No Stone Unturned

by Frank Morin

  "Aifric and the other student Healers are already tending to them," Grahame reported.

  As the students began to disperse toward the eating halls, Rory pulled Connor, the other champions, and Frazier aside. The captain looked unusually grim.

  "I will investigate this crime, and I expect Lord Dail will assign resources to help. Until we discover who was responsible, be on your guard."

  "You think whoever did this will strike again?" Ivor asked.

  "Then Kilian needs to be careful," Redmund added. "Not the rest of us."

  "Think deeper," Frazier said. "Kilian was on top of the dome, and he has strong affinity with water. Chances of him getting killed were slim."

  "So why shake the dome?" Redmund asked.

  "Perhaps to discredit him," Padraigin suggested. "Kilian has almost as many enemies as I do."

  She had a point, but that still didn't seem right. Why risk so much death and destruction on the chance that it might reflect poorly on him?

  "Or maybe I wasn't the target."

  That got their attention.

  "Like you said, I can take care of myself. But if I hadn't protected you and your men, how many would have died?"

  No one liked to think they had enemies out to kill them. Frazier was respected for the incredible obstacle courses he developed.

  "Perhaps a student who fared poorly in this year's standings has connections to pull off such a stunt," Rory said. "But it seems a stretch."

  "Or maybe they just hoped to keep the Rhidorroch from reopening," Padraigin suggested. "Without it, standings are locked in."

  "Oh, that's a good one," Ivor said.

  "Why not suggest Lord Dail ordered the attack as a way to secure more funding for the school," Connor said. When they all looked at him like he was cracked, he shrugged. "If we're going to start throwing out wild guesses, let's see how far we can go."

  "You are so twisted," Padraigin muttered.

  "We need more information," he clarified. "Otherwise we're wasting time."

  "Like I said," Rory interjected. "Be on your guard. All we know at this point is that someone was willing to risk committing mass murder today. Whoever that is, they're dangerous. Until we catch them, they may decide to strike again."

  Connor wondered if Ilse had a hand in the disaster. If she had, that meant she'd abandoned her mission to recruit him and moved to her alternate directive to assassinate him.

  If it was Ilse, she would try again, and people were going to die.

  Chapter 5

  Hamish stood at his worktable in the cavernous room in the Builder compound that used to hold the windrider he and Verena had crashed. He sucked on a piece of soapstone coated with caramel. The custom mixture of sugary coating and refreshing, cool soapstone was close to perfect.

  He might add a twist of granite dust so it would taste like cool caramel crackers. He had tried marble, but it didn't mix well with soapstone. Burns were a familiar consequence and he knew how to deal with them. Barely even felt them any more.

  In his hands he held two large mugs, one filled with warm water, the other holding a hard biscuit he'd found in his pocket. By prying open just a fraction of the soapstone's embedded power, he concentrated on crafting the stone's connection with nearby water.

  Soapstone in its simplest form just grabbed any nearby water and pulled it toward the stone. It was a powerful effect, but was but the tip of the torrent. Soapstone allowed a Builder to connect with water, and as his mastery over his Builder powers had grown, he'd learned that there were more sophisticated ways to manipulate the power stones he unlocked.

  It was tricky, because crafting more complex patterns of behavior had to be done by feel. Like trying to weave spaghetti into mittens in the dark.

  At the moment, he was directing a slender arc of water from the first mug onto the biscuit in the second. Every time his concentration slipped, he unleashed every ounce of water in the room, soaking everything. Verena could twist water into knots, making the complex process of invisible spaghetti weaving seem simple.

  The feel of the water slipping through his mental fingers felt like that time he had dropped a fresh-baked chocolate cake and almost managed to catch it. Manipulating water left a similar invisible tasty trail along his mental fingers, although he hadn't yet figured out how to lick it off.

  He was finally mastering the required control. After allowing the water to soak into the biscuit for several seconds to soften it enough for eating, he began drawing the water back to the first cup. The trick was to leave enough to maintain that slightly softened feel.

  "Hamish, are you in here?"

  At the sound of Verena's voice, his mental fingers slipped. Water sprayed across the room, and Verena sighed.

  "That had better not have come from your mouth."

  "Of course not. It would've dissolved the caramel too fast." He held up the cup. "Let me see if I can get it all back in here."

  "I've got a better idea," she said with that mischievous twinkle in her eye that heralded another new invention.

  Verena extended her arms a little. Flames began dancing along her wrists where she wore a new set of matching silver bracelets, set with interlocking, polished marble stones of varying colors. Hamish immediately saw the value of having access to flames on both hands. She could toast bread without having to stand.

  Then the flames leaped in slender arcs between her wrists and from there up to a marble necklace she wore. For a second he worried she had lost control, and prepared to douse her with another shot of soapstone.

  Verena never lost control, and the flames clung to her necklace like a living ruby pendant. She was smart enough not to let the flames circle her throat and burn her hair, and they remained on the outer layer of the necklace, away from her skin. Hamish had recently learned how bad burning hair stunk. Now he wore his short like a soldier.

  The flames thickened as she opened the release rate, dancing between her wrists and neck, continuing to expand until gossamer sheets of flame rippled in front of her. The water he had sprayed her with gently evaporated into mist that seemed to caress her smiling face as it ascended toward the ceiling. The flames began changing colors, from red to orange to white.

  "Show off."

  The fire disappeared with an audible snap and Verena grinned, "You're not the only one working on special projects."

  They were busy producing existing mechanicals as fast as possible to supply the war effort, but that only made the little research time they could still get all the more precious. Verena used it better than most. In the grip of Builder creativity, she was like a tornado of invention. He couldn't tell her that, though.

  "I'm sure your new invention will scare off any Petralists we run into."

  She shrugged. "If not, I'll speed-crack 'em."

  Hamish shuddered to think of her latest battlefield-level tactic. Of course, Kilian absolutely loved it. It was a wallstone combined with basalt. Dropping it formed a standard earthen wall, but riding on basalt, which slid that wall across the ground at tremendous speed for about a hundred yards. Anyone caught in its path would at best only suffer bruises or broken bones.

  Hamish was trying to convince one of the local farmers to let him try it in his back pasture with some carefully positioned plows. He was convinced they could revolutionize the entire planting process. Surprisingly, the man didn't seem enthusiastic. Probably because his herd of milk cows had still not recovered from the last experiment he signed up for.

  Verena glanced at his worktable. "Is it ready?"

  "It is." With a grand gesture, he showed her his masterpiece. His ultimate vision was a full flying suit, packed with deadly mechanicals, but he hadn't combined all the pieces yet. The most important piece, which he lifted to show her, was the armored jacket.

  It was beautiful. Starting with a standard leather battle jacket, Hamish had added three interlocking layers of palm-sized hardened granite scales, overlapping to form a dense armor.

  "That's it?"
r />   "Of course it is!" he cried. "This is going to change the world."

  Verena grimaced. "We'll have to work on your fashion sense then."

  "Oh, stop. Help me put it on."

  It was a bit bulky, but not as bad as full steel plate. With Verena's help, Hamish fastened the buckles.

  "What does it do?" Verena asked, fingering some of the granite leaves.

  "A lot, but today I'm just testing the stop-bash property."

  "That's not a real word."

  "You invent new words all the time."

  She shrugged as he led her out of the room. "I'm good at it."

  They found Bastien in the practice arena, as usual. It looked like he was packing up his equipment.

  "You can't be taking a vacation," Hamish said. "Not with a war brewing."

  "What are you doing here?" Bastien asked. "And what is this contraption?"

  "I said I'd be back."

  "You waited almost too long," Bastien said, examining the armor.

  "Are you leaving?" Verena asked.

  "I must, lady," he said. "They're shipping me to Badurach Pass where the army's gathered to repel the Obrioners. I'll be training recruits."

  "Fighting hasn't started yet, has it?" Verena asked.

  "I don't think so, but could be any day."

  Hamish wasn't sure how he felt about that. He loved his new home, but he still loved his homeland. He wished Obrion wouldn't invade because a lot of people were going to die on both sides. Politics was a confusing mess that made less sense every day.

  He pushed those concerns aside and faced his arms master. "Then it's a good thing you get one more shot at me before you leave."

  The swordmaster grunted and switched to Obrioner. "Is you face break."

  "No, I need you to punch me in the chest this time." Hamish tapped the center of his new armor. "And don't hold back."

  "Maybe you should start out lighter," Verena cautioned.

  Why didn't anyone trust him? "No, punch me hard."

  "You've opened the strength on those leaves wide, but I don't get the point," Verena said.

  "That's because you only think in terms of leveling cities with your stones."

  She shrugged. "If you're going to break something. . ."

  "Break it big," he finished for her. "This is different. You'll see."

  "I'd better go get the Healer then."

  "Don't go anywhere." He gestured again. "Come on, hit me."

  Bastian still hesitated so Hamish said, "You're losing your touch. Maybe you should get that hair implant I suggested."

  That did it.

  Bastian's arm swelled with granite power and he slugged Hamish in the chest. The blow threw him from his feet and he sailed five feet before crashing to the ground with a surprisingly musical jingle of the granite scales.

  Hamish groaned as Verena helped him sit up. His chest ached where Bastian had punched him, but no ribs felt broken.

  "Did you see that?" he exclaimed.

  "It was a nice try," Verena said as she hauled him to his feet. Bastian approached, once more normal sized, and actually looking concerned.

  "Don't you get it?" Hamish cried. "He punched me with full granite burn, but I only flew a few feet and didn't break anything!"

  "I did break something." Bastian pointed out three cracked granite leaves.

  Hamish removed the broken pieces and confirmed the second layer was still undamaged. "Wow! They held up pretty well."

  "True," Verena said, "but they wouldn't stop a second hit. How does it work?"

  "The granite's strong, and overlapping the plates helps disperse the energy."

  "How could you possibly know that?"

  "I worked in the quarry a lot. One time I helped the carpenters repair the hauling wagon. It used a similar idea in dispersing the weight of those huge granite blocks away from the axle."

  "Wow. That's actually a pretty good idea."

  Coming from her, that was saying a lot.

  "It still needs some work," he said, not letting his guard down. She often punched people right after acting friendly. "But we'll get it. The idea is to diffuse the force of a Rumbler punch."

  Bastian shook his head slowly. "It's a good idea, Builder, but there's too much power to stop. You'd need to fight underwater to make enough difference."

  Those words blazed through Hamish's mind like a dinner bell. "That's it! You're brilliant!" He pumped Bastian's hand. "I could kiss that bald head of yours."

  He fled before Bastian could hit him again.

  "What about the other pieces?" Verena called as she chased him back toward his worktable.

  "Later. This is important." He dragged a large wooden crate out from under the table and threw off the lid. Inside, pastries and breadsticks surrounded apples and jerky. Hamish grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing ferociously.

  "What are you doing. . .and where did you get all this?"

  "It's for emergencies."

  She started asking another question but he waved her to silence. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to talk when my mouth is full?"

  Verena gave him that look so similar to ones Jean used to give him, head cocked to one side, hands on hips. "Then I'd never get to talk."

  He shrugged, and Verena stormed out of the room. Good, he needed time to eat, time to think.

  Even as he wolfed down a fantastic amount of food, he scribbled like mad on the nearest parchment. Within the hour he had worked out the basic idea, and he wanted to shout. Next time he met Bastian, he'd take the fight to him.

  Chapter 6

  Connor reached the top of a long set of stone stairs rising from the perpetual gloom of the Carraig's secret, underground levels. He hadn't bothered using a lantern to traverse that spooky expanse of mostly-empty corridors. His quartzite-enhanced vision allowed him to see farther, and his enhanced ears could pick out the muffled footsteps of the few other people nearby.

  He had avoided those few travelers of the undercity, despite a powerful curiosity to discover who else knew the secret ways. He had quested through the darkness with enhanced senses, but had caught no hint that Jean was anywhere nearby, and he didn't have time to search more. He needed to make an appearance as Connor.

  Shona had assigned Guardians to clear the rubble from the collapsed passage leading up to the Sculpture House. Connor was grateful for direct access, but wished Shona didn't know about it. She was his patron and he was sworn to serve her, but that didn't mean he wanted her knowing everything.

  The stair emerged into a little-used storage room in the basement of the Sculpture House. Most of the students didn't even know the room existed, and Ailsa planned to keep it that way.

  It wouldn't be hard. Someone had parked a statue of a hideously ugly woman in front of the outer door, blocking most of it. In the shadows of that lower corridor, the menacing statue reminded Connor of Professor Hector in that terrible moment when he'd turned unclaimed and transformed into a rage monster.

  Connor had been forced to put down the Hector monster before it could rampage through the school. His hopes of escaping into Granadure with Ilse and her company had died along with it. Witnessing the terrible truth of unclaimed had probably saved the lives of Ilse and her people, as well as Jean, but that truth hung like a shackle around his neck.

  He sighed as he brushed past the statue, but then stopped and listened. There were far too many people in the Sculpture House. Footsteps and voices echoed down the stone stairs from above, crisp and clearly military.

  Connor tapped quartzite again and applied the liquid warmth to his ears. A flood of sounds rushed in like a flood and he leaned against the ugly statue as he sorted through them. The Sculpture House was full of High Lord Dougal's soldiers.

  They were taking the power stones.

  Connor rushed down the passage toward the stairs and the vault that held the precious treasure trove of power stones. He only barely remembered to release quartzite and purge its power before re
aching the stairs. Immediately a wide-shouldered Boulder in thick plate armor confronted him.

  "Who goes there?"

  "Ah, I'm Connor," he said, adopting a posture of submission. "I work here for Sculptress Ailsa."

  "What are you doing skulking around in the darkness? I was told this level was empty."

  Connor nodded toward the steady stream of Boulders stomping past up the stairs, each carrying heavy loads of both unprocessed blocks as well as sacks of powder. "Then what do you call all those guys? Ghosts?"

  Like many professional Boulders, the man had tapped granite so long, he'd squeezed his brains into submission. "No."

  "Good. I really don't like ghosts. Carry on."

  Connor slipped past and trotted up the stairs. The Boulder looked like he wanted to protest, but then he'd have to risk abandoning his post. Connor didn't wait for him to figure it out, starting a mental tally of the stones being taken. At the rate they were going, they'd empty out the entire vault in half an hour.

  Usually when he reached the main workroom on the ground floor, Connor liked to pause to breathe deep the comforting scent of broken stone, overlaid with Ailsa's favorite late season flowers. The devastation left after the desperate fight against Hector was mostly gone, the broken columns repaired, and new stones positioned for students to start projects again.

  Most of the students were hard at work, but he could barely see them. The maze-like clutter that had choked the room since before Connor arrived with Ailsa had been cleared out with the rest of the rubble, but the room was packed with soldiers, both regulars and Petralists.

  The Boulders were working together in a steady rhythm, efficiently pillaging the vault and carrying that precious cargo out the wide outer doors to load into several armored wagons. They looked like reinforced strongboxes on wheels. Four clerks quadruple-checked every load as it passed.

  It looked like the other soldiers packing the Sculpture House didn't have anything specific to do, but they didn't look bored. They stood with hands on weapons, scanning everywhere, as if expecting a horde of Grandurians to descend upon them at any minute.

  A dozen of them converged on Connor.