Blood of the Tallan (The Petralist Book 7)

by Frank Morin

  The crowd buried her in an avalanche, and Connor took advantage of her momentary distraction to stab into her mind with his thoughts. He broke through, and for a moment touched hers. He sensed her anger at his surprise attack and her towering fury at the insult of the revolution, but what overshadowed all else was a desperate fear.

  Fear of the elementals.

  Images flashed past of a strange, distant land. Her home country. He glimpsed laboratories, saw King Triath as a young man, as well as Harley and other early supporters. He felt the indescribable wonder she felt upon establishing her first affinity, as well as her determination to succeed, to finally make the sylfaen accessible, and to bring unprecedented advancements to her people.

  All of that passed in a second, replaced by scenes of strife, of enormous conference rooms where committees of hundreds of somber-faced old men and women debated the fate of magic, the arguments all centered on the dangers of releasing the elementals again. Images of battle flashed past, little more than impressions before being replaced by familiar sights of Obrion. He glimpsed Stornoway in all its glory and was amazed to see Kilian and Kirstin as children.

  Connor tried to focus on those images, but they swept past like the others. Instead he read the growing certainty the queen had felt in those days that they had overlooked fundamental dangers. He sensed the elementals pressing for freedom, the constant battle to maintain the integrity of her humanity, to withstand the subtle whisperings and promises of unmatched power.

  Then came the fateful day when her beloved somehow fell to Kirstin’s latest mechanical. She didn’t know what caused it, and that only magnified her fear, but she sensed that with his mental collapse, his resistance broke and the elementals began rising through him. The only way to save the world from the dangers they had introduced was to destroy the man she loved.

  And make sure that disaster could never happen again.

  Connor recoiled from Queen Dreokt, knocked right out of his mindscape by the astonishing montage. He had hoped to find confirmation of her weakness, not confirmation of her fears. She was broken, insane, and barely human.

  But she was right.

  In their desperate hunt for greater weapons to fight her, they’d approached the same thresholds that had claimed her husband and daughter and plunged the nation into terrible warfare. And they were right back there again, right on the brink of unleashing unstoppable devastation.

  Queen Dreokt regarded him with sorrowful eyes. “Now you know why I must destroy you all.”

  She snapped out a deadly fist to seize his throat.

  Connor tapped blind coal. He’d glimpsed confirmation of the dangers they’d already figured out, but that piece of common ground was not enough to save him.

  As her hand scraped past his throat, unable to grab hold, Connor yanked from one of the tiny pouches along his belt a tiny vial. He shoved it up her nose and punched her to shatter it. The dread Queen Dreokt was immune to almost all physical damage. She could fleshcraft herself whole even when mortally wounded, and was immune to poisons.

  She also had very enhanced senses.

  The queen probably always tapped all of her affinities, even when she wasn’t consciously planning to. Connor was already struggling with that problem since his last ascension. She had been enjoying the full breadth of affinity powers for centuries.

  So she got to appreciate the full amazing magnitude of milked skunk extract better than anyone else in the world could ever hope to.

  Her expression turned horrified. She gagged and made a retching sound deep in her throat.

  Connor shifted sideways to get out of the spray path. He had no doubt Queen Dreokt could challenge all of them for the record if she decided to spew her last meal.

  As she gagged and clutched at her nose, Connor combined stilling with granite. His strength built in a rush, faster even than basalt had and he focused that enormous power into his fist. He expected his arm to swell more than ever, but it did not. Since his first ascension, when his muscles reached the ultimate limits of their expansion, the fibers began weaving together to generate significantly more strength without any additional mass. Now as his fist and arm deadened under the super-influx of concentrated granite, those fibers wove together, then wove together again, then again, each weaving magnifying the effects of his strength tenfold.

  Queen Dreokt violently sneezed, ejecting a fine, stinky mist. She had figured that out far too quickly, but one critical second too late.

  Connor super-curse-punched her sternum. He struck with such overwhelming force that his fist burst through her newly reformed chest, crushed her new heart and lungs, and exploded out her back in an incredible spray of bloody gore.

  Queen Dreokt opened her mouth to gasp, but her lungs were gone. Her eyes widened in shock, and she pawed at his shoulder, momentarily weakened by the horrible injury. She tried to speak, her lips moving silently, but unable to form the words.

  Her mind-voice shrieked loud enough to make him cringe. “This body was brand new! I’m still paying the fleshcrafting debt.”

  “I think you’ve just run out of credit,” he said as he pulled his hand free of her crushed torso, flinging blood and gore as he cocked his fist back to punch her in the face. She might have ignored the first time he destroyed her torso, but this time seemed to hurt more. He would be happy to rip her apart a hundred times, if that proved to be the magic number.

  Her weak, pawing hands somehow regained strength and she seized his face with both hands. Before he could punch her, she shouted, “See how you like it, insolent child!”

  Queen Dreokt head-butted him.

  She struck so hard, the blow catapulted him backward.

  And Connor clearly felt the front of his skull implode.

  36

  Joy Can Be Found in the Most Difficult Situations

  “Ivor, I need your help,” Shona said urgently into her mini-hub.

  She led fifty Striders at a run along the northwestern edge of the valley toward the nearest lake. The battle was off to a terrible start, and she and her fast movers were out of position. They couldn’t afford to let the enemy Striders take out the Arishat League siege weapons, but not even Striders could run up those steep cliffs. Running north far enough to find a route up the hill was a possibility, but not fast enough. The waterfalls offered another way.

  Striders could run across lakes or rivers for a ways, but not sprint up a waterfall. Not without help, anyway.

  Behind her, Tabnit horns blared and Varvakan war drums boomed as the Arishat League forces poured into the northern end of Lossit valley to meet the onrushing regulars from the queen’s army. Mounted knights would arrive first, and the Sehrazad raiders were already galloping out to meet them. Mounted on horses and camels, their sand-colored uniforms flapping in the howling wind, they raised scimitars and lances, shouting battle cries.

  General Wolfram was commanding the rest of the Arishat League forces. Heavily armed and armored Varvakan knights in gleaming full plate armor marched in the center, wielding longswords, axes, or polearms. Several companies carried strum shock spears too. Tabnit pikemen held the eastern edge, along the river, and mixed Grandurian regulars filled in the gaps between. A few Petralist squads mingled with the regulars, ready to deal with any enemy Petralists who might be assigned to ravage their ranks. Most were new Boulders or Striders, not experienced enough to join in the main battle but far better equipped to deal with enemy Petralists than anyone else.

  A few tertiary Petralists marched concealed among them too, ready to help turn the tide against the second wave of the enemy, which would be made up primarily of Petralists. Of course, the regulars also bore thousands of personal defensive mechanicals, plus speedslings. Two Builder Thunder Towers rolled down the speedcaravan track that ran along the road. Shona felt confident they could hold their own until the Battalions recovered and launched their bombardment initiative and deployed all of their troops and mechanicals.

  But for the moment, none of t
hat mattered. She had to get up that cliff and repel the enemy Striders, who were already engaging with the Arishat League forces. They could hold for a short time. They were well entrenched, but had not expected to face direct, determined attack.

  “We’re off to a rocky start today, aren’t we?” Ivor asked, his voice calm.

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” she promised him. They had to, because if they were forced to retreat, her beloved Merkland would next face the Queen’s armies, and she doubted the city would survive another pitched battle. “Listen, I need to get up the cliff.”

  He understood immediately. “I’m glad you called. The Battalions are busy, but I have a moment. Tell Donald we’ll run the ice challenge.”

  “Thanks.” Shona felt better, her confidence buoyed by Ivor’s calm. Ivor had been the favorite general in the Tir-raon for a reason, and he’d proven himself many times as a gifted leader and Petralist. He was one of the few men she knew who could match her ability at reading people, and his vision of the revolution was as grand as her own.

  She called, “Donald, to me.”

  The Strider captain accelerated to join her. He had been part of Rory’s original company during the battles of Alasdair, had taught Connor his first lessons with basalt, and proven himself a loyal and competent soldier. Shona gestured toward the first waterfall, several hundred yards ahead, cascading down the high cliff in a gorgeous sheet before splashing into one of the long, narrow, deep lakes. “Ivor said we’re going to run the ice challenge.”

  Donald grinned and made a little bow without breaking stride. “I know what to do, my lady. If you’ll permit, I’ll take the lead.”

  She gestured him forward, and Donald easily accelerated. “Follow me. Watch your timing, and get ready for some fun!”

  As they closed on the lake, Shona glanced south. The bulk of the enemy army was still pouring into Lossit valley and were spreading like a dark stain across the land. It was such a vast host, the sight awed her, and she felt the familiar nervous flutter that still bothered her before battle, despite how often she had ended up victorious. She’d led a smaller host up that very road with her father and Harley before their defeat at Merkland and her decision to switch sides and join the revolution. Today she would either prove she’d made the right decision, or see her life’s ambitions destroyed.

  She would not allow that. Whatever it took.

  Enemy Boulders by the thousands were marching toward the lakes, slightly south of her position, followed by Sentry towers and teams of Spitters. More waves of soldiers were pouring in behind, moving with excellent discipline in thousand-man units, each with a Sentry tower in the center. More of the Spitters were clustering along the river, and she spotted two enormous towers flowing toward the town.

  Those would be the command towers. As expected, Aonghus and a score of powerful tertiaries stood atop a tall earthen tower, fifty feet across. Another tower, identical in size, but made up of glittering ice, flowed along the bank of the river. No doubt General Rosslyn and many of her best Spitters were positioned there. At least that much of their original expectations seemed to be working.

  Behind her, the Sehrazad raiders and enemy knights came together with a resounding crash as horses and camels flashed past each other. Lances and spears plunged into enemy targets or deflected off heavy shields. Screams and shouts rent the air, and scimitars flashed. Men toppled from both ranks before wheeling around for another pass. They wouldn’t get too many before the press of soldiers from both sides caught up and compressed the battlefield.

  Luckily no one interfered with Shona’s small group. They’d reacted fast enough that the enemy tertiaries weren’t in position to block them. The leading Sentries could have extended their influence far enough to strike, but it appeared they didn’t understand how Shona’s Striders posed any threat. If they continued along the gentle arc of the western edge of the valley near the lakes, they’d eventually get trapped by the charging Boulders.

  Their reprieve wouldn’t last long, though. The first volley from the embattled siege weapons positioned atop the cliff soared overhead, and the thunderous booming of the Tabnit death tubes shook the air. They were firing explosive rounds, and the deadly ammunition shot down toward the leading edges of the Boulders. Heavy barrels of Althin chemicals soared after.

  Enemy Sentries spotted the incoming ordnance and raised grasping hands of earth to catch them. Shona was impressed. The queen had prepared her people well. If they intercepted the incoming rounds softly enough, they might not detonate.

  Except the Builders had included remote detonation devices in many of the rounds, and even though the Sentries did an admirable job catching the rounds gently and wrapping them with earth, many still exploded with spectacular force, shredding the earthen restraints and raining fire over the nearby Boulders.

  The Althin barrels also exploded, but they unleashed clouds of silvery fog that settled over the enemy. Shona recognized the mega stench and was happy she was well out of range. Soldiers screamed and gagged, many retching, despite their granite strength. Entire companies fled.

  Enemy Spitters reacted quickly, spraying water over their forces to remove the stench and subdue the cloud, but the damage was done and the front ranks of the advance slowed. It wouldn’t stop them, but might give Rory more time to get into position.

  Donald pointed toward the nearest waterfall and abruptly accelerated. Shona and the rest of the squad followed him as he sprinted straight at the first lake. Glints of white in the waterfall caught Shona’s attention and she understood Ivor’s plan.

  She’d initially hoped he might fashion a ramp of ice they could run up, but no doubt enemy Spitters would attack that immediately. He was working at such great distance, he’d lack the ability to defend it. Instead, she spotted chunks of ice, barely a foot square, descending slowly down the waterfall. Spaced at even intervals, they created an offset pattern all the way up. Somehow they did not fall as fast as the rest of the water. She bet they’d be far more difficult for enemy Spitters to feel too.

  Donald accelerated sharply into a fracked sprint and shot across the water, kicking up spray in a fantastic arc as he sped into the billowing cloud of mist at the very base of the waterfall. There he raced up a short ramp of ice that appeared just in front of him and soared through the mist to the first icy footstep. Kicking off of that anchor point, he leaned back and raced right up the waterfall, blurring legs catching each footstep in turn.

  It looked like a ton of fun.

  Shona whooped as she accelerated, although her shout turned into a cry of pain as her legs fracked. She’d practiced fracking several times in the past few days and no longer fell every time, but it still hurt like a slap from Tallan himself. Shona would not allow herself to fail where others succeeded, though, and she ran through the pain. She loved the springy feel of the lake’s surface under her blurring feet, and concentrated on making the jump to the first ice foothold.

  Launching through the cool mist that gently caressed her exposed skin was a thrill. She landed the first step, leaned back, and launched up toward the second. She laughed as she ran up the waterfall! Water rushed past, spray billowed around her, and the sound of the falls was a constant thunder that rattled deep through her, but none of it could stop her.

  Until she missed the fifth foothold.

  Somehow her foot slipped off. She tried to catch herself, but no matter how fast she ran, not even her fast-flying feet could gain purchase on the waters of the falls and she began tumbling back the way she had come.

  Flailing her arms, she managed to clobber the next Strider in line, a willowy Grandurian woman. They tangled together and both fell. Shona grimaced at the thought of knocking all of the Striders behind her from their purchases. She could not allow her mistake to derail their vertical race.

  So she dug her hands into the nearby waterfall. The weight of the water dragged her down and slightly sideways. Wrapping her legs around the other Strider, she focused her basalt on her
arms and managed to swim them sideways across the falls, out of the path of the other Striders. Together they plunged down into the frigid waters.

  Shona surfaced, spitting water, feeling like an idiot. She hoped Ivor was distracted by the aerial battle and hadn’t sensed her failure. The thought of him laughing at her made her flush with embarrassment. The rest of her team were still racing past, and none of them missed any steps. They looked amazing, sprinting up the face of the waterfall. She turned to apologize to the woman she’d knocked down, but the woman erupted out of the water beside her, already sprinting. She rose to the surface and made a fast circle of the lake, spraying water in a great arc as she closed on the ice slope again and shot up the waterfall after the rest of the team.

  Shona tapped basalt and followed suit. She had to admit basalt was fun, but she was looking forward to reaching the top and granite-punching a few surprised enemy Striders in the face.

  37

  The Importance of Presentation. And Bombs

  The floor beneath Jean’s feet thrummed with power as the huge quartzite thrusters of Battalion One fought to push the ponderous vessel against the gale. On the decks below, defenses were activating, long launch tubes rising into the air and turning to point west toward the onrushing swarm. Battle mechanicals were orienting to add their supporting fire to the defensive effort, and soldiers fought the wind as they formed ranks to ward off monsters.

  The fleet was barely making any headway, though, and Jean’s tension grew every second. It had always amazed her that such enormous vessels could take to the sky at all, and she feared no one had considered how well they’d handle such a gale. A Bladed researcher with a remarkable gift in math had calculated that each Battalion platform was carrying roughly fifty thousand tons of weight. That much weight defied Jean’s ability to grasp, but she didn’t doubt the number. Many of the man’s calculations had proved critical in their battle planning.