by Frank Morin
Connor settled the tower back to the platform and returned the stage to the assembly floor. Ivor and Padraigin waited for him there, and he gripped their shoulders.
"Thanks."
"Couldn't let you have all the fun," Ivor said.
Padraigin gave him an enthusiastic hug, squealing like a little girl. "I can't believe it. You're really real!"
Connor turned to the gaping high lord representatives. "So, was that more or less what you were expecting?"
Lord Kane threw his head back and laughed. The big man crossed the distance between them and gripped Connor's hands. "It really is true! The Blood of the Tallan is returned!"
That opened the floodgates, and the other assembled representatives gathered around Connor in an excited mass, touching him as if proving to themselves that he really existed, chattering excitedly. The crowds of students in the hall pressed toward the stage, hands raised to Connor, cheering. His army shouted the loudest.
Redmund's voice boomed above the din. "Accolades built upon sandy foundations are but dross dipped in glitter."
"Think bigger, man," The pudgy Lady Una cried. "This is more than being a mud-wind or a flaming-wet Dawnus. We've waited for the return of this gift for centuries." She grabbed Connor's arm. "You're not officially tied to any house yet, are you?"
He could have kissed her.
"Uh, no. I. . ."
"Well, we can offer immediate adoption," she cried.
Lord Runda and Lord Kane spoke over each other, declaring they'd give him anything he wanted. The others piled on offers as fast as they could speak, pressing in around Connor with feverish intensity. If he wasn't planning to turn unclaimed, his worst fears would be realized. Those men and women seemed almost desperate enough to tear him apart and claim a limb.
Shona looked like she wanted to throw them all out that distant window.
Lord Nevan tried to regain control. "Ladies and gentlemen, Connor is sponsored by High Lord Dougal's house."
"But he has no official tie yet," Lady Una shouted. She seemed desperate to find a way to claim Connor, even though she was already sponsoring Padraigin.
"He will," Shona declared angrily. "As soon as he wins the Tir-raon, his choice will cement connection to my house."
"Is this true?" Lord Kane asked.
Redmund shouted, "He hasn't won yet!"
"But he's Blood of the Tallan," Lady Una protested.
"Rain falls upon the noble and the base alike," Redmund declared. "Only the skilled hands craft a shelter from the storm."
"You really think you have a chance to beat him?" Padraigin asked.
"I claim the right to fight him again." Redmund actually spoke clearly.
Connor caught Ivor's eye, and his friend looked like he wanted to punch Redmund in the head. He was flipping their flipped geall.
"Oh, just admit he's going to win." Ivor tried to rescue the plan. "The Tir-raon is all a shambles this year."
"Besides," Shona said. "Like I said earlier, Connor and I need to take the prisoners to my father. The game's over."
Was she really helping Ivor demolish the Tir-raon? Did she realize how much power she'd be ceding to the champions?
The other representatives argued so heatedly that Lord Dail ordered a cessation of the discussion until the assembly could be dismissed. Everyone on the dais clearly realized that if Shona left with Connor and the prisoners, they'd lose all possibility of ever controlling either.
The crowds wouldn't disperse until Connor descended the stage and mingled with them. They pressed in from all sides, desperate to touch him. They might have crushed him if he hadn't tapped a little granite.
Tomas and Cameron led some armored Boulders to restore a semblance of order and forced the crowd to make enough room for Connor to walk through. If only he could figure a way to help Ilse escape while the number of guards was reduced.
Many women wept, and the men fought for a chance to grip his hand. The outpouring of emotion was overwhelming. It enveloped Connor, filling him with wonder, and with a hint of guilt. How would those students react when they learned he'd abandoned them?
"You'll all get a chance to meet with the general again," Lord Dail finally promised, and with the help of Rory's army, managed to clear the hall.
When Connor returned to the stage and negotiations resumed, Lord Nevan proposed a compromise. "It appears to me that all objections can be resolved by allowing a final battle between the established armies to declare this year's winner."
"With control of the prisoners the prize," Lord Kane declared.
"And Connor must choose his house and pairings immediately," Lady Una added.
Lord Nevan tried to protest the additional conditions, but the others shouted him down. Connor was tempted to tap slate and break apart the platform. Ilse's company might just make a break for freedom, and he might knock some sense into the fools. Running another battle was a terrible idea.
Shona said, "I cannot surrender Ilse, the captain of the Grandurians, for she has other information that my father requires for the invasion. However, let's make the game more interesting by placing the remaining prisoners into the battlefield. The general who wins through to them can kill them or interrogate them first."
The representatives who didn't have champion contenders argued against that idea, but had little standing to defy it. The others eventually forced an agreement that if the winning general killed the sacrificial Grandurians they would win the right to first interrogation of Ilse, who would later be surrendered back to Shona.
Connor listened to the negotiations with growing desperation. The attempt to subvert the game had flipped completely. Not only would he have to fight again, but he needed to win through to the prisoners. He had no idea how he'd help them escape, or even if they would allow him to do so rather than just attacking and forcing him to kill them.
If they died, Granadure would consider him an enemy, and he'd lose Verena forever. Unless he fled into Althing, he'd be forced to lead the invasion of Granadure and perhaps kill more people he cared about.
The world was well and truly insane.
Even if he won, would choosing any other house be a better form of slavery than the one Shona offered? The freedom to choose his course might grant him the leverage to accept Shona on his own terms.
All he had to do was kill the Grandurians who had risked so much to save him. Before they murdered him first.
He really wished for simpler friends.
"Hold on," Connor interrupted the ongoing heated discussion. "The Tir-raon's not about murdering unarmed opponents. That runs contrary to the oaths we all took at the beginning of the games." He was actually very proud of that argument.
"He's right," Ivor added.
"And are you really willing to risk the lives of your students against that highly-trained strike force?" Padraigin added.
That made them think, and for a second, Connor dared to hope they'd escape the insanity of the battle idea.
Then Lord Kane said, "We are a nation on the brink of war. Our students will face Grandurians in a matter of weeks. What better test than to fight them now?"
"And we can have Captain Rory's forces ready to assist," Lady Una added.
"We won't need him," Lord Runda said. "Any of our champions will easily defeat those Grandurians."
Connor tried arguing more, but Lord Kane waved away his concerns. "We'll give them a little powder so they can fight for their lives. No one can ask for more than that. We're giving them a chance."
The others liked the idea, but Connor tried again. "Think about what you're planning!"
Anika interrupted, speaking from where the prisoners stood nearby, having listened to the arguments about their fates in silence the entire time. "Is okay. We take many with die."
"Settled," Lord Nevan declared. "The final battle of this term will be held tomorrow morning!"
Connor glanced at the Grandurians, and they all faced him with resolute determination. They really prefe
rred dying in battle to imprisonment and probable torture. On one hand, he could understand their position, but it made trying to help them so much harder.
The representatives and Shona left in a group, still haggling about details. Shona glanced back once, but he couldn't tell what she was trying to communicate. Connor watched, feeling more chained to a fate he abhorred than ever. If he lost, Ivor or the other champions would kill the Grandurians without hesitation.
If he won, he'd face Ilse's company in the long-dreaded battle to the death, but with the entire school looking on.
Rory ordered his men to lead the prisoners away. As they started to clank off in their heavy chains, Ilse caught Connor's eye and spoke with calm intensity. "We will kill you."
Redmund paused nearby, his expression downright murderous. "I'll kill you first."
"You're taking things a bit too personally," Connor said.
The powerful Dawnus shook his head. "You insult everything I stand for, and I will not lose my honor to you."
"You've already lost it," Padraigin snapped.
The other champions left, leaving Rory and Connor alone in the huge assembly hall. The captain said, "That was unexpected."
Connor barked a laugh. "It's a total mess. You still think it was a good idea to take them prisoner?"
"You're the reason they're here. You should have made them leave a long time ago."
"You know I can't control them."
"Perhaps not," Rory said with a slow nod. Then he added in a deadly whisper.
"This you do control. If she dies, I will kill you."
Chapter 66
Jean rose from her padded chair in the secret library and stretched. Exhaustion tugged against her resolve and urged her with increasing force to curl up near the fire to sleep, if only for a few minutes. She paced away from the huge tome that she had pored through all night, driven by worry for Connor.
She hated seeing the weight he was forced to bear, and his plan to try using the rampager powder terrified her. If he lost control, he could kill someone or get killed in turn. The shackles were tightening around him, so she did the only thing she could that might help.
She studied.
The book proved a treasure of information, but much of it she barely understood. It reminded her of those days when she first began diagnosing patients with her grandmother. She tried so hard, but lacked the foundational knowledge to see clearly sometimes. The only way to gain that knowledge was through long experience, stubborn persistence, and the guidance of one who knew the path she sought to tread.
Her studies of the ancient text were so much more difficult because she lacked that final resource, and most of her questions went unanswered.
Jean dropped back into her chair and massaged her temples. She vowed to keep studying, even though the clinical part of her mind recognized the symptoms of deep fatigue and suggested rest would prove more productive.
"Sleep is a relentless enemy whose advance may be slowed but never truly halted."
Jean yelped and started up out of her chair. How long had she sat there, more asleep than awake?
Evander stood nearby, looking down with his black-eyed gaze. The giant, mysterious man made a tiny bow. "The nuall, though master of the forest, cannot run the night through."
"I am pretty tired," she admitted and brushed fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry I don't look fit for company."
He smiled, a surprisingly warm gesture. "Nay, fair one. To gaze upon your face took my thoughts by the hand back to the days when I walked with the earth as a young man."
She blushed. "I hope you have a lot of happy memories."
His smile faded and his eyes sagged. "Nay, fair one. The pleasant spring of my youth was scorched in the fires of tragedy."
Deep in those sad eyes, a tiny flicker of fierce anger burned, and Jean found herself drawn to him, moved by his grief and simmering anger at some ancient tragedy. She placed a hand on his arm and pulled him down until she could kiss his cheek. "Remember only the good times, and know they can come again."
Evander's smile returned, but it held a heavy sadness. He patted her hand. "The joy of a new spring rises only after the storms of winter. We will walk new roads of grief before that happy morning."
The fire in his eyes intensified, belying the calm tone of his voice and Jean shivered. "I'm worried those roads are already here. That's why I've been studying all night. There's so much to learn, but I don't understand!"
"Only through drops of time and diligence may the well of knowledge fill."
"I don't have that much time. At least answer one question for me."
When he didn't deny her request, she flipped back through the book to a page she had marked with the ribbon from her hair.
"Tell me what this means." She pointed at the page and Evander leaned forward to read.
Belay the choice to allow any to cross the first threshold not driven by strength or speed. The burden of trust must weigh heavily upon them, for they alone may push the ascendant to their will.
Evander rose to his full height and sighed, the sound like wind whispering along the tops of the mountain. "The unspoiled finger of youth may touch with innocence the depths of sorrow and the ultimate root of the downfall of my brother and the death of most of my friends."
"Tell me about them," Jean urged, moved by the depth of emotion she sensed in him, and eager to learn more than the tantalizing suggestions of his tragic past.
Evander settled into the chair she had just vacated, bringing his head closer to her level. The chair creaked ominously, but held, and Jean settled on the padded arm beside him. So close, she noted the ink stains on his fingers and enjoyed his unique scent of clean earth and oiled leather.
He considered her for a moment, his deep, black eyes mysterious and penetrating at the same time. "Trouble of ages, like the arc of days, overshadows the world. Commotion abounds when the protection of rage alone prevents the loss of control."
"But rage leads to loss of control," Jean protested, confused.
Evander shook his head. "Memories bearing the weight of sorrow wear a path in the valleys of the mind as surely as do those soaring with happy light."
Jean wasn't sure how to respond to that. Evander was old, but she wanted to slap him and make him explain those memories and reveal the truths he held so close. A thousand questions bubbled through her mind and she struggled to formulate the right words.
"You spoke of danger," she said. "What should Connor fear the most?"
"Dougal."
That one word, spoken with solemn surety, terrified her. If Connor failed to escape, Dougal would own him through Shona. She gripped Evander's arm. "You mentioned protection. Is that what you were talking about when you said rage could protect somehow?"
"The monster within alone may withstand the monster without."
"He's already planning to turn unclaimed to escape the trap," Jean said, still nervous about Connor attempting such a risky road. "Is there more to it than that?"
Evander opened his mouth to respond, but paused and cocked his head to one side as if listening. Then he rose and strode across the room, placed a hand upon one of the ornate pillars and bowed his head in concentration. His shoulders hunched and his form shifted into lines of tension. The shift was minute, but Jean was used to spotting the telltale signs of patients in distress and the change screamed at her that something was very wrong.
"What is it?" She placed one hand lightly on his arm and could feel the corded muscles under his leather jacket ripple with energy.
Evander straightened and took her hand. "The dawn of a day of trial is upon us. Be strong, young one, and hold true the course of your heart."
Then he strode rapidly from the room.
Jean abandoned the library. The final battle of the Tir-raon was scheduled to begin after breakfast and she needed to find Connor and share what she had learned, or thought she'd learned from Evander.
A whisper of doubt lingered in her mind. Eva
nder was running the deepest geall of all. She wanted to believe he really had urged Connor to use porphyry. Was that suggestion instead the most elegant way for Evander to silence those who had learned too much?
Chapter 67
Connor awaited his army on the practice field just outside the walled compound of the Rhidorroch after breakfast, acutely aware that he wore no face mask. The sun blazed bright in a deep blue sky and already warmed the chill morning air. He decided to take that as a good omen, and slipped his hand into the small leather bag of powder stores strapped to his belt. It also held his enhanced powders and his sculpted stones. He had decided to bring them all, even the last of his porphyry.
He might need them. There could be no finishing second place. For him, there would be no returning from this battlefield. He must free the Grandurians, then turn unclaimed. He could not leave any of the treasures behind.
His troops began arriving in large groups and hurried into position as if afraid to miss anything. Most of them regarded him with open curiosity and saluted with enthusiasm. When he saw no open hostility, he relaxed. The tight bond he had enjoyed with his army as their general was one thing he dearly wished not to sacrifice, and he welcomed the chance to drop the facade and just be himself.
Declan was the first of his captains to approach. The chubby Sentry walked with a wide smile and more confidence in his step than Connor had ever seen. He saluted smartly, then grasped Connor's hand.
"It's such an honor, sir!"
"You don't care that I'm a commoner?"
He shrugged. "You're not the first Guardian at the Carraig. Like my teacher says, the fruit is honored not by its origins but only for being eaten when ripe."
"Thanks. You spoke that like a true Sentry."
Declan grinned. "It'll be great having another Sentry to help today."
"We're going to need all the help we can get," Connor agreed.
Fearghas arrived then, with Heber trailing behind. They saluted and Connor greeted them with a smile.
