Stones Unbound

By Richard C. Innes

Korvaan is a world of all-powerful Emperors and jealous rival Kings, where the Dar'Shilaar craft items of magic from unbound magestones. From magic portals and mirrors that can traverse great distances for use in travel or communication, to flying ships and floating citadels, the Dar'Shilaar have proven almost anything can be done. But at what cost?

Hoyle is a brash, young, street-wise, thief who specializes in acquiring things that others in Tala'ahar cannot. No treasure is guarded too well that he cannot find a way in, and, more importantly - out, with the goods.

Little does Hoyle know that his latest choice in jobs, the theft of a shipment of unbound magestones, will set in motion events that will reshape his world.

Celia is a member of the Dar'Shilaar, a Spell Wielder, who discovers the theft and is determined to track down the thief and bring them to justice. Complications arise when she encounters Hoyle, and determines that he is by far the smaller threat.

Hoyle and Celia team up to investigate the forces behind the theft and uncover a far ranging plot that twists and turns, trapping them within its web, forcing them to prove their innocence to the Emperor, or face execution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard C. Innes
• Release date: Mar 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310174889

Richard C. Innes

Richard C. Innes was introduced to Dungeons and Dragons when he was ten, and has since spent the rest of his free time telling fantasy stories to his friends around the gaming table. He also got a hold of and devoured any fantasy novel that came along, enjoying the works of Lloyd Alexander and Taran the Assistant Pig-keeper in the Book of Three and of course The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings when he was a child. The works of R.A. Salvatore; Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time Series; Steven Erikson's The Malazan Book of the Fallen Series; and Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn and Stormlight Archive Series; and dozens if not hundreds of other books, has sated, if ever only temporarily, his thirst for fantasy.Richard lives in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada with his wife Lisa, his daughter Jocelyn, and twin sons, Christopher and Benjamin.

Book preview

Koltan walked swiftly through the arched hallways that were mostly cloaked in shadows. He did not cast a spell to light his way - the shadows worked to his advantage. He knew that he was short on time, as his report was due this night. Although it was not his fault, his master accepted no excuses for failure. It was a dangerous task, but the payoffs would be immeasurable.

He now knew, by what he had overheard today, that the agent in the Imperial Palace in Tala'ahar had done their job well. A shipment was to be sent to the embassy in the Imperial City. This was the moment he had been told to expect, and now he had to complete his task or his master would indeed be angry.

He found the chamber he was looking for easily, as he had already spent some nights on duty here. Due to some bad turn of luck he was not on duty tonight, and his other errands had taken him longer than they should have. Damn Faradan to the Abyss! Making him recopy the runes until he got them exactly to his teacher’s liking took bells longer than it should have. He looked at the ink staining his hands. Anyone else would have been satisfied by his first or second attempt. But ten! Curses upon the man!

He opened the door to the chamber and stepped inside, leaving the door ajar. The student on duty turned from the book of spells he was studying with a quizzical look on his face. Has my shift ended already? Koltan remembered the student’s name from some of his classes – Griffan.

No, sorry Griffan, he started as sincerely as possible, I took too long in copying my runes, so Faradan Shilaar decided that he would send me to relieve you as my punishment. He kept his annoyance on his face for the other to see, and made sure he used the honorific. Koltan moved over to the table and pulled his own book of spells out as if to study.

Griffan collected his things into his pack. It has been a quiet night so far, I took only two messages. They’re in the log. Have fun! he called back wryly over his shoulder as he left, pulling the door shut behind him. Koltan went and made sure the door was latched and then threw the bolt. He could not be interrupted on the task he was about this night.

He turned from the door and moved to the desk upon which rested the magemirror he needed. Normally the senior students were tasked with monitoring this room, and two others around the citadel, in case any general messages came in through the mirror. Tonight, he would be sending out a message, a very important message; a message that would make him a very powerful man; a message that would change the world.

PART I

I have determined that life is all about choices. Some good, some bad, most with immediate consequences, and some in which the outcome isn’t felt for years, if at all. I’m not talking about what you may choose to eat for dinner, or which cloak to wear; we’re talking about Choices – with a capital ‘C’.

It was an assignment like any other; steal something rare and valuable for money. And yet, it was different than all the previous jobs I had taken, more danger, but also more reward. It was enough gold that I could retire from my thieving ways, even after the guild took its cut. I was always cautious. Heck my motto was "It's better to be careful than dead." I looked at every angle, watched all the players, checked the timing, and tested all the angles. I could do it.

Seven Hells, they had come to me for this assignment. I was the best in Tala’ahar, possibly even the Empire. I wasn’t in it for the glory, only the money, and possibly, if the chance came along – revenge. There was always revenge.

But I was talking about Choices. And little did I know that by accepting this particular job, by making that Choice to say ‘yes’, that I would set in motion events that would destroy my world, and possibly, just quite possibly, the entire world.

Journal of Hoyle Dardanel

The 5th of Jarn,

In the year 89 IR (Imperial Rule)

Chapter 1

Stepping over a steaming puddle laced with floating detritus of human waste at the head of an alley, Hoyle glanced back over his shoulder. With his footsteps sliding in the ankle deep snow along the side of the Imperial Way, he refocused his attention on the road ahead. His furtive glance had not shown anyone following him, but of course, that was the reason he was using the wide, straight avenue through the Imperial City. With its wide expanse of flagstone that would allow four wagons to pass abreast, its narrow boulevard containing the tall, narrow, skeletal worshyr trees, and the wide walkway siding the building faces, there was very little concealment available for his pursuers to use. Of course, it was the morning after the night’s savage spring storm dropped a rare hand’s span of thick, wet snow on the city, piling much higher in spots where it fell off the steeper roofs. And he was out early in the morning, barely dawn really, which meant he was one of the few people on the avenue.

Stopping to take a short rest from the exertion of slogging through the snow, he stepped into the relatively dry recessed doorway of a dress maker’s shoppe that was yet to open. He caught a glint out of the corner of his eye, but he turned to find that it was only the reflection of the silver firebird earring he wore in his left ear appearing in the shoppe’s window. He ran his fingers over the earring, his only affectation – the earring his sister gave him before she was murdered.

Hoyle pulled his dark woolen cloak tighter about him against the crisp, damp wind that was all that remained of the night’s storm, and watched a man guide a team of wagon-pulling oxen through the deep snow yet to be cleared by the veklian slave teams. Looking ahead to his left, he could see the distant Imperial Sky Citadel floating above the shadowy Palace Square at the end of the long, straight thoroughfare newly lined in a cleansing cloak of white snow. Like a vulture hovering over its kill he thought.

Looking back to his right, from whence he came, from where he should still be, warm under the down-filled feather mattress, the lithe Salrissa at his side, nuzzling at his neck, he felt a pang of reluctance. He let the warmth of that recent memory flood through him to ward off the chill morning air. Turning his face up at the band of sky visible over the avenue, he could see that the clouds had moved off, and that the day was going to be clear. However, it also told him that it was nearing the sixth bell and he was running out of time.

Hoyle checked the store signs to confirm his location, realized that he only had three more streets to go, one over and two down, and pulled his black cloak even tighter as he stepped from the scant protection of the recessed doorway. Moving as swiftly as he could through the soupy mess that covered the ground, he turned the corner and ran straight into the chest of a man coming the other way. Rebounding off the larger man, he lost his footing and fell to the ground, catching himself awkwardly on his hands. Without apology, but several curses, the barrel-chested man moved off around the corner leaving Hoyle sitting in the slush cursing under his breath.

Realizing he was going to be late, he picked himself up and brushed off the snow and slush as best he could. His clothes were soaked through, and the wind began to bite through his clothes, causing a chill to run up his spine. Checking to make sure the pouch carrying his precious cargo was still attached to the belt at his back, he settled his rapier and stiletto at his belt and began to run, looking left and right, trying to determine which building he was looking for.

Once he found himself on the correct street, Hoyle slowed to take a more careful look around. It seemed this street had quite a few early risers based on the foot traffic. He spotted two taverns and an inn further down, possibly explaining the anomaly, however, there were still very few people out in the chilly spring air; he only noted one man several buildings down sitting on a barrel smoking a pipe.

Hoyle finally located the described building. It was a three-storey stone and wood structure, overhanging the street at the front and crammed nearly to the neighboring buildings on each side. The whitewashed plaster was in bad repair, and falling off in chunks and the slate roof looked in need of repair. He proceeded to the side of the building and down the narrow alley as directed. His steps finally found him at the bottom of a rickety set of wood stairs crammed between the two buildings that led to the second floor and above. He could see through the open stair piles of refuse and broken furniture beyond.

Hoyle climbed the creaky stairs, and came to the blue door that had been described to him. Following instructions, he knocked twice and pushed the door open quietly. He stood to one side as it opened easily on freshly oiled hinges. Peeking in from beside the door, he noted no obvious danger, in fact no movement of any kind. Stepping inside, and closing the door as quietly as he opened it, he turned to find himself in a dimly lit, sparsely furnished, living area. There was a small table, two wooden rail-style chairs, and a three-legged stool in the middle of the room with a small bed and bedside table in the shadows to his left. Long, heavy curtains that hung almost to the floor shrouded the windows looking out over the street to his right. At least he assumed they looked out over the street, it was the correct direction. In the dim light of the single candle, there appeared to be no one in the room.

Hello? Hoyle whispered, taking a careful look around with his hand on his stiletto. He heard movement from behind a door to his left, hidden in the flickering shadows beside the bed at that end of the room.

Just a minute, came the muffled reply from behind the door. Shortly, a tall, thin man with a hawkish nose, wearing dark robes came through the door, carefully closing it behind him. You are he? he inquired quietly with a slight accent.

Yes, I’m Hoy-...

Names are not required, the tall man interrupted with an accented whisper, looking briefly over his shoulder towards the back room. You have the package, I presume?

You have the money, I presume? Hoyle quipped back. Although he had already surveyed the room, he kept his eyes on the shadows. Though this thin, almost frail man did not appear to be a threat, he wasn’t about to take any more chances than he already had to get to this point.

The tall man walked over to a foot locker at the end of the bed, unlocked it with a small key and lifted the lid. Hoyle could see gold glinting in the candlelight. Five thousand Imperial Marks, as agreed, the robed man quietly stated with an accent that seemed familiar, but Hoyle could not place. Hoyle’s heart skipped a beat at the number. It was enough to set him up in comfort for the rest of his life. It was also a number to make men brave... or stupid he thought.

Without further talk, he pulled the pouch from the back of his belt and walked over to the small table. Loosening the draw string, he poured the contents of the pouch upon the table. Nine small stones, each a different color of the rainbow, glowing steadily from within, rolled out onto the table, dramatically increasing the illumination in the room.

Unbound quafa'shilaar, Hoyle stated frankly. Magestones, to the common man.

Power to others, whispered the tall man. How did you obtain so many?

Stealth, skill and no small portion of luck.

Still staring at the stones on the table, the tall thin man waved dismissively at Hoyle, Take your gold and go.

Hoyle stood where he was for a moment, slightly annoyed. A little appreciation and awe wouldn’t have been too much to ask for, would it? He turned from the table and cautiously walked over to the chest, closing and locking it with the small key still in the lock. Crouching down, he went to lift the chest, and was barely able to move it – five thousand gold marks weighed a lot! A quiet creak of hinges alerted his highly tuned senses, honed through years on the streets, causing him to drop and roll to the side as a loud thunk sounded from where he had been. He turned and saw a quarrel was stuck in the bedpost above the chest, still quivering from the shot. Still in his low crouch he saw the door to the back room now wide open, with shadows moving towards the opening. Hoyle jumped forward with his back to the wall beside the door as the hiss of swords leaving scabbards echoed throughout the dark back room. Hoyle tried to pull the door shut, but it was wrenched from his hand by a large man in dark leather armor, who began to advance through the portal while drawing his broadsword.

Backpedaling away from the door, Hoyle assessed his options. The tall, thin man (whom he had just decided to call Whisper) was holding the magestones and chanting quietly in the middle of the room. As the magestones flared brightly, he saw that the large man was through the door maybe two strides from him now, with two more men behind him. A fourth was on his knees, reloading the crossbow that had nearly claimed Hoyle’s life mere seconds ago. Hoyle drew his thin rapier and stiletto.

Whisper’s voice grew louder, and the glow of the magestones grew brighter, based on the increased illumination on the walls. Hoyle did the only thing he could think of – he lunged. The large man with the thick eyebrows who was advancing on him was caught off guard, but managed to parry Hoyle’s quicker rapier with his heavier steel. It accomplished what he had intended. The move brought his opponent’s forward momentum to a halt, trapping the other two soldiers with swords in the back room. Turning quickly, he deftly sent his stiletto turning end-over-end at Whisper with a quick flick of his wrist. It wasn’t meant for throwing, but it still hit Whisper awkwardly in the shoulder - point first, eliciting a cry of pain, scattering the magestones around the room, and disrupting what could only be a magic spell of some sort. Ducking a swing he felt must be coming from behind by dropping into a crouch, he heard, more than felt the blade whistle over his head. Finally, he jumped high, spinning with his foot out, to kick the large man in the center of his chest before he could recover his back swing. Staggering back, the large man (he had by now decided to call Brows) bumped into his compatriots, yet again blocking their progress from the back room.

In the flickering illumination from the scattered magestones, Hoyle noticed that the crossbowman had managed to reload by this time and was waiting for a clear shot. Inspiration came to him – so he lunged a second time. Or at least he pretended to. As Brows flinched from his fake lunge, Hoyle turned and ran, aiming for the heavy curtains at the far end of the room. As he ran past the wounded Whisper, he grabbed his stiletto from the man’s shoulder, eliciting another cry of pain.

Thank you for holding that, he quipped as he took three more steps and hurled himself shoulder first as hard as he could at the curtains. His shoulder jolted as it made contact with, and broke through, the thin glass pane behind the curtain. As he fell towards the street, he grabbed the heavy fabric to slow his fall. He finished his fall, unrolling from the tangle of the heavy fabric curtain and dropping the last two paces to the ground into a crouch. He heard shouting from up above, and heard the door at the side of the building crash open. Looking up he saw the crossbowman fighting his way through the now flapping curtains, as the breeze was still up and was tossing them about, impeding a clear shot.

Hoyle turned and ran down the still empty street.

---o---

Three blocks later, Hoyle stopped and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Peeking back around the edge of the building, he could not see any sign of pursuit. He could hear the whistles of the City Guard several blocks over, however. Maybe they had caught his ambushers, but he knew he was going to have to check – his gold was still back there.

Still shivering from his earlier fall in the puddle and his more recent adrenalin rush; he doffed his cloak and reversed it so that the interior greyish-green was to the outside, the black to the inside, and re-donned it. It wouldn’t fool anyone looking closely, but it was enough of a change that he wouldn’t be recognized out of the corner of someone’s eye. It was also a less suspicious colour now that the sun had crested the horizon.

Taking a circuitous route back to the scene of the struggle, he noted only one guard patrol, and they seemed to be headed the wrong direction. Once he was in the alley behind the buildings across the street from the shoppe, he climbed a drainpipe up the two storeys to the slate roof of a random residence above another shoppe on the main floor. Lying with his back against the cold tile, he braced his foot on one of the peaked dormers and inched his head up so he could see over the peaked roof into the front street below.

A large black carriage was parked out front of the apartment he had just fled from, tethered to two large, black draft horses. The curtain still flapped in the breeze from the second floor window of the residence. More importantly, he witnessed Whisper and Brows exiting the building via the side stair and enter the carriage, Whisper cradling his injured arm. The three remaining soldiers followed them down less than a minute later, two carrying the chest containing his gold. One climbed up into the driver’s seat at the front, the other two hefted his chest of gold into the back of the carriage and stepped up on the running boards, grabbing onto the side handles. All three men looked uncomfortably around as an early morning crowd was starting to collect at either end of the tight street. The driver cracked the reins and the horses began to canter down the street at a leisurely pace, forcing the small crowd at the end of the street to slowly part, allowing the carriage through. Turning the corner heading northbound, it was lost to sight. Hoyle looked at the sky; all this had happened in the time it took the sun to climb a finger width into the morning sky. He knew he should follow the carriage, but realized that by the time he got back to ground level it would be pointless. Besides, a carriage like that was not easy to hide, and would be noticed, so he adjusted to a more comfortable position and settled in to see what events might yet transpire.

A short time later, a squad of six city guards showed up, being led by a small lad who had obviously been sent to fetch them. An older lady at the front of the growing crowd caught the small boy’s shoulder, pulling him back against her dress as she began to spin her tale of events to the squad captain. After briefly listening to the woman, the captain relayed an order; four of the guardsmen unclasped their cudgels from their belts and climbed the stairs into the apartment. The fifth guardsman trotted to the end of the street the carriage had disappeared down and began looking left and right, no doubt trying to see if the carriage was still in sight. One guardsman stuck his head out of the window, fumbled with the heavy curtains still flapping in the morning breeze, finally pulling them inside, and looked each way up and down the street. Hoyle ducked quickly as the guardsman began to turn his head and look up.

After a thirty-count, Hoyle raised himself up to his previous position, hoping that he hadn’t been seen. As he did, he saw a scene that chilled his spine, even though he knew there was a remote possibility it might happen. Two black robed and cloaked Rak’soraa strolled down the street from the east, leading a pale figure on a chain linked to an iron collar loping along between them. A Scaazi, a Scenter, an aura sniffer with pale grey, almost white, skin and long upper arms with oversized clawed hands that almost dragged on the ground when it walked in its normal hunched position. It had large white eyes with no irises, and a wide mouth with numerous razor sharp teeth. But it’s most telling feature was the six slotted gills on the front of its snout. It was rumored that these gills allowed these aberrations of nature to sense auras. More importantly, they could follow the auras left behind across leagues. It was rumored they could even follow these auras through the magegates the Empire used. It was a Fear Squad like this one, one of a dozen, the Rak’soraa and a Scenter, that were personally assigned tasks by the Emperor himself. He noticed that the street was now empty.

Hoyle gulped audibly. What had he gotten himself into? He watched as the squad captain engaged in a brief debate with the taller Rak’soraa before the second cloaked Rak’soraa led the leashed creature up the side stair and into the apartment. Within moments, the remaining guardsmen quickly left the apartment and returned to the street, looking relieved.

A few minutes later, Hoyle saw the Rak’soraa and Scenter return from the apartment. The returning Rak’soraa had a brief conversation with the remaining Rak’soraa and the squad captain, who was obviously not happy. The Fear Squad turned and left the area, in no apparent hurry, causing many doors and shutters to quickly shut with audible clunks and bangs. Shortly thereafter, the squad captain blew his whistle to assemble the squad, and they left too. By that time, Hoyle had shimmied down the drain pipe and was blocks away.

---o---

You’re joking. You’re not joking. Hicks stated disbelievingly, "A Scenter? What have you gotten yourself into? You took precautions of course?"

What do you take me for, a no-wit that just got off the boat? Of course I took precautions, answered Hoyle. It was rumored Scenters could only find, or smell, people’s auras on solid material. Metals worked best, stone and jewels only moderately less well, but cloth and similar material not-at-all. The guilds had paid very dearly to confirm the rumors. The rumor regarding metal, stone and jewels had proven to be fact, at a cost of a whole squad from his guild. The strength of the aura also seemed dependent on the length of time one had in their possession the object in question. That was the reason he was careful to retrieve his prized stiletto from Whisper’s shoulder, the stiletto he had owned for the last five years. Using it, there would be nowhere in the Empire he could hide. The Scenters would find him eventually. It was also the reason that he had purchased the small pouch for the stones the day before yesterday, and only had the magestones in his possession since yesterday, just in case the rumors of cloth were not true. It's better to be careful than dead.

Hoyle sipped from his mug of still warm cider and looked up at Hicks. Her mouth ended with a small upturned sarcastic smile, her eyes alight with a merry twinkle. Even though she was his best friend, knowing Hoyle could be in trouble always put a smile on her face. Tossing her black hair over her shoulder and glancing around the mostly empty inn, she leaned in and whispered "What exactly did you do?"

Chapter 2

Celia walked down the dimly lit corridor swiftly, her long brown hair trailing behind her, her robe sweeping the floor with each step. She grasped her amulet in one hand, the quafa'shilaar glowing azure through the gaps in her fingers, a nervous habit she had picked up during her training. She had never quite felt good enough to be a Dar'Shilaar, even though she performed in the top half of her class.

It was possible that the theft had not yet been detected, as she had been the one to oversee this batch of quafa'shilaar - magestones to the common man, destined for the next class of Dar'Shilaar graduates. For some reason, this graduation ceremony was to be held in the Imperial Palace instead of Mahad'avor. Celia did not understand the breach of protocol, but it was obvious that some sort of politics was at work, and politics was not her area of expertise - far from it actually.

The unbound quafa'shilaar had arrived three days ago by courier via magegate from Sky Citadel Mahad'avor. She had placed them in the secure vault immediately, activating the wards, and casting a few of her own. And yet, within bells, they had been stolen. She had done everything within her power, yet it was all for naught.

Even if no one else at the embassy had discovered the theft, she had decided she must inform her mentor of ‘the incident’ as she was calling it to herself. Climbing the stairs to the top of the stone tower that housed the Dar'Shilaar embassy in Tala’ahar, the centre of Imperial power, Celia knocked on the rough oak door.

Come in, came the female voice from inside the room.

Pushing the door, Celia stepped into the large round room and closed the door quietly behind her. Turning to face her mentor Zazaril, she surveyed the room. It served as the office of the senior Dar'Shilaar at the embassy, and was filled with simple, yet sturdy furniture. A wide oak desk and chair sat in the middle of the room, facing the door with two additional chairs on Celia’s side. A quill and ink bottle, a stuffed owl, and a small knife for opening letters rested on the top of the desk. Bookshelves filled with books, scrolls, and miscellaneous curios covered the walls between the four large, glass paned windows that faced the four cardinal directions. All the windows were covered with heavy curtains except the south-facing one where they were drawn back, letting in a sliver of the early morning sun. Celia could just make out the view to the boat masts of the harbor through the lightly frosted glass. The embassy’s felia'shilaar, a magemirror, a full length of mirrored glass in a large, ornately crafted, gold embossed frame with stand, stood beside the bookcase to Zazaril’s right. The three quafa'shilaar set in the frame glowing softly azure, vermillion and indigo, each individual combination of touches linking it to a different mirror elsewhere. A small winding oak stair wound its way up to Zazaril’s apartment at the top of the tower, the floor above.

Turning her attention back to her mentor Zazaril, who sat in her sturdy oak chair reading a letter, Celia cleared her throat quietly. Zazaril did not indicate that Celia was to sit in either of the two chairs on Celia’s side of the desk, so she remained standing. Celia studied her mentor, a woman she desperately wanted to emulate, to even be, in the future. Zazaril was so confident that it inspired yet terrified Celia. Her long, raven black hair to the middle of her back, her lithe figure with ample curves that she kept hidden behind a stylish Sarethan gown, the authority with which she presented herself; all caused Celia to feel plain and unworthy. Today the gown was black to match her hair, trimmed in some fur Celia didn’t recognize.

Quafa'shilaar were stolen, Zazaril looked up from the letter.

Yes, squeaked Celia, holding her amulet in her hand and twisting the cord, two nights ago.

Why did you not bring it to my attention immediately? her mentor demanded. Deep amber eyes bored into Celia’s.

Because of the unique nature of this event, I cast a trace spell on the stones as soon as they arrived, Celia straightened as she answered, slightly indignant. I was... am planning on dealing with this myself, but needed to be excused from my duties in the embassy in order to do so. This was the first free moment I have had since I discovered the theft to discuss the matter with you.

Zazaril stared at Celia for a long moment without speaking. I am impressed by your forethought, but I have already taken care of the problem. We should have the stones back very shortly. You are dismissed.

Celia’s mouth opened. She stared at Zazaril, who turned her attention back to the papers on her desk. What did she mean that she had already taken care of the problem?

Please close the door behind you, her mentor instructed.

Celia stalked out, and just barely stopped herself from slamming the door behind her. As she stormed down the winding stairs towards her room, she decided that her mentor’s answer didn’t satisfy her, and that she would take matters into her own hands. How did the thief get past her wards? Celia fumed. She was angry, at herself and the thief for shaming her in the eyes of her mentor. She also hated herself for the fact that she was intrigued.

---o---

Reaching her room in the two-storey annex at the back of the tower, Celia closed the door and packed some things into her small backpack. She looked around her small room, scanning for any other items she might need, but the room was only so big, with a single bed with a lumpy straw mattress resting just under the window, a small desk, and a wardrobe completing the furnishings. This room, along with the eleven others on this floor were meant as temporary living quarters for visiting Dar'Shilaar, so they had nothing in them but the bare necessities. She grabbed her cloak off the peg beside the door and looked at herself in the small mirror over the desk. Noticing her glowing amulet, and unsure how the general populace of Tala’ahar would react to a Dar'Shilaar walking unescorted through the city, she tucked it inside her robe.

Having only been in Tala’ahar for a month, she had not had a chance to venture more than two streets from the embassy tower. When she had left the embassy previously, she had been ‘escorted’ by one of the six city guardsmen stationed at the embassy. Based on what Celia observed, she was not sure that they were at the embassy only for the protection of the Dar' Shilaar. She decided to leave down the back stairs, past the kitchen and out into the alley running behind the annex.

She stepped carefully out of the back door into the thick snow that was slowly turning to muddy slush. She grasped her amulet through her robe and quietly chanted the words to activate her trace spell. Almost instantly she felt the slight pull in her head, indicating the rough direction, and based on strength, approximate distance, to the quafa'shilaar that had been in her care before they were stolen. Getting her bearings, and pulling her cloak about her for warmth, she set out toward the end of the alley. Once there, she nervously looked around the corner to the front of the embassy to see the two guards standing against the wall on either side of the front door. Celia stepped out from the mouth of the narrow alley, blending in with the crowd of the many other cloaked figures. There was a biting breeze that was coming in off the water of the bay. It was time to track the thief.

---o---

By early afternoon she found herself in the trade quarter of Tala’ahar, standing in Merchant’s Square studying a squat, square stone tower across from her. The quafa'shilaar were within, but she was at a loss on how to proceed. As it was, her stomach complained due to lack of food, distracting her from her ability to concentrate. Browsing among the stalls of the square, she paid a copper for a hot meat tart from one of the vendors and sat on the small fieldstone wall that surrounded the small, currently dry, fountain in the center of the circular plaza, to eat it. Finishing quickly, she returned to purchase another, and then sat facing the tower to observe while she slowly ate the second tart.

Based on the window spacing, the tower was three short stories tall, the battlements perched atop it were no more than seven or eight spans from the ground. The windows were barred on the outside, and none of the shutters were open to the early spring sun. She saw a large, closed wooden gate to the side, connecting the tower and what appeared to be a warehouse or stable of