Keeper of the Black Stones Read Free

very much aware of his impending fate.
    The Earl knelt down beside the conscious man and took his hand. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked softly. This was not standard behavior from a lord, but his was a heart that sought to share itself with others. He would not pass a wounded or dying man without at least one kind word.
    The man smiled, genuinely pleased with the offer. “Watch over my wife and children, my Lord. Do not let them suffer, or forget me.”
    â€œThey will be well cared for. I give you my word. Rest now, my boy.” The old warrior rose and motioned for one of his priests to kneel in his place and administer last rights. He stood watching for a moment, then turned at a shout behind him.
    â€œMy Lord!”
    â€œWhat is it?” the Earl asked. One of his men approached him, holding a dark object in his hands.
    â€œI found it on one of the defenders, my Lord. It is the Devil’s Flame!” The soldier held the object out apprehensively, as though it might explode at any moment.
    The Earl accepted the heavy object, and glanced quickly at it. It was a gun, roughly 14 inches long, and crafted out of wood and iron. The weapon was crude by any stretch of the imagination, with limited efficiency and range. These pistols existed in the fifteenth century, and the weapon itself was no cause for concern. The object inside the gun, though, touched off an icy knot of fear in the Earl’s stomach. The old soldier reached into the barrel and extracted a small metallic object, no larger than his smallest finger. Crude guns–nothing more than small cannons–were common. This single metallic cartridge, which was a self-contained firing chamber, was not. How had Dresden done so much with so little, and so quickly? The Earl swallowed heavily, then jumped at another shout from one of his men.
    â€œMy Lord, please come quickly!” the man shouted. He stood near the church, motioning to his leader.
    â€œThe stone?” he asked sharply.
    At the soldier’s nod, the Earl exhaled softly. They had found it, then. But was it in one piece? And was there time? Glancing at the sky, he saw that the glow behind the clouds had moved toward the horizon more quickly than he’d realized. Some rapid calculations gave him an estimate of ten to fifteen minutes before his window of opportunity opened; enough time to get to the stone and prepare. If it was still whole, and functioning. He dropped the bullet in his pocket and strode quickly toward the church, Trigva following closely behind.
    â€œTake me to it,” he ordered.

    The Earl and Trigva followed the soldier, Par, through the stone archway that led from the courtyard into the church. They made their way past several wooden benches, which were currently operating as makeshift gurneys to support the dead and dying. Two silver cups and a small golden crown still lay on the cloth-covered altar at the far end of the church; the Earl was right in assuming, then, that Dresden’s men had been here for something other than riches. His gut clenched in fear. Had they found it or destroyed it already? Stolen it? Was he too late? Had this entire journey been in vain?
    Before him, Par parted the heavy red curtain behind the church’s altar, and pointed through the exposed opening. “There, my Lord!” He stepped aside to reveal a set of stone stairs descending steeply downwards.
    â€œAre we in time? Is it safe?” the Earl gasped. He brushed past Par and ran down the steps to enter a small, dank cellar, exhaling sharply in relief at what he saw. A large, polished stone lay in the center of the small room, absorbing the light of the six torches on the walls. The stone was wide and long enough to accommodate a man twice his size; smaller than some of the stones he’d seen, but large enough for his need. Symbols ran along the borders of the stone, their grooves harboring what was left of the torchlight. As the