by Frank Morin
"I'm a pedra, and I'm going to eat you!" Wallace shrieked, shifting to run on hands and feet, growling like a hunter.
"You realize he's going to cry for days when that thing is gone?" Lilias asked.
"It'll keep him busy for a few minutes. Then I plan to send it across the Wick to spy on the rampagers."
"Shouldn't you wait until we complete the evacuation?" Verena asked.
That would probably be the wisest course of action, but he felt a growing urge to scout the rampagers as soon as possible. "I doubt even they would pay much attention to a squirrel. I might even get a chance to steal some of their porphyry."
"But then you'd have it," Verena said, watching him carefully.
Exactly. He felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of finally getting his hands on more of the powder, but also felt annoyed that she clearly didn't trust him with it.
"I know how to control it."
"What are you talking about?" Hendry asked.
Verena said, "Porphyry is a power stone that Dougal has kept very secret. It turns people into deadly, unclaimed monsters."
Lilias gasped. "Tallan's cursed memory, no!"
Fearing porphyry was a wise choice for most people, but Connor had used it to save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives.
"It's a powder, Mom. Patronage is a lie. Porphyry is a tool, nothing more."
"It's horrifying is what it is," Verena said with a shudder. "Connor had to use it once and he controlled it, but porphyry is very addicting. From what we've learned, it doesn't let go once it gets a hold of someone's heart."
Hendry's expression turned thoughtful. "So attempting to take it might disarm those wild soldiers and make your job easier, but then you face a new risk, don't you?"
Connor nodded slowly.
"If you get it, cast it into the river," Verena urged.
"I'll be careful," he promised.
He gave Wallace a few minutes to chase the squirrel. Fiona slowly grew accustomed to his presence and even let him hold her for a bit. By the time Connor prepared to head out on his squirrel spying mission, Wallace had run himself to exhaustion and plopped down on the rug nearby with a sigh.
He patted the squirrel's head and said, "I think it's even better than a pedra."
"Let's hope so. While I'm focused on the squirrel, it'll seem like I'm sleeping, but I'll be back."
Verena kissed his cheek. "Be careful."
A kiss on the lips would have been a better send-off, but maybe she felt self-conscious kissing him in front of his parents. He closed his eyes and focused on the squirrel, allowing it to fill his mind and consume his entire focus.
Connor became the squirrel.
Getting petted by Wallace felt surprisingly good, but he slipped away and headed for the back door. Lilias let him out, and he scurried into the darkness. In moments, he scampered through town and out the flood-under hole under the wall. He sensed two guards patrolling the long wall, but they walked slowly and seemed bored. Perfect.
In the next five minutes, he raced around Loch Wick, scampered across the new bridge across the Upper Wick, and followed the new road leading to Gavin's manor.
He smelled the first rampager half a minute later.
The man was crouched beside the narrow road, silently watching. That slightly wild smell clung to him, and it sent a shiver through Connor's little squirrel body.
Night had settled fully over the valley, and stars and a partial moon had risen. Connor silently slipped into the sparse underbrush, scurried up a tree, and leaped from branch to branch above the unsuspecting man's head.
Other local wildlife had fled the predator scent of the rampagers, and he moved alone through the silent forest. Taking to the trees was a good idea. He doubted the soldiers had noticed the lack of small animals, and any watchers would ignore a little squirrel. Even better, he was invisible to Gregor, who was surely monitoring the area through the earth.
With growing confidence, he scampered through the forest, using the highway of branches to approach the wide clearing with the manor house. Not as grand as the previous one, it was still quite impressive, especially considering how quickly it had been built. Constructed of timbers upon a solid stone foundation, it rose three stories, with a tiny hint of a tower above the main entrance, facing the town and quarry.
Connor had planned to sneak inside, but the rampager soldiers had set up camp in the field, not far from the trees. No doubt Lady Isobel was thrilled when Dougal had left his wild soldiers outside. He saw no sign of Captain Aonghus, and he smelled no fire other than the campfire the rampagers had built and were now sleeping around.
It seemed like a wasted opportunity for Aonghus. The night was young, though, so maybe he'd sneeze a spark or two onto Lady Isobel. The solution she used to dye her hair burned like lamp oil.
As he expected, Gregor stood upon a Sentry tower near the main entryway. It looked like he had sacrificed one of Lady Isobel's flower gardens for his spot. Connor grinned, showing his little squirrel teeth. She loved her flowers, and no doubt she was angrily pacing, still fuming about the desecration that she didn't dare reprimand.
The other eleven rampagers had already rolled into their blankets around the fire, and three were snoring loudly. Connor wasn't surprised by their lax attitude.
Gregor would notice anyone approaching. Besides, even if someone attacked, they could absorb porphyry in a matter of seconds and transform into rampagers. Since they were sleeping, that meant they had purged their powers. If he did get the porphyry, they'd be unable to transform.
Connor slipped down the tree, but paused at the base. He took a moment to focus on the earth, connecting with the ground nearby.
Gregor was there, his presence like a beacon in Connor's earth senses, his influence like rays of sunlight through the ground. He would sense even the movement of a little squirrel.
He might not pay much attention at first, but he'd surely be drawn to a stealthy prowl around the rampagers. He would realize that something not natural was going on.
So Connor carefully pushed his influence into the ground by that tree. He formed the image of a blank space, like a hole in the earth, ever-so-gently deflecting Gregor's attention aside. The Sentry would certainly pick up on even that faint shielding if he was focusing on the area, but he had no reason to do so.
Even in a half doze, Gregor could trust to his earth sense to warn him of approaching danger, like the feel of an insect scuttling across his skin. If alert, he'd be focusing on the distant Alasdair. The loch and the river would make that difficult, drawing even more of his attention.
With deliberate care, Connor expanded his tiny shield until it was just big enough for him. Holding his little squirrel breath, he eased off the tree and onto the earth, glancing at Gregor for any hint that the Sentry had noticed.
When Gregor did not move and the earth did not swallow him up, he started breathing again and slowly crept into the grass behind the rampagers. He moved with all the stealth he could muster, crouching low over the ground, his bushy tail wrapped around his shoulders to keep it from dragging.
As he closed on the first sleeper, he realized that he had never tested using his powers through a summoned creature until he'd just used slate. He wasn't sure how it worked, but decided not to think about it too much. It would be far too easy to convince himself that what he was doing was impossible. Then he wouldn't be able to do it any more.
The nearest rampager was a beefy woman, whose long brown hair formed a thick mane around her head. He focused on the little pouch at her belt, and his heart rate increased with excitement. He could do it, could get the porphyry.
He should test it somewhere private to make sure it was good quality powder. Even though he knew better than to tempt porphyry again, the insidious thought clung to the back of his mind.
With the powder so close, the hunger for it grew to a distracting need. He felt tempted to rush the woman and simply claw his way through the bag to get at it.
&nb
sp; Using the image of Verena in his mind like a shield against the foolish impulse, Connor crept forward. The woman was snoring and she smelled more animal than human. She hadn't washed recently, and he could easily smell the bacon she'd eaten during the feast.
That faint, wild scent clung to her and stood the hairs on his little head on end. His tiny heart beat even faster as he approached the danger that screamed at his animal instincts to flee instead of approach.
He leaned over her, sharp teeth poised to snap through the leather cord securing the pouch to her belt. The smell of porphyry was maddening, and he placed one paw on the bag as he leaned forward to bite.
The bag shifted under his weight.
A strong hand snatched him off the ground.
The woman sat up, staring sleepily at him. "What have we got here?"
Connor bit her thumb.
Instead of screaming and flinging him away like most women would, she growled and lifted him closer to her face. "You shouldn't have done that, beastie."
She bit his head off.
Connor fell right off the couch where he'd been seated while his mind ran with the squirrel. He scrambled to his hands and knees, eyes wide with the recent beheading. He leaned back and patted his neck even as the rational part of his mind tried to remind him that only his squirrel had died.
A wave of fury roiled through him. He clenched his fists and fought an urge to howl. He'd been so close! A few seconds more and he would have gotten the porphyry. Knowing the powder was so close, yet still so far out of reach set his entire body trembling with anger and the urge to rush over there in person and rip the porphyry away from that woman.
"What happened?" his mother asked, her voice worried.
Connor growled as he looked up, and she recoiled from his angry expression.
Verena dropped to one knee beside him and cupped his face in her warm hands. She held his angry gaze and asked softly, "It's the porphyry, isn't it?"
"I almost had it," he panted.
"Breathe," she urged, holding his gaze, her expression worried. "Center yourself, Connor. You can't give in to it."
"Are you all right?" His father asked, looking concerned.
"I will be. Give me a minute."
"What happened?" his mother asked.
She looked frightened, reached toward him as if to comfort, but then withdrew her hand. Then she frowned and dropped to her knees beside Connor. "We trust you, Connor. You're stronger than any foolish powder."
Connor took a deep breath and tried to shake the feeling of those teeth biting through his neck.
"I hope you're right, but it doesn't really matter now. I failed. They'll know a Petralist is here. It won't take them long to guess it's us."
Chapter Eighty-One
"The greatest threat of your condition is thus spoken by your own lips."
~Evander
The kitchen door opened and Hamish's family poured into the house. They moved with purpose, with far less jostling and teasing than normal, and even the children looked serious. They had seen battling in the streets of Alasdair before. They each carried a pack, and Connor didn't doubt most of the space was dedicated to food.
Hamish entered last and discarded the coat he'd borrowed from Hendry. As his siblings clustered around Connor and Verena, glancing nervously into the dark stairs leading underground, he looked around and asked, "Are we really the first ones back?"
"You are," Hendry said as he clasped wrists with Amhain.
"We have a problem," Verena said.
Peigi, who had just taken Fiona from Lilias glanced around, as if to make sure her children were all safe. "What happened? Was someone discovered?"
Connor nodded. "I was."
He told them briefly about his out-of-body reconnaissance across the river and failure to steal the porphyry powder.
"She bit your head off?" Peigi exclaimed, rubbing at her own neck and grimacing at the thought.
"Animals," Hamish muttered. "Didn't even try cooking you first."
"You should've waited until everyone was away," Verena said, giving Connor an exasperated look.
"We can cry about it, or get to work," Connor told them. It was easy to second-guess a bad decision, but he didn't regret trying to get the porphyry.
The door opened again and Jean and Mhairi slipped inside. They were both burdened with large canvas packs with many pockets, filled to bursting with healing supplies. Hamish greeted Jean with a hug and a quick kiss. His nervous siblings didn't even tease him.
Mhairi scanned the group, and her initial smile faded. "Something's happened."
The door opened again and Aifric entered. She gave Connor a disgusted look. "What did you do? I hear the rampagers starting to howl across the loch."
"We have to start moving everyone down to the escape route," Verena said.
Connor shook his head. "There's no time now. I can't hold the tunnel open through the Wick while fighting rampagers."
"And probably Aonghus and Gregor," Hamish added.
"Thanks for the reminder," Connor said sarcastically.
He wasn't sure he could stop those two. They were his teachers, men he respected and honestly feared.
"Then we have to make a run for it," Jean said resolutely.
"But the guards," Lilias said nervously.
Connor said, "Jean is right. You need to run for East Gate, and gather everyone you can on the way. Hamish can take point. Jean, I'll pull the Storm out of the river for you to fly."
Jean didn't hesitate at the thought of flying the Storm again. "Blair, I'll need you, Roderick, Mysie, and Neilina with me. We've got some small bombs in the back."
The chosen children looked excited, but Peigi looked terrified by the idea. "Bombs? You can't be serious."
She was probably right to worry, but Connor said, "They'll be out of harm's way up in the sky. Hopefully they won't need to drop anything, but it might come to that."
Hamish looked thrilled by the idea. "I'll keep an eye on them too."
Peigi did not look comforted.
Aifric said, "Don't worry about the guards, Lilias. I'll run interference." Her hands dropped to her daggers, and the hint of an eager smile tugged at her lips. Connor almost felt sorry for any Boulders who got in her way.
Verena adjusted the strap of her satchel, then touched her short sword and faced Connor, her expression grave. "That leaves the two of us to deal with Dougal's forces."
Connor nodded, embracing the feeling of nervous excitement that fluttered in his stomach. Aonghus and Gregor represented a threat he wasn't sure he could overcome. Adding a dozen rampagers to the mix, and he wished he had half of Wolfram's army at his back.
He didn't have an army. He and Verena would be all that stood between his home, his family, and gruesome death.
He focused all of his simmering anger at Dougal into a fierce determination and growled, "Let them come. This is our home, and I swear none of them will make it across the Wick alive."
Verena nodded, her expression grave. "Then we go after Dougal."
Hamish frowned. "I don't like it."
"Me neither," Aifric said.
"Once you get everyone safely away from town, join us," Connor told them.
"Then let's go," Aifric said, gesturing toward the door. "Move, everyone! Those monsters will be here in minutes and they'll rip this town apart."
Their families ran for the doorway. Lilias and Hendry snatched up partially-filled packs, but lacked time for more preparations.
"Be careful, Son," Lilias told Connor when they all assembled outside. She gave him a fierce hug, then hugged Verena in turn.
"I can't promise I won't kill anyone," he told her.
She sighed and kissed his cheek. "I trust you to make the right choice. Don't forget who you are."
His father gripped his hand, then turned and led the way toward the square at a jog. His voice bellowed into the night. "Evacuate! Run groups assemble now! Danger is imminent. This is a scramble alert!"
/> The cry echoed down the street, and instantly doors flung open and other villagers took up the shout.
Connor and Verena headed the other way, down Wall Street toward the distant Wall Gate, with Jean and her band of excited young children in tow. Connor was impressed by how fast everyone responded. Within seconds, villagers began boiling out of their homes, still stomping feet into boots, throwing on jackets, and stuffing a few items into packs.
"Get me the Swift," Verena told him as they ran.
"On its way.
Connor tapped soapstone and connected with the nearby Wick. The river glowed in his water senses, even though the river-facing wall blocked it from view.
Three Boulders were rushing along the wall, drawn by the shouting and the mass movement of villagers. They clearly intended to circle along the wall and reinforce the Petralists guarding East Gate.
Connor drew a long tendril of water out of the Wick and snapped it along the top of the wall, like a broom whisking across a floor. It caught the surprised Boulders at waist height and knocked them tumbling off the wall and into the Wick.
They'd emerge in moments, but by then Hamish and Aifric should have disabled the guards at the gate. With a thought, Connor drew the Swift and the Storm out of the river, lifted them over the wall, and deposited them nearby. They were completely dry and ready to fly.
Jean climbed into the Storm with the children while Verena slipped into the Swift. Thrusters ignited almost before she snapped her harness into place. Connor kept running, urging the press of fearful villagers to hurry for the square.
He rounded the western corner of the street and pounded toward Wall Gate. Rampagers howled on the far side of the Wick, and the deep-throated voices sent a shiver of excitement down his spine.
He had howled like that, and the memory of his unmatched savage power drove him on. He'd find a way to conquer those monsters and take the powder from them. Then he'd unleash the ultimate beast against Dougal.
Running with granite wasn't fast enough, even though each lumbering stride covered a dozen feet. So he tapped soapstone and marble together, casting waters along the street and draining away the heat. In just a couple heartbeats, the entire street was covered with a sheet of black ice. Connor leaped onto it and planted his feet, driving himself forward with soapstone. He slid across the smooth surface, accelerating until he flashed up the street like a Strider.
