by Frank Morin
“No. The guards are storing it for me, along with some other gear deemed too dangerous for a prisoner to keep in their cell. But I’ve arranged daily instruction. It’s an amazing weapon.”
“I’ve always wanted one of those,” Connor admitted. Made of braided steel cables and capped with spiked steel balls, meteor hammers were the trademark weapon of the Grandurian fast movers.
“The training is key. Nearly brained myself the first time I tried it.”
They dropped into overstuffed chairs near the fire and spent several minutes catching up with each other. Ivor’s experience as a prisoner at Altkalen certainly did not reflect those of most of the others, but it sounded like they were all being treated fairly. Connor wondered if Grandurian prisoners were treated so well in Obrion.
Ivor had a way with people. He could read them and position himself for best advantage. He’d been Connor’s primary opponent in the Tir-raon, but they’d somehow still become very good friends.
Ivor had used his skills to leverage access to the senior officers and Altkalen nobility. He’d not only won a new wardrobe and a new weapon, but gained a surprising degree of freedom.
He fixed Connor with a serious look. “I’m really starting to like the people here, but this is not home. I heard you helped get a peace accord signed. Will they let us leave soon?”
“I’m sure they will, although I haven’t heard when. Might be a while still.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Once the dust settles, I’d love to come back to spend a summer, but I’ve got a life I need to return to back home.”
Connor grinned at the thought of what Ivor could accomplish with full freedom. The people of Altkalen were clever traders, but he doubted they were quite ready for that. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up with your own tower here in the citadel.”
“That would be fun, but what of Verena? Has she awakened yet?” Ivor asked with real concern in his voice.
Of course Ivor would know about Verena, and Connor appreciated that he cared. “Not yet. The healers say it’s just a matter of time.”
“She’ll be all right. That girl of yours is a strong one.”
“Thanks,” he said sincerely.
Ivor leaned back in his chair and regarded Connor thoughtfully. “I’m glad you’re back in town, but you didn’t send for me to have a simple social visit, did you?”
Connor shook his head. “You don’t miss much. The accord may have been signed, but I wouldn’t claim peace is about to break out. What have you heard about Queen Dreokt?”
“Not much. My contacts have been pretty tight-lipped, although they all seem pretty nervous.”
“The more I learn about her, the more nervous I get too.” Connor related the events around Alasdair, defeating Martys, then the terrifying earthquake that the newly-risen queen triggered. He explained what he’d heard about Kilian’s confrontation with her and his failure to destroy her.
Ivor let out a low whistle. “If Kilian couldn’t kill her, what are the rest of us supposed to do?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Ivor considered that for a moment. “So she’s wreaking havoc in Obrion while Granadure grows ever more worried, and you’re thinking this is the perfect opportunity to start a revolution.”
“Again, you don’t miss much.”
Ivor laughed. “A lot less than you. Your first bright revolutionary idea was to try recruiting the heirs of the ruling class. Not the smartest move I’ve ever seen. Have you kissed Shona yet?”
Connor grimaced. Shona had maneuvered him into agreeing to one final passionate kiss before he could speak with his troops and try spreading the truth of patronage. That attempt had failed a miserable death. Worse, they’d been interrupted before he could get that kiss over with.
Of course Verena had seen Shona preparing to kiss him. When she angrily confronted him, they’d argued. He still cringed to think of the things they’d said to each other. Worse, that fight had given Mattias the opening to worm his way back into her life.
Verena had to wake up. Connor not only had to prevent Mattias from simply stealing her away, but had to somehow reconcile with Verena. He loved her, and he knew she loved him, but things had gotten so messed up.
He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I saw Shona at the treaty signing, but we didn’t really talk.”
“Good. Shona knows how to play you too well. Your best defense is to stay far away from her.”
Connor nodded. “Shona is not the concern right now. I need your help. You were a Guardian a lot longer than I was, and you know the system better than I do. How do I spread the word about patronage?”
Ivor hesitated. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. The problem is, I’m not sure starting a revolution is the best way for me plan my homecoming and enjoy a relaxing honeymoon.”
Connor had hoped Ivor might see beyond that personal inconvenience, but Ivor always positioned himself for best advantage. He was careful and methodical, and when he struck, he usually won. Those skills had helped him rise through the ranks of Guardians, had secured him a very advantageous marriage into a high house, and very nearly won him the Tir-raon.
But a revolution would threaten some of those hard-fought gains. So Connor said, “I mentioned that most prisoners will have to stay a while. If you help me, I think I could get you released early. You might be able to get back to your new house that much sooner.”
Ivor considered that. “Tempting. You might be surprised, but I’m actually really looking forward to marrying Alyth. I haven’t known her for long, but I miss her.” He added softly, “Hoping for too much can be a dangerous thing, but I think we actually might be able to build a good life together.”
Ivor rarely shared so much with anyone. Connor felt honored that Ivor trusted him so much.
“I bet you will, if the queen doesn’t destroy all the high houses out of hand. From what I hear, there’s no telling what she might do. Come help me, Ivor. Help me free our people, and I’ll get you back to Alyth. Who knows, by helping me plan the revolution, you might be able to ensure your new house comes out ahead.”
“You have a point, and as much as I’m enjoying my time here in Altkalen, freedom would be better. You’d have to promise to get me some power stones again, though.”
“You haven’t gotten any since the battle?” That surprised Connor. With how good Ivor was at gaining advantage, he had assumed his friend had gotten his hand on a supply.
Ivor shook his head. “The Grandurians here might be foolish in cards, but not that foolish.”
“Do you blame them? You’re one of the most dangerous Petralists alive.”
“And you’re going to need to give me some stones if I agree to help.” Ivor’s expression turned intense. “I’ve never gone so long without tapping any affinity. It’s driving me crazy. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”
Connor nodded. “More than you know.”
Just thinking about the need for porphyry triggered a wild craving in the pit of his stomach that made his hands clench. He had to take several deep breaths, and was grateful he was not tapping granite. He might have crushed the arms of the chair before regaining control.
The need for porphyry was a constant hunger, a distracting menace that could easily drive him insane. His worry for Verena and his recent practice with limestone, chert, and serpentinite had kept him distracted enough to handle it, but whenever he thought about it, the wild hunger returned with renewed fury.
The intensity of it scared him, and he worried that one day he might not be able to contain it. The craving made the furious rampager beast stir in his heart, filling his mind with thoughts of destruction and violence. If he ever lost control, how many people would he hurt before snapping out of it?
What if he didn’t recover? What if it drove him to madness?
Ivor noted his reaction. “I’m no Healer, but even I can tell something’s not right. What’s going on, Connor?”
“Like I told you, I had to use porphyry and transform into a rampager to defeat Martys and save my family.” Just saying the word porphyry aloud made him want to howl with the need for more powder. “Using it is extremely dangerous and enormously addictive. I need it now. It’s like a living thing. If this keeps up, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to control myself.”
Ivor grimaced. “Addictions are nasty things. I’ve known a couple of people who got addicted to herbs from one of the healers at an outpost where I served. The healer was an unscrupulous fellow who used those addictions to gain power over strategically-placed people. Even when he was discovered and executed, it took them months to wean themselves off the chemicals. I was told they would have died if they didn’t have small doses to keep them sane. Do you have any more porphyry?”
Connor shook his head. “If I had it, I’d be using it.” He could not imagine having access to it and not succumbing to its call.
“Maybe Kilian can get you some.”
Connor shook his head. “Their only supply was destroyed. The only one who knows where to get it is High Lord Dougal, but he’s with Queen Dreokt.”
Ivor grimaced. “What a Tallan-twisted irony. You were the only one who could save us at the Carraig, and it sounds like you had no other choice but to use porphyry again to defeat Martys. I hate to think it could destroy you eventually.”
Connor nodded. He’d railed in silent rage against that bitter irony. It felt good to talk about it with Ivor.
Ivor said, “I’ll think about it. Maybe there’s a way I can help. In the meantime, do you know any herbalists who might be able to help? You can’t just ignore an addiction.”
“Will you help me plan a revolution?” Connor asked. He needed to focus on something else. Ivor might be well-meaning, but the conversation was driving him mad.
“If you can have me freed, give me access to all of my affinity stones, and get me back to Alyth soon, we might have a deal.”
Connor was not sure he was ready to fuel all of Ivor’s affinities. He trusted Ivor, but if his big friend decided to make a break for the border, even Connor would have a hard time stopping him.
A knock at the door interrupted his reply and a courier wearing General Wolfram’s colors entered the room. He handed Connor a message tube, saluted, and withdrew.
Ivor leaned closer, interested, as Connor extracted a scroll. “What does it say?”
Connor scanned the scroll and whistled softly. “It’s from my Aunt Ailsa. She’s in Donleavy, and she’s serving the queen.”
The news worried him immensely. The last he’d known, she was safely back in her mansion outside of Raineach, slowly filling new orders for sculpted stones. Why would the queen have sent for her?
He quickly scanned the drawings and descriptions of the speedcaravan mechanical. No doubt Jean and Hamish would be drooling over that, but it didn’t really make sense to him. He focused on the description of the queen’s erratic behavior and unrivaled powers. He shivered at the description of how she had broken the minds of the king and his family and other high nobles and ladies.
“She sounds terrible,” Ivor said gravely as he read over Connor’s shoulder.
Then he gasped and pointed farther down the scroll where Ailsa included a list of some of the other nobility who had been summoned to Donleavy for interviews. “Alyth is on the list!”
Ivor’s face drained of color, and his hands shook. He really did care about the girl.
He paced away, then spun back to Connor. “We have to do something. The queen seems completely unbalanced. There’s no telling what she might do to Alyth.”
“I told you. We need to start the revolution to free the people, and—”
Ivor cut him off. “There’s no time for that. Alyth will reach the capital in a matter of days. We need to intercept her and get her out of there.”
When Connor hesitated, Ivor added, “You know you can get me to Donleavy.”
Connor shook his head. “Donleavy is not where I need to go. You said yourself, don’t start at the top.”
Ivor took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. He resumed his seat, but the fists remained clenched. “I need your help Connor, and you need mine. We can help each other. You take me to Donleavy, help me rescue Alyth, and bring her back here to Granadure.”
“Do you think she’ll come?”
“She’ll come with me. She has to know how much danger she’s in.”
“If she flees to Granadure, she’ll be abandoning her house. She’ll be branded a traitor and could lose everything.”
“No she won’t, because in return, I’ll help you plan and implement your revolution. We’ll topple every other high house if we have to, but Alyth will join the revolution from the very start. She’ll be seen as the truest patriot.”
Connor considered that for a moment, then nodded.” If we pull it off, your house could be positioned better than anyone.”
“If we succeed, yes. If we fail, we’re no worse off, are we?”
The proposal was reckless and foolish and dangerous. Those qualities had served him well during the Tir-raon, but could he really sneak back into Obrion all the way to Donleavy where the queen ruled in her unpredictable insanity? So many things could go wrong.
Then again, he needed Ivor. Kilian had told him to get the revolution off the ground. He might not have quite intended Connor take this particular initiative, but he had often said he appreciated creative thinking.
More than anything, what urged Connor to throw caution to the wind and agree to the daring plan was the look in Ivor’s eyes. He was afraid for Alyth. Connor knew that fear all too well. It had eaten at him ever since Verena’s injury and would never cease until she awoke. He could do nothing more to help Verena, but he could help Ivor save his fiancé.
He stood and extended a hand. “You have a deal, but we’re going to need a third person along to make this work.”
Ivor gripped his hand, looking relieved. “Who? Hamish?”
“No. Aifric.”
18
Still Think That was a Good Idea?
The great trading city of Crann in Obrion rivaled Altkalen for sheer size. Snow-capped houses reared three and four stories above many of the streets teeming with people. The busy crowds had churned the recent snows into slush.
Connor decided he didn’t like Crann.
As he followed Ivor up a gently rising, cobbled street toward Lord Eoghan’s palace, he grumbled silently to himself about their need to stop in Crann at all. Aifric, in her alternate persona as Mariora, had insisted. Mariora was a member of the Obrioner royal messenger service. She insisted she could get them into Donleavy and back out again before anyone noticed.
At first, the idea of stopping at Crann for supplies and appropriate disguises had seemed brilliant. They could easily blend into the population of the huge city without raising any alarms. Connor had felt eager for a chance to reconnect with the people of his homeland and just enjoy walking in secret among them.
Crann wasn’t the happiest place to walk these days. The city fell within the realm controlled by the crown, and the powerful Lord Eoghan was one of King Turriff’s cousins. That was the problem.
The population buzzed with worried rumors about Queen Dreokt and her ruthlessness. No one seemed sure if King Turriff was alive or dead, imprisoned or free. The doubts fueled the rumors.
What would the queen do next? Would she depose Eoghan like she had Turriff? Who would replace him? Would she use the huge army quartered just outside the city for the winter against the populace?
Those rumors heightened Connor’s growing worry that their plan might be a terrible mistake. But as he trudged through the slushy streets and the chilly morning air after Ivor, he realized none of that was really what bothered him.
“Stop dawdling, boy,” Ivor called back as they passed a group of wealthy merchants in fur coats.
Connor trotted a couple steps to close the distance to Ivor, who was now dressed like a
nobleman in a calf-length fur coat made of rare golden nuall fur. Since he was looking for Alyth, a high lady, it only seemed right that his disguise reflect most of the reality of his position. Once he married her, he really would become a high lord, so pretending to already be one wasn’t much of an exaggeration.
Once they passed the merchants and reached a rare stretch of empty street Connor said, “You don’t have to lay it on so thick.”
Ivor glanced winked. “Just getting used to the character.”
“How about I get into character as a revolutionary and throw you into the dung heap behind that barn?” Connor grumbled.
“You’re awful grumpy today. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” Connor snapped, hating that he couldn’t seem to control his temper, but hating that question worse.
All his life, his mother had hounded him about being sick. He’d thought he’d left those worries behind, but during the trip into Obrion, both Ivor and Aifric had each asked him a dozen times if he was all right.
He wasn’t all right, but that didn’t mean he wanted them to bother him about it. He was far from okay, but he would deal with it. He had to. No one else could do it for him.
“You’re not acting fine,” Ivor said, concern evident in his voice. “We can’t do this if you’re not in control.”
He gestured to the top of the hill, less than a hundred yards ahead. There, the shops and restaurants crowding both sides of the road gave way to a wide plaza. There they would enter a large, stone building with ornately carved columns along the front facade and attempt to board the speedcaravan.
Connor sighed, bottling up the irritation he felt at the badgering. Ivor was only trying to help. He didn’t understand the Connor’s history, and he couldn’t help.
“I’ll be fine. I promise. Just ignore me for a bit while I get my thoughts together.”
Connor could tell he wanted to say more, and was grateful he didn’t, but resumed his trek up the street. Connor followed behind, his eyes downcast, and not because he was supposed to be acting as Ivor’s linn servant.
Porphyry. Ever since they’d crossed into Obrion, the need for it had intensified. He wasn’t sure if it was because they passed through Dougal’s realm and the secret quarry of the deadly stone, or if the distance from Verena and his worries about her were enough to fuel the beast to greater activity.