Shaper of Stone (The Shapers Book 1) (23 page)

I closed my eyes to block out any
distractions and let my senses flow out from me. It was the first
time I had tried without the draining bracelet to interfere with my
actions. Even with the nerafpan wrapped around it, the bracelet
clouded my powers.

First I sensed Abella behind me. She
was quiet and exhausted. The bindings around her supported her weight
without harming her. Apparently Vatrale didn’t want to damage
the body he planned to give his ex-girlfriend.

Next my senses rolled over Vatrale.
Talamas was not as concerned about his well being. The bands around
his body were slowly constricting. If they continued, they would soon
crush the life from his body. Greenish swirls wrapped around him
leaving a trail that lead back to Talamas.

The wisps reminded me of strands of
spider silk stretching out from Talamas. They flowed from the glowing
skull in his arms. Thicker wisps cascaded away from the skull to pour
energy into the storm around us.

I began to focus on the wisps floating
around the skull. I selected one at random and visualized it coming
unraveled and floating away. The strand snapped and dissolved
quickly, following the path back to its source.

It wasn’t much different than
shaping nerafpan. All I needed to do was visualize and project. I
snapped several more strands to make sure I had the right feel for
it, then I targeted the bulk of the strands flowing into the storm.

“What is happening? What are you
doing?” yelled Talamas as he sensed the disturbance in the flow
of power from the skull.

There was a final snap. The threads
leading to the storm vanished. Immediately the wind around us began
to slow down. I opened my eyes and looked up into the heart of the
storm. The portal remained open, but it grew smaller even as I
watched at it.

“No!” shrieked Talamas. He
leaped into the air and flew into the portal. Now strands flashed out
from the skull to reinforce the spell. The portal began to enlarge. I
tried to severe these new strands, but as soon as I cut one, another
replaced it.

There was a flash of light and shadow
as something passed through the portal. Another quickly followed,
then a third appeared.

“Come my brothers!” cried
Talamas from his post, floating in the heart of the portal. More
flashes appeared around him. They shot into the tower room only to
vanish as they passed through the cloud.

I stretched my arm and grabbed Tibron’s
sword. Green tendrils flew from my hand and wrapped around the hilt,
lifting it into the air. With a flick of my wrist I sent it sailing
at Talamas. The blade flew true as I guided it on its path. It
reached the barrier and passed through. Streams of energy trailed
after it, leading back to me. It struck, piercing Talamas through the
chest.

He didn’t scream. He made no
noise at all as he dropped the crystal skull and tumbled into the
portal. His body began to fade away, like sunlight burning through a
fog. Soon he was gone.

Even with my eyes open, I could still
see the wisps of power that floated through the storm. I reached out
and plucked them from the clouds. The released energy dispersed into
the air, and the storm began to break apart as the power sustaining
it faded away.

The shadowy shapes lurking in the storm
pulled away from the swirling clouds. Many were pulled into the
collapsing portal, but others were thrown outward, vanishing from
sight.

I turned to Abella and plucked the
bindings holding her, then I gently lowered her to the ground while
the spell burned off its remaining energy. I didn’t hesitate
to wrap my arms around her. I held her until the last of the storm
faded, then I held her a little longer.

“I...” I started to speak,
but Abella stopped me with a kiss. It wasn’t my first kiss, but
it could have been. It was warm and tender, filling my entire body
with a tingle that I never wanted to stop.

-o-

Tibron regained consciousness the next
day. His wounds were the worst, but he would live. It was more than
could be said for Carvis.

Garit and Talia had managed to hold the
store room and buy us the time we needed. They were cut and bruised,
but they too would be fine in a few days.

I still wasn’t sure about this
power I had, but at least I could help my friends with it. Injuries
that might have taken weeks or months to heal were healing overnight.
The effort left me exhausted, but we weren’t going anywhere
soon.

We had the camp to ourselves. Well, to
ourselves and the two gargoyles that stood motionless in the center
of the courtyard. Their task was done, and without any new commands
they would remain there forever. We considered smashing them, but no
one had the energy. Instead, we tossed a tarp over them and tied it
down. We didn’t need the reminder of the damage they had done.

There were supplies in the camp. Enough
to last a few weeks. We planned on resting and giving Duncan a couple
of days to show up before deciding what to do.

Tibron was the only one sure of what to
do next. He was eager to return to his people now that Carvis was
dead, and he had the Soul Stone in his possession.

I envied him. In a way, I think we all
did. He had a home waiting for him. The rest of us were adrift. Even
Abella didn’t know if she still had a place to return to. Even
if she did, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to it. That
was Vatrale’s home, not hers.

I had a glimpse of my home through the
portal, but all signs of the spell storm that created it were gone.
Without the portal, I didn’t know how I would make it home
again. Looking at Abella, I didn’t know if I wanted to. It
wasn’t like I had a whole lot waiting for me there. Here I
might make a difference. And, I wouldn’t be alone.

The tower was in ruins, but it was in
ruins before this all started. Anyone coming upon it now would never
know what had happened here. The orbs in the tunnels beneath the
tower were little more than melted slag by the time we thought to
check on them. Whatever power they once contained was lost when the
spell ended.

Talamas was gone, sucked into the spell
he tried to master. He had manipulated us all. It seemed that even
Vatrale was an unwitting puppet.

Vatrale was defeated. He wasn’t
dead, but he wasn’t exactly alive either. He would just lay
there. If we offered him food or water he would take it, but other
than that he neither moved nor spoke.

Garit and Talia would have been happy
to let him die, but I couldn’t do it. Part of the reason was
that I couldn’t bring myself to kill a helpless man, but the
other part was that I needed answers. If Vatrale ever snapped out of
it, he might have them.

The shadowy, spirit things that
attacked me in the storm were also gone. Like the spell, all sign of
them had vanished. Maybe without a host they couldn’t stay in
this world. It was just another question I didn’t know how to
answer.

Duncan arrived four days after the
closing of the portal. He brought twenty soldiers from Ironholt with
him. By the time they arrived there wasn’t anything left for
them to do. We packed our belongings and let them escort us to
Ironholt where we rejoined Shira and Tavi.

I don’t know what the future
held, but looking at the people at my side I felt ready to face it.

-o--o--o-

THE END

Thanks for reading Shaper of Stone. The
Shaper series continues with Shaper of Air.

If you enjoyed this book, please
consider leaving a review at your favorite ebook site.

By day Keith Keffer is a software
developer, installer, trainer and all around computer guy. In the
evening, wee hours of the morning, or any time he can grab a few
minutes he can be found working on his next novel, or when he needs a
break he'll fiddle with one of his game projects.

Keith is married to a wonderful and
supportive wife and has two kids and a dog. He considers himself
fortunate to have a family that enjoys so many of the weird things
that he does.

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The creature crouched low. Its gray
hide and black hair blending perfectly with the rocky hillside. While
motionless, it would remain invisible. Except for the flair of its
nostrils as it breathed and the blinking of its eyes it had not moved
in over ten minutes.

A fine ash, easily stirred by the
slightest breeze, covered the ground, choking all but the sturdiest
of grass and shrubs. In the short time the predator waited a light
coat had fallen, improving its camouflage. At times volcanic vents
spewed the ash into the air where it fell like winter snow but not
today. Today only the wind disturbed the ash, the wind and the
passing of other creatures.

A cloud to the west heralded the
arrival of men on horseback. Not just men, they were treasure hunters
from the northlands. Like the bands before them, they sought their
fortune in the shadow of Mount Dartorca. Like the bands before them,
they rode to their doom.

Ten horses crested the rise, but only
seven riders. In defiance of the heat the leader wore a breastplate
beneath a hooded cloak. His men chose not to follow his lead, having
stripped down to sleeveless tunics. They traveled in a staggered line
with the last man leading a train of spare mounts.

A stone rolled down the hillside, but
it was ignored by the hunters who were busy sharing tales of past
exploits. All but the leader, who rode ahead to distance himself from
their lewd stories, and the last men, who stopped when the spare
horses became jittery and refused to move forward.

“Terrance, what the hell are you
doing back there! Get your butt moving!”

Terrance made a hand gesture without
looking back. It didn’t matter which of his companions had
shouted at him. They were all asses as far as he was concerned. Every
morning they had drawn lots to see who would lead the spares, and
every morning it was Terrance who came up short. He didn’t know
what bothered him more. The fact that he got stuck with the horses
every day or that he hadn’t been able to figure out how they
were rigging the draw.

The delay drew the attention of their
leader, Sir Lawrence Tanzin. Sir Lawrence was the youngest son of an
old and noble family that produced far too many older siblings. With
the treasure they expected to find, he planned to buy his own estate
and title, but first he needed to get his men back in line. Like him,
they were men with little prospects of their own. They lacked
discipline, but made it up with their enthusiasm. At least that was
what Sir Lawrence kept telling himself each time he had to stop to
get them moving again.

Turning around, Sir Lawrence started to
ride back.

“Alright, you slackers,” he
called out, “What is the problem this....”

Before he could finish the rider
closest to him was ripped from his mount. A spear the size of a small
lance buried in his chest. In the time it took to acknowledge the
first death, three more men were dead.

To Sir Lawrence’s left and right
ash rained down as four hulking creatures erupted from the ground.
Each was easily eight feet tall and well over 400 pounds. Their
incredibly long arms ended with boulder sized fists that hung to the
knees. Having thrown their spears, they appeared weaponless, but a
blow from one of those fists could be as deadly as any mace.

Sir Lawrence wheeled his horse as he
fumbled for his sword. The damn cloak was in his way. He grabbed the
blade and almost cleared the scabbard when one of those massive fists
smashed into his chest. Without his breastplate he might have been
killed instantly. With it, he was thrown from the back of the horse
and hit the ground hard.

His lungs were on fire, and the taste
of blood filled his mouth. The sword clenched in his right hand gave
him no comfort. Someone was screaming. It sounded horrible. Gods, he
hoped it wasn’t him.

The horses Terrance led panicked.
Already nervous, they bolted at the first sign of movement. They
would have pulled him from his saddle except his horse bolted also.
Terrance clung to it with both hands and never looked back. Not even
when the screaming finally stopped.

Urat, leader of the hunt, towered over
the fallen knight. It was his spear that killed the first human, and
it was his mighty strike that brought their chieftain down. It was he
who waited without motion while the prey approached, and it would be
he who dealt with the cub who failed to follow his example. He was
Urat, chieftain of the Long Fang, mightiest of the thralkin packs. He
was Urat who one day would unite all thralkin under his banner.

Urat, chieftain of the Long Fang,
admired the armor worn by Sir Lawrence. Venom dripped from the fangs
of the coiled serpent emblazoned upon the breastplate. So similar to
Urat’s own banner that he knew it could not be coincidence. The
shaman, Kartac, would know what to make of it. Urat, leader of the
hunt, would claim this armor and the man who wore it and deliver both
to the shaman.

The last thing Sir Lawrence saw before
falling into darkness was Urat towering over him. Two horns little
bigger than thumbs protruded from the thralkin’s pale, gray
forehead while fangs the size of small knives extended over its lower
lip.

Urat, leader of the hunt, kicked the
sword from the knight’s grasp, then without effort heaved the
still form over his shoulder. Carrying his burden like a sack of
grain he moved through the carnage.

“Tarog! Here! Now!” Urat
shouted. His voice was a deep growl capable of shifting the ash by
volume alone.