Heartstone

By John Schreiber

Heartstone.

Legend said these unusual gems could cure any illness, but Thrylain the Great, the founder of Elinala, understood its real power and destroyed all heartstones.

Or so he said.

Seven hundred years passed and people forgot.

When a crippled prince was born in Elinala, the king ordered the death of his son. Many died trying to protect the child, and in the ensuing chaos the boy disappeared, along with a pendant from the royal treasury. Everyone believed that the child was dead and the pendant destroyed.

But they were wrong.

Now grown to manhood, Derrick´s only clue to his past is his gold pendant with its unusual gem, a long-forgotten heartstone. When Derrick tries to learn his true identity, the kingdom of Elinala is forever changed as hidden crimes are exposed, ancient evils set free, and the full power of heartstone is finally unleashed.

Helpful Link:

Schreiber has posted some of his published articles, essays, and poems along with book group discussion questions for some of his novels at Ironwood County Books

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 11, 2007
• ISBN: 9781469111735

John Schreiber

John Schreiber grew up in Saint Paul, Minnesota, reading science fiction and fantasy novels. At Hamline University he was awarded departmental honors for his study of science fiction, and he later wrote his master’s thesis on the modern epic fantasy. Today he lives in southern Minnesota, where, in addition to being an award-winning teacher and theater director, he has written three novels set in the Midwest (Hillcrest Journal, Passing Through Paradise, and Life on the Fly) and the short story collection, Tales from 2 A.M. He now returns to his literary roots with the epic fantasy Heartstone.

Book preview

Copyright © 2007 by John Schreiber.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

Prologue 

Chapter 1   Dreams

Chapter 2   Unicorn

Chapter 3   Pendant

Chapter 4   Knowledge

Chapter 5   Darkness

Chapter 6   Prophecy

Chapter 7   TwoMoon Lake

Chapter 8   Brendon

Chapter 9   Fire

Chapter 10   Tower

Chapter 11   Steward

Chapter 12   Higher Ground

Chapter 13   Separation

Chapter 14   Greenthorn

Chapter 15   Old Roads

Chapter 16   Weeds

Chapter 17   Ogres

Chapter 18   Testing

Chapter 19   Brothers

Chapter 20   Kilian Woods

Chapter 21   Roads

Chapter 22   Awakening

Chapter 23   On the Wind

Chapter 24   Endgame

Chapter 25   Decisions

Chapter 26   Death

Epilogue 

Appendix of Names and Terms 

Author Interview 

And Thrylain took the healing stones called heartstone into the wilderness beyond the Black River and destroyed them.

—Legends of Elinala

As the flower seeks the sun, so the soul yearns for the Truth.

—the Book of Ethidril

Prologue

In early spring on western Loneoak Island, on the far edge of a field overlooking the sea, three boys eagerly left the ox-drawn plow and surrounded their youngest brother. He had left his daily chore of moving rocks and was reading a book under the dead maple tree beside the rock pile. It was their first chance in weeks to harass him.

Brand, the oldest and most sadistic, crudely imitated his crippled brother’s limp. Look, Derrick needs to rest.

I started moving rocks before sunrise while you three still slept. Leave me alone.

Brand shifted closer. Or what? You’ll throw a book at us?

What do you care if father bought me a book? You don’t read.

No, and I don’t want to learn. What matters is how many fields you can work. And a cripple is too slow. Brand kicked Derrick’s deformed left foot.

Derrick put his book down and stood. Go away!

Sneering, Brand pushed Derrick against the tree. Cripple-boy thinks he’s going to fight back this time.

Next to Brand, Caleb laughed. Let’s take his fancy pendant.

Flames began dancing before Derrick’s eyes, flames born of fear and anger, and he broke a branch off the dead tree and swung it, hitting Brand on the jaw and sending him sprawling across the rock pile, clutching his bleeding chin.

Swinging backhanded, Derrick pummeled Caleb in the stomach. As Caleb collapsed to the ground, gasping, Derrick’s vision cleared.

The third pulled his two brothers to their feet and they ran back to the plow.

His hands trembling, Derrick dropped the stick. Don’t call me cripple-boy.

Turning, Derrick leaned against the maple tree and stared across the sea to the distant mountains.

map1.jpgmap2.jpg

Chapter 1

Dreams

On Loneoak Island’s rocky fields, Derrick’s conscience first compelled him to act. There his torment began.

from Days of Heartstone by Manfred Caird

Derrick stopped sweeping. Outside the window the sun shone brightly on the deep green cornfield that shimmered in the wind that had traveled over the sea. The crop, already knee-high, would produce a bountiful harvest for Farmer Bridge.

Sighing, Derrick turned away from the view. He missed his father’s farm on western Loneoak Island, but not his brothers. Though he hadn’t seen them in six years, he was sure that they still resented the fact that he had been adopted into their family,.

He pulled the pendant from beneath his cotton tunic and ran his thumb along the gold edge and wondered—as he had all his life—how the pendant with its embedded stone had come into his possession. It was an eight-faceted stone unlike anything else he had ever seen—a brown gem with three green, jagged stripes. Not only was its appearance unique—it always felt warm.

The pendant was the only link he had to his real family.

No time now to wonder—if he didn’t get his work done, Master Hodge would be furious.

He slipped his pendant back inside his tunic and finished sweeping. He didn’t mind the menial jobs he had to do as Hodge’s apprentice, nor the tedious scribe work, but he was growing to despise Hodge.

The Master of the Island was a fraud.

Derrick put the broom away, then laid the ceremonial cloth on the back of the Master’s chair and hung the tapestry. He finished preparing the reception room just in time—he heard a horse-drawn cart arrive outside.

He opened the side door that was used for suppliants and ushered in the frantic mother from Northisland. She carried her sick baby wrapped in a coarse blanket. Behind her in the cart sat the neighbor who had brought her to the Master’s Sanctuary.

Let me, Derrick said, taking the fevered girl while the mother sat down.

I am Sarah from Northisland, daughter of Andrew and Willa.

I am Derrick, the apprentice.

She glanced around the room anxiously. Will Master Hodge be coming soon?

Yes. The courier informed him you’d be coming.

She spoke hesitantly, nervously. I am Sarah—

Yes, Derrick said kindly. He pulled back the cloth and felt the hot forehead of the baby. Her breathing was shallow. He laid her on his shoulder and could feel her rapid heartbeat. The child was so fevered that Derrick’s chest and pendant felt hot as well.

The mother was close to tears. I have heard that you have great healing skills.

She said no more as Hodge entered the reception room, but she rose respectfully when she saw his Master’s robe with its embroidered pattern of three linking circles. He was tall and his long, black hair was tied back. His thick eyebrows, dark brown eyes, closely cropped beard, and thin, straight nose gave him a severe, imposing appearance.

He glanced at Derrick and the sick baby, then faced the mother as he sat down. Be seated. Now, before I heal the child, I will need some supplies for a sacrifice.

We haven’t much. My husband is riding to the seatraders to barter what we can.

Hodge sighed impatiently. What do you have?

She opened a bag tied at her waist. Some copper coins.

He raised his eyebrows. No gold?

She began twisting the front of her robe. I have a bag of oats in the cart.

Oats?

Derrick stepped forward. I’m sure, Master, that oats will be sufficient. The child is very sick. A sacrifice may not even be warranted.

Hodge reddened and stood, facing Derrick. If Derrick had not been holding the baby, Hodge would have struck him.

Derrick didn’t back down. See for yourself, Master. The baby is burning with fever.

Hodge glanced at the baby and sighed. We’ll see what a few copper coins and oats can do.

Derrick had seen Hodge attempt his healing charms before and had little confidence in them. Derrick had greater faith in the herbs and poultices described in the Book of Remedies, ancient medicines used before the time of Thrylain the Great. But, as apprentice, he had to stay silent.

Give the baby back to its mother, Hodge said, and leave us.

Sarah cleared her throat and stammered, Perhaps… perhaps Derrick may assist you.

Hodge scowled. My apprentice is still learning from me. He glared at Derrick. Leave now.

Derrick gently laid the baby in her mother’s arms and hastened to the library. He knew what Hodge would try. Some incense. Some charms. They never worked.

Derrick went to the third shelf of books and grabbed the thick volume on the end. He sat at the table and flipped through the pages. He knew the reference to the remedy was located on the top of a page.

After a rapid search he found the reference he wanted: plantin root.

If I interfere, he thought, Hodge will beat me.

He returned the book to the shelf: knowledge is power, he reminded himself. And power destroys all fear.

A short time later, as the woman climbed into her cart with her still-sick child, Derrick slipped out the back door of the Sanctuary.

He ran to the side of the cart and held a small bag out to the mother. Take these chopped roots. Mash them, and then mix in a small cup of warm water. Drip a small amount—no more than would fit in your palm—in your child’s mouth every hour until the fever breaks.

She clutched the small bag. Thank you, Master Derrick. You are as kind as they say. She glanced fearfully at the Sanctuary. Master Derrick, would you please touch my baby again?

I must go back, and I am no master.

Please. They say your touch is better than any medicine.

Derrick briefly touched the baby’s hot forehead. The medicine should work.

She grabbed his hand and held it on her baby’s forehead until he pulled away. Thank you, she whispered, then she wrapped her child in a second blanket as her neighbor started the cart down the road.

He quickly returned to the back door, only to be confronted with Master Hodge.

So, now they call you Master Derrick! His arm was already bringing the whip down when Derrick grabbed Hodge’s wrist.

Derrick, almost as tall as Hodge, stared into his Master’s eyes.

I am no longer the young apprentice you could easily whip, Derrick said.

You are still my apprentice.

Flames danced on the edges of Derrick’s vision, and he stepped back, hesitating.

Hodge kept the whip raised. What did you give her? he hissed.

"Plantin root. The Book of Remedies explains its use."

Hodge lowered the whip. Perhaps I was too hasty. You are older now and need a man’s punishment.

Derrick looked down. As much as he despised Hodge, he needed Hodge’s blessing in order to become a Master himself. All he needed was one more year. Just one.

Hodge crossed his arms. I want the library thoroughly cleaned and all books organized by subject and age.

But you don’t use the library.

I need to know what books are there.

Derrick obediently turned to go.

"One more thing before you organize the library. I want you to burn this Book of Remedies in the dross ring. It will be the first of many fallacious books that we must destroy."

As Derrick left, flames again danced along the edges of his vision.

Derrick leaned on the bookshelves that lined the north wall: How could Hodge destroy any of this knowledge? He grabbed the Book of Remedies and carefully ripped off the book’s cover. He scanned the shelves for an innocuous and outdated book about the same size. He found one on dragons and switched its cover with the Book of Remedies. Then he set the Book of Remedies—now with its dragon cover—into the center of the room and put the other in the corner.

He then began pulling books off the shelves and setting them into piles according to their subjects: histories, maps, birth and death records of Loneoak Island, legendary accounts of ancient creatures, songs and poems, bound journals from explorers, and seatrader tales.

After a few hours, Derrick stood amid piles of books, none of which should be destroyed. Some of these books recounted the days before the founding of Elinala, others narrated wondrous events surrounding mighty deeds, and still others described strange animals and exotic places and ancient wonders, even the legendary Bridge of Worlds. Books were knowledge, and knowledge, one day, would mean power.

As he stared at the books and thought about Hodge destroying any of them, Derrick’s anger blazed. He suddenly gasped and coughed hard, as if breathing smoke. Turning away from the books, he leaned against the top shelf which abruptly shifted, slid off the wooden pegs supporting it and fell to the lower shelf. Slats on the back shifted down, revealing the plaster wall behind.

Except that everything exposed wasn’t plaster.

In the gap between slats were embroidered eyes.

Startled, he stared at the eyes for a moment, then slid the empty shelves away from the wall. Hanging on the wall, covered by years of dust, was an embroidered tapestry of a short man with dark and rough, toad-like skin.

Derrick brushed the dust off the tapestry and, as he did so, the rope holding it broke and the tapestry fell to the floor. Behind the tapestry was a large, square hole in the plaster. And in the hole stood a book.

He grabbed the book and blew off the dust. The cover had gold script: Book of Promise.

He opened the cover—the spine of the book cracking—and read the inscription on the first page: To Steward Granby.

Stewards, he knew from other books, guarded valuable relics. He also recalled that Granby was the first Master of the Island, but Derrick had never heard of anyone calling Granby a steward.

Derrick sat on a stack of books, turned the page, and began to read.

It was late afternoon when Hodge stormed into the library and found that Derrick had all the books carefully arranged on the shelves. Derrick, though, was gone.

Hodge marched to the window and saw Derrick outside, setting fire to a book in the dross ring.

Hodge leaned out the window, shouting, Where is dinner?

I am just finishing. I’ll get the food now.

Hodge grunted and turned back to the books. Top shelf: history; second: herbs and foods; third: maps and other kingdoms. Fourth: legends and fables.

Hodge hated books. They represented a world he didn’t understand. He read only when necessary, and then, as little as possible. Master Wellington had accepted him as an apprentice only because Hodge’s father had paid three times the apprentice-fee. Later, Wellington reluctantly blessed Hodge. Hodge still recalled Wellington’s dying words: I’ll be gone soon and Loneoak Island needs someone, even if it is you.

Hodge heard Derrick enter the back door and start working in the kitchen. Hodge looked over the books: Maybe they can stay as they are, now that they’re organized. Visitors will be impressed.

He glanced out the window at the embers of the fire.

In the kitchen Derrick turned the chicken over the center fire and glanced out the window. Hodge was poking through the ashes in the dross ring, seeing if Derrick had indeed burned the book. Hodge picked up the charred cover from the Book of Remedies and looked satisfied.

Derrick laughed at his deception, then looked beyond Hodge to the dark silhouette of the neighboring farm, Judith’s farm; and his oval face, dominated by sky-blue eyes and full lips, hardened again. His anger returned and he ran a hand through his hair: Forget Judith. Forget the nightmares of fire. Forget it all.

He pulled the pendant out from under his tunic and stared at the stone held in the ornately engraved gold circle. Over the years he had spent hours staring at it, dreaming of his true parents, envisioning distant places, imagining the world’s wonders. Whenever he studied it, he felt stirrings of memory, just beyond recall, like distant whispers just beyond hearing. But he could never quite hear the stone’s whispered message.

Soon he would leave this island. He would take what books Hodge would allow him and he would find an island that needed his help. He would forget all the humiliation that Hodge had heaped upon him.

*     *     *

Dora, the innkeeper’s thin wife, finished mopping the floor, then turned to her husband: Loneoak Island is the most desolate place in all Elinala. She pinched the last candle out as he lit his lantern. No, it is the most desolate place in the whole world.

Shaw, stout and red-haired, smiled broadly at his wife through his thick beard. Dora, you know business will pick up when the seatraders come. He slipped his arm around her slender waist and pulled her close. Let’s go to bed.

Ha! she laughed bitterly, pushing him away. Traders are a fortnight away. And how long will that last?

I know, I know, only a week. And you will be glad when those carousing derelicts leave.

Laughing, she grabbed his thick arm. You know me too well, husband.

I should—

A piercing, high-pitched scream cut through the night. Shaw stopped in mid-reply, his heart pounding. His terrified wife gripped his arm, and the lantern trembled in his hand.

Absolute silence followed the shrill scream.

He swallowed. What was that?

She gripped his arm tighter and shook her head.

He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, pushed her aside, and walked to the door. He took down his rusted sword from over the door and blew off the dust.

Don’t go out, she said.

He raised the sword and nodded to the door. I must see.

She unbolted it.

He nudged the inn door open with his foot and raised the lantern. The lantern’s light shone across the road and beyond, revealing a white form as bright as the moon itself lying upon the dark grass.

Dora watched from the doorway as Shaw slowly walked across the road. He nudged the body with his foot. He shuddered, recoiled.

Dead.

What is it? she shouted, stepping from the doorway.

He moved to another part of the white body, knelt, and touched it with his hand. A unicorn.

*     *     *

Billowing smoke from burning roofs. Spitting flames from broken windows. Face and hands, hot. Shrill voices screaming in the distance. Long hair falls onto cheek, then a hurried kiss. Soft hands caress face. Rising, being lifted. Cold metal on chest, then warm. Tears falling. A new face, like water. Can’t breathe. Smoke and flames and screams, always screaming—

Derrick awoke, trembling, perspiring, gasping. It had been months since he had last had that nightmare. The fire dream always made him feel terrified and confused and abandoned.

Kicking off the rough muslin sheet, he got up and slid his box out from under the bed. Moonlight spilled through his window and shone on the floor and on his foot, making his deformed left foot look blue.

He dug under his folded winter clothes and pulled out the Book of Promise. Knowledge is power. It can destroy fear and confusion.

He sat down on his bed and began reading in the moonlight.

Derrick awoke as the morning sun began to shine through his window. He sat up and rubbed his stiff neck, then picked up the book where it had fallen onto the floor. He had read almost half of the ancient Book of Promise, more than enough to know that Hodge was beyond lazy, beyond fraudulent: he had betrayed the Island.

Derrick ran his fingers over the cracked leather cover. Some of the stories in the first part of the book were familiar because they were recounted in other books, even some that Hodge had him read to the people at the spring festival. The middle portion told in great detail the story of Ethidril, the talking unicorn. The remainder of the book—the longest portion—was written in the language Derrick could only partially translate—Kinlaelinal, the barbarian tongue.

Though he had only understood the first two parts of the book, he knew that the Book of Promise clearly taught that no man or object is to be revered—only the True King, and that sacrifices—even Hodge’s ritual sacrifices—are an abomination.

Derrick’s anger began to rise and flames danced in his imagination as he remembered the beatings he had suffered from Hodge, beatings over late meals, beatings over questions about sacrifices, beatings over helping people too much.

The rooster on Farmer Bridge’s farm crowed. Derrick quickly replaced the book in its hiding place beneath his bed and hurried to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

As Derrick served Hodge his breakfast of eggs and oatcakes, Derrick cleared his throat. "Master, yesterday in my studies, I read about an ancient book called the Book of Promise. Have you ever heard of it?"

Hodge cut and speared an oatcake with his fork. It was banned long ago. Everything we need to know about it is written in other books.

Why was it banned?

It was heretical, claiming that sacrifices are abominations. It was written by a race of misshapen men who taught that there was once a way to other lands.

The Bridge of Worlds?

Hodge stopped chewing, his mouth full. You’ve heard of it?

Derrick sat down with his own plate and flushed. Only from another old book.

Hodge grabbed his cup of milk, drank, swallowed. I want that book destroyed.

Derrick nodded, wondering what book he could next sacrifice.

That afternoon Derrick finished preparing healing herbs sooner than expected and went to find Master Hodge for instructions on ordering supplies from the seatraders.

Derrick was about to knock on Hodge’s study when he heard laughter coming from within.

He recognized the voices: Hodge and Farmer Bridge.

Leaning in, he listened through the door.

I think a suitable price can be agreed to, Hodge said.

But my daughter should fetch a high price.

I am sure that she will be desired by many, yet a marriage to the Master of Loneoak Island will be an honor that no one else could equal.

I want to consider her interests as well.

Of course. That’s why I’m prepared to be generous.

Derrick’s anger rose and flames danced along the edges of his vision. Thrylain the Great had outlawed selling daughters centuries ago.

Derrick flung open the door. Master Hodge, wife buying is against the law. He stopped and stared—sitting beside Farmer Hodge was Judith herself.

She looked away diffidently.

Before Derrick could say anything more, Hodge was standing in front of him, his livid face less than an inch from Derrick’s. Don’t lecture me, boy, he snarled, his hot breath forcing Derrick back. Yes, I’m offering to buy, but both are willing to sell. Did Thrylain’s law ever speak of that?

Derrick looked down without a response.

Hodge pushed Derrick, sending him stumbling backwards onto the wood floor. I didn’t think so either. Hodge stepped closer, closing the door behind himself, then kicked Derrick in the side. Don’t ever interrupt any meeting I have or I will flail the skin off your back. And maybe I won’t stop there.

Hodge spun and walked back into the room, slamming the door shut.

Derrick reached inside his tunic and pulled out his pendant. He stared at the green and brown gem and felt its gentle warmth.

If only it could take him away.

That night Derrick again read from the Book of Promise and tried to translate the third part. As he struggled through the text, he wondered how many masters before Hodge had perverted the ancient teachings. The book mentioned no masters in Elinala, only the stewards, and they were sworn to protect creation, not revel in their own authority.

Growing tired, he closed the book and stared at the cracked and brittle leather cover. He guessed why it had been hidden years ago. At some point in the past, a weak steward had known that he had an irresponsible or a corrupt apprentice and needed to protect the book.

Derrick wrapped the book in the strange tapestry with the embroidered toad-man face and hid it back in his box under the bed: Someday I will be a different kind of master, more like a fabled steward of Elinala. But how can I? When I try to do the right thing, it turns out wrong. Knowledge is power, but I don’t have enough. My knowledge is tarnished and flawed, like me.

Despair and anger and fatigue wrestled within him.

He blew out his candle: I have no expectations for a better life on this island. I never did.

Chapter 2

Unicorn

If I had not pushed Derrick to become more than he was, he would have remained a lazy cripple who used his deformity as an excuse. I am the one who shaped Derrick. I made him useful, like honing a dull blade into a sharp knife. That’s what a good teacher does for his apprentice.

from Hodge’s memoirs

Hodge awoke mid-morning, as was his custom. He had once been a striking young man, tall and broad-shouldered. Women still adored his long black hair that he tied back—or so he told himself as he studied his reflection in his full-length mirror. He turned to the side, saw his ballooning waist, and vowed to eat less. He must look his best—after all, a wedding might be in his future.

He washed at the porcelain basin, donned his white tunic with its embroidered circles, then grabbed his blue silk robe. He sat on the chair beside his bed and, grunting, pulled on his boots.

As Hodge entered the kitchen, he smelled warm bread and smiled: Though Derrick is often stubborn, arrogant, and aloof, he is always ready with meals.

He sat at the head of the long table while Derrick set a plate of poached eggs and toast before him. Derrick sat down across from him but didn’t take any food.

Have you already eaten?

I’m not hungry this morning.

Hodge opened the small drawer at his end of the table, pulled out a pinch of expensive incense, and scattered it on the floor. He began to eat.

Derrick crossed his arms and leaned back.

Hodge noticed his displeasure. If you’re still angry about the neighbor girl, let her go. Negotiations with her father are progressing. She’s looking toward her future, as you must do if you ever hope to be a master.

Derrick did his best to look contrite. I know that what you say is true. But when I think about becoming a master myself, I worry about the great gaps in my knowledge. For example, when did the sacrifice of incense begin?

Hodge stared at his apprentice, uncertain about Derrick’s motives and uncertain what the answer might be, then he impatiently snapped, Long ago, in the time of Thrylain the Great.

Derrick knew that it hadn’t.

Hodge resumed eating.

Master, should knowledge be shared or should it be hidden?

Hodge put down his fork and sighed. I’ve taught you that knowledge is power, and power is dangerous. Angered, Hodge ate more quickly than he liked.

But shouldn’t we share knowledge of the True King?

Hodge, his mouth full, slammed his fist on the table. Of course we do, fool! But the True King is… well… elsewhere. He downed his toast with a gulp of water, fuming: This fool apprentice can ruin even a perfect morning. Cold eggs and—

Master?

Hodge angrily pushed his plate away. Yes? This fool, he thought, will never finish his apprenticeship in the seven years.

Why don’t we let the people—that is, those who can read—see our books?

We protect books from the people.

And the people from books?

Furious, Hodge flushed as he realized the extent of Derrick’s impudence, and he stood, leaning on the table. So, young apprentice who soon would have been a practicing master, you’ve been reading some books that I should have destroyed long ago. Do you think you have already become the master?

Derrick stood also, his fatigue getting the best of his temper. Books should be read. Bright, hissing flames leapt before his eyes and he quickly rubbed his forehead.

And a Well of Sight to be seen? Hodge snapped. Isn’t that how the wells were destroyed in the first place?

Silence. Derrick held a hand before his eyes. Don’t bring on the flames, he told himself. Composing himself, Derrick lowered his hand and faced Master Hodge across the oak table: I should have been patient, should have waited for a better moment, waited until I was prepared.

Derrick sat down. Yes.

Hodge stormed over to Derrick. And you, the crippled boy who struggled to walk behind the plow, you have been given the apprenticeship out of my grace. And what do you do? Insult me with your insinuations! Hodge suddenly grabbed Derrick’s hair and pulled his head back. If you destroy your position here, what will you do?

Hodge let go and reached for the whip that hung on the wall.

His anger re-igniting, Derrick stood, knocking his chair over. His voice was measured and firm. You tried that before. Your brutality will no longer work.

They faced each other across the table.

A knock on the main door interrupted their standoff. Hodge straightened his shoulders and glared imperiously at Derrick.

Let us see if you can yet remember your position and answer the door. Without waiting for a reply, Hodge sat down.

Derrick obeyed reluctantly.

Fuming, Hodge finished his breakfast: The fool has been an adequate apprentice until now. Headstrong at times, clearly intelligent, but manageable. Now he must be suitably punished.

Hodge grabbed his water goblet, spinning it thoughtfully: Perhaps now is the time to press for his stone. He will need to do something to earn my forgiveness. This might be the way to finally get it.

Master. Derrick was back.

What is it? he snapped.

Innkeeper Shaw from Westisland requests your attention.

What does he want?

He says something unusual happened last evening. He has ridden here for your advice.

Last evening? He must have ridden all night.

It would appear so.

Hodge stood and tied his belt tighter. Watch your place and learn obedience.

Derrick bowed as Hodge pushed him aside.

Innkeeper Shaw stood in the doorway, anxiously running his thumbs along his leather belt and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Shaw’s ruddy face was flushed, his thinning hair disheveled by the wind.

As Hodge entered, Shaw’s wide face broke into a relieved smile. Master, you can help us.

I am sure, Hodge said smoothly. Let us sit down.

Hodge led Shaw to an adjoining room with leather-covered, cushioned chairs while Derrick stood attentively in the doorway. Shaw admiringly felt the fine stitching before sitting down. Master Hodge nodded for Shaw to begin.

My wife and I were closing the inn for the night. We kept later hours than usual, for some farmers had just delivered a load of grain to the holding barn and the seatraders always pay handsomely for any surplus. The farmers didn’t drink much, but they talked—

Hodge interrupted impatiently. And?

As my wife and I closed, we heard a terrifying scream. It was a little unnerving, but I calmed Dora—that’s my wife—and I went outside to see who it was. Shaw glanced from Master Hodge to Derrick and back again. There I found a unicorn.

Leaning back, Hodge laughed and slapped his knee. A unicorn?

Yes, Shaw reaffirmed, hurt by Hodge’s disbelief. A unicorn, Master Hodge. It was dead.

Derrick spoke up. I’ve known Innkeeper Shaw for much of my life. He’s not one to invent a story.

Hodge glared at Derrick, then smiled patronizingly at Shaw. Did you bring this animal?

Shaw shook his head. I thought I should first find out what to do. He leaned forward, his eyes blinking nervously. Should I have brought it?

Hodge thoughtfully scratched his beard, surprised by Shaw’s assurance in what he had seen. Hodge’s dark brown eyes darted to the right and left. He was confused: It can’t be—unicorns don’t exist.

No, Hodge finally said, you did the right thing. Uncertain, he glanced toward Derrick: This might teach the upstart some humility.

Derrick, you will accompany Innkeeper Shaw back to look at this… unicorn. Shaw, you may have complete faith in my apprentice, for he will surely be able to solve this mystery.

When should I leave? Derrick asked.

Now.

He knew that Hodge intended him to fail and return humiliated, but the possibility of seeing an actual unicorn outweighed any fear of failure. The journey would also let him escape Hodge’s control for a time and let him see again the people he grew up among.

Rising, Shaw smiled broadly, assured that the unicorn riddle would be solved: Not only that, but patrons will flock like seagulls to my inn. And seatraders in a fortnight!

*     *     *

Whitehall, the Court Steward, was a short, broad man with handsomely chiseled features and wavy, black hair. He had grown a thick mustache well before the current court custom demanded it. In his blue Court Steward’s robe, he always presented the proper impression to Riftedrock visitors—wise, not arrogant, confident, not proud.

At this moment, Whitehall was in the secret bowels of the ancient cavern beneath the Riftedrock palace, hunched over an ancient book. The cave had long ago been forgotten by the court and thus made a perfect refuge from court spies. Perched on the edge of a stool at a decaying oak table, Whitehall barely breathed as his deep-set gray eyes feverishly scanned the words in the forbidden tome.

Behind him, Prince Galen paced impatiently. Galen, whom Whitehall had partially confided in, wore his black chain mail armor and black breastplate emblazoned with a red raven. Prince Galen, having just turned twenty-three, was tall and powerfully built. His entire body radiated energy, self-assurance, strength. With his black, curly hair, dark complexion, mustache, and bright green eyes, he was the darling of the Riftedrock court and knew it.

Whitehall glanced over his shoulder at the pacing Galen: He is like a tiger ready to spring upon some unsuspecting prey. But, he inwardly smiled, tigers could be snared.

Well? barked Galen.

Whitehall spun on his chair, facing Galen. There seems to be no mistake. I have gone over all the requirements.

And?

We are ready to begin the real search.

First, call it back!

Whitehall, hedging, glanced off into the darkness of the cavern. Unicorns are more sensitive than men. The results would be meaningless.

Galen was resolute. My entire Prince’s Guard searched the western hills to find that unicorn for you. Call it back before I do anything more!

Very well. But the results will be far from conclusive, and it will take some time.

Then take the time!

Whitehall turned back to his book: The day is soon coming when you will regret your arrogance.

He glanced at the white shard of unicorn horn, about the length of a hand, lying next to the book: Yes, very soon.

*     *     *

On his way to Westisland, Derrick had dozed in the saddle, getting just enough rest to keep his complete exhaustion at bay. As they approached Shaw’s inn, the trees, under the late afternoon sun, cast long shadows across the gathered farmers that had waited most of the day. As Derrick dismounted, the expectant throng hushed. When he saw the white unicorn lying in the grass, he forgot his fatigue. His heart pounded with excitement.

Shaw’s wife had stretched a rope fence around the unicorn’s body to protect it from the crowd. As Shaw and Derrick approached, the crowd retreated before them. Shaw pushed the rope down as Derrick stepped over.

The master’s apprentice, a woman whispered. The crowd watched Derrick’s every move as he limped to the unicorn’s side.

That’s Scone’s son, someone whispered, Remember him? The one with the clubfoot?

The unicorn, about the size of a pony, was slender, delicate.

Not Scone’s son, a different voice replied. A foundling.

Derrick knelt. The unicorn’s short, thick hide was very fine, and a soft, white down covered the single horn.

Derrick glanced up at Shaw. This is how you found it?

It was just so, but the body wasn’t stiff, of course. And it was warm.

Derrick ran his hand along the horn: So, the scream was its death song. But what killed it? No visible wounds. How did it get here?

The crowd pushed forward, leaning over the rope, trying to get a better glimpse of Derrick’s every move, to hear every word.

He glanced at the crowd: So this is how it feels to be important. To have authority. To have power.

In that brief moment, he realized that authority was not the heady experience he had expected. Power needs wisdom to survive, and wisdom never acts in self-interest.

Derrick stroked the neck of the dead unicorn. The white hair was softer than anything he had ever felt. He touched the mane: Like strands of white silk.

Shaw cleared his throat. No one on Loneoak Island has ever seen a unicorn.

If Master Hodge’s history book is correct, no one in Elinala has seen one for generations, Derrick added. The hide is thought to be priceless. Derrick touched the tip of the horn and recalled various legends about magic being locked within the horn. Those legends warned of such knowledge, such power.

He glanced at the crowd again: No longer will they dismiss unicorns as imaginary creatures in old legends. This unicorn is as real as anything else on Loneoak Island.

Derrick grabbed the upper body and, with Shaw’s help, turned it over. It was lighter than expected and the body, though stiff, seemed elegant and graceful.

The other side revealed no wound or broken bones. There were no strange markings on the grass, no sign of a struggle. No mud was caught in the unicorn’s hooves. He ran his hand up the legs and felt abrasions just above the front hooves: a rope might have been tied there.

You said it sounded like a human cry?

Innkeeper Shaw had turned away and was answering some of the crowd’s questions. What?

You said you heard a cry, a human cry.

Shaw scratched the back of his neck. Well, it was human. Maybe. Not really.

Derrick stood and the crowd instantly hushed. True, he was only an apprentice, but here, in western Loneoak Island, he represented the master. He was as good as a master: I am no longer Scone’s foundling, the pitiful cripple-boy.

Where did it come from? Shaw asked. What killed it?

I don’t know, Derrick said. The crowd began whispering among themselves. But I will think on it, he added quickly.

Innkeeper Shaw, assuming Derrick hid some insight, protested. Surely you can trust us, young master!

Derrick gripped Shaw’s shoulder. Of course I trust you. Glancing at the crowd, he grinned and asked, Do you think the people are growing hungry?

Shaw, suddenly excited at the prospect of all the customers needing to be served, smiled broadly. Yes, yes, everyone, Shaw shouted, herding the crowd together. Let us leave the young master to his thoughts. He led the crowd toward his inn.

The evening sky grew darker and fireflies flickered over the grass. Three boys lingering near Derrick spied the fireflies. Grabbing nearby sticks, the boys began swatting them.

Leave them alone, Derrick commanded.

Shocked, they dropped their sticks and scurried after the departing crowd.

In the past, they never would have listened to him; instead

Reviews for Heartstone

[ironwoodbooks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Of course I'm going to give this a 5-star rating! This fantasy was started in 1983, finished in 1984; revised over several years; then rewritten a few years later; rewritten again; then revised back closer to its original style.

[mjean-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I haven't read a lot of fantasy novels, but this is the best one I've ever read, and one of my favorite all-time best books. It has great action, a fast-moving plot, great characters, and thought-provoking themes. I cannot recommend this more highly.

[northland-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The first fantasy I've read since Tolkien that rivals it. Heartstone doesn't have the breadth and depth of Tolkien, but Schreiber creates a prose masterpiece with great characters and a tightly woven, fast-moving, and fascinating plot.