by Frank Morin
Shona gave him a warm smile. "That's all the greeting I get, beloved?"
For a moment, her eyes glowed with emotion so deep, it tugged at his heartstrings, even though he'd thought himself fully insulated from her.
"Even if I wanted to hug you, Shona," he told her, hating the flood of distracting memories, "I think Verena would probably kill you the moment I tried."
Shona glanced up, and her adoring look fell away to one of hate. Then she shrugged and her expression turned calm again. "She and I will meet to settle our differences sooner or later, but that's not the reason I called you to me today."
Connor hated how both girls kept promising final retribution against each other. They had lots of reasons to hate each other, but he didn't want either of them dead. He loved Verena, and although he wasn't entirely sure what he felt for Shona, he didn't hate her like he had once thought. It would be nice if she'd stop with the whole conquest-by-destruction-or-seduction approach to life, though.
"You can tell me your reasons after you toss me the granite you've got on your belt," he said.
"I showed trust in you by calling you here, despite what my father would do to me if he found out," Shona said as she pulled the leather pouch of powder from her belt and tossed it to him.
"And I didn't flatten those tents to make sure you don't have a dozen Petralists waiting to tackle me when I landed," Connor retorted.
She made a slight nod to acknowledge the point. Then her expression turned amused and she gave him a slow smile that set his heart racing.
"You know, Connor, I've got extra granite already applied to my battle plates, but if you're going to start ripping off my clothes to make sure I'm completely disarmed, I suggest we retire to one of those tents."
Connor flushed, and hated himself for it.
Shona laughed affectionately. "I love your shy, honest soul, my Connor. Don't forget, in the eyes of Obrion you and I are still engaged. A little dalliance is not unheard of."
A stream of hornets tore into the ground between them, missing both Connor and Shona by inches. One of the hornets carried a grain of diorite, and it exploded three feet past them, showering them both with dirt.
"She really is annoying," Shona muttered, glaring up at Verena, who had descended lower while they talked. "I didn't summon you here, wench. I summoned Connor."
"Stop wasting time," Verena shouted to Connor as Hamish settled to the ground a few feet away. "Shackle her and take her. We don't have much time."
Shona raised an eyebrow at Connor. "So you mean to do violence to me, do you, Connor?"
"Before you do violence to us," Hamish growled.
"This war will do all the violence to you that is required," Shona told him with a dismissive sniff. "People will die today, and the next day. That is war."
"Then what is your purpose?" Connor asked, although he was starting to wonder if she had any purpose other than to distract them.
"Honest battles have a purpose," Shona said, gesturing toward the hill and the battle raging behind.
Her proud bearing faded and she took a half step closer to Connor, her expression falling to one of open worry. "But the slaughter of non-combatants, no matter how complicit they may be, is not something I am yet willing to condone."
"What are you talking about?" Connor asked.
"This battle is a farce," Shona said, taking another step and gripping Connor's arm, even though Verena dropped lower and the speedslings began to spin again. If she fired on them, she'd hit them both, and neither of them were tapping granite.
"It seems pretty real to me," Connor said.
She made a dismissive wave. "The fighting is, but it serves only to distract you and Kilian from my father's real target."
"Who?" Connor and Hamish asked together.
"Your home," Shona said to Hamish. She looked up at Verena and added, "I know you can hear me, strumpet. Your home is the target."
"The Builder compound?" Connor asked.
Shona nodded. "The evil of Builders is well documented and must be stamped out, but in her wrath, Camonica will destroy everyone and everything in her path."
"Camonica?" Connor's heart sank. She hated Kilian with a fanatical fury, and she'd relish a mission to lay waste to a place dear to him.
"Why do you think my father delayed as long as he did, wasting time with that sham of an embassy? It was to give Camonica time to get into position."
"Jean's there," Hamish whispered, his face ashen with fear.
"You left her there?" Shona rounded on Hamish in a rage.
"It was supposed to be safer there," Hamish stammered.
"You've killed her, not saved her. That is, unless you can cover the leagues north by mid-morning."
"Why would you tell us your father's plans?" Connor demanded. The thought of Jean in danger terrified him, but could he believe it?
"I just learned of them this morning. My father sacrificed Redmund to raise that elfonnel, Connor. Did you know that?"
Connor nodded, studying her. He knew Shona as well as anyone could, and he read no deceit in her, just a heavy weight of sadness, and perhaps a hint of fear. "He tried to do the same thing to me."
She nodded in turn. "That's one of the reasons I had to send you away, Connor." She reached toward his face, but then let her hand drop, not bothering to hide her sadness. "I love my father, but I couldn't let him hurt you."
Verena drifted closer. "What are you waiting for? We don't have time to interrogate her now."
Shona shook her head. "There may be a time for kidnapping and torture, my dear Connor, but it is not yet. I won't shed any tears over the destruction of the Builder center, but Camonica will spare no one." She hesitated and added in a soft, fearful whisper. "Connor, my father gave her a sculpted stone."
Terror chilled Connor. He could no longer afford to doubt Shona. She might be lying, but could they take the risk? Camonica would gladly surrender herself to Dougal to gain such a glorious moment to wreak her long-sought vengeance.
"We have to go," Hamish cried, igniting his thrusters and rising into the air.
Shona said, "Jean was my servant, and I hold no rancor against her. Go. Save her."
When Connor hesitated, Shona smiled sadly. "I miss you. Thank you for answering my call. We'll speak again soon."
Then she turned and walked away.
"Stop!" Verena shouted, and the speedslings began to spin up.
Shona paused and glanced up at her. "I gave Connor to you, witch, and I'm giving you the chance to save another friend. If you choose to fight instead, the consequences lie upon you and you alone."
She raised her hand, and the tents all around were thrown aside, revealing a dozen Boulders, who moved to flank Shona. Daly, the Firetongue from the Carraig, was also there, along with Mactail, the captain of the Sentries.
Daly's eyes were already burning and he grinned, with flames dripping between his teeth. "Go on, Connor. Give me an excuse to burn that little bug right out of the sky."
The ground underfoot rolled slightly, like a gentle ripple on a still pond, and Mactail watched Connor with guarded interest. Connor didn't think of Mactail as an enemy, but he didn't doubt he'd fight for Shona. Daly had crisped his brain long enough that he seemed eager for a pitched elemental fight.
"Stay and fight," Shona said softly. "You might win, but you might not. Either way, your chance of saving your Builder home and your precious Jean will be gone. Think wisely, Connor. You can do that when you put your mind to it."
"Next time," Connor growled. Then he saluted Mactail, waved to Daly, tapped marble, and erupted off the ground.
"Can I go after him?" Daly cried.
"Hold," Shona commanded.
Verena intercepted Connor in mid-air and he stepped into the stirrups. As they shot into the sky, with Hamish trailing close behind, Connor pressed his face close to hers.
"You should have captured her," Verena said.
"It wasn't worth fighting through all of them, not with wha
t Camonica's planning."
"Do you believe her?" Verena asked as they reached the concealing clouds and banked toward the still-hovering Storm. Martys lay reclined on the back seat, snoring loudly.
Connor considered the question. Shona never did anything that did not profit her somehow. The question was, how did revealing that surprise attack benefit her?
If the attack proved true, Connor would be forced to admit she had spoken the truth. He would owe her yet another debt. That tenuous hold was all that remained between them, and no doubt she already had a plan to leverage it and draw him ever closer to her again. Her undying optimism could be a truly inspiring trait if she ever applied it to a better cause.
After a moment he said, "I believe her."
Verena growled, "I should have shot her. She's the most dangerous woman I've ever met."
"Tell me about it." That meeting had not gone at all as he had expected.
Hamish dropped into the pilot seat of the Storm, rocking the craft and shaking Martys from his slumber.
"Back so soon? I haven't even had lunch."
"Forget the food!" Hamish shouted as he fired the directional thrusters, pivoting the Storm back toward the Grandurian camp. "Hold on! We need to find Kilian now!"
The huge push thrusters roared like demons and the craft leaped away through the clouds, with Martys shouting and clinging to his seat in the second row.
Verena gave chase, and Connor added a burst of fire to give the Swift a little more speed, but the Storm drew farther ahead, then dove toward Harz. Connor only hoped it was fast enough to get them all the way back to the Builder compound in time.
If they didn't, Jean and everyone there would die.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“The farmer does not command the seed to grow, but plants it in good soil and allows it to fulfill the measure of its creation."
~Ilse
Jean slowly paced around a windrider with a group of a dozen of the master craftsman and craftswomen from the nearby town of Faulenrost. "I think wings are a wonderful idea. They would provide better stability and turning efficiency."
The master carpenter, a middle-aged fellow named Artur, had a lined, weathered face and twinkling, blue eyes. He had suggested the wings and now nodded. "Many good wing. No fat brick."
"I'm sorry." Jean tried puzzling out his meaning. Most of the gathered locals spoke at least a little Obrioner, although the carpenter's was nearly as bad as her non-existent Grandurian.
A tall, elegant woman named Carolin, who ran a training academy of the arts for local girls, and who had a beautiful accent asked him a question in Grandurian then said, "He suggests with wings this craft would look more like a bird than a flying brick. I concur. We should design a new craft that is both pleasant to the eye and performs better in the air."
Jean felt a growing sense of excitement as she discussed the possibilities with this eager group of locals. They were all skilled at creating things without the aid of magic. She felt convinced that applying all of their creativity and experience to mechanicals could produce amazing results.
These folks were already very familiar with Builder mechanicals. Some of them had even helped test some prototypes. Despite a few remarkable failures of some mechanicals, they seemed eager to participate in the development process.
Bruno, the burly master blacksmith, nearly as massive as a max-tapped Rumbler, had been crawling under the wagon. His blond hair was so light, it looked almost white. He had been examining how the thrusters were connected to the control levers and now scooted out from under the front of the wagon.
"Is much clever. Builder heavy smart. Verena is glorious famous. But can make better and less stone to work."
"That's wonderful. Any way we can streamline things and reduce the amount of power stone, the better." Jean ran her fingers across the outside of the control levers. "What do you think about modifying the keystone configuration so that instead of turning the stone we push the lever forward or pull it back? That would be more intuitive, and easier to understand."
"You beautiful good mind, girl. Easy change." Bruno smiled, his bright white teeth contrasting sharply with his deeply tanned skin.
A loud gong began insistently ringing through the compound, interrupting Jean's next comment. The locals exchanged nervous glances.
"What's going on?" Jean asked.
Artur said, "Bell mean bad."
Carolin added. "It usually rings when a Builder mechanical has gone badly wrong and there is some kind of danger." Looking concerned, she headed for the outside door, next to the huge outer door of the workroom, which stood closed.
"Last time I heard it, they had just started testing the hop-walkers. Lots of broken bones."
Jean followed her toward the door and a growing commotion outside. The rest of the group trailed after. Outside, she was surprised to see people running away from the buildings, heading for the distant hills.
That could not be a good sign.
"By the Tallan's blessed memory, what is that thing?" Carolin gasped and pointed.
On the far northern side of the fertile valley, almost three miles away, the Nister River appeared to be flooding its banks and spreading south at an exceptionally fast rate. A gigantic . . . something was moving through the center of that flood, heading in their direction.
The huge being looked like a tall woman in flowing blue robes. Jean extracted from a pocket a small crystal from one of the long-vision goggles that Verena had loaned her. Holding it up to her eye and squinting through it, her vision leaped across the valley and everything magnified five-fold.
"It's enormous," she breathed.
The tall woman appeared to be made out of pure water. Her blue dress rippled with currents, and her long hair blew in an unseen wind, like a frothing, crashing wave. Her beautiful face seemed to be looking directly at Jean. Although she appeared to be walking slowly, she covered a lot of ground.
Jean did not want to be there when she arrived. The form might be beautiful, but Jean recognized what she was looking at.
"That's a water elemental! An elfonnel. We're all in grave danger."
The watery woman's path brought her near one of the farmhouses dotting the valley. Jean's fear intensified she realized the elfonnel towered over the two-story farmhouse.
The elemental did not slow, but long streamers of water shot out of her dress and tore through the farmhouse and surrounding outbuildings. The water ripped everything to splinters in an explosion of destructive foam. Jean gasped in horror as she watched those churning waters swallow up the people trying vainly to flee.
"This is bad," Jean muttered.
Bruno grunted and pointed to her left. "Is worse."
Jean had been so busy looking into the far distance that she had not noticed the floodwaters flowing rapidly up both sides of the valley. Like long, encircling arms, they had nearly drawn even with her position. They seemed intent on cutting off the Builder compound.
"What are we going to do?" Carolin wailed, ringing her elegant hands. "I don't think it wise to try wading those waters."
Jean rushed across the length of the building until she could peer around the western corner, with a view to the south and the bulk of the Builder compound. Sure enough, the water continued south. As she watched, it passed the far southern end of the compound and began to circle inward.
She expected the waters would meet at the far side, completely encircling them, but then the waters rebounded from an invisible barrier. As more water poured in, it too rebounded and boiled backward, frothing and erupting skyward. Within seconds, the water had built into a ten-foot standing wave, continually crashing and rebounding from the invisible barrier.
"What's happening?" Jean asked.
Carolin exchanged rapid Grandurian with Bruno and Artur for several seconds then said, "We don't know, but perhaps the Builders have created defensive mechanicals."
That thought offered a little hope that they weren't about to die in the next f
ew seconds. The Builder compound was full of deadly mechanicals, but she was no Builder and could not activate them.
"I've seen an elfonnel before, and I doubt anything will stop it for long. We need to find Dierk. He may know a way to fight it."
"Good idea," Carolin said, and together they ran back to the rest of the local craft masters, who had remained gawking by the workroom doors.
Jean muttered a curse as she ran. She needed Connor, Hamish, and Verena to fight this monster. She doubted anything she and the locals could throw at an elfonnel would do more than enrage it.
"Look!" Bruno cried, pointing into the air.
A windrider was rising above the many roofs of the Builder compound. It was one of the extra-long troop transport wagons, and Dierk was at the controls.
That wagon was designed to carry at least forty passengers, but it looked like he had packed in more than twice as many. It was a wonder he was able to lift off at all with so many people. The huge wagon turned sluggishly and headed northeast toward the higher ground near Faulenrost.
Bruno said, "Him return, but many people. Find weapon, yes?"
Artur replied in Grandurian, and the two men started arguing. Carolin explained, "Bruno wishes to raid Builder mechanicals and die fighting if we must die today, but Artur points out we cannot hope to fight the elements."
Jean tried to think, reminding herself to look deep and see clear, the way Gran always instructed. The fear that set her hands shaking and elevated her heart rate made it difficult. She looked back at the elfonnel that had continued its deceptively casual stroll up the valley.
It was closing on them with terrifying speed, but it would still need a few minutes to reach them. Bruno was right, though. Even if Dierk made record time, he might not have time for enough trips to save everyone.
The surrounding arms of water began sweeping inward, and Jean's fear spiked. The waters were barely a couple hundred yards away, and they'd reach them in seconds.
Then those onrushing waters rebounded from the same kind of invisible barrier they had hit on the far side. Churning and boiling, the waters grew into dark, standing waves that beat against the protective barrier.
