by Frank Morin
Several companies of Althin researchers were assembled on the west bank, each with wagons full of chemical weapons. They remained well outside of town, up on the only meaningful hill on that bank. They busied themselves assembling long-armed catapults that Gisela called trebuchet.
Mattias had explained that the chemical research facilities were located twenty miles outside of Dagmanson, around the far side of one of the lower mountains to prevent accidental catastrophes. Transporting those dangerous materials down to Raufarhofn had been a huge logistical challenge.
Connor hoped the winds continued to blow south, and decided he’d do his best to help keep them pointed in that direction when those chemicals were launched. He stood on the east bank, on an earthen lookout tower he’d slowly erected, being careful not to draw deep from the earth and risk triggering a backlash. The ground felt pretty stable, but he could feel the unsettled quivering of the elements to the west at the outer limits of his senses. It wouldn’t take much to spread that unrest into Althing.
He spent ten whole minutes building the most extensive shielding he’d ever attempted around the base of his tower. The few Petralists in Althing were clustered around the central command, about fifty yards closer to the city. At least one of them was a Sentry and they raised a careful tower similar to his. When he probed in that direction, their shielding proved pretty solid.
He hoped they could keep Harley at bay with the Arishat’s creative attacks. If she decided to strike hard through the earth, none of the shields would hold for long.
Mattias and Wolfram stood with Briet on that command tower, along with the other military commanders and two other senior counselors Connor hadn’t met yet. He’d expected to get invited to join them, but had been asked to station himself a little farther away. He wondered if they feared Harley might target him as the most dangerous threat and therefore didn’t want to stand too close.
If Harley killed him, they’d join him all too soon. That was a depressing thought. It drove home how desperate their position really was. They were facing one of the strongest Petralists alive, with barely a token force, cobbled together in the middle of winter at the last minute. Chances of success were dismal at best.
If only he had a little porphyry.
The thought triggered the strongest wave of craving for the deadly powder that he’d felt since using diorite outside of Altkalen. Connor’s fists clenched as a wave of need burned through him and set his teeth grinding against the urge to growl. He should banish the thought instantly, knew better than to give that need any root in his heart, but he hesitated.
Porphyry did offer perhaps their best chance of survival. For one dark moment, he allowed himself to consider the idea. He’d dared porphyry twice, and twice it had helped him survive battles that would have killed him. If he did have some, would he dare try it again, despite knowing he might die a frothing, insane rage monster as a result?
Luckily he didn’t have any, so it was a moot point. He fought down the craving by studying the other components of the army. There weren’t many.
A company of heavily armed and armored Varvakins stood at attention south of the command tower. Half a hundred scimitar-wielding Sehrazad raiders waited on horseback a little farther back, huddling in their saddles in the cold.
Connor couldn’t imagine a cavalry charge accomplishing much. He thought back to the battles of Alasdair when Ilse had frozen the slope to disable all the horses of Carbrey’s cavalry. Harley would probably just dump them all into a pit and smother them.
Another company of Varvakins stood at the vanguard of the army. They were a strange sight. Every one was fully sheathed in gleaming plate armor, but they only carried long, steel spears for weapons. Stranger than that, they were all bound together with lengths of gleaming steel chain.
Connor lifted a speakstone Hamish had paired that morning. General Wolfram carried its partner. “General, why are those Varvakins chained together?”
“Necessary to launch a special attack they’ve only recently developed. Lady Briet said it’s never been used before. It has something to do with that huge energy storage tank they set up in town and the contraption they placed into the river.”
“The one that looked like a water wheel?”
“Indeed. Somehow captures energy from the waters. Eystri said it’s something like bottled lightning.”
“Water doesn’t generate lightning.”
“Apparently they’ve figured out a way. They’ve got a specially coated wire running to the energy storage tank from the river, and more extending to that company of soldiers. From what I understand, if they can strike Harley with those spears, they should be able to hit her with that captured lightning.”
That sounded pretty good. Connor had been wishing for his father’s Ashlar hammer. If he had to fight Harley close up and personal, he’d love to smash her in the face with that lightning-like diorite power that had blown the mountain above Lord Gavin’s manor. That might dent her confidence, and her face.
“Won’t they get killed too?” he asked.
“Apparently not. Something about all that steel encasing them sheds the jolt and simply passes it down the line.”
That must be why they were chained. The steel chain must pass it along too. The idea was fascinating, and he hoped he’d get to witness what it did to Harley.
The Hawk plunged out of the early morning clouds, flared dangerously close to the ground, and settled gently to the snowy grasses. Hamish climbed out and jogged over to Connor, bearing an enormous tray crammed with four cakes, a dozen sweetbreads, and a huge bag of cookies.
“Where’d you get that?” Connor asked.
“The baker in town was panicking, so I offered to help rescue extra stock.”
“Did they know that meant you’d eat it?”
Hamish shrugged. “Confiscated for the war effort. This is my thinking food.” He shoved two cookies into his mouth, then mumbled, “Shuffa goofa miffa.”
“Well I’m not going to find milk for you. I can’t believe you forgot it.”
Hamish swallowed and sighed with exaggerated suffering. “The sacrifices we make.”
Connor smiled, glad that Hamish hadn’t let the stress of the day rob his appetite. Connor couldn’t enjoy food at the moment, but he could enjoy watching Hamish enjoy it. Watching Hamish polish off several cookies actually helped settle Connor’s nerves.
Hamish grinned after swallowing one particularly huge mouthful. “You know, I love the name of this town. I hope we can save it.”
“Raufarhofn?”
Hamish grinned. “Sounds like that skin disease old gaffer Clifden tried to convince Mhairi he suffered from that time he tried courting her.”
Connor couldn’t help laughing. Clifden must have addled his brain with a particularly bad batch of his local brew to think he had any chance with old Mhairi. She’d given him such a vile tonic, he’d looked green for a month.
“What did you see?” he asked his friend, who had been out scouting for Harley’s approach. Carefully.
“She’s coming, all right. Seems to know we’re here. She sped up while we were watching and made what had to be an ancient obscene gesture.”
“Really?”
“I’ll show you later. Maybe use it on Mattias and ask him if he’s ever seen it before. I love historical research sometimes. How’s the army?”
Connor grimaced. “Remember at Altkalen when we were worried we were underpowered with several thousand Petralists? We had no idea how good we had it.”
“The Varvakins look optimistic,” Hamish said, nodding toward the chain-linked, steel-clad warriors.
Connor explained about them, then pointed out the Althin researchers on their hilltop across the river. “Those two groups are our best bet.”
“What about that lot hiding behind town?” Hamish asked, pointing with a cookie.
Gisela had mentioned that those soldiers with the strange, conical helmets were from Tabnit. They had erected a long,
open-topped tent on the northern end of town, opposite from where the rest of the army gathered, and busied themselves inside. Gisela didn’t know the details of their planned contribution to the battle, and Eystri had headed over there to investigate. Connor hated not knowing the details of the plan. How was he supposed to help if he didn’t know exactly what was going to happen?
When he’d asked, Briet had admitted they were still working on it. She’d also tried to get him to sign some kind of ‘I-won’t-betray-you-during-the-battle’ agreement, but he’d laughed at the suggestion. He was planning to risk his life to help them. The least they could do was show him a little trust in return.
“Did you get a look inside the tent as you flew over?” Connor asked.
“Of course. Didn’t make a lot of sense, though. They’ve got three enormous, steel tubes in there, like the front end of Dierk’s thump driver, but without the catapult arms to throw anything. I saw a stack of big round iron balls that have to be some kind of projectile.”
“Gisela once said something about Tabnit, remember? That they’ve got some kind of sand, wasn’t it?”
Hamish nodded, then snapped his fingers. “Angry black sand. Sounded a lot like diorite.”
“Hopefully we’ll get a chance to see how it works. Long-range attacks are a really good idea, but only if Harley doesn’t see them coming.”
“Can you do something to distract her again?”
“I’ll try.” He really wished he had his armor, but he’d left it at Altkalen. He hadn’t expected to be going to battle in Althing. It might not help much against Harley, but he always felt more confident with it on. Besides, Verena had gifted that armor to him, and wearing it helped him feel closer to her.
A horn sounded, three notes that pierced the chill morning air and hung over the town for a long time. It was the signal.
Harley had arrived.
44
Desperate Times, Stupid Ideas
Harley slid around a bend in the road, about two miles downstream, riding that peculiar earthen seat of hers.
General Wolfram spoke through the speakstone in Connor’s hand. “The best range for the Althin chemical attacks and the Tabnit fire tubes are about half a mile. Can you do something to distract her at about that point?”
“Of course,” Connor said confidently, but inside he felt cold as he tried to figure out how to do that without getting obliterated.
Hamish swallowed another cookie and nodded back toward the Hawk. “If you get into trouble, I’ll hit her with those diorite missiles. They’re several times larger than regular ones. Should pack enough punch to bother her for a few seconds.”
“Thanks.” Connor’s throat was dry and his voice sounded nervous even to him.
Hamish offered him a cookie, but that wasn’t what he needed. He settled his earthen tower back to the ground, and Hamish jogged with his tray of sweets back toward the Hawk. Connor then popped a little piece of marble into his mouth and wedged it under his tongue. As soon as he sucked on it, spicy flavor exploded into his mouth and he breathed deep, savoring it.
If marble could just taste like that all the time, he’d use it a lot more often. All too soon the spice faded to a dull burning sensation, but he kept sucking, filling himself with the intensifying burn. He needed that rather crazed intensity to dare heading down that road to face Harley.
The thought of heading into battle without granite itching along his skin scared him more than he cared to admit, but he needed the accelerated reflexes of obsidian. So he absorbed a small portion, just enough for a few minutes quick thinking. He could purge that much pretty fast and switch to granite, if needed.
As soon as he tapped obsidian, his thoughts sped up and the sound of Verena’s silvery laughter played in his mind. He smiled and breathed deep, savoring the sound and using it to help him settle into battle calm.
He’d already swallowed a soapstone mixture and had wafers of slate in both boots. He now wedged a bit of quartzite into his cheek. He had some serpentinite in his pocket. He touched it, and the area lit up with the bright lights of sounds. He easily tracked hushed conversations, the clinking of armor and weapons and creaking of trebuchets being cranked back.
He spoke and imbued the sound with extra energy. “Harley, stop now, or I’ll be forced to destroy you.” He cast the sounds across the valley to Harley. This way she alone could enjoy the ridiculous boast.
She laughed and her voice boomed over the valley, enhanced by quartzite. “I see you’re determined to die today. I applaud your bravery, but pity your stupidity. Swear fealty to Queen Dreokt now and you will be pardoned and welcomed home.”
Briet’s voice boomed back, magnified by one of only two Pathfinders native to Althing. “We are a free people and we will fight for our freedom. Begone, vassal of evil.”
Ooh, that was a really good insult.
Connor tapped slate. Earth opened to his affinity senses and he felt Earth standing beneath him, seeming distracted. Immediately, he felt Harley’s strike surging through the ground toward the command tower, like an underground spear. He couldn’t hope to stop it, but did manage to strike a glancing blow against it with his own slate senses. The attack deflected to the west and struck a large storehouse on the edge of town.
The storehouse shattered, showering broken bits of timber and bales of wool that had been stored inside all across the town.
Harley was still advancing, but was still over a mile distant. If she continued to press the attack from that distance, she’d destroy them all before they ever got the chance to strike back.
Connor summoned his own narrow earthen chair, swung astride it, and willed himself south to meet her. The ride was more comfortable than it looked. With his feet propped on little stirrups and his hands gripping the bars extending from the front, he figured he could easily ride like that for hours.
As he slid past the nervous army, they cheered loudly and he raised a hand in salute. Their support bolstered his confidence, although they’d probably cheer anyone dumb enough to step out alone against Harley.
Connor pulsed his earth senses outward, mapping the ground in his mind and trying to sense Harley’s intentions. She did not strike again, but he felt her presence in the ground, like a thunderstorm approaching with relentless and unstoppable might.
Connor slid out onto the road, but kept his pace slow. He didn’t want to meet her before she closed the distance to that last half mile. She spotted him and her voice boomed out again, this time sounding angry.
“You dare assume you’re worthy of using my ride, pup?”
He’d hoped to distract, not anger her. Oops. He tapped quartzite to his throat and responded with his own booming voice. “Who says it’s your ride? Evander uses this all the time.”
“I invented it. I once made the mistake of allowing him to borrow the idea and now he seems to think he has a right to it. You never even bothered to ask.”
She had accelerated while he slowed. Let her think he was afraid of her. He was, but that wasn’t the point. She reached the half mile point, about a hundred yards from him. That was close enough. Probably too close, if the Althins planned to launch another mega stench.
So Connor tapped soapstone and marble together. The elements responded immediately, like old friends flanking him. Water slipped her hand into his, while fire paced around them, laughing maniacally.
As soon as he called upon them, Water yanked a section of the river right over the bank. Fire threw back his head in glee, and fire exploded out of thin air all around Connor. He wrapped the elements together and rose on a twined column of burning water.
As he hoped, Harley stopped, even though she didn’t exactly look impressed. Immediately, three of the Althin trebuchets fired. Instead of launching rocks like most catapults, or even the ceramic pots full of explosives like the Builders used, they launched cylindrical steel drums.
To keep Harley distracted, Connor formed gigantic arms of twined elements and struck at her. She raised
a protective wall, just as he’d hoped, and his attack did little more than leave a patchwork of charred and muddy streaks across the barrier. He didn’t whip the elements up over the top because he wanted her blind, but not protected from above.
For a second it looked like the plan would work, but then the earthen barrier rolled back over her, forming a full protective sphere.
“Tallan spit in her eyes,” Connor exclaimed.
The steel barrels struck. The researchers were good at calibrating distances because although the first one struck to the right, the other two hit Harley’s defensive sphere dead center.
They all exploded with amazing intensity. Whatever those barrels contained, it liked to blow up big, as big as quickened diorite. The violent explosions shook the valley with thunder, and crimson flames billowed all around Harley’s protective earth.
The blasts tore through the defensive wall, shredding it and hurling Harley out the back side. She tumbled, bounced once, but on the second bounce, she slid abruptly to a stop. She must have reconnected with slate and bled away the force of the impact.
Her leather jacket was singed, and she looked battered, but as he focused quartzite-enhanced vision on her face, his heart skipped a beat in renewed fear.
She looked really angry.
Harley rose to her feet, showing no lingering effects of the brutal explosion. Connor wasn’t about to give her time to recover. He seized the still-billowing flames, raised them high and condensed them into spears of fire like the ones he’d used to incinerate General Carbrey. That memory still haunted him sometimes, but the plan worked once. It’d work again.
Harley raised another protective sphere of earth around herself as he drove those spears of fire at her. His fire plunged down into her earthen defense, driving in several inches, but then sheared off.
It wasn’t a single sphere at all, but several layers, built atop each other, and the inner layers were spinning in different directions. The movement easily deflected his fires.
“No fair,” Connor grumbled. Harley couldn’t both be so much stronger and so clever.