by Frank Morin
It took precious seconds to level out the crippled wagon. He had drifted far from the epicenter of the explosion and fallen a thousand feet toward the earth before stabilizing their hover. He gasped when he peered over the side to see the results of the explosion. The entire southern half of the plateau was a charred wasteland.
The rear third of the elfonnel was simply gone, two of its other legs were shattered, and its torso was cracked and blackened.
It wasn't moving.
Hamish focused his long-vision goggles on it. The monster was frozen in place, as if the fervent heat of the bomb had melted its armored hide and fused it into one huge brick.
"Did it work?" Jean asked. "Do you see Ingrid?"
"No." The blast hadn't split open the monster the way he had hoped.
Then one of its huge, silver eyes blinked.
"Tallan take you!" Hamish shouted. The elfonnel at the Carraig had repeatedly healed itself from seemingly fatal injuries. Could this one actually recover from such a blast?
Ingrid began to scream. Her cries echoing from the speakstone. "The acid! Oh, Hamish, it burns. I can't get out."
She was still alive! "We'll think of something," he assured her, but his voice sounded thin and unconvincing, even to him.
His mind had gone blank. He felt like he was living a nightmare. Several times since the battle at the Carraig he'd awakened in a cold sweat, heart pounding with fear. Always in the dream, he'd watched Verena, then Connor get swallowed by the elfonnel, but had lacked the diorite needed to blow open its belly. Now Ingrid was stuck inside, and he couldn't save her.
"Hamish?" Jean asked softly, renewed fear in her eyes. "What do we do?" The fact that she looked to him, that she believed in him, only heightened his sense of helpless fury.
"I'm a Builder," Ingrid moaned. "We protect. I can still help. I have the bomb."
"No," Hamish sobbed. "Ingrid, let me think, please."
Jean gripped his arm and they shared a horrified look. She knew the truth, and tears ran down her cheeks. She reached for the speakstone, as if she could somehow touch Ingrid and comfort her.
The bomb inside the elfonnel's stomach detonated.
For an eyeblink, the monster was outlined by white-hot brilliance, then its torso simply exploded, its vast bulk disintegrating under the second earth-shattering blast. Flames tore across the already-devastated area.
Then that blistering fire solidified into long streamers of boiling flame that flowed up the shattered plateau. It slithered over the avalanche-buried defensive walls, then formed a gigantic, burning archway at the end of Badurach Pass.
The tons of snow that had fallen from the peak had buried the pass in white, but now they melted into a river that flowed out over the plateau, pouring through that burning archway. The flood carried several figures, who stood upon the waters.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"The time of my choice is at hand and the world will bear witness if I chose folly or wisdom."
~Evander
"Yes!" Verena exclaimed as the delicate mixture of shielding and air generation she had released in the first small quartzite block transferred to the second. "I think I'm getting the hang of this linking matrix trick."
There was really nothing quite like exploring new concepts and teasing out new inventions. Kissing Connor came close, most of the time.
"Do you really think this will help you design a non-Builder flying wagon?" Connor asked.
The two stood at one of Verena's work tables in her huge workroom. Martys loitered nearby, eating some of the stale breadsticks Hamish had left behind.
"I think I'm getting close. I'm designing a keystone that will contain the thruster commands to allow a non-Builder to activate the various thrusters on their wagon."
"Is that enough?" Connor had waited patiently while she teased out the patterns of power within the quartzite, and the way he frowned in thought was simply adorable.
"What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "Flying is more than just riding a blast of air. I've tried it enough to know. How does a non-Builder make all the necessary adjustments they'll need?"
Verena sighed. "After the keystone, that's my biggest worry. How do we teach people to adjust for air hiccups or exhaustion pockets? We don't even know how they form or how to tell if we're going to hit one."
"I don't even know what those terms mean."
"Flying is so new, we've had to come up with a lot of new terms. There's slip-spin-drag, rollover rates, and wind-howl to name a few."
Connor grinned. "We've got to get Jean to write all this down."
"Good idea. I've named the flight principles we've identified, but we haven't done well at documenting everything."
"You'll need to if you're going to train new flyers." Connor found a sheet of parchment. "I can start taking notes and hand them off to Jean when we get to the pass."
Verena pushed her hair behind one ear and organized her thoughts. "Wind changes the faster you go. At low speeds, it's like a breeze. It's no big deal."
"As long as you don't spit straight ahead," Connor offered with a grin.
"Exactly what Hamish said," Verena smiled. "At higher speeds, or turning fast, it increases like a tempest. When it reaches the point where it's hard to hear yourself think, that's the wind-howl moment, and you have to understand what that does to flight balancing."
"Flight balancing is hard way before that point," Connor said. "At least when I try to use quartzite."
"Everyone has different tolerances. There's the stomach-lurch syndrome, for example. Some people lose their breakfast just spinning around fast a few times. They can't tolerate some of the stuff we do in the air."
The door of the workroom burst open and Kilian rushed in, followed by Ilse. "Pack your things," he ordered, his expression grave. "We're heading for Badurach Pass immediately."
"What happened?" Verena asked.
"The war has begun," Ilse said, her tone grave.
Verena exchanged a worried glance with Connor. It was too soon. They weren't ready.
"What do you know?" she asked.
Kilian said, "The Obrioner army attacked the pass, and Dougal used an elfonnel to lead the charge."
"How?" Connor asked. He looked as worried as Verena felt.
"I felt the stirrings through the elements," Kilian said. "Wolfram has contingencies in place for worst-case scenarios, but for elfonnel, those mostly involve delaying tactics until he can retreat."
"So there's an elfonnel rampaging through Granadure now?" Verena asked, horrified by the idea.
"That's bad, right?" Martys asked. Verena couldn't read his expression and wondered how he felt about his homeland invading.
"Just about the worst thing possible," Connor said.
Ilse said, "I think it may be gone already. When I connected with the earth, I felt something churning the ground from the direction of the pass, even from this distance. Then, all of a sudden, it disappeared."
"How is that possible?" Connor asked. "From everything we know about them, a rampaging elfonnel could rage for days, right?"
"We won't know until we get there," Kilian said, radiating impatience. "We've delayed here too long. Grab everything you can. We're leaving."
Verena said, "We'll take my windrider. We can't all fit on the Swift, and I'll need to fly."
"You can tether the Swift to the wagon," Kilian offered.
She nodded, already calculating how much they could cram into the available space. "It'll be tight, but I think we can all fit."
"We're not taking that many people," Connor pointed out. "Just us."
"Plus Erich and Anika," Ilse added.
Verena said, "I plan to bring along the materials to finish a new flying craft I've started working on." She gestured to the back of her workroom at the new construction project.
Connor chuckled. "I still say it looks like you dropped a windrider into a hurricane."
Wood and struts and quartzite blocks were strewn all ar
ound the skeletal framework of the new craft that stood not far from her windrider. It would be maybe a third of the size of one of the huge flying wagons when it was finished.
Kilian said, "I like the idea of getting a team transport platform in the air, but only if we can load it fast."
"We can be ready in less than half an hour," Verena promised. "We can finish assembly at Harz."
"Maybe sooner," Martys said. "I'll help ye make sure we've got all the tools and materials on board, and we'll have yer new flying craft done afore we reach the front."
"Really?" Connor asked, his voice echoing the same surprise Verena felt. "I thought you were a Guardian."
Martys grinned. "Dinnae mean a bloke can't learn other crafts in the long, cauld winters, do it?"
Kilian hesitated. "It may not be a great time for you to visit the front, but we'll worry about that when we get there. Let's move, people. Dougal's rash action threatens Obrion as much as it does Granadure. We don't have time to waste."
Chapter Twenty-Four
"The bird may be caged to keep away the ravages of the hunter."
~Evander
In less than an hour, the heavily-loaded windrider lifted into the air above the Builder compound with a blast of huge lift thrusters. Wind howled around the group, and as always the air generated by quartzite smelled of fresh, high mountain meadows. It was a scent that always reminded Connor of Verena.
Most of the team wore heavy flying leathers to ward against the cold of the high elevations. Kilian didn't bother.
He sat beside Verena on the high front bench in a simple white, long-sleeved linen shirt, trimmed in black, with a standing collar. He'd also donned a light-weight, brown leather jacket, but had not fastened the silver buckles. He did not look cold, but lounged on the high bench with an ease that belied his haste.
Connor stood in the long bed of the wagon, directly behind Verena. Ilse sat on a pile of speedslings nearby. Erich and Anika reclined against the right wall of the wagon bed.
The bulk of the large wagon bed was taken up by the skeleton of the new flying craft, along with stacks of wood and other materials. Uncle Martys stood back there, talking to himself and planning the construction. Verena's Swift hovered behind the windrider, tethered to the big wagon by a secure line and piled high with mechanicals.
"How long do you think it'll take to reach the pass?" Connor asked.
Verena thought for a moment. "Depends on the winds. Windriders aren't fast, but I've got the push thrusters opened to three quarters. If we maintain this speed, we'll probably arrive some time after dark."
Kilian grimaced. "Can you increase speed?"
"I can, but they'll be nearly spent by the time we get there."
"Nearly spent is fine. Just make sure we don't have to land and refit replacements."
Verena touched one of the long, quartzite-lined levers in front of her that connected to the various thrusters. The roar of the big push thrusters at the rear of the windrider intensified.
"Do you think Hamish and Jean are there?" Connor asked, voicing his greatest fear.
Verena nodded, and when she glanced back at him, he read the same concern in her eyes. "Once we get closer, maybe I can reach him through the speakstone. This high up, we'll get pretty good range."
Martys joined Connor near the front. "Well laddie, 'twill be a right bonnie little wagon we mean to build."
Verena asked, "Are you sure you understand what I need?"
"Aye, lass," Martys assured her. "This here wee project be no great challenge. Come on, laddie. Work's a-lurkin'." He beckoned Ilse, then Erich and Anika over too.
Connor slid one hand along the main left-side beam. The plan called for a compact craft that could still hold nine people in three rows near the front, protected by wooden sides. It would be a tight fit sitting next to a big guy like Erich.
They lacked time and materials to add armored plating like the Swift, and the rear cargo bed would be open like the windrider. Martys had already updated the plan to include a series of clever storage boxes underneath to hold replacement thrusters and other critical supplies.
Martys lifted a wide wooden plank, already cut to the proper length by the dozen workmen Verena had summoned to help prepare for the trip. "Lend a hand, laddie."
He passed the other end to Erich, handed Ilse a hammer, and set her to securing the plank. Once he felt they understood what he wanted, he and Anika began working on the other side.
Like all kids in Alasdair, Connor had done some carpentry growing up, and it was obvious neither Ilse or Erich were much of a hand with hammer and nail. So by the third plank, Connor had commandeered the hammer. The windrider wagon bed usually felt huge, but packed with mechanicals and flying several thousand feet in the air, it wasn't the most comfortable workplace.
"Ye look like ye know how to use that," Martys commented after a few minutes.
Connor shrugged. "Hammers run in our family. As a kid, I used to practice all the time to be ready for the day I got to try the Ashlar's hammer."
Martys chuckled. "Ye planned to skip the years of training?"
"When you're a kid, all you focus on is the hammer."
Of course, when he finally had gotten a chance to try it, he'd broken his father's precious hammer. He had also shattered an entire block of granite in a single blow, and had gotten his first glimmer at the power concealed within deadly diorite.
Over the next hours as they worked, the new flying craft began to take real shape. Martys was truly a master craftsman, and he ensured the planks fit together snugly. Somehow his handiwork made the rough carpentry seem far more impressive.
They quickly boxed in the outer shell. While Connor and the others added planking for the floor, Martys assembled all of the storage compartments, including tight-fitting doors. He worked efficiently, as if he'd assembled similar projects a hundred times.
"How did you get so good at this?" Connor asked as Martys oversaw the installation of the three rows of chairs facing the front.
"I told ye. In times of long peace, when me mates would be getting all scunnered with the boredom, I learned I prefer to keep me hands busy. It helps keep the beast docile."
Connor regarded him thoughtfully. He hadn't really thought about how difficult it might be for soldiers conditioned to unleash the monster within to deal with extended peace.
"This beast," Ilse said, leaning against the far side of the craft. "You speak of the lust for battle?"
Martys nodded. "Ye be a warrior. I cannae believe ye huv nae felt the beast within when ye fight."
"I've felt it," Ilse admitted. "But you speak as if it's a good thing to embrace animal fury."
Martys shrugged. "I dinnae ken how ye fight in Granadure, but if'n ye won't do what ye must to win, ye've already lost."
"When land, we train," Erich said, sounding eager.
He added something in Granadure and Ilse translated for him. "He wants to see if your inner beast's head is thick enough to take a real bash fight."
Martys returned Erich's grin with a predatory look. "I like the way ye think, mate."
The turn in the conversation began to worry Connor. Erich was one of the best bash fighters he'd ever met. He sensed that both Erich and Martys might not hold back once they began fighting, and they couldn't afford for either of them getting hurt.
Martys seemed to have an unquenchable curiosity about their family and Alasdair. Despite all the questions he'd asked while they worked, he spoke little of his own childhood.
So to change the subject, Connor asked, "When you were growing up, did you get to swim much, Uncle?"
"Not enough, laddie. In the youth barracks we kept a strict schedule most days. I reckon ye swam a lot more."
"We did. Although Jean didn't like jumping off the rocks so much. We liked to try impressing her by how high we jumped."
He glanced toward the front where Verena and Kilian had turned to listen. Maybe he shouldn't mention how badly he'd wanted to win the first kiss
from Jean.
"Sounds like heaven," Martys said. "But ye cannae tell me ye boys were all saintly little weans all the time. What did ye do to make yer mothers yearn to skelp yer behinds?"
When he hesitated, Verena teased, "We know you've got stories to tell, Connor."
"There's a reason you haven't heard them yet."
She laughed, but then raised an eyebrow expectantly. So Connor sighed and said, "Fine. I'll think of one."
"While ye talk, let's finish workin'," Martys suggested.
He directed Erich and Anika in extracting large blocks of stone from wooden crates stacked at the very back of the windrider. First came several pieces of marble, which Verena called Puking Dooms.
"Hamish's name," she explained. "They're defensive weapons that fire intense jets of flame. They work best underneath because of how much lift they generate."
While they installed the puking dooms, Connor told them about the time he and Hamish snuck into the tannery south of town the night before the Sogail. They were going to turn seven years old that year and hoped to find scrap pieces of leather to make armor for their mock battles. Instead, they had stumbled upon a slowly boiling vat of hide glue.
The large pail of hot glue they took hardened before they could decide how to use it. The only logical thing to do was hide it in the chimney of the temporary oven used for Sogail cooking in the town square. Stuart's shrew of a mother had arrived to begin work on her famous overnight stew and they'd fled before she spotted them.
"You didn't leave the glue there, did you?" Verena chuckled.
Connor shrugged as Martys finished securing the last block of marble. "We didn't have any choice. We thought it was safe up there, but she must have adjusted the damper and tipped the bucket. By the next morning, the glue had softened and leaked into her stew."
Connor laughed at the memory. "When she took the stew off the fire, the glue congealed and turned the entire pot into a solid block."
