforce the law. And sometimes he loathed the law.

  One boat had traversed the harbor by the time the King heard the clearing of throats. He turned to discover his summoner flanked by his firstborn and his enforcer, Daevis Ennisbrook.

  Ennisbrook’s face was scarred, though not from battle. Uther had once asked what had torn the man’s face up, but his enforcer was an intensely private man who successfully evaded such questions. Uther had let it go. If the man wanted his scars to remain a mystery, what of it? He was an impressive figure, nevertheless, typically dressed in black leather from head to foot, his silver chain of office draped over his shoulders. A rapier hung from his left hip. Uther tried to think back…had he ever seen the man without his weapon? He could not picture it.

  Uther took them each in, and they bowed in turn, Cormoran bowing the lowest. He’s a good and obedient child, Uther thought. Too bad he’s not clever enough to be a good king. “What hear you from Wybrook? Is Avantir licking his wounds?”

  “I spoke to Avantir’s summoner by seerstone, your majesty,” Liaga said.

  Uther’s eyebrows rose. “And?”

  “She says the man is properly chastened. She promises no more trouble from them. And she has given me her personal promise.”

  Uther cocked his head. “Meaning…what?”

  “Meaning that should Avantir betray you again, he will not advance as far as his palace gate before he is brought down.”

  “She said that, did she? Avantir’s summoner?” He looked pleased.

  “She did. She knows where her loyalties lie.”

  Daevis looked skeptical. “I thought summoners had no loyalties, my lord.”

  “You wound me, sir.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.”

  Neither man looked at the other during this exchange, and Uther felt tension thicken the air around them.

  “Cormoran—”

  “Yes, father?”

  “I’ve been thinking about your brother’s little…exploit.”

  Cormoran’s eyebrows rose.

  “If you hadn’t stopped him, if he had secured Avantir’s scion…”

  Cormoran’s face darkened.

  “It was an evil deed, father. I could not let it stand.”

  “Yes…quite right you were, I’m sure. Still… His instincts were good, I think. Liaga, what would have happened, do you suppose, if Ealon had succeeded?”

  “The child would have been brought here under guard and made a ward of your majesty. We would have cared for him, ensuring that he would grow to love your majesty and would be formed by your generous influence.”

  “My generous influence…” Uther turned and looked back out the window. “And Avantir?”

  “He would be very cautious, since he would want nothing to happen to his heir.”

  “Am I right in thinking he has another child?” Uther reminded him.

  “A girl, your majesty.”

  “Hmm,” he replied, with a look of distaste. “Still…people have put women on the throne before.”

  “People dress geese in bonnets and act out milkmaid rhymes at harvest festivals,” Liaga noted.

  “Ha!” Uther ejaculated. “Geese in bonnets.” He turned back to his son and servants. “It would not have been a bad outcome,” he said to Cormoran.

  “Are you saying I was wrong to stop him?” A dark cloud passed over the prince’s face.

  “I am saying it would have been fine if you had not, and Ealon would have proven useful for something—which may have been good for him. It may have been good for us.”

  “But sir…” Cormoran was almost spitting
. “It was not honorable.”

  Uther looked down at his hands, “I think perhaps a bit too much is made of knightly honor in a noble education, don’t you, counselor?”

  Liaga inclined his head and smiled obsequiously.

  “What are you saying, father?”

  “Who me? Eh…I’m not sure.” The old man drew circles in one palm with the finger of his opposite hand.

  “Father, are you feeling all right?” Cormoran asked.

  “No! I’m feeling bored and grieved.”

  “Grieved by what?”

  “Grieved that I have two sons, each of whom has received precisely half of what is needed to rule competently. You have the heart and your brother has the brains.” He shook his head, and said to Liaga, “They never did learn to share.”

  Cormoran seemed to shrink. “Father, that is a…that is a cruel word.”

  “‘No word is cruel that is true,’” Liaga quoted.

  Uther pointed at his summoner and nodded. Then he turned to his enforcer. “We shall steer a middle path and thereby hope to reclaim some of the booty from Ealon’s piracy.”

  Ennisbrook’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. His leather gloves were clasped behind his back. He did not rock on his heels.

  “You will journey to Wybrook, bearing a gift for Avantir—who retains the title of ‘king’ under the canopy of my throne.”

  Ennisbrook nodded.

  “Once there you will inform the king of our kindness toward his scion. You will inform him that under the honor due to princes, we refused him the indignity of kidnapping.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Ennisbrook said.

  “Then you will inform him that, due to our great amity for the boy and our concern that he receive the finest education—as befits a future ruler—that he be tutored here at the palace at our expense and as our guest.”

  Cormoran’s eyes widened. “Father—!”

  Uther held his hand up to stop him. “Avantir will squeal like a boar with a spear in his back, I know. But he also knows I will be seated beside his beloved kipper every night with a steak knife at hand. He won’t cross me again.”

  “You will provoke him!” Cormoran countered.

  “He’s lucky his head isn’t ornamenting my castle wall!” Uther raised his voice for the first time. Cormoran shrank at the sound of it. Uther noted his son’s response and, satisfied, turned to address his enforcer. “And that is a statement you are at liberty to circulate.”

  Osia rose to discover he felt hale and refreshed. “’Tis tremendous what a good night’s sleep will do for a body,” he said.

  Jaq cawed.

  “I warned you about the wine,” Osia scolded.

  Jaq cawed. Osia picked up his robe from where he had laid it aside the night before and brushed the raven fewmets from where they had collected on his shoulder. Then he pulled the robe on and stood. Jaq quickly flew to his preferred perch. He cawed.

  “More wine will not fix it,” Osia said. “You need water, and lots of it. Some grease would not hurt, either. And I can make you a decoction of willow bark, if you like.”

  Jaq cawed.

  “Can you keep your balance, then?”

  Jaq cawed.

  “Not so bad as that, then. Good.” Osia picked up his walking staff and felt at his face. “I need to shave one day soon.” He sighed. “It needn’t be today.”

  Jaq cawed.

  “Elsorin, yes. I know how you feel. The chicken is dead, no good strangling the corpse.”

  Jaq cawed.

  “I am not talking about a real chicken, no. It’s an idiom, Jaq. A saying of the dwarfs.”

  Jaq cawed.

  “Yes…me, too. Let’s get this over with.”

  Osia opened the door of the cell and strode to the kitchen where a cold buffet had been laid out. Osia filled two cups with water and broke a piece of bacon into small bits for Jaq. Then he prepared a plate of bacon, bread, and cheese for himself.

  He saw to it that Jaq drank more than his share of water, and coaxed him toward more of the bacon than the bird would normally enjoy. He was relieved to see a bit of the bird’s brightness of eye return by the end of their meal. He was just rising when Imras entered.

  “I trust you slept well,” she smiled.

  “Like a sack of root vegetables,” he confessed.

  “And Jaq?”

  “A bit too much wine, I fear.”

  “Oh, I am sorry,” she looked at the bird compassionately.

  “It is his own fault. One morning he’ll wake up and realize it wasn’t worth it.”

  “I didn’t just come to say good morning,” Imras said. “Elsorin will see you as soon as you are ready.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Osia said. Jaq flew to his perch on Osia’s shoulder, a patch on his brown robe stained white after years of use.

  Imras gave him a quick bow and exited. Osia followed into the hall, but turned to head in another direction. A few minutes later he stood outside the order master’s door. With the knot on the tip of his walking staff, he tapped on the heavy oak.

  “Enter,” came a muffled voice.

  Osia pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Elsorin was at a low desk, what the elves called a “side desk,” as there was no room for the legs beneath it. The order master was fond of elven affectations, as the artwork adorning his apartment revealed. Osia disapproved, but he showed no sign of it. A fire blazed in the hearth, filling the room with a welcome glow. Osia leaned on his walking stick and waited for Elsorin’s attention.

  The order master sighed and set his papers down. He looked up. “Is it not time to launder that robe?” he asked.

  “Objor has fallen ill.”

  Elsorin looked down. “Yes.”

  Osia eyed the reaction closely, conscious of its pretense. “Were you there when he collapsed?”

  “Soon enough after.”

  “A failure of heart, most likely.” Elsorin pointed to a chair. “Where are my manners? Sit.”

  Osia sat. He looked at his order master, but his expression showed little. Time passed. Finally, he said, “I was hoping you would tell me what he said.”

  “Many have asked this of me, but the Oracle’s messages have always only been shared with those who can understand them.”

  “I feel vaguely insulted.”

  “Receive it as you will,” Elsorin replied dryly. “I will say only that it was a dire prophesy, which I admit I find troubling.”

  “What is more troubling is that Objor is the last of the oracles. He was always the most reliable, as well.”

  Elsorin did not dispute this. He looked away, staring into space.

  Neither of them was young, but Elsorin looked to be far older. While Osia still had most of his hair and a strong frame, Elsorin was bald and had begun to stoop. He looked far frailer than Osia remembered from their last meeting.

  “The unbreakable broken…” Osia said, after a long silence, as if thinking aloud. “The void illuminated…”

  Elsorin’s brow furrowed; his stare grew sharp. “How do you know this?” he demanded. “Where did you hear it?”

  “It wasn’t difficult to ascertain,” Osia shrugged. “I asked one of the oracle scribes. Those poor souls are starved for conversation. As you might imagine, sitting there watching an old man sleep can be a tedious business.”

  “They are sworn to secrecy. Engaging them is a gross infraction. You know that.”

  “Oh, certainly. That’s why all that I said was in jest.”

  Elsorin’s glare continued. Osia waited for a reaction, but all he saw was a slight twitch in Elsorin’s cheek. At length, the order master spoke again. “Jest or no, I shall be accelerating the rotation cycle of the scribes.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Elsorin reached up to massage the bridge of his nose. “Is there anything else?” he added.

  “What does it mean?” Osia continued. “What do you suppose is ‘the key’ that ‘has been found’?”
r />   “I don’t ‘suppose’—I know. And the knowledge has kept me awake most nights since.”

  Then that was why the old man was looking so haggard.

  He and Elsorin had never been close. He did not love the elder summoner, but he respected him. Elsorin did not share power as Osia would have preferred, and he loved secrets a bit too much. Yet Osia was bound by strong oaths. While his loyalty lay with the order rather than with Elsorin himself, it was because of his fealty to the order that he obeyed the old man.

  Jaq cawed. The raven did not trust Elsorin, and Osia could understand that. The bird was an excellent judge of character, even when he was in his cups. Osia resolved to reserve his judgment until he knew all the facts. But he was pleased to see Elsorin’s guard lowering, now that it was established there was no point in keeping secrets. Osia nodded his encouragement.

  “I’m going to tell you something.” Elsorin did not look at him as he said this. His voice was low, as if they might be overheard. In response, Osia leaned closer to the order master. “But you must not breathe a word of it, especially to men or elves.”

  Osia nodded his agreement. Jaq cawed.

  “The Fängelsten has been found.”

  Osia felt a chill run from the crown of his head down to the base of his spine. He shuddered from the sudden cold, forcing Jaq to flap to keep his balance.

  “The Prison Stone?” Osia repeated, using the language of men rather than its dwarfish name. “Are you certain?”

  “Am I certain it actually is the Fängelsten? No. I have not held it in my own hands, so I have not been able to verify the claim.” The old man nodded. “But the source is reliable.”

  “And what is the source?”

  “Belorin.”

  “Belorin? Dwarf King Belorin of Yngremark?”

  “The same. I received an encoded message from his chief lore master over the blips-and-squawks.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Little. But enough. I have since spoken to him through the seerstone.”

  Osia waited.

  “He was certain. He was also…shaken.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Osia said. “I can think of few objects of power so dire.”

  Elsorin nodded. Osia noted that his long beard had gone nearly white.