Blood of the Tallan (The Petralist Book 7)

by Frank Morin

  “Do you know how to raise it?” Connor asked.

  Evander nodded and thankfully spoke in clear Obrioner. “Twice I have awakened one.”

  “How?” Connor asked eagerly.

  “Carefully,” Evander said with a smile.

  “Great. That makes it sound so much easier,” Connor said, envisioning himself sneaking up on the sleeping monster with a giant eoin feather and tickling its horrible snout, or poking it in the ribs with a huge stick.

  “I can awaken it. Hopefully you can exert influence over it and make our task easier.”

  That would be amazing. Connor again wished they had more time. If he really could gain control over the elfonnel, he’d love to study it, learn more about it. He’d walked as an elfonnel but still felt like there was so much no one had ever learned about them. Maybe he could figure out how to reconcile with the elementals if he better understood their creations.

  If only they didn’t need to destroy fleshcrafting. He could help so many people with it, but he didn’t see any alternative.

  He tapped earth, and through that connection felt Evander’s will plunging down into the ground like a giant hammer stroke. Just above the slumbering elfonnel, his will fractured, vibrating the earth like the biggest-ever gong. Evander intoned in a voice as deep as a mountain valley, “Arise, servant of the earth.”

  That was loud, louder than even his huge throat should have been able to create, as if the sounds were being generated by the ground around them. The sounds glowed bright in Connor’s serpentinite eyes as it penetrated the earth all the way down to the sleeping monster. Those sounds seemed to wrap it in a blanket of vibrating energy.

  The elfonnel stirred and came awake.

  Despite his deep connection with earth Connor still felt a shiver crawl down his spine at the vast power encompassed by the huge monster. It might possess but a fraction of Earth’s full power, but that tiny fraction was still enough to level cities or bury entire armies underground.

  Evander glanced at Connor and said, “Thus commences our challenge.”

  The elfonnel surged upward, its huge wings spreading and flapping as if the dense earth and stone through which it traveled was nothing but mist. It rose like a mighty whirlwind up through the earth, and the ground began trembling violently.

  Connor and Evander stood in the center of the shaking, on a narrow platform of absolute calm as the ground around them buckled and geysered. Connor frowned as he sensed something, back down in the spot where the elfonnel had arisen.

  “Hey, it left the sandstone sculpted stone behind in the convergence point,” he said.

  “That is unusual, but serves our purposes today,” Evander said, not looking worried.

  Hopefully it didn’t mean the elfonnel somehow sensed it was in for a fight. They didn’t want to destroy the sandstone affinity, so leaving the ancient sculpted stone deep underground did simplify things.

  “What’s happening? Are you okay?” Verena called, her voice nervous. “I warned the others.”

  “Good. We’re fine. Just raising the elfonnel,” Connor said, trying to sound nonchalant, although his heart was racing. Even with the mighty Evander standing by him, it was hard to remain in position, knowing an elfonnel was coming right at them.

  The elfonnel breached the surface in a geyser of earth that sprayed for a hundred yards in every direction. Evander deflected the blast away from them, but the scent of deep places wafted over them, mingled with a stronger, muskier scent of the elfonnel. The great elemental beast soared fifty feet into the air, its magnificent form towering over them. Even though he’d been an elfonnel recently, Connor still gaped, awed by the sight. Its presence was like a bonfire in his earth senses.

  He took an involuntary step back, drawing deep from earth, suddenly convinced the idea of standing right there had been really stupid.

  Then he sensed it. A connection snapped into place between him and the creature through his link with earth. The connection was like sticking his face into a whirlwind of dirt, but beneath the wild rush of energy, he sensed its core. It was confused and annoyed at being awakened after so long.

  “Easy,” Connor told it, raising one hand in a calming gesture, pushing the thought out to the monster. “Listen to me.”

  It growled, its enormous double jaws opening. It could swallow them both in one bite if it wanted to, but Connor’s connection to its mind strengthened and his thoughts had an effect. Its anger cooled, and the majestic creature dropped to the ground in front of him, settling on its haunches and furling its enormous wings.

  That was so amazing! He was really influencing it.

  Its thoughts echoed back to his mind. “Who are you to raise me from my appointed task? I know you not.”

  Maybe he didn’t have as much control over it as he hoped. He hadn’t expected to actually talk with it. Was he speaking with the Petralist who had been sacrificed to raise it? Kilian had never suggested that was possible. How would the person react if he revealed that he was the queen’s enemy, and that he’d awakened it just to put it back to sleep permanently?

  “Um, hi. I’m Connor, and I’m afraid I need you to stop filtering sylfaen for a while,” he thought back to it.

  “Be careful!” Verena said in a hushed, nervous tone in the Swift, but he still clearly heard her.

  Beside him, Evander bowed to the creature, then raised a fist as if planning to simply crush the enormous skull with the world’s biggest curse punch.

  The elfonnel rotated its head to focus on Evander and Connor sent more calming thoughts as hard as he could. He hated that they needed to destroy the amazing monster, but they had no choice, and the quicker they could complete the onerous task, the better.

  The pedra growled, its wings partially unfurling, its great double jaws opening, clearly not planning to listen. Evander didn’t look worried, but took a step forward, body swelling with power and impending violence.

  Then Connor felt a stunning blow to his mind. It pierced his mental defenses and struck deep, making his muscles convulse as he stiffened and sucked in a surprised breath.

  Queen Dreokt.

  Oh, no.

  Her voice bellowed in his mind as if she were standing right beside him and shrieking with max-tapped Pathfinder fury. “How dare you? Tingwall, these are enemies. Destroy them!”

  The elfonnel named Tingwall apparently retained some of his memories because he roared, the sound so vast Connor’s ears couldn’t process it. He was already reeling from the queen’s initial mind blow, overwhelmed by dread.

  She had arrived too early.

  Evander shouted a battle cry and launched into the air toward the monster just as the great pedra elfonnel snapped its hideous double jaws down toward them.

  34

  Battle Plans Are Supposed to Last Longer than Three Seconds

  Jean stood in the communication hub at the top floor of the three-story command structure on Battalion One, the flagship of the sixteen-ship fleet, hovering two thousand feet in the air. Long windows of Sehrazad steel glass afforded a panoramic view in every direction. Banks of sightstones projected images onto the white-painted walls below the windows, constantly scrolling through hundreds of views. Those views afforded Jean and her command staff access to every aspect of the vast, international force assembled for the great battle.

  She had feared she might feel intimidated by the role of commanding the communications hub and coordinating the many-pronged attack. As the moment approached, she felt only concern for her friends who would be leading many aspects of the fight against the far superior force. She maintained a low obsidian tap rate to quicken her mind and stay sharp.

  “Is everyone in position?” she asked Gisela, who stood beside her as always, acting as her chief coordinator of flight operations. Admiral Forfar and his command staff filled most of the rest of the command room. The admiral had agreed to Jean’s appointment as overall aerial commander after Verena confirmed he would continue to command all Battalions, Thu
nder Towers, and battle mechanicals from that point forward.

  Gisela said, “All units in position and ready.”

  She gestured toward the bank of viewscreens, which began scrolling through aerial views of their various forces. Hamish had deployed the scores of tiny, flying mechanicals that made up the Hive. They offered unparalleled access to the complex battlefield.

  The first views showed the decks of all of the giant Battalions, where companies of Boulders and Striders assembled in formation behind companies of tertiary Petralists. It still amazed Jean that Connor had helped so many develop new affinities. Although most lacked more than a few days of training, they made up for that lack in sheer determination. Hopefully the multi-pronged attack plan would knock the queen’s army onto the defensive before too many of those inexperienced Petralists got killed.

  The ground troops massed closer to the command buildings on each Battalion, leaving the far third of the transport decks free for battle mechanicals. She glanced out the windows at Battalion One’s deck and the dozen huge, Thunder Towers, with their multiple turrets and scores of deadly mechanicals on board. They were assembled in tight ranks near the far edge. Bits of smoke wafted up from exhaust ports as the crews spun up the engines and prepared for battle.

  Alone, the Thunder Towers were an awe-inspiring sight, but they made up only a fraction of the Builder-inspired firepower the Battalions were prepared to unleash over the enemy. Dozens of smaller, single-man mechanicals waited behind the Thunder Towers. Many rolled on two wheels or simply hovered with quartzite thrusters. Armored wings rose up to help shield their operators in some cases, while others utilized the advanced quartzite shielding techniques developed by Hamish and the Builder researchers for the rapid-fire siege weapons.

  She actually spotted a few of those rapid-fire mechanicals, altered for mobile deployment. Each was capable of firing two hundred rounds of assorted ammunition, from high explosives to pumice dust clouds to sunburst distractions to deadly hornets. Other mechanicals looked like supersized speedslings with huge drums of deadly hornets.

  There were others too, but Jean had not participated as much in the weapon development phases of their research and didn’t know what they all did. Render Flight and Mender Flight companies were positioned in the transition space between the foot soldiers and the mechanicals, awaiting the orders to deploy healers and semi-autonomous summoned creatures to assist in pulling wounded from the battlefield. Defender Flight troops were already loading into their transports. Ilse and Anton and their strike team stood in formation with the troops on the deck, ready to deploy with the vanguard and take on the far superior enemy tertiaries.

  Hamish swooped past, pausing to wave at her before accelerating toward the far end of the Battalion. On the roof above where she stood in the command building, dozens of small, personal flying craft from Admiral Forfar’s flights were docked in special racks, ready to deploy. Some of them began activating thrusters and easing out to take up escort positions around the Battalion.

  Some of the viewscreens showed side angles of the other Battalions. In addition to the gigantic quartzite blocks that set the entire ship rumbling from their activated thrust power, the underside of every Battalion was covered with bomb bays and rapid-fire mechanical emplacements that could be triggered remotely by Builders stationed one floor below Jean.

  She felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the effort that had gone into preparing the incredible fighting platform, which was mirrored on all the other Battalions, and they were but one part of the overall battle strategy.

  “What’s the word from Rory?” she asked as she turned back to the still-scrolling viewscreens.

  “Ready and waiting,” Gisela reported.

  They views shifted to high perspectives over Lossit and the high country above the cliffs to the west. The town looked peaceful, streets empty. Ilse’s advanced team had evacuated the entire population to the north hours ago. The valley was beautiful, and Jean hated to think about the devastation they would leave behind from the pitched battle. Rich fields were already coated in the fragile green of young crops, and the many lakes sparkled in the sunlight. The eight majestic waterfalls lorded over the scene, their billowing mist softening the landscape and lending it a peaceful air that would soon be shattered.

  General Rory and Anika stood near the top of the central waterfall, with their hundreds of Boulders and Rumblers arrayed along the rim. They stood in silent ranks, their calm belying their eagerness to leap into the bash fight.

  Gisela pointed at one viewscreen. “Hold this one, please. As you can seeing, the long-range forces are in position too.”

  “Good,” Jean said, but wished the deadly weapons wouldn’t be needed. Twenty Althing trebuchet were arrayed behind the lakes atop the cliff, pointing at slightly different angles so all together they could rain deadly chemicals over the entire valley. Interspersed between them were the long, low Tabnit death tubes, muzzles angled upward for greater distances.

  Behind every weapon rose squat, earthen bunkers, raised the day before to house their stores of deadly ammunition. During the fight against Harley in Althing, Connor’s forces had learned the hard way to protect the ammunition. Anton had personally overseen construction of the bunkers. They should be able to withstand all but the most powerful Petralist assault.

  Admiral Forfar said, “General Wolfram just reported in. Regulars and Arishat forces are ready.”

  Gisela ordered some of the viewscreens changed, and Jean drew in an awed breath at the sight of fifty thousand regulars from all across the continent assembled in battle formation half a mile to the north of Lossit. A few Petralists and lots of Builder mechanicals were deployed with them to help protect them, along with two Thunder Towers set to roll along the speedcaravan track. Shona and a hundred Striders ranged along the flanks, ready to offer support and engage enemy Striders.

  “It appears we are ready to deploy, as soon as we receive word from Verena,” Jean said. She refused to consider the possibility that the queen hadn’t been fooled, but remained among her army. Attacking then would be suicidal. So she forced herself to project calm confidence and bury her sorrow that such a huge host was even necessary. How many people would die in the next hours because of plans that she had helped develop?

  How many more would die if they did not fight now?

  There was no easy answer. All she could do was trust in her belief that freedom was worth a heavy price.

  Captain Leppin, direct commander of Battalion One, spoke from the opposite side of the room. “Our scout mechanicals have spotted the enemy forces closing on Lossit.” He was a tall, serious man with a strong quartzite tertiary that made him comfortable with air.

  Several of the viewscreens shifted to new feeds from tiny flying mechanicals positioned above the southern end of Lossit valley, about a mile south of the town. The army had rounded the last bend and entered the valley. The scouts flew high, using a combination of propellers and quartzite to make them extremely quiet. They were painted mottled sky blue and white to blend in with the cloudy sky, and carried a tiny piece of pumice. Even the enemy Pathfinders should have trouble noticing them.

  The views showed a huge force marching upriver. Within moments, they approached to within half a mile of the town. Strangely, companies began spreading into the open lands to the west of the road far more than Jean had expected.

  Admiral Forfar leaned closer, frowning. “I didn’t expect the vanguard to be comprised of regulars.”

  “Or that they would deploy so widely,” another officer commented.

  Jean focused on the vanguard. Company after company of foot soldiers, archers, and mounted knights in the lead were marching rapidly north toward the town. That was an unusual setup. She spotted dozens of Sentry towers scattered among the forces, flowing north overland, and scores of Spitters skating upriver. Along the western edges, hundreds of Boulders marched in step, moving west of the road. The soft, turned earth would slow their march. It was as if .
. .

  “Are they deploying? Could they have spotted our forces?” the admiral asked, triggering a heated debate among his officers.

  “Does this impact our plans for the initial bombardment?” Jean asked.

  As soon as Verena confirmed that the queen had been distracted by Kilian and that Connor and Evander were raising the elfonnel at the nearby convergence point, they would commence the attack. She expected the call any minute. The first part of the plan called for the Battalions to swoop over Lossit valley and drop their camouflaging viewscreen projections that made them look like low-floating clouds from below. They would capitalize on the shock of their sudden appearance by commencing a full bombardment assault with every gun along the undersides of their decks. The resulting avalanche of destruction would hopefully demoralize the enemy and sow chaos among them long enough for the multi-pronged assault elements to deploy.

  All of that had been planned with the assumption that the enemy would lead with Boulders. Killing sixty thousand regulars would not accomplish much in the grand scheme of things, but the idea sickened Jean.

  As Admiral Forfar began to respond, one of the technicians monitoring the bank of speakstones shouted, “I have an urgent message from Lady Verena!”

  He didn’t wait to be ordered but linked the speakstone to a larger stone mounted high on the wall. Verena’s voice spoke loudly from it, sounding alarmed. “The queen knows! Kilian didn’t trick her. Her army is going to attack!”

  “When? Where?” Admiral Forfar shouted.

  Jean added, “Is she with them?”