The King's Craft (The Petralist Book 6)

by Frank Morin

  Verena appreciated his effort to speak clearly. “So if we’re right, in order to loan a Petralist power, the person loaning it needs to be ascended and have affinities with both sandstone and obsidian.”

  Shona grimaced and glanced at her palm where she’d licked the lamacal a moment ago. “So we can’t test our new theory until Connor returns.”

  Verena repeated softly, “We need Connor.”

  She needed Connor on so many levels, and she hated knowing he was on a dangerous mission without her. She decided that when she saw him again, they needed to talk very seriously about formalizing their courtship. She needed Connor and felt a growing need to publicly announce their betrothal. Either of them, or both of them, might die in the coming war. That fact made Connor hesitate, but it made her feel more anxious than ever to bind their futures together.

  As soon as he returned.

  53

  A Glimmer of Light

  Connor tried to match Kilian’s relaxed pose as Hamish carefully guided the Hawk down toward the huge pile of shadowy rubble that had been the Jagdish mountains. They were half a mile out and still a mile above the rubble, moving slowly, scanning constantly.

  Night had fallen, and although the sky was clear, a pall of dust still hung over the destroyed area, leaving it in a hazy darkness that was hard to penetrate, even with quartzite-enhanced vision.

  Connor felt so tense, it was hard to breathe. He was tapping every tertiary affinity except for serpentinite, which he still couldn’t reach. He tried not to focus on that loss. Every time he did, he felt like panicking. He clung to the thin hope that they could find something useful in the ruins of the Mhortair city that could help them understand the mystery.

  His granite curse skittered along his torso, a comforting, constant itch. He’d also absorbed some pumice, which might offer a critical advantage if they found the queen lurking in wait. Obsidian and basalt powder were stuck to his thigh battle plates, so he could switch to those almost instantly if he needed to.

  He was also tapping chert as a secondary and was ready to add blind coal if needed. He was primed for battle and ready to throw everything at the queen if she showed herself. The fact that the elements in his mind seemed calm helped him believe that maybe the queen had left after all.

  “Nice and easy,” Kilian whispered, the tension in his voice belying his outward calm.

  They had circled high and slow and wide around Jagdish all afternoon, scanning for the queen or any other threat. They had seen nothing.

  She might have left. If she’d flown away, she would have been long gone before they began their turn and started scanning for her. She also could have moved into the rubble to search for survivors, to murder anyone who might have survived in the shielded caverns beneath the mountains.

  Student Eighteen had agonized over the fact that they might be leaving the last of her people to die with their slow, cautious approach, but Kilian would not change the plan without good reason. Connor agreed. Rushing in blindly would most likely get them all killed.

  They hadn’t spotted her, nor had they spied any signs of life among the rubble. If people had survived, they would be trapped underneath tons of debris. Even if they had Sentries with them, Connor doubted they would risk emerging any time soon.

  If the queen had remained in the area, she would surely find and destroy any survivors. Had she spotted the Hawk, realized their intended purpose? She could have concealed herself among the rubble, heavily shielded, waiting to strike when they finally ventured within range.

  “Go now,” Student Eighteen urged. She was peering out the left side window. Her tears had faded to simmering anger. A couple times, Connor heard her growling softly under her breath, her lips moving silently, as if her head crew were holding a conference. She looked eager for a chance to strike at the monster who had destroyed her people.

  “We’re almost there,” Kilian said, not tearing his eyes from the viewscreen. “All shields active?” he asked Hamish for the fifth time.

  “Quartzite and pumice, with blind coal on standby,” He said instantly, his face tense, hands flickering across various controls as he brought them in slowly. He was prepared to unleash every weapon if the queen appeared, but this close, their primary defense would lie with Connor and Kilian.

  Even though the Hawk was surrounded by a softly glowing nimbus of their quartzite shielding, Hamish had dropped the inner window shields so they could use their tertiary affinities without hindrance, if needed.

  They had risked landing half an hour ago, five miles out, and Connor had scanned the area with earth senses. He’d been surprised when Aifric joined him. One of the few women in her head that he hadn’t gotten to know very well had assumed the control position.

  Ennlin was a skilled Sapper. He realized with a shock that of all the women he knew in that head, he hadn’t met any Sentries before. The other women tended toward tertiaries with quartzite, marble, and soapstone.

  Unlike most other earth walkers, Ennlin seemed extremely high-strung. She also had an exceptional dependence on cheese, and had exited the Hawk already munching on a piece of extra sharp cheddar.

  When he asked her about it, she gave him a cool look and said, “Mister Five lost focus while giving me life with Student Eighteen. The process proved . . . difficult. This is how I cope. Have a problem with that?”

  He’d wisely said, “No. I love cheese.”

  Neither of them had sensed the queen or any overt signs of life, but had been too far out to search for subtle shields. Ennlin had said, “Curds hold the seeds of life, but a stone flung from a high hill still disappears into a pond.”

  He still hadn’t figured out that one, but was happy the convoluted Sentry speak had seemed to calm her nerves. With a little more confidence, they’d decided to attempt to land on the rubble.

  Now in the Hawk, Kilian rose to a crouch and said, “Hover here. Once Connor and I go, prepare to engage if she attacks.”

  “Sculpted scone,” Hamish acknowledged instantly, not looking away from his instruments and the big front window. Three separate viewscreens were active, showing views in front, directly beneath, and slightly behind them.

  “Ready?” Connor asked Student Eighteen, who was donning the descent vest they’d pulled from storage earlier.

  “I’ll hit her from above while you distract her,” she promised, her hand moving to the hilt of one of her daggers.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Kilian glanced at Connor, who nodded. It was time. He took a deep breath, and his tension faded to deep concentration, as it so often did when the moment for action arrived. The waiting was worse. Now the tension would just get in the way.

  Without another word, Kilian rolled forward right through the unshielded window. Connor jumped after, and the two of them fell toward the shadowy mountain of rubble.

  For several long seconds, they dropped silently, the only sound the rush of wind in Connor’s ears. He was wearing a pair of Builder flying goggles to help shield his eyes from the dust, with a mini-hub strapped to his armored right forearm, already set to a paired speakstone in the Hawk. He breathed shallow, not wanting to draw in too much of the dust-laden air and start coughing.

  The dust smelled of broken stone, which was usually a scent that reminded him of happy memories in Alasdair visiting the quarry or his father in the Powder House. It seemed wrong that such a familiar scent should now be associated with devastation and mass murder.

  The weight of his custom armor didn’t help as much as usual. No amount of armor would help if the queen was lying in wait. Still, wearing the armor that Verena had given him helped him feel close to her, and that helped calm his nerves even more. He would not fail her.

  About a hundred feet above the jumbled pile of broken rubble, Connor drew upon Air. She responded instantly, and winds rushed in around him, slowing him to a stately descent.

  Dropping through the swirling clouds of debris gave the scene a surreal appe
arance. Separated from the hum of the Hawk’s thrusters, for the first time Connor could hear the disaster. The entire mountain seemed to groan as stones and earth continued to settle and shift. Occasional sharp reports of rocks falling or wood snapping punctuated the darkness with foreboding reports. He shivered.

  Kilian waited until the last possible second. Just before getting splattered on the rocks, twin jets of white-hot fire erupted from his feet. He slowed enough to land on the tallest rock in a crouch. Kilian kept the flames whirling around him, ready to strike.

  Connor landed fifty feet away and instantly tapped slate, questing out for enemies. He didn’t find one.

  He found four.

  Connor spun to his left. “Contact!”

  Kilian cast flames in the indicated direction, illuminating the broken landscape of jumbled stones. Four figures emerged from behind large fragments of rubble. They were spread out in a loose semi-circle among the rubble, slightly lower than Connor’s position. About ten yards apart, they all dressed in leathers colored with blends of tans and grays that seemed to meld with the shadows.

  “It’s not the queen,” Connor said, elemental affinities poised to strike.

  Student Eighteen landed on a fairly flat chunk of stone between him and Kilian, slightly closer to the unknown people. Her voice was filled with joy. “Wait! They’re Mhortair!”

  Connor relaxed, but then wondered if that was such a good idea. The Mhortair looked stern, dangerous. Their leader was a mature woman, tall and slender, who radiated confidence like a Blade. Her straight, brown hair fell only to her shoulders and was pulled back from her face by simple leather cord.

  The other men, standing deeper in the shadows, were harder to make out. The leader stepped closer and raised a hand in a sign of peace.

  “Is that you, daughter of the hidden people?”

  That was a title Connor had not heard. It was very good. He took it as a good sign that they were speaking instead of attacking.

  “Mistress Four, we came to help.” Student Eighteen dropped to one knee and spoke rapidly in a beautiful, singsong language that Connor recognized as Havaen, which the Mhortair called the language of breezes. He had heard it spoken only a couple of times and had no idea what she was saying.

  Mistress Four, another of those odd titles. It suggested she was a member of the kill council. She deliberately turned toward Kilian, who still stood wreathed in flames, and gave him a formal, short bow.

  Kilian nodded in response and spoke briefly in Havaen. Mistress Four and her men couldn’t conceal their surprise. She said, “We received no reports that you spoke our language.”

  “I was there when Mhortair developed it.”

  By the shocked looks on the other three soldiers’ faces, the knowledge that Kilian had known and trained under Mhortair was not a well-known fact.

  Hamish brought the Hawk in low, flaring nearby, weapons pointed at the Mhortair. He waved from his seat and called, “Glad to see some of you survived.”

  Mistress Four said, “We know you, Builder. You are a friend of the Mhortair, one who has stood in battle against the Dread Queen, the one who saved our daughter from destruction. If only we could have saved our people today in like manner.”

  Her expression clouded with grief. The other three soldiers shifted along the rough terrain to draw closer to her.

  Hamish gasped and exclaimed, “Daulah?”

  One of the soldiers, a short, stocky fellow who radiated confidence, took a step forward and spoke in perfect Obrioner. “I am Commander Six. Daulah was my younger brother.”

  “He could’ve been your twin. I still have nightmares sometimes about that day in Donleavy when he attacked the queen with that whip sword of his. Snick snick snick, and just like that she was falling in pieces.” Hamish snapped his fingers to punctuate the words.

  “If only we could have closed with her today, we could have cut her into smaller pieces,” Commander Six promised.

  Kilian dropped off the stone he’d been standing on and approached them a few paces. “We don’t know how she struck your people, but we came to look for survivors.”

  “And for the key to ascension,” Mistress Four added, looking at Connor. “On any other day, the presence of Blood of the Tallan among us would be met with battle.” As she spoke, her men regarded Connor coldly. He recognized the look of killers deciding whether or not to strike.

  So he interjected, “Then perhaps some good can come of our meeting today. I am not your enemy.”

  Mistress Four regarded him for a long moment, and his tension grew. It was insane to think they might have to fight to the death against these few survivors.

  Finally she nodded. “We need every ally in these difficult times. Jagdish is gone, the kill council sundered, so the decision falls to me. I welcome you to our cause.”

  Connor relaxed, but felt a flicker against his mind. Mistress Four was touching him with chert. His own affinity was already active, so he felt the connection.

  Instead of fighting it, he met her gaze and lowered his defenses. “See my thoughts. I am not your enemy. Queen Dreokt threatens all of us, and we represent a great coalition assembled to destroy her.”

  She spoke aloud. “Very well, Mister Connor. We will join your effort to destroy the dread queen.”

  He grinned. “Just call me Connor.”

  Commander Six and the other Mhortair stiffened, and Student Eighteen gasped. “Connor! Don’t ever correct a member of the kill council. She just paid you great honor.”

  “I don’t need honor. I need help, and together we need to see if anyone else survived.”

  Mistress Four surprised him by smiling and gesturing her men to relax. “We only recently returned. From what I’ve seen, all other kill squads were located and destroyed by Queen Dreokt before she left.”

  “You saw her leave?” Kilian asked.

  She nodded. “Flew away to the south hours ago.”

  “Cackling like a lunatic,” Commander Six added with a growl.

  “Do you know if anyone survived under the mountain?” Student Eighteen asked.

  “We have not investigated yet. We spotted your craft and waited in case you were allied with the dread queen. She can pick truths from even well-trained minds, and we could not risk knowledge of survivors getting stolen from us.”

  “Did Mister One contact you before the queen struck? We were in communication with him, trying to coordinate a counter-attack,” Connor said.

  She nodded. “That he chose to ally with you was part of why we did not attack when you first landed.”

  “That would have been a bad move,” Kilian said simply. “Are any of you Sentries?”

  The men looked like they’d rather fight Kilian than share information, but Mistress Four said, “One of my men and I are both Sappers.”

  Connor figured at least one of them had to be. Otherwise they would not have been able to hide from the queen or conceal themselves from his earlier scan.

  He was relieved that they hadn’t landed in the middle of a death battle. He said, “Let’s see if we can find your people.”

  Hopefully they would not only find mass graves.

  54

  Focus on What You Have Left, Not What You’ve Lost

  Connor tapped slate. Earth looked annoyed as he surveyed the broken landscape. He seemed to be sulking about the fact that so much damage was done to his domain by a lesser element. Connor wished he could ask him about it.

  Earth didn’t resist Connor’s call, and the connection came immediately. Standing there on top of the pile of broken rubble, questing down into it with his earth senses, everything felt wrong. Ancient stone was shattered, mixed with earth, jumbled together in an unruly mess. He could sense Earth’s displeasure.

  The first priority was to make sure none of them broke a leg on the uneven terrain, and to provide a level landing platform for the Hawk. Connor grasped the earth around them and gave it a tug.

  The ground shifted beneath them, bits of
stone realigning and earth compacting. A fresh cloud of dust rose off the ground, and the earth groaned as it shifted.

  “What’s going on?” Commander Six exclaimed, hands going to his belt.

  “Connor is securing this area. Stand down,” Mistress Four said calmly.

  “Sorry. Should have warned you,” Connor said. They were still barely allies, and any misunderstanding could result in precipitous violence.

  It took only another moment to flatten and settle the ground at the top of the rubble mountain. Connor formed a level area about fifty yards square. It would probably hold for a while, but would no doubt get broken up as the rest of the mountain continued to settle.

  Hamish lowered the Hawk to the ground as Connor focused his earth senses deeper. Far beneath them, he sensed bits and pieces of the city. Every building had shattered, then tons of debris cascaded down over it, but he still felt vestiges of the human construction, like ghosts languishing underground.

  Every time he walked with the earth, he picked up hints of taste. Good, solid earth often tasted like fresh bread, flavored with spices from plants and minerals. The broken Jagdish mountain tasted like burnt toast, old and dry and brittle.

  Surprisingly, he found a couple sizable open pockets within the rubble, formed when large stones had fallen together. Nothing living had survived in them, and he started fearing that he’d find only bones of the dead in his search.

  As his senses spread farther through the broken mountain, he found a couple underground streams, their passage blocked, waters pooling and seeking release from imprisonment. He quested farther still, pushing his senses deeper.

  He rarely pushed so deep into the earth. Most of his practice with slate was for fighting, so usually he focused on the top layers of the ground. He had never realized that since his ascension he could extend his senses far deeper than before. In any other circumstance, it would have been really fun.