by Frank Morin
Queen Dreokt’s gaze snapped to Shona and their piercing intensity took her breath away as always. “You were the boy Connor’s patron. You held sway over his life, planned to marry and control his gift.”
She spoke with no trace of question in her tone, but Shona still felt obligated to nod. “Yes, my queen.”
“Yes, he has potential but needs much guidance. Needs molding to become a worthy servant.” She nodded her head, as if reaching a decision, and declared, “I approve. You shall have Connor. He is your duty, yours to mold and present as a worthy servant.”
“Thank you,” Shona said, curtsying again, trying not to show her confusion. “But he is gone, and he is promised to another.” The words seemed to cling to her mouth like molten caramel and she barely got them out.
“Posh. I saw the strumpet he claims to love. His mind was sodden with her, but she is a Builder and must be executed. I’ll bring the foolish lands back to heel as I did before. Then you shall have him and you shall prepare him.”
Maybe the queen wasn’t so bad, after all. Could she really remove Verena and give Shona another chance to win Connor’s heart? She felt confident she could win him back, heart and soul, if given but a little time. Thinking about Connor helped her not think about Padraigin or about the constant terror she lived in. With Connor, maybe she could find a way to be happy.
The queen’s other words finally registered and Shona dared ask, “Please forgive my ignorance, but will you please explain, my queen? You said you brought the lands to the north to heel in the past. I thought they were always part of the Obrioner empire.”
Queen Dreokt laughed heartily. “Such foolish thoughts cling to this land. It’s like everyone reverted to helpless children while I slept. Of course these lands were not all united. My husband and I took them all when we arrived. We introduced Petralist powers, founded the first quarries even as we took Obrion as our home and conquered the other foolish nations that clung to this disappointing little continent like barbarians.”
She rose and finished in an angry shout, one fist half-raised, with flames and water dancing around it. “We brought peace to the entire land, raised them to greatness, and how do they repay me? They revolt and forget everything!”
Shona took a fearful step back and stammered, “Please forgive me. I didn’t know.”
The queen’s rage evaporated as quickly as it arrived and she waved off Shona’s apology and resumed her seat. “Of course you couldn’t know, child. The only people who knew were dead or sleeping.”
Shona wanted to ask for more details, but didn’t dare. Sleeping? In that one brief ranting monologue, the queen had offered unprecedented glimpses into the nation’s history. She knew so much, but could Shona get her to share more without triggering a new rage?
“I wonder if Kilian knew any of the history,” she ventured.
Queen Dreokt huffed derisively. “My son is such a wastrel and a rebellious young man. I shouldn’t be surprised he let things get so bad.”
Shona blinked, the only outward sign she allowed herself to express her surprise. She knew Kilian was old, but hadn’t known the true extent of his history. Connor must know, but he had withheld the information.
The queen’s expression turned thoughtful. “I’ll have to bring Kilian to task for his many crimes, but this land has fallen to squalor. Are there no worthy servants?” Her voice trailed off and she abruptly rose and focused on Shona.
“My child, go fetch some warm travel clothes. You and I are going on a journey.”
“I’m honored,” Shona managed, even though the thought of enduring any journey in the queen’s presence terrified her.
Her father took a step closer and bowed low. Shona had completely forgotten that he stood close by the entire time. “May I inquire as to your destination, my liege?”
“That is my business. You’re in charge while we’re gone. This nation has fallen into disrepair, and I am wearied by the ignorance and weakness of my Petralists. Your daughter will come help me change that.”
High Lord Dougal gave Shona a proud smile, but she wanted to protest. Did the queen plan to go after Connor so soon? Would she dare chase him and Kilian into the heart of Granadure?
Would she finally rid the world of that harlot, Verena?
Shona made a deep curtsy. “I am yours to command, my queen.”
26
Only True Friends Will Beat You Senseless
The sleek underwater Slide slipped like a wraith up the Macantact River, a part of Connor, like an extra watery limb. Every gleaming inch felt like an extension of his skin. Immersing himself so deep into water that he felt more part of the river than one of the people riding in comfortable chairs on the deck helped him escape the maddening hunger for porphyry. Water walked close by his side, her arm around his waist, her presence supportive and comforting.
Leaving Donleavy had taken every bit of self-control he could scrounge up, assisted by a healthy dose of empathy from Student Eighteen. They hadn’t dared pause long enough for her to try burying his porphyry memories while they still lingered in the capital.
The trip down the mountain in the speedcaravan went blessedly fast and uneventfully, even though every compartment was packed with nobility and couriers who had found valid excuses to escape the city. Many others had watched the speedcaravan pull away from the terminal with longing glances.
Once they escaped the outskirts of Belmullet, Connor had formed another Slide and drew them under the protective blanket of the river. They had barely surfaced in the past two days, pushing on past Crann toward Merkland. Connor was beginning to dread the end of their trip when they would leave the river and he’d need to return to himself and the pangs of porphyry withdrawal.
Ivor seemed content to travel in silence. He had passed the time brooding, no doubt thinking of Alyth. Connor could not imagine him wallowing in misery, though. Ivor would also be searching his memory for clues that might identify a weakness they could exploit against the queen.
Connor had tried to do the same, but had found little to feel encouraged about. He and Ivor together could wield enough power to intimidate most armies, but the queen had toyed with them like new pets. Worse, his fuzzy memory of the final moment before the queen inexplicably left them still hadn’t clarified. How had they driven her away?
It seemed beyond reason that she she considered them such minimal threats that she’d simply decided not to kill them. Then again, she’d proven she was well and truly cracked. When he tried discussing the question, Ivor confirmed his memories were fuzzy too, but didn’t want to talk about it. Connor hoped Kilian had some ideas, because they needed some badly.
Student Eighteen spent the bulk of the journey in busy conversation with herself. Sometimes her words became audible, and it was fascinating to glimpse how the many women sharing her head managed to get along. They were all very different, and Connor was glad they found ways to coexist. If she suffered an internal revolution and started pummeling herself, Connor was not sure what they could do to help. Even tying her up wouldn’t stop the fighting inside her head.
Could one personality kill another, like the queen had done to poor Aifric? Connor shuddered at the thought.
“We should stop in Merkland,” Ivor said abruptly, breaking the long silence.
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Connor said.
“We need to speak with Rory. The queen is consolidating her power far too quickly. It’s past time to get our revolution moving.”
Student Eighteen asked, “So you want to start with the commanding general of one of the most powerful armies in Obrion?”
Ivor nodded. “Rory needs to know. We don’t have time to creep around in the shadows. If we delay, the queen will beat the entire nation into submission and lock it down so tight we’ll have no chance of opposing her. We’ll be playing a defensive war from day one, and that’s no way to win.”
Connor said, “There has to be a way to counter her. When we find it, we n
eed to be ready to strike. We’re going to need an army for that.”
Student Eighteen asked, “So how do you propose we enter the city? I can slip in undetected, but you two are not exactly stealthy.”
Connor said, “I say we walk in through the main gate.”
He expected Ivor to complain about how stupid that idea was, but Ivor only grunted and returned to his brooding. That said plenty about the state of his mind. He really was in deep mourning for Alyth.
Connor wasn’t sure how to comfort him, and thinking of Alyth’s broken mind got him thinking again how dangerously similar Verena’s condition might be. The very first thing he’d do when they returned to Altkalen would be to try reaching her with chert.
He surfaced the Slide a couple miles south of Merkland, just as afternoon was fading into twilight. As soon as they reached the road, Student Eighteen saluted, then trotted away. She seemed to melt into the early evening shadows. Connor did not worry about her. She’d show up if they needed her, and no doubt she would pick up at least as much information as they did.
Snow blanketed the area in pristine white. As they followed the wide road north, along the river, beside the speedcaravan track, Connor surveyed the flat-topped bluff of Merkland that rose steeply above the countryside along the western flank of the river. Even in the shadows, the famous, towering, white-granite walls of the city seemed to glow.
He caught glimpses of figures moving along the battlements, the soldiers looking tiny in the distance until he tapped quartzite to improve his vision. The guards looked alert, but bored. Good. That would reduce the level of scrutiny they’d receive as they entered. Connor didn’t feel like fighting an army. He just wanted dinner, a warm fire, and a chance to chat with Rory, and hopefully Tomas and Cameron. Their easy banter would help tremendously.
A sizable township clustered along the eastern banks of the river, directly across from the main city. Connor hadn’t paid it much attention before, but as he and Ivor approached, he studied it. Many piers extended into the river, with barges and boats of all sizes tied up with frost-coated hawsers. Even a few large ships, complete with furled sails, banged softly against their protective leather moorings. Many long warehouses fronted the river, with rows of multi-story dwellings clustered close together behind them.
It made sense to keep workers and merchants involved in the busy river trade closer to the river. That saved the need to transport everything around to one of the gates on the opposite sides of the city. The bluff rearing high above the river denied all direct access from that side.
A chill breeze blew south from the Maclaclan Mountains, and Connor glanced in that direction, as if he could see all the way to the towering, broken peak of Mount Macduib. If he max-tapped basalt, he could reach Verena before morning.
The temptation was nearly overpowering, but he reined it in. Spreading the truth about patronage was his duty and he was eager to finally share the truth with Rory.
Just south of the high-walled city, the road split. To the right, it crossed a wide, stone bridge across the Macantact to the township. To the left, it curved around the flank of the city toward the nearest of several huge gates set into the immense outer wall.
The speedcaravan track continued straight, rising on an elevated ramp over the road, then higher still, all the way to the top of the bluff. It plunged through a tunnel in the wall, currently closed with a heavy iron portcullis.
As Connor circled around the city with Ivor, he studied those famous white walls of Alasdair granite. They formed an octagonal shape, with massive gates set into the sections facing the eastern and northern sides where the ground rose to meet the bluff.
Ivor nodded to the first gate, already closed for the evening. “That’s the Army Gate. Barracks and officer’s quarters are concentrated in that quadrant of the city.”
“How do you know that?” Connor had glimpsed Merkland from afar several times, but knew little about his own high lord’s capital.
Ivor shook his head. “Never ceases to amaze me how little you know. In my years prepping for the Tir-raon, I studied all the realms. We spent weeks on Merkland and High Lord Dougal.”
“So tell me about the city,” Connor urged, happy to see his friend willing to talk, although it rankled to think Ivor knew more it than he did.
“Did you know the North Gate is also known as the Trade Gate because it’s closest to the north bridge that connects to the other side of the township?”
“I didn’t.”
“That quadrant of the city holds more warehouses, markets, mansions of wealthier merchants, and the guild halls. Then there’s the northwestern Farmer’s Gate. It leads to the market square and a quadrant of tenement buildings for workers and craftsmen. Not an area I plan to spend much time.”
“Until I left Alasdair, I probably would have thought it grand,” Connor said.
“I doubt it. In Alasdair you had space, clean homes, and adequate streets.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“That leaves the West Gate, often called the Curadh Gate.” Ivor pointed ahead to the huge gate in the next section of wall. It was still open, flanked by a dozen tall lantern poles and many torches along the wall and the gatehouse just inside. Despite the hour, steady traffic continued. People bundled against the cold hurried in and out, on foot, mounted, or riding wagons and carriages.
“That’s the main avenue leading past the higher-end markets and residences of all the minor lords and ladies. Leads to the main city square which is flanked by the mansions of more important lords and the city administration offices. The palace takes up the entire eastern quadrant.”
“How do you want to do this?” Connor asked, suddenly second-guessing his plan. Merkland at a distance was a striking sight. Merkland up close was intimidating.
Ivor grinned. “Too late to change course now.”
He led the way, marching purposefully to the Curadh Gate and the guards stationed there inspecting everyone who entered. The hard-packed earthen road transitioned to paving stones at the gate, and Connor caught a whiff of fresh-baked bread. The smell set his stomach rumbling.
Dinner definitely needed to play a big part in their meeting with Rory.
A big, grizzled guard, his face red from the cold, glanced at them as they approached. Then he looked again, a disbelieving grin spreading across his face. “Commander Ivor?”
“At ease, soldier,” Ivor said calmly.
The man snapped a salute. “Yes, sir. But, sir, I heard you were lost at Altkalen.”
“It’s been a long journey home. I need to speak with General Rory.”
“Yes, sir!”
Ivor glanced at Connor and allowed a little smile to tug up the corner of his mouth. “It’s good to be recognized.”
“I’m glad they recognized you and not me.” Connor had stood against the men of Obrion during the invasion. If they remembered him, things might get ugly.
The guard ushered them through the gate, shouting to his companions that Commander Ivor had returned. They quickly took up the cry, many of them rushing to congratulate him on his safe return. The crowd grew quickly until over a hundred soldiers packed the road between a couple of stone-walled buildings, effectively penning them in. Connor kept his head down and tried to act like nothing more than a simple traveling companion.
Of course everyone asked what happened, and although Ivor kept his comments brief, they cheered to hear he’d escaped the evil Grandurians. As they slowly made their way up the packed boulevard, throngs of people poured into the streets to cheer. Eventually Ivor convinced a captain that a military escort to the general would help a lot.
It did. Their progress accelerated as the soldiers formed up and ordered everyone to make way.
“This won’t exactly be a low-key meeting,” Ivor muttered to Connor as he waved to the cheering townsfolk who seemed eager for something to celebrate.
“It’ll get Rory’s attention, for sure.” Maybe such a grand entrance wasn’t
smart, but Connor had learned that if they couldn’t do something smart, they might as well do something stupid with as much flair as possible. Sometimes it worked.
Tomas and Cameron met them at the point where the wide avenue emptied into an enormous square facing an inner wall and the majestic, many-tiered bulk of High Lord Dougal’s main palace. They saluted Ivor, then glanced at each other before approaching Connor.
Tomas chuckled as he pounded Connor on the back. “Welcome back, lad. We weren’t sure if we should salute you or put you in the stocks.”
Cameron pounded Connor in turn and added, “But we decided it’s too cold to wreck the palace tonight. Can you at least wait until our shift ends?”
“It’s good to see you two,” Connor told them honestly. “I promise not to break anything as long as I get a hot dinner.”
“Done!” They said in unison. Tomas added, “You’ve lost your touch, Connor. You could have bartered for a whole lot more than one dinner.”
“Don’t give him ideas,” Cameron hissed. “He took the whole army last time we encouraged him.”
“But captain was only captain then. Now he’s general.”
“Bigger title means bigger army to steal, muffin-for-brains,” Cameron said, as if that was obvious.
Connor smiled. Their easygoing, irreverent presence always helped him relax. His many troubles seemed a little less terrible when he could laugh at them with the unflappable duo. Then again, their comments were starting to make other nearby soldiers seem nervous. Some of them started casting worried glances at Connor, as if he really might pull an elfonnel out of his shorts.
“I’m not planning to steal another army on this trip,” Connor assured them.
Tomas thumbed his nose and gave Connor a knowing wink. “A reconnoitering mission, eh?”
“And you said he couldn’t be taught new tricks,” Cameron added.
“He can. You can’t. You still think smiling at a lady with that ugly face is a good idea.”
“Last time I talked with Connor’s girl, Verena, she didn’t even flinch.”