K M Frontain, page 1
Tehlm Sevet, the Shadow Master, the most potent
summoner the world has ever known and the Earth Goddess’s valued slave; she has sent him to conquer the coastal kingdoms of the northeastern crescent where her worship has been eschewed, and he must risk all peril, even the destruction of his immortal soul.
But a child walks the earth who should not have been
born and who will set himself in Sevet’s path and do his utmost to thwart the Goddess’s will. This child will become the man predicted to destroy the Shadow Master.
This is Herfod’s story.
Books in The Soulstone Chronicles, in chronological order: Bound in Stone: Volumes One, Two, and Three (The entire set is available for purchase.)
The Gryphon Taint: Volumes One, Two, and Three (The entire set is available for purchase.)
The Disposition of Ashes: Volumes One, Two, and Three (The entire set is available for purchase.)
Copies of all books in the series can be obtained through Lulu Press, http://www.lulu.com/Frontain
For information on future volumes or publication schedules, visit http://soulstonechronicles.bravehost.com/
Or go to http://kmfrontain.blogspot.com/
Bound in Stone
Volume One
A novel in The Soulstone Chronicles
By
K. M. Frontain
Copyright 2005 by K. M. Frontain
Printed through Lulu Press
And once again,
To my husband, JC, for his faith.
And for my son, Alex, for his ears.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue and plot are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
[1. Fantasy – Fiction. 2. Sorcery – Fiction. 3. Romance – Fiction 4. Gay – Fiction.]
First Edition, September 2005
Second Edition, January 2007
Chapter One
The knife was butcher sharp and, in the boy’s hands, too large. A killer’s knife. A bloodletter. His father’s weapon, but not a favourite. A bit too heavy in the tang for a perfect cast, good only for rough work in close quarters. The boy turned it slowly, playing with the light that shone on the metal, casting the rays this way and that about the confines of his most recent home. In his eyes, the blade was pretty and worth more attention than the ugly squalor his father had plopped the family into this time, but his mother, when she looked up from her meal, saw disobedience and potential disaster.
“Kehfrey!” She lurched up and knocked the side of his head. He dropped the knife, stunned by the blow. “How many times have I told you not to touch your father’s weapons?”
“I was being careful!”
He didn’t dare retrieve the weapon from the floor, and she made the laborious effort to fetch it herself. Upon rising, she tossed the blade onto the table and placed a supporting hand to her back.
“Careful? There’s no such thing as careful when it comes to boys. I hope this isn’t another one.”
He looked at her big belly and a glint of calculation brightened the hazel of his eyes. “I hope you give me a sister, Mum. Perce has a sister.
She gets pies from the bakery all the time and she never pays for them.
All she has to do is smile at the baker’s boy.”
“Is that so?” She looked down at him suspiciously. “Pies? You think a sister is good only for winning pies for a pest of an older brother?” His expression tightened with dismay, but then he smiled up at her, his best smile, the winning one. She smiled back. “You were always the sweetest of them, Kehfrey,” she said, and then pasted an unforgiving frown where the approval had been. “And the most mischievous! I swear you have elf in you.”
“I do not! I swear you never went near them!”
She couldn’t help laughing at the inanity of the retort, but paused to think what it might mean, that her littlest boy would defend his honour so quickly. The suspicion returned, this time bearing the stench of her life’s beginnings, the decaying corpse of which still plagued her soul.
“Who told you such a thing?”
His wisdom returned. He kept his mouth shut, but she was on to him.
“It was Wilf, wasn’t it? He’s been teasing you over that red hair again.”
Kehfrey nodded, glowering. She sighed with impatience, angry with the boy, disappointed with her eldest son for teasing him, weary of the little digs to her remaining pride.
“Wilf is only jealous he didn’t get red hair,” she said for the umpteenth time. “He thinks the marks would go for him if he had it.”
“He gets enough marks with his blond hair.” The boy scuffed the packed dirt with his heel and raised dust that didn’t satisfy his ire. The fine, dry motes only made him sneeze.
“Yes, he does,” Canella agreed. “But that’s beside the point. Your father has the same hair, Kehfrey. You know you’re his boy. I never went near elves. You have my word on it.”
He glowered at the dirt. “Easy enough to swear you haven’t been near elves. There are never any about in any case.”
She considered smacking him again, but discovered herself too hot and weary to bother. She turned away and went to the single chair in that shabby room of earthen floor and mud packed walls, a place too poor for proper mortar, a place she doubted she would dwell a week within. But there it was, not so much home but the safest place of the moment.
The chair creaked as she sat. Using the confiscated knife, she cut a chunk from a loaf of dry bread sitting on the bare planks of the table and dunked it in her beer.
“Your father is thinking you’ll do nicely with him tonight,” she said around a mouthful. Manners. She’d had them once, but they weren’t much use to her now. Not often. Blunt scorn better suited the men with which her husband consorted. Blunt scorn was what most of them deserved.
“Really?” Kehfrey said, jumping up from the squalid floor. “He’s taking me?”
2
“Mmm,” she mumbled. “He says you’re quicker than Gamis.”
“I am quicker! I’ve been practicing!” He hopped a triumphal dance on the pocked floor.
“That’s not why he’s taking you, though.” She looked absently out the window at a passing walker. A man, he sweated profusely and mopped his brow as he went by. She thought he lived down the street a ways, the house with the vines climbing to the roof. Fellow was likely well-to-do. He might make a good hit before they left this place, or perhaps after.
Kehfrey’s bottom waggling ceased. He straightened and peered over at her, his face blank with bewilderment. At the same moment, he scratched a fleabite that had begun to itch. Turning from the window, his mother saw him raising welts on the pale skin of his scrawny belly. Her lips thinned with distaste, but she made no comment. Hard enough to get the money for the proper herbs and expensive dips; she wouldn’t waste them on a boy who loved to dive in trash. Looking down, she adjusted her bodice, pulling the cinch looser beneath her breasts to accommodate her expanded belly.
“He says he needs you because you’re smaller,” she said eventually.
She wiped her moist forehead with her grubby apron and hoped her skin wasn’t as red as the man’s who had walked by.
“Smaller!” Kehfrey cried. “I won’t be later. I’ll be bigger than Wilf.”
“I don’t think so, baby boy!” said Wilf, just then stepping through the open door.
The eldest son and their mother’s favourite, Wilf was boss when father was gone. He was also the bane of Kehfrey’s life. Too late to avoid it, Kehfrey caught a rough shove that sent his little body flying across the room. He smacked against the wall and stood there rubbing his bruised shoulder as the dust settled. Wilf continued onward to the table. Their mother ignored the violence and smiled a welcome at the young man.
“What have you brought?”
“Food, of course.”
He set the sack he carried on the table and stood back proudly. He wore his new suit, a hunter green outfit of perfect cut and fit, a pristine white linen shirt beneath vest and jacket. Because of his industry, he required such expenses on occasion; his marks would pass him over if he didn’t look outstanding. His mother, however, wasn’t a mark and not 3
interested in admiring him. Hot, sweaty, covered in filthy clothes, Canella just wanted the comfort of a good meal and, hopefully, bath money. One of the luxuries for which she and her older boys shared a love was a nice relaxing soak, but her sons often had them for free, bathing in their lovers’ tubs. Thinking this, she was no longer as pleased with the offering of food and drink.
“Where’s the money?” she said, her brows lowering.
Wilf cast her a wry glare, but dug into his tunic all the same and handed her a pouch that jingled nicely as she turned it about. She dumped six silver pieces onto the table and cried out in delight at the sight of a single gold coin. She looked up at Wilf with an approving smile. He pulled off his wide hat and gave her a jaunty bow. His hair flew back as he rose, a dramatic wave of flaxen, the colour a gift she had passed to him.
“Oh, you’re good!” she said. “Which one gave the bonus?”
“Mistress Nas.”
“My, my! Why the bonus? What did you do to deserve it?”
“Mum! Not in front of Kehfrey! And not in front of you either!”
Kehfrey made a contemptuous snort. “I bet he buggered her but good!”
He ran out the door with Wilf roaring after him.
“Wilf!” Canella barked. “Leave off! Pop needs him tonight! I can’t have him all banged up and useless!”
Wilf stalled at the entrance and glared out at his little brother, who once again danced his wild victory march, bottom waving insultingly.
Wilf grimaced and stalked back in. “He’s a waste of time. Why haven’t you sent him out with Vik to help troll for clients? He should be working. He’s seven. He’s been seven for months. I was working at seven.”
“Hi, now!” she protested. “He’s smaller than you were, and you weren’t working the flesh trade at that age. And you know Vik’s tastes. I won’t have our Kehfrey exposed to that. You take him out if you’re so damned concerned. He’s certain to attract a mommy type. Vik did for you.”
4
“I don’t do mommy types any more! Gods, Mum! I’m seventeen years old!” He stomped over to the table and took three of the silver coins back. “I need new stockings,” he said.
“You just bought clothing last week.” She looked at his suit pointedly. “You spent enough on that set. What do you need with more?”
He decided a change of subject was in order. “Why are you letting Pop take Kehfrey if you’re so concerned for his welfare?” He opened the sack he’d brought, exposing a round of yellow cheese and a bottle of wine. Canella smiled with delight and leaned toward the food. Wilf pocketed the three coins.
“The gang needs a small one tonight,” she said, and handed Wilf the bottle for uncorking. He set to with his dagger and had the cork out shortly. After she shot back a swig, she lowered the bottle and smiled in appreciation. “Very good year.”
“From Mistress Nas’s private stock. Cheese from her pantry, too.”
“So you paid for none of it.” She held her hand out, indicating she wanted the coins back. He glowered and dug into his pocket, but only gave her one. This, of course, prompted a reproving scowl. He riposted with his best winning smile. Smirking, she dropped her hand and let him keep his gains, knowing he likely had more than just two coins hiding away somewhere on his person.
“You’re a good son,” she said.
The compliment provoked a flush of discomfort. “Don’t start that, Mum!”
He knew exactly what she was about, digging the guilt out of him with maternal approval. She indicated their shared comprehension with a widening smirk.
“I swear that Kehfrey takes after you more than Pop,” he grumbled, and stomped over to the open window to stare out at his diminutive brother. Kehfrey was off in the shadow of the rickety buildings to the other side of the street and speaking with his new friend Perce, gesticulating wildly, obviously in the middle of another of his outrageous tales.
“I don’t know why I should feel guilty. I do my share,” Wilf said.
“You shouldn’t,” Canella replied. “You are a good son, and I think you should keep your share.”
5
“You’re such a bother, Mum. None of us would still be here except for you,” he said with a mix of affection and sour irritation. “You’re the glue of the family. For love of you, we do our share and give our gains.”
He turned to look at her. She didn’t like his expression. She must look so very tired. Not the least beautiful. Not even pretty. Just enormously pregnant. A bloated face above shabby clothing. Bloated limbs beneath. Her hair was still a lovely blond, the same as his, but her locks were lank and pasted to her skull. Remembering this, she put her bonnet back on to hide her oily head. One could hardly tell her for a noble born woman. She looked like any other worn-out pauper.
Wilf must have been thinking likewise, for he retrieved another silver and set it on the table.
“Well, now,” she said, looking at him self-consciously. “Everyone needs a safe place to sortie from. That’s what family is, however much of a bother.” She took the coin and slipped it in her bodice with the first.
The gold she would present to her husband Kehfen, but the silvers were hers.
“That’s my grandfather talking in you,” Wilf said. “The old bastard.”
He squatted by the table to look her in the eyes. “Honestly, I don’t think you should let Pop take Kehfrey. You know his line of work is more dangerous than Vik’s and mine. If they are caught—”
“There’s nothing I can do about it.” Resignation made her gaze veer way. “Kehfen’s connections wouldn’t take it well if we didn’t make ourselves useful from time to time.”
“We’ve done our share! We get the targets, don’t we?”
She looked up again, irritated by his forcing the issue. “Yes, but Pop put up with a lot of grief from the Syndicate over both you and Vik before whoring became a part of the family business. If not, you’d likely have been forced to pickpocket and been hung long before now. Kehfen stood up for you. He saved you from the burglary trade. You’re just lucky you and Vik were so cussed inept, or you would have been called to do the night jobs.”
“Must be the flaxen hair, Mum. Your side of the family and all. Good for nothing but charming everyone.” He plucked the bottle from her hand and drank to the birth gifts she had bestowed upon him.
She laughed, knowing the snide comment for truth, but deep within she hurt. She was too used to crude, to laugh so easily. She wished he wouldn’t dig at her for her blunder. She hadn’t meant to make him a 6
bastard, and Kehfen had fixed it by marrying her, hadn’t he? Didn’t she deserve credit for marrying? Shouldn’t Wilf blame the man who had sired him and left her a soiled thing for her father to toss onto the family stoop, to be brushed away like the spare crumbs of a beggar’s leavings?
Wilf gave her a gift of compassion, for his next words roughly mimicked her thoughts. “Kehfen’s been a good father to us overall,” he said, and drank some more wine. He handed the bottle back. Looking around, he scowled at the lack of seating. “When are we going to get more chairs?”
“Not much point if we have to take off again suddenly.”
Lifting to a stand, he glowered down at her. “Kehfrey won’t like that much. He’s got that boy, Perce, all agog with his wild stories.”
Canella sighed. “Kehfrey will get on fine. All he needs is his wild stories. He doesn’t have to pack any of them.”
“Well, there’s a perfect statement, if any.” He squinted thoughtfully.
“Is he good enough?”
“Better than Gamis.”
“Really?”
“Why shouldn’t he be? He does take after his father the most.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Wilf shifted, a small motion that hinted
nervousness. “Which place are they hitting? Are they using one I cased?”
“I’m not certain. It may be. You usually spot the good ones.”
“I don’t know, Mum. I’ve been getting a bad feeling lately. I think we should move again.”
She looked at him sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“There’s a fellow hanging about with Mistress Nas’s lot. He’s pleasant enough, some Lord Velmis or something. He’s a foreigner from Omera.”
“And what has this to do with us moving so soon?”
“The last target I named to Pop was his. He said he was renting the place. He invited me in too quickly, I think. I had a weird feeling about it.
Thought he was looking for someone like Vik at the time. Now I’m not so sure.” He looked at her in concern. “Will you tell Pop?”
She nodded. “Go look out the window.”
“I wasn’t followed!”
7
“If you think we should move, then you may have reason to feel it.
Don’t ignore the wisdom of your gut, boy. Go and look. Now!”
Just then, Kehfrey re-entered muttering curses beneath his breath.
His skullcap was off and twisted in his grimy hands, his ginger hair askew and dusty as if he’d spun on his head, which he might have done. He glared at Wilf. “You were followed! There’s a man standing over by the corner, watching this door! Now we’re going to have to move again! I’m not going to get any pie!”
