Affinity for War

by Frank Morin

  "This will do." Martys stripped off his shirt, and his muscles swelled with granite power as his skin faded to gray.

  Connor purged basalt, absorbed some granite, and did the same. He loved that thrill of anticipation just before a bash fight.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  In answer, Martys lunged, throwing a punch that, had it landed, would have tumbled Connor into tomorrow. The move might have caught him by surprise just a few months prior, but Connor's honed reflexes kicked in. He leaned, allowing his uncle's fist to slide by, missing by inches.

  Connor's fists weren't in the right position for a solid punch, so he increased the tap rate and head-butted his uncle with his rock-hard noggin. His forehead cracked into Martys's nose, and Martys stumbled back. If he hadn't been protected by granite, that blow would have splattered his nose and probably cracked his skull.

  "Good reflexes," Martys said approvingly. "Ye've had some training, have ye?"

  Connor nodded as the two circled. "With the Fast Rollers."

  "Start with the best, and the world's yer pie, ready to eat. Let's see how much ye learned."

  He lunged again, raining a series of blows on Connor, striking with fists, elbows, knees, and feet. Connor parried, shifting, and dodging, while returning with fast punches of his own.

  The two shifted around the field, the cadence of their fight rising as they took the measure of each other, confirmed each was up to the challenge, and pushed the fight harder. Uncle Martys was skilled, and he fought with a savage intensity that would've been scary if they were fighting for real.

  "Don't hold back, laddie," Martys urged, his gaze intense, a wild light in his eyes as they pounded on each other as hard as any bash fight Connor had ever felt. "Release the monster raging inside of ye."

  Connor was already fully committed to the fight, and he felt the stirrings of rage building in his heart, a shadow of the fury he'd felt while transformed into a rampager. Could Martys somehow know about that? The thought distracted him for a critical fraction of a second.

  That was all the time Martys needed.

  Slipping inside Connor's fist, he curse-punched Connor in the chest. The blow slammed into him like a charging torc and catapulted him off his feet. Connor landed hard, but rolled with it, using the momentum to tumble right over backward and roll to his feet again.

  "Good recovery, laddie," Martys grinned. "But ye cannae let yerself get distracted when yer in the current so deep. A bash fight is like plunging into a river of fury, me boy, and ye've got to dive deep and let it carry ye to victory."

  That wasn't exactly how Rory and the Fast Rollers had trained him. Rory had always drilled the importance of discipline and control. So Connor eased his tap rate and held up a hand to pause the match. "What did you mean about releasing the monster?"

  "Just that," Martys said with a shrug. "Ye cannae win if ye no be willing to do what must be done. Fighting is nae like serving tea. Tis a monstrous thing most of the time, and ye must be willing to embrace the heart of the warrior."

  "Have you done a lot of fighting?"

  Martys nodded, his muscles deflating and his skin returning to normal. "I've traveled a lot, and fer a while was stationed down in the deep south. Lots of skirmishes with Sehrazad raiders. Even tussled with a Mhortair from out of the endless plains of Ravinder.”

  "You fought an Assassin?"

  "Ye be full of surprises," Martys said, eyeing Connor with interest. "Not many know of the Mhortair, even among the Guardians."

  Connor wished he'd held his tongue. He was enjoying getting to know his uncle, but he couldn't share everything yet. "I learned to keep my ears open at the Carraig."

  "Good on ye." Martys clapped him on the shoulder, then scooped up his shirt. "Let's go find that dining hall. I'm hungry enough to strip an eoin to the bone."

  "Me too," Connor admitted.

  As they walked together back toward the Builder compound Martys said, "We'll have to train again, laddie. Ye've got a good foundation already, but I sense ye lack the instinct to take the fight where we'll have to go to win a war."

  "I've done a lot of fighting," Connor assured him. "Although I'd rather capture people than kill them."

  "Ye cannae capture everyone, and ye cannae hesitate on the battlefield, or someone willing to release the beast will get the best of ye. How many people ye love will die if ye let that happen?"

  Connor considered that as they trudged through the field. Then Martys asked, "So tell me why ye think patronage is a lie? That be the mother of all lies if'n it be true."

  "It's true," Connor assured him. "You're not going to turn unclaimed."

  "I hope yer right, laddie. I really do." Martys sighed, his expression turning troubled. "I left me whole unit behind. They're a wild bunch, and they're preparing to go to war. It feels like I betrayed them somehow."

  "I know what you mean," Connor admitted. "I had to leave the Carraig, but I was their commander. Some of them died fighting under my command. Now there's no one to help them understand the truth. If we don't find a way to stop this war, some of them are probably going to die, and I might have to fight them."

  Martys gripped Connor's shoulder. "Ye cannae blame yerself for the bad choices of other commanders, lad. All ye can do is give it laldy every day."

  "I'm trying." It was comforting to hear support from family, even from family he'd only just met.

  "Ye mentioned ye train with the Fast Rollers," Martys said. "How is it ye know them?"

  "I met them during the battles of Alasdair, and they were stationed at the Carraig this season. They're inspiring fighters, and good friends."

  "How does that work with you being a traitor and all?" Martys asked, his tone light, but his gaze serious.

  "It's a bit complicated," Connor admitted.

  Martys grunted. "Me mates would tear me to pieces if they catch up to me."

  Connor grimaced. "Execution wasn't fun."

  "The stories ye tell," Martys laughed. "A lot of men I know who've been Guardians for years don't have half so many."

  "The price for being famous, I guess."

  They entered the Builder compound through the huge sliding outer door to Verena's workshop. She wasn't there, so they headed deeper into the building through the inner door. As they walked, Martys asked, "Did ye know any of Dougal's other special forces?"

  "I know Captain Aonghus and Spitnail Camonica."

  "I've heard of those two. Ye never met Dougal's trio of Bladed Pathfinders then?"

  Connor shook his head.

  "Few do. Over the years, they've mastered using small bursts of external air. They can fly short distances most days, generate dust devils to blind and distract, and use focused gusts of wind to accelerate throwing darts. They probably have other tricks up their sleeve, but I suspect the only people who've seen those are dead."

  Connor didn't like the sound of that. Skilled Blades scared even Boulders. They were notoriously difficult to take down, and having a trio working together with such finely-tuned tertiary powers would indeed prove deadly. "Is there anything else I should know about?"

  Martys nodded. "If ye don't know about those three, ye probably huv nae heard about the Striding-Solas who can make himself nearly invisible."

  "Now I know you're joking," Connor said.

  "I'm feart it be no joke, laddie. Ye know that Solas can bend light, aye?"

  "How does that allow someone to go invisible?"

  "From the talk I harvested, Dougal chored some highly custom prism glass from Sehrazad. He's got one Solas who worked it 'til he figured out how to bend the light through it and around himself. Makes him nigh impossible to see."

  "Why haven't I heard about this before?" Connor asked.

  Martys shrugged. "Secrets like that get held close to the chest lad."

  "Then how is it that you know about it?" Verena asked as they rounded an intersecting hallway and found her and Kilian standing there. Connor moved to her side and gave her a quick kiss, but she didn'
t take her eyes off of Martys.

  "Like I told Connor," Martys said, not seeming concerned by her distrustful tone. "I've traveled a lot. We clashed with the Sehrazad raiders in many a rammy in the south. One of me mates was on the raiding party that chored that prism glass.

  "That Solas was stationed there too. It's a wee sort of town, hard to hide, and I caught a keek of him training once. 'Twas a Tallan-cursed nightmare, it was. Gave me the fleg. One minute he's a walkin' across the courtyard, then a burst o light, and then barely a shadow left in view walkin' away."

  "How did you manage to catch even that much of a glimpse?" Verena asked, her tone definitely distrustful.

  "It was me duty to guard the courtyard." Martys's smile had faded under Verena's continued questioning. "A couple kids was spied climbing the vines of the tower wall. Not uncommon fer the area, but not allowed that day, so I had to chase them youngins away. Seems to me, instead of accusing me of telling whoppers, ye should be thanking me fer bringing ye the new know."

  "Could it be possible?" Verena asked Kilian.

  "It's unlikely, but possible. I've only ever known one person who could make invisibility work, but I don't believe anyone has used that particular threshold since the Tallan Wars. I would need to understand the properties of that prism glass to know for sure."

  "Ye may get the chance sooner than ye think," Martys said. "Not long afore I returned to Merkland, that Solas was sent on a mission. I dinnae ken the specifics, just that he was headed fer Granadure."

  "How would you have learned even that much about a secret mission?" Verena asked, her tone mollified, but not quite trusting.

  "I like the fact that ye dinnae take anything at face value," Martys said with a wink.

  Connor was grateful that he wasn't riled by Verena's continued questioning. It was starting to bother him. How would she feel if he interrogated her family the same way when they met?

  "Soldiers gossip, and when there be war looming, gossip about turning the tide in our favor is harder to contain than a belch after a good feed," Martys said.

  "Something about that mission made people think it was going to help. Could be anything, but I wager that Solas was sent to assassinate someone important."

  He looked from Connor, to Kilian, to Verena, and his voice turned grave. "Could be any one of ye, I suppose."

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Storm clouds gather over lofty peaks, ah, and drench the plain."

  ~Declan

  Dressed in the gold and royal-blue commander's uniform of his newly-adopted house, Ivor approached the spacious command tent in the center of the Obrion army. The vast military force was camped on the plateau high up the slope of Mount Macduib.

  The ultimate peak soared at least two thousand feet higher still, and Ivor swore that he felt its looming shadow even in the dark of night. The twin towers of sheer, snowcapped stone were split down the middle by Drumwhindle Pass, as if a giant ax stroke had sundered the center of the mountain. The peak was impassable on either side, and there were no other good passes anywhere through the range.

  The early morning sun hung on the eastern horizon, back-lighting the long line of impassable peaks of the Maclachlan Mountains. Drumwhindle Pass glittered in the bright morning light, as if taunting the might of Obrion to dare the narrow gap and break themselves against the Grandurian defenses.

  They really had no other choice, but no one was looking forward to the command to attack. There hadn't been such a gathering of military might in at least a generation, and Ivor did not doubt that a breach could be made. The cost would be high though, and it was both thrilling and terrifying to know he would play a part in the conflict.

  The guard at the door was expecting him and motioned him through. A large, round table occupied the center of the command tent, ringed by the senior commanders and members of the war council, dressed in the uniforms and colors of their various houses.

  Ivor had not expected to see High Lord Dougal and Shona seated near General Carbrey. Carbrey sat stiff and straight, every inch the commanding general of the most important military campaign in living memory. He proudly wore the blue and dark green of House Dougal.

  For his part, High Lord Dougal wore a dark blue jacket that was not quite a uniform. He looked exhausted. His shoulders slumped where he sat, his face was lined, and dark circles lurked under his eyes. A cane leaned against the table beside his chair. Ivor had heard that he'd been seen limping at the Carraig the day after Connor had disappeared. With the Healers ready to serve him, he should have been long recovered.

  Shona had changed out of the tight-fitting battle leathers she'd worn on the recent raid that he had led into Granadure against the Schmitten quarry. Her blond hair hung loose, nearly long enough to touch her shoulders. She wore a fine, green silk blouse and blue skirt. She didn't smile, but neither did she frown at him, and she looked even more serious than she had so often of late.

  He wondered if she was still fuming over their failed raid, and if she knew anything else about their missing Strider. The man Oskar had abandoned their small raiding party and headed north on some kind of secret mission.

  Ivor saluted and came to attention. "Reporting as requested, my lord."

  "Come in, Ivor," High Lord Dougal said, waving him toward a seat near Carbrey.

  As Ivor sat, he glanced around the table. He recognized flame-haired Captain Aonghus and the willowy Spitnail Camonica with her thick, tawny hair tinged blue at the tips. He knew most of the others by reputation. He felt a thrill of pride that he was welcomed into this elite group of military professionals.

  "I hear good things about you, Ivor," Dougal said, his tired gaze direct and penetrating. Ivor was good at sizing people up, and Dougal was a man to tread very carefully around. "Your pending marriage to Lady Alyth isn't distracting you too much, is it?"

  "I am ready for duty, sir," Ivor assured him.

  He was actually pleased to have an excuse for a little extra time before marrying Alyth. There was nothing wrong with High Lady Islay's daughter. In fact, the life she offered was probably the best option Ivor could ever hope for. She was attractive, and she already ran most of her mother's small, but wealthy, realm. He'd been pleased to discover she possessed a sharp wit, a quick mind, and a ready smile.

  Before he embraced that life though, he needed to speak with Connor.

  Alyth seemed eager for the marriage, but not as eager as her mother. The marriage offered the house, which had been fading in influence in recent years, a chance to regain its previous glory.

  He was already wildly popular with the house army, and no one had been surprised when he'd been given command. He hadn't expected to also be appointed commander of the forces from both House Lenox and House Pilib, although he immediately grasped their reasoning.

  High Lord Dougal was simply growing too powerful.

  One of Ivor's greatest skills was gauging the strengths and weaknesses of others. Dougal's list of strengths was unmatched, while his weaknesses were few. If what Connor had said about him was true, Dougal might be even more dangerous than most people knew.

  The problem for the other houses was that he was the supreme commander and architect of the war effort, so they could not deny him their Petralists, auxiliary troops, supplies, or stores of power stone. Ivor's sources suggested that even King Turriff was growing nervous about how much power Dougal was amassing.

  Assigning their armies to Ivor allowed House Lenox and House Pilib the chance to fulfill all of their wartime duties, while still insulating themselves from Dougal a little. Depending on how Dougal deployed his forces, it could bode very well or very ill for Ivor.

  The tent flap parted for Redmund to enter. The broad-shouldered Dawnus looked impressive in his house colors of crimson and steel. He came to attention a bit slowly, and his salute lacked the crisp snap usually expected. His father, High Lord Feichin, was one of Dougal's most vocal opponents. Redmund did not look happy about serving under Dougal.

  "The whisper
of a Pathfinder can cross the plateau, but a single rain cloud may trigger the flash flood," Redmund said.

  "We will need that indomitable strength of yours, fear not," Dougal said.

  Ivor wondered if the man actually understood the several possible meanings of Redmund's Sentry speak. The high lord was renowned for his brilliant mind, but it always paid to keep an open mind when interpreting Sentry speak.

  "Come," General Carbrey ordered, gesturing Redmund to the chair beside Ivor. "You two are our best new commanders. You've been invited to join us as we finalize plans for the long-awaited invasion. One of you will be chosen to take a critical role in that effort, which will win you and your houses unprecedented honor."

  High Lord Dougal placed on the table two small sculptures, about the size of one of Shona's fists. One was made of polished slate, in the shape of an elegant Sentry tower, complete with crenelations.

  The other was a piece of fine, pink marble, shaped like an elegant woman, hands on hips, a proud tilt to her chin, and her entire body wreathed in flames. They were both exquisite pieces, and Ivor felt his pulse quicken as he looked on the precious treasures.

  "These are sculpted stones," Dougal confirmed. "And I will give one of these to one of you."

  A low murmur rippled around the room. Even though those soldiers were professionals, not even they could look with silent discipline at such treasure placed within reach. Captain Aonghus's eyes began to glow with tiny flames, and Camonica placed a subtle restraining hand on his arm as he gazed with undisguised hunger at the marble statue.

  Ivor couldn't blame him, but he'd beat Aonghus to a pulp if he tried snatching for the sculpture. Redmund leaned over the table, eyes locked on that slate statue. Even though Connor had been named Tir-raon champion, his disappearance had left a gap that House Islay and House Feichin were both petitioning to fill.

  If Ivor or Redmund could be named Tir-raon champion in Connor's absence, one of them would win the coveted sculpted stone prize. This new opportunity was an unexpected and unprecedented chance to acquire another one.