by Frank Morin
With pumice still activated, Student Eighteen rushed through the barrage and closed to within twenty feet of the enemy. That earth attack had pulled most of the protective wall down, revealing the Petralists rising to face her team. Most of them looked ghastly, but some were already shedding the effects of the acid. Powerful healers. The dread queen had always liked filling her armies with leaders who could heal fast.
They looked mad, especially General Aonghus, but all compressed onto that tower together, they’d have trouble all wielding earth at the same time. She hoped they got in each other’s way.
More importantly, she flung a weighted pouch directly at the general. He made a dismissive gesture, looking disgusted, and a tentacle of earth swept up to bat the pouch aside.
It flew right through.
Of course she had coated herself, her weapons, and all of her equipment with activated pumice before the battle. That fact surprised General Aonghus, and the bag soared straight at his face, barely slowed.
A heavy-chested Petralist standing beside Aonghus shouldered him aside and tried to catch the bag. It exploded on impact, coating him with gabbro, the secret Mhortair weakening agent. The soldier sucked in a surprised mouthful of the powder, then immediately dropped to his knees, eyes bulging, hands trembling, wracked by a coughing fit. His granite-hardened muscles withered, and he looked like he was about to be sick.
Gabbro only interfered directly with primary affinities, but the effects were traumatic enough that most Petralists lost connection to their secondary and tertiary affinities for a short period of time too.
A hardened-granite projectile cast from a Mhortair’s sling caught the distracted Petralist in the face, a perfect hit in the eye. The small projectile blasted deep into the man’s skull, and he pitched over, dead and twitching.
Other Mhortair fired heavy crossbows, and at that range the weapons wreaked horrific damage on the enemy Petralists. They tried raising walls of protective earth, but every weapon was coated in activated pumice, and three more senior Petralists died in the first volley. Several more took injuries.
Student Eighteen leaped up onto the earthen tower, her sword already in hand. General Aonghus glared at her and shouted, “Pumice directive!”
As she lunged toward him, the ground beside her erupted like a fist as thick around as her waist. She expected her pumice to protect her, but the earthen fist struck like a hammer wielded by an elfonnel, catapulting Student Eighteen back and away.
The world spun crazily around her, but the girls were already scrambling to react.
“Stabilizing us!” Aifric promised, and healing power flooded through them, dealing with the three cracked ribs and internal injuries.
“I should have been ready for that,” Eleven said, sounding disgusted with herself. Connor and the others hadn’t yet met the other Mhortair sharing her mind. She wasn’t ready to reveal that particular secret yet, but Eleven wouldn’t let them get struck like that again. She was a master at short, applied bursts of blind coal.
Hemma tapped granite, hardening their body, and Nuzha seized nearby water, forming a corkscrew pillar of ice that neatly caught them and swung them back around to reverse directions. They’d return to the fight in seconds.
The swing gave her a great view of both fights. Commander Six had reached Rosslyn’s tower. Protected in the water, Rosslyn and her team had begun showering the Mhortair with ice and water. They too quickly realized they were dealing with pumice and switched to launching their elemental attacks, then releasing direct hold over the water or ice. Since no Petralist was actively controlling it, pumice didn’t help.
Blind coal still worked, and the Spitters among the group deflected most of the water assaults away. Several spears of earth stabbed up into the water tower from below. Some pierced surprised Petralists, and one barely missed Rosslyn. Before she could sever the earth spears, every single one of them detonated.
Student Eighteen appreciated Mistress Four’s finesse. She had prepared those specialty bombs before the battle. Each one included a bit of diorite, surrounded by activated pumice crystals. The small explosions dispersed pumice throughout the water tower, and Rosslyn lost control of it for a moment.
As the waters collapsed, dropping her people in a flood, Commander Six led the charge. As Petralists struggled to react, he leaped into the middle of them, his whip-sword snicking out with blinding speed and devastating effect. Arms and heads seemed to jump away from bodies in sprays of blood and gore.
Other Mhortair closed with axes and swords, daggers, and spears, and they cut down almost half of Rosslyn’s force in a few frenzied seconds. Such overwhelming tactics were the Mhortair specialty, and most enemies would be incapable of responding effectively.
Rosslyn wasn’t deterred. The pumice diffusion only blocked her from that local bit of water. A literal tidal wave of water erupted up out of the nearby river and plunged down over Commander Six, Mistress Four, and their teams. Rosslyn released active control just before it struck, so many of the Mhortair were swept away. Some of them possessed blind coal and stepped through the attack, but the momentum had shifted to the enemy.
Back on the earthen tower, Student Eighteen’s team were rushing Aonghus and his Sentries. Some of them closed in fierce close combat, while others battled with elemental fury.
Then the earth beneath most of the Mhortair simply disappeared, forming a gaping hole. There was nothing for pumice or blind coal to deal with, so most of the assassins dropped into the pit, shouting curses in their native tongue.
Snarling with rage, Aonghus covered the pit with a ceiling of earth, and through her soapstone sisters’ affinities, Student Eighteen sensed Rosslyn fill the pit with water. The Mhortair trapped inside lacked leverage or a way to escape. Pumice wouldn’t save one from drowning, and blind coal would run out long before they pulled themselves free.
It was a terrible, but effective ploy.
“I’m going to kill that man,” Tresta rumbled, but they didn’t have time to deal with Aonghus.
As the rest of their diminished force fought on against the enemy, who were quickly figuring out better ways to fight them, Student Eighteen said, “Ladies, let’s show them what we can do when we work together! Isabell, Ennlin, make some mud and get our people out of there.”
As her sisters seized the elements beneath Aonghus’ tower, melding their affinities together far tighter than any other Petralists not sharing the same head ever could, Student Eighteen focused on Aonghus and his team.
She tapped chert.
Emotions boiled all across the square, like a rainbow cast into a butter churn, then sprayed through the acid hoses. Most of the Mhortair emitted brighter colors of anticipation, eagerness, or vengeance, while the majority of the enemy Petralists mingled shadowed colors of fear. Aonghus’ emotions blazed with orange rage. He might now wield a different affinity, but inside he still possessed the heart of a Firetongue.
Student Eighteen focused on Aonghus and all of his Sentries, max-tapped chert, and struck every single one of them with a single, overpowering emotion.
Confusion.
Fear wouldn’t work as well, since they were all experienced soldiers and had disciplined themselves against fear. Anger would only motivate them, and cowardice would not grab hold as well.
Confusion caught them by surprise. Battle was wild and chaotic, and they had been attacked without warning. They had great reflexes and discipline, but all of them would be feeling some level of confusion already. That gave her the anchor points to connect to them, then she magnified that emotion a hundredfold.
Every commander dreaded those moments in battle when fear or confusion might rob their forces of discipline and send their people fleeing a fight they might have otherwise won.
The effects came instantaneously. Several officers turned to run, while one dropped into a fetal position, clutching his head and weeping. Others paled, looking around, searching for clarity, but all were momentarily distracted.
&nbs
p; Her team struck without mercy. Blades of water pierced enemies, while two whipswords, wielded by Commander Six’s cousins, snicked through the enemy ranks with devastating effect. The Mhortair swarmed the tower, and the moment turned decisively to their favor.
Those Sappers learned anew why people whispered in fear of the Mhortair.
Some still tried fighting back, but Student Eighteen clearly read the eventual outcome. Her team would win.
General Aonghus read it too. Shouting curses, he flung himself into the air with a slingshot of earth. Several of his officers tried to follow, but the Mhortair intercepted them, riddling them with crossbow bolts, or yanking them back down with tendrils of water.
Across the square, General Rosslyn saw what was happening and shouted, “Aonghus, help us!”
Student Eighteen left her team to finish the Sentry leaders and turned toward Rosslyn. She’d catch Aonghus in a moment, but first she would deal with Rosslyn.
“Ladies, it’s time to take down an ascended.”
40
Sometimes We Just Need Another Pair of Hands
Connor had sometimes joked with Aifric when he visited the healing wing at the Carraig that when he was having a bad day his brains might have been leaking out his ears, but this was the first time he actually experienced it.
It was nasty.
As he tumbled away from the queen, body rigid with shock, he realized a couple of things. First, Queen Dreokt had the world’s strongest curse-punch head-butt. Second, he should be dead.
But he wasn’t. Although his body was shaking from the effects of the blow, his connection to his affinities, especially fleshcrafting seemed to wrap his soul in a protective blanket that no amount of physical injuries could pierce.
That was awesome.
Good thing they hadn’t destroyed fleshcrafting yet. The plan was to leave the queen vulnerable, not him.
Kilian had taught him that he could heal himself even from a death blow, but it still shocked him to experience it. If he had a little more time to enjoy the moment, he would’ve explored more of what it was like to be physically dead but yet somehow not dead. One more opportunity sacrificed to duty.
So he drew heavily upon fleshcrafting and poured that power into his brain. He sensed the multitude of tiny connections happening in that weird gray matter and somehow understood them enough to put them back together. It was more than just picking up all the gray bits that sprayed out of his cracked skull and shoving them into place so that he could seal up the broken bone. Somehow fleshcrafting allowed him to re-create those connections exactly as they had been before.
It was really freaky, and he made a point of not thinking about it too much. He could lose himself and get completely distracted if he wasn’t careful.
Good thing he did because as his eyes cleared, he spotted Queen Dreokt striding toward him through the sky, completely healed from her own devastating wound. She was far better at fleshcrafting, but actually waited for him, and glanced up into the sky, frowning. “Is your Builder girlfriend always given to fits of panic?”
Connor had been distracted by the whole near-death-experience thing and hadn’t heard Verena shouting questions via speakstone. She sounded terrified. He felt bad she had to witness the fight without getting directly involved. That must drive her crazy.
So he cast words out in a wide spray to help disguise Verena’s location. No doubt the queen could pinpoint her if she really wanted to, but Connor was not about to make it easier for her. “I’m okay. Fleshcrafting is amazing.”
Queen Dreokt giggled. “Fleshcrafting. I like that. I think I’m going to borrow that term.”
“Go ahead,” he said as he regained his feet on the empty air to face her. “You won’t get to enjoy it for long.”
She gave him an approving smile, like a happy teacher. “Not debilitated by trauma. That’s a good sign. For one so recently ascended, you show remarkable mastery over the deeper concepts. It is such a waste that I must destroy you.” She took a step closer, her expression turning earnest. “You glimpsed much truth when you touched my mind. Will you now set aside your misguided rebellion and allow me to guide your future?”
Connor barely bit back an incredulous laugh at the poor attempt at a recruitment speech. Did any evil psycho dominating tyrant ever honestly believe that such an offer would be accepted?
“You’re pretty good at regrowing a new heart when you need to. Have you ever tried regrowing your mind and your conscience? If you let me rip it all out, I can help you put yourself back together so you’re not such a lunatic. Then maybe we can talk about building a better future where you’re not dead.”
She sighed. “The bravado of youth is matched only by its stupidity.”
“That’s not half bad Sentry speak. Have you been practicing?”
Thinking of Evander, Connor flicked his affinity senses back toward the ground. The billowing cloud of obscuring earth had been wiped away. The elfonnel pedra was still battling Evander, but in the moments Connor had been distracted, Evander had raised his own elfonnel.
The same four-armed Evander-giant that had helped them fight the awakened elfonnel at the Carraig was now grappling with the pedra and beating on it with remarkable fury. He seemed more powerful somehow than he had at the Carraig. Connor couldn’t imagine how that might be possible, but things would’ve been so much simpler if Evander had managed to destroy that elfonnel all by himself.
Queen Dreokt sighed. “So be it.”
She raised her hands, and the air between them twisted, as if she’d taken a piece of Sehrazad steel glass and wrenched it. Light bent, and fire crackled into being. Water rushed in from every side, mixing with it. She lashed at Connor with the intermixed elements like a giant whip. He deflected it, but as the whip cracked over her head, air shrieked in, twining together with the other elements, and she snapped it again, so fast it generated a rolling burst of thunder.
Connor stepped to the side and slid away from her, pushing against the elemental assault with his own senses, and deflected it again. Queen Dreokt wielded the whip as masterfully as any Mhortair, raining deadly blows at Connor. He fought back, but was forced onto the defensive, as she pulled earth up from the ground to join the mix. She growled, forming a second whip and increasing her tempo, lashing at him with raw animal ferocity.
The air between them shredded as she flung elements at Connor again and again. He couldn’t trace the individual blows with his eyes. They moved too fast, but somehow Connor held his ground. He tapped obsidian to accelerate his mind and drew deep from all four elements as he fought for his life, reacting out of pure instinct, trying to create layers of protective shielding around himself, but the queen kept smashing them apart as fast as he rebuilt them.
So Connor started seizing fractions of the elements that she attacked him with, while at the same time reinforcing those bits with more that he summoned himself. He wrapped himself in a spinning sphere of intertwined elements that deflected dozens of attacks in seconds. Her will was like a battering ram, slamming at his defenses, striving to seize control over the elements like she had over that elfonnel. Connor resisted with every ounce of power he could muster.
And somehow he held his own.
Battle fury swept through him, washing away his lingering fear. Queen Dreokt was the ultimate terror, but he was ascended too, and he could stop her if he didn’t hesitate. Connor met her gaze and matched her snarl with a grin. Close-in fighting like that was where he shined, and he threw every bit of power he could into the fight.
The air around him thrummed with strum-liked power and grew hot from the intense clashing of elements. It smelled exhilarating, a mix of superheated flames, salty seas, and high mountain breezes. He sensed a dozen flavors sliding across his quartzite-enhanced tongue, from a hint of sweetbreads to newly-turned earth, to fresh-cut stone baking under a summer sun. The cracks and booming thunder of their contest rolled over him in a constant din, and his elemental shield hissed and crackled as it a
bsorbed the queen’s assaults.
She was incredibly powerful and her constant barrage only intensified as she drew closer, stepping toward him through open air, as if they were fighting on solid ground. She wielded the four elements like extensions of her mind, and despite his best efforts her experience began to wear him down.
Somehow she transformed her mixed elemental whips, adding jagged protrusions that she used to flay his defensive shields, stripping away thin layers with every blow. Despite his best efforts to shore them up, they shrank inexorably around him. Connor grimaced, trying to draw deeper from the elements, but he was maxed out, and the area all around them was so saturated with both of their wills, he doubted he could drag any more elements into the mix anyway. He was on his own, and the only weapons he had were the ones already in hand.
Her initial look of surprise slowly change to that look of smug self-assurance that seemed to define her existence. Just like Harley, she was absolutely convinced that she was the mightiest person alive.
She might be, but Connor ground his teeth in defiance as he tried to think of a new way to fight her. The constant barrage of her assault made it hard to think, requiring his entire focus to stave off.
He wasn’t going to hold out much longer.
A trickle of fear slipped into his mind, a subtle whispering of doubt that threatened to weaken his resolve, crack his defenses.
He wasn’t strong enough. He wouldn’t be able to defeat her. He needed help.
Kilian’s words rose into his mind and offered a glimmer of hope. “Her weakness is her over dependence on the elements. She ignores other affinities as secondary and beneath her notice.”
Only then did Connor realize she had completely ignored serpentinite. It was more difficult to access since she broke the sculpted stone, but not impossible. While still fighting desperately to ward off her elemental barrage, he called upon serpentinite and willed the sounds of Verena’s laughter, Jean’s calm, clinical voice, Hamish’s shout of joy at the call to dinner, and his parents’ encouraging voices into his shield.
