by Frank Morin
"Done," Hamish said.
"And that diversionary assault is already retreating," Verena pointed out, gesturing toward the distant pass. She didn't have a clear view down its darkened length, but they had drawn close enough to see that the fighting appeared to have stopped.
"I'm sure Dougal had ordered Carbrey to resume the assault as soon as he commanded the secret of the weakening powder," Kilian said with a satisfied smile. "Perhaps this setback will delay open war for a time."
"Was that the second part of the plan?" Hamish asked.
"No, that's a bonus," Kilian said. "The second aspect of tonight's trap was to track surviving rampagers to their lair."
Verena shivered. "Can there really be more?"
"That's what we need to find out."
In silence, they trailed the rampagers, who eventually descended the cliff to a lower peak, then worked around that one, leaping wide chasms and scaling obstructing cliffs without slowing. Their endurance was remarkable.
"How long can they keep it up?" Verena asked as the monsters leaped a thirty-foot gap and raced up another steep slope.
"Hopefully until they return home," Kilian said.
Over the next hour, the monsters crossed the border, traveling over mountains that would have been impassable to anyone not flying. Once they entered the Obrion side of the mountain range, Verena expected them to circle back toward the main army, but instead they headed farther west into empty wilderness.
The clouds thinned, allowing the sliver of moon to rise. The stars were brilliant, with few clouds. Flying through that remote wilderness was unexpectedly beautiful, but so cold that even in her insulated clothing, Verena soon began to shiver.
Kilian noticed and placed a hand on her shoulder. Gentle warmth radiated out from his fingers and the cold seemed to flee his touch.
The rampagers moved deeper into the uncharted mountains, remaining above the tree line most of the time, and eventually climbed to a barren plateau. There they descended a steep canyon that at first looked like a dead end.
"I think they're getting close," Hamish said as they descended slowly, barely able to make out anything in the deep canyon, despite their long vision goggles.
"They just entered a cave," Verena said, feeling her tension returning at the thought of entering that dark hole and confronting the monsters.
They drifted closer, and only when they were less than a hundred feet above the walls of the canyon did they see the truth.
"It's a slot canyon," Hamish breathed.
"Follow it," Kilian ordered softly. "Stay as high as you can without losing them."
As they floated over the tiny crack in the ground, Verena caught glimpses of movement. The rampagers were indeed following the slot canyon deeper into the mountain. A gigantic knob of stone protruded from the shoulder of the unnamed peak that loomed above the canyon. The slot canyon passed close by that misshapen shoulder of rock, nearly lost in its leaning shadow.
On the far side of the rocky shoulder, they spotted the rampagers' destination. Hamish whistled low and Verena drew in a long breath as she stared at the secret valley. It was little more than a sunken bowl of grass and stunted trees, barely three hundred yards across, accessible only through that slot canyon.
"They're home," Kilian whispered.
In the center of the lush little valley was a permanent military camp, complete with wooden bunkhouses and several larger structures that could have housed a hundred men.
The two rampagers limped into camp, looking exhausted. Lanterns illuminated the parade ground in front of the largest structure, a two-story, wooden building.
The rampagers stopped as five men exited the building. Without warning, they transformed back into men.
"Whoa! They changed back," Hamish whispered, his voice soft in her ear, slightly distorted by the speakstone."
"They actually control the transformation," Verena breathed. She had always assumed that if someone turned unclaimed, they lost their humanity permanently, embarking on a mindless killing spree until they were in turn killed.
The fight at the compound proved they weren't mindless, but seeing them transform back to men was a shocking revelation. They looked haggard, but showed no sign of the wounds they had suffered in their monster form. Did that mean they possessed healing properties, or was the physical transformation responsible for restoring their forms?
"Either that or exhaustion allows them to return to their humanity," Kilian said
"We need to know how it's done," Verena said. There was far more going on than what the stories of the raging unclaimed suggested.
Another man exited the main building, and he walked with the bearing of a military leader. His clothing was almost a uniform, but included no insignia or rank. He was taller than the others, with broad shoulders and flaming red hair.
"We need a speakstone down there," Hamish muttered. They remained distant, high above the camp, hovering in the shadow of the mountain's huge, bony shoulder.
"Hush," Kilian said, leaning forward to peer down toward camp. "And tell me everything you see."
"Looks like they're reporting," Verena spoke softly, relating things as they unfolded.
"That's not going to go well," Hamish said.
"It's not," she agreed. "The leader looks pretty upset."
"Broke their fingers trying to steal cookies." Hamish sounded satisfied, and Verena wondered if he'd ever experienced that particular failure.
"The leader's shouting at them," Verena said.
"I can see that much," Kilian said. "Not very professional."
"How would you feel if your secret squad of rampagers got nabbed?" Hamish asked.
After another minute, the leader wheeled and led the recently returned rampagers inside the main building.
Hamish leaned forward and ghosted down toward camp.
"What are you doing?" Verena hissed.
"This is our chance to get some information," Hamish said. "Now be quiet or they'll notice me coming."
She expected Kilian to object, but he did not, so she watched as Hamish floated over the camp. A moment later he returned.
"What was that all about?" she asked.
He held up a piece of quartzite. "You didn't see me drop the speakstone at the edge of the parade ground?"
"No."
"Good. I doubt anyone else did either."
The three of them flew to the top of the rocky shoulder and settled onto the mountain to gather around the speakstone. After a few minutes, they heard voices, just distant snatches of soft conversation.
"They're too far away," Verena said.
"Hush," Hamish retorted. He had removed his mask and was munching on a biscuit. Where he had gotten that, she didn't want to know.
". . .Dougal. . ." Came a voice from the speakstone.
They leaned closer, and someone moved within range of the distant stone.
"I knew it was a bad idea just to send one squad," a man's voice said. He must have been standing almost right over the stone. "If we're going to strike, let's strike with the entire company. We could have destroyed that army, not taken a beating. Why unleash the Claws of Legend but still keep us chained?"
"Ooh, that's a good name," Hamish whispered.
"Why don't you try telling Dougal you think he's getting it wrong," another voice responded with a harsh, barking laugh.
"After tonight, I won't need to," the first voice said. "I wager the order to destroy will come soon enough."
"It'll be about time."
The voices faded away as the men moved farther from the stone.
Kilian sat back and glanced from Verena to Hamish, his eyes glowing with his suppressed powers, shifting from icy blue to flickering crimson. "This confirms my suspicion. Somehow Dougal is controlling those so-called unclaimed."
"How is it possible?" Hamish asked. "Unclaimed are supposed to happen specifically because they lose patronage and a high lord's control."
"The truth lies in that compou
nd," Kilian said.
"The biggest threat to Granadure does too," Verena added. The thought of more of those rampagers descending upon the unprotected villages of her homeland, or even tearing into the army left her horrified."
"Those men were right," Kilian said. "Dougal cannot accept this defeat. We know he controls the rampagers. He's lost the element of surprise with them. He must unleash his rampagers as soon as possible before we're prepared to meet them."
"Shouldn't we call them claws of legend?" Hamish asked.
"I don't plan to let them make any legends."
"We were ready for them tonight," Verena protested. "There could be dozens in that camp. If he sends them all, hundreds of soldiers could die."
"We need to warn Wolfram," Hamish said.
Suddenly all the mechanicals they had developed seemed pitiful. Verena wished they'd brought one of the big diorite bombs Dierk had designed.
Kilian shook his head. "No. You're right, Verena. The army cannot stop these monsters and dare not face them without risking terrible loss of life."
"You're not suggesting we retreat?" Verena asked.
Kilian grinned, and the expression made Verena suddenly very nervous. "We're going to destroy them all."
"You want me to go get the Last Word?" Hamish asked, echoing Verena's thoughts. The valley was remote enough that they wouldn't risk killing innocents.
"No," Kilian said after a moment's thought. "We only have four of the big ones, and they are key to holding the pass. Besides, if we lay waste to the entire valley, the very evidence we hope to procure will be lost to us."
"We're strong," Verena said. "But the three of us can't take on an entire camp full of rampagers."
Kilian looked from her to Hamish, and the points of fire dancing in his eyes grew to fill his orbs, bathing his face in soft, flickering light that made him look ferocious.
"There is a way. The path I plan to tread holds its own dangers, but it offers our best chance."
"How?" Hamish asked. He looked a little nervous, just like Verena felt.
"Have you ever heard the term Machtig Riesen?"
"No," they answered in unison.
"In Obrion, the term is Elfonnel."
Verena shook her head. Hamish only shrugged. "Stuart had a growth under his arm once. Old Mhairi had to lance it and smear on some nasty ointment. I don't remember exactly what she called it, but it sounded something like that."
Kilian chuckled. "What I am about to explain to you is definitely not an ointment." He settled to the stone and gestured for them to sit nearby. "This is a secret of the deep magic, so I trust you will hold this confidential.
"Petralists walk with the elements and borrow of their strength. However, when one has reached certain thresholds of power, it is possible to do more. A Petralist can allow the elements to rise through them and become the living embodiment of their core power."
"That sounds dangerous," Verena said.
"It is," Kilian nodded. "Extremely. Most who attempt such a union with the elements are consumed in the process, and few can escape with their humanity intact."
"But you can?" Hamish guessed.
Kilian nodded again.
"That giant you summoned at Alasdair," Verena guessed. "I heard a lot about it. I never understood how you managed such a vast summoning."
"That was a special case. Summoning only gives life to a fraction of an element, wrapping it in granite flesh. It would be impossible to summon an elfonnel. They are too vast and far too powerful. To raise one, the Petralist must be willing to commit their entire being, to becoming at least temporarily consumed."
"Why don't you do it more often?" Hamish asked. "I mean, why worry about the Obrion army when you can unleash a giant elemental monster to stop them?"
"There are a multitude of reasons, the chief of them being the danger inherent for myself and everyone else in the vicinity. The elements do not rise to take living form lightly, and they lack the humanity we take for granted. An elfonnel rising in the midst of a battlefield might just as easily destroy both armies."
"Oh. Maybe not then."
"It sounds like the risk might outweigh the benefit," Verena cautioned, her fears mounting with every word Kilian spoke. He looked confident, but more concerned than she had ever seen him.
"It is the only way to eradicate the threat this camp presents," Kilian said. "This location is remote enough that the risk of collateral damage is minor." He fixed them with another grave look. "You must promise to stay back. If I lose control, even for a moment, you must flee."
"We can't leave you behind," Verena exclaimed.
"You must. I will return in time. Probably. But you cannot risk yourselves in the meantime."
"How will we know if you lose control?" Hamish asked.
"I'll try to kill you."
"I don't like it," Hamish said, echoing Verena's fears.
"Good." Kilian gave them his normal roguish smile. "That means you're not completely dense."
"We strike at dawn," he added. "Which will give us enough time to prepare the battlefield."
"What do you want us to do?" Verena asked.
"You're returning to the army." Kilian raised his hands to forestall her protest.
"You're going to get the bombs anyway?" Hamish asked.
"No. Verena will fetch Anton."
So in a way, he was sending her to bring an army of reinforcements after all.
Chapter 37
Connor returned to his Dawnus suite late and dropped into one of the plush couches in the sitting room. While he enjoyed the brief moment of silence, he extracted a small piece of limestone from his belt pouch.
He considered the little, greenish stone, rubbing its smooth sides with his fingers. He still needed to establish affinity with the sedimentary stone. The one time he had tried hadn't gone well. The fact that Ilse had been threatening to kill him at the time might have had something to do with it.
Unlike the igneous stones that he absorbed or the tertiary stones that he connected with in their various ways, sedimentary stones were supposed to be pretty straight-forward. Connor focused on the stone, trying to feel its power like he did with sandstone.
It took a moment, willing something to happen, before he felt a faint flicker, like a flash of lightning beyond the next set of hills, more a hint of light than anything real. He grinned. Any second, and he'd make it work.
Cameron barged into the room, breaking his concentration. "Ivor sent a message. I think you spooked him today. Have a care with him."
"Wow, that was perfect flowered prose," Connor said as he tucked the limestone away.
Cameron frowned. "Course it couldn't be. I wasn't even thinking about it." His brutish face took on the pained expression he'd worn so often over the past week practicing with flowered prose. The concentration usually only seemed to make things worse.
"Well, you did it. Best one ever."
Cameron's expression lifted. "I guess all the practicing is paying off."
"I hope so."
"Ivor requested a meeting," Cameron added. "Might be a good time to strike while his defenses are down."
"I thought you said I should have a care with him."
"You should. Don't mean you don't take advantage of him panicking about you winning when they all thought you were as doomed as a fish three days boiling in a stew."
"I'll go talk with him." Connor said as he pulled his mask on and rose.
They returned to the central atrium where Tomas was lounging at guard. "Ivor's in a right pickle since you took his flag first. Going from favorite to last place hurts, so watch yourself, lad."
"I know what I'm doing," Connor promised.
"Don't break his suite," Cameron called as he headed across the atrium.
"I can do more than just break things," Connor insisted.
"But you don't do nothing half so well," came the quick reply.
Ivor met Connor in his sitting room after sending Sheigra out to shield the
ir conversation. The big champion looked flustered. His sleeves were rolled up, his shirt wrinkled, and his hands were covered in what looked like green paint.
"What have you been doing?" Connor asked as Ivor summoned water out of a nearby bucket to wash his hands, then sent it all cascading back with a flick of a wrist.
"I paint when I get upset," Ivor said, dropping into an overstuffed chair, then motioning Connor to do the same.
"Really? What do you paint?"
Ivor grimaced. "Nothing well enough to show anyone."
"Thanks for leading everyone into my trap," Connor said, selecting an apple from a nearby fruit tray. "Wouldn't have worked if you hadn't all been so intent on punishing me for being arrogant."
Ivor shook his head and chuckled. "After warning you to be careful on the battlefield, you sucked me in like a first year."
"You all saw what you wanted to see," Connor said around a mouthful of sweet fruit.
"And you flipped the geall on us. Best move I've seen in years."
"You all deserve nothing but the best." He felt relieved that Ivor was taking the beating so well. He wasn't sure he would have handled losing with so much grace.
"But why order Shona to take my flag first?" Ivor demanded. "I'm not far behind, but fourth place puts me in a difficult spot."
"I'm sorry about that, but today I had to make a statement."
"No one's going to underestimate General Anxiety ever again, I wager," Ivor said, then grimaced. "That is a ridiculous name, you know."
Connor shrugged. "It's a ridiculous thing they make us do. I lack everyone else's ability to take such things seriously."
"And yet, you devised a cunning plan to stay in the game. A game you pretend to mock, but cannot afford to lose."
"None of us can."
"Exactly why I invited you over." Ivor rose and paced away. "General. . ." He shook his head. "I just can't call you that."
"Then call me friend."
Ivor smiled. "That I can do."
Connor relaxed, but tried not to show it. He had worried Ivor would reject the offer. They had been positioned as enemies, were obligated to lead armies against each other with every bit of cunning and craft they could muster, but did that mean they had to hate each other?