by Frank Morin
"I work for the sculptress," he offered quickly.
One chainmail-clad soldier grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him toward her office, which was exactly where he had been trying to go before he was intercepted. "We'll see about that."
"What's going on here?" Connor dared ask.
"You're not authorized," the soldier growled.
"What are you going to do with all that stone?"
"You're not authorized," the man growled again.
"Did you have breakfast?"
"What?" The soldier actually paused. No soldier could ignore the idea of food. "Do you have more breakfast?"
"You're not authorized."
Muttering a curse under his breath, the man yanked Connor into the doorway of Ailsa's study. She was sitting behind her huge desk, like a final defensive bulwark against the crowd of officers packing the room. They all wore High Lord Dougal's blue and green uniforms. One hulking man radiated that sense of permanent strength of a Sentry. Another possessed the glowing eyes of a Pathfinder, while a severe woman's blue-tinted blond hair suggested she was a Spitter.
"We caught this one in the workroom," the soldier holding Connor's collar announced. "Says he's authorized."
"He is," Ailsa said, gesturing Connor forward. "This is one of my workers."
The soldier left, but looked disappointed. Connor wasn't sure if it was because he'd wanted an excuse to beat him up, or if he was still wondering about breakfast.
"I hadn't realized we needed such a big round today," Connor said, slipping through the crowd of soldiers to stand in the narrow space beside Ailsa's desk."
"That's none of your concern," the Spitter snapped, her voice as severe as her expression. She wore her hair pulled back against her scalp, and even the braid that hung down past her shoulder was tied so tight, he could almost hear it whimpering. Her uniform was so sharply creased, she could have used her pant legs as weapons.
"Actually, it is." Ailsa looked remarkably calm in the face of the military invasion of her office. "Connor manages the daily rounds and is responsible for maintaining accurate records of our store."
The woman considered him more closely. "You trust such weighty matters to a linn?"
"Connor has never failed."
"And I can count past ten without even taking off my boots most days," Connor added.
"Well, counting will be easier in the future," the woman said.
"You're not taking everything, are you?" Connor asked. He couldn't imagine why Ailsa was allowing them to take any. The daily rounds were a strictly-managed distribution of portions of power stone to students and teachers, but the vault was generally off limits to anyone but Connor or Ailsa.
"There will be sufficient for the remainder of term," the woman said.
"Barely," Ailsa replied, lifting a parchment containing lists of numbers from her desk. "At our current rate of consumption, what you're planning to leave us will be insufficient, especially in granite and slate."
"I suggest rationing then," the woman said. Then she gestured the others out of the room. "If there is no further assistance I can offer, I will leave you."
"Please do." Ailsa gestured the woman out. "My vault cannot handle any more of your assistance."
The woman paused to straighten her uniform. "We all make sacrifices for the war effort." Then she turned and swept from the room.
Ailsa sighed and dropped the parchment, rubbing at her temples. "It's easy to talk of sacrifice when it's someone else making it."
"What's this all about?" Connor asked, watching the line of Boulders still marching past with their treasure of stone.
"Just what she said. The war."
"Has the war started?" Connor hadn't heard anything official, although the last time he checked the geall boards, betting leaned heavily in favor of open fighting any day.
"Not that I've heard," Ailsa said. "But this company has been sent by High Lord Dougal to requisition extra power stores for delivery to the army on the front."
"We had enough stones in the vault to last the Carraig for years," Connor said. "How much do they need?"
"War consumes all resources at exponential rates. Food, armaments, weapons, power stones, and lives. Both nations will pay dearly for the upcoming conflict."
Connor thought about that as he settled into the single hard-backed chair facing her desk. He'd grown up in Alasdair where they quarried precious Alasdair White granite. The power stone fueled the mighty Boulders, but no one in the village had understood that until armies had descended upon their tiny town.
Even those relatively small clashes had consumed a lot of powdered granite, and managing the powder stores had become a critical issue. Massed armies would need far more. No wonder they were keeping such meticulous records.
"Will we run out?" he asked.
"We can't. Group battles will start soon. I cannot allow the Tir-raon to grind to a halt due to lack of power stones."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"We have no choice. We must institute powder rationing." She glanced at the parchment again. "Probably a twenty percent reduction in the daily portion for students and more like thirty percent for faculty."
Connor grimaced. Complaining about portions was already a favorite pastime. He was going to face a lot of angry Petralists. He had dared hope that his daily rounds would become less dangerous now that Catriona was pacified and Jok owed him a life debt.
The soldiers finished raiding the vault ten minutes later, and Connor watched as they locked the doors on the wagons. Each was pulled by teams of four oxen, and the army that escorted the precious cargo was stronger than the force Rory had first led against Ilse outside of Alasdair.
Connor counted over a hundred regular soldiers, including companies of slingers and even archers. Threescore cavalry with lances set at precise angles and pennants snapping in the breeze made up the vanguard. Two dozen Boulders marched immediately around the wagons, forming the bulk of the Petralist guard, with another dozen Striders ranging around the company. The tertiary affinity officers stood together on a short tower the Sentry raised, which slid across the ground ahead of the lead wagon.
When he and Ailsa returned to her office she said, "We'll deal with the fall-out of the new rations, but oh, Connor, you just couldn't let anyone remove that dome the easy way, could you?"
"It wasn't my fault," he protested. "Someone tried to kill me."
"I heard. Tallan be praised you saved Frazier and his workers."
Connor shuddered at her choice of words. Some days she sounded more Grandurian than Obrioner. He didn't bother to ask how she knew the details. Ailsa was like a spider, with tendrils of influence spreading through the Carraig. Although she rarely left the Sculpture House, she knew more about events throughout the castle complex than almost anyone.
Even with all her resources, she had not predicted what would happen with Hector, had not found a way to help Connor escape the shackles of patronage. Her support was one of the pillars of his life at the Carraig though, and he treasured their daily briefings.
"Any idea who was responsible?" Ailsa asked as she returned to her seat. Connor dropped back into the wooden chair facing her. The previous one had been destroyed, but she'd managed to find another just as uncomfortable.
Connor shrugged. "Everyone swears it wasn't them. Padraigin's still the prime suspect. None of the other Sentries can confirm her claims that she wasn't involved."
"And she's an Althin," Ailsa added. "Many would blame her even had she been on the far side of the castle."
"It's not fair," Connor said. "She's one of the most talented Petralists here. I was the one racing her. I saw how surprised she looked when the ground shook. I don't think it was her."
"It's a good sign that you can draw conclusions that run counter to the prevailing bias," Ailsa told him. "Too few learn to see truths, no matter how clearly they are presented."
"Most of the time, I'm the one people don't trust, so I get
it."
Ailsa gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure Captain Rory will discover the truth, just as I'm sure you'll be even more vigilant than ever."
"Always." Connor tipped the chair back on two legs, allowing himself to relax. The little office was a safe haven. Everywhere else, he had to stay on his guard, remember which role he was playing, and keep his multiple gealls running. He relished the momentary quiet that had reclaimed the workroom. Most of the students were still outside, watching the departing armored convoy.
"Tell me about the contest," Ailsa urged.
So he did. The process of reporting to Ailsa helped him keep everything straight and see connections he might miss otherwise. Besides, it was a fun story.
"Padraigin will insist on a rematch," Ailsa said when he finished. "She cannot afford any perceived weakness."
"I know," Connor sighed. "I feel bad for her, but I can't let her beat me either. I have to win. My entire village could be enslaved if I don't."
"Not to mention that Shona's other plans depend upon your victory."
Connor usually tried not to think about that. Shona was clearly preparing to marry him. She couldn't afford not to, not when his curse was so important to her. He was trying to generate enthusiasm for that looming event, but wished he had never met Verena. Before that adorably deadly Builder had stormed into his life, Shona's plans for him would have seemed a dream come true.
Ailsa changed topics. "Where is Jean?"
"I was going to ask you. I haven't seen her all week, not since just after she showed me how to use the underground passage."
Ailsa frowned. "I saw her three days ago, but she looked harried and did not stop to speak."
"Shona must be keeping her busy," Connor decided. "Rory must have told Shona about Jean's attempt to run with Ilse."
"She can't dismiss her," Ailsa said. "Jean is too important as leverage to send away, but Shona will want to reduce how much Jean can do to support you until the final lines are struck and her plan is secure."
Connor frowned. "I'll see what I can do. Shona doesn't have to worry about me anymore."
"And yet, she would be a fool not to," Ailsa said.
"I can't defy her," Connor said, venting his deep frustration. "She's my patron. Unclaimed are real, and I won't risk turning. Plus, she's got Jean, you, and the rest of my family."
"The game is not over," Ailsa said. "Until the final victory is laid at her feet, Shona must worry. Her position is at risk as much as yours."
"I know." He still sometimes forgot that despite her riches and position, Shona was still vulnerable. That's why she needed him so badly.
If only she made it easier for him to want to serve her.
Ailsa rose again and rounded the desk. "Army assignments will occur tomorrow, and you'll finally begin training your own force."
"At least I'll know what I have to deal with." Shona and Lord Nevan had warned him that negotiations were fierce and not trending in his favor. Shona's plan to introduce him as the mystery Dawnus at the last minute had thrown all the carefully-crafted treaties and arrangements between the various high lord representatives into shambles. Months of work had to be redone in a single week. Suffering rolled down hill faster than boiling manure in a hurricane, so they'd make sure he felt their suffering threefold.
"Remember what you have learned," Ailsa said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Remember all the reasons you wear that mask, and you will find a way."
"The stone's been cast," Connor said. "I'll have to."
Gisela knocked on the door, then pushed it open. She looked completely recovered from the injuries she'd suffered from the Hector monster. "Hello, Connor. I watching you break ice dome today. You are having great skill at breaking things."
"It's part of the legend I'm building."
"Lady Shona has sending summons for you to her palace."
"Thanks."
She made a little curtsy to Ailsa, then retreated. Connor had not found time to speak with Gisela since the nomination day. He had enjoyed their chats about her homeland and the nations of the Arishat League. Plus, she had a secret he needed to learn.
"Be careful," Ailsa urged a final time.
"I'll try to get back to help clean up the mess those soldiers left behind."
"Don't worry, dear," Ailsa said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I'll have Edan help."
"Just the thing to help him feel like himself again," Connor agreed.
The thin-shouldered sculpting student had fallen into a fit of depression after his beautiful sculpture had been used by Rory as a club in the fight with Hector. He'd only just recently begun working on a new project.
Connor headed for Shona's palace. Even though the air held an autumn chill, he tipped his face up to the sun. The mask he wore as Kilian was quite comfortable, but he preferred walking the castle grounds as Connor, the simple linn.
Well, as long as no one was trying to kill him.
He'd been enjoying the fact that no one wanted to squash him daily, but those happy days were probably about to expire. Rationing Petralist portions would probably be even more dangerous than telling Hamish's family they would no longer get lunches.
Not far from Shona's palace, Connor passed a large group of linn workers walking in the opposite direction. The boisterous group, all wearing Lord Dail's awful mustard and orange uniforms, sported scarves or pins with Ivor's colors. They were loudly arguing about the day's contest, about the collapse of the mighty dome, and about how they felt Ivor would turn the tide on the hated Kilian.
"They are enthusiastic, aren't they?"
The group stopped nearby, but continued their arguments. The man who had spoken was dressed like them, but his face was covered by a heavy scarf. When he removed it, Connor couldn't believe he hadn't recognized him sooner.
Ivor.
Chapter 7
"This is the second time I've caught you daydreaming," Ivor said. "Not a good habit, especially not for a commoner who walks in circles above his station."
"You have a knack for finding me when I'm distracted."
Connor enjoyed his chats with Ivor. He could be himself with the powerful champion when he was just Connor, and he found Ivor fascinating. His mastery of his tertiary affinities was well documented, and he was the favorite to ultimately lead his army to victory in the Tir-raon. That should have made Connor dislike him, but Ivor was just too interesting.
Ivor was a Guardian, his situation mirroring Connor's in many ways. Winning would secure his future in a high lord family, guarantee power and prestige and station. He was cunning and devious, and he was relentless in discovering weaknesses of his opponents that he could exploit. Connor had learned much from him in the recent group competitions, both as a friend and as a foe.
It interested him to see how Ivor handled the pressures he faced, and he wished they didn't ultimately have to stand as opponents in a contest where only one of them could win.
He expected Ivor to move away from the nearby workers, or at least motion them to continue on, but he did not. And when he spoke, he stood close and pitched his voice low.
"Tell me about the lady," Ivor said, nodding toward Shona's nearby palace.
Ivor seemed to want to speak in roundabout terms, so Connor obliged. "The lady is unchanged. Still enjoying her position at the center of everything."
"Indeed," Ivor smiled. "Any new developments?"
"None that I've seen."
"Keep me posted."
It was unlike Ivor to accept a lack of progress, especially since they hadn't spoken for several days.
"I'll talk to you then," Connor said, moving to leave.
Ivor grabbed his arm. "Did you watch the contest on the field today?"
"Didn't we all?"
Playing both the roles of Connor and Kilian was sometimes like trying to eat and fire his bow at the same time. Difficult, requiring focus and proper timing. Making the daily rounds was particularly tricky. As Connor he must deliver the portions of po
wer stone to all the students and teachers to fuel their Petralist gifts. Kilian was a champion contender, so he received his portions directly from his patron and Connor hadn't needed to figure out how to deliver rounds to himself. He still needed to slip away, change into his Kilian persona, and return without arousing suspicion. He had felt pretty sure no one had noticed.
"I didn't see you," Ivor said. "Usually you like to be in the thick of everything."
"The Rhidorroch was my favorite spot. Out on the field seems too exposed."
Ivor smiled. "It's less structured. More risk, but far more opportunity."
"I heard Kilian found opportunity today."
Ivor's smile actually widened. "He did. That man's a clever son of a pedra. He's daring, but rash."
"He won, didn't he?"
"Aye, he won. But to take such a risk was foolish."
"Foolish if he'd lost," Connor countered.
"Let's discuss this further." Ivor leaned closer. "And I'd prefer to hold that chat with our general friend present."
He might not have used Kilian's name, but his meaning was clear.
"I'll ask him to join us," Connor offered. It was a foolish risk to agree to meet with the clever Ivor in private, but hadn't he just defended foolishness? He liked Ivor, wanted to speak with him openly as Kilian, but worried Ivor would see through the disguise. Could he risk it?
Could he not?
"Good," Ivor said. "Watch yourself, my friend. The information you hold could easily be used against you."
"What information?" Connor asked cautiously.
Ivor leaned closer and spoke so softly, Connor barely heard over the arguing workers. "You know Kilian's identity. Guard that secret with the greatest care."
Ivor had no idea.
"I'm careful." And sometimes more than a little schizophrenic.
Ivor looked around. "You're a quick study. You picked up on what I'm doing here. Have you thought of why?"
Why shield their conversation in a crowd of loud workers while in disguise, speaking so low that Connor could barely hear?
"You're careful."
"We all have to be. Assignments are tomorrow, and everyone is hunting for any advantage by any means. Think about it."