Blood of the Tallan (The Petralist Book 7)

by Frank Morin

  The queen lightning elfonnel sensed the danger and shot upward, trying to escape the torrent. Connor threw all the water at it, and a horizontal waterfall half a mile across smashed into the elfonnel, dwarfing its massive size and smashing it out of the air. Lightning erupted through the water, flickering bursts that lit up the clear waters like thousands of really angry lightning bugs.

  Connor tried wresting the monster to the ground, hoping to bury it in the canyon he’d just created with his face a moment ago, but as the water thundered into the ground, the monster condensed into a single, thick beam of lightning and burst up through the torrent. It rose a thousand feet into the air before reforming, smaller and dimmer than before, but not permanently damaged.

  Connor gave chase, galloping up through the air faster than a fracked Strider. The monster rotated to face him half a second too late, and he lunged for the throat. Caught up in rampager bloodlust, Connor clamped his mighty jaws down hard, planning to rip the monster’s head right off.

  Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that the queen elfonnel wasn’t limited to its humanoid form. As he lunged in for the kill great jaws gaping open, its throat exploded outward, blasting dozens of lightning bolts right down his open mouth.

  His teeth might have been coated in magnis, his hide protected by his magnis shield, but he hadn’t thought to wrap it around his innards.

  He really should have thought that one through.

  Lightning ripped through him, boiling and blackening him from the inside. His thoughts scattered, and for a second he lost his magnis shield. Worse, his jaw contracted convulsively, and he could not pry his own jaws apart as the strum onslaught overwhelmed his muscle control.

  The queen lightning elfonnel laughed, a thunder chuckle that made Harley’s seem pitiful in comparison, and poured more strum through the open conduit Connor had so considerately established for it. A flood of deadly strum thundered through him, and it felt like he hit himself in the face with a thousand of his father’s Ashlar hammers, every one opened wide by a Builder.

  Connor couldn’t even scream. His body shuddered under the onslaught, as lightning filled him to bursting. If he’d made that terrible mistake in human form he’d already be dead, but as a giant rampager he was far more resilient, so he could keep hurting himself a lot longer.

  Queen Dreokt’s thought reached him dimly through the haze of pain. “It’s a wonder that you’ve survived so long. You’re not nearly as smart as you pretend.”

  Connor mentally shouted back, “Shut up and break their hold on you already!”

  Water surprised him by speaking to his mind. “You disappoint me, child. I thought we taught you better, and now you will die before witnessing the destruction of all your loved ones.”

  “Oh, well,” Fire added, not sounding disappointed at all.

  Connor lacked the energy to respond as he struggled to deflect the lightning away, tapping strum and pushing it from his mind and his core organs. He couldn’t push it away entirely though, and lightning ripped through his limbs, blackening them and threatening to burst them asunder. Porphyry raged in his mind, deeply offended by the idea of such a handicap.

  Jean had proven that one could live with handicaps with grace, without losing their ability to function. That gave Connor a slender hope, but it seemed laughable when he realized he sensed no more fleshcrafting available. If he died now or was severely injured, or even maimed, there would be no recovering.

  The thought of dying scared him, but the thought of ending up helpless, broken, and weak terrified him more. Would the elementals just torture him to the brink of death, then leave him alive to witness them murder Verena? How could he survive that? What would his family think when they learned that he’d let Hamish and Jean die?

  The thought galvanized him and he pushed through the pain, again seizing soapstone. He lacked the focus to call upon the flood he’d just dumped out over the land, filling that canyon he’d made. He didn’t need that much, though. Connor yanked on the clouds boiling low overhead. They were saturated with rain, and he easily pulled sheets of water down over the lightning elfonnel and himself. Lightning crackled and spat as charges dispersed through the water, temporarily deflecting some of the strum the monster was using to torture him.

  Even better, the monster cringed, clearly fearing another heavy dousing. If only Connor could do that, but the momentary distraction helped. He drew a thin blanket of water around himself, then used the trick Water herself had taught him to strip away all of the impurities. That thin layer of pure water insulation finally broke their contact and severed the deadly current of strum.

  That first free breath of charred-smelling air reinvigorated him. Rampagers possessed mighty natural resilience, and he still had access to Sucker Punch, although he’d transferred most of that to Verena. Now he drew some of it back, and the flood of healing helped soften the edge of his pain. His limbs stopped trembling, and he again felt ready to fight.

  “You will not escape us again,” the queen elfonnel promised, their Dreokt-like face scowling at him as its torso split into a dozen arms of incandescent strum that wrapped around him again.

  His magnis shield helped hold them at bay, and he drew more water out of the clouds, wrapping both himself and the elfonnel in the insulating blanket. Then he drew more water up from the lake he’d just created. He would force the monster down and disperse its strum down through the water, and from there into the earth. As soon as the insulating water from the ground connected to him, he max-tapped strum and pushed against the creature with all his might, while altering his magnis field to deflect strum downward.

  The plan seemed to work, and strum boiled down the watery column to the ground, where it began dissipating. If he could hold on long enough, could he weaken it enough to again try tearing it apart with his claws?

  “You surprise me, boy,” Queen Dreokt laughed, sounding brittle and insane, her words trailing into a nerve-shuddering cackle.

  “Can you drive them off?” he responded, but the only answer was more maniacal laughter. He didn’t dare try touching her mind closely for fear of getting swept away by her insanity, but he sensed she was weakening. The drain was too much, the elementals had pushed into her too far. She was losing the fight and would soon surrender. They would be free to step fully into the world.

  Tallan boil their eyes! He was weakening them. He only needed a little more time, but he wasn’t going to get it.

  Fire and Water clearly sensed it too. The queen elfonnel swelled with greater strength than ever and threw him violently away. He exploded out through the insulating cocoon of water, and the queen elfonnel shot upward, erupting through his water barrier and ascending far higher, heading for the black, roiling storm clouds. They had continued growing, feeding on the elemental fury unleashed across the land. The queen elfonnel in turn fed on all that energy bouncing around in those clouds, looking stronger than ever.

  Connor muttered a frustrated curse. His chest heaved as he panted, feeling exhausted and annoyed. He’d better figure it a new plan quickly because Queen Dreokt was losing the fight. The queen elfonnel’s features shifted, resembling Dreokt more and more as she became one with the elements. Time was up, and the monster threw its ethereal arms out wide. Connor could feel it drawing more and more energy from the storm. Somehow that also intensified the storm in a reinforcing loop that Connor sensed would build until Water and Fire completed their journey and stepped free into the world.

  To kill everyone.

  “No fair,” he breathed, wracking his brain for new ideas. He was still in the mighty rampager form, but that wasn’t enough. Even with obsidian-enhanced thoughts racing, he came up with nothing.

  “The tiny flame is sufficient to heat a cup of water, but even the raging inferno cannot set the seas to boiling,” Evander said.

  “What?” Connor had forgotten about Evander.

  “Your valiant courage is insufficient to defeat this monster,” Evander explained.

 
; “Thanks. Your confidence is really inspiring,” Connor snapped sarcastically, then immediately regretted the words. He was struggling against an impossible foe, but Evander was mostly dead and was stuck in another’s mind. The giant was definitely having the worse day.

  “Allow me to finish. You cannot defeat it without more power,” Evander said, ignoring the jab.

  He was right, of course, but Connor didn’t feel better. “I can’t get more power. I can’t access slate or marble. Fire and Water are stronger than I am, and in elfonnel form, I can’t defeat their strum.”

  “There is other power in the world besides affinities, yes?” Evander asked.

  Connor considered that. The queen elfonnel had risen with strum, a higher form of power of the natural world. In using magnis, he was countering it somewhat, but even with magnis he lacked sufficient might to defeat the monster.

  Could he raise a magnis elfonnel?

  No way. Even if he could, by surrendering to Water and Fire, he’d be giving them another conduit to escape the bonds of the natural laws. It would never work.

  There was only one other higher level power that he had touched that might hold a solution.

  Fission.

  61

  Sometimes a Guy Just Needs a Good Woman Armed to the Teeth

  Hamish groaned and staggered to his feet. He felt thoroughly beaten. Not only had Aonghus pummeled his face, but he still barely believed he’d survived that barrage from the Battalions.

  How many of them had fired? He had seen their power, had celebrated it as the greatest weapon besides ascended Petralists, and had slipped through one barrage over Lossit. The barrage that had rained down over Aonghus had been far worse, and Hamish had a front-row seat.

  He should have been obliterated, but a dense, spinning sphere of water had surrounded him, deflecting wave after wave of fire and shrapnel away from him. It had to be Kilian. He doubted anyone else could have withstood such a barrage. The ground had shaken like the world was coming to an end, and the reek of fire and ash had seeped through the barrier.

  It had been truly inspiring. Hamish had to figure out how to make a mechanical shield that tough.

  Unfortunately, now as he looked around at the torn earth, cratered and blackened for a hundred feet in every direction, the slim hope he’d clung to of maybe recovering at least some of the components of his battle suit died. It was gone. He was barely dressed, wearing only his small clothes and undershirt, everything else ripped away by Aonghus’ earth.

  A groan behind him spun him around. General Aonghus was pulling himself out of a pile of dirt. He looked filthy, bedraggled, his red hair wild. Hamish was impressed he’d survived the bombardment too, but he hadn’t had a good time of it.

  And he’d lost earth.

  No way he’d stumble to his feet covered in dirt if his slate affinity was still active. Hamish glanced around farther, and only then did he take in the rest of the battlefield. He gaped.

  “I get distracted for just a minute, and somebody raises two elfonnel?” he muttered, staring at the enormous earthbound monster smashing through the ruins of Lossit on its way toward Kilian and a knot of Spitters. High in the air above, an actual airbound elfonnel was rising toward a couple of the Battalions, while smaller attack craft swarmed it, uselessly firing missiles and mechanicals. Other Battalions were shifting position to either move away from the airbound, or toward the earthbound. Hamish expected another major bombardment soon. He hoped it worked.

  The rest of the valley was awash with soldiers scrambling away from the earthbound monster, while Boulders ran toward it, led by General Rory and Anika. Bash fighting an elfonnel was usually stupid, even for Rory, but maybe they had a plan.

  Hamish didn’t have time to worry about it. Aonghus spotted him and stalked toward him. He might look battered, but still appeared in fighting shape, and unlike Hamish, he still carried a sword and dagger on his belt. He glared with murder in his eyes and shouted, “How did you snuff out my slate?”

  “Wasn’t me,” Hamish said, circling warily away from Aonghus. He cast his Builder senses out over the battlefield to see if Nicklaus was doing something dangerous again, but sensed no major active mechanicals other than Thunder Towers and other battle mechanicals. Even Time Out hadn’t blocked Aonghus from earth, which meant maybe the affinity was entirely gone. That had to be the work of Connor and Evander. That didn’t bode well. They had planned to hold that option in reserve as a last resort.

  It didn’t matter, and wouldn’t affect the next moments for Hamish. He dearly wanted to kill his hated enemy, but was unarmed. He tapped obsidian, which helped a little, but he still needed a weapon.

  “It’s gone!” Aonghus screamed, spittle flying from his lips. He looked unhinged and drew his sword with a nasty rasping of steel. “I lost fire, but will not tolerate losing another affinity!”

  “You always were a coward,” Hamish stated coldly.

  Aonghus raised the sword and rushed Hamish, tapping basalt and crossing the distance in a rush.

  Hamish dove aside with obsidian-fueled reflexes and shouted, “Thanks for proving my point! You’re such a coward you’ll strike down an unarmed man!”

  Aonghus skidded to a halt, panting heavily, even though with basalt there was no way he could be tired after that short run. No, he just looked crazed, eyes wild as he cackled with laughter. Then his laughter snapped off and his voice turned as cold as steel. “So you want me to run you through, eh?”

  “Something like that,” Hamish said, ready to dodge again.

  “I can respect death by steel. I’ll grant you that one boon, boy. Maybe that will help your crippled girlfriend deal with your loss.”

  Hamish wanted to lunge at Aonghus, but getting himself impaled would not help. So he spread his hands and said, “So you plan to murder me unarmed after all, do you?”

  Aonghus grinned and Hamish could imagine the fire boiling in his eyes. Even though he lacked marble, he still acted like a Firetongue. Hamish expected Aonghus to charge again, but instead he drew his dagger and tossed it to Hamish. “Fine. Here’s steel for your hand.”

  Hamish caught the dagger with a flicker of new hope. It was barely a third of the length of Aonghus’ sword, but it was something.

  Aonghus raised his blade and stated simply, “Now you die, Builder.”

  General Aonghus crossed the distance in a flash, tapping basalt and slashing at Hamish’s stomach. With obsidian-enhanced reflexes, Hamish slipped aside and parried with the shorter dagger. The blades rang together, the echo lost in the tumult of shouting, screaming, roaring monsters, and shrieking wind that kept the entire battlefield a tumult of sound and chaos. It the midst of elemental death battles and elfonnel insanity, the two of them fought through the broken, ripped-up landscape.

  Aonghus pressed the attack, moving with superhuman speed, slashing in an ever-increasing tempo, pressing Hamish steadily back. Hamish fought for his life, deflecting strike after slashing strike, drawing upon all of his training and grueling practice over the past months. Hamish was an accomplished swordsman, but Aonghus was faster, more experienced, and wielded a much better weapon. If not for obsidian, Hamish would have died within seconds.

  With it, Hamish had a chance. He embraced battle fury as obsidian infused his muscles and accelerated his mind. As always, it also triggered subtle flavors of his favorite desserts, like tantalizing scents from his mother’s kitchen. Enhanced by obsidian, Hamish transformed from a competent swordsman to a master. It seemed a simple thing to read Aonghus’ intent by the position of his feet, the turn of his shoulder and wrist. The ringing of steel sounded again as they met in a flurry of strokes, but Hamish stopped retreating and instead advanced through the blizzard of slashes, determined to penetrate Aonghus’ defenses, to draw close enough to plunge his own dagger into the hated man’s eye.

  “You’re full of surprises Builder,” Aonghus laughed as he increased the tempo. He was a master of basalt and knew how to apply it to his entire body. His
speed increased, his sword blurring as he redoubled the attack.

  “With the right food, you can accomplish anything,” Hamish responded as they fought across the broken ground. Aonghus didn’t need to know he was a Blade, and the comment might goad the man into making a mistake.

  Hamish couldn’t move as fast, but he could read his opponent’s intention, anticipate the forms he would use, and how he would transition from each strike to the next. He matched Aonghus’ increased tempo, moving his blade only enough to block or deflect the faster strikes of his opponent as the two of them wove and spun around each other.

  Time seemed to slow, the greater battlefield to dissolve as Hamish’s world contracted until only he and Aonghus existed. His senses grew sharper, his awareness of his body and every particle of it deepening. He knew without question where he was, how he was moving, and exactly how to adjust to meet Aonghus’ next slash or to press his advantage. Hamish had never immersed into obsidian so far, and it was marvelous.

  Aonghus was also tapping deep, arms and legs moving so fast, only Hamish’s enhanced reflexes allowed him to meet each blow. He pushed himself to the limits of even his obsidian-enhanced skills, and Aonghus matched him step for step. The panting of their breathing sounded loud, punctuated by the sharp staccato of their blades. The air seemed warm, and their skin shone with sweat. Any second now, one of them would make a single mistake and die.

  Then a fist-sized globe of water struck Aonghus in the face. The blow caught him by surprise and knocked him onto his backside. He rolled with the fall and returned to feet, sword at the ready, face livid with rage.

  Aifric approached, making a tisking, chiding sound. “You know better than to engage in a duel of honor with an opponent at a distinct disadvantage,” she told Aonghus. “Shame on you for not finding Hamish a sword.”