Stonewielder by Ian C. Esslemont Read Free Book Online Page A

think.’
    ‘All up and down the wall,’ Stimins continued, his voice becoming dreamy, ‘freezing, thawing, year after year. But not the mild slow advance of nature, mind you. The forced unnatural fist of the Riders slamming winter after winter. Pounding the wall to slivers.’
    ‘How—’ Hiam coughed to clear his throat. ‘How long do we have?’
    The old man, his face still unfocused, shrugged his maddening disregard. ‘Who is to say? Another one hundred years – or one.’
    Struggling to contain himself, Hiam threw the stones to clatter among the boulders. ‘Thank you for your report, Master Engineer.’ Though it be utterly useless to our current crisis . ‘And I remind you that such information is to be shared only between you and me.’
    The old man blinked his confusion, his brows crimping. ‘But of course, Lord Protector.’
    ‘Very good. Carry on.’ The Lord Protector left his Master Engineer scratching his thin hair and frowning among the rocks.
    His escort, Stall and Evessa, straightened from where they leaned among the menhir-sized boulders. Stall tossed away a handful of pebbles. ‘Odd noises among these stones, hey, Evessa?’
    ‘The strangest echoes, Stall.’
    *    *    *

    Ivanr hacked his farm out of the unsettled far south of Jourilan, hard up against the foothills of the immense mountain chain some named the Iceback range. Wanderers and religious refugees fleeing south from the cities often passed his field. Many claimed that the Priestess was nearby but still Ivanr was surprised when she appeared one day.Her voice startled him as he was bent over weeding his garden and he straightened, blinked the sweat from his eyes.
    ‘Ivanr,’ she said, ‘what is it you fear about me?’
    He studied the slip of a girl-woman in her dirty rags before him. A foreigner come to convert an entire land. He saw a face lined and drawn by a suffering no youth should be asked to endure; limbs emaciated, almost warped by the tasks that had been exacted from them. And yet the undeniable aura of power hovered about her, warning off any who would consider a challenge. Shrugging, he returned to his weeding.
    ‘Priestess, I do not fear you.’
    ‘Yet you resolutely avoid me.’
    He gestured broadly to his field. ‘I have work to do.’
    Dry leaves shushed as she closed. Her bare feet were dirty, her robes no more than mud-smeared tatters. ‘As do I. Could it be, Ivanr, that you fear I may have other work for you?’
    ‘You have plenty of others to choose from.’
    ‘Yet here I am speaking to you.’
    He straightened, towering over her, and she raised her chin to meet his gaze. Her tangled black hair blew about her face like a cowl. He had to flinch from the depths of those compelling eyes. ‘Well, you’re wasting your time.’
    ‘You presume to know what I am doing? They mock you, you know. Call you farmer. Dirt-grubber. Coward.’
    ‘And I grow things called tomatoes, beans, marrow.’ That raised a brief haunted smile. ‘You do not need me. I’m told you have many of the aristocrats. The pure-blooded ruling families.’
    ‘True. Sons and daughters of the highest Jourilan names have marched up to my modest fig tree. “Teach me,” they demand. “Instruct me in this new way we hear of.” Already perhaps they are too far down the wrong path. But I cannot show them that – only you can.’
    He studied his dirt-smeared hands; cut and bloodied, calloused, nails broken. Just as during all those years of training and duelling . ‘They won’t listen to me. I’m … of the wrong background.’
    ‘Ah yes. That taint so shameful to the Jourilan. Mixed blood. Do you know the name of your ancestors, Ivanr?’
    He shrugged, his gaze hooded. ‘My mother said her people were of the Red-Rock tribe of the Thoul-Alai. That is all I know.’
    The Priestess’s voice hardened in sudden outrage. ‘Your people were of the Toblakai, Ivanr! Blessed of the children of the GreatMother! Some of you survive,