Old stones and broken bo.., p.1
Old Stones & Broken Bones, page 1
Old Stones & Broken Bones
Three Crowns, Volume 4
David Heyman
Published by David Heyman, 2023.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
OLD STONES & BROKEN BONES
First edition. March 31, 2023.
Copyright © 2023 David Heyman.
ISBN: 979-8215315057
Written by David Heyman.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - A Monster From The Deep
Chapter 2 - On Swifter Legs
Chapter 3 - Back To School
Chapter 4 - No Rest For The Morally Ambiguous
Chapter 5 - No Place Like Home
Chapter 6 - Old Debts Paid In Blood
Chapter 7 - Dire Warnings
Chapter 8 - The Under Palace
Chapter 9 - Killendra
Chapter 10 - What Lurks There
Chapter 11 - First Encounters
Chapter 12 - Alternative Education
Chapter 13 - Unpleasant Surprises
Chapter 14 - Unwelcome Guests
Chapter 15 - The Price Of Freedom
Chapter 16 - Contingencies
Chapter 17 - Fire & Fury
Chapter 18 - Shoot First
Chapter 19 - Missing Pieces
Chapter 20 - Emperors & Seram
Chapter 21 - Due Consideration
Chapter 22 - Void Dweller
Glossary of terms from the Imperial Age of Caer Innar
Chapter 1 - A Monster From The Deep
“It has been theorised that travel between the Sources should be possible, for if beings came from these places to Innar surely the opposite could work too? At the time of writing, one of the foremost Teblessian engineers has announced her intent to build a sort of airship capable of making this journey. However, I doubt we will see it operational any time soon.”
Extract from the Teblessian Times newspaper
There was a strange sucking noise as the water suddenly pulled away from the beach. Rather than flowing back out towards the ocean as a receding tide should, it was forming a small whirlpool a few spiths away from where the water met the golden sands.
This awful noise continued for a few moments until, at its peak, a man was spat forth from the ocean’s depths. He landed with a splash and a wet thud as he hit both water and soggy sand. With a groan quite unbefitting a man of his position and status though understandable given the circumstances, Mr Claye rolled over and spluttered when a fresh wave washed over him.
Not wishing to experience that a second time, he forced his body to sit upright while he tried to focus his thoughts. He was safe now. He had to keep repeating that to himself as memories of the all-consuming darkness slipped away. Using the cracks like that always came with a certain amount of risk. However, he had not travelled such a distance for an incredibly long time and the journey had taken most of his strength.
It would have been all too easy to just stay there and be unmade, to fall back into the abyss of his creation and allow the world to follow him there in time.
Another splash of water as the waves hit his waist shook him from his morbid thoughts. This was not the time to be lamenting his existence; he had places to be and people to stab. Mortaris was, of course, high up on that list though he was probably still at sea giving chase to the Crystal Rose and her crew. The flash of concern Mr Claye felt towards their well-being surprised him. He had paid for their services and that should have been that. Yet, he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t hope that they were able to escape.
With the strength returning to his body, he shook his head and slowly stood. He was quite a sight, his suit sodden from the saltwater and draped with assorted washed-up vegetation. Fortunately, the few fishermen working nearby had the good sense to pay him no mind.
A gentle wiggling in his jacket pocket drew his full attention.
“What in Innar could you be...”
Cautiously, he slid out of his jacket and pulled a dark coloured knife literally out of nowhere. Armed and ready, he used the blade to lever open the moving pocket and was greeted by the sight of a small silver fish flopping about. Its presence brought forth a dry chuckle from Mr Claye, and he allowed the weapon to fade away into the nothingness he had pulled it from before dipping his jacket into the water. He watched as the fish darted out of his pocket and back into the sea, then removed his jacket from the water and did his best to wring it out.
With his creased and still damp jacket slung over the back of his shoulder, Mr Claye slowly trudged his way out of the water and onto the dry sands. He could feel the saltwater drying and stiffening his hair and clothes. It was not a sensation he enjoyed and he fought the temptation to slip through another crack to find his way home. He still didn’t know where he was, making it all the more dangerous. Another journey of any length through the dominion of Rielyr would likely kill him this time.
He shuddered at the thought of what had been waiting for him. That old hungering force had hunted him relentlessly as he had escaped from the crushing weight of the ocean into something far more dangerous. With hindsight, it might have been better for him to have sunk to the bottom and walked back.
A few gulls circled high above him, shrieking out before dive-bombing a group of unfortunate children who were laden with their own haul of various shellfish. Mr Claye gently shook his head before walking over and shooing the birds away, much to the children’s gratitude.
When they were done thanking him, he asked, “Would you be so kind as to direct me to the nearest residency?”
This was met with various looks of confusion before the children huddled together and attempted to decipher between them what the word ‘residency’ meant, speaking in low whispers.
Victor allowed them some time to form their wild opinions of the word before interjecting, “It means a place where people live.”
“Told you!” said one of the bigger kids.
“No you never!” another, quite correctly, argued back.
“Children, please calm yourselves. Can you answer my question or not?” Victor asked, not wishing to waste any more time at the beach than he really had to.
“Yeah, most folks live out that way in the village,” the bigger kid told him, pointing out the direction.
“Thank you.” Victor headed off, leaving wet footprints in the sand behind him.
He despised his current state for it undid so much of the hard work he had put into creating a pristine social persona. No one with his reputation would be seen dead at a beach, slowly cooking themselves under the sun, let alone go swimming in formal attire. Fortunately, the odds of running into someone so far away from ‘civilisation’ who would recognise him were low. Low but not zero.
The sands soon gave way to a sort of dirt trail, with only a few tufts of yellowing grass yet to be stamped out from people walking along it. A couple of villagers went by, presumably to join their fellows in their work. Some almost greeted him but thought better of it at the last moment and passed silently by with their attention firmly elsewhere.
It wasn’t so long before he could make out the village itself as the path took him over a dune of sorts, though some hardier vegetation was attempting to make it into a hill. From its modest peak, he could see about a dozen wooden structures in total, most of them likely dwellings, roofed with grey clay tiles. It made the whole place look rather drab; even in the bright light of midpass it was hard to imagine anyone being happy living somewhere like this.
“Most likely why they all work at the beach,” Victor muttered to himself.
The path down was a gentle one, and it took him past a few of the huts before it branched out into what could be generously described as a crossroad. In the middle was a larger building with an old, weather-worn sign nailed onto the front, just above the door. It read ‘Jenral Stoor’, which Victor assumed was an attempt at declaring its presence as some sort of shop. Why any of the locals would need such a sign was beyond him and besides himself, he couldn’t imagine many visitors coming here.
He walked up to the doorway, which was already wide open, and stepped on through into a world of stacked boxes and tools piled on one side of the room. A small old woman sporting the largest pipe Victor had ever seen someone use was sitting behind a counter at the other end. She happily puffed away, giving him an acknowledging nod.
After returning the gesture and seeing nothing of imminent usefulness around him, he approached her little counter.
“Good pass to you,” he said. “I was hoping you might be able to direct me towards a stable house or, if such a thing does not exist, a place where I might acquire a horse.”
The woman looked him up and down a few times, still puffing away. When she was done appraising him, she answered, “Ol’ Morrin, our smith, might have a horse for you. Had some boat issues, did you?”
Victor glanced down at his still wet clothes before replying with an austere smile. “Yes, quite so. Which way is it to the smith?”
“Out the door and left, just a few spiths down the way then.”
Victor thanked her and left, heading off in the direction indicated.
The smith was barely a stone’s throw away from where he had been, tucked away behind a house. Victor could hear the smith before he actually saw it; the tell-tale ringing of metal being beaten into shape told him someone was home.
Dark s
“Hello in there,” Victor called out. “I’m looking for a Mr Morrin.”
The older man pulled out the tongs, revealing a white-hot curved bar of metal.
“That’ll be me though I ain’t no mister,” the old man called back, not taking his focus away from the metal while he worked.
Victor waited while the man hammered the curving bar into something resembling a horseshoe. When the noise stopped, he said, “I was told you might have a horse I could buy.”
“That I do.” He turned back to the younger man and said, “Take a break, Jel, and put this somewhere to cool.”
Morrin handed over his work, then slipped off his thick gloves and tucked them into his work belt. He strode outside, though soon covered his eyes with one hand from the bright sunlight. Despite being an open-facing smith, it was still pretty dark inside and it took the man a little while to adjust to the change.
“I keep them in a shed just a bit further down. Come along, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
Victor duly walked by Morrin’s side to the little fenced off paddock.
“Literally anything will do as long as it can get me to Ostera.”
Morrin whistled at the mention of the capital. “That might be a big ask an’ all. Not that they are bad horses, mind you, but you will probably be wanting to swap them out before you get there, mister.”
Not wishing to give away the fact that he didn’t actually know where he was, Victor kept his following question simple. “How long would it take?”
“If you swapped horses at Ballern and Mabris, maybe five passes, six at most if you don’t mind sleeping on the road, of course.”
Victor did some rough calculations of where he was, based on how long his return journey would take. He was definitely sollum of the palace since the nerras coasts would have been a leisurely turn of travel at most, while an army could march across in only four passes.
“Very well, I have little choice in the matter. How much for your fastest?”
Morrin opened the gate to the field, walking over to the shed while talking about the quality of his fastest horse.
“That’s all very good but how much is it?” Victor asked, growing impatient. He had no time or care to haggle over prices. The man could have told him the horse was fifty marks at this stage. As long as the animal had four legs and a pulse, he would have paid.
“If you are wanting a saddle for it too...” Morrin paused, catching sight of the gold tie pin that was barely doing its job. “...one mark would cover it.”
Morrin stopped talking for just a moment, taking a pose that suggested he was ready for the financial battle of wits to begin yet deflated only a little when Victor fished around the inside of his jacket for his purse and pulled out a golden coin.
“You have a deal,” Victor said while handing over the coin. “Please see to it that the animal is ready to depart immediately or provide me with the saddle and I shall do it myself.”
“Boy, are you in a hurry or what. Not in any trouble, are you? Not that it’s any of my business, of course, but you do look like you’ve been through some stuff.”
“Yes. I had some boat troubles,” Victor answered, repeating the easy lie.
If Morrin doubted him, he said nothing of it. “Right you are, well then she’s the chestnut one over there, saddles are on the wall. Help yourself to one and close the door behind you when you’re done. I’ve got a fair bit of work to be getting on with if you don’t mind.”
Victor dismissed the smith with a gesture, indicating that he did not mind one bit. That the man was willing to leave him alone with all three of his horses suggested that Victor had significantly overpaid for the beast. Still, he was glad for the transaction to be over.
It didn’t take him long to get the horse ready. Victor had something of a knack with the creatures these days even if they had, at first, been absolutely terrified of him. He led the chestnut mare out of the shed by her reins, closed the large door behind him and mounted up. He didn’t bother with the field gate, instead trusting the horse’s ability to jump over it now that she had the direction to do so. The mare cleared it easily and Victor trotted her back down to the smithy, for he had one last question to ask before he was utterly done with this place.
“Excuse me, Morrin, which way is it to Ballern?”
“Jel, go along and show the man where he wishes to go, will you,” Morrin told his apprentice, who left the bellows alone and walked over to Victor and his horse.
“Easy route is to just follow this path for a pass, then head along it erin when it changes to stone. You’ll see a marker at the fork but the road swings erin and nerrus soon after. Maybe another pass and it’ll get you there,” Jel explained.
“My thanks,” said Victor sincerely before urging the horse onwards and leaving the unknown fishing village behind.
Chapter 2 - On Swifter Legs
“I am most excited to report on the latest collection of findings at the site! We have been slowly excavating the cave for the last three turns after Corin found the drawings on the wall. Well, it has certainly been worth it! This pass, I held the most complete set of clay tablets ever found. I have only just begun the translation, but the first piece appears to be some sort of children’s song, with markings above the words to indicate tempo.”
Extract from the journal of Professor Larch.
While by no means the finest creature he had ever ridden, the mare was doing an admiral job of getting Victor from A to B. He was even starting to get a little optimistic that there might be a C in the not too distant future. The end of the pass was coming; the sun sank lower into the sky with each avarium, but they were making reasonable time and Victor thought he could see the waymarker that Jel had spoken of.
After-pass was well and truly upon them when the first sound of horseshoes on stone met his ears. It was a welcome note though given how long he had been riding for, it was as though it was also marking their time to rest.
Reluctantly, Victor guided the horse back off the stone road and gently trotted over to a nearby tree. Here he tethered the animal before taking off his jacket and rolling it up into a makeshift pillow. He kept his eyes open for a while, listening to the sounds around him and staring up into the cloudy night sky.
There was a real chance of rain though given his current state, it made little difference to his resting choice. With its full foliage, the tree would offer some protection from the elements, and his horse would likely be grateful for the cooling waters after the heat of the pass.
When Victor finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams were not pleasant. The darkness he found himself in once more was blacker than any after-pass. Not a single scrap of light could be found here and were it not for his own abilities, he would be left scrambling around blind and disorientated.
It was, unfortunately, a darkness he was only too familiar with. It called out to him; it hungered for him, threatened to crush him into nothingness. It needed him.
He awoke with a start, surprised that he felt the cool chill of sweat on him before further drops of rain splashed their way through the leaves above and onto his face and revealed the true nature of the water.
It was still mostly dark though there was a hint of sunlight in the distance, the clouds ever so slightly trimmed with the orange warmth of sunup. Mr Claye involuntarily shuddered with the memory of his dream, of the place he travelled through when needs demanded it.
It was a simple thing for him to do and those he had worked for in the past found his ability to appear from seemingly nowhere to be both impressive and alarming, traits he had enjoyed cultivating. This time had been different and the thought of returning almost scared him. Not that he actually was scared, of course. That would be a ridiculous thing indeed, but the passage had changed. Something old was searching for him, and he didn’t like the thought of that one bit.
