by Frank Morin
Ivor turned away, and the still-arguing crowd resumed their raucous journey toward the distant Carraig township at the southern sweep of the great outer wall.
Connor continued toward Shona's palace, considering the strange conversation. Ivor hadn't looked worried, just cautious. He never did anything without good reason.
Of course he had a reason. Understanding struck like a poke from a wet finger, always startling and rather unpleasant.
Pathfinders.
Even a beginner Pathfinder could overhear conversations from a great distance. Connor had watched a lesson where the Pathfinder students had been challenged to listen for Strider footsteps out on the plain while they were standing in the center of the Carraig. Had a Pathfinder been focusing, they could have picked out even Ivor's whispers. Then again, a Pathfinder just sweeping the castle, letting conversations filter through their mind, trying to grasp hold of interesting tidbits, would most likely have missed it.
Ivor had been careful to speak in general terms for the most part. Their words would have blended well with the raucous arguments about the generals and events of the day. Only a Pathfinder specifically focused on them would have paid attention, but would have learned little.
Then he remembered Ivor's odd request of Jok a couple weeks prior. He'd requested the services of one of Lord Dail's Pathfinders. Had Ivor been preparing to deal with eavesdropping back then? Or had he been hoping to use the Pathfinder to spy on the competition?
Connor was going to have to be more careful. He doubted anyone was targeting him, but he couldn't risk making a faulty assumption. As Kilian, he was on guard all the time. So many people were trying to spy on him that Tomas and Cameron had started a sign-up schedule to manage the flow of people lurking around his private suite. No doubt it infuriated the watchers that he slipped away so often. If he played that hand too often, someone would think to search the undercity. Few traveled those dim corridors, but more must know about their existence.
Shona would be watched as well. How did Lord Nevan shield his palace? There must be a way.
As he climbed the steps to the colonnaded entrance, he ran through his mind all the things he needed to speak with her about. His thoughts scattered when the aged butler led him into the spacious second-floor study where they usually met. Shona was seated on a couch, speaking with a tawny-haired woman wearing High Lord Dougal's colors.
Beside the women stood Captain Aonghus, the Firetongue from General Carbrey's army. Aonghus wouldn't know he'd survived the flood. Would he greet Connor as a friend, or try to kill him?
Chapter 8
"Connor, come in." Shona gestured him closer, but did not rise to greet him as she usually did.
Captain Aonghus laughed, and Connor was relieved to not see any fire glinting in the red-haired man's eyes. He'd introduced Connor to marble and they'd fought the Grandurians together in the battles of Alasdair, but he'd always made Connor nervous. The man embraced the insanity of marble with far too much enthusiasm, and had always seemed rather unhinged.
Aonghus clapped Connor on the shoulder. "So you did survive, eh boy?"
"Good to see you, Captain." He was relieved that Aonghus didn't appear hostile. Rory and his company had accepted Connor again with remarkably little fuss. When Connor blew the mountain, some of General Carbrey's army had been swept away, and some of them had surely died. He still felt guilty about that, but no other course had been open to him.
"You're the one who blew that mountain, aren't you?" Aonghus asked. "Where'd you get the marble for it?"
"From the Grandurians."
That was mostly true. Connor preferred to say as little as possible about the specifics of what he'd done in the icy depths of that loch. He hadn't trusted Shona with the secret of diorite, and he'd never entrust it to Aonghus. The Firetongue would no doubt try to use the dangerous stone too. Although Connor doubted Aonghus could establish another affinity, he couldn't take the risk.
Shona stood, as did the tawny-haired woman beside her. "Connor, I'm pleased to introduce Spit-nail Camonica."
That was the most ridiculous title he'd ever heard, but the woman's presence rivaled Shona's for sheer gracefulness. She was tall and willowy, with firm brown eyes in a smooth, pretty face, and she rose with the deadly grace of a Blade. Her thick hair hung past her shoulder blades in slightly curling waves that she hadn't bothered to bind in any way. She looked to be in her late twenties and when she spoke, her voice sounded somehow like the rippling of gentle waters.
"Hello, Connor. I've heard much about you."
He bowed like Shona had taught him. "Pleased to meet you, Camonica."
She frowned. "You will use my title in formal situations such as this, boy."
Boy, was she going to regret calling him that.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know that spitting nails was a title."
Her expression darkened, but Captain Aonghus chortled. "She'll be spitting mad if you don't shut up."
Shona interceded for him. "I forgot you didn't know the titles for the chain of command, Connor. Some of the high officers in the army hold the title of chornail." She spoke the word as if the 'ch' was petitioning for transition into a 'k', but hadn't quite succeeded.
Connor managed not to grimace. The name sounded like the hideous soups that foul-tempered Cinaed used to try to force on him and his friends in Alasdair.
"But since they must hold tertiary affinities, their titles are adjusted to include reference to their affinity stone."
"Hence I hold the title of spit-nail," Camonica added with abundant formality, as if saying it with such pomp made it sound less stupid. "I expect you will remember that in the future."
"Of course." Whoever invented that title had scored the ultimate joke, getting a fresh laugh every time it was used.
"They just arrived in the Carraig," Shona explained.
"With that armored caravan?" Connor guessed.
"Aye," Aonghus said.
"I don't like leaving them so lightly guarded," Camonica grimaced.
"They'll be fine," Aonghus reassured her.
Connor wondered if Camonica had actually looked at that army of Petralists and support troops she'd traveled with.
"If anything happens to that shipment, it could have dire consequences for the war effort," Camonica said.
"They'll be fine," Shona echoed Aonghus.
"Pray they are," Camonica warned. "Any mishap would reflect poorly upon your father and diminish his influence at a critical time."
"No one's going to mess with that caravan," Connor offered. "Unless Granadure invaded with an entire army."
"Don't underestimate them," Camonica warned. "They must be given no quarter and no room to escape this time."
"That shipment will make it to the front," Aonghus said, looking disgusted.
"Which front?" Connor asked.
"What do you mean?" Camonica asked.
"High Lord Dougal's armies are massing against the Grandurians, but what about the Arishat League armies?"
"How do you know about them?" Shona looked shocked.
Connor shrugged. It was a risk to reveal that he knew anything, but the risk was worth it. He needed to understand what was going on in the world. Seeing all that power stone carted away had driven home just how close the fighting loomed over the nation. A lot of people would die once battle was joined, and he felt an urgent need to know.
"I've been at the Carraig for months and everyone's talking about the war. Students are already betting on which commands they'll be assigned at the end of term."
The betting was fierce on those, but Connor had resisted the urge to participate. He knew nothing about how commissions were handled, so any win would be little more than blind luck.
"Commissions," Camonica muttered. "Spoiled, untrained, useless children. My blind uncle could fight better than most of them."
He really wanted to know about that uncle. But he only said, "I'd have to live under a rock to not hear anything about the Arish
at League."
"How much do you know?" Aonghus asked.
"This discussion is none of his concern," Camonica said, but Aonghus shook his head.
"You're wrong. The boy's been given command. He needs to know the stakes or he'll be at a disadvantage."
"I know a little," Connor admitted. "The Arishat League doesn't seem to want either Granadure or Obrion to gain advantage, and they're prepared to attack either side to prevent that from happening."
"That's a good summary," Shona said. "It's good to see you've got good ears in addition to that good tongue of yours."
"Don't worry about the Arishat yet," Aonghus said. "They won't commit any time soon. What do you know of their military?"
"Not much."
"Not much to worry about," Aonghus said. "They've got few Petralists, so they don't really pose much of a threat."
"Who's giving the boy a disadvantage now?" Camonica asked. "Of course they still pose a threat." She began counting off the nations on her fingers.
"Althins are mostly diplomats, but they possess a mighty navy and could pull Tabnit into the fighting from across the Sea of Olcan."
"They see themselves as the ultimate leaders," Aonghus agreed. "They'll be hoping the war will weaken both Obrion and Granadure enough for the league to pull us in to join the herd."
"Tabnit," Camonica continued. "They're another naval power, but they command vast land holdings in the south, but little is known of them. Rumors suggest they can field a diverse army, but logistics of transportation across the sea are daunting."
"Ravinder," she continued.
"Bunch of helpless farmers," Aonghus muttered.
"They have little in the way of an army," Camonica agreed. "But their food supplies might prove critical."
"If the Arishat moves, we'll just sweep through Ravinder and take it all," Aonghus said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Fields this time of year burn really well."
"The last time anyone tried invading, the Mhortair assassinated the entire leadership corps," Camonica warned. "If that treaty is still in place, they are not to be trifled with lightly."
"Who are the Mhortair?" Connor asked.
"A topic for another day," Shona said. "We're already covering a lot of ground."
Camonica continued with another raised finger. "Sehrazad. They are fierce raiders, but dislike large pitched battles."
"Striders'll do for them," Aonghus said. "And if the war runs into next summer, the sands in that south desert offer lots of heat to work with."
"Varvakis will be the greatest direct threat," Camonica finished, extending her thumb. "They are hardy warriors, and their smiths produce the best steel on the continent."
"But how can they think to fight us?" Connor asked. "You said yourself they don't have many Petralists."
"They don't," Camonica agreed. "That's their great weakness, but they've been working on that problem ever since the end of the Tallan Wars. Mark my words, they've got surprises in store and a lot of Petralists will die before they're beaten back into submission and again swear fealty to Obrion."
That last comment was the key to Camonica's thinking, like many in Obrion. It seemed the entire world had gone mad. Everyone was so intent on going to war, of conquest that no one even talked about the possibility of peace, of reconciliation, or treaties.
"Thank you for the information, Spit-nail Camonica," he said after a moment.
"During our training sessions and informal communication, you may use my given name," she added, looking like granting him such liberty was a great boon.
"Training sessions?"
Aonghus grinned. "Why do you think we're here, boy? We're your trainers." He spread his hands wide. "We're going to teach you to master your tertiary powers!"
"I can't wait," Connor said, wondering if they'd burn down the entire central keep, or only char his suite.
"You didn't think I was going to leave you without teachers, did you?" Shona asked, looking pleased with herself. "You can't train with the regular classes, and Rory has neither a Firetongue nor a Spitter in his company."
"You've chosen the right stones, boy," Aonghus laughed. "Once I teach you how to get a real burn going, not even that blockhead Redmund and his vaunted earth powers will stand a chance."
Camonica sniffed. "You're all hot air, Aonghus. I wager soapstone will be the critical element."
Before they could launch into what looked like a favorite argument, Shona interrupted. "The good news is he can leverage both." She added to Connor. "You will train with both Aonghus and Camonica daily in your private training facility."
"We're starting late," Camonica said. "Most Tir-raon champions have years to master the skills we'll have to impart to you in a matter of weeks."
"We'll have to cut some corners," Aonghus agreed, a wild look in his eye.
More like he planned to incinerate those corners.
So they'd help him succeed as the masked Dawnus, Kilian, and Aonghus knew the truth about the full extent of Connor's curse, but had they shared that with Camonica?
"Army nominations are tomorrow," Shona said, motioning them all to sit. She pulled Connor onto one of the couches beside her, while the others took nearby chairs. "We have a lot to discuss."
"Do you know who I'll get?" Connor asked.
She shook her head. "The final details are a closely guarded secret. Lord Nevan and the others aren't even allowed to leave the negotiation hall until the assembly. And they've got all the customary wards in place against eavesdropping."
"What are those?" Connor asked, thinking back to his recent discussion with Ivor.
"You planning to break in?" Aonghus looked like he'd volunteer to help.
"I don't think that would help at this point," Shona said.
"I've been thinking. People are already spying on me as Kilian, but they might also be listening in on you here, or watching elsewhere. I'd like to know how to counter Pathfinders hearing everything we say."
Aonghus glowered at Connor. "I can't believe you chose that name! Kilian and I have unfinished business."
"Get in line," Camonica hissed. She'd produced a slender dagger and was gripping it so tight her fingers looked white against the handle.
No one appreciated how perfect that name was. Connor had forgotten Captain Aonghus had battled Kilian in the streets of Alasdair. The Grandurian had been the first Dawnus Connor had met, and the fighting hadn't gone well for Aonghus. He wanted to ask Camonica why she hated Kilian so much, but didn't dare. She looked ready to stab anyone who mentioned the name again.
"There are counter measures available," Shona said. "I could send details along with Jean, but I haven't seen her in a week."
"You haven't?" That surprised Connor.
"Don't play dumb, Connor. It weakens the trust we're rebuilding." Shona looked irritated. "She may be your friend, but she's also my handmaid. I know she's helping you adjust to your new position, and I suspect she's worried about how angry I'll be when I see her again, but she's just going to make things worse."
So Shona did know about Jean's attempted flight, but where was Jean?
"Ah, I'll send her over when I see her again."
Connor struggled to pay attention as his new teachers discussed their planned training schedule. He was consumed by worry for Jean. Was she all right? Had Jok cornered her?
Jok owed him, and he'd thought that would be enough to ensure Jok treated Jean with the proper respect. But Jok had been eager to get his hands on Jean since the first day he saw her. If he hurt her, Connor would kill him.
"Then it's settled," Shona said with a smile. "We'll start this afternoon."
Captain Aonghus and Spit-nail Camonica rose and bid farewell. Connor moved to follow them out of the room, but Shona pulled him back.
"I'm not through with you yet."
Connor sank back onto the couch, trying to look at ease, but racking his brain in vain to think what he might have done. The last week had been extremely busy, and he'd avo
ided Shona as much as he could. He had needed the time to reconcile himself with the reality of his life and the inescapable prison she held him in. She was his patron, the only shield against the horror of turning unclaimed.
He owed her everything. He was grateful. Really. But he hated not having a choice.
Shona sank onto the couch beside him and surprised him by leaning against his chest, her face nuzzled close to his neck. Her warm proximity unsettled him like always. Shona was beautiful, strongly gifted in granite, and the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Obrion. She was also devious and ambitious.
If showering him with affection was necessary, she would do so without hesitation, but he'd always wonder how much of it was genuine.
"Oh, Connor," she sighed, her breath warm on his neck. "We don't get enough time together. I hate it."
"Life's pretty busy," he agreed, forced to awkwardly hold her as she leaned against him. If he could ever trust anything she said, he could learn to enjoy holding her like that.
Until he thought of Verena.
Shona lifted her head to look him in the eye. "The situation got crazy again, Connor. It seems nothing is ever easy for us, and we're constantly getting pulled apart."
When he didn't speak, she stroked his cheek, her finger cool on his skin. Her faint, rose-scented perfume tickled his nose. "Sometimes all we have to deal with can seem confusing, but this is real, Connor. Together we can win, we can accomplish everything."
"I'll win the Tir-raon for you, my lady," he promised. She couldn't still worry he'd try to run again.
"I know," she murmured. "That's not what I'm talking about." She placed a hand over his heart. "Trust is hard to build, my Connor, and we've had more than our share of trials. We need to rebuild it, to know that we can rely on each other, no matter what happens."
"I'm your Guardian. You can trust that."
And he'd trust her to act without hesitation to punish him and everyone he loved if he failed her. She'd already threatened to enslave his entire village if he didn't perform to her satisfaction. Talk about a stake through the heart of that whole trust speech.
Shona leaned closer, her hazel eyes looking deep into his. Her voice fell to a throaty whisper. "I love hearing you say that. We're meant to be partners in this, the great adventure of our lives. You'll win. I have no doubts."
