Solineus by L James Rice

Author:L James Rice [Rice, L James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951068004
Published: 2020-01-03T03:00:14+00:00

The Kingdomers laughed but to a one they knew there was something there. Something in those words hidden. But finding it left them grasping for codes or cryptic imagery, Black Finger and Crooked Shadow.

They pushed the horse hard that first day as they were well-rested, but eased off as their journey wound into a high pass between Mount Gerfôld and Mount Hermin, two lopsided peaks which seemed to lean away from each other, as two friends parting, or two foes turning their backs to the other.

The air grew chill the day they crossed these heights and the wind howled, but they descended into a green valley after. They made camp around village wells and in the mouths of mines as they could, but they no longer traveled mountains held by the Helmveline. They sheltered with the people of Kingdom Tûrûrôt and spoke not a whisper of their mission, nor asked after the party of black robes they tracked.

Still they caught word; a band of holy folks a hundred strong brought a waggle to tongues in the same way their passing would be spoken of once they were gone. The words of both Tanzarêu and the townsfolk put Seblêsu’s lead at two days by the time they reached the village of Ekwumor. It’d been three weeks of winding travel to gain two days, which meant Seblêsu and her people might be riding through the gates of Shînvedorn even as they spread their bedrolls for the night.

Tanzarêu held the coin facing west that evening, and again in the morning. There was no surprise in her tone. “The Waystone hasn’t moved since yesterday afternoon.”

The next night they camped inside the dark maw of a natural cavern high enough to bring a deep chill to his bones. When gaps formed in the clouds Morik pointed to a walled city sitting in a distant valley, a score of round towers rising from low walls: Shînvedorn.

Tanzarêu spoke with a smile this time. “The Waystone hasn’t moved.”

They celebrated their arrival in Shînvedorn with a hot dinner at an inn with a giant tavern in its belly. Their meal was four courses of meats, each spicier than the last, and topped by heavy, dark ale. Morik paid for all their rooms before the three of them stepped from the tavern and into the street.

Solineus gawked; he couldn’t help himself. Tanzarêu wore a dress, simple but clean, and had somehow managed a comb through the knots on her head. She wouldn’t pass for a noble, but for a time she didn’t pass for a tree.

She caught his lingering gaze. “What do you think you’re staring at?”

“Funniest looking tree I ever did see.”

Her cackle was the same as ever. “Come, let’s see what we can find.” She patted the pouch holding the coin around her neck. Or rather, the Stone of Emf-hul, if the lady were right.

Solineus rested his hands on the hilts of the Twins to the murmur of whispers; along with burying their griffon-cloaks in the bottom of

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