by Frank Morin
Book Description
As student armies clash in intense group battles and Connor struggles to leverage a pitifully underpowered army against overwhelming competition, the intrigue at the Carraig intensifies to deadly new levels.
There are secrets at the Carraig buried for centuries that could shake the nation to its roots. Once Connor pokes that hornets' nest, the Tallan's own fury will be unleashed. To survive, Connor must outsmart conniving noble houses, dodge international assassins, survive unbelievably bad poetry, and risk exploring new powers that were concealed for very good reasons.
As the conflict escalates and his ultimate enemy steps out of the shadows to strike, Connor must face a threat not seen since the Tallan Wars. Connor's best hope may be to embrace the thing he fears the most.
And become the ultimate unclaimed.
Book 3 of the Petralist
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Frank Morin
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
ISBN: 978-0-9970233-8-1
A Whipsaw Press Original
Edited by Joshua Essoe
(http://www.joshuaessoe.com/)
Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter
(http://www.bfillustration.com/)
Illustrations by Jared Blando
(http://www.theredepic.com/)
First Whipsaw printing, November, 2016
Chapter 1
Connor stood poised on the balls of his feet, barely restraining himself from joining the fray.
"Stay calm, Kilian," Padraigin urged him. "Ivor's going to start another attack. I can feel it."
It took Connor a second to realize she was speaking to him. He was comfortable in his custom battle leathers and the close-fitting leather mask that concealed his identity, but sometimes the name he had chosen for himself still startled him.
Connor waved away her worry. He and Padraigin had arrayed their shared army in battle formation between two of the rolling hills on the plain east of the Sculpture House. Ivor and Redmund shared another army, made up of the rest of the students and had attacked straight at the center of their lines, as expected. It was about as imaginative as dropping a rock on someone's head, but just as effective.
Connor relished dealing with Ivor's assaults. Commanding an army of Petralists was like controlling a natural disaster, but sometimes it was more fun to get in the thick of things and be the disaster. In this second practice battle of the morning, everyone was eager to perform well. The very next day, permanent army assignments would be made. Then the real group battles would begin.
Captain Rory and his team had been pushing everyone hard over the past week since Connor and the other champions won their nominations. All of the students were involved in the mock battles, from the critical tertiary affinity students to the deep ranks of Boulders already engaged in a heated bash fight in the front lines.
In addition to the students, Tomas and Cameron faced each other in the center, forming the nexus upon which the entire bash fight revolved. They were each supported by eight of their professional Boulders and beat on each other with their usual enthusiasm.
Like they often joked, "No one hits you harder than your best friend."
Although they appeared to be fighting with savage intensity, Connor had spent enough time sparring with them in private training sessions to recognize they were holding back. Like all Boulders, the powdered granite they had absorbed through their skin fueled their superhuman strength. Those two could keep up that pace until they burned through the full measure of their granite.
The Boulder lines had held for almost two minutes, so Connor was expecting Rory to shake things up any second. During the battles of Alasdair, and in his training since, Connor had learned that bash fights never came as often or lasted as long as Boulders wanted.
Striders raced around the flanks in a complex running battle, led by Donald and the other Striders of Rory's company. The groups were turning and closing in sophisticated patterns before breaking apart again, their powder-coated weapons flashing in the late morning sun. Few of the blows struck, but when they did, the Strider would instantly be called out from Pathfinders refereeing the match.
Rory stood with the Sentry teacher atop his tower of earth beside the battlefield. Connor kept an eye on him, trying to anticipate the command that would shake things up. But just as Padraigin had predicted, Ivor attacked, flinging a wave of fire toward the struggling Boulders.
Connor was already sucking on a tiny piece of marble wedged under his tongue and filling his mouth with a steady burning heat. It acted as the gateway through which he could extend his curse and walk with elemental fire. Leveraging that connection, Connor grasped the distant fire and deflected it high and away.
He could have tried wresting control of those flames from Ivor, but he already knew that was harder than snatching a sweetbread away from Hamish. Not only was the big champion more experienced and devilishly clever in managing his elemental forces, but Daly, the single Firetongue in the school, was on Ivor's side.
Before the attackers could re-direct their assault, his team's Spitters struck. Using the invisible fingers of their power, they drew water from large buckets placed around the battlefield and pelted shards of ice across the fighting Boulders.
The ice did little real damage. There was a small risk of ice penetrating the Boulders' eyes, one of the few points of relative weakness, but the Spitters were specifically aiming low to minimize the danger. They were more interested in countering Ivor.
Water and fire clashed overhead in a brilliant display of crimson and blue as the elements consumed each other. They bathed the fighting lines in soft hues and seemed to soften the sharp crashing of steel and stone-hard bodies. Padraigin added the finishing touch to the scene by triggering a fanfare of invisible trumpets, one of her unique talents with quartzite.
Who said battle had to be ugly?
It sure smelled ugly. Boulders' muscles weren't their only strength.
Of course, Captain Rory chose that moment to interfere. A piercing whistle cut through the sound of fading trumpets and the professional soldiers seeded into Connor's army took a fall.
Ivor's army got hit last time, but it still didn't seem fair.
As the center of Connor's front line collapsed as if they had absorbed some of the dreaded weakening powder from the Grandurians, Cameron and his men leaped into the gap, driving Connor's forces back. To win the match, all they had to do was capture Connor and Padraigin.
Shona and Jok, the Boulder captains, who had remained stationed near Connor at the rear of the army, started forward to help plug the gap, but Connor called them back.
"We have to go, Kilian," Jok shouted. "They're going to roll our forces back."
"You're not thinking of retreating?" Shona demanded.
"Of course not. What's the best thing to do when you're losing?"
"Figure it out quick," Padraigin snapped. "Because I can't hold them off."
The ground under the battlefield was groaning and slowly buckling, a testament to the underground struggle between Padraigin and Redmund and their Sentries, all walking with earth through the gateway of slate, struggling for control of it. If Padraigin could gain an advantage, she could tumble those Boulders back.
"What's your plan?" Shona cried.
"Unleash The Declan," Connor declared.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Shona groaned. "That's never going to work."
Jok asked, "Uh, is there something I should know?"
Connor didn't have time to explain. "Just fol
low Shona's lead."
"Yeah, Jok," Shona grinned. "Follow my lead. You're good at that."
He glared. He was still locked in second place in the Boulder standings behind Shona, and probably would be forever since the Rhidorroch had not been rebuilt yet and there was no way to post new official times.
As their Boulder line began to roll back, Catriona, of all people, attempted to plug the gap. The pudgy princess shifted into the perfect lines of max-tapped granite and for a second actually looked like royalty.
"For General Kilian!" She shouted and leaped at Cameron.
Laughing, the burly Fast Roller grabbed her by the straps of her battle leathers and threw her over his shoulder. Squawking with the indignity of it, she crashed right into Rory's earthen tower.
She didn't even manage to knock the tower over, but sank up to her neck as the Sentry teacher adjusted to deal with the intrusion. She struggled in vain, screaming to be released, but nobody paid her any attention. Her heroism did rally some of the troops, and they managed to slow the enemy's advance.
Connor turned to Padraigin. "Make sure I reach the center."
"You're cracked," Padraigin exclaimed. "If you get hit, this game's over. We should make a tactical withdrawal."
"If we do that, we've already lost," Connor insisted. "At best, we'd end up tied with Ivor and Redmund for the day. I'm going, and I'm counting on you."
Dipping a finger into a small leather pouch at his belt, Connor absorbed basalt through his skin. The wild freedom of that powdered igneous stone skittered up his arm and filled him with boundless energy. Tapping that fresh power, Connor ran, leaping away faster than a horse.
Shona's voice echoed after him, and even he couldn't outrun sound. Yet.
"You should've used granite. They're going to pound you to dust."
Maybe, but granite wouldn't get him there fast enough. As he closed on the lines of his struggling Boulders he shouted, "Make way!"
To punctuate the order, he again embraced the insanity of fire. Streamers of flame rippled out behind him, swirling in the wind of his passage. At the same time, he reached for the refreshing stability of elemental water. He had downed a mixture of soapstone powder earlier, and its power was already thrumming through his veins. Walking with both elements at once was still as difficult as juggling knives while riding a greased pig bareback.
Practice made for improvement, or regular bruising.
The critical need to turn the tide of the battle boosted his control enough to maintain the connection, even though both elements strained to burst free and turn on each other.
Feeling like he was stuck in the middle of a fierce game of Tug-a-Duck, Connor drew upon soapstone. All the water scattered across the battlefield glowed in his elemental senses and he yanked it all to him. Water leaped into the air, forming little snowballs, which he ringed with fire and threw at Cameron and his Boulders to distract them.
Connor had kept the attack focused enough that it was hard for Ivor or the other tertiary Petralists to turn the elements against him. Luckily they did not launch a concerted elemental attack. It seemed his apparent suicide dash had surprised everyone.
A glorious defeat in front of the entire school did have certain appeal, but he had other plans.
When Connor's forces realized that he was risking himself to come to their aid, they took up a rallying cry and surged forward with renewed enthusiasm. He could tell even they thought he was doomed, but they appreciated him choosing to fall with his men. Nothing motivated like the promise of losing together.
Thirty feet before he reached Cameron, who was beckoning him on, a smile on his brutish face, Connor tapped soapstone and summoned a sphere of water to encase himself.
Then he fracked.
Max-tapping basalt, he reached the critical point where his legs could not go fast enough without altering shape. With a sharp stab of pain that left him gasping, despite being ready for it, his thighs fractured, forming new joints that allowed the top half of his upper leg to rotate in full circles, increasing his speed tenfold.
Connor's speed churned the sphere into a blur of motion. Ivor and his Spitters tried to interfere, but Connor's Spitters waded into the battle of wills, supporting Connor and forming a shield between him and Ivor's team.
The sphere held for three precious seconds, long enough for Connor to plow through the gap in his lines and rush Cameron and the enemy Boulders, who were bracing for impact. At the last second, Connor leaped backward out of the sphere and collapsed it into a sledgehammer of water that struck Cameron in the chest. It staggered the Fast Roller back and knocked several of the nearby Boulders off their feet.
They recovered faster than Connor had hoped, and charged again. Connor met them with whips of fire that he used to knock Boulders flying. He had to extinguish the flames quickly, before Ivor or Daly could snatch them away, but gained another precious couple of seconds.
Connor's Boulders rushed in to help, flanking him and pressing in front of him to shield him from the expected counterattack. Just in time, because Cameron and the hulking, plate-armored Boulders of his professional company tore into them. Connor barely found time to purge the last of his basalt and stick a finger into the other pouch on his belt and absorb a healthy dose of granite.
Connor's lifelong curse, as familiar to him as the debilitating sickness it had caused most of his life, skittered up his arm like a thousand insects. He applied it across his body, and his muscles swelled, shifting into the mighty lines of granite strength. The shifting plates of his custom leather battle suit creaked as they expanded, revealing crimson flames along the left side of his chest and a rippling water symbol on the right.
His forces cheered at the sight, and Catriona's voice echoed across the battlefield from where she was still stuck in the Sentry tower. "Oh, I love it when he does that!"
She honestly had no idea how annoying she was.
Lacking a weapon, Connor struck at the nearest Boulder, who had just trampled one of the students. The Boulder didn't look concerned about getting punched.
He should have thought that one through.
Curse-punching was one of Connor's greatest talents. It was the first thing he had ever done with his curse, and somehow punching with granite unlocked more power than any other way.
Plus, he cheated.
As he unleashed his curse-punch on the foolishly optimistic soldier, Connor summoned eight inches of water in front of his hand, turned it into ice, and used it as a spear which he slammed into the man's chest with the full force of his curse-punch, magnified by a push from soapstone.
The steel plate over the man's chest cracked, and the force of the blow catapulted him backward, right through four ranks of his eager companions. The man tumbled off the field, past the tower where Rory stood, just missing Catriona.
Even in the middle of a bash fight, that was a great hit. Everyone paused for a second to stare, and Connor raised a hand to accept their respect. The men and women of his army bellowed battle cries with renewed vigor, and Cameron's men looked just a bit less confident.
Then the moment passed and more Boulders crushed in all around Connor, beating down his enthusiastic but barely-trained forces. Soon the professional Boulders surrounded him.
He could not beat these men.
Not with granite alone.
So he embraced his elemental powers. Water and fire flickered around him like a dozen extra hands. Tendrils of water caught weapons, wrapped around faces, and knocked soldiers down. Fire flicked at eyes, causing critical distractions.
Connor fought with every ounce of furious intensity he could muster. The elements seemed to like his destructive intent and stopped bucking his control, allowing him to meld them together better than he ever had.
He laughed with the thrill of the moment, riding a wave of elation.
Then Cameron motioned the other Boulders back, and an expectant hush settled over the front lines. Connor used the unexpected reprieve to try catching his bre
ath. His superhuman muscles were quivering with exhaustion. He couldn't last much longer.
"Boy, that was an impressive display of skill," Cameron said with a little nod of respect. "But suicide charges only end one way.
He raised his hammer, and Connor doubted he could stop the next charge.
Good thing he didn't have to.
A bugle sounded across the field and Rory's voice, magnified by one of the Pathfinders, bellowed, "The match is over. Team Kilagain has won!"
"By Tallan's unholy name, how is that possible?" Cameron exclaimed, throwing down his hammer.
"Thanks for pausing for dramatic effect just now," Connor said, clapping Cameron on the shoulder as everyone around them clamored for an explanation. "You might have beaten me if you hadn't."
Rory pointed, and they all looked to see Redmund picking himself off the ground with a blue powder mark on his face. Ivor stood nearby, looking disgusted.
Above Redmund stood little Declan, hefting a battle hammer that looked far too big for him and dancing with glee. He had the presence of mind to reach out a hand and help the far bigger Redmund stand. Then he drove the haft of his hammer into the ground and it rumbled, spraying dirt. A tower of earth lifted Declan off the ground, almost high enough to look Redmund in the eye.
Redmund scowled at the grinning Declan and his tiny tower. Connor laughed and cheered with his army.
Trailed by Jok, Shona pushed through the crowd and threw her arms around Connor.
"You've got to stop doing that," he whispered as he tried to disentangle himself from his lovely patron. "People are going to get the wrong idea."
"Or the right idea," she said, kissing his leather-clad cheek.
Jok pounded him on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over. "You're insane! How did you know that was going to work?"
"The mightiest pedra can fall to a child's knife when distracted by the hunter and his arrow."
Jok blinked, and Shona groaned. "General, please don't do that at a time like this."
"Time most beloved is grasped like water dripping from a cauldron," Connor intoned solemnly.