The Queen's Quarry

by Frank Morin

That’s when things got interesting. In the past, a part of his attention would be consumed managing and directing the creature. If he concentrated, he could step fully into it, becoming the creature. He’d done that with the squirrel in Alasdair and still loved the memory of the little animal’s sharp senses and agile movements. Unfortunately, such a close connection left his own body defenseless.

  With this first autonomous creature, he instead pushed into its head a simple set of instructions.

  Destroy anything I point you at or that gets in your way or that tries to injure you.

  With a muted thunderclap, a large nuall snapped into final shape in front of him and fell to its haunches. About the size of a large dog, it sniffed the air, turned to face him, and crouched, ready to spring at his command. He did maintain a whisper-thin connection to it, a conduit he could focus on to activate the creature or take control over it, as if it were a regular summoning.

  “How do they know how to move and to fight?” he asked. Kilian stood beside Ilse, who was petting a huge, bearlike creature with a fanged maw like a rampager.

  “Your subconscious mind knows and conveys those expectations to your creature. I don’t know exactly how, but I’ve seen it enough times to know it works.”

  “What is that thing?”

  “A whim. I think of it as Justice.”

  “I’m glad it’s on our side.”

  Kilian inspected Connor’s nuall. “Well done. Make the next one twice as big. Harley likes powerful creatures so our army needs to be nimble and deadly.”

  Ilse looked grimly pleased. “Thank you for inviting me to participate. Harley needs a taste of Justice for sure.”

  The next hour passed quickly as Connor, Kilian, and Ilse immersed themselves in the effort of creating the first unit in their army of elemental-powered, granite-hardened battle monsters.

  He made it to ten before collapsing, exhausted.

  Impressive, really. He’d never imagined he could create so many. He was quickly mastering the technique, and each of his monsters was bigger and deadlier than the last. Partly because of his growing confidence, and partly because he didn’t want Kilian to feel he couldn’t keep up.

  Ilse seemed inspired by the danger Harley represented. After four identical siblings for Justice, she insisted they try even bigger creations. She and Kilian created more fantastical creatures, all fueled by water or fire, all deadly variations of creatures Connor knew or had heard about.

  Two of them looked like miniature variations of wolf-like, fire-bound elfonnel, and they crouched in the center of the warehouse, fiery eyes pulsing, radiating gentle heat. Another looked like a sea serpent with six legs and three heads, all with long, needle-sharp teeth. Their final constructs were a pair of four-armed, seven-foot humanoids with bulging muscles. Connor recognized them as tiny versions of the giant elfonnel that Evander had raised at the Carraig.

  “What do you call them?”

  “Little Nephews.” Kilian blew out a breath and dropped onto the clay beside Connor. He and Ilse had created thirteen.

  “They’re perfect,” Ilse said. She too looked tired, but the determined set to her features suggested she planned to keep working until she passed out.

  Connor said, “There’s no way we can create an army in one night. We’ll kill ourselves trying, and won’t have the energy to fight Harley tomorrow.”

  “Not by using only our own strength.”

  Connor groaned. “Is there another secret new ability that will give us strength?”

  “Don’t tempt earth,” Ilse warned. “The land is even more unstable after my confrontation with Harley.”

  “The energy we’ll use to build our army will come from the earth, but not through slate,” Kilian said.

  “How, then?”

  “Basalt.”

  Connor blinked at him a few times, too tired to make the connection.

  “Stilling. We’re going to apply stilling to the ground under the city. We need to calm it down and dampen the area to reduce the chance that tomorrow’s battle might trigger a catastrophic response directly beneath us.”

  Connor grimaced. He didn’t like stilling. It made him feel like a leech. He’d killed that fire in their first practice session so fundamentally that the memory still disturbed him.

  “You said you used it in Altkalen to settle the ground there too. What would happen if you held it too long?”

  “Even if I could seize the land under Merkland securely enough to still all the life out of it, I’d need years to try. Luckily, we only need to apply it for short durations to draw off the extra energy threatening to destabilize the area. Instead of releasing that energy the way you did with the fire, we’ll draw it into ourselves to replenish our own strength.”

  Connor the Leech. Sounded more sinister than epic. He really needed Harley’s evil laugh to go with it.

  “What about me?” Ilse asked. “I can’t use this stilling effect.”

  “No, you can’t. But if you keep a hand on my shoulder as I use it, I can share energy with you too.”

  Connor wouldn’t have thought of that, although it made sense. He’d shared healing power with many people, and both he and Kilian had shared heat with friends.

  The best part about Kilian’s plan was that they didn’t have to move. Ilse fashioned more comfortable chairs out of the piles of clay, then Connor and Kilian both absorbed enough basalt to sprint to Altkalen and back. The coursing energy helped revive Connor and focus his mind.

  Anchoring that wonderful, rushing basalt energy to the green-tinted power source came far easier than the last time he’d tried. That green-attuned basalt power coiled inside of Connor, filling him with a sense of foreboding. He followed Kilian’s lead, driving it out through his hands and down into the earth below the lowest basements, past the foundations of the city.

  The earth trembled.

  It felt different through basalt than with his earth senses. Through slate, he would have felt the trembling like quivering of his own fingers. With basalt, that trembling radiated through his senses like the shaking of a fish on the end of a long line.

  Kilian spoke, his voice soft and distant. “Spread your influence to the north. I’ll take the south.”

  He guided Connor in the effort of extending his basalt sense out through the earth and stone beneath the city. They allowed it to drift deeper, to seep into the roots of the bluff.

  Then they activated stilling over that entire area. Kilian was right. The area was far too immense to seize like Connor had that little fire, but they could latch onto the extra energy bubbling in the land. The earth under Merkland was like a soup pot threatening to boil over. By siphoning off the extra energy, he was saving dinner from getting wrecked. He no longer felt like a thief cautiously siphoning power out a window.

  “Let your basalt sense cling to that energy, like a barge floating on the Wick, using its strength for movement,” Kilian explained.

  Or like that time Connor lowered Hamish headfirst off the roof of Neasa’s bakery on a rope when they were ten so he could lick the icing off the top of a special five-layer cake she’d made for the Saorsa.

  As the energy rose like a mist from the deep places beneath Merkland, Kilian said, “Now draw it to you.”

  “How?”

  “Will it in. Invite it to join you. Energy needs a home, and flowing into your willing body is easier than other alternatives.”

  Connor managed it when he imagined that energy mist like the aroma of a fresh-baked apple pie. He’d always wished he could just keep breathing in when sniffing a pie, without having to pause to let all the air back out again and interrupting the experience.

  With stilling, he didn’t have to breathe out ever. He just inhaled through invisible basalt lungs, drawing the energy into him in a long, continuous breath. It didn’t smell as good as apple pie, but it felt incredible. Energy poured into him, first erasing his exhaustion, then replenishing his strength.

  It kept coming.

&nbs
p; He felt alive and healthy, as if he’d used half his sandstone pendant. His muscles quivered with energy that had nothing to do with granite. This was pure energy from the natural world, and it filled him to overflowing.

  “Enough,” Kilian said after an unknown time.

  Connor blinked open his eyes and only then realized he’d risen to his feet on that tide of power and stood stretched tall on his toes, arms thrown wide, head back, exulting in the glorious, unrivaled feeling.

  Ilse was starting to look concerned.

  It took a few seconds to convince himself to release the stilling and let go of basalt. If he held on much longer, he wouldn’t destroy the ground under Merkland, but he’d probably explode like a pig bladder, sewn into a Sogail ball and inflated too much.

  “That was . . .” Luckily he didn’t have to explain it to Kilian. It was an amazing thrill that he didn’t like admitting he liked so much.

  Kilian studied him for a moment, as if reading his thoughts. Wait, did he have chert? Could he?

  Connor created an image of Harley kissing Evander in his mind. He tried not to shudder at the image, and watched Kilian closely. Kilian made no indication that he read that thought.

  Kissing Verena was a highlight of his life, but that image was just gross.

  “How are you feeling?” Kilian asked Ilse.

  “Like I could challenge Harley directly,” she grinned.

  He smiled in turn. “Well done, Connor. You seem to have a knack for stilling, and together I think we siphoned off enough so that we shouldn’t fear a catastrophic event unless someone draws very deep from the ground tomorrow.”

  Connor grimaced to think of Merkland suffering the same fate as Alasdair. “Let’s hope Dougal convinces her to spare Merkland.”

  “And keep her distracted with other things,” Ilse added.

  Kilian gestured toward the waiting piles of clay and rubbed his hands together. “Shall we get back to work?”

  79

  Sculpted Scones - the Ultimate Secret Weapon

  Connor slipped through the main doors of the central palace, pushed by the howling wind that seemed eager to finally sneak inside. A guard slammed the door, squashing that dream flat. Connor paused to stamp his feet and beat at his clothing with his hat to knock away the snow that clung to him.

  He could have tapped soapstone, but had run out after completing his sixty-fifth summoned creature. He felt so tired he couldn’t stomach the thought of attempting another one. At least his connection with soapstone had held. He hadn’t dared try switching to anything else for fear of losing that stable link. He hoped tomorrow he’d enjoy the same success.

  All the energy he’d siphoned from the earth beneath Merkland was gone, spent to give life to all of his fighting monsters. They crouched in the warehouse, awaiting his call, their presence like a comforting memory flickering at the back of his mind. He smiled as he slipped his thoughts across them, particularly the last one.

  He’d named it Mouth, and he’d poured every last bit of his energy into finishing it. As big as a torc, it lacked a head. Instead, the entire front half of its torso could gape open into an enormous maw, ringed with icy fangs. He couldn’t wait to see it gobble up Harley’s creatures.

  The guard recognized him and saluted. “Is the storm natural, sir?”

  “I think so.”

  Those dark clouds he’d spotted earlier on the horizon had decided to make a mad dash south, bringing another wave of brutal winter along for the ride. The blizzard had roared in over Merkland as he and Kilian completed their work. Winds tore at the city, rattling the walls of the warehouse, while the temperature plummeted to well below freezing.

  It was an impressive display of nature’s fury, but neither he nor Kilian had sensed any Petralist wills whipping it into a higher frenzy. Harley and her army would have been fools to do so anyway. They’d suffer even more out on the open road.

  All that blowing snow might actually prove an advantage if the storm continued into the next day, but Connor felt too tired to worry about it.

  “Do you know where Builder Verena is?” he asked the guard.

  “Yes, sir. She’s taken up residence in Lady Shona’s apartment.”

  “Um, are you sure?” That sounded wrong on multiple levels.

  “Yes, sir.” He pointed Connor in the right direction.

  Basically all he had to do was keep climbing. Shona’s apartment occupied the entire top floor of the southern high tower that reared above the central palace.

  As he climbed the many steps, he wondered why Verena would choose Shona’s room. She and Shona hated each other. They weren’t the same size, so Verena couldn’t steal her clothes or anything. Maybe she just wanted to destroy everything.

  He knocked when he reached the elegantly carved wooden doorway at the top of the long stairs. He doubted Verena would bother climbing all those stairs. She’d just fly up in her Swift and land it inside Shona’s parlor.

  “Come in,” Verena called.

  Connor entered a wide sitting room with southern-facing windows and an enthusiastic fire casting a warm glow over a couch and several comfortable chairs. Verena sat on the couch in men’s breeches and an open leather vest over a long, white blouse that fell untucked to her thighs. She looked adorable like that, with one foot drawn up under her.

  Hamish and Jean sat in chairs pulled close together. Hamish had removed his flying suit and both he and Jean looked like normal Alasdair youths in their casual clothing. The sight of them dressed like that made Connor smile.

  Verena beckoned him. “We were wondering where you got to.”

  He dropped onto the couch beside her and she took one of his chilled hands in her warm ones and massaged it gently. He could have enjoyed that gentle touch for hours.

  “I’ve been busy with Kilian building an army of summoned creatures. All we have to do is point them in the right direction and they’ll rush out and destroy anything that gets in their way.”

  They all looked astonished. Jean said, “I thought summoning was difficult.”

  “It is.” He told them about his day.

  Verena said, “We should warn Rory. If Harley hits his forces with her creatures before you can stop her, they could do terrible damage.”

  “One more complexity to worry about,” Jean said with a frown. “I sat in on some of Rory’s planning meetings. This battle is going to have a lot of moving parts.”

  Hamish said, “It has to. We can’t just wait behind the walls for them to come up and start beating on the doors. We’d lose that fight for sure.”

  “I know. I support the plan, but the more complex a mix, the more likely something will go wrong.”

  “Something always goes wrong,” Connor said with a rueful chuckle. “We’ve learned that the hard way. All the planning we do is just so we’re better prepared to be flexible when nothing goes according to plan. Can one of you tell me what the plan is? I sort of missed all that.”

  Verena sat up straighter and explained. “We need to split Harley’s forces and hopefully isolate her. Rory will lead a large company into the western hills to launch an ambush after the vanguard passes.”

  “I’ll be with him,” Jean said.

  Hamish frowned. “I still think you should stay in the palace.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I plan to lead an assault, or anything. Aifric offered to act as my protector. My job is to help subdue captives.”

  Hamish still didn’t look happy, but Verena continued. “The bulk of the army will defend Merkland, but Kilian will lead a strike force directly against Harley.”

  “That’s where the rest of us will be, right?” Connor asked.

  She nodded. “Hamish and I will provide support from the air, and Ivor will hold the river. He’ll be positioned to support whoever needs help. Most of the Fast Rollers and Crushers will sally out with Rory and Anika. Ilse, Lukas, and Mattias will lead the remainder in our strike force.”

  “Who will command the city garr
isons?” Connor asked.

  “Lord Nevan has command. We’ll all be linked via speakstone, so he can send out reinforcements if needed, or provide safe routes of retreat.”

  It actually sounded like a good plan. “And if Harley throws her own summoned creatures at us like Kilian suspects, we’ll be ready to surprise her with our own army of creatures.”

  Verena gripped his hand, her expression fierce. “It’ll work. All we need to do is take down Harley and we can defeat the rest of them.” She didn’t say it, but Connor could tell by the predatory look in her eye that she was thinking about Shona.

  Hamish’s expression turned thoughtful. “Connor, you said you used clay for mass. Could you use something else?”

  “Sure. It’s possible to just use granite and the elements, but that requires a lot more granite. We could use stones, I guess. They’d be stronger, but unwieldy.”

  “Could you use bread?”

  Verena and Jean both laughed at the idea.

  Connor said, “I once considered trying it with bacon.”

  “Except that would have encouraged the rampagers to eat you,” Verena reminded him. She looked so beautiful when she smiled, for a second all he could do was stare.

  “Why bread?” Jean asked.

  “It makes so much sense!” Hamish grew excited. “Think about it. If we could create little bread creatures, we could send them to infiltrate the enemy kitchens.”

  “And do what? Wait until soldiers ate them, then attack their guts from the inside?” Jean asked, then grimaced. “Forget I ever suggested that. It’s disgusting.”

  Verena smiled again. “You’d have to call them sculpted scones.”

  “Yes! Our little army of sculpted scones could win the Battle of the Belly. Think how many lives we could save,” Hamish said excitedly.

  “Think how many latrines they would need,” Connor commented, and the girls grimaced again.

  Verena punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You would have to go there with the image, wouldn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Only logical.”

  Hamish nodded agreement.

  Jean said, “For a boy, maybe.”