Affinity for War

by Frank Morin

  Ilse said softly, "It is as I feared."

  Connor glanced to where his family, Hamish's family, and the rest of the village were sitting huddled together against the cold. "Just get here as quick as you can. Alasdair still lives, as long as our families do."

  "What do you mean to do with everyone?" Ilse asked.

  "I'll drop Lord Gavin and his family and those Boulders at the base of this mountain."

  If Lady Isobel didn't stop haranguing everyone, blaming Connor for the loss of her home, and threatening daor on everyone she saw, he might just throw her off the cliff.

  "And the villagers?"

  He took a long, slow breath. "I know what I want, but they need to choose it too. Come on."

  Everyone stood when Connor approached, looking to him with the last slivers of hope that had survived the harrowing night.

  "I have some good news. Hamish will be here soon with a fleet of windriders to carry us off of this mountain."

  That elicited a cheer, but Lilias asked, "And what news of Alasdair?"

  Connor hesitated, and silence settled over the group. "The mountains all collapsed. The valley is filled with rubble. There's no returning there. I'm sorry, but our home is gone."

  "What are we to do?" Amhain asked. Peigi huddled close to him, and the children looked at Connor with wide, worried eyes.

  "I know this disaster is almost the worst we could imagine," Connor said.

  Peigi interrupted. "What could be worse? We've lost everything!"

  As many other villagers grumbled their assent Connor said, "We still have our families. Look around. We're still together, and most of us are healthy. The wounded will be healed, and I know you're all stronger than any disaster. We can start over."

  "Where?" Amhain asked.

  "Come with me to Granadure."

  A ripple of nervous murmurs ran through the crowd. Few looked surprised, but most looked worried.

  Hendry gripped Connor's shoulder and gave him a nod of approval. "You're right, Son. Well said. We are Alasdair, and we'll take it with us wherever we go."

  Lilias joined her husband, rocking sleeping Fiona in her arms. "Connor, we've just lost our homes. You're asking us to leave our nation too."

  "I'm asking you to come find a new home."

  "How would we live? What would we do?" Hendry asked, and several of the others echoed the question.

  Connor grinned. "I just so happen to know of an obsidian quarry that needs mending, a village nearby that needs repairing, and stone that needs good cutters. Dad, Mom, you've seen it. I can promise equipment, supplies, and new chisels at no charge to any of you."

  That elicited a round of interested murmurs.

  "Would we have to eat Grandurian food?" Stuart asked.

  Ilse grunted. "You might be surprised, boy."

  Connor said, "There are locals there. I'm confident we can work things out so you can share the town and teach each other your favorite recipes."

  "Grandurian neighbors?" Peigi asked, sounding nervous.

  "They're not the monsters we've been led to believe," Connor assured them. "They're people, and more importantly, at that quarry, they're cutters. Just like us."

  Hendry looked doubtful. "Obsidian is pretty fragile. We're used to striking granite. We'd break more than we'd quarry."

  Connor shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, Dad. Most of it needs to get powdered anyway."

  Hendry smiled. "Then maybe we can make it work."

  "There will be challenges, but there you can rebuild in safety. Here, High Lord Dougal might seek vengeance."

  Lady Isobel pushed through the crowd, followed by Lord Gavin and Moira. She looked haggard. Her fine gown was dirty and torn, her hair mussed, and her hands scratched from climbing over rough rocks.

  She thrust a finger at Connor and shrieked, "Criminal! You will hang for your crimes! These are our linn, and after last night's disaster, they are all my slaves!"

  To think he'd once felt cowed by her. Connor lifted his own finger and called forth a bit of crimson flame. "Do you remember that day the heatstone oven blew up in your house?"

  She cringed back, one hand going to her black-dyed hair. It had regrown in the months since that disaster, but she still used the same dye, and no doubt it would burn just as hotly.

  "Oh, shut up, Isobel," Lilias snapped, glaring at her lady with undisguised scorn. "You've robbed, cheated, and abused this village for too long."

  Hendry added, "Thank you for helping make our decision for us." He raised his fist and declared, "I am going with my son to a new home. A free home."

  Other villagers took up the cheer while Isobel sputtered with rage. She started to shout again, but Lord Gavin grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. For the first time ever that Connor had seen he spoke sternly to her.

  "Stop your foolishness, Isobel. You're only making things worse."

  "But we've lost everything!" she wailed.

  "And if not for Connor and these Grandurians who you've been insulting all night, we would have died too. Moira would have died."

  For once, Isobel opened her mouth, but seemed to not know what to say.

  Lord Gavin faced Connor and extended his hand. "My boy, I don't agree with some of what you are doing, but I understand why. I thank you for thinking of us when we . . ." He paused and gave a rueful smile. "We thought of no one but ourselves."

  Connor took the proffered hand, more surprised by that bit of honest humility than just about anything he'd seen all night. "Thank you, Lord Gavin. We'll see you safely down the mountain."

  Then he raised his voice. "Anyone who does not wish to join us can join Lord Gavin and Lady Isobel."

  They all voted to go to Granadure.

  Three minutes later, five windriders banked around the peak of the mountain, thrusters roaring. Hamish piloted the lead wagon, with Jean sitting beside him. He had discarded his broken suit and wore warm flying leathers.

  Dierk piloted the second. They flew long troop transport wagons, with many blankets piled on the back seats. As villagers clambered aboard, Jean passed out travel provisions.

  Hamish stood with Connor and Ilse, overseeing the loading. Lilias approached and gave Hamish a warm hug. "Thank you for coming to get us. I'm proud of you."

  Hamish looked startled by the praise and said with a shrug, "Just doing what any good Builder would do."

  "It's still hard to believe that you share Verena's amazing ability to quicken these stones. It's like you bring them to life to power your mechanicals."

  Hamish gaped at her. Then he laughed and gripped her hands. "That's it! That's the word we've been looking for. We quicken stones!"

  "That's what I just said." Lilias frowned at him, just like she had all their lives. "Are you all right?"

  Hamish laughed again and gave her a hug. "Better than you could imagine."

  Connor grinned with him. They'd wracked their brains for the right word, and now Lilias had stumbled upon it by accident. He hoped Verena would awaken soon to hear it.

  Dierk agreed to fly Lord Gavin's family and the Boulders down to the plateau. As Connor turned to survey the distant Obrioner army massed near the pass, he realized he couldn't leave yet, despite how much he yearned to go check on Verena.

  "I'm coming down there with you," he said.

  "Why?" Dierk asked.

  "I need to pay a visit to General Rory."

  Hamish tossed him some warm leathers. "Then you might want to put some pants on."

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  "Braying of hounds deters not the lion, but often leads the hunter to the prey."

  ~Redmund

  Connor's friends tried to dissuade him from risking a trip down to the Obrioner camp, but he remained resolute.

  "We can't save you if you get stuck down there," Hamish said finally. "My suit is wrecked, Verena's unconscious, and Kilian's sleeping so heavy I could shave his head and he'd never twitch."

  Connor smiled. "I love the image, but better not s
have him."

  "Only if I could convince him Mattias did it." Hamish's smile faded. "We're barely holding on, Connor. We've got our families and the entire village with us. We're not ready for another pitched battle."

  "I know. That's why I have to do this."

  "You're not making sense," Ilse said with a frown.

  Jean regarded him closely. "Hendry did hit you awfully hard on the head with that hammer."

  "I'm fine," Connor assured them. "Listen. Dougal's been captured by Kilian's insane mother. This entire section of border is completely destabilized. None of us can afford another full-scale battle, not now. It could destroy half the continent."

  "They haven't listened to reason before," Lukas pointed out.

  "But Dougal's not there, and they'll want to find him."

  Hamish shook his head. "I still think it's foolish, and if even I think an idea is foolish, it's definitely time to think again."

  Their points were valid, and Connor didn't fool himself into believing he could fight his way free of that entire army. The problem was, when they saw how battered and tired he was, they'd be more likely to attack, not less.

  He trusted Rory, but Rory was new in command. Would he be able to keep the other officers in line?

  Probably, but Connor needed something to impress them, to remind them that he was Blood of the Tallan and far too dangerous to meddle with. He couldn't use slate. Even without Gregor, he could never intimidate the Sentries. Besides, the sculpted slate stone was nearly spent.

  That was it! He could use another sculpted stone. He only had marble and quartzite left. Marble would be great, but Kilian had warned him repeatedly not to risk using marble. Dougal might not be nearby, but it still might not be a good idea.

  That left quartzite.

  Connor drew the beautiful sculpted stone from his inner pocket, and his friends stared with the same wonder he felt. It was shaped like an exquisite bird, wings outstretched, and as soon as he touched it, he felt connected to the wind. The chill breeze seemed to whisper in his ear as it passed, and even without focusing on the air, he felt the currents whistling along the mountain.

  Hamish, who was starting to look really worried said, "So entering a hostile army without any backup isn't crazy enough? You want to tempt the air?"

  "It'll make them hesitate."

  "It'll kill you. I flew here, Connor. The air is wild. I've never felt it like this, and you've always said quartzite is the hardest stone for Petralists to use."

  He hefted the sculpted stone. "That's why I'm going to use this."

  They continued to argue, but he waved them to silence. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm convinced I have to do this. I'll see you on the Badurach side of the pass soon."

  With a final wave, he turned and ran for the edge of the shelf. Ignoring their cries for him to wait, he leaped out over the four thousand foot drop.

  As he plummeted down, air whistling in his ears, he clutched the sculpted stone and envisioned the gateway to air like a glittering doorway in his mind, filled with a whirlwind.

  It opened, and his senses burst through.

  Connor became one with the air.

  He'd always felt it as an external thing, but now it felt like a part of him. His breath became an extension of the winds curling around him, and his body like a leaf in the current. Air was not a single giant, invisible mass, but more a crowd of eager, independent personalities. The various currents were like a friendly mob, twining and rippling around each other. Some were mighty, some tiny. Some gusted with enough strength to snap trees and level buildings, while others huddled in place, lacking the energy to move.

  Connor's mind slipped in among them, and for the first time the air currents greeted him as an equal and responded without hesitation to his call.

  He barely felt it as a howling wind wrapped around his body and arrested his fall, leveling him into a fast glide. His mind soared across the land like a sparrow, skipping from one air current to another.

  Hamish was right. The air was wild. The shaking of the earth all night and the collapse of millions of tons of mountains had whipped the regular currents into a frenzy.

  The air currents grew older and stronger the higher he cast his senses. Some had spanned the entire continent and would rush out over the wide oceans without fear, seeking foreign lands and uncharted currents beyond. If he had the time to fly with them, he felt confident he could learn their secrets, truths that clung to them from the ages like bits of invisible mist.

  Some of the air had been trapped in Alasdair valley for long periods of time, content to flit between the mountains, but unwilling to test the heights to escape. Now cast beyond the limits of those toppled mountains, the sudden freedom churned them into wild and uncertain winds, gusting in every direction.

  Others were new, spawned last night during the earthquake. They flitted about with nervous energy, like foals galloping around mature horses. He sensed that some would fade to exhaustion, while others would meld into established currents and fly away to see the world.

  Connor soared over those gusts, wrapped in a strong current that felt capable and sure. His laugh bubbled out of his mouth, and the nearest air current took up the vibration, laughing along and carrying him higher still.

  He had never imagined the air could be so complex or so invigorating. It seemed fickle because Pathfinders touched it so rarely, and they usually only connected with the young, restless currents that didn't know where they were going or how to get there. His training with Mattias had given him the foundation to understand what he was sensing, and he exulted in the absolute freedom of flight.

  If that was how Hamish felt all the time, no wonder he spent so much time in his suit. Verena must understand. She flew better than most birds.

  Thoughts of Verena dampened his good mood, and he hoped his friends were wrong. He didn't want to die, didn't want any delays keeping him from Verena. He could not ignore the opportunity to possibly stopping the fighting.

  As he soared high over the valley toward the long plateau where the Obrioner army massed, Connor decided he needed everyone looking at him so he could maximize the impact. So he tapped marble. He wouldn't dare the sculpted marble stone, but he also wouldn't dare enter that army without some marble in his mouth.

  Flames burst from his outstretched hands, and he formed a tiny set of wings to help stabilize his flight. He was enjoying flying with air, but he wasn't foolish enough to trust it.

  Of course the army sighted him long before he banked into a steep dive toward the camp. At first he had planned to land outside of camp and enter on foot to reduce the chances of their interpreting his approach as a threat.

  As he dove, he decided a different approach better fit the image he was creating.

  So he angled his dive and swooped over the camp, sending out bursts of multi-colored fire that blazed across the bright morning sky. He glanced back at the flames creating a gentle arc, marking his path, and got a great idea.

  Banking around again, he swooped and turned, passing over the army several times. After a busy minute of aerial fun, he stopped directly over the central command tent, two hundred feet in the air.

  As soon as he did, the air currents slipped away. So he settled into a hover on a pedestal of fire and spread his fiery wings farther to help catch the heated wind and hold him aloft.

  He grinned as he surveyed his handiwork. Burning in the morning sky, marking his swooping path, was the ancient symbol for air. Connor hovered in what looked like the eye of a storm, with streamers rippling toward the west, suggesting strong winds.

  It was an impressive sight, but was it impressive enough to give him a chance to talk before he was attacked?

  Only one way to find out.

  As Connor descended toward an open space outside of the command tent, he scanned the mass of soldiers gathered to greet him. He recognized a company of Fast Rollers, with Tomas and Cameron at the lead. His relief was short-lived, though. He also spotted several
senior tertiaries.

  General Rory stepped to the door of the command tent. More senior officers followed, along with Shona. Connor couldn't read her expression. He was just glad Rory was present.

  With everyone staring up at him like that, he was suddenly grateful that Hamish had tossed him those pants. He only wished he'd asked Hamish if he had any more extract of milked skunk.

  When he dropped below a hundred feet, Connor waved and called, "What's for breakfast?"

  Tomas and Cameron put their heads together, talking excitedly. Coins changed hands. Connor dearly wished he knew what the day's bet covered.

  Rory lifted a hand in greeting, and spoke to his men. Connor couldn't hear what he said, but the assembled soldiers appeared to relax a little.

  As soon as Connor landed, he tapped slate. He felt the presence of several Sentries prowling the earth beneath his feet, and was careful not to probe any deeper. He didn't want to get buried alive before he got a chance to talk.

  Connor had made a point of landing facing Rory instead of Shona, and he waved. "Good morning, Captain!"

  He almost said 'General', but remembered just in time that he wasn't supposed to know Rory's promotion yet.

  "Are you here to kill more generals?" Rory asked as the gathered soldiers drew closer, hands on weapons.

  They must know what he'd done to help the Grandurians at Altkalen. He had captured many of their senior Petralists, killed their general, and defeated Ivor.

  Maybe landing in the middle of that army hadn't been such a good idea.

  He was there, so he decided trusting Rory was the right choice. He and the Fast Rollers were the only ones who showed any signs of welcome.

  Shona wore a half smile and raised one eyebrow at him when she caught his eye. She was dressed as a high lady, wearing a red silk blouse and a long gray skirt. A wide leather belt with a pair of daggers circled her slender waist.

  Connor said, "Alasdair valley is destroyed. We rescued everyone we could."

  "After you destroyed it," a middle-aged man accused.

  Connor recognized his voice as Lord Flichity. He was a bit overweight, with heavy jowls that made him look like a grumpy dog.