The Stones Will Tell

By Leif Baumann

Everyone has two eyes, two hands, and two feet as well as two stones. So, why should it make any difference?

The Duke of Yenthorol is too old for all this. Ryl is under invasion while it struggles to find and crown its next king among all the claimants, and the problem is not made any easier when he discovers an ancient prophecy is guiding the actions of so many of the players involved.

During the seasonal lull in the fighting, most of the nobles back one or the other of two claimants for the throne: one of questionable heritage and the other of dubious character. Yenthorol tries to keep a firm grip on the ship of state until the Wizards get into the mix, proving the ancient prophecy's importance.

It seems the only one who can save them is a Hero they have been anticipating for centuries. But there is one problem: they still do not know who the Hero is. And from their intense studies they are fairly certain the Hero does not yet know he has this awesome power.

Stuck between the reality of being forced to place a fraud on the throne and the fantasy of the Wizards and their ancient prophecies, Yenthorol trods a perilous path in search of peace and security for his country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martian Publishing
• Release date: Apr 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476010106

Book preview

Prologue

Nothing exists new – all things

are built on what has passed before.

– The Common Book

CHAPTER - 0

Darbur looked uneasy. Are we certain this is the best course? There is still two hundred and fifty years before the advent of the hero, Dachormtla.

The Senior scowled at the youngest member of the group. Junior, you have walked the web with the rest of us. Did you see another course that showed more promise?

Ryl was under invasion. All seemed lost, doom imminent.

It just seems too soon to make a move at this time.

Gortus spoke up. If we wait too long, Ryl will be lost. We have seen the destruction to our cause if that is allowed to occur.

But making ourselves known will be a forewarning to our enemies.

The Senior put a hand on Darbur’s shoulder. For too many years we have remained quietly in the fastness of Mount Obironk. Practically no one knows of us anymore. By this action we can let the people remember us and they can hope for their future.

But at such cost…

Son, everything costs. Otherwise nothing would have any value.

The Wizards, the rumored earliest inhabitants of the peninsula, completed their pilgrimage from their home in the mountains of Obironk to the besieged city of Mestorol.

A path cleared through the enemy ranks as they proceeded to the city gates unmolested. Such was the sense of power felt by all present that the fighting simply ceased. Later accounts would speak of dark clouds and howling winds, omens enough for any chilling tale. All accounts differ but on one point alone: awe descended on defender and invader alike.

The Wizards did no magic. They neither turned the enemy to dust or changed their commander to stone, but were quite as effective though they seemed only a group of old men setting up a tent in the main square of Mestorol and summoning the enemy commanders.

What transpired in that tent is not known, only that the Wizards ordered the enemy from the land of Ryl in ten days' time or perish, as the land had to be properly prepared for one who was to come. The cryptic message was puzzling as no one had heard any of the tales of the fourth hero yet to come, but the enemy quitted the city nonetheless. Their leaders, hearing the story second-hand, were not as generous in their belief as the siege commander who had quitted the environs of Mestorol, and so would not withdraw from Ryl entirely until they had counseled together with their leaders.

Meanwhile, the city of Mestorol was abandoned: payment demanded by the Wizards. Many grumbled at the price while packing and moving, but the saving of the land came steep.

Ten days after the appearance of the siege was raised, a massive earthquake was visited upon the land of Ryl. Destruction was surprisingly light except for the coastal areas where the camps of the remaining enemies were utterly destroyed and in the city of Mestorol, where a mass of rock was thrust upward, dividing the town into two portions, east and west, separated by a thousand-foot precipice. The eastern portion, where had been the square with the Wizards' tent, stood high on the rocky crag. The remains of the western portion rested in shambles at the foot of the cliff, inhabited by only a few vermin.

And to that lower half would venture a few of the stouter-hearted souls to leave gifts for the Wizards in remembrance of the deed done.

***

The outcome of this incident was easy to foretell: following their loss, the enemies searched their records of the past and finally uncovered enough data to piece together the tale of the fourth hero to come: Dachormtla. Two centuries the task took to complete, sending their researchers to the ends of the world to trace the meager clues.

Then the leaders gathered together to lick the wounds of their ancestors and asked the fateful question: if we should not conquer Ryl before the advent of this hero, how then shall we fare once he arrives?

Their data did not specifically say Ryl would be the land of the incipient hero, but the actions of the Wizards made it seem obvious. So the conquest halted by the actions of the Wizards was begun anew.

Ryl countered the invaders with their best, throwing the cream of the nobility and knightly classes into the field. It was not enough. And when the Royal House was all but annihilated, a man of lowly origins rallied the people and restored the slipping borders of Ryl. By general consent, he was raised to the throne of Ryl as Markel the First. And then the story of the Hero became widespread.

The enemies feared that this man was indeed the one prophesied, that all their own calculations must have been incorrect because of meager data. They lamented while all of Ryl sang the praises of the great Markel as the Hero who had come to keep the land safe.

His subsequent illness and premature death disproved them all.

The failure of his heirs to hold onto the advantage so dearly and, now it seemed, futilely gained, brought a resurgence of enemy aggression. And this, coinciding with yet another lack of dynastic candidates for the throne, seemed to assure the failure of Ryl's defenses.

The vultures were closing in.

~~~~

PART I

TAKING THEIR PLACES

Each man has an unalterable place in life,

but there remain many paths to choose

to take that place.

– The Common Book

CHAPTER - 1

Dawn arrived surprisingly bright in the capital city of Ryllior. The pre-dawn hours of this late winth's day had brought a heavy, dark, low cloud cover; now, one small clear spot had coincided on the horizon with the emergence of the sun. Like a small glimmer of hope it shone, though dwarfed by the ominous gloom overhead, growing darker by the minute and promising a wet day ahead.

Griport Haisten, Duke of Yenthorol, awoke with a start in the stillness. Gray hair plastered to his face from sweat, he brushed it out of his face with difficulty. His old, bony fingers did not work as they did in far away younger days. In a moment, he forced himself to a sitting position.

Suddenly the dream impinged on his consciousness and he knew it held something important, something he simply HAD to remember. It was Merianta, her or Wineka his third wife, telling him to beware of some danger approaching. The old hands massaged his temples absently while he tried to conjure the fading wisps of pseudo-memory behind his closed eyelids.

He remembered a person, some faceless someone he had never met running toward him… but, no, that person was speaking of a cliff someplace and trying to warn him about another, lurking in the shadows. The shadows which swooped down and carried the last remnants of the vision away. Straining, he could recall nothing more than the feeling. His aged fingers had moved to caress the stone on his forehead, but his senses still reeled with the sense of panic.

He shook it off. Just another old man’s musings. Probably some threat I imagined while still a youngster. The chuckle that followed was too short, too mechanical, to bring any lightening to his mood, because he remembered what day it was: the anniversary of the hunting accident in which his grandfather had died, the same day which seven years later claimed the life of his father as well. Eighty-seven years since the death of the grandfather he never knew; eighty years – could it truly be that long ago? – since the death of that father he barely knew had thrust the dukedom on his youthful brow.

His father's face had turned red with anger when he heard of the impertinence of that outlaw group – calling themselves Yevas Freedom Fighters – daring to start their rebellion against Ryllian overlordship in his territories. He had cursed his usual oath, grabbed up his sword, and summoned his troops.

Lost in those thoughts, Duke Haisten of Yenthorol had risen from the bed and shuffled to the open window. The small brightness on the horizon finally woke him. Shrugging off the maudlin past as well as the hint of a dream, he turned to face the new and gloomy day. He had the strangest sensation that something WAS about to happen, nothing as ominous as in his dream, he hoped, but perhaps something to shake this nation out of its lethargy.

Hopefully, he would recognize the opportunity when it arrived.

~~~~

CHAPTER – 2

The trade from the east has been secured, your Highness, but delivery remains a problem.

The Emperor of Evinez glowered over the document he was reading. Problem? What... er, problem?

Berisget Marlan seemed not to notice the iciness in the monarch's tone. Being the head of the Berisget family mercantile business, the leading enterprise in Evinez for over a century, he had been trained in the dealings and frequent discourse with the usually fickle Vernik dynasty.

The pirates, milord, the scourge of the seas. That is the problem. Their raids have drastically increased in the two years past. He shook his head slightly and shifted his gaze to the hunting tapestry on the wall behind the Emperor. And it would now seem they are ranging even further afield.

The Emperor continued reading the paper in his hand, And? Is there some reason for this enjoinder or are you merely trying to say that the shipments will be delayed?

Is it not obvious, sire? Marlan now leaned forward intently, drawing the Emperor's eyes from his reading. The pirates strike in an organized way, moving in small fleets and attacking with grim premeditation – more like a military force than rowdy brigands, wouldn't you say? They strike at only our ships. He proudly played his trump: They are not mere pirates, sire! He smugly pulled his cap down to his eyebrows.

Oh? No!?

No, your highness. They are actually working with the Tenichta rebels. They plan to land-lock the troops.

So? The Emperor set aside his reading. Any fool can see that, Marlan; as you said: it is obvious. There is no guile in their actions. But why bother me with it? Their bases of operations are in the spheres of Anitara and Semilodna. Discuss it with them.

Marlan clasped his hands. But, sire, you promised to get rid of the pirates for...

I can clear them only in Evinez waters, my dear sir. The Imperial eyes glared. I did not intend to personally secure the entirety of the seaways for your safety and peace of mind; you must bargain with others for that. By my support you have gained a monopoly on trade with the eastern lands and secured for you valuable trade agreements with the other four emperors, not to mention a future claim on those wool-rich regions of southern Ryl. Must I wet-nurse you as well? No, I have done enough for you. Now I expect you to get those supplies to my armies one way or another. Good day! He waved his hand in dismissal and reached again for the paper.

The wealthiest trader of Evinez bit back the bile that rose inside, mumbled a 'thank you, sire', and stalked from the room.

Once outside the palace, the warming mid-Winth sun dancing gaily upon the gold brocade of his robes, Marlan scowled darkly and fought to regain control of himself. Had he really expected that Imperial Imbecile to so quickly offer aid? No need to lose one's temper over one – so minor – failure. He must think of something else to play the fish... give him line... perhaps a gift for the Crown Prince? Yes, that just might turn the trick.

But first he must compose himself. It would not do to have the courtiers and other master merchants know of his ignominious failure before the Imperial gaze.

A smile played on his face. Soon, he positively beamed.

There, he thought, let the bastards guess what transpired.

***

Vernik Ebilor IX, Emperor of Evinez, scowled as the door closed behind the merchant. He flung the paper he had feigned reading to the marble floor with a curse. It skittered across the polished stone and came to rest against a gilded leg of the chair just vacated.

The graying and burly Ebilor stared at it in distraction, pondering the scheme of things, his naturally pink face turning a dangerous shade of rage. He wondered idly when Amrik would step from behind the tapestry and make some insightful comment on the audience, when a deep sigh startled him into the realization that Amrik already stood at his elbow.

Don't sneak up on me, you old fool! Ebilor readjusted his clothing and watched the minion bow deeply, those aged joints creaking. This brought a smirk to the ruler's lips and he mused on this 'tradition' of the Vernik dynasty, the longest reigning house in Evinez history: keeping the Privy Secretary out of sight to lend a more informal, more personal, and private air to these audiences.

Well, Amrik? Anything?

The thin secretary spoke in a surprisingly strong voice for one so frail – sounding impudently like a tutor still, thought the Emperor – and shook his head. We had suspected he would come to wheedle free support against the pirates...

Yes, yes, yes! I can recall our talk of but an hour ago; I'm not senile! But what of this noise about them being allied to the rebels?

It is a novel suggestion, sire. One that bears further scrutiny.

Then get on with it. Should our dear friend Marlan be correct in this, we might be able to console him with some sort of help, after all. But I shan't let the rascal know that I learned of it from him. He laughed. I'm not that much of a fool, you know.

Amrik chuckled politely and bowed.

But there remains the problem of delivery until the pirate issue is settled. How shall I deal with my fellow emperors?

Well, sire, Geberlis and Opulias will have no problem, for their deliveries are by road; Anitara and Semilodna, however, shall be assuredly distraught.

Assuredly! And that fox of Semilodna is just aching for some excuse to break the accord.

Assuredly, sire.

Then there is but one answer I can see, but it is far too direct. He winked up at Amrik. Not to the liking of my tutor, I am certain.

Milord, he half-smiled, a reputation for duplicity behooves one to move openly on occasion, just to keep the analysts guessing. He smiled perfunctorily while the Emperor guffawed. And this direct solution, sire?

I shall simply send messengers to the Emperors of Anitara and Semilodna, informing them of time of shipment, and so forth, and make clear to them that they should intercept and secure same from my fleets. That should satisfy the merchants and ensure safe arrival of the supplies. They will, of course, suppose that my fleet is impotent against the pirates and so will not venture beyond Evinez waters, but that shall not offend me as I have just said as much to the merchant. I did stand guarantor for delivery of the supplies but I will not nursemaid them all the way to their troops.

Amrik bent to retrieve the document on the floor. Very good, sire. He paused as if poised to say something more.

Is that not enough?

Oh, quite enough, sire.

What then? Reddened, the Emperor sprang from his chair in exasperation. Come, come, Amrik, do not toy with me! What have I overlooked?

The secretary bowed again. Oh, nothing, sire, at least not concerning such a trivial matter.

What then? The imperial frame squared off, facing the other.

It concerns the matter of your son's tutor, sire.

The Emperor bellowed in relief. Is that all? He laughed at the muralled ceiling. I take it then that you do not find favor in my choice?

Amrik was almost condescending, and a little bemused. Not at all, Highness, but I thought you should be advised of his arrival.

When did the devil arrive?

Just before the interview with that... merchant. The last word he spoke with the mildest distaste.

He may learn to wait yet a while longer. Ebilor IX sat in his chair again. Amrik, have some wine sent in. He watched the man bow yet once more and leave the room silently, as though his feet did not touch the floor.

He is getting far too stealthy, thought Ebilor. Perhaps he requires another gift to ensure his loyalty. Ah, yes, that servant girl in the train of the Duchess of Chuburb that he commented on last week after their departure. A subtly un-casual comment. Yes, that should satisfy the old fellow.

Then he should have to see about training a replacement.

~~~~

CHAPTER – 3

Perhaps the worthy Father would refresh us as to what the secret actions and deeds of that Beast of Evinez have been in the past few years. Many here present were intent in other areas during the time and others here could surely benefit from the broader perspective.

There was silence about the large and weathered oval table, even during the preceding speech; the words had formed clearly in the minds of all present as they concentrated through their focusing-stones in their foreheads directed toward the Senior Father at the end of the table, his icy blue stones seeming to sparkle as the thoughts were transmitted from him. He nodded toward the stranger present and all the focusing-stones turned in that direction.

I am Father Kardek, his stones, a fiery orange, seemed to spring to life with his thoughts, and I hail to you, my worthy Elder Fathers of the International Brotherhood, from the land of Evinez where I have been stationed these past thirty-seven years of service in various capacities.

And how long have you been among our cast? The thought from the Senior Father 'echoed' through the mind of Kardek to all those present.

Twelve years has it been since my initiation, and twenty since my induction... but this is my first visit thusly.

The Senior commented again. This worthy one is he who has been reporting the military intelligence of Evinez though, until now, only through our southern chain. I shall let him continue now without further interruption.

Kardek resumed. "I, Father Kardek, have not been privy to the secret chambers of the Evinez Palace, but all in the land whisper rumors. This I have taken as my quest: to verify those vile tales, the wicked deeds purportedly undertaken willingly, even, some say, joyfully!, by that abomination on the throne of Evinez.

It is with shame – a shame so unbearably intense – that I hereby verify and confirm the evils of Vernik Ebilor IX of Evinez. The orange stones seemed to cloud over, darkening ominously.

"Years ago, in the time of Hesprad the Fair – that valiant King of Ryl – word was beginning to be spread about the future hero, Dachormtla. The legends would awaken hope in the hearts of many, but not so for Ebilor the Elder, father of the present Emperor. That scoundrel of the black arts knew the wise men would intimate Ryl would be the land of Dachormtla. He felt it in his putrid soul even before examining the calculations, and the thought nearly drove him mad.

Then, whether by contact with the dark forces or by his own evil greed, he devised a most shameful scheme: he or a member of his house should sire the Hero or a reasonable facsimile – a child born on the exact day as predicted by the ancients – then foist this youth on the world as the true" Dachormtla.

And to encompass the complete success of this deplorable sham, he planned to speedily conquer Ryl and put to the sword all other boys born that selfsame day. Then could his descendants gain easy sway over the entire world. Who, after all, would dare deny the fourth great Hero?

Kardek paused a moment. Not for effect, but in an obvious effort to steel himself over personal revulsion at what he must next impart. The others waited patiently.

"But for the appearance of the good King Markel the Just, Ryl would have fallen to the monster's plans. Thus was a generation of young men, as well as the Dachormtla, saved by the peasant-king's heroic deeds.

"Though half the plan now seemed beyond his reach, the foul elder Evinez persisted with the remainder of his plot. When the true time for conception drew nigh, he and all male members of his family – at least, those still capable of performing the act – set about to methodically impregnate as many young women, of good family as well as bad, as their gonads could reach. A veritable orgy of indulgence in hopes of fathering a boy on the proper day predicted.

"And to keep the men up to the task, physicians were obtained, from the court as well as every filthy back street and brothel. They even approached the Brethren for aid! Herbs and potions were imbibed by the pint, by the gallon, to thus ensure the potency of their seed.

"Even the young prince Ebilor, he that now befouls the golden throne of Evinez with his fetid carcass, seduced and raped as many young flowers of the kingdom as he could force the thighs apart. Though not heir to the throne, he purposed to gain such by the birth of such a son on the proper day.

"So intent was this vermin that he committed the most foul of deeds. Some say it was inadvertently while in a drunken stupor, but others claim it was by lustful premeditation – he forced himself onto his own sister while she waited in her betrothal chamber for marriage to an Atanab prince. Not once only, but again and again, ensuring she would catch his fathering barb.

"The girl recovered from the beatings he gave her for not readily submitting to his lust, but not from the horror of the seed sprouting within her. She attempted to take her own life.

"Though the matter was not public knowledge, Ebilor the Elder was, some say, dismayed at his son's precipitous act when the boy admitted proudly what he had done. The Emperor had to publicly disclaim his daughter and proclaim she was fathered on the late Empress by some Duke, recently and conveniently killed in the war with Ryl. The girl was restrained and Atanab got another princess to wed.

"Royal scribes kept meticulous record of all the doings, so as to verify actual fatherhood, should such be deemed necessary. One-hundred-fifty-seven children were born to the males of the House of Vernik in that special month; twenty-three to that foul prince alone. But though four children were born on the correct day, the only male was by that unfortunate sister.

"Ebilor the Elder was forced to name the beast as heir to the throne, causing a palace revolt and the resulting executions of two of his elder sons. Thereafter came the announcement of the earlier 'secret' marriage of Prince Ebilor to his 'ex-sister'.

"The day after giving birth, the unattended girl was finally able to take her own life and was thus dead a fortnight before the announcement of her 'marriage'. Ebilor the Elder followed her to the grave within a month. Most agree it was simple remorse over the cruel fate of his favorite daughter, as she had been; others cried 'Poison!' with a finger pointing at he who had the most to gain.

That inhuman thing sitting on the throne now seeks to revive the earlier plans to conquer Ryl and annihilate an entire generation to ensure his son's place as Dachormtla. That son who is now in special training for the part, being so groomed by a Renegade Brother.

The silence into which Kardek now looked was not truly silent; undercurrents flowed from one to another, swirling around the table in a rush of sensation. All turned back to the Senior.

We are profoundly moved by the report and wish to thank our associate from Evinez for the time he has spent on a program so vital to our mission, and for the thoroughness with which it has been accomplished. We now release your image, until later. Be of good thoughts.

In turn, each around the table bade farewell to Kardek, whose apparent solidity was fading.

The Senior waited until each had finished, the image entirely vanished, before continuing. We must soon receive other visitors, in person: Riomel, Tiya, and Sondirsol. His drab brown robe vanished, followed by all others around the table, replaced by loose tunics and breeches. "At that time we should hear of successes in the present phase of operations. All persons born on the day of Dachormtla will be under our hand, and we shall endeavor to protect and guide him in the proper course. Or her, as there is much confusion among the signs. We shall also continue in our attempts to learn of the degree of difference in the stones, and the powers forthcoming. Charmieh was the first with uniformity of color in his two stones; Chermista the first with uniformity of cut; Torchorm the first with uniformity of clarity. What could the next stage be?

The last stage brought clarity of vision through the focusing- stone; what powers shall the next one have? Perhaps our visitors shall bring the answers. But first, what need we do to make ready for our guests?

Clean our clothes. And as Gortus thought this, all the tunics around the table vibrated until every speck of dirt was dislodged from the weave, leaving each a snowy white.

Replenish our stores. And at Simniar's thought, the vines and trees without the chamber blossomed and sprouted fruit.

Arrange our hall. And Frithgar thought everything into their proper places in the cupboards.

Cleanse the floors. Become presentable. Refine our space. Dust and dirt disappeared from the room, windows became transparent again, luster appeared on the table and chairs, walls and cupboards; lamps became lit.

And a path cleared. The Senior sent his thought. Boulders, of many tons, leaped as if of their own joyous volition off the nearby cliff, creating a trail up the precipice. The heavy fragmented stones falling as much as a thousand feet down, down onto the ruins of the western half of Mestorol, deserted some three centuries before.

~~~~

CHAPTER – 4

In Yeriol Hall, the business at hand was breakfast. The family servants bustled about, clearing the plank tables of unnecessary utensils and last evening's late revel. The noise spread throughout the dwelling, to the upstairs sleeping chambers of family and guests, awaking all from their sleep.

Yeriol Arlaf and his wife, the Lady Wiaklo, were the first to rise. Still younger in appearance than their forty years – a family trait – they were happily married though second cousins slated to marry since birth.

At present, however, they were more pale than usual, recovering from a recent bout with the fever. Their old and officious chamberlain put a rapid halt to their donning light summer clothing in defiance of the chill and gloom of the morning, and they left the chamber bundled warmly against a recurrence of the chills.

As they descended the stairs, the room at its head burst into life: the occupants therein woke each other with a pillow fight. Gelfa, the eldest son, home during this brief respite in the war, was the seeming victor.

Amal, the raven-haired youngest son, was too small even at sixteen to be much of a target. So it was Amwartsa, just turned eighteen, who received the greatest battering from his tawny-haired older brother.

Now, with hair mussed and nightgown in disarray, he dodged yet another blow and rushed out of the chamber, laughing and yelling a morning greeting to all; waking anyone remaining asleep.

The doorways along the upper corridor were immediately filled with sleepy and inquisitive, or suspicious, faces. Some appeared with sword drawn; a sad note on the preparedness necessary in these tense times. One elegantly dressed, though somewhat portly, gentleman stepped into the middle of the corridor.

Mwarty! Come now, what is the fuss?

The young man stopped mid-whoop. Why, nothing, uncle... your grace, but that it is morning... Winth is ending… and the sun is shining.

Yes, yes, yes! Yeriol Kabsan, the Count of Vanorui, tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice; thinking a moment that he should, perhaps, have gone to a public inn rather than stay with relatives, even risking the strong rebuke of his mentor of Yenthorol, before recalling that he had once been such a high spirited lad himself. But shall we thus descend to breakfast in this uncivilized manner?

Chagrined, Amwartsa's head drooped. No, sir.

The Count chuckled and laid his hand on the lad's shoulder. There, there, Mwarty. I did not mean to quell your spirits. Be of cheerful disposition – yes! – but a trifle quieter, please.

A quick smile. Yes, uncle.

The Count's hand fell, suddenly finding no shoulder beneath it. He chuckled and shook his head at the rapidly departing figure, then caught the eye of his guard commander, Bogran the Burly. Lively young scamp, wouldn't you say, Bogran?

Yes, milord. Reminds me of myself as a lad.

Doesn't he everyone?

***

Gelfa had already gone when Amwartsa came bounding back into the room. Amal was lacing his boots.

Well, aren't you the slow one this morning! You certainly moved quickly enough in the 'battle'. He tossed a pillow at his brother's head; Amal did not have to move as it missed by a hand's breadth. And nerves of steel, too? Oh, our enemies would have a tough time with one such as you. Or are you just showing off for the Count?

Just a melancholy mood, Mwarty. Boot laced, he removed his foot from the stool and sat on the edge of the bed. I wish I could be more jolly. Like you.

Amwartsa removed his nightgown and reached for a faded purple tunic, his favorite. Well, what's on your mind, bub?

The younger looked down at his clenched hands, turning them one