by Frank Morin
So he'd better get finding.
Connor applied quartzite to his nose, then wished he hadn't. Scents of mold and dust and dry rot assault his nostrils, along with the smells of wood, leather, and old cloth.
Then there was the liquid fuel.
He focused on that unexpected smell, trying to isolate it, but it was everywhere. In half a minute, Connor identified eighteen concealed caches of liquid fuel. It was a perfect trap. Any flame, triggered by a clumsy intruder and fueled by all that dry clutter, would consume the room in moments.
Connor took that as a good sign.
No one would risk such a fire unless they had something important to hide. Chances were slim that a Firetongue or Spitter would enter the room. Anyone else would be consumed, along with whatever secrets Hector was trying to conceal.
As Connor returned to the entrance, he wedged a piece of marble under his tongue. Sucking on it, he enjoyed the initial spicy burn. Time was fast slipping away, but his knowledge of Hector was the key, and he would not be denied again.
Standing on the shattered door in the entryway, he scanned the room again with enhanced vision, forcing himself to study the mind-numbing clutter. Old couches and chairs were piled in jumbles with tables and wardrobes bereft of drawers. Old books filled in the gaps, forming walls. Dust covered everything, looking undisturbed except where the fighting had knocked things over.
He looked farther, and was focusing so intently on seeing everything, that he almost missed the clue. Hector probably never even noticed the clutter. He would focus on his target from the first moment he entered.
Grateful that Hector's pride was such a constant, Connor crossed the room and slipped between a pair of tall wardrobes that formed an almost unbroken wall. Behind them, he entered a tiny, clear space, flanked by a jumble of chairs on one side and a pile of drab window covers on the other. The little space, near the center of the apartment, had been invisible from anywhere but the doorway.
At eye level, resting atop that pile of window blankets, he reached up and removed a dark green leather jacket, exactly the style Hector preferred to show off his granite-enhanced muscles. A small, wooden box lay concealed underneath. Unlike the clutter everywhere else, this box was lacquered and polished to a perfect shine.
He was about to pop the latch when he realized the placement of all those secret stashes of liquid fuel radiated outward from this spot. That tantalizing box was the bait and key to the entire trap.
The secret had to be close, but it wasn't in the box. The pile of linens under the box were useless, so he turned to study the wardrobes. They were covered in the dust that lay thick on everything, except for a single point of clean wood halfway down the rear panel of the left-hand one. Fingers trembling with anticipation, Connor pressed the spot, just as Hector must have done.
A secret door popped open and Connor peered inside. The compartment was small, containing nothing but a single leather pouch, about the size of a teacher portion from the daily rounds. Had he gone through so much trouble just to find Hector's stash of granite?
Connor extracted the little pouch and pulled open the drawstring. It did contain powder, but it wasn't familiar granite. By the pure, soft light of limestone, the powdered grains of sand looked purplish red and somehow sinister.
This had to be the secret.
Powdered stone.
Connor returned the dust to the bag and thought back to that crazy day when Hector had turned unclaimed. Just prior to changing into that rage monster, Hector had driven a hand into a pouch of powder. Connor had assumed he was absorbing his last portion of granite, but that wasn't right at all.
Jean was correct. Unclaimed were a lie, a lie fueled by a secret power stone. The magnitude of that revelation left Connor breathless. There were only nine power stones. That was a universally accepted truth.
It was just another part of the lie.
Were there other power stones? He thought back to diorite. Using his father's hammer, he'd triggered the vast explosion that had broken the mountain above Alasdair and released that flood. If diorite was also a power stone, why did no one know about it? Why not this purple powder? Why not others?
Connor tucked the pouch into his shirt and left Hector's rooms the way he came. As he was jogging up the central stair, he heard a commotion down below. Peering carefully over the edge, he glimpsed the Boulder he'd thrown out the window rushing upstairs at the head of a crowd of tough looking men.
Suppressing the urge to whistle a happy tune to himself, Connor returned to the roof and jumped off. Protected by granite, he rolled with the brutal impact and suffered no damage.
"Did you find somethings?" Gisela asked when he met up with her.
"I did," he grinned as they slipped away toward the inner gate. "I'll tell you and Ailsa about it in the morning."
Gisela frowned. "Why waiting?"
"I need some time to think. The night's already half over and I have to put in an appearance with my army early tomorrow."
"You shouldn't waiting," Gisela cautioned.
"Trust me."
After seeing her onto the road to the Sculpture House, he turned back into the inner city. He traversed half the Carraig with a spring in his step and was approaching the central keep when he was surprised to see Aifric walking in his direction.
The Healer didn't look surprised to see him.
"Connor, we need to talk."
Chapter 44
"Aifric, what are you doing out here so late?" Connor asked.
"I might ask you the same thing, but we both know the answer."
"We do?" Connor liked Aifric. She was one of the nicest people he knew, but he couldn't trust her with the incredible secret he'd just discovered. What did she think she knew?
"You're in league with General Kilian-Lian-Anxiety," Aifric said. "You're how Shona passes secret instructions to him."
"How did you know?" He'd never been so happy to hear someone so wrong.
"I pay attention. You're more than a simple linn, and you've been granted access to circles of influence beyond your station. That's why you got beat up so much."
"Why are you telling me this?" Connor asked.
She gave him a sad smile. "I like you, Connor, and I don't like what they're doing to you."
If she only knew.
"It's all right," he assured her. "Things are getting better."
She shook her head. "It's only the quiet before the storm."
"What do you mean?"
"The game is getting crazy," she said. "We won a great victory, but that's only going to raise the stakes. It's going to get ugly, I promise you. Very powerful people are growing desperate and they will not accept defeat without doing desperate things."
"I'm glad the general has you to help."
"I try, but Connor, you must find a way to extract yourself from involvement. I don't think I can protect you from what's coming."
"You have other sources, don't you?" Connor asked.
"Like I said, I pay attention."
"You should share what you know with the general."
She hesitated. "I'm not convinced the general is who he claims to be."
That was an understatement big enough to choke a torc.
"You should tell him anyway."
Aifric shook her head. "I'll deal with the general, Connor. I just want you to be safe."
"Thanks." He took her hand and gently squeezed it. "It's good to know I have friends here."
After she left, he wondered at the exchange. Had she been waiting for him? How could she know where he'd pass or that he'd be out so late? He rarely traveled that road, usually preferring the undercity.
Aifric was more than she pretended to be. He needed to find a way to pry that truth out of her, but should he do it as Connor or as the general?
As he walked toward the central keep, mulling over the questions, someone rose silently out of the earth right in front of him.
"Whoa!" Connor shouted, stumbling back from
Evander, trying to control a sudden spike of fear. Could Evander have discovered that he'd shared the forbidden secrets? Was he there to exact revenge?
Evander glanced after Aifric, who was no longer in sight, then turned toward Connor. "Darkness veils the face of purpose, but many walk the shadows."
Had he known she was there, waited for her to leave?
Connor fought down his fear and said, "Don't do that. You could give someone a heart stomp, popping up out of the ground like that."
"Shades of the past walk shadows and whisper truths that few have ears to hear," Evander said, his deep voice pitched low like the grinding of stones in a strong current.
Connor stifled a groan. He was really too tired to decipher Evander's cryptic speech. "My ears are pretty much not working right now, so I haven't heard anything."
He tried to walk around Evander, but the big man slid to the side without even taking a step. That was such an impressive move, Connor vowed to practice it, but doubted he could ever manage it on a cobbled street without breaking everything within twenty feet.
"Storm crows gather to feast upon the battlefield, but the strong heart must endure."
"I have no idea how to respond to that." Connor threw his hands out in surrender.
Evander gripped his shoulder, and the power of the earth flowed into him from the huge man, refreshing his mind and invigorating his soul. He gaped.
"How did you do that?"
"The slow drip of water from hanging stone will eventually fill even the deepest bucket."
"I don't have time to learn by bits and pieces," Connor protested. "Like you just said, the storm crows are gathering."
"And you must finish the race."
"Did you just speak plainly?" That was as scary as anything the big man had ever said.
"The mountain may withstand the assault of ages, but crumble in a single moment."
"You think time's short," Connor retorted. "I've got multiple armies planning to stomp mine flat, intrigue and spies everywhere, and random people trying to commit murder in the Carraig. Not to mention. . ."
He bit off the words he was about to speak. He'd almost talked about the unclaimed, but he didn't dare share that with anyone, especially not Evander.
The giant Sentry pressed a sausage-sized finger to Connor's shirt where the mystery powder was concealed. "The fortified stronghold falls not to a single assault, but relents under the combined might of attacks on all sides."
So much for keeping secrets.
"You've been seeking this too?" Connor withdrew the pouch from his shirt. He couldn't fight Evander, but would not give the whole thing to him.
"The craftsman builds a masterpiece with tools provided by others."
"I know you have your reasons," Connor said. "But don't pretend spoon feeding tidbits to Jean is enough."
Evander settled to one knee, bringing his face even with Connor's. He sighed, his black eyes boring into Connor's. "Know this, young one. Your hunt for truth is but part of a greater conflict that has crept through the shadows of ages."
Two plain sentences in as many minutes? Connor shivered under Evander's stare. They really were standing on the brink of open conflict.
Evander produced a tiny pouch and offered it. That, he could do. Connor carefully transferred a handful of the purplish powder to Evander's pouch, but retained the bulk for himself.
As he rose and tucked the pouch into a pocket of his immense black leather jacket, Evander said, "Duty is the shackle of honest hearts, but victory lies only at the end of the course set before the determined tread."
"And if I decide not to complete the Tir-raon?" Connor asked. "If I choose a different course based on the truth I've learned?"
"The fool celebrates ascending the foothills when the ultimate peak is still in sight."
Connor sighed. "Sometimes it's really exhausting talking like this."
Evander actually smiled. "The rope woven from many tiny strands holds fast against even the mightiest tempest."
"But the sweetbread that falls off the tray and gets kicked under the oven is eaten only after the rest are consumed," Connor retorted.
Evander paused and a frown flickered across his face. That was the most glorious expression Connor had ever seen. He'd actually stumped the big man for a second.
"That doesn't make any sense at all," Evander said.
"Think about how the rest of us feel all the time."
"Good Sentry speak does more than that." Evander shook his head. "Sunlight filtering through a cloudy sky is fractured into many bands, but is all the same light."
"I'll finish what I've started," Connor assured him. "But before I accept the ultimate victory, you and I need to have a long talk. I won't accept the life I'm getting forced into, not without a fight."
"Dross is cast off of the gleaming silver only through the touch of the refiner's fire," Evander said, clapping Connor on the shoulder with a hand as big as his mother's frying pan.
"And what happens when you get what you want?" Connor asked. "Will you kill me for knowing the truth about patronage and unclaimed?"
"The tree knows not to fear the avalanche, but claims the mountainside as its domain."
Was Evander threatening to be the avalanche, or was he planning for Connor to break another mountain? He glanced toward the peak of nearby Mount Murdo, lost in the late night darkness. He'd need a lot more than a diorite hammer for that one.
"Do you know what that powder does?" Connor asked.
"Suspicion, like the invisible canker, rots the foundation before bedrock can be made secure."
"I don't either," Connor admitted. "But if you figure it out, let me know. And stop delaying Jean's research. If we're part of some deeper geall you're running, you have to help us help you."
Without replying, Evander sank silently into the ground without even a rumble of moving earth. The cobbled street settled perfectly back into place behind him.
"I really need to learn how to do that," Connor muttered, resuming his march toward the keep.
He felt exhausted, but his mind was churning. He had to make sense out of it all, had to study Evander's words for hidden meanings that were surely embedded in them, but all he wanted was sleep.
First, he had to find a way to contact Ilse.
Chapter 45
"It's definitely a stone," Verena reported to Kilian when he entered the small workroom she and Hamish had spent the past couple of days working in. The little room was located in the wooden compound the rampagers had assaulted, and Kilian kept it under heavy guard, despite the fact that they had destroyed the entire rampager camp.
"You're certain?" he pressed.
Kilian still looked exhausted. Anton had somehow located him and carried his unconscious form to the top of the broken peak where Verena and Hamish had found them. Kilian hadn't awakened until they reached the army camp and the Healers had worked over him for an hour.
He had insisted he was fine, but they hadn't let him join them on the previous night's patrol. Alone, Verena had spied on the Obrioner camp. Hamish had spent the night swooping over the nearby passes, scouting for signs of additional rampagers. The risk was low, but they couldn't take any chances there might be other nests of monsters out there.
Kilian had said little about his ordeal or how he'd survived the raging elfonnel, but his eyes looked haunted. Verena hoped one day to hear the story. She felt a powerful urge to understand more about the elfonnel and the deeper magic that Kilian had used to give the elements life. If he could do so, who else knew the secret or possessed that power?
The entire valley that had once held the secret rampager camp was gone, replaced by a medium-sized mountain. The only thing they had salvaged was the sack of powder that was definitely not flour. They had been tasked with discovering exactly what it was and why Carrot Face had been so intent on destroying it.
"We're sure," Hamish said, standing and rubbing his back. "It passed the teeth grit test and everything."
"You didn't eat any?" Kilian exclaimed.
"Of course not," Hamish said. "I spit it all out."
"I made him rinse his mouth seven times," Verena added.
Kilian still didn't look happy. "It was reckless to try tasting it anyway."
"I didn't try opening its power," Hamish said. "With most powder, it's difficult, so I couldn't even accidentally do it." He looked disappointed.
"Don't stick it in your mouth again," Kilian ordered, holding Hamish's gaze until he nodded. "We must exercise extreme caution."
"I'll be careful," Hamish promised. "Besides, a single grain isn't going to do anything dangerous."
"We don't know that yet," Kilian snapped. "You saw how much the little I absorbed within the elfonnel affected me, even though I should have been insulated by the living flames. Please tell me your proof amounts to more than chewing on the powder."
"Of course it does," Verena said. She decided not to mention that she'd licked one tiny piece of powdered sand too. It was too small to get a sense of it, and it had tasted like charred dirt, so the test hadn't been useful.
She gestured to a custom set of goggles on the table. She'd spent the bulk of the previous day with Hamish designing them. Using similar principles to the long view goggles, this one focused on enhancing a close-up image to previously impossible levels. So she had dubbed them Close-View goggles. Of course, Hamish had wanted to first test it by shining a tight beam of limestone light up Verena's nose so he could get a glimpse of what nostrils really looked like on the inside.
She had refused. So they had tested it by looking inside each other's ears. Hamish had more earwax than she'd expected and, up close, it had looked even more disgusting, like the landscape of an alien planet. At least she hadn't seen tiny bugs or anything.
With great enthusiasm, he'd pronounced her ears equally disgusting.
When focused on the little purplish grains of charred powder, with the release rate of the quartzite blocks powering the goggles thrown wide open, they'd learned the truth. The sands were rock.
The experience of swooping her vision down and ever down onto the sand had been amazing. It had seemed as big as the boulder they'd slipped through. She'd sent for Kilian immediately.