The Queen's Quarry

by Frank Morin

  Not when they heard about the dread Queen Dreokt’s return.

  As soon as the last signature was dry on the paper and congratulatory handshakes shared around the room, Connor asked, “Shona, have you found your father yet?”

  “Why, so you can kill him?” Shona asked, one fine eyebrow raised, her tone carefully neutral.

  “Dying is something he’ll get around to soon enough.” He didn’t bother responding to the silent offer he read in her eyes. She’d flat-out told him she’d help assassinate her father if he’d marry her so they could rise to power together. Her unwavering conviction of the rightness of her claim to rule would be admirable if it wasn’t so psycho.

  Rory said, “Enough talk of dying, lad. The latest report claimed that Queen Dreokt showed up in Donleavy and seized the throne yesterday.”

  Tomas, who stood with Cameron on either side of the door spoke up. “I heard King Turriff and his family surrendered power without a fight.”

  Cameron grunted, his ugly face turned uglier with a scowl. “That ain’t right. Even if she’s his upteenth grandmother, one has to defend their rights.”

  Lord Flichity glowered. “Watch your tongues, fools. We don’t share rumors about our king with the enemy.”

  Rory gestured toward the outer wall of the office that shook slightly under the howling wind. “No one is attacking anyone through this mess.”

  Kilian said, “Invading Obrion is not our concern. You have bigger problems.”

  “You know about her, don’t you?” Shona asked, studying Kilian closely.

  Connor nearly blurted out, She’s his mother, after all. But realized they didn’t know, and Kilian might not want them to.

  “I know her,” Kilian said with a grimace. “She is the reason you don’t need to fear us.”

  “Because she could drive you out?” Lord Flichity guessed eagerly.

  “No you fool, because she is completely insane. She’s totally unbalanced, but also immensely powerful. You have no concept of the destruction she’s about to unleash upon you all.”

  Shona looked shaken. “My father is still with her. That’s about the only thing that’s clear.”

  Connor asked, “How could she just walk into Donleavy and take the throne? Aren’t there defenses in place to protect King Turriff?”

  “There should be. He wouldn’t just step down, not without some kind of argument,” Shona conceded.

  “She is the rightful queen,” Lord Flichity declared, and actually tipped his nose up a bit, as if that might make his idiocy sound more impressive.

  Rory said, “But she’s been in elemental hibernation for centuries. King Turriff is no fool. He might have ceded to her out of fear, but he would have tried to arrange to remain as her regent to assist with the transition, or something. We’ve heard nothing of the sort.”

  “It’s worse than that. From what I heard, he not only surrendered the throne, but she’s taken the entire royal family as her personal servants,” Shona said with a grimace.

  Lord Flichity spat, “Simply shameful. The man has no dignity.”

  “Probably worse than that,” Kilian said. “What exactly did the report say? Any detail could prove helpful.”

  Lord Flichity snapped, “To you! But we’re not allies. Why is it that I alone seem to remember this?”

  “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t see there are better options available,” Connor suggested.

  Rory waved Flichity to silence and gestured at the treaty they just signed. “We have a peace accord in place. All things considered, I recommend you convince yourself we can trust it, and that perhaps working together we can avert a greater disaster.”

  Lord Flichity muttered under his breath. Connor tapped quartzite in time to catch the word, “Fool.”

  He decided Lord Flichity needed close watching. He seemed far too similar to Dougal, if not half so clever.

  Shona said, “The most reliable report I received from my father wasn’t very long, nor did he go into great detail. He stated the queen reclaimed her throne, that he served as her closest advisor, and the King Turriff and his entire family now also served her. The queen called them the only worthy servants to her rule.”

  Tomas grunted. “You’d think with as much sleep as she’s gotten, she’d be a little less abrasive.”

  “Maybe she’s like those Striders. Make them sit still too long and they go wild,” Cameron suggested.

  Kilian said, “She has used the term ‘worthy servant’ in the past, but only for those whose loyalty remained absolute.”

  “The king’s honor is impeachable,” Lord Flichity declared.

  “But she could never trust his loyalty, not completely,” Shona said with a frown.

  Kilian said solemnly, “I suspect your King Turriff and his family are not the same people you knew.”

  “What do you mean?” Rory asked with a frown.

  “She has the power to influence the minds of those around her, and her technique is the mental equivalent to a sledgehammer. A resisting mind is like a piece of hard stone.” He glanced at Connor. “What happens when you strike a rock with a sledgehammer?”

  “It breaks.”

  The warm room suddenly felt cold.

  4

  The Power of Food Diplomacy

  Hamish sat at the high table at the front of a huge barn converted into an assembly and feasting hall at Emmerich township. He shared the long table with the leaders of both Emmerich and Alasdair. The large building still smelled like hay, potatoes, and beets, which had only been cleared out the day before.

  The enormous barn was packed with people, both the locals of Emmerich who had survived the unexpected attack by the fire-bound elfonnel, as well as all the displaced villagers from Alasdair. The two groups were roughly equivalent in size and sat in distinct groups on opposite sides of the central aisle running down the room.

  They regarded each other with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. The low murmur of hundreds of voices in two different languages mixed far more freely than their owners.

  Hamish decided before the next feast he would shift tables around to remove that center aisle. That might make it easier to begin integrating the groups. He had only arrived at Emmerich with the refugees from Alasdair the day before. People in both countries were raised to mistrust and even hate each other, and here he was trying to get these two groups to live and work together in peace.

  No problem.

  The challenges they faced plagued Hamish’s every waking moment and nearly robbed him of his appetite. When Connor suggested he take the lead in the effort and prove it was possible, Hamish had agreed with his normal good cheer.

  Inside, he’d wanted to shout at Connor that he was cracked.

  In his defense, Connor had a lot on his mind. Verena was still lying unconscious and no one knew if she’d ever awaken and recover. Connor also had all that affinity training to focus on with Kilian, and as much as he tried not to share his worry, Hamish had seen how much the transformation into that horrible rage monster had affected Connor.

  And then there was the whole revolution thing Connor kept talking about. Yes, it was necessary. No, there was no one else who could do it. And of course now with the dread risen from her granite tomb, Obrion would surely be thrown into chaos. That might present the perfect opportunity for the Guardians to throw off the shackles of lies that the Petralist high houses used to keep them in a state of ignorance and slavery.

  Hamish understood all that, probably better than Connor or Kilian gave him credit for. But while they were focusing on the high-level plans and deep, arcane secrets no one else could touch, Hamish worried about all the things they hadn’t considered yet.

  As he scanned the long barn full of nervous villagers, he tried to enjoy the fact that they’d made it so far alive and all together. That alone was a miracle, but perhaps the greatest challenges lay ahead.

  How would war and revolution affect hundreds of other villages like Alasdair? They couldn
’t resettle all of Obrion in Emmerich Valley.

  Hamish did hope he could show that the people of the two nations could get along. They could take the first small steps in demonstrating to the world that change was possible.

  All Hamish had to do was help break through centuries of prejudice. If only those five tons of bacon hadn’t been lost and buried with Alasdair. That stash alone could have engendered tremendous goodwill. That was the kind of international diplomacy that everyone could understand.

  Lord Wenzel, the lord of Emmerich, who sat at the center of the high table to Hamish’s left, stood. The low rumble of hundreds of whispered conversations immediately faded to silence.

  The last day had been extremely busy as the folks from Alasdair, under the enthusiastic direction of Hendry and Lilias, pitched in to help their hosts. Together they worked clearing the rubble from the elfonnel attack, rebuilding broken homes, and trying to resettle an entire town. Nothing helped build bridges better than actually building bridges. And houses.

  Thankfully a Sapper had already been dispatched from General Wolfram to help, along with a squad of Rumbler workmen. With their enhanced strength the work was progressing very quickly. The Sapper had already raised numerous earthen buildings. They were actually a lot more comfortable and warm than Hamish had feared. Without that assistance, he doubted the folks from Alasdair would have met such a warm welcome. The resources of Emmerich would have been stretched beyond their capacity.

  Lord Wenzel spoke, his baritone voice echoing well through the cavernous barn. Unlike the weak Lord Gavin of Alasdair, the tall Lord Wenzel radiated a sense of confident authority. His graying hair and manicured beard added to the impression of a man in charge.

  “My friends and my people, with the Tallan’s blessing, we can enjoy this feast and each other’s company in safety. It is with great enthusiasm that I look to the future. Despite the trials we have all faced in recent days, it is clear that together we can not only survive, but thrive.”

  The little speech was met with a ripple of applause from the Grandurians, but looks of confusion from the folks of Alasdair. None of them spoke Grandurian yet, although Hamish was already working with Lord Wenzel’s family to teach them.

  Lord Wenzel smoothly transitioned to Obrioner and repeated the same opening remarks. Despite an obvious ripple of revulsion from the Alasdairians at the mention of the Tallan’s blessing, Hendry and Lilias led the applause from where they sat to Hamish’s right at the high table.

  Another man and his wife sat on the opposite side of Lord Wenzel and Lady Theda. Merten was the Grandurian equivalent to the Ashlar. In Granadure the title was Quader, pronunced kva-de. He was a solid, dependable man, so much like Hendry that Hamish dared feel confident they might just figure out how to coexist.

  Theda and Lilias had already begun organizing their women into a joint organization. Their efficient leadership could rival the best military officers Hamish had met.

  The Obrioners clearly appreciated hearing their native tongue directly from Lord Wenzel, and Hamish was grateful that he made the effort to include them. He could have asked Hamish to interpret. His Obrioner was good but not great. Many people felt self-conscious about speaking a non-fluent tongue, especially in front of a large group of native speakers who couldn’t help but recognize the thick accent.

  All of Lord Wenzel’s family spoke at least a little Obrioner. Hamish was grateful that they seemed eager to help lead language lessons for both the newcomers and their own townsfolk.

  Lord Wenzel launched into only a brief monologue, showing great restraint for a lord. He seemed to understand that remarks made before a feast needed to be short. Otherwise the food would create a distraction that even the most ardent supporters would have a hard time ignoring.

  When he finished, Lord Wenzel raised his hands again and said loudly, “Let the feasting begin!”

  Everyone dug in with enthusiasm. Although the range of foodstuffs available for the feast had been slim, the quantities were plentiful. Lilias and the women of Alasdair had done a remarkable job creating familiar Obrioner food out of the local Grandurian fare.

  Hamish noted that the food being passed around the heavy feasting tables was as segregated as the people and their languages. He leaned a bit closer to Hendry and Lilias and asked, “What do you think about sharing the food across the aisle?”

  Hendry said, “I thought that’s what they were doing already.”

  Lilias poked him in the ribs. “He means sampling each others’ dishes. We do need to figure out how to appreciate each other’s cooking sooner rather than later.”

  Hamish turned to Lord Wenzel and repeated the suggestion in Grandurian. Both Lord Wenzel and Lady Theda also agreed, as did Merten and his wife, Karola.

  So Hamish left the high table, grabbed a long platter piled high with Obrioner sausages and minced beef pies. Of course, the sausages were Grandurian, but the Alasdairian ladies had cooked and seasoned them the way they did at home. And Hamish hadn’t seen anything to rival the famous Obrioner meat pies anywhere in Granadure.

  He carried the platter across to the Grandurian side, placed it on a table in the middle of their packed rows with a flourish, and said in Grandurian, “Enjoy.”

  The locals greeted the meat pies with distrust, but helped themselves to the sausages. Most of them ended up exchanging disgusted glances with their neighbors.

  “You’ll get used to it,” he assured them.

  Over the next ten minutes, he moved back and forth across the hall, overseeing the distribution of the food platters across opposite sides of the room so everyone got a chance to sample at least a little bit of something new.

  Every ten seconds, he wished for his amazing flying Builder battle suit. Walking was just such a chore, one he’d tried to avoid whenever possible while wearing the suit. The memory of it getting shredded by Martys in his horrifying rampager form still made Hamish shiver. Connor had helped heal the worst of his scarring, but he’d always wear a few, particularly those across his shoulder. Jean thought they made him look brave.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised by hesitation to try new foods, although he was surprised by how many pushed away the strange dishes after only small samples. He loved Grandurian food, loved exploring new tastes. He’d even discovered several dishes at the Builder compound that were now some of his all-time favorites.

  When Hamish returned to the high table, where they’d also shared their food around, Hendry looked up from a spoonful of button-sized spatzle, unable to conceal his grimace. “I’m not sure this was such a good idea.”

  Lilias snatched the spoon from him and popped the soft noddles into her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. These are delicious.”

  “I’ve always thought so,” Hamish said.

  “I guess it’ll take some getting used to,” Hendry said with a little sigh.

  It seemed the majority of the people in the room shared that sentiment. They’d grow accustomed to each other’s food eventually. The ladies would play the critical role in helping everyone adjust.

  In the meantime, Hamish forced himself to feast with near-normal enthusiasm. If he let the enormous weight of responsibility and worry wear him down, he wouldn’t be able to help anyone.

  While they ate, Lady Theda asked Hendry in her elegant Obrioner accent, “How did the cutting go today?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  Merten nodded agreement and spoke in Grandurian. Hamish translated. “Your cutters are very skilled. My men were impressed. They hadn’t been sure you Obrioners would be able to keep up.”

  Hendry smiled. “The techniques are a little different, but obsidian is not as hard as granite. My concern is that my men will grow soft quarrying this glassy stone.”

  Lord Wenzel laughed. “I suspect our quotas will rise, so I am glad we have your help.”

  Hamish scanned the tables for the cutters. Out of all of the people, they seemed most friendly with each other. Despite the
threat of the impending storm, they had put in a full day at the quarry, the first since the disaster. Hamish had already heard that it had been exceptionally productive, even though all the man-made infrastructure at the quarry had been destroyed by the elfonnel attack.

  Hendry added, “The only surprise today was how strange the obsidian felt.”

  Lilias said, “You just told us it’s easier to quarry.”

  “It’s not that. The quarrying process we can handle.”

  “Then what do you mean?” Lady Theda asked.

  Hendry hesitated before speaking. “It’s a little strange, but the stone itself feels odd. Granite always has a strong, enduring feel to it. Alasdair White especially. It’s so familiar, we barely notice.”

  Hamish leaned closer, intrigued by the comment. As a Builder he knew exactly what Hendry was talking about, but he had grown up all his life in Alasdair as the only person who ever admitted that different stones tasted different. “But obsidian feels different?”

  Hendry nodded. “Obsidian feels kind of flighty, honestly.”

  Lord Wenzel and his wife laughed, but the Quader looked thoughtful. Through Hamish he said, “We too know our stone well. To me, working with obsidian energizes me. I often work all day without hardly feeling tired.”

  Lord Wenzel said with a smile. “I’m sure you Obrioners will get used to working our stone.”

  He did not seem interested in pursuing the question. He was not a Petralist, so maybe he didn’t try to dwell too deeply on questions of power stone. His wife was an Allcarver, and she looked more intrigued. Perhaps she could help Hamish dig into the question further. He definitely planned to.

  How the cutters unlocked the tiny fraction of diorite power they used in their chisels and hammers was a mystery. They weren’t Petralists, but nor were they Builders. So what were they?

  His deeper thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of dessert. Hamish eagerly grabbed dishes from both nations. Again Lord Wenzel insisted that the food be passed around between both groups. Hamish expected those delicious desserts would better convince people that the food across the border was worth considering.