The King's Craft (The Petralist Book 6)
Page 15
Verena waited until the conversation was winding down to pull Hamish aside. “Come find me after we finish here. There’s something I need to tell you.”
18
Mind Bomb
Connor strode with Verena along a gently curving path through one of the many parks dotting New Schwinkendorf. Young apple trees marched along either side and would eventually grow to provide shade and fruit. It was a beautiful morning, cool but hinting at approaching warmer days. The trees already had buds beginning to appear, and some of the lower ground cover was starting to turn green.
Verena’s hand felt warm in his, and he savored the rare quiet moment, just the two of them enjoying a late morning stroll. She wore her flying leathers, with her satchel hanging over one shoulder. He was just wearing sturdy cotton trousers, cut loose in the thighs in case he decided to frack later. He hadn’t bothered with a Boulder jacket since he didn’t expect to need much granite, although he had absorbed some earlier. All of his power stones hung at his belt, but he wasn’t actively tapping any of them. He’d downed a soapstone mixture after breakfast, but didn’t have active connections with any of his other tertiary stones.
It was rare to spend much time without tapping multiple power stones. Usually they were both so busy, they only found brief moments during meals or in the evenings. He’d jumped at the chance to spend the morning together and head south to the foothills for a picnic when she offered. For once, Kilian hadn’t assigned him a morning full of training exercises.
So why did he feel strangely grumpy? The more he thought about the beautiful weather and noted signs of impending springtime, the more he felt a growing anger that he struggled to keep out of his voice.
Verena must have noticed anyway, or felt the tension in his hands. While they walked, she had been updating him on all of the developments in their research teams. She seemed to know what everyone was doing, and they were doing a lot.
Her voice trailed off and she glanced at him, suddenly looking nervous. He was such an idiot.
“Connor, will you put your arm around me? I’m chilly. It’s still winter, after all,” she said.
He was happy to let her snuggle under his arm. She always felt perfect so close, and his grumpy mood faded some. Maybe he hadn’t slept enough the night before.
“What do you say we head out early and race to the foothills?” she asked.
“Sounds good to me. Where’s the Swift?” He bet she had already packed a lunch, and he seemed to need some quiet time away from the busy city. The park was a patch of calm, but he felt restless and cranky. For the first time he could remember, the thought of time alone with Verena didn’t fill him with joy.
She was a filthy Builder, after all.
Connor stopped on the cobblestones in the center of the path. Where had that thought come from? He felt deeply ashamed, but when he glanced at Verena, the thought returned, accompanied by a strange feeling of hostility.
“Connor, is something wrong?” she asked, pulling away and suddenly looking tense.
A bird chirped in a nearby tree and he spotted its nest. Anger bubbled up higher inside of him and he wanted to shout at her that she was the problem. No, what was he thinking?
“I’m not feeling great all of a sudden,” he admitted. “Maybe we should push the picnic to tomorrow?”
“No, I think we need to go have the picnic right now,” Verena said firmly, but she was looking increasingly nervous. Something was definitely wrong, but he couldn’t place it. His thoughts were starting to churn, his grumpiness increasing.
“Hey Verena! Connor, wait up!”
Nicklaus skidded to a halt beside them, his cheeks flushed from running with Wingrunner speed. Connor grinned to see him, but at the same time he wanted to push the boy away.
“Nicklaus, go find Christin,” Verena said calmly, but firmly. Connor didn’t see the boy’s governess anywhere. She was a Wingrunner too, so he must have lost her again. Usually that would make him smile, but he just felt disgusted.
Nicklaus rolled his eyes. “She’ll make me study math. Verena, can’t I come with you and Connor?”
“Not today,” she said, definitely sounding nervous. What was she hiding? What was she planning to do during the picnic? It was probably a vile Builder trick.
Connor paced away, rubbing hands across his face and tugging at his hair, trying to center his mind. What was he thinking? Why was he feeling so angry toward Verena and now toward Nicklaus?
He glanced to the opposite side of the little park and was surprised to see Aifric and Evander approaching fast. Aifric was running, probably with Rith or Mariora in command, while Evander simply slid along the ground beside her. Cobblestones flowed out of his way and returned to their previous position as if they’d never moved. It appeared the quiet morning he was trying to enjoy with Verena was about to end. That just made him grumpier than ever.
“There you are, Connor.”
He glanced back in surprise to see Shona jogging toward them. She wore tall, brown leather boots with a green skirt and blue blouse. Her waist-length wool jacket, dyed a slightly darker blue than her blouse, was buttoned only halfway up.
“This is not a good time,” Verena said as Shona slowed to a stop nearby.
“Don’t be cranky,” Shona responded, but her tone was light and friendly. She flashed a dazzling smile at Connor. “It’s too beautiful a morning to be angry. I heard the passes are nearly clear. I just love this time of year. Spring thaw is here.”
“No, you fool!” Verena shouted, but Connor barely heard.
He staggered as a hurricane-force rage erupted behind his eyes and plunged his mind into chaos. His vision blurred, and for a second his ears were inundated with a tumult of shrieking cries, as if every cat in the city got their tails stepped on at the same time. The scent of charred wood filled his nostrils, and he tasted filth, as if Hamish had offered him a sweetbread that he’d rubbed in a pig sty.
His thoughts raced, but he couldn’t seem to hear himself think. He should be afraid, but felt only unbelievable rage. It roared through him like living fires, even though he wasn’t tapping marble, and it vaporized his rational thoughts.
All that remained was rage and an unstoppable need to kill.
“Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”
The name should mean something, but it didn’t. The woman’s voice reached him as if from miles away. The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn’t recognize it. The sound of it stoked his rage and he blinked open his eyes. They hurt. His muscles hurt. His mind hurt, and the pain magnified the towering fury consuming him.
She stood before him, her disgusting face twisted in concern. A vile Builder! Somehow he recognized her evil, concealed under that facade of concern. It was like a dark shadow clinging to her. She was a monster who tainted the world with her every breath. The pain was her fault, and it wouldn’t end until he killed her.
He shouted so loud his voice cracked. It wasn’t loud enough, but he didn’t want to waste time reaching for a piece of quartzite. First, snap her filthy neck. He tapped granite, his muscles hardening, and lashed out toward the hated Builder.
Somehow he missed. She was standing right there, her repugnant eyes filled with tears, as if she realized she didn’t deserve to live. But he couldn’t quite reach her. His hands slid past her neck, so tantalizingly close, but somehow unable to latch on.
Instead of retreating, the Builder slipped under his arm. She drew a tiny knife and slashed at his midsection.
He wanted to laugh at her folly. She could cut him with that useless little knife all day and accomplish nothing. She hesitated for only a second before trying to roll away, but the brief pause was too long.
He snapped a fist out and caught her on the shoulder, knocking her tumbling across the path. She barely missed a tree and slid a dozen feet across the early spring grasses. Only then did he realize in her other hand she held his belt with the pouches of all of his power stones. That’s what she’d paused to cut.
Water clubbed him in the side of the head, knocking him right into the tree that she’d missed. The tree cracked, and he rebounded off, spinning to locate the new threat.
A little boy. The same dark shadow of Builder filth clung to him too. He looked frightened but determined, with water and fire crouched protectively beside him like nualls ready to spring.
The boy said, “I won’t let you hurt Verena.”
Another woman approached, arms raised in a sign of peace, her expression dumbfounded. “What’s going on Connor?”
Behind her, two others were approaching fast. They’d reach him in a couple of seconds. None of those three were filled with Builder taint, so he ignored them. He must rid the world of the Builder plague.
“I will purge them,” he growled, not taking his eyes from the boy as he tapped soapstone. He felt the boy controlling the elements. Such an abomination to combine a Dawnus with a Builder. He could not allow it to stand.
The boy snapped the water toward him, but he ripped it away. The boy gasped in shock, but he used that water to slam into the boy’s chest with so much force he would have shattered every rib if the boy hadn’t also been tapping granite. The blow catapulted the boy off his feet and sent him tumbling right out of the garden. He crashed into a cobbler’s shop and disappeared inside amid an explosion of shoes.
He would finish him in a moment. First he had to destroy the Builder woman.
Earth seized his feet and locked him in position. He growled with fury. One of the newcomers was interfering. The fool. Friends of Builders had to die too.
The vile Builder might have stolen most of his power stones, but he always kept a piece of slate in his boot. The earth began ripping at his boots, trying to strip the stone away, but he connected with Earth and slammed his will into the ground beneath him.
The man was there, his will like a blazing light. He might be no Builder, but he must die too. Pushing the stranger away, he broke the earth off of his feet and turned to face him.
Just in time for the other woman to crash-tackle him to the ground.
The two of them struck hard, the unexpected blow rattling him enough that the man took control of the earth again. Ground seized his limbs, holding him down while the woman straddled his waist, grabbed his face with her hands, and leaned over him, her big brown eyes wide and glowing with an inner light.
She planned to attack him with chert. So be it.
He tapped chert too. A piece of it was touching the skin of his neck, part of the necklace he always wore. Instantly the connection snapped into place, and she was ready. Her will slammed into him and drove him back into himself. He seized the filthy Builder friend’s mind and tore at it as they plunged together into blackness.
From far away, he heard her begin to scream.
19
Some Girls Are Downright Scary
Connor seethed with rage. Somehow he recognized his name, and the fact felt important, but he was too angry to focus on it. Fury boiled through him like the purifying fires of the marble threshold. It stripped away all other thoughts, all of his memories, and everything but one overwhelming truth.
The Builders had lied to him.
They were evil, deceptive creatures that had played him like an ignorant linn. Every single one of them had to die.
The problem was, he could no longer see. All of his senses had contracted into his head, and that just made him angrier than ever. He tried to fight whatever that woman had done to him. She seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn’t quite place her. It didn’t matter. She had to die too.
A splitting headache seared his mind, and Connor cried out. When he blinked open his eyes, the black void was replaced by blinding light. His surroundings seemed to grow out of the air on every side, solidifying in a single, startling heartbeat. He stood in a spacious apartment that seemed incredibly familiar.
A black-garbed figure crouched over a person that he realized with a start looked exactly like him. He was lying on the floor, looking surprised and a little panicked, as he struggled weakly against his assailant.
She leaned over him, dagger poised for the killing blow, and he asked weakly, “Aifric?”
The word tugged at his mind, but slipped away like a fish sliding back into that river he used to know the name of.
She gasped and pulled away the loose flaps of his mask. “Connor?”
“Hi.”
“But you’re . . .”
“If you don’t kill me for a minute, I can explain.”
With a start, Connor realized he was seeing a memory, but it was as if he stood in his mind as an observer instead of as himself. Someone was messing with his mind. That was weird, and it made him angrier than ever. The whispers of recognition that had been drifting so close to consciousness faded under the torrent of rage.
The black-garbed woman turned toward him and met his angry gaze. “Connor, remember me. This was the first time I spared your life.”
Connor snarled and lunged. This woman was an invader. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. She had been in that memory before, but now she was back as an outsider just as he was. If he could snuff the life from her, he’d return to himself.
Before he could cross the distance, another woman appeared beside the first. She looked identical, somehow more identical than if they were twins. She was dressed in a white healer’s robe and smiled warmly at him.
“Connor, how many times do I have to heal you?”
Connor tackled her.
He struck so hard that they smashed right through the wall of the apartment. She felt real, but somehow dissolved under his hands, and he stumbled into the next room. That room contained an entirely different memory. He found himself on a vast plain south of Altkalen, facing a river of lava, while opposing armies advancing against each other across a narrow causeway of earth.
In front of him, the same woman, dressed for battle, was touching steel to Connor’s memory form. She touched it to his throat, then his bicep, then his inner thigh, and finally pressed the pommel to his eye.
Then she turned to him and said, “Remember me, Connor. I touched steel to every kill location on your body, but chose to spare you.”
Connor tried to tap his affinities, but could not seem to reach them. The fact did not bother him tremendously. He would just crush her pretty skull with his bare hands.
He closed on her, but again the white-robed Healer appeared beside the first, looking undamaged, if a little annoyed. Other women started appearing, spreading to either side of the first two.
They were all identical.
They dressed differently, and he could tell some were warriors, while others were academics. They all faced him and said in unison, “Connor, remember me.”
It was like he had opened a rat’s nest of brown-haired women inside of his mind. He planned to remove them all.
Connor lunged.
The black-garbed version of the legion of women pointed her dagger at him and said, “Okay ladies. We gave him a chance. Take him.”
They swarmed at him like a tide of angry cats. They moved fast, without hesitation, and leaped upon him in an overwhelming flood.
Connor met them with all of his fury. He raged and struck with thunderous force. They tried to pin down his arms, but he fought so fiercely, his rage like a living thing driving him on. There in his mind he was the ruler, not her, and he would make her rue the day that she invaded.
With every punch, he knocked women back, but they surged in again every time. He shook his right arm free and clobbered one of the women so hard in the side of the head that her body shuddered and turned to smoke. That woman dissipated from his mind, and the other women around him staggered, as if they somehow shared the pain of her destruction.
That gave him the opening he needed. With a roar, Connor ripped his other arm f
ree and launched into the women, smashing his fists into one pretty face after another. With every blow, another foul enemy collapsed, dissolved into mist, and faded from his mind.
The damage he was inflicting on their companions seemed to rattle and slow them. Their overwhelming numbers no longer mattered as he beat his way through their ranks, aimed toward the white-robed Healer and the black-garbed assassin. Somehow he recognized that much about them, although he still did not care to remember their identities. He would destroy them all.
Those two women shared a worried look as Connor methodically beat down their companions. The Healer said, “This is not working.”
“Obviously not.”
“Phase two?”
“Phase two,” the assassin said with grim resolution.
The two of them launched at Connor, while the other four remaining women seized his arms, struggling with renewed vigor to try to hold him back. He slammed his forehead into the face of one of the women so hard the blow rattled him. It smashed her face and she dissolved. Ripping his left arm out of the momentarily slack grip of the other woman on that side, he beat her head in too.
The Healer lunged, but he tripped her with a kick. With a shout of triumph, he stomped on her face before she could rise. Like the others, she dissolved and disappeared.
The assassin tackled him before he could regain his balance. The two remaining women helped her push him down. He struggled mightily against them, but for a second they held him.
She plunged her dagger into his right eye.
Connor screamed, and everything went black.
20
A Short Reprieve
Connor blinked and groaned against a splitting headache. He felt sore and wrung out as if the strongest Boulder washerwoman in the world had twisted him like a shirt in the laundry.
The second thing he realized was that he was standing at the edge of the precipitous drop of Badurach Pass. He was lying at the top of the high, steep-sided mountain. He had no idea how he got there and frowned as he glanced out at the panoramic vista on all sides, with clear views into both Granadure and Obrion. Despite the altitude, the sun felt warm, and the land that spread below looked resplendent, draped with summertime greenery.