SHirli Merfi - The Shattered Stone [calibre]

FROM THE REVIEWS

Of The Ring of Fire:

An intricate adventure story with appeal forfantasy lovers. --ALA Booklist

Murphy's artistic talent is evident as shepaints with words a lavish tapestry of the forces of good and evilin her fantasy land of Ere. Bookrags.com

Of The Wolf Bell:

An adventurous tale full of action andsuspense. ALA Booklist

The enjoyable tale rises above the pack onthe strength of the author's unique and compelling warts and allportrayal of Tayba, a multifaceted, real, and fascinating woman.--School Library Journal

The Shattered Stone

by

Shirley Rousseau Murphy

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 1977, 1979 by Shirley RousseauMurphy

All rights reserved. For information contactwebmaster@joegrey.com. This ebook is licensed for your personalenjoyment only, and may not be resold, given away, or altered.

This is the first of two volumes containingthe Children of Ynell series. It includes The Ring of Fireand The Wolf Bell, and is followed by The Runestone ofEresu, which includes The Castle of Hape, Caves of Fire andIce, and The Joining of the Stone.

Atheneum edition of The Ring of Fire(hardcover) published in 1977

Avon edition (paperback) published in1979

Atheneum edition of The Wolf Bell(hardcover) published in 1979

Avon edition (paperback) published in1980

Ad Stellae Books edition, 2011

Author website: www.joegrey.com

Cover art by Corey Ford / 123RF

CONTENTS

The Ring of Fire

Part One: The Curse of Ynell

Part Two: The Runestone

Part Three: Fire Scourge

Part Four: The LuffEresi

The Wolf Bell

Part One: The Bell

Part Two: The Wolves

Part Three: The Stone

About the Author

TheRing of Fire

PartOne:The Curse of Ynell

The mountains were jagged and black, acircle of volcanic peaks a hundred miles across. No man of Ereventured far into them, or knew what lay beyond. Eres elevencountries crowded at their feet, pressed in by the empty sea and bythe barren high deserts to the west; beyond the mountains were theunknown lands. Or perhaps nothing lay beyond. The countries of Erewere Cloffi and Kubal; Urobb and Carriol and Farr; Pelli and Sangurand Aybil and Zandour; and on the edge of the high deserts wherelife was barely possible, Karra and Moramia.

The history of Ere was violent with raidingand with war, just as the mountains themselves were violentsometimes in their eruptions of lava and fire that would spillacross the warring nations, when the gods were angered.

In the old times it was the Herebian tribeswho killed and tortured and took slaves, who hung the heads oftheir enemies from the center poles of their bivouac camps. Butsince the Herebian had formed themselves into a nation, driving outfarmers and herders from a hilly section and naming this landKubal, their warring had become less frequent. The eleven nationslay quiet: Ere was poised in a time of peace; though dark Kubalhumped in eternal threat there between the borders of Cloffi andUrobb.

It is Cloffi where this story begins.

High up the mountain, above Cloffis threecities, lay the little herd village of Dunoon, its pasturesscattered like green velvet among the black lava ridges. A smallnest of freedom. Dunoon, maintaining stubborn truce against thetyranny of the Landmasters of Cloffi who ruled the nationbelow.

ONE

Thorn readied an arrow against the string ofhis sectbow and searched the moonlit mountain above him. The guardbuck stirred again, restlessly. Wolves, likely, moving in thedarkness of the lava crags. And yet the herds unease was differentthan when they faced approaching wolves. The bucks spirallinghorns caught the moonlight as he shifted nervously. Thorn tried tosee movement in the dark images cast by the moons but nothingstirred.

Finally the buck settled and turned tograzing. Thorn lowered his bow, keeping the arrow taut with onehand. Below him the village slept. He moved stiffly: his body stillpained him from the beating he had taken. He scowled as he lookeddown past his own village to the far lights of Burgdeeth: thelarger town lay so steep below he could have spit on it.Goatherd! The three boys had shouted, taunting him. Goat dungburns on your hearth! No older than he, strapping lads they werefor all their city ways. And your mothers a fracking broodmilker! He had piled into them, had fought well enough until thesix red-robed Deacons dragged him away to beat him with aceremonial staff, at the Landmasters direction. The townsfolk ofBurgdeeth had crowded into the square to smirk and whisper,remembering their own beatings, Thorn supposed, so taking greatpleasure in his.

Eres two moons hung low in the sky, washingtheir light across the eleven nations. The dark smudge in the southwould be heavy cloud lying over the far sea. He watched the riverOwdneet slip rushing down the mountain past his own village, thenpast Burgdeeth, and on toward the two more southerly Cloffi cities.The buck stirred again; a doe bleated; Thorn could hear the hush oftall grass disturbed. He turned quickly, but saw no shadow move.The animals acted as if something alien were there above them, yetthey did not show fear; nor did they bellow the quick challenge theDunoon goats were famous for. One buck muttered softly, then wasstill. Thorn stared up at the shifting, moonwashed clouds ridingabove the mountain and felt a familiar eagerness grip him, alonging for the sky that, though forbidden, he would never quell.Once again something stirred, he took a breaththen his blood wentcold as a tall man stepped silently from the shadows and stoodstaring down at him. He had come without sound; Thorns sect-bowsought the mans middle; the moonlight shone full on him, a slim,well-made figure. But old; his hair white and shorn close to hishead. His eyes, in the moonlight, looked yellow.

The man came silently toward him,disappearing in shadow then appearing again. He said no word, butThorn divined a sense of urgency about him, and when he challengedthe stranger it was almost reluctantly. How did you come here?What do you among our herds? You do not come from Burgdeeth, Iwould have seen you climb the mountain.

I came from there, he said, pointing tothe jagged crags, along the mountain from the east. It is a lonelyway. I like the loneliness. I have come seeking you, Thorn ofDunoon.

How do you know my name?

Your name came to my thoughts just as thescent of rain speaks on the wind. I sensed it, long ago. I couldnot have done so had you not possessed the gift for which Isearch.

What gift? Thorn said, stiffening.

The stranger paused and studied him. Isearch, he said slowly, as if weighing his words, I search forthose with the gift of seeing. I search for the Children ofYnell.

Thorn stared, his blood turned to ice: topronounce a man a Child of Ynell was to condemn him to die.

In Cloffi they call it the Curse of Ynell,the old man said. I do not call it that. But you have the truegift, Thorn of Dunoon, as surely as I stand before you.

How could this man know such a thing? YetThorn could not refute it. The gift of seeing had come on him threetimes in his life, without warning, though it was inaccessible whenhe would try for it.

I think you do not know, yourself, thestrength you have within you.

Thorn looked deep into those disturbingyellow eyes and said nothing.

Oh yes, I know how it is in Cloffi. I, too,have read the Edicts of Contrition. I know that the Gift of Ynellis considered a sin without redemption. I, too, have seen theChildren of Ynell dressed in rags and filth and strapped across thebacks of donkeys and carried up the mountain to the death stone.But I do not come to you to carry word of your talent to Cloffi.Nor to ask anything of younot yet.