by Frank Morin
"Didn't have to. He seemed to know already, and he was happy to help."
So Runda really had been responsible for the watchers around Ailsa's mansion outside of Raineach, and they had seen him training.
"Why is Runda keeping quiet?" Connor wondered.
Jok shrugged. "He's a hard stone to crack, Runda is. I figured he was hoping to gain advantage for his high lord when Shona lost control of you. High Lord Goban is one of Dougal's allies, but everyone's worried about how much power Dougal's acquiring through this war effort. I think everyone would be happy to see him lose for once."
"There has to be more to it than that. I wish you hadn't involved him."
"And I wish you'd used that opportunity. Now you've grouted the whole geall."
"There's more to it than you know," Connor said. "Please promise me you won't try to kill anyone for me again."
"Nobody died," Jok muttered.
"Just promise."
"You can't be planning to submit to Shona."
"I'm working on a plan," Connor assured him.
"Well, you'd better work faster. She's got your nose in a vise, Connor. She can tug you any way she wants."
"You're not actually helping to motivate me," Connor pointed out.
"Watch yourself, Connor," Jok said, turning to leave. "This year's contest will be vicious."
Connor watched him go, not sure how to feel. On one hand, it infuriated him to think about the destruction of the Rhidorroch. But then, if even Jok saw how desperate his situation was, he really needed to figure out a way to flip the geall on Shona.
The problem was, like Jok so eloquently pointed out, Shona held all the strings.
When he entered the healing wing, he was happy to find that Aifric was the senior student on duty. She and the other Healers rushed to greet him, but when they learned he was only delivering the rounds and wasn't actually hurt, several of them looked disappointed.
"I'll try to get hurt soon," he promised. "But it's getting harder to manage. Those Petralists are so distracted by group battles, they lack the drive to beat up a common linn with enough focus to matter."
"We know we can count on you," one of the girls said with a smile. "You're always our most interesting patient."
"I'm happy to see you," Aifric said, shooing the other girls away after they received their portions. "I'm glad you finally stopped by when you were healthy."
"It's not as much fun for you, but I like to try new things."
Aifric drew him to one side, away from the others. "Connor, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"Of course. You've saved my life more times than anyone I know."
"You're from Alasdair, aren't you?"
"How did you know that?" Most people thought he was from Raineach like his Aunt Ailsa.
"I've asked around."
"Why? Is there something uniquely amazing about how my bones heal?"
"No. I've been wanting to meet someone from there."
"It's not really the best vacation location." Even though the valley was truly beautiful, the village was unremarkable, the people ignorant of anything outside of their little world. He missed it.
"Were you there for the Battle of Alasdair?"
Connor hesitated. "Why would you want to know about that?"
"I'm doing research into recent conflicts between Obrion and Granadure."
He hadn't heard about any classes focusing on that. Most of them were gearing students toward participating in the next set of conflicts.
"I was there," he admitted. "It was a crazy time."
Maybe he shouldn't have said anything, but Aifric was one of the few people at the Carraig who seemed to care. He actually trusted her and couldn't bear to hold back a little truth from a friend.
Aifric leaned closer, her expression intent. "Did you see anything unusual?"
He barked a laugh. "I'm a commoner, Aifric. In my village, we barely knew Petralists existed. Everything they did was unusual."
She frowned. "I had hoped you could tell me more."
"About what?"
"I've heard rumors," she said softly. "That the Blood of the Tallan returned and might have been seen there."
How had she heard about that? Very few knew that truth, and they'd worked hard to keep the secret. Connor tried to keep his expression neutral. He liked Aifric, but he couldn't hope to begin speaking about that topic without revealing far too much.
"I'm sorry, but I can't tell you more than what I saw. Petralists are really dangerous." He patted his ribs. "On most days, I've found they're even more dangerous up close."
Aifric squeezed his hand. "Thanks anyway. Let me know if you think of anything that might be useful."
"Sure. Maybe the next time I get beat up, it'll rattle some memories loose. They get stuck sometimes."
As he left to complete the rounds, he wondered how Aifric knew so much.
Then his thoughts shifted yet again to how, by the Tallan's warted nose was he going to win the first group battle with an army that was hopelessly under-powered?
Chapter 21
Dressed in his Lian costume, Connor paused at the entrance to his Dawnus suite in the central keep. The wide atrium was busier than usual, with couriers scurrying to and fro, and newly-assigned captains of the various armies walking in small groups, heads bent in conversation after leaving their generals.
Connor's captains were meeting in Shona's palace. He had chosen her and Princess Catriona to lead his Boulders. With Shona's battlefield experience and top spot in the standings reinforcing her natural leadership talents, she was the best choice. Catriona had made such a big deal about helping him win the nomination challenge, everyone already assumed she'd also be chosen. Besides, it felt good to have royalty reporting to him.
He'd let Shona figure out how to keep her focused and help her become a productive leader. Catriona desperately needed someone competent to take her under their wing.
Lorcc was the single captain of the Striders. He could assign whatever assistants he needed. Aifric was captain of the Healers, and he gave her the Solas' too. He needed the Blade, Fearghas, so he'd assigned him as a personal assistant and bodyguard.
The only appointment that had surprised his army was Declan. Connor had ignored the muttered exclamations and open worry on many faces when he'd announced Declan as the captain of his tiny tertiary force. He needed Declan to build confidence to face the overwhelming challenge of dealing with the enemy Sentries.
It was like asking a flower to stop a charging torc.
"How was your first army training?" Tomas asked. As usual, he and Cameron were assigned guard duty at the entrance.
"I think it went well," Connor said.
Cameron barked a laugh. "We heard you had students digging out blocked tunnels with Frazier and his Guardians throwing broken pieces of the Rhidorroch down on them."
"The best way to learn to work as a team is to face adversity together."
"We've been cleared to hold training sessions with primary affinity groups," Tomas said. "We'll start with your army, if you'd like."
"Absolutely." Despite their casual demeanor, the two Fast Rollers were among the deadliest soldiers Connor had ever met. "Tomorrow morning on the plain."
"We'll be there," Tomas said.
Jean appeared at the far entrance and jogged across the atrium. Her smile seemed a bit forced.
"It's good to see you lass," Tomas said.
Cameron's ugly face twisted into a truly hideous mask of concentration.
"Fast flies time when we are apart
life is good only when friends are near
it is good to see you."
He grinned like he had just won a prize and Tomas looked impressed.
"Am I missing something?" Connor asked.
"I've been practicing my new form of rhyming," Cameron said. "Invented it myself."
"He's getting pretty good," Tomas said. "He's a man appreciated too little by too many and feared too much
by not enough."
Jean grimaced. "Ah, you do realize it didn't exactly rhyme."
"He waxes poetic around pretty ladies," Tomas said. "Practicing to impress Camonica."
So Connor had guessed right. "She said something about liking poetry."
"Really?" the two Fast Rollers asked in unison.
He nodded. "She said listening to Captain Aonghus speak philosophy was crazier than hearing Boulders quoting sonnets."
"Poetry and sonnets are two different things," Jean protested.
Cameron didn't seem to care. "I knew there was a reason I invented Flowered Prose."
"Hold on," Jean said. "Prose is the opposite of poetry."
"That's why no one expects it," Tomas said, tapping the side of his nose. "The element of surprise is just as important when speaking as it is on the battlefield."
"Um..." Jean looked to Connor for help.
"You're the experts on battlefield strategy," Connor admitted, trying to keep a straight face. "But Jean might know a little more about poetry."
"She is a girl," Tomas conceded.
Cameron nodded. "Gregor looked disgusted when I tried it out on him, and Aonghus sort of spontanably combusted."
"Stick to ladies for sure," Tomas agreed. "It's just a matter of getting the beats right."
"What do you mean?" Connor asked.
"Flowered Prose is a structured form," Cameron said. "It's in formation, so to speak. It's got to have six beats, then seven, then five."
"Beats?" Jean asked, although she looked like she really wanted to leave. "Do you mean syllables?"
Cameron frowned. "I don't think so."
"Syllables means the vocal breakdown of words," Connor offered.
"Don't break words," Tomas exclaimed, looking horrified. "They don't work when they're broken."
"You guys are hopeless," he groaned through a smile.
"And you got the beat count wrong in those lines earlier," Jean added.
"I couldn't have," Cameron said. "They sounded perfect."
Jean just shook her head and Tomas chortled. "She's gone and busted your formation, Cameron."
"He busted it himself," Jean insisted. "I just counted the words."
"Counting is overrated," Cameron muttered.
"But you're the one that said the word count was important."
"Beat count," he said. "Not the same thing."
"I give up," Jean cried.
"It's all right, lass," Tomas said. "Not everyone is ready for higher forms of entertainment."
"Keep practicing," Connor offered.
"Aye, try the next one out on Camonica," Tomas said.
That sounded like a really bad idea.
Connor asked Jean, "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be busy for a while."
"You won't see me much," she admitted. "Shona was very cross when I showed up, but she's meeting with those other captains." She gave him a warm smile. "Brilliant move assigning Catriona with her. She's going to have to work hard to keep the princess from doing something stupid."
"They're perfect for each other," Connor agreed with a smile.
"I have to get back," Jean said. "Shona wants you to stop by as soon as you can."
"I'll go see her as soon as I finish with Ivor."
That caught their attention.
"Don't start brawling with him," Jean cautioned.
"But if you have to, beat him down fast," Tomas said. "He's a crafty one."
"We're going to talk," Connor said. "I think it's a good opportunity."
"Be careful," Jean cautioned.
"Always." He turned to the Fast Rollers. "Do you think he's alone right now?"
"Aye," Tomas said. "His captains left five minutes ago."
"Good." Connor headed toward the distant entrance to Ivor's suite, guarded by a pair of Lady Polglass's Boulders.
"Just break something if you need help," Cameron called after him.
Chapter 22
The guards at the entrance to Ivor's Dawnus suite were expecting Connor, and one of the huge soldiers escorted him inside. As they passed the huge, private practice room, Connor noted that it looked like it had originally been configured much like his own. However, scores of workers were busy reconfiguring it.
Connor hadn't thought of that. The Rhidorroch might be closed, but as a Dawnus champion, he had access to enormous resources. Just about anything he wanted could be set up, all paid for by Shona. He smiled to himself and decided a new challenge course would be perfect.
He should have thought of it sooner. Ivor already had a strong lead in getting his facilities updated. Connor couldn't afford to dally. He was already at a serious disadvantage.
Ivor was waiting in his sitting room, which was comfortable, but not lavish. Vibrantly colored rugs were positioned under chairs and couches, but the rest of the expansive room was tiled in geometric patterns.
"Lian, I'm glad you came," Ivor said, greeting him with a strong handshake, then gesturing to an overstuffed chair. Servants brought silver trays piled with fruits, sweetbreads, and drinks, which they left on a nearby table.
"Happy to be here," Connor said. "We have a lot to discuss."
A woman entered the room wearing the distinctive orange and yellow colors of Lord Dail. She looked vaguely familiar and a bit older than most of the students, maybe in her early twenties. Her long, brown hair was silky smooth, her pretty face neutral, but she couldn't quite pull off the subservient look. Something in her big, brown eyes that glowed softly with Pathfinder light suggested a strong personality barely held in check.
"Sheigra," Ivor greeted her. "See that we are not disturbed and that our conversation remains private."
"I'll see it done." She retreated from the room and a moment later, wind began rushing down the outer corridor, sounding loud in the otherwise quiet suite.
"What are you doing with a Pathfinder from Lord Dail's entourage working for you?" Connor asked, even though he remembered that strange conversation between Ivor and Jok a few weeks prior.
"An arrangement. Sheigra helps with perimeter security, and I grant Lord Dail's house certain privileges."
That was a nice way to say Jok had needed to buy his captaincy in Ivor's army. Connor was already thinking a lot about spies and Pathfinder eavesdroppers, so Sheigra's purpose was obvious.
"Do you have any idea how well her interference actually prevents other Pathfinders from listening to what you say in here?" They were deep enough inside the vast bulk of the central keep that Connor doubted any Pathfinders on the outside could hear anything, but what about someone in the building?
"It's hard to quantify," Ivor admitted. "But our tests suggest active blocking, especially in a confined space like this, is extremely effective."
The second insight into improving his own suite in as many minutes. Connor should visit Ivor more often. The man was a quarry of information.
Ivor ignored the alcoholic choices on the food tray and took a glass of chilled juices, then gestured to Connor to sample some of the drinks. He declined. With so much energy being expended in security measures, could Connor trust that the drinks had not been tampered with? He had seen enough of Jean's herb mixtures to know some could produce powerful effects, including the loosening of one's tongue.
Ivor saluted with his glass and took a long sip. "To your impending doom."
"You gloat with style," Connor said, leaning back in the comfortable chair, happy his mask concealed his worry.
"There's no other possibility." Ivor spoke with blunt confidence. "Assignments are final, and they've made your army a laughing stock."
Connor selected a ripe pear from the tray. "The prey cannot be consumed before the hunter has loosed the arrow."
"The battle will be a formality," Ivor responded. "The only question is how bad the beating will be, and how low your soldiers can fall in the standings. Most of them are already near the bottom."
"Not for long."
"I appreciate the bravado," Ivor said. "I'
m disgusted by the decisions the representatives made. I was actually looking forward to a good contest. Now I can't even enjoy beating you."
"But winning for me will now be far more precious," Connor said, taking a big bite of the pear.
"Redmund won't show any mercy," Ivor continued, ignoring the retort. "Padraigin might, but she can't afford to lose either. By the Tallan's shameful glory, Lian, the stakes have never been higher. This could have been such a mighty contest!"
"It'll still be fun," Connor insisted. "I worry about you sometimes."
Ivor laughed. "Worry about yourself. You're clever, Lian. I like that. You have a good head for battlefield strategy, and you don't get rattled by surprises. You react fast and you seem to understand that these games aren't games."
"They're not," Connor agreed. "They're simulations of reality."
"You pulled out a creative win in that last battle," Ivor said. "But you risked too much."
"Not taking the risk guaranteed defeat. Sometimes we have to risk everything to win."
Ivor grinned. "Sure, but remember it's not just a game. In a real battle, you wouldn't have risked the lives of your men like that, or risked your own life. You would have tried for a strategic withdrawal and lived to fight another day."
"Perhaps," Connor said. "But how many of my men would have died before we escaped?"
Ivor leaned back. "You care, Lian. That can be seen as a weakness."
Connor shook his head. "I've seen what happens to those who don't care. They've already lost."
"You see the best in others," Ivor said thoughtfully. "And you actually count on others to respond as their best selves. That's a dangerous way to live."
"Better than expecting people to be their worst."
"Perhaps," Ivor said. "But I like to make sure I'm not left exposed and disappointed."
"Then don't give anyone a reason to disappoint you."
"Perhaps not." Ivor looked thoughtful. "The strategy did work to get us to help you build that ice dome on nomination day."
"Better to be part of something amazing than whine about the disaster after the fact," Connor responded.
Ivor laughed and saluted with his drink. "You won the nomination with flair, Lian. Maybe you will make a stronger showing in the battle than I expect. I honestly hope you do."
