by Frank Morin
Connor released her and took a deep breath. The intensity of that sudden craving unnerved him. "We don't have any here anyway," he said, more to help himself relax than for anyone else.
As they soared back toward the Wick, Verena said, "At least we know the speedcaravan is back. The army seemed to be heading north toward the border. If Dougal is aboard, he's probably headed up to the pass to oversee the army."
"Does that mean the war's about to start?" Jean asked worriedly.
Verena shrugged. "Maybe. But we could get the first real snows of winter any day. That would make invasion difficult, even for Petralists."
Hamish glanced back at the speedcaravan and frowned. "Wish I had that latest bomb Dierk's been working on."
"Would you really kill everyone in that caravan without knowing who they are?" Verena asked.
Hamish sighed. "No. I don't want to kill anyone but Dougal."
"We'll deal with him," Connor assured him.
He was happy that his friends shared his reluctance about killing. Bash fighting was the best fun in the world, but the looming war would be different.
After a moment, Verena said, "I'm starting to worry about how many men Dougal has marshaled. We saw at least twenty thousand troops already at the pass a couple weeks ago."
"That's a lot of soldiers," Jean whispered.
"Granadure's got roughly the same already marshaled on the Badurach side of the pass," Hamish said.
Verena added, "And there are reinforcements gathering at Harz fortress and the trading center of Altkalen. I suspect there are reinforcement armies assembling in Obrion at every high lord's capital. If war breaks out, both sides could marshal upwards of a hundred thousand soldiers."
The thought of so many armed men and women trying to kill each other, led by hundreds of mighty Petralists who could literally rip the landscape apart, made Connor feel insignificant. He couldn't comprehend why so many people seemed so eager to rush into such destruction.
It would be better if nations settled arguments with pie eating contests. There would probably be a lot more wars in that case, but everyone would have a lot more fun.
Verena accelerated and called back, "Jean, are you going to ride with us?"
Jean shook her head, already grinning in a wild way that seemed so unlike her. She shouted, "Hamish, catch!"
She jumped off the Swift.
The move so surprised Connor that he nearly jumped off to catch her. He only just remembered that would only mean Verena would have to pluck two people out of the air.
Hamish reacted so fast, he must have been expecting the move. With an explosion of air from the thrusters built into the chest, arms, and even the hands of his suit, Hamish twisted hard over. He shot across the distance, catching Jean before she could fall out of the clouds and risk giving them away to any watchful Pathfinders.
The two spiraled a few yards lower before his increased thrusters pulled them higher again. Twined together and laughing, they rose into the clouds until the mists obscured them from view.
"I'm starting to think Hamish is a bad influence on her," Connor said.
Verena grinned at him, her visor still raised. "What's the matter, Connor? They're just having a little fun."
"I thought you understood Hamish's history. For years he was famous for falling and dropping things."
"I think he's motivated enough not to drop Jean," Verena said with a chuckle. "Now kiss me and stop being a mother hen."
Connor eagerly obliged. He loved Verena's soft, minty lips. He loved even more the fact that she hadn't pressured him to kiss her too much since they escaped the Carraig. Shona had used her beauty as a tool to try controlling him. He'd escaped her service, but still hesitated to focus too much on the physical attraction he felt with Verena.
Their relationship was deepening, and he loved spending time with her. They seemed to never run out of things to say, and her presence was a constant comfort that helped wash away the challenging, negative experiences he'd recently been through. He wasn't sure what life held in store, but he didn't doubt for a minute that Verena would be a part of it.
Hamish descended nearby, with Jean clinging to his back. They waved, and Hamish accelerated through the clouds back to the northeast. Verena gave chase, and Connor grinned as the wind tore at his face. It didn't draw tears from his Pathfinder-hardened eyes, so he kept the quartzite applied until they passed the hills concealing the Lower Wick from the environs around Merkland. Only then did they begin a slow glide down toward the Wick.
Two miles upriver, Verena slowed further and dropped to glide inches above the smooth, steadily-flowing river. Connor leaned down and draped a hand into the waters, focusing on his soapstone affinity. He had downed a mixture of soapstone powder and water earlier. Envisioning the gateway to the element like a watery doorway in his mind, he thrust his senses through.
The gateway opened easily to his mind. Water had been the first element he established affinity with, and it was still his most reliable tertiary power. His senses radiated out through the river and he quested for the hidden team.
Kilian was shielding. Connor didn't know the technique yet, and he wondered if it was similar to shielding with slate on solid ground. He was eager to learn it. Despite seeing the river through soapstone senses clearly enough that he could map the contours of the bottom or count the fish swimming within a hundred yards, he felt no indication of Kilian lurking beneath the surface.
That didn't mean Kilian couldn't sense him.
Connor withdrew his senses and lifted his hand from the water. "I'm sure he felt that."
"Did you sense him this time?" she asked.
"No."
"I bet he's upriver at least another quarter mile."
"I doubt it."
Just then, the waters of the Wick fifty feet behind them began to bubble and spray. A glistening, silver-hulled ship made entirely of water lifted to the surface. The rest of their party sat on six watery, throne-like chairs set in a half circle on the deck. Even though they had been traveling submerged, riding on chairs made of water, they looked completely dry.
Soapstone was so much fun.
"I should have sensed him that close," Connor grumbled as Verena banked around and settled the Swift to the small aft deck, directly behind the Grandurians. Hamish landed a few seconds later, and four more watery chairs rose from the deck and joined the half-circle.
"How did it go?" Kilian asked as they shed their thick flying leathers and Jean helped Hamish strip out of his suit. The Dawnus sat in a chair more reclined than the others, one leg thrown over the arm, looking completely relaxed, despite the effort of maintaining the ship.
They had met up with Kilian just as they reached the Macantact River. He had never explained how he knew to find them there. He had only said that he'd sensed the rise of the elfonnel while he was preparing to infiltrate Merkland on his hunt for Dougal. He'd abandoned his lone assault and rushed downriver instead.
Verena dropped into a chair beside Captain Ilse. The slender, raven-haired captain led the Grandurian special team that had been assigned to help Connor escape from the Carraig, or kill him if he wouldn't come. They had figured out how to get along, and now Connor cautiously considered her a friend. He took the chair on Verena's other side.
Verena said, "Reinforcements are marching from Merkland, heading for the pass."
The other four members of Ilse's team leaned forward to listen. Hulking Erich and his shapely twin sister Anika radiated power even when not tapping granite. Dietmar, the fearless Wingrunner, shifted on his seat, as if barely restraining the urge to run across the surface of the river in a fracked sprint and race them to Alasdair. Margrit, the team's Longseer, sat primly on her chair, blue dress smooth and proper, wide-brimmed hat tipped back enough for Connor to glimpse her eyes. They glittered even when not tapping quartzite.
"How many?" Kilian asked.
"About four thousand, with companies of Petralists leading the way," Connor said.
<
br /> Ilse pursed her lips. "The pass will now have roughly as many men as that army we spotted massing outside of Crann."
"Do you think they'll wait for more reinforcements?" Connor asked.
They had slipped past the huge metropolis of Crann two nights ago and had scouted it just as they had Merkland. Merkland could fit inside of Crann a dozen times.
They had estimated close to twenty-five thousand troops camped north of the city, their hundreds of campfires like a blanket of twinkling stars in the darkness. Connor had spotted the standards of six high lords snapping in the breeze on poles positioned around the huge, well-lit command tent. Obrion was indeed marshaling for war.
Verena added, "The speedcaravan was just arriving."
Kilian sat up straighter, his blue eyes intent. "Was Dougal aboard?"
"We didn't go down and verify," Hamish grumbled. "Some people thought it was too dangerous to attack."
Kilian said, "Wise choice. Dougal would not travel these days without powerful guards. Gregor is almost always in his company, and from what you told me, he had other senior Petralists stationed at the Carraig who might have returned with him."
"They wouldn't have seen us coming," Hamish insisted.
"Let's not start that again," Verena said.
"I prefer he not know our location," Kilian said. "Your attack might have surprised him. You might even have killed him or some of his guards. But at this point, such an attack might have served as the final excuse Obrion needs to launch a full invasion."
Hamish looked surprised. "Didn't think of that."
"It's always wise to take the time to think things through before leaping into life or death decisions," Kilian said in the tone of a teacher. Then he added, "We may have to call for reinforcements from Harz."
Ilse asked, "Do you have word on how many troops Altkalen has ready?"
Kilian shook his head. "One of many reports I need to read when we return to the Builder compound."
He waved them all to take their seats. "I'm afraid your homecoming visit will have to be brief."
"We should stay overnight at least," Jean pleaded.
"I wish we could, but half a day is the most we can spare."
While Jean continued to argue for more time, Connor shared a concerned look with Hamish. His greatest worry since escaping the Carraig was the safety of his family.
Shona might have set him free, but High Lord Dougal had made it clear he intended to use Connor as the hammer against Granadure. He couldn't imagine Dougal not sending soldiers to Alasdair to watch his family. Or worse, capture and torture them as leverage against Connor.
"We'll make the best of it," he told Jean.
He swore that if they spotted soldiers marching against Alasdair, then come hammers or high waters, he'd stay and defend his family, no matter what Kilian decided.
Kilian was already pulling the water craft below the surface. As the river bubbled up all around them, they accelerated upriver and sank to fifteen feet. An open bubble of air formed above the deck, shielding them from the flowing water. Kilian might look like an average, middle-aged man, with piercing blue eyes and blue-tinged, dark hair, but under that easy smile and relaxed manner lurked perhaps the most powerful Petralist alive. Connor wasn't sure how old Kilian might be, but he'd learned enough while prying into ancient secrets at the Carraig to suspect he'd been around a very long time.
That made Kilian a curious mystery. Connor loved the underwater form of travel, and he hoped to learn deeper Petralist secrets. He hoped Kilian would be willing to share that knowledge, but wondered what price he would exact in return.
Chapter Three
"The mightiest pedra can fall to a child's knife when distracted by the hunter and his arrow, but Time most beloved is grasped like water dripping from a cauldron."
~Connor
Connor relaxed on the soft, throne-like chair of water as they slid upriver. Kilian again lounged with one leg thrown over the arm of his chair. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to Hamish, who was regaling the group with stories of his favorite Sogail feast.
"You did not eat that entire bird," Jean corrected through a laugh. The two sat close together, holding hands.
Connor couldn't blame them. He loved the feel of Verena's warm fingers twined with his. Spending time with Verena was easy, and he could relax and just be himself.
The contrast with Shona was striking. Lady Shona might be beautiful and graceful and politically powerful, but spending time with her had always felt like battling a pedra.
Verena said, "I wish we were arriving in Alasdair during this Sogail feast. It sounds like quite a party."
"It is," Connor assured her. "Everyone celebrates their age-day, and there's no other feast half as good. Not even the harvest feast can top it."
"We probably just missed that one," Hamish grumbled.
Jean nodded, then pushed her thick hair back from her face. She'd shaken out the braid so it fell in loose, golden waves halfway down her back. "The crops got planted more or less on time this year, despite the rebuilding challenges and the chaos from that flood. Harvest should have happened on time."
Connor was glad the village had recovered so well from the devastating flood that he had unleashed upon the valley when he blew the cliff above Lord Gavin's manor. If he hadn't, the resulting pitched battle would probably have leveled the town and claimed the lives of everyone he knew. He wondered if the villagers understood that.
He'd find out soon enough. They would arrive in Alasdair by morning. Despite their rapid pace, Connor had to stop himself from tapping soapstone and adding the force of his affinity to Kilian's to drive them faster. He'd been gone for months, and now that they were so close, he couldn't wait to get home.
Hamish grinned. "Still, there will be plenty of food with harvest finished. This time of year, everyone's always looking for an excuse to celebrate something."
"Is many good," said Erich, the hulking Rumbler, in his thick Grandurian accent. He stabbed a meaty finger at his own chest. "I eat many best champion."
"What?" Connor frowned as he struggled to understand that one. Erich was one of the deadliest fighters Connor knew, but when he spoke Obrioner, he sounded like he'd squashed too much of his brains between all those muscles.
Anika explained, "He is say that in many big eats, he is always champion."
She might be smiling, but Connor did not let her relaxed demeanor fool him. When she tapped her granite Petralist affinity and transformed into the perfectly sculpted, stone-like fighting goddess, she scared him more than just about anyone.
Captain Ilse chuckled. "Remind me to continue your Obrioner lessons." Unlike the blonde siblings, she spoke Obrioner with almost no accent.
"We'll get a feast for sure," Hamish assured Erich, rubbing his hands together in expectation. "Our return will be the perfect excuse to celebrate, and I challenge you to an eating contest."
Erich grinned. "Little man, no stomach big."
"Don't let his size fool you," Jean assured Erich. "Hamish can eat more than any three other people I've ever met."
"Is many good challenge," Erich said, looking eager for the contest.
The bland travel rations they'd been eating in recent days probably stoked his enthusiasm. Connor wondered if Alasdair had enough food stored for the winter to survive an all-out food duel between those two.
Hamish's legendary appetite had only grown in recent months, fueled by his arms practice and Builder duties. He'd grown from a gangly, clumsy youth into a strong, competent warrior. Jean certainly seemed to appreciate the changes.
Jean asked, "Do you realize we've been gone longer than anyone ever, except for those taken by the curse hunters?"
Those poor few, like Connor's uncle Martys, who had been taken as a child, were never heard from again.
"That's why the feast will be bigger than ever," Hamish assured her.
"I hope so," she said.
Connor said, "Me too. I could
eat a torc. Let's just hope we can avoid a riot when everyone sees who we're traveling with."
Kilian said, "Your parents seemed unusually competent. As long as we avoid your local lord, I am confident we can find a way to get along."
Erich and Anika both shrugged. They didn't look concerned. Of course, with their granite-enhanced strength, the villagers posed no real threat. No one there possessed any Petralist affinity. The two siblings could level all of Alasdair and beat down any resistance without breaking a sweat.
Ilse said, "My only concern is that Dougal has already stationed soldiers there."
"When I left to serve Lady Shona at the Carraig, everyone High Lord Dougal had sent to assist with rebuilding was already gone," Jean assured her.
"That does not mean he has not sent soldiers to watch your families," Ilse said.
"Then we deal with them," Connor said, his tone hard. Nothing prevented him from fighting for them any longer.
Shona had once threatened to enslave his entire family if he refused her bidding, but she had released him at the end. That still shocked him, and he had to wonder if the decision was part of some intricate, subtle geall she was still playing. He just couldn't imagine how.
Shona had claimed that she couldn't bear the thought of sharing him with women from all the high noble houses as the king had authorized. That unexpected gesture suggested that deep down Shona really did care for him as a person and not just the tool she needed to further her ambitions. Still, Connor worried that she would regret the choice. His family would pay the price if she did.
His feelings for Shona were complex, and at times contradictory, but Dougal represented a clear threat. The more Connor thought about it, the more he realized that escape was but the first and perhaps easiest part of his future. Somehow he had to convince his family of the danger.
Worrying was even less helpful than guarding the oven in Hamish's house, right before dinner. He would assess the situation when they arrived. Then he'd deal with it.
