by Frank Morin
"So you can't?" Connor asked, then wished he hadn't.
Kilian shook his head, and an old sorrow reflected in his eyes. So many people called him Uncle Kilian, and that was the closest family he would ever have.
Connor felt a deep sadness to think of Kilian living for so long, but denied the joy of a family. He wondered if Kilian had ever married, but didn't dare ask.
"Enough of the deep lore," Kilian said, his expression neutral again. "It's a beautiful night for flying."
Chapter Fifty-Five
"All fountains of knowledge lie mapped and secure in the vault of memory thus guarded and cataloged?"
~Evander
It was a long way down to the cobbled streets. Even though Connor was ascended, he'd already proven that air still didn't like responding to his call.
"Any secrets you can share for controlling air better?" he asked.
Mattias grimaced. "Air is always a challenge. In legends, a few of the mightiest Petralists managed to walk with air extremely well, but most of us struggle."
Apparently Connor was not yet a mighty Petralist.
Mattias added, "Air is actually made up of many different currents. Most of us can't isolate them very well, but you should be able to feel them better, and even sense their history and purpose."
"How does air have history?"
"Think about it. Air doesn't dissolve. We breathe it, but somehow it's never exhausted."
Kilian's expression turned thoughtful. "As a boy, I learned something about how plants somehow help regenerate the air so it's always fresh."
"Plants don't have lungs," Connor said, chuckling.
"I don't know how it works, but there's some connection," Kilian insisted.
Mattias asked, "What about in deserts? The only plants are clustered around the oasis, but desert people don't die from lack of air out on the sands."
"Does sand breathe too?" Connor asked, shuddering to think about sand slowly breathing under his feet.
"I don't think so." Kilian was sounding a bit annoyed. "Just see what you can feel."
That wasn't very specific advice. It wasn't like Connor could communicate with it, listen to its stories like the old gaffers of Alasdair who liked to talk over their mugs of ale. That would be fun, though. Air currents must have seen a lot of amazing things over the years.
"Try it," Mattias urged.
"How about I connect with air and try to make it lift you off the roof?" Connor suggested.
Mattias's enthusiasm wilted. "Better to focus on yourself for tonight."
Connor appreciated the information Mattias was sharing, but he'd still summon a strong wind to throw Mattias over the city if he flashed another one of those glowing smiles at Verena.
He turned to face the night and imagined the gateway to air in his mind like a glittering crystal door above his head. He extended feelers of thought through it, and they drifted out into the air like wisps of invisible mist.
Now that he was focusing on it, he did notice distinct layers in the currents, all meshed together as they flowed past. Some were following the contours of the wall and seemed content to circle the citadel. Other currents coming off the river had collided with the wall and rose to cross and continue on a perpendicular course. For a moment, the different currents meshed together, like the merging of invisible streets, only to split apart and follow their different paths again.
Reaching farther, he sensed pockets of unmoving air, like pillows in the night, hovering over houses or in courtyards. Still other currents snaked around those pockets, fickle and unfocused, slipping around buildings and trees, as if playing an invisible game of Catch-the-Devil.
Higher above the city flowed more substantial currents, long-travelers that barely noticed the vast city sprawling below their path. He sensed that some had traveled immense distances. Others had spawned from storms far out at sea and driven across the land, slowly weakening until they combined with new currents to renew their energy.
Ignoring the smaller, unstable currents flitting around the roof, Connor grasped one of the stronger currents several hundred feet above his head and tugged it down. It actually responded, diving toward the roof in a rush of wind that set Kilian's hair dancing and blew dust into Mattias's perfect teeth.
Wrapping the air around himself, Connor threw his arms out wide and rose slowly off the roof. He laughed with the thrill of it. He was flying!
Then he hit a cross current and it threw him sideways, over the edge of the roof. That broke his contact with the air that had been lifting him. The current leaped away, and Connor began to fall.
He tried to grab the air that had disrupted his flight, but it was already gone, and another new current whipped past off the river. He managed to grab that one, and it lifted him again, but also threw him the other way, dragging him over the roof where Kilian and Mattias watched twenty feet below.
"Are you doing that on purpose?" Mattias shouted.
Kilian just laughed and waved.
"This isn't as easy as I make it look!"
Connor drifted over a row of trees marking the boundary of a nearby courtyard where a large cook fire was burning. The flames created a warm updraft that drove him higher, but then broke his connection with the current that had been carrying him along.
"Tallan take it all!" he growled as he tumbled back toward the ground, casting around for another current, but they fled his touch like minnows in the Wick.
Once again, flying really meant falling.
With a sigh, Connor tapped marble instead. As he fell toward the huge fire, he stole most of the flames away to blast himself back into the air. He arced back into the darkness and landed on the roof. There he bowed to Kilian and Mattias, as if he'd planned the move all along.
Angry cooks were shouting and shaking long, wooden spoons at him from the courtyard, so he threw the fire back. Most of it landed on the smoldering wood and reignited the cook fire. Some landed on one of the cook's aprons and it must have had a lot of grease on it, because it ignited like a torch.
Connor snatched those flames away and yanked them back to the roof where he stood. It wasn't the cook's fault that he was a bad flier, and setting the flames dancing back and forth across his shoulders was fun.
"I suppose you'll need more practice," Mattias said, clearly enjoying himself.
Kilian grinned. "Lots of practice."
They returned to Saskia's private study where she was chatting with Verena near the fire. Verena gave Connor a hug and a quick kiss. Connor didn't miss the quick glance she cast at Mattias. She might actually look a bit embarrassed.
"How did training go?" she asked.
"Pretty well, I think."
Kilian said, "With practice, I think Connor might make a decent Longseer."
"Thanks for teaching him," Verena told Mattias, and again her smile was too warm for Connor's liking.
"It was fun." Mattias grinned at her, although this time he didn't ignite that glowing smile. "I'm glad you all came."
It was clear he didn't really care about anyone but Verena. Before the moment got too personal, Connor clapped Mattias hard on the shoulder and said, "We're happy to help any way we can."
"We have much to plan," Kilian said, and they moved toward the couches and chairs facing the fire.
Saskia nodded. "We just received word that General Carbrey accepted the prisoner exchange."
Verena scowled and mumbled something angry in Grandurian under her breath. Mattias, who sat on the other side of her, looked shocked. Connor decided he really wanted to learn that word.
"That's good news, right?" Connor asked.
"Shona added a condition," Verena said with abundant disgust.
"That can't be good," Connor said. Shona was a champion meddler, but he hadn't expected her to mess with the prisoner exchange.
"While the exchange is happening, you must meet with her," Saskia said. She watched Verena with great interest. "What's the history with Shona?"
"It's co
mplicated," Connor said as he considered the condition. He didn't like it, but he saw a chance to turn it to his advantage. "Send a reply that you accept the condition, but add the condition that she must bring Ivor and every student who participated in the Tir-raon this year as escorts."
Mattias frowned. "It is not usual protocol to add conditions upon conditions."
Connor grinned. "Good thing I don't know anything about usual protocol."
"Why do you want to meet with the other students?" Verena asked.
"They're my army after all. Lord Dail himself gave them to me. I think I'll inspect them and make sure discipline hasn't faded."
"You have to tell me that story," Saskia laughed.
"What's the real reason?" Verena asked.
"It's my chance to speak with Ivor. I need to warn him to not use that sculpted stone again."
Chapter Fifty-Six
"Many ants may devour an ox where a single lion alone would collapse, beyond sated."
~Connor
The next day passed in a whirlwind of activity. Scouts kept them updated on reports of the Obrioner advance into the next valley south of Altkalen. Over fifty thousand troops total, plus support personnel. Connor had to wonder if their plans to defeat such an enormous host with barely half the numbers could really work.
The next day, they would clash in the biggest battle since the Tallan Wars. Connor retired to the comfortable bed assigned him, but of course he didn't sleep much. A couple hours before dawn he finally gave up and went looking for Verena.
She was sitting with Saskia in her private study, high in her tower in the citadel. Together they scanned the distant troops through Verena's long-vision goggles.
Saskia wore a pink satin night dress under her royal blue velvet robe. When Connor arrived, she added another woven shawl. Verena was already dressed in her custom armor, and Connor could have looked at her for hours. Verena had sliced an apple with one of her throwing knives and still held one piece speared on the tip of the knife as she greeted Connor with a hug and a quick kiss.
"Neither of you could sleep either, I see," Connor said as he and Verena joined Saskia by the window.
Saskia said,
"No one this night will sleep,
while the enemy across the valley doth creep.
They've been marching all night, they're a terrible sight,
and I fear today many new widows will weep."
The Obrioner army had ascended to the southern edge of the valley and crept across the land like a slow stain. They were brightly lit by their Solas, and Connor easily marked their progress.
"No fighting yet?" he asked.
Verena shook her head. "Thank the Tallan, no. Reports suggest Carbrey is focused on securing his position. And of course we don't want to risk endangering the prisoner exchange."
"I hope Carbrey is convinced your council isn't very smart," Connor told Saskia.
"Me too."
Something odd about the shadowed landscape caught Connor's attention. "What is that black cut across the center of the valley?"
"Anton and a couple of my Sappers helped me strip away all the earth from that area just after dark," Saskia said proudly.
"Wow." The black area cut clear across the valley, from the eastern hills to the west. It was half a mile wide, spanned only by the hard-packed road. The road looked like a bridge, rising a full ten feet above the surrounding rock. That was a lot of land to strip to bedrock. He looked at Saskia with new respect.
"That'll block Sentries from sticking their noses into the middle ground," Verena said, leaning closer to the cold glass and peering through her goggles.
"Or Sappers, unless they bring earth along with them," Connor said.
Saskia nodded toward the distant eastern hills. They looked bigger now. "That's what all that earth will tempt them to do. While they're distracted with that, we hit them."
"How, exactly?" Connor asked.
"You know that part of the plan is our secret. Kilian and Anton know. Leave it at that."
"We have enough to worry about," Verena agreed.
She was right. For several minutes, they just studied the scene. Connor took Verena's hand, trying to enjoy the peaceful moment. It might be their last for a while.
"Do you think we're ready?" Saskia asked softly. Her usual confident bluster had faded in that quiet moment, hours before violence would be unleashed upon her beloved home.
"We're ready," Verena promised.
In that battle maiden outfit, she looked it, but Connor read worry in her eyes. Their plan was a good one, but nothing was certain.
"You're not, though," she told Connor.
"I'll find my battle jacket before breakfast," he promised.
"That's not good enough." She walked to one of the couches where some armor was piled. He hadn't paid it any attention before. She lifted the battle jacket and said, "This is for you."
Connor whistled softly as he hefted the armored jacket. The expandable leather plates were reinforced with steel, secured with silver-capped rivets. Each plate was engraved with one of the ancient symbols of the various affinities, with granite and basalt holding prominent positions on the chest plates.
Granite was represented as an intricate, eternal knot that exuded a sense of constant strength. Basalt looked more like a spiral of dark smoke, as if a Strider had raced through a fire. The faceted crystal symbol of obsidian was worked into the back.
The flaming fire of marble and the swirling currents of soapstone were engraved on the pauldrons over the shoulders. Solid, geometric slate and the rushing winds of quartzite were worked into the studded bracers over the forearms.
Verena showed him the armored leggings with the lantern-like symbol for limestone and the linked circles of sandstone engraved over the thighs. The entire suit of armor was crafted with meticulous care, with such fine artistry that it took Connor's breath away.
"Where did you get this?" he breathed.
"Jean helped design it," Verena said with a grin.
"And my best armorer built it," Saskia beamed. Literally. She'd activated limestone and her skin glowed as if she'd swallowed a lantern.
Connor wondered if she ever had problems with moths trying to fly into her mouth.
"I don't know what to say." Connor had missed his custom battle leathers from the Carraig, and hadn't ever expected to wear anything finer.
Verena held up a padded burgundy gambeson. The jacket was made of fine linen, lined with satin that made moving a breeze. He tried it on, and Verena then picked up the heavy, armored jacket, as if she planned to dress him right there. That would be fine, except Saskia picked up one of the armored greaves, and he realized she intended to help.
Connor flushed and held out a hand to stop her. "I can't have you doing that, Lady Marshal."
Saskia waved away his concern and crouched beside him. "Nonsense. I help Mattias dress for battle, just as I did my father. Your armor's not nearly so complicated, so you'll be easy."
Connor glanced at Verena for help, but she said, "Stop whining and let us help you."
He wasn't sure how to deny them, but it still felt weird as Saskia fastened the greaves into place and Verena helped him into the heavy, armored jacket. It settled over the gambeson with a comforting, solid weight. He'd worn Boulder battle leathers many times, but none had ever felt so right.
When they finished, Saskia brushed off her hands. "You look like the Blood of the Tallan, Connor. More importantly, you look fit to stand beside our Verena."
"Thank you." Connor reached out to take her hand, but she instead gave him a hug. Despite her slender build, she had the strength of a Sapper, and he felt the pressure right through his armor.
Verena hugged him in turn. He bet the two of them made a striking couple in their custom armor, but he still preferred holding her without so many layers between.
Saskia's smile turned a bit sad, and he wondered if she was thinking of her brother. Was she wishing Mattias was the one standin
g there with Verena? He wanted to ask her about that, but how could he broach such a personal subject?
By pretending to be clueless, that's how.
"Thanks for your help, Saskia. You don't think your brother will mind, do you?"
Verena looked shocked, and he tensed for a punch to the face. Saskia looked surprised too, but she only laughed.
"I like a direct question sometimes, Connor. I'm surrounded by Sappers and politicians most of the time."
Verena muttered, "Connor, that's a very personal question."
Saskia waved away her worry. "You and I have talked about it, 'Rena. Connor would have to be blind and stupid not to see that Mattias still loves you. You never would have chosen Connor if he was either of those, would you?"
"I don't want to talk about Mattias this morning," Verena said, and the slight flush that rose into her cheeks only made her look more beautiful.
It was probably for the best that the door opened and Hamish entered. His short, red hair looked wild, his pallor a bit green, and scorch marks criss-crossed his battle suit.
"What happened to you?" Verena exclaimed as he crossed the room toward them.
"I'm fine," he said, but he sounded a bit distracted. "Have you seen Jean yet this morning?"
Connor said, "No. I was hoping she actually managed to sleep."
"I doubt it." Hamish seemed to see them for the first time and his eyes widened. "Whoa! Connor, where did you get that armor?"
"Thanks to the girls here, and with Jean's help, of course."
"She's been busy. That armor looks great." Hamish patted his singed suit. "She's been helping me with a few last minute enhancements too."
"Is that why it looks like you fell asleep in a fire?" Verena asked.
"No. That was the only way to remove the stink after I figured out how to milk those skunks."
"What?" Verena exclaimed.
Saskia laughed, but her grin died when she realized he wasn't joking.
"Ah, skunks don't have milk," Connor said.
Hamish stretched, his suit creaking and the granite leaves clacking softly together. "I know, but that's the best term for the process of harvesting their stink."
