The Omaja Stone Page 8

  Jiandra swallowed and reached up to grip the Omaja stone.

  Brockriede saw the movement. “What else does the magical stone do, besides protect you from physical harm?”

  “Well, it heals, as you saw, and it lets me know a person’s thoughts.”

  “A person’s thoughts? Everyone’s?” He looked a little stricken.

  “Well, no, not all the time. Just the person that I focus on with the power of the stone.” She eyed the guards from beneath her hood. “Perhaps I could try to see into one of the guards’ thoughts, gain some idea of how to persuade them. Give me a moment.” She focused intently on a gate guard’s face, willing his thoughts to become known to her.

  The vision came instantly. She saw herself sitting with him at a table in a crowded, noisy tavern, rolling dice. She could feel his heart sinking as the dice stopped. He had lost again.

  The loud, heavily built man across the table stood, flanked by two henchmen. “You owe me twenty-five silver, Weatherill,” he blustered, setting his ale down on the table with a thunk and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  Jiandra could sense cold fear in the guard’s heart as the larger man’s coal-black eyes glittered dangerously.

  “If ye don’t pay up by Sunday, we’ll come a-lookin’ for you, and that pretty little wife of yours.”

  Now Jiandra felt seething-hot anger rise up in Weatherill, along with guilt. There was no way he would be able to pay what he owed by then. If they harmed his wife, he’d lose his wits.

  Jiandra shook herself to clear the vision. “Bribery,” she whispered to Brockriede. “That gate guard on the right desperately needs twenty-five silver. Do we have that amount in the queen’s coin purse?”

  “Aye.”

  “His name is Weatherill. I’ll try to draw him aside from the others. Follow my lead.” She pushed her hood back, sat up straighter, and rode confidently up to the guard post. Besides Weatherill, there were two other guards at the gate, and a few more on horseback nearby, still dealing with the remaining protestors. The ones at the gate watched her approach.

  “I am seeking a man named Weatherill,” Jiandra called out in the most uppity tone she could muster. “Lady Snowden from Cutterview Forest.”

  Weatherill stepped forward. “I am Weatherill. What is your business, milady?”

  “Good evening to you, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. I am your wife’s distant cousin Samantha. Her father’s side, twice removed. Has she told you about me?”

  “No, milady...?”

  “No surprise, there. We’ve been estranged from the commoner side of the family for ages. However, I bring urgent news. May I speak with you privately? It’s important family business.”

  Weatherill glanced back at his companions. “Yes, of course.”

  Jiandra turned Otto around and moved away from the guard post, with Weatherill following on foot. When she felt there was enough distance that their conversation would be reasonably private, she dismounted and turned to face the worried-looking guard.

  “Weatherill, I’ll come straight to the matter. We know about the gambling debt you owe and the threat that was made against you and my cousin.”

  He looked bewildered. “You know?”

  “Yes, I, er…have my contacts here in Broomfield. I felt that I’d best not delay in reaching you. Out of concern for my cousin, of course.”

  “Milady, I am deeply embarrassed, and I intend to resolve this as soon as soon as I—”

  “Hogwash, Weatherill. You’ve no resources, and you’ve put my dear cousin in danger.”

  His eyes filled with tears. Jiandra hadn’t expected that, and she felt a stab of compassion for him.

  “Never you worry, my dear fellow.” Her voice softened. “I’ve come to help.”

  “You have?”

  “Indeed. I have twenty-five silver to hand over to you, no questions asked. I shall even include an extra for good measure. But I need a special favor from you first.”

  Weatherill nodded for her to continue.

  “There is a particular detainee here that I have a personal interest in.”

  “What do you mean? A Nandal?”

  “Not just any Nandal. This man murdered my, ah…castle smithy. I believe there was some sort of disagreement between the two—a scuffle, etcetera—that ended with my smithy’s firepoker jammed into his own neck.”

  The guard frowned. “This Nandal got away with murdering a Villeleian in so brutal a fashion?”

  “No, my smithy was, ah, a Nandal as well. And a damn fine craftsman too, that we’ll have a beast of a time replacing. Anyhow, I’ve come to seek justice. Finch, here—my guard—will arrest the man, and we will haul him back to Cutterview to stand trial. Gods willing, we’ll hang the villain for Winterfest. That will give the peasants something to celebrate, eh, Finch?”

  Brockriede nodded. “Oh yes, indeed, milady. Great fun.”

  Jiandra turned back to Weatherill. “The fellow’s name is Verlandis. He’s got silver eyes and hair like the rest, so I need to see him up close to identify him. Release the scoundrel to me, and the coin is yours. Twenty-six pieces of silver. You will pay your debt, and my dear, sweet cousin will be safe. Do we have an agreement?”

  Weatherill glanced back at the guard post. “I don’t see any problem with complying with your request. I’ll explain the situation to the captain. That’s one less miserable wretch for us to deal with.”

  Jiandra’s heart leapt at her success. “Good, then.”

  Weatherill hesitated a moment. “Milady…do you intend to tell Sallie of my gambling debt?”

  “I do not. You have my word. That is why I’ve approached you privately, and by the cover of night. It would only distress her. I believe Sallie loves you very much. Far be it from me to cause her pain.”

  Weatherill smiled. “Thank you, milady. The Gods must have sent you.”

  Jiandra suppressed a grin. “Yes, perhaps they did.”

  “Wait here a moment.” He turned and hurried back to the guard post.

  When he was out of earshot, Brockriede leaned over from his saddle. “By the Gods, where did you learn to fabricate tales so?”

  “Vivid imagination,” she replied.

  After a moment, Weatherill called out to them. “Come, milady. This way.”

  He motioned them to the gate as another guard fiddled with the padlocks. Jiandra led Otto closer and Brockriede dismounted, drawing his sword.

  “Stay back, you filthy vermin!” Weatherill thundered at the Nandal captives through the fence. “I’m warning you, we’ll cut down anyone who comes near the gate.”

  The prisoners cowered back.

  Weatherill shouted, “We seek a fellow called Verlandis.”

  Jiandra watched nervously from outside the fence, fingering the stone. A slender man dressed in rags and a blue cap rose to his full height and stepped forward.

  “I am Verlandis.”

  “Yes, that’s him,” Jiandra said.

  “Come here, you criminal,” Weatherill ordered. “You’re under arrest for murder!”

  Jiandra sucked in a tense breath, watching Verlandis’s face. She hoped he wouldn’t resist—all could be lost. She clutched the stone in her fist.

  “Murder?” Verlandis repeated. “I’ve no idea what you’re—”

  “Quiet, you!” Jiandra shouted as viciously as she could, before he could say more. “You know what you did. We’ve come to haul you back to Cutterview, so save your defense for the judge.”

  Verlandis shook his head.

  “Move it!” Weatherill roared, raising his sword. Jiandra was relieved to see the prisoner move forward, surrendering to their demands.

  Brockriede quickly tied a rope around Verlandis’s wrists and led him roughly out of the stockade. The baffled prisoner stumbled along behind him, looking exhausted and terrified.

  Jiandra beckoned Weatherill to follow her aside as the other guards closed and padlocked the gate. She slipped him the promised coins, wrapped in a handkerchi
ef.

  “Thank you, milady,” he smiled. “I hope you bring that knave to full justice.”

  “Oh, we will.” She climbed into her saddle as Brockriede hoisted Verlandis onto his horse. She inclined her head to Weatherill. “I bid you farewell.”

  Weatherill waved, watching as they left.

  They rode casually through town so as not to arouse suspicion, heading for the tavern. As soon as they were out of earshot of the guards, Jiandra maneuvered Otto closer to Brockriede’s horse.

  “Verlandis!”

  He jerked his head up, confusion in his eyes.

  “We are not arresting you for murder. We mean you no harm. I came to rescue you on behalf of your mother. She’s safe, hiding in the woods.”

  He shook his head, uncomprehending. “Who are you?”

  Jiandra smiled. “A friend.”

  #

  Alone in the tower room late that evening, Yajna sat watching the images of the Villeleian woman in the purplish water of the scrying fountain with interest, an idea taking shape in his mind. A way around that stone of hers, which only did certain things when she willed it. Gerynwid was right—a more cunning scheme was called for in this task. As much as he disliked it, Solange of Villeleia had to be done away with, but not on Gerynwid’s behalf, and not so that he and Yavi could live like kings on Villeleia’s wealth. It was a necessary trade-off in order to restore their father’s title and claim to the throne of Nandala. And with this young woman’s magical stone in their possession, he and Yavi could break Nandala’s death-curse for good.

  #

  Downstairs, Yavi disentangled himself from Gerynwid’s arms and slipped out of her bed in the darkness. He moved soundlessly to the chair where his trousers and shirt were draped, scooped up his clothing along with his boots, and disappeared from her quarters in silence. He slipped down the back stairs to the servants’ wing and hurried along the dark hallway, to Svana’s room, and opened the door cautiously.

  “Livnath, Sivana.”

  The girl raised her head and blinked, trying to make out his form in the darkness.

  “It’s me.”

  She sat up, clutching the bedclothes to her chest. “Yahvi?”

  He crept a little closer, until he could make out her features in the faint moonlight coming in through the small window. By the gods, she was beautiful.

  “She will know you are here, Yahvi.”

  “I am not afraid of her. I will not let her hurt you again.”

  She blinked up at his face.

  “Do you wish me to go, lovely Sivana?”

  She swallowed and shook her head, smiling shyly. “No.”

  He grinned and moved to join her in her small bed, pulling her petite frame into his arms and covering her mouth with his.

  #

  The guards sat by a campfire sipping from jugs of ale while Jiandra said farewell to the old woman and her son. The frail Nandal woman held Jiandra’s hand in both of hers, bowing and pressing her forehead to it in gratitude. Verlandis thanked Jiandra again and again as he hugged his mother to his side. Jiandra gave them a loaf of Gracie’s bread, a few coins, and a blanket.

  “And you’re sure the farmer you work for will take you both in and hide you?”

  “Yes, milady. He was the large red-haired farmer in the group demanding our release at the stockade tonight. He’s a good man.”

  “And you can make it there safely?”

  “Yes. It’s only a couple of miles west of these woods.”

  “I bid you farewell, then.”

  “Farewell, milady.” Verlandis took his mother’s hand, and they headed into the trees.

  Jiandra joined the guards at the fireside.

  Brockriede offered a small jug. “Would you like some ale?”

  “All right.” She settled down next to him, took a long sip from the jug and then passed it back.

  “We’ll need to move on first thing in the morning,” he cautioned.

  “Yes. Tomorrow we find the assassin, Gods willing.”

  He handed her the jug of ale again. She drank, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Thank you, Brockriede.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I bid you both good-night.”

  “Good-night,” they muttered back.

  She ducked inside the flap of her tent, sat down on her bedroll, and pulled off her boots. She crawled under the blankets, pulling the covers up to her chin. Within minutes she fell into a deep sleep brought about by profound exhaustion and mellowed with ale.

  TWELVE

  Gerynwid and her male guests sat at breakfast in her large dining room. As Svana served them, Yavi’s gaze followed her movements. Svana darted a few quick glances at him, but was obviously trying not to get caught staring at him again.

  Yajna’s voice broke Gerynwid out of her fixation on Svana and Yavi. “I know how to get close to the woman who wears the stone, Sorceress.”

  “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “I will become one of her Nandals who needs rescuing. A Nandal in distress.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “Yajna, my dear, it’s brilliant.”

  “She takes Nandals into her camp willingly. I can get her to take me in. I can watch her every move, win her confidence, get close to her. I can wait for the right time, and while she’s sleeping I can lift the amulet from around her neck.”

  Yavi sat up straighter. “Yes, brother. I will follow at a distance with your bow, and after you have removed the amulet I’ll get a clear shot at her, and it’s done.”

  Gerynwid released a long breath. “Well, now, Yavi. Your quiet brother has quite the clever scheme, don’t you think? I like it. I like it very much. But, there is only one catch.” She rose to her feet and paced to a position behind her chair. She looked at Yajna. “What if she uses the stone to read your thoughts, and realizes you are the assassin she seeks?”

  “I have already thought of that,” he replied. “There is some risk. But I heard her tell the tall guard that she must focus the stone purposefully to know a person’s thoughts, and it seems that she only uses it that way when she feels a situation calls for it. If, however, she manages to discover who I am, I’m confident Yavi and I can escape unharmed.”

  “All right.” She smiled and sank down in her chair, pressing her fingertips together. “Today we shall watch the woman’s progress and find a way for you to ‘accidentally’ come across her path. I am ever so eager to get my hands on that stone.”

  Svana moved closer to Yavi to fill his goblet from a pitcher, pouring the water very slowly. Too slowly, Gerynwid thought, noticing his gaze was fixed on the maid’s face.

  “Hurry up, you!” she screeched at the girl, startling her.

  Svana curtsied and rushed out of the room.

  Gerynwid shot Yavi a stern glance. He winked and gave her a dashing, dangerous grin, and she was satisfied. For the moment.

  #

  The sun was setting as Jiandra and her guards rode north.

  “Milady, there’s a comfortable inn at Frocklin Grove,” Brockriede called out. “We should arrive there within an hour or two. We can stable the horses, wash up, have dinner, and sleep in beds for the night. We’ll reach Caladia on the morrow.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “How’re we going to find the assassin?” Logsdon asked. “That stone’ll tell you where the wretch is?”

  “Not exactly. I only know he’s in the area of Caladia.” She picked up the Omaja in her hand and looked down at it. “I trust that we’ll cross his path somehow, and I’ll know him when I see him. It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I have.”

  #

  Gerynwid looked up from the scrying fountain. “You leave after dark. If you ride all night, you can be in Frocklin Grove before daybreak. There’s only one inn—the Pig and Partridge.”

  Yavi agreed. “Yes. From there, we follow her, watching for an opportunity for Yajna to get rescued by her party. He’ll need to dress in rags, Sorceress. Do you have anything suitable on
hand?”

  “My maid can help fashion something. Come, let’s get you packed and ready. Svana!”

  THIRTEEN

  Before dawn, Yavi and Yajna left their horses tied in the trees near Frocklin Grove’s chapel, scaled the walls up to its tall bell tower, and positioned themselves to watch the Pig and Partridge Inn below. As the sun rose, the young woman and her companions emerged and headed for the stable. Yavi nodded at Yajna, who turned to leap headfirst from the bell tower wall, landing soundlessly on a thatched section of the chapel roof. He rolled to the edge, lowered himself over it, and scaled the wall down to the bushes below. As he disappeared into the nearby trees, Yavi followed. They mounted their horses and rode north through the forest toward a secluded section of the Caladian Road to wait.

  #

  Jiandra felt much better after having had a good meal, a bath, and a full night’s rest. Otto seemed more energetic as well as they rode northward out of Frocklin Grove.

  “We should reach Caladia within five or six hours,” Brockriede called out. “Beautiful morning.”

  Caladian Road was lined by trees on either side for miles as they entered the great Caladian forest, the tall pines and cedars casting a shadow over their path with only flickers of sunlight streaming down through the branches.

  Soon they came to a narrow stone bridge, and a large horse-drawn cart approached it from the other side. Jiandra slowed Otto and moved to the side of the road to allow the carriage to pass across the bridge first, and her guards followed suit.

  As the team of horses came toward them over the bridge, the tall cart turned out to be a prisoner cage that appeared to contain some Nandal refugees, judging from the pale silvery hair visible through the iron bars. Two guards followed behind the cart on horseback.

  Midway across the bridge, something spooked the horses, and they reared and jerked to the side. The top-heavy, over-full prisoner cart tipped perilously close to the edge of the stone bridge. The driver struggled to regain control of the horses, but they reared again and the cart tumbled over the side of the bridge, pulling the driver and the horses with it. The cries of the Nandal prisoners rang out through the otherwise still forest as the cage landed with a heavy splash in the river below.