The Queen's Quarry

by Frank Morin

  “Thank you for your honest assessment,” she managed weakly, looking a bit sick.

  General Wolfram’s brows were furrowed in thought, and he idly stroked his long mustaches. Mattias was glaring again, but Connor wasn’t sure why. Had Mattias hoped to use some of that information to somehow leverage their position in the negotiations? Maybe he felt jealous that Connor had stolen so much attention away from him.

  Connor didn’t care. He needed to know the Arishat League could help. They needed to offer something big or the entire delegation might prove a colossal waste of time. He’d prefer heading back to Altkalen and Verena if that was the case.

  Briet took a deep breath and said, “We do have additional chemicals that should help. Our allies in the Arishat League have their own unique strengths too. I’m glad you all came. We will convene a wider council than I had at first planned, one tasked with developing detailed battle strategies to deal with the evolving and escalating nature of the threat we all face.”

  That was a pretty speech and it seemed to please Mattias and Wolfram. Connor hoped it produced some usable results.

  The door to the chamber banged open and a uniformed officer rushed in, looking flustered. He was apparently not one of the people Briet was expecting because her expression turned concerned.

  “What is going on?” she demanded.

  The man slid to a stop and threw a quick salute then reported in a breathless voice, “My lady, we just received reports that the entire border town of Hafnir was just destroyed.”

  Briet maintained her composure remarkably well, but Connor felt a cold chill wrapping around his heart. Briet said, “I need more details.”

  “We have few. The listening post managed to send out a brief message, but it got cut off before completion.” He handed her a piece of paper.

  She scanned it, her brows furrowing. “This does not make sense. How can a single person lay waste to an entire town? And what does this mean, ‘She rode up to town on an earthen seat’?”

  The soldier said, “We don’t know yet. There were no active threats in the area before this, and we’ve sent a column of cavalry south to investigate.”

  Connor said urgently, “Call them back, or they’ll just die.”

  “Do you know something of this attack?” Briet demanded suspiciously.

  “No, but we recently received word about an extremely powerful Petralist that Queen Dreokt raised from a long elfonnel sleep. Her name is Harley and she apparently battled Evander at the Carraig until they destroyed it completely and destabilized the area.”

  “Tallan preserve us,” Briet muttered, color draining from her face.

  “Do you really think she’d attack Althing first?” Wolfram asked, an actual frown on his usually impassive face.

  “We had expected her to attack Granadure. That’s why Kilian was preparing a response at the border to intercept and slow her down as long as possible.”

  Briet gripped the table with a shaking hand. “Kilian expected to do no more than slow her down?”

  “Against Harley alone, he might do better than that, but we feared Queen Dreokt might decide to slip into Granadure and brain-wipe the royal family like she had in Obrion,” Connor said.

  That didn’t seem to help her feel much better. She looked around the table and said in a small, terrified voice. “What are we going to do?”

  Wolfram said, “We don’t have time to send for aid from Granadure.”

  Mattias cursed. “I wish we’d brought Ilse and Lukas and the Crushers along.”

  Connor said, “General Wolfram is right. There’s no time for any of that. Lady Briet, what kind of armies do you have available?”

  “Not much locally. The Varvakins are preparing a large force, but they won’t arrive until spring. Our biggest standing army is gathering in Ravinder. Attacking from their capital of Maninder along the great west road into central Obrion seemed the best counter-attack option. Our local forces are spread between all of our cities for winter.”

  That was even worse than he’d feared. They’d never manage to treaty Harley to death. They might have to resort to dropping the vault on her head, but he doubted even that would do more than slow her.

  He exchanged a worried glance with Hamish. “Briet, you’ve got to assemble every bit of military might you have available. Break out your best chemicals and get whatever forces you can get your hands on moving. We have to stop her before she reaches this city.”

  “Do you think she’d really destroy all of Dagmanson?” Mattias asked, looking horrified.

  Briet answered in a shaky voice. “We have to assume she would. Althing is the head of the Arishat League, and Dagmanson is the heart of Althing. If this Harley is as powerful as you claim, she could bring the mountain down on top of us and crush the city to powder. With that one blow, she’d destabilize the entire league and effectively decapitate its leadership.”

  She rose to her feet. “Is the council summoned?”

  The messenger nodded. “The lawgiver ordered all to assemble in thirty minutes.”

  “Send every senior military leader to the meeting and on my authority sound the general alarm. Dispatch messages to every city within two days’ march to send all available troops immediately. We’ll send additional orders after the meeting.”

  The officer saluted again and rushed from the room. Briet looked concerned but determined. “I am afraid our negotiations must wait until we know for sure if we’ll still have a nation in a week. You are all welcome to return to Granadure in the meantime.”

  Mattias shook his head. “We came here looking for a way to help each other. We’ll help defend your home. We offer any aid we can.”

  She took his proffered hand gratefully and Connor felt proud of Mattias, a feeling he really hated to acknowledge.

  Then Mattias turned to Connor and said, “You realize you’ll have to fight her, right?”

  42

  A Bath Distracts Some Women More Than Others

  The next couple of days passed way too fast. The Logretta declared a martial emergency. That got things moving fast, with the scattered components of the army scrambling to assemble and march south to intercept Harley.

  Connor didn’t see much of that part of the mobilization. He and Hamish and Gisela spent the majority of those two days in the Hawk, flying southwest along the length of the Saol. They stopped at every fishing village, town, and hamlet, warning the people of the approaching danger and delivering the lawgiver’s decree of immediate evacuation.

  Mid-winter was a terrible time to evacuate, but the alternative would be worse. Many farmers and shepherds simply drove their herds higher into the mountains since chances of Harley hunting down solitary shepherds was slim.

  They ventured south far enough to spot her in the distance, sliding upriver on her peculiar earthen seat. It resembled the one that Evander always rode.

  She looked bored.

  Hamish spotted it too. “Doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.”

  “She could easily double that speed,” Connor said with a frown.

  Gisela frowned too. “Why would she choosing to invading slowly?”

  “Maybe she wants to make sure the army has enough time to assemble,” Hamish said bleakly. “That way she could wreck them all in one battle.”

  “When did you become such an optimist?” Connor asked, but he feared Hamish was right. If that really was part of her mission, success would add one more layer to the psychological blow her single-person invasion of Althing would deliver to everyone planning to oppose the queen.

  The scariest part of that thought was that she might just succeed.

  Hamish shrugged. “Anyone who can fight Evander to a standstill is someone I’m afraid of. Stew the Tallan’s socks and feed them to a parrot, but I wish my armored shell was ready. Then we could take the fight to her.”

  “Stew his socks?” Gisela asked with a frown. “I have not hearing that one before.”

  “I’m trying to broa
den my horizons now that we’ve traveled halfway across the continent. Your mother said sometimes you like a good stew, so it seemed appropriate.”

  The air suddenly bucked them sideways into a vicious spin, and a vortex of wind howled around them, wrenching the Hawk over and threatening to cast them right out of the sky. Gisela screamed, Connor shouted, and Hamish laughed.

  As Hamish fought to adjust thrusters and call for more power from the nimble craft, Connor shoved a piece of quartzite into his mouth. Imagining the gateway to air, he pushed his thoughts through. Air greeted him with a mischievous laugh that echoed through the howling wind.

  He sensed her flying nearby, hands clasped with Harley. Together they drove the winds like one might whip horses. Connor called for air, tried to pull her away from Harley to give Hamish time to stabilize the Hawk and get them out of there.

  It felt like tugging against a hurricane.

  Harley’s will slapped his questing fingers of thought aside with a decidedly offhand flick, as if brushing a mosquito from her face. Air obeyed her with none of her usual flighty distraction. Connor had never sensed anyone command such obedience. After his ascension, air had responded better, but still teased and flitted away more often than not. She did not seem capable of ignoring Harley.

  The Hawk nosedived and began to spin, faster and faster as a howling wind tunnel solidified around them. The noise was like a waterfall crashing over rocks, and the air turned bitterly cold. Gisela screamed and reached the stomach-lurch point, spraying her last meal all across the cabin.

  The stench made Connor gag, but he fought down his own vomit. This was not the right time to initiate a puking contest.

  “I can’t pull out,” Hamish shouted as he flicked hands across the various controls. “Can’t you do something?”

  “Working on it!” Connor closed his eyes and lunged against Harley’s will, reaching for Air’s hand. He only needed to touch it for a moment.

  Harley’s voice drifted up to him from far below. “Little Petralist. You’re a child pushing stick boats in a puddle when you need to launch battleships across the mighty seas.” She laughed. “My lady queen suggested you might prove useful, but is this the best you can do?”

  How did she recognize him? Could she read that much about him in their contest of wills. Her scornful tone angered him and he redoubled his effort, but she scattered his will like an eagle diving through a flock of sparrows. She was simply too strong. He sensed air flowing him a kiss and waving good-bye.

  So he also tapped soapstone. The gateway opened easily and she slipped her hand into his without hesitation, bolstering his confidence with her sure touch. The fast-spinning air was condensing the water that had hung lazily in it, forming sheets of rain all around the Hawk. The distant Saol river was like a ribbon of light, running along the ground.

  Harley spoke again. “Poor child. Die knowing you are unworthy of my lady’s favor.”

  “Old ladies should get off their rocking chairs and out of the rain,” he shot back.

  Connor yanked on the distant waters of the Saol, creating a ten-foot wave that leaped the bank and side-swiped Harley, spinning her earthen craft and nearly toppling her off.

  She reacted quickly, regaining her balance and deflecting the water away with a curved wall of earth. She was fast, but predictable. That was exactly the move an earth-focused Sentry would do to protect her connection to earth before the ground grew too muddy and weakened her connection.

  That moment of distraction was all he needed. Connor seized those sheets of water around the Hawk, squeezed them together and cast it at her like a watery lightning bolt.

  Harley never saw it coming.

  The watery spear struck like an epic curse-punch from the Tallan himself. It catapulted her off her chair and most likely shattered bones in her chest.

  That impact would have killed most Sentries and probably would have disabled Anton. He liked to think it might have even rattled Evander for a few seconds. Harley reacted far faster than Connor hoped, wrapping herself in a protective blanket of earth and sliding farther from the river like a fat, muddy tick.

  Hamish shouted in triumph and the Hawk leveled out, shooting through the funnel cloud. They had fallen perilously close to the earth and for a second Connor feared they’d crash anyway.

  Hamish increased thrust from the forward thrusters and triggered all the puking dooms. Fire erupted from the blocks of marble placed along the bottom of the craft, and the upforce drilled Connor into his seat as if a blanket weighing a ton had just dropped over him. Gisela groaned and passed out. She flopped sideways and would have fallen to the deck if not for the restraining straps holding her into her seat.

  The Hawk leveled out so close to the ground that snow flashed to water directly below them, whisked into the air by the wind of their passage. Their dive tripled their speed though and Hamish pulled up just enough so they shot across tree tops faster than Connor’s max-tapped sprint. Hamish whooped again as he banked the Hawk higher and climbed back into the sky, trading speed for altitude and racing north, away from danger.

  “What did you do?” Hamish asked as Connor shook Gisela awake. She looked sick and wept with relief when she realized they hadn’t died.

  “She was too strong in the air, so I hit her with water. I hit her hard. Would’ve killed most people.”

  “Think she can heal?” Hamish asked.

  “Probably. From Ailsa’s report, she must have sandstone or she wouldn’t have recovered from fighting Evander so fast.”

  Gisela moaned and rubbed her temples. “We should not having gone so close.”

  Hamish gave her a cocky grin. “Nonsense. We learned something about her.”

  “What?” Gisela asked.

  “She’s willing to give us time to get ready to face her. She’s overconfident, and baths distract her more than most women.”

  “How will that helping?” Gisela asked.

  Hamish shrugged, dropped the shielding over the windows and gestured at the vomit-splattered cabin. “I have no idea yet, but speaking of baths?”

  Connor said, “Hold your breath.”

  Gisela sucked in a deep breath, clutching her seat, as if expecting him to plunge them underwater. Instead, Connor drew only a little water from the air, forming it into a soft mist that he billowed through the cabin, gently scrubbing away dirt and vomit and carrying it out through the windows.

  “That is it?” Gisela asked.

  “I could fill the entire cabin with water if you want.”

  “No. That was very excellent,” she assured him quickly.

  “Sometimes it’s not how much power you bring to bear, but how you apply it,” Connor said with a grin, quoting one of his favorite sayings from Kilian.

  Hamish grimaced as he restored the shielding windows and accelerated. “I hope so, because Harley’s got more power. If we can’t figure out how to trip her up, we’ll be the ones getting cleaned out for good.”

  43

  Shuffa Goofa Miffa

  The only large city on the Saol south of Dagmanson was Raufarhofn, about fifty miles upriver from where Harley had almost knocked the Hawk from the sky. The Althin commanders chose it as the place for their armies to make their stand the next day.

  If things went poorly, they could still attempt to regroup outside of Dagmanson, but the capital was already being evacuated as a precaution. Every boat had been commandeered for the effort and they sailed south by the hundreds down the Bergrin and the Enok.

  Connor decided that was a good idea as he surveyed the tiny army assembled to stop one of the most powerful Petralists on the continent.

  Raufarhofn was a prosperous, quiet town, with orderly streets that Jean would have loved. Their major products were salted fish and Grindavik wool. The town sprawled across both banks of the river, with farms extending west toward the Kalfafell mountains. Miles of grazing lands spread across the lowlands to the east. The population had evacuated and the shepherds had driven their flocks
away.

  The bulk of the army consisted of about ten thousand men. Half looked like professional soldiers while the rest were drafted from militia and police across the nation. They were formed up in ranks just south of town. They’d accomplish little more than give Harley something to use to fill a big mass grave.

  Looking at them, Connor wished for his Carraig army. With that little force of Petralists, he’d accomplished the seemingly impossible and defeated the student armies of the other champions. Later, with all those armies combined, they’d fought an elfonnel. Some of his student soldiers had died, though, and all accounts suggested Harley was even more dangerous than an elfonnel.

  He wished he’d taken a little more time to say good-bye to Verena. As much as he despised Mattias for meddling with her, Connor had to admit Mattias’s assessment was right. He was going to have to take the lead against Harley.

  He was so grouted. Evander usually terrified him, and Harley had fought him to a standstill. Queen Dreokt had toyed with Connor like a little child, and that failed mission eroded his confidence. He needed to stop Harley, but so far he hadn’t figured out a good strategy.

  He’d even tapped obsidian. He borrowed a little from Student Eighteen and used it to accelerate his thinking. One thing became abundantly clear. He could not hope to fight toe to toe with her, slugging it out with elemental power. She was so much more experienced, so much more powerful in earth and air. Just like at the Carraig, he needed to fight smarter. Luckily, he’d shown that he performed best under pressure, and the ideas were starting to form.

  They just needed to form faster.

  It might be easier if he commanded the army, but he was a foreigner. Mattias had refused to propose the idea when Connor suggested it. They didn’t have the proper treaties in place.

  So he scanned the pitiful army with growing concern. The other groups assembled to fight were the ones who offered what little hope could be dredged out from under the ice and snow.