The Queen's Quarry

by Frank Morin

  She might never walk again on her own power, but she didn’t let that slow her. With those marvelous summoned legs of hers, she lost no mobility. Word of her bravery and stubborn refusal to succumb to her injuries had spread throughout the city, and her already-respected reputation had grown to near legendary status.

  Connor hoped that might help a little as she struggled with losing Lukas. He firmly believed the indomitable captain would recover eventually. For now, she needed time to grieve.

  Jean’s fame was growing even faster. The troops she’d commandeered were mostly from other high lords’ realms. They’d unanimously abandoned their high lords and pledged service to Lady Jean.

  She’d seemed embarrassed while accepting their oaths, but had not refused them. In fact, she’d insisted on Hamish carrying her to where their injured were being treated. She stayed with them, offering encouragement to those being tended, and consoling those who lost fallen comrades. Her compassionate interest in their well being won their hearts more completely than any other high lord ever could.

  When Verena heard about it, she’d said, “Sounds like we’ll have to find a way to make the title of Lady Jean permanent. It fits her, and she deserves it.”

  Connor agreed, and he loved the fact that Verena found something to smile about. Mattias’s death had traumatized her. That grief would take time to mend.

  Kilian brought him back to the present. He asked, “Shona, tell me why you chose to join us. The battle could still have gone either way, or you could have retreated with the bulk of your army intact.”

  She nodded slowly, her expression grave. “I could have, but I saw no long-term advantage in that.”

  As always, Shona sought advantage. That did not surprise Connor.

  She must have noted his look because she added, “Not just advantage for me, but advantage for my realm and for the kingdom as a whole. I spent much time in the presence of the dread queen. I know her insanity, her instability, and her cruelty better than most.”

  “Doesn’t she think those very qualities will force people to remain loyal?” Connor asked.

  Shona nodded. “Many fall into line through fear, but I was taught to look deeper and study the long-term trends. Her policies are too destructive. She might beat us all. In fact, from what I’ve seen so far, I doubt we can really hurt her. I’m hoping you know things about her that I don’t.”

  She looked to Kilian with tentative hope. He only said, “That remains to be seen. If you saw no hope, why make the choice you did?”

  “Like I said, she may win, but she’ll eventually destroy our people. I’ve worked my whole life to win power and station because I firmly believe I can make things better for everyone, not just for myself. If I chose to remain with her, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t kill me on a whim tomorrow. But I faced near-certain odds that I would need to abandon every value I hold dear in order to survive. I was not willing to do that. Your little revolution offered me the best alternative. I hope you don’t disappoint me.”

  Wow. Connor hadn’t thought he could feel inspired by Shona ever again. She spoke with calm dignity, and rare sincerity. He wished he’d brought a piece of chert along because he dearly wished he could read her thoughts.

  He actually believed her. Her startling choice to throw in with them made no sense any other way. He sat back in his chair, considering this new side to Shona he had never known existed.

  He had to wonder if she had known about that part of herself either. Granted, she had many sides, and every time he thought he’d figured her out, she proved him wrong.

  If she betrayed them, Verena would kill her.

  Connor would help.

  104

  Plain-Speak Is Scarier Than Sentry-Speak

  That night, Shona proclaimed a feast to celebrate victory and to honor their fallen comrades. Of course, she sat at the center of the high table, flanked by Rory and Ivor. Ostensibly, they all shared the spotlight, but one could easily interpret their positions as the two soldiers supporting her central rule.

  They could have the spotlight. Connor was perfectly content to sit with Verena at the second table, holding hands between courses. He only wished Jean and Hamish were there. Although Jean did not seem to feel ashamed to be seen with scars and handicaps, she’d chosen to spend the evening with Hamish in her apartments, enjoying a quiet dinner together. Connor didn’t blame her. The feast was loud and boisterous, and Jean needed rest.

  Aifric and Kilian sat a little farther down the table from Connor. Several of the Crusher officers sat nearby, along with Evander. Many seemed intimidated by his giant presence, but Connor loved the fact that he’d finally committed to a side and chosen to help them.

  He caught Evander’s eye and said, “I’d love to hear the story of your duel at the Carraig and what you’ve been doing since then.”

  Verena chuckled and whispered, “As if we’d ever understand his explanation.”

  A smile cracked the ebony facade of Evander’s face and he said, “The heart that enjoys the warm fire during the cold nights of winter alone retains the strength to march into darkness.”

  Connor had felt strangely comforted by the indecipherable answer.

  Kilian laughed and slapped his knee. “I never thought I’d admit it, nephew, but I’ve actually missed your twisted way of speaking.”

  “When light shines in the darkness, truth that once was clouded may glimmer with renewed hope.”

  “I hope that means you have some good news,” Connor said.

  He looked from Connor to Kilian and nodded. “I found the other slumbering elfonnel that the queen attempted to raise. A man named Tristan. His humanity was lost. He could never return.”

  Evander had never spoken so much so plainly. It had to be incredibly important.

  Kilian frowned. “I heard of Tristan. He was one of my mother’s original followers from across the seas. I never knew he had fallen to the long sleep.”

  “I put him down.” Evander spoke the impressive feat simply. Then he added, “He was protecting a secret that may change our deepest understanding of the source of our powers and perhaps suggest a weakness of my grandmother that we can exploit.”

  “Wow! What?” Connor exclaimed. Why had Evander waited so long to tell them?

  But Evander shook his head and made a quieting gesture. “We will speak soon.”

  “You can’t drop hints like that, then not say anything!” Connor objected. What was it with really old Petralists? They didn’t understand the finer points of sharing secrets.

  Kilian chuckled and took a long drink.

  Connor tried to get Evander to say more, but all he got was more indecipherable Sentry-speak. Verena finally said, “He’s not going to talk here at the feast, Connor.”

  “Sometimes you’re too wise,” he grumbled.

  She kissed him on the cheek and he couldn’t help smiling. “But always adorable.”

  Every kitchen in Merkland seemed to have been tapped to assist with the cooking, and food flowed like the waters of the Wick. Connor ate his fill, then ate a little more, just to be polite. He hoped Hamish was getting enough. He’d hate missing such a feast.

  As they talked and laughed together, trying to focus on their recent victories instead of the tragedies, Tomas, Cameron, and Erich joined their table. They related in boisterous detail the glorious Great Bash Fight of Merkland.

  “That’s what they’re calling it already?” Verena asked.

  Tomas thumped his fist on the table and proclaimed, “No better name for it. It was right nearly perfect.”

  Erich nodded enthusiastically and said something in Grandurian. Verena smiled and translated for him. “He plans to compose a new battle song to honor it.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it,” Connor said sincerely. “Sounds like a lot more fun than some of what we had to deal with.”

  “It was, laddie,” Tomas confirmed.

  “Until General Rory went and canceled it early,” Cameron grumbled.
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  Connor comforted them. “We’re probably going to have to fight every high lord in Obrion. I bet at least one of them will be willing to try to put on an even better bash fight.”

  The the bash fighters loved the idea and left, discussing ways to convince Rory to use his network of spies to disseminate the challenge to every city.

  Verena laughed. “You realize you might have just set in motion the greatest bash fight tournament in all of history.”

  “I wish we could settle this with simple, pure bash fighting,” he said wistfully. “That would be amazing, and everyone would have so much fun, I doubt they’d really care too much about who eventually won.”

  Many of those present raised many silent toasts to missing comrades, and the solemnity of the gesture seemed very appropriate. Too many had fallen among their own close associates. He thought of Lukas and Mattias, and wished he could have done more. Maybe if he’d tempted porphyry sooner, stabilized his affinities back in Altkalen, the battle would have gone better.

  Maybe not. There was no way of knowing. So he hugged Verena and decided to enjoy every day, while striving to win an even better future. That was the best they could do.

  The remaining Crushers celebrated loudly, led by Ilse. The elite Grandurian company had paid a heavy price to help those they’d considered enemies for so long fight for liberty. Periodically, they observed somber moments of silence in tribute to their fallen brothers and sisters.

  Then they rose as a company and raised their glasses high to shout, “Captain Ilse the brave! The hero of Merkland!”

  She waved down their applause, but the cry spread to other tables and rose in a long chorus. Apparently Erich had already finished composing at least one other new song because the Crushers shifted smoothly from saluting their captain to singing a boisterous, lively tune in honor of Ilse’s heroics and in remembrance of Lukas.

  They sang so loudly that the words reverberated through the hall. Many Obrioners paused their conversations to listen and silently raised their glasses in salute. They might not understand the words, but they applauded the sentiment.

  Connor watched Ilse joking with her men, happy to see her trying to celebrate those who still lived. He wondered if they could create some kind of autonomous summoning, perhaps linked with some kind of mechanical to give other crippled soldiers renewed mobility.

  He mentioned the idea to Verena.

  Her eyes lit up with Builder enthusiasm. “Yes! What a great idea. I just wish we could do more to help Ilse and Jean. Harley healed herself miraculously, and you’ve ascended as far as she had. Are you sure you can’t . . .”

  He hated to disappoint her, but he’d already pushed far beyond what he’d thought were his limits. He’d consumed the last of his precious sandstone pendant trying to further heal Jean and Ilse. He wasn’t sure he’d ever find a way to reach Ailsa again, but maybe Gisela could help sculpt at least a partially enhanced pendant for him. They would need that advantage, and he felt exposed without the treasured pendant.

  Kilian looked up from his conversation with Aifric. She’d kept him chatting for the last half hour, and the two seemed to have a lot to talk about. Connor had noticed her face shivering repeatedly as she shifted between her various personalities. Whatever they were talking about, a lot of the women in her head wanted a say in it.

  Kilian said, “Harley was exceptionally gifted in healing. The help that Ilse and Jean need requires a tremendous understanding of human anatomy and structure. I support the idea of trying everything we can think of, but only my mother can craft new flesh.”

  “The third threshold,” Connor said with sudden hope.

  “You’re not ready for that,” Kilian reminded him immediately with a warning look.

  “Some day I will be.”

  “For now, let’s visit Ilse and Jean again. Together we can explore whether or not there are still things we can do.”

  “I’ll come and help,” Aifric offered immediately. “My healing powers are stronger than ever. That tampering you did while restoring me really helped, Connor.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Kilian said, “Perhaps between all of us we can find a way.”

  Connor dearly hoped they could.

  “So what now?” Verena asked Kilian.

  “We eat ourselves sick, I think. Isn’t that what you and Hamish always do at a feast?” Kilian asked with a grin.

  “I mean, Merkland is safe. Our army is bigger than ever. Ivor will make sure to spread the word far and wide. We’re a threat now. Your mother will have to respond.”

  He nodded. “Indeed she will, but I hope not until springtime. She’ll need time to marshal another army and position them for attack. She lost Harley and she cannot afford to lose any other critical resources.”

  “Will she raise any other ancient Petralists?” Jean asked.

  Kilian considered that for a moment and glanced at Evander, who shrugged. “The lion hunts alone, but often steals the prey taken by the pack of jackals.”

  Connor chuckled. “Glad we waited for that one.”

  Verena elbowed him. “We need Jean here to help interpret.”

  Evander said with unusual clarity, “I believe we will have a little time.”

  “Wow, that’s two clear sentences in one night,” Connor told him. “Are you sure you didn’t get injured fighting Harley?”

  Evander chuckled. He made it seem somehow inscrutable.

  Connor hoped he was right about the time. They needed rest and time to plan, but he secretly feared they wouldn’t get nearly enough. How by the Tallan’s twisted memory were they ever going to stop the queen? Even if they got a year of peace, he wondered if they’d figure out a solution to that one, overwhelming problem.

  The outer door of the hall burst open and Frazier, the maze lord, burst in, covered in snow and looking grumpy. He scanned the hall, then marched toward their table.

  “Evander!” he shouted.

  Evander’s deep, booming voice echoed through the hall as he pointed.

  “It’s Connor’s fault.”

  Also by Frank Morin

  The Petralist Series

  Set in Stone—Book One

  A Stone’s Throw—Book Two

  No Stone Unturned—Book Three

  Affinity for War—Book Four

  The Queen’s Quarry—Book Five (you’re reading it!)

  Other Petralist Stories

  When Torcs Fly—Tomas and Cameron prequel

  Game of Garlands—Anika prequel (release in July 2019)

  The Facetakers Series

  Face Lift—Prequel short story

  Saving Face—Prequel

  Memory Hunter—Book One

  Rune Warrior—Book Two

  Aeon Champion—Book Three (release in Q3 2019)

  Short Stories

  Odin’s Eye—Part of A Game of Horns: A Red Unicorn Anthology

  Only Logical—Part of Unseen: United! Box Set Anthology to raise funds to fight plagiarism

  The Essence—Part of Dragon Writers: An Anthology

  About the Author

  Frank Morin is an avid storyteller and story consumer. When not writing or trying to keep up with his active family, he’s often found hiking, camping, Scuba diving, or enjoying other outdoor activities.

  Frank writes all types of fantasy, from his exciting Facetakers time-travel fantasy thrillers, to these popular Petralist novels, and more. Check his website for updates and to sign up for his newsletter to receive the latest on all his releases, scheduled events, and insider information:

  www.frankmorin.org.

  Or you can follow him on Twitter: @MorinWrites

  Or like his Author Facebook page: www.facebook.com/authorfrankmorin

  Frank lives in Oregon with his family, who are his most enthusiastic fans and his most brutal critics. In their home, storytelling is a cherished family tradition that keeps magic alive.

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