Stonehand, p.1
Stonehand, page 1
Stonehand
Tales of Shattered Glass: Book Two
Copyright © 2024 Bardlyre
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be sold, transmitted, reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Also by Bardlyre
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Bardlyre
Tales of Shattered Glass
Darkhelm
Stonehand
Shadowbound
Fortune's Folly
Chance’s Gambit
This one, after the hardest of years, is for my whole clan. Daine isn’t the only one very lucky in the ones close to her.
Chapter One
“Mirror, Mirror on the Wall”
Daine Orban, the erstwhile Knight of the Road, sighed as she regarded her reflection in the mirror.
She did not like what she saw.
The weeks since she arrived at Swinford had passed in somewhat of a blur. There had been defences to raise, militias to be trained, and a never-ending stream of demands on her time.
Although Taelsin was a more than competent Mayor, even his talents had only managed to slow the decline of this once-great City. Everywhere she looked, there was a project that would take months to bring to fruition, where they had, in reality, weeks.
Whilst the Keep in which she had been given quarters would prove a formidable bulwark, it was the only genuinely defensible structure she had seen in the City. There were whole sections of the outer walls that would provide, at best, a passive defence against a determined assault, and the less said about the troops available to hold those walls, the better.
If, as their information suggested, the King’s forces were imminently expected to descend with righteous fury on the West, Swinford, in its current state, would struggle to provide much more than a token resistance.
She feared a tidal wave of slaughter awaited her and she was not sure she had such dark work in her anymore.
Daine had been tired before, of course. It was an occupational hazard for those who walked the Road. But she sensed that her current mood was something else. A bone-weary exhaustion that had little to do with a lack of sleep.
She had lost a child she had sworn to protect.
Her eyes traced over lines and creases in the face projected back at her by the mirror, and the years had not been kind. Though not in the way she thought others would judge such things, until recently, she had been content.
She could feel that the events in the Village and the schemes of the Trellecs had left wounds upon her soul that would never be healed.
She was confident that the Duskstrider would fulfil his promise and return Genoes to her. But what then? Where would she take him to protect him from the civil war that would surely tear the West apart?
And what of her own status? As a Knight of the Road, she was charged with dispensing the justice of the Goddess while on Tour. Once the King learned of her own sympathies with the rebels — indeed, that she planned to do what she could to repulse the advance of the King’s army — what then?
We will cross that bridge when we come to it.
She was unsure if the words of the Goddess were especially comforting.
And suddenly, there was a flare of recognition in the gaze regarding her in the mirror. She had seen that haunted, broken look before: in the eyes of her Mentor, Gallant Stonehand.
“I am sorry to interrupt, my Lady.” A servant had appeared behind her. “Mayor Elm desires your presence.”
Daine nodded and stood, rolling her neck to relieve some of the tension that had become a permanent feature of her life. That she had not heard this young man approaching said nothing good about her state of exhaustion. “Trouble?”
“I don’t rightly know, my Lady. Secretary Assay mentioned something about the sewers?”
Dismissing the servant, she buckled her sword and made to follow him as he backed out of her room. As she went, she glanced back at the eyes of an old woman looking sadly back.
It had all felt so much more straightforward so long ago.
*
Droughton-on-the-Water — thirty years ago.
“A mirror?”
“Yes.”
“A mirror that eats people?”
“That’s what I’ve heard, my Lady.”
“Heard as in ‘send urgent help, there’s a carnivorous mirror on the rampage’ or heard as in ‘you’ll never guess what hoax we’re using to trick the unwary, it is the most stupid one you will have ever encountered, let’s see how many fools fall for it’? There are degrees to these things, you realise.”
Bayran Shareen, Priestess of the Inner Temple of Misrule, pursed her vividly painted lips and silently counted to ten. Dealing with Knights of the Road was a tricky proposition at the best of times, let alone one so wet behind the ears she was basically dripping.
There was a reason most Towns declared martial law when one of that Class passed through on their Tour. She knew her Town’s garrison was filled to bursting with everyone capable of holding a blade brushing up on their combat training. To be fair, it was unlikely even a well-drilled army could do much should a Knight of the Road’s ire be raised, but misery loved company . . .
She once again looked up at the figure towering over her. Tall, built like a Farmer’s wife, and with all the confidence of someone who had wrestled a mountain bear and now had a nice new rug. The story went that this girl — fifteen if she was a day — had been trained by Gallant Stonehand. Considering the fate of that particular legend, whether that turned out to be a boon or a curse remained to be seen.
Bayran’s early impressions were not good.
Still, you played the cards the Lords dealt you even when they were a pair of deuces.
“I believe I was given the information in good faith, my Lady, and I was tasked with passing it on to you. My Archbishop felt the presence of a mirror devouring the soul of anyone who gazes into it would be something you probably should seek to address on your Tour. Please let me know if we are mistaken in that assumption, and I will take further advice. However, should you agree with our assessment that a mirror that eats people falls within your jurisdiction as a Knight of the Road, I am tasked with giving you all the support you may require in bringing the matter to a close.”
“It’s a mirror. You planning to help me sweep up the broken pieces after I smash it?”
The two women held each other’s eyes for a moment.
Daine Orban, newly appointed Knight of the Road, was underwhelmed by her early experiences on Tour. Apart from a rather one-sided fight with some unwise bandits, there had been precious little to exercise her sword arm thus far. That said, she was barely three months into her first ten-year Tour and had arrived at the Town of Droughton-on-the-Water a few bells before.
There was still time for things to become interesting.
However, she did not like this Priestess. She did not like her Order, dedicated as it was to the worship of the unruly children of the Goddess. She did not like her huge green eyes, artfully enhanced by elaborate black lines. She did not like her flawless, golden skin. She did not like her long black hair tied up with a pretty pink bow. She did not like the breathy quality of her voice; she should see a Healer if she had such trouble filling her lungs. And she did not like how . . . huge she felt standing beside her.
Jealousy is an unworthy emotion, the voice of the Goddess gently admonished. You have other qualities
For sure, Daine thought. It just might be nice occasionally to wear something I don’t need to be strapped into.
Bayran broke the tense silence. “Broken glass, of course. My Lady is very comical.” The Priestess tossed her hair in a careless manner that nearly earned her a summary decapitation. “To return to the matter in hand, though, my Lady. Archbishop Jerule would like the matter resolved immediately and is concerned enough to have dispatched me, a Priestess of the Inner Temple, with all haste, to request your assistance in this matter. That alone should convince you of the significance of the matter.”
Not quite with all haste, thought Daine. You managed to pack quite the wardrobe.
Strictly speaking, an Archbishop of the Lords of Misrule did not have the authority to direct Daine to as much as the washhouse. She was within her rights to ignore the request and do her business. But, to paraphrase the words of her Mentor, Old Gant, “Knights of the Road don’t let people get eaten by mirrors because the person asking for help makes them feel a bit frumpy.”
He’d never quite put it that way, but she was sure it as the sort of thing he would have said.
“Tell me more about this mirror. Is it eating people by, you know, a wailing and a gnashing of teeth? Or does it pull people into a different realm? Does it consume their souls, or . . .”
“I am barely more informed than you now, my Lady. If I may, can I suggest we seek firsthand experience of the artefact and then decide on an appropriate course of action?” Bayran’s voice was coated with enough faux sincerity to stun a charging boar.
Daine looked past the Priestess at the long line of supplicants seeking to present their concerns to the makeshift court she had established in this courtyard. If her recent experiences were anything to go by, she would hear complaints about noisy neighbours, land disputes and egregious taxation demands for the next few hours. She doubted there would be much of interest for the Goddess here, but denying the people their chance for justice would be wrong, however minor the crimes they had to report may be.
The mirror can wait, the Goddess chimed in her head. Justice needs to be done. It needs to be seen to be done.
Accepting the guidance, Daine gestured for Bayran to step aside. “As you can see, Priestess, I have duties here and cannot abandon my post so readily. However, once the people’s concerns have been heard and addressed, I will be happy to accompany you to deal with the danger that has alarmed your Archbishop. I gladly accept your assistance in the disposal of the impending broken glass. Perhaps the remnants will make you another pretty necklace?”
Bayran possessed just enough survival instinct not to roll her eyes at a being capable of razing the Town without drawing sweat. But, Lords, give her a Knight on their second, even their third Tour; they at least understood how the world worked. Unfortunately, this child still had all her delusions about “justice” to be knocked out of her.
“I am poised to leap into action when you feel ready, my Lady. Tell me when you believe enough local justice has been dispensed to allow you to address a soul-eating mirror.” With that, she curtsied with such grace, beauty and precision that Daine had to force her hands to unclench.
Just because no one present would question her crushing the skull of a Priestess of the Lords of Misrule did not make it a good enough reason to do it. Whilst the admiration of the common folk was not part of her motivation to become a Knight of the Road, she would be lying if she said she did not think about how she would like the songs written about her to go. It seemed unlikely that straight-up murdering an unarmed Priestess for being impertinent would make for a catchy number.
“Thank you. Until this evening, then.” She felt the Goddess smile indulgently at the unspoken “you bitch” in her words.
The Priestess held her low curtsey, clearly planning to stay in that position until Daine was finished.
Well, two of us can play at that game. “Now, my good sir,” she said, turning her attention to the Farmer anxiously twisting his hat in his hands, “please tell me more about your oxen. Leave no detail, no matter how insignificant, unspoken. I have all day.”
Chapter Two
“Vim, Vigor, Piss and Vinegar”
“I suppose I am just not seeing ‘relocate everyone to live in the sewers’ as the brilliant, tactical masterstroke you seem to suggest it is.”
Tension burned in the air between the Mayor and his Secretary. All of Swinford knew the two enjoyed a somewhat informal back-and-forth, but the relationship had taken a turn for the worse since their return from the disastrous Council of the West.
Rumours of what had occurred in that Village were rife, but the fact that the West was now in open rebellion against the King could not be denied. Ensuring the City of Swinford was prepared for the storm about to fall upon them was clearly placing great strain on a previously strong relationship.
“Unfortunately, my Lord,” Donal said, tapping a stylus against his impossibly white teeth, “whilst we all appreciate your sterling efforts to follow the logic of my argument, I do wonder if your time would be better spent actioning the plan as opposed to wrestling with complexities beyond you. We each have our strengths, after all.”
There was an awkward silence during which everyone in the small group convened to convene at the entrance to Swinford’s warren of underground sewers tried not to make eye contact.
“Master Secretary, did you just call me stupid?” Taelsin’s voice was dangerously low.
“Not at all, my Lord. I merely pointed out that every moment I spend explaining and reexplaining my thinking to you is a moment lost in the protection of the City. I did not mean to suggest you were slow, merely that I am a genius.”
“There was a time,” Lady Gerol noted with a sniff she instantly regretted this close to the entrance to the sewer, “when the help would be executed for speaking to a Lord in that way.”
“Very true.” Donal beamed back at her, “I imagine that was around the time every Noble paid thirteen pounds of gold each six months for the upkeep of the City’s walls. As luck would have it, I have my ledgers here. Shall I see how much House Gerol has paid in the last six months? In the last twelve? Indeed, I wonder, if we counted up all your House’s contributions to the rebuild and repair of the infrastructure of Swinford for the last twenty years, if we would have enough gold to hire a particularly expensive whore. Although, if rumour is to be believed, your husband . . .”
“Enough. Donal. You will be silent.” Taelsin’s voice boomed around the gathering as the older woman gaped in shock. “My apologies, Lady Gerol. My Secretary does not speak for me in this matter. No one questions House Gerol’s commitment to the City’s well-being.”
“Well, at the very least, no one questions Lord Gerol’s commitment to the well-being of the City’s prostitutes.”
“Be quiet!” Taelsin’s face reddened with anger. “Is it not enough that you disrespect me? That you thwart my will? That you undermine me at every turn? Now you must also besmirch the reputations of my oldest friends. Lady Gerol, please accept my apologies.”
The elderly woman glared daggers at Donal. “I have long told you, Taelsin, my boy, that nothing good will come from consorting with the likes of this Class. Your father needed nothing more than the advice of his Nobles to run the City, and we can all agree he did a fine job.”
The other Nobles in the party nodded their sage agreement. This Secretary had long been a thorn in their side in gaining influence over young Taelsin Elm. This developing fissure between them was one they were keen, nay positively eager, to exploit. “But from the first moment you let this viper poison your ear, well . . . I don’t like to say it, boy, but Swinford is not the City it once was.”
As if sensing the momentum moving away from him, Donal raised his voice in frustration. “My Lord, our City will soon come under siege by the King’s Army. Each of us have our own sources that put the day of attack from a week to a month. But that siege will arrive, and it will be catastrophic. From what I hear, the King has placed Great General Souit in command of his forces. I am sure we are all well aware of his impressive reputation. Certainly, he has cracked harder nuts than Swinford in the recent past. Thus, we need to consider how we can best protect our population. Some of the few sections of our walls that are in decent shape are those within the sewer network. I imagine even the most venal of our Nobles would baulk at effluence swimming in the streets. If we want our people to have a chance to survive the coming assault, it makes perfect sense for us to make use of that resource.”
