The Queen's Quarry

by Frank Morin

  “Well, at least I’m thinking creatively,” Hamish said defensively.

  Verena chuckled. “Try thinking outside of the stew pot for once.”

  The conversation fell into one of those occasional lulls, and they sat for a few minutes, just soaking in the warmth of the fire and enjoying a quiet moment. They knew what the next day would bring, although they’d never battled in a blizzard before.

  Connor glanced around the opulent room, but the door that led deeper into Shona’s apartment was closed. “Why’d you pick Shona’s apartment, Verena? Are you going to destroy it?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. I love these rooms.” She pointed to a spot near the drape-covered window. “Right over there is where Ilse hit Shona with the weakening powder that night we kidnapped her.” She sighed contentedly and smiled at the memory. “I love how many times we got to use that on her.”

  “She did like to fall on her face a lot,” Hamish said with a grin.

  Smiling, Jean rose and drew Hamish to his feet too. “It’s getting late. I think we all need some sleep. Tomorrow will be difficult and some of us have to head out before first light.”

  Hamish started to grumble, but she held a finger to his lips. “Hush. I know how you feel, but I’m going. I can help, and I won’t be in too much danger. Plus I’ve got a bunch of mechanicals in case we get in trouble.”

  “You know how to activate them all?” Hamish asked.

  She gave him an annoyed look and he raised his hands in apology. “Just making sure.”

  Verena rose smoothly to her feet and reached for her ever-present satchel. “Do you have sandstone?”

  Jean looked startled. “We’ve never tested if I can quicken sandstone with my keystone.”

  “You’ve been busy,” Hamish said.

  She took the sandstone gratefully, then she and Hamish left. Jean had been assigned rooms below Verena’s. Connor and Hamish would share a plush apartment near Ivor’s rooms.

  Verena settled back to the couch beside Connor after the other two left, tucking both feet up so she could sit sideways on the couch and face him. She took both of his hands in hers and gave him a serious look.

  “I worry for you tomorrow, Connor.”

  “And I worry for you. I don’t want you doing anything too crazy. You just barely woke up and—”

  “I’m fine,” she interrupted, pressing one finger to his lips. He kissed that finger, then the palm of her hand, then drew her to him to kiss those soft, minty lips.

  Verena wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, kissing him slowly, thoroughly, with building passion that took his breath away. He held her tight, savoring the feel of her in his arms, inhaling the clean scent of high places that again clung to her hair.

  After a long, delicious moment, she sat back, blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. He lost himself in those eyes and drew her toward him again. He wanted another one of those kisses.

  But she shook her head and settled back cross-legged facing him again. “You’re the one who will have to face Harley with Kilian. She could kill you.”

  Her voice shook a little, and she dropped her gaze, suddenly looking smaller, vulnerable.

  “We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” He squeezed her hands.

  “But you’re still struggling with your elemental affinities.”

  “I seem to be getting better at it. Tonight I only lost connection with soapstone half a dozen times while summoning.”

  She frowned. “I don’t like it. Any weakness could be fatal.”

  He gripped her hands and said, “Together, we can do this. Let’s both promise to be fine.”

  She met his gaze again and her smile lit up his heart. “Deal.”

  Later, as Connor walked the chill halls back toward his room, he hoped their plans proved more clever than Harley’s. He believed he could make his elemental affinities work with the aid of pumice, but he would keep his secret stash of porphyry close, just in case.

  If she got the best of them, how many of his friends would die tomorrow?

  80

  Trust Is Up in the Air

  Connor slept deeply, but started awake several times. Each time, he listened and scanned his unfamiliar room. It was dimly lit by the dying embers of the fire, but he spotted no danger. Hamish’s form was a dim bulk against the far wall. Once the wind that rattled the window sounded almost like distant voices, and he lay for a long minute, worried that Harley had attacked in the night.

  Eventually he forced himself to relax, annoyed at his nerves. Hadn’t he and Verena both promised to be fine? Repeating her name to himself helped him finally drift off to sleep again.

  Just a few hours later, he stood with the Ivor and the central command group atop the great outer wall above West Gate, feeling tired and chilled. Fighting for freedom was supposed to be an adventure, and adventures were supposed to be fun. He decided that whoever had spread that lie must have been working for High Lord Dougal.

  In the fuzzy gray light of dawn, Rory marched out through the open gate beneath them at the head of a mighty force, with Anika at his side. Jean and Aifric flanked them with Erich, Tomas, and Cameron, followed by five hundred granite bash fighters, including most of the Fast Rollers and Crushers. The strike force included a handful of tertiary Petralists and a hundred Striders, who disappeared into the impenetrable gloom of the blowing blizzard.

  The air was bitterly cold, and Connor wished he’d added to his regular battle armor more than an extra pair of socks, warm leather gloves, and a woolen lining to his helmet. He usually maintained his warmth with a constant, low marble burn. With his tertiaries still unpredictable, he didn’t like tapping them too much. He hoped the fierce heat that always seemed to accompany battle would keep him warm. He pitied the poor soldiers without even inconsistent marble who stood in ranks along the parapet, or down in the courtyards below.

  Verena leaned against him, gorgeous in her custom battle armor, but looking tired and worried. Hamish watched long after Jean disappeared into the night. Dierk stood nearby, gripping in his gloved hands a steel cylinder warmed from within by quickened marble. He still looked cold, but faced it with resolute determination.

  As soon as the last of Rory’s battle force faded into the billowing white and blackness of the storm, and the huge gates started to close, Ivor gestured to Dierk. He gratefully activated a piece of quartzite, and a shielding dome shimmered into existence around the group, sealing out the blustering storm.

  Hamish said, “I wish we could just shield the whole city.”

  “We’d need a piece of quartzite so big it wouldn’t fit on a windrider,” Verena said.

  “What if we linked a bunch of small ones together, like the way that false ground concealed the hidden city under the Carraig?”

  Ivor said, “Figure it out, but not today. Rory is away. Soon it will be time for the rest of us to take our positions.”

  “Any sign of the army?” Lord Nevan asked. He wore a thick fur coat, but Connor caught glimpses of glittering steel beneath it. He was taking his military duties seriously.

  Connor had tempted soapstone for a moment earlier and managed a quick scan of the land. “They’re about five miles south, already preparing to march. Pretty much exactly as expected.”

  With the blizzard filling the air with snow, scanning for enemy forces was far easier than normal. Dougal’s Spitters were blocking the worst of the weather, but weren’t holding a solid shield across their forces, so it was pretty easy to scan their lines.

  “What are the chances they’re deceiving you and really planning to attack the township or circle the city and hit us from the north?” Lord Torcall asked.

  Kilian appeared out of the sky, descending in a swirling storm of orange flames and crystallized snow. Dierk dropped the shielding before he landed atop it, and he settled to the parapet with a flourish of twining elements. As usual, he seemed to ignore the weather, dressed in his leather jacket, with no hat and no gloves. A longsword and duel
ing dagger swung at his waist.

  A frigid gust of snowy wind blew across the wall before Dierk could replace the shield. Some of the Pathfinders in the city were trying to encourage the storm to split around Merkland, but hadn’t found much success yet. Connor didn’t even bother trying to dance with fickle Air. He wouldn’t unless absolutely necessary.

  As snow leaped off of him, Kilian said, “I completed a circuit of the city. There’s no indication of treachery yet.”

  “It’ll come though, won’t it?” Verena asked.

  “Undoubtedly. Rory’s away without issue?”

  Ivor said, “In this storm, and with his Sentries and Spitters helping a bit, they should remain concealed in the hills to the west. I’m already actively monitoring the river.”

  “Good. I don’t expect Harley will try splitting forces until they reach the southern bridge,” Kilian said. The bridge spanned the Macantact two miles south of the city.

  “Should we drop the bridge?” Lord Logan asked.

  Lord Torcall gave him a disgusted look. “Are you insane, man? Ten thousand gold staters a week in trade cross that bridge, minimum.”

  Ivor said, “It’s a valid question. What do you think, Kilian?”

  He shook his head. “Splitting their forces and sending a strike team to occupy the township only weakens them.”

  The workers, merchants, and sailors who made up the bulk of the population in the township had evacuated. Most fled into the city, swelling the ranks of frightened citizens huddling behind Merkland’s famous walls and Rory’s determined troops. Some had fled toward nearby towns, hoping to escape the fighting entirely. So the township was empty, a waste of effort for the invaders.

  Lord Nevan asked, “When do we launch the next phase of our defense?”

  “When they hit the southern bridge,” Kilian said. He turned to Dierk. “Are you ready? Is your bomb ready?”

  He nodded, looking nervous but determined. Verena scowled at Kilian. “I thought we were going to wait until we had no choice before using the porphyry bomb.”

  Kilian sighed, looking older than usual. “I consider the southern bridge a point of no return. They will attack and try to kill everyone behind these walls. That bomb could save all of our lives.”

  “By killing thousands of theirs,” she said softly, frowning.

  Kilian nodded, holding her gaze. “Yes. It might. I hope that the effects wear off fast enough that the army will be crippled by injuries more than death, but some will die. If we do not drop that bomb, we’ll be trading some of their lives for some of ours.”

  Verena looked like she wanted to argue, but held her tongue. Connor felt the same conflict, undiminished since the last time they argued the terrible choice. That porphyry bomb was so horrible because it robbed those soldiers of the ability to decide their own fates. Then again, any kind of warfare did the same thing in varying degrees.

  It was easy to blame High Lord Dougal or even Harley for all the death and suffering about to descend upon Merkland and both armies, but life wasn’t that simple. By rising up in rebellion, they’d declared their willingness to pay in blood and lives the cost for freedom.

  He still felt fervently that cost was worth paying, but now they had to choose which lives paid the bill. It wasn’t fair, but it was a choice they couldn’t ignore.

  So Connor said, “Kilian is right. We need to use the bomb.”

  Ivor solemnly nodded agreement. Hamish muttered, “Should have tried the sculpted scones first.”

  Verena sighed, still looking anguished by the choice. “I know you’re right. I also know this moment will haunt me all my life.”

  “Me too,” Kilian said softly.

  Ivor said, “That’s the next step, then. Dierk, prepare your windrider to deliver the bomb.”

  Kilian frowned and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want someone else to fly that windrider, Dierk?”

  “I can do it,” the bespeckled Builder assured him. “I’ve trained hard to develop the skills to fly into this storm, and I wouldn’t feel right asking someone else to assume the danger in my stead.”

  Before Dierk had become an accomplished flyer, it would have been folly to allow him to fly that bomb against Harley, no matter how much he wanted it. Even for Verena or Hamish, that mission would prove extremely dangerous.

  “Hamish, are you ready?” Dierk asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Ready for what?” Connor asked.

  Hamish pointed up into the sky. “You don’t think we’d let Dierk fly a windrider into that storm, over that woman, without some support do you? Ivor and I will make a distraction pass over the army to keep their attention.”

  Hamish knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to try flying anywhere near Harley, but he was still willing to do it anyway. Brave, sure, but crazy as a one-legged Strider running circles around his wooden leg.

  Verena said, “I’ll go too. That’ll keep the pressure from getting too bad.”

  Connor’s good humor evaporated. He started to protest, but Verena shook her head. “We talked about this, Connor.”

  “We didn’t talk about this!”

  “I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” She placed her hand over his heart. “Trust us.”

  He wanted to argue, wanted to shield her from danger. For once he wished Mattias was with them to help him convince her, but that was foolish thinking. He hated to admit it, but she was right. They all needed to take risks to win. So he placed his hand over hers. They’d faced so many dangers together, it was foolish to hope she wouldn’t have to take any risks.

  “Be careful.”

  Hamish snorted. “Tell Dierk to be careful.” He gripped Dierk’s shoulder and added, “No offense, but I still worry you’ll revert to old habits and forget how to fly.”

  Dierk didn’t return the smile. His expression was all grim business. “I can do this. I’ve never wanted to fly into battle, but I have to do this. For me. For Ingrid.”

  Connor gripped his hand, moved by Dierk’s determination. He might not seem the ideal person for this mission, but he’d do it anyway.

  But he couldn’t sit by and idly watch his friends fly into danger. He’d find a way to connect with his tertiaries. Today of all days, he had to make it work. He said, “I’ll see if I can shield you from the worst of the storm.”

  81

  No Shelter from the Storm

  For the first time, Verena wished the Swift was heavier. The nimble little craft pitched and bobbed in the turbulent wind, thrown off course by every gust. With snow whipping from every side against her shielded front window, she lost all sense of direction.

  If not for the compass mounted on the front rail, and the leveling bubble beside it, she’d never maintain her flight path. For the first time in her life, she felt a bit air sick by the unexpected bouncing, jouncing, and stomach-lurching spins.

  Then she managed to hit an exhaustion pocket in the middle of that whirling storm, and the craft simply dropped under her. The snug restraining straps seemed to drag her down. She quickly adjusted power to the various thrusters, grateful for the extra stability her little wings offered.

  If she was having that much trouble, she feared for Dierk. They had lifted off in close formation from the central square. Hamish and Ivor took the lead. The plan was for her to follow them, with Dierk tailing her.

  That lasted about five seconds.

  Even with speakstones allowing constant communication, Verena suspected their little formation was scattered too far apart. She couldn’t see anyone or anything in the blowing snow and gray nothingness. Dawn had supposedly arrived, but all it did was turn the billowing blackness into billowing gray, filled with angry wind and whirling snow.

  She shouted into the dedicated speakstone linked to one in Hamish’s helmet. “Hamish, are you there?”

  “Pastry.”

  “I thought we agreed to change that stupid code word.”

  “Oh, right. Sculpted scone.”

&nbs
p; She sighed. It was probably good she couldn’t see him, or she’d be tempted to fire a diorite missile up his backside.

  “I thought Ivor was going to keep the snow in check.”

  A brief pause. “He can’t do too much or it’ll draw attention the of the Spitters.”

  “We need something. I can’t see anything, can’t tell where I am or how close we are,” she insisted.

  Another pause. “How’s this?”

  A shape formed in the air in front of her, snow condensing into a long, white arrow that pointed slightly left and down of her current course. Verena blinked a couple of times in surprise. The surprise tactic made perfect sense. Ivor was brilliant. Feeling a little more confident, she adjusted thrusters. As she pulled the Swift into line, the arrow straightened out.

  “Follow the arrow and you should be fine. We’re about a mile from contact.”

  “Sculpted scone,” she acknowledged, then bit her lip trying to call back the words. He’d never stop using the stupid acknowledgment phrase now.

  The air seemed to settle down a bit all of a sudden and she took the opportunity to twist her mini-hub to Connor’s paired stone. “Connor, are you able to tell how Dierk is doing?”

  “He’s not far behind you. I’ve managed to smooth out the current you’re both riding. As long as you don’t deviate course, you should be able to slip through the storm okay.”

  “You managed all that with a shaky connection?” she asked, amazed.

  “You needed my help,” came the simple answer.

  Connor was a good man. He was far from perfect, but knowing he was watching over them from a distance helped calm her nerves. “Thank you.”

  Hopefully he’d eased Dierk’s flight quicker than he had hers. Dierk might have become the best flyer in Faulenrost, but that still didn’t mean a whole lot. She still worried about him, especially in those stormy conditions. Still, with Connor and Ivor to help support his efforts, she decided he’d make it.

  She had to believe that. Verena grieved Ingrid’s loss too, but it had devastated Dierk. He wasn’t a fighter, hadn’t prepared himself mentally for the likelihood of losing loved ones in the struggle like she had. In his festering anger, he’d developed an angry bomb. She dearly hoped that when it detonated, it might extinguish his anger too and free him to heal. If he didn’t learn to manage Ingrid’s loss, the grief and rage would tear him apart.