by Frank Morin
"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Connor said. "What if I just remove the mask and reveal to the world what I am?" Even though he had discounted the idea, he felt desperate enough to explore it again. "Maybe I could gain the upper hand in negotiating my future."
"I am thinking this is a bad idea," Gisela said.
"Why?" he challenged, even though he knew she was right.
"I suggest caution," Ailsa said. "I've considered this question at length."
"What did you decide?"
"That it's a last, desperate option. Don't forget that Shona has promised to enslave your entire village if you break with her again."
"But would she dare if I have other offers that undermine her position?"
"Perhaps, but even if some other family offered you a better deal, they have no direct influence in Dougal's realm and could not help save your family from Shona's vengeance."
That threat was still the greatest danger, like a shackle around his neck, and thinking about it enraged him. "So what if I gained patronage somewhere else, then left with Ilse and grabbed my family on the way to Granadure?"
Ailsa considered the idea. "Could you take the entire village? Or would you leave them to suffer Shona's wrath for you?"
Could he take the village? Would Ilse agree to try? Would the villagers agree to leave, to join the hated Grandurians?
"While you consider that," Ailsa continued. "Remember that Dougal is a very dangerous man. Shona's plan surely ties in with plans he has in the making. Defying Shona is dangerous enough, but defying Dougal is a deadly mistake and must be done only with great care."
"Aren't you supposed to be the encouraging one?" he grumbled.
"I'm supposed to help you stay alive and find the path to freedom," she responded with a smile. "The final point to consider is that once everyone knows the full extent of your powers, you will be swarmed by the other high families. You might gain patronage on more favorable terms, but there's no possible way you could ever slip away to Granadure after that."
He hadn't expected to win that argument, but losing didn't help him feel better either. "I'll maintain the act for now, until the gealls run their course."
So he changed topics. "Have you heard the term elfonnel?"
Gisela gave him a blank look, but Ailsa leaned forward, her gaze intent. "Where did you hear that?"
"It popped up as part of Jean's research. Elfonnel may be the name used for when the elements sometimes rage out of control and take living form, rising as gigantic monsters that attack remote villages and towns."
"This happens?" Gisela asked, eyes wide.
Ailsa nodded. "Such events are rare, but I have heard the term."
"What do you know?" Connor asked.
"Not much more than you just described, and it's been many years since I heard that much." She leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling as she considered it. "I don't know why they form, but elfonnel do rise on very rare occasions, the elements incarnate, raging with a fury that cannot be quenched. They wreak terrible destruction before disappearing again."
"Jean read reports of a second elfonnel sometimes rising to fight."
"I've never heard that," Ailsa said. "But I'm not surprised."
"Why not?"
"Think of the disruption such an elemental manifestation would generate. Such a concentration of one element would trigger ripple effects across the nation. It's not surprising that other elements might be stirred up. Always they balance and counterbalance each other."
"Let us hoping the elements are much happy," Gisela said.
"I haven't heard of any elfonnel in a long time," Ailsa said. "But I worry that when the war breaks out and so many Petralists unleash the might of the elements against each other that they might trigger a backlash that could give rise to such a monster."
War was terrifying enough on its own without the thought of the elements rising in anger for being misused.
"Perhaps this is one of the reasons the Arishat League is opposing the war," Gisela suggested.
"Is there any way to find out what the Arishat knows about the elfonnel?" Connor asked.
"Perhaps, but I am thinking it might be a secret hard to learning."
Connor sighed. "I'm tired of secrets."
"I know no other secrets about the Tir-raon," Gisela offered.
"And you've already learned the full measure of the duty that will be laid upon your shoulders," Ailsa said. "Those truths are not the things we should be focusing on, though."
"I know," he said, feeling frustrated. "But I feel like I'm getting blocked at every turn. I don't know where to look next for information about what happened to Hector and what unclaimed really are."
"How about in Hector's other set of quarters?" Ailsa asked, her eyes twinkling.
"His what?" Connor exclaimed, his gloomy thoughts burning away under a dash of new hope.
"Is true," Gisela said excitedly. "We are learning just tonight. The professor kept more rooms. Was very great secret."
"How did you learn about it?" Connor asked.
"One of the many clerks employed by Lord Dail owes me a favor," Ailsa said. "I had spread the word that I was interested in anything related to the late Professor Hector. She made a note of the rooms while processing a rent payment."
"Who paid the rent if Hector's dead?"
"I asked the same question. My contact is hunting for that information."
"How did you recruit Lord Dail's clerks?" Connor asked, intrigued with the whole secret spy network side of his aunt's life.
"There are many ways," she said. "One must be open to opportunities. This clerk owes me a debt for interceding on her behalf after her son made the mistake of interfering with an Assassin."
Gisela shivered. "Assassins are most dangerous. It is making bad day to interfere."
"For one's extended family as well," Ailsa said. "If they get upset, they'll usually remove all your relatives too."
"You speak of them like they're different from other killers," Connor said.
"They are," Ailsa said. "Others may kill, but they are not known as Assassins, who call themselves the Mhortair. They are a very secretive group. Although they are not officially affiliated with any political body, they have alliances with the Arishat League."
"Even we know less than very little about them," Gisela said.
"They just go around killing people?" Connor asked, thinking back to the first conversation with Camonica and Aonghus. They'd mentioned the Mhortair as allies of Ravinder.
"It's more complicated than that," Ailsa said. "They are semi-independent. Their primary mission is preventing the return of the Blood of the Tallan and keeping Obrion from expanding."
"So they'd want to assassinate me?" Connor asked. Why did so many conversations go there?
Gisela nodded. "If they are learning about your true powers, they would have sending an Assassin already."
Great. One more thing to worry about.
"And you told your contacts in the Arishat League about my powers, didn't you?" Connor asked.
Gisela hesitated. "We are not being enemies, Connor. In fact, if you are wanting to flee from duty of champion, and if Granadure is not being the best choice for asylum, perhaps you will come and visiting my country."
"We'll consider those options later," Ailsa said.
"So they know," Connor groaned. "And Assassins might be hunting me already."
"I am very sorry," Gisela said, looking like she meant it. "But my mother has promising not to reveal the truth to others until I am knowing more about you."
"Which means she probably already told everyone," Connor grumbled. "And they promised not to tell anyone else, which pretty much means the Assassins know where I am."
At least most of the people planning to kill him were friends. It felt strangely unsettling to know that a complete stranger was planning to murder him. How did they live with themselves?
Connor wondered what unspoken con
ditions Gisela's offer of asylum included. Would they look to him to fight against Obrion during the upcoming war? He doubted they would leave him alone, but could their plans for him be any worse than breeding him like a racehorse?
"Anyway," Ailsa said a little more loudly. "No one else appears to know Hector's other rooms even exist."
"Where are they? Connor asked.
"I will take you," Gisela said, and he wondered if she made the offer as a way to make up for having revealed his secret to a band of murdering assassins. She was going to have to work a little harder to cover that debt, especially if he got assassinated.
"You stay outside," he warned. "I'll go in alone."
They agreed to meet after dark to make the attempt. As Connor headed back to his Dawnus suite for some power stones and a change of clothes, he allowed a sliver of hope. What better thing to keep in secret rooms than the secret Connor hunted?
He dared to believe he was due for a bit of good luck.
Chapter 43
"There it is," Gisela said softly, pointing at a blocky stone building that looked drab and uninviting compared to most other buildings in the Carraig. Even the warehouse they crouched beside looked grander.
Midnight had come and gone, and a sleepy hush had settled over the area. No lantern poles illuminated the dim street. Connor had only passed a couple of times through that area on the east side of the Carraig, not far from the inner wall, and it hadn't stood out in his memory.
"Are you sure?" Connor asked. It was unlike Hector to associate with anything not of the finest quality.
Gisela nodded. She wore a black wool cap to cover her light hair, but her face still seemed to glow in the darkness. "From what we are learning, important servants are living there when nobles wish to having them closer than the town. The first three floors are having people. The top two floors are being under construction, with never so many people. Hector's rooms are on the fourth floor."
"About to get rebuilt?" Connor asked. Why didn't that surprise him?
"Have care," Gisela warned. "The center hall is blocked with building supplies. Will having to take side hallway to Hector's rooms."
"I've got it," Connor assured her. "Keep an eye out here and watch for anything unusual."
"And if I am seeing anything unusual?"
He grinned. "Use your imagination."
Connor trotted across the street, his nervous excitement growing. He had absorbed granite earlier and downed a little vial of soapstone mixture. Slate wouldn't accomplish much up on the fourth floor, but it offered an easier route to bypass any nosy neighbors.
So Connor slipped around to the rear of the building and connected with the earth through the slate in his boot. Then he silently rose up the side of the building on a slender, carefully-shielded column of earth. He bled away most of the earth before severing his connection. The tiny remaining thread of earth collapsed when he released it, but the resulting pile was small and he doubted anyone would stumble upon it in the darkness.
Tucking a tiny piece of quartzite into his cheek, he applied it to his eyes to improve his vision as he entered the building. Since the top floor was under construction, the door leading into the central stair was not locked and he ghosted down.
He considered preparing marble in case he ran into trouble, but that old building looked eager to burn. He wanted information, not a repeat of the destruction Camonica had wreaked in Hector's main apartment.
No one else walked the stair that circled all the way down to the ground floor. The fourth floor was a mixture of demolition and new construction.
The floor was stripped down to bare wood, and the air smelled of sawdust and broken, old walls. The main hall that ran through the center of the building was indeed blocked with building materials, but he easily found the side corridor that led him back to the hall where Hector's rooms were situated.
The silence of the area weighed heavy on him. No sounds crept out of any of the rooms he passed. Even that late at night, most large buildings full of people would generate sounds.
The few sounds he did hear were not pleasant. The building creaked like an old man struggling to find a comfortable position to rest. When he reached Hector's hall, it smelled of old sweat, and he wondered if they really had the right place. Of course, if Hector really had wanted to hide something important, such a place would be ideal, as long as none of the neighbors decided to steal whatever he had secreted there.
The hall ended just beyond Hector's room, so the only exit was back the way he came. The wooden door looked solid, set in a steel frame, and Connor slowly approached, considering the lock.
The floor creaked loudly under his last step. So much for entering the rooms like a shadow.
The door closest to Hector's opened and a burly man with unruly black hair and a sour expression stepped into the hall. "What are you doing out here, boy?"
"Room service," Connor said.
The man grunted. "No one's home. Beat it."
"I would, but the man who owns these rooms hired me to fetch something for him."
The man approached, swelling with granite strength, his expression hardening. "Wrong lie, kid. It's gonna cost you."
"Not as much as smelling you already has."
The big man lunged, one granite-hardened fist punching for Connor's face. He probably thought he looked intimidating, but Connor had been training with the deadliest Fast Rollers in Rory's army. Compared to them, the man moved with glacial slowness.
Connor shifted to let the blow slide past his head and tapped just a bit of granite, applying it to his fist and arm. The skittering itch of his curse felt so right that it scattered all of Connor's nervousness.
As the man stumbled forward, off balance, Connor curse-punched him in the jaw. He had always possessed an exceptional curse punch, but under his tutors' instruction, he had improved it tenfold.
His hardened fist catapulted the man off his feet and right through Hector's door.
So much for the lock.
Connor followed him into the darkened room, and applied quartzite to his eyes again. There was almost no light, but that meant he had plenty.
He paused and looked around, wondering if he had made a mistake after all. The room was packed with junk. Piles of furniture, stacked haphazardly to the ceiling vied for space with towers of old books and heaps of linens. It looked worse than Lady Isobel's cluttered storage rooms in Alasdair, with only a narrow aisle down the middle leading to a half-open door that led into a second room.
The Boulder groaned and tried to sit up. Connor applied granite to his entire body and grabbed him, lifting him off the floor. "Who hired you to guard this room?"
"Tallan take you," the man cursed and tried punching Connor again.
So he threw the man across the room. He smashed the door into the suite's only other room off its hinges. That room was just as cluttered as the first. The man came to his feet and rushed back up the aisle at Connor, shouting with anger.
Connor set himself and max-tapped granite. The two of them came together like a pair of living statues. The crack of their stone-hard bodies sounded like thunder in the enclosed space. The impact rattled Connor and knocked the other man right off his feet. The guard groaned, spitting curses and threatening to rip Connor's head off.
So Connor punched him a few more times. A proper beating demanded a certain rhythm, growing in tempo to a final crescendo that left the enemy incapacitated. Connor had been beat up enough times to have developed an appreciation for the subtle nuance of a good beating.
The guard didn't seem to understand. He thrashed and kicked and rolled, trying to escape or set himself to throw punches of his own. Connor didn't want a bash fight in the tiny room, worried they'd destroy the very secret he needed to search for, but the guard proved completely uncooperative.
With all the noise they were making, any pretense at stealth was gone, so Connor grew exasperated and threw the guard through the boarded-up window at the far end of the inner r
oom. A four story fall wouldn't injure a Boulder, but it would grant Connor some peace and quiet for a few minutes to search. The soft breeze that filtered in through the broken window felt cool on his skin and helped dispel the stale air.
Connor eyed the piles of junk crammed into the apartment, wondering how many days or weeks he'd need to sort through it all. Whoever that angry Boulder was, he'd be sure to return soon, probably with help.
Why would Hector bother to rent a set of secret rooms, only to turn them into a pigsty? It did make great camouflage for any secrets Hector might have wanted to hide. Then again, Hector would have hated visiting. His pride and vanity would have made it distasteful even to enter the room. He'd never stoop to crawling through piles of nasty debris.
That camouflaging clutter would have hemmed Hector in even worse than they did Connor. The man wouldn't have recognized the problem because he'd assume no one could ever see past the clutter. Connor didn't need to search the entire mess, only the parts Hector might have deigned to touch.
So Connor scanned the room, looking for easy ways into the clutter, or hiding places in plain sight. Even with quartzite-enhanced vision, it was difficult. So he extracted the little piece of limestone he'd practiced with earlier in the evening.
Concentrating on the little stone, he whispered, "Help me out here. Just a new affinity. No big deal."
He felt the same flicker against his mind, but the stone didn't light. Trying to maintain his calm, he said, "Remember, in that last battle, I brought more glory to the Solas than anyone's probably ever done at the Carraig."
Connor didn't believe light was vain, but whatever the reason, the little stone suddenly grew chill against his hand, like a little icicle, and a soft glow began emanating from it.
He should celebrate a new affinity, but that dump of a room was not the place. Deprived of the softening shadows, the rooms looked worse than ever. Not seeing anything useful, he slowly paced the length of both rooms, but saw only unbroken walls of junk to either side.
He needed more time. The seconds seemed to rush past, and he kept starting at imagined distant cries of alarm. He took a deep breath, vowing not to leave until he found what he came for.