by Frank Morin
50
Keeping a Low Profile Will Be Easy
Rory was not in his office, a long room on the top floor, with a huge window, covered by thick, insulating drapes. The view would probably be great on a clear day. Connor asked the guard to summon Tomas or Cameron.
Several minutes later, Tomas and Cameron burst into the office, grinning.
“Connor, me lad,” Tomas exclaimed, pumping Connor’s hand hard enough to dislocate the shoulder of someone unprepared.
Cameron clapped him on the back, knocking him forward a step. “How by the Tallan’s warted backside did you slip into Merkland?”
“I bet he summoned the blizzard,” Tomas suggested.
“Actually, we were aiming for Drumwhindle, but the blizzard blew us off course.”
Cameron gave him a disgusted look. “Lad, next time let me take that bet afore you prove I would’ve won.”
Tomas said, “The pass is already broken, Connor. What you want to be flying up there through a blizzard for?”
“Doesn’t matter now. I need to speak with Rory. Do you know where he is?”
“Secret meeting with Ivor,” Tomas said immediately.
Cameron leaned in closer and added in a conspiratorial whisper. “No one’s supposed to know.”
“But of course you two do.”
“Of course,” they said together. Tomas added, “On account of us being the new captain of the Fast Rollers, we need to know all the goings on around here.”
“You’re captain?” Connor exclaimed.
“We’re captain,” Cameron clarified. “Old Rory couldn’t decide which of us to promote, so he made us joint leaders.”
“Congratulations!” He wasn’t surprised they’d been promoted together. Neither of them did anything without the other, so promoting just one would result in a never-ending barrage of arguments. He wasn’t entirely sure the Fast Rollers were quite ready for Tomas and Cameron as captains, but he hoped Rory knew what he was doing.
They led him back to the main palace again, then up to a top-floor observatory in one of the lesser towers. The glass-lined room was chilly, despite a roaring fire, and the panoramic view showed nothing but darkness and swirling snow.
Rory and Ivor sat before the fire on either side of a table cluttered with papers, maps, and scrolls.
Ivor laughed and rose. “Connor? What are you doing here?”
“Checking in to see how things are going.” He enthusiastically gripped hands with Ivor, then Rory. “Sort of missed our target in the snow.”
Ivor asked, “How can you miss anything in the snow? You’re even better with soapstone than me.”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“We have time,” Rory said. He thanked Tomas and Cameron and sent them away, with a stern warning to make sure no one else interrupted his secret meeting.
“I still can’t figure out how those two always seem to know what I’m up to,” he said with a shake of his head.
“I’m glad they’re on our side,” Connor said.
“Are they?” Ivor asked. He didn’t look so happy. “We can’t afford word getting out about what we’re planning before we’re ready.”
Rory said, “Don’t worry about those two. They’re loyal to me and they’re far more capable than they pretend.”
Connor glanced down at the paper-covered table. “How are things going?”
Ivor dragged a third chair from the other side of the room for him. “Rory is committed. We’re trying to figure out the first stage.”
Rory said, “Problem is, we’ve got twenty thousand troops housed in and around Merkland for the winter. Many of them are from other realms. I’m confident that once they know the truth, enough local troops will join us that any who oppose the idea will be compelled to silence. If not for all those other troops, we could take Merkland tomorrow.”
Ivor shook his head. “We’re not ready. Not only am I not sure yet how to manage Lord Nevan, we need to get word out to the other realms first so when we ignite the spark here we’re ready to move everywhere.”
Rory said, “Nevan’s smart enough that he won’t cause problems. Lord Tocall and Lord Logan can be convinced not to interfere if I promise no raids against their towns. The other lesser nobles and ladies will follow their lead, but Craigroy will need minding. We’ve got a bold plan in the works. The question is timing and coordination.”
“Ailsa’s network will play a critical role,” Ivor said.
“You’ve been in touch with her?” Connor sat facing the fire so his front side was comfortably warm, while his back side already felt chilly. Those big windows allowed far too much cold to seep in.
Ivor nodded. “She’s got contacts everywhere and she’s positioned perfectly in Donleavy. She’s feeding us daily reports and we’ve already started identifying key individuals to help spread the word about patronage. Without her network, it would take months or years to make this work.”
“I’m assuming something significant happened in Althing,” Rory said.
“You could say that.” He told them about it. They listened in attentive silence as he related Harley’s lone assault on the entire kingdom and their fight at Raufarhofn.
“So she just left?” Rory asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Why? She held the advantage.”
Ivor frowned. “She’s a new element we haven’t been planning for. If she can fight Evander to a draw and defy you and all the might of Althing, she and the queen together could squash our revolution before it gets off the ground.”
“I’m hoping Kilian has ideas about dealing with her.”
Rory frowned as he glanced out one of the nearby windows. “I don’t like the fact that you left Hamish and Aifric loose in my city. I don’t need new problems right now, lad.”
“I’ll find them after we’re done here,” he promised.
Rory raised a single eyebrow to show how little he believed that. Ivor chuckled. “Easier said than done.” Then he leaned back, studying Connor with an unreadable expression. “And you ascended with marble? Are you insane?”
“It was my only choice.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t die. Marble is a purifying fire. Most people don’t survive.”
“I almost didn’t.” He hesitated then added softly. “Have you heard anything about the second threshold? About changes or risks to your elemental powers?”
“What happened?”
“I can’t seem to make my tertiary powers work.”
“What?” Rory exclaimed, looking more startled than any time Connor had ever seen him.
“They’re still there,” Connor explained quickly. “It’s just, now I sense two different power sources that fuel them.”
Ivor looked fascinated. “What do you mean? I’ve never sensed a power source driving the elements. They’re the source of it all, aren’t they?”
“I used to think so, but now I’m not sure. I can feel something now. It’s like waves of energy that seem to give the elements life, but there’s a second power source with a different intensity. It seems to have enormous potential, but the two sources cancel each other out. It’s like they can’t coexist.”
“Or you can’t use them both together,” Ivor suggested.
“Something like that. We were heading back to speak with Kilian to figure out how to handle it.”
Rory said, “Make sure you do. We’re standing on the brink of revolution, civil war, and open confrontation with the queen herself. We need you at full power.”
“I know. Trust me, it’s my entire focus.”
Ivor said, “I’m sure Kilian knows what to do. He’s ascended the second threshold, after all. So have Evander, Harley, and the queen herself. There has to be a way to manage it. But for tonight, help us review these plans.”
They spent the next couple of hours reviewing their progress. They’d made a lot. Ivor’s clever brilliance and Rory’s attention to detail complemented each other well. They had l
isted every major city, important nobility, officers, and Petralists, and the likelihood they’d join the revolution.
The plan called for establishing contacts with as many of their strongest potential allies as possible and revealing the truth of patronage to them. They allocated time through the winter for recruiting those initial contacts and helping them carefully spread the word throughout the Guardian ranks.
By the first spring thaw, they planned to launch a coordinated strike, starting in Merkland. The next day, their allies would strike across all the realms of Obrion. The scope of the plan was breathtaking, and if they could pull it off, it would throw every high house into chaos. They hoped to win time to consolidate their forces into four strategic locations. With that many Guardians concentrated like that, they hoped to survive long enough for attacks from Granadure and the Arishat League to deflect the queen’s wrath and put her on the defensive.
Connor was impressed. “We’ll need to coordinate closely with Wolfram and Mattias. They should have a military alliance treaty in place this week.”
Rory rubbed his face. He looked tired, but determined. “That’s good news, lad. We’ll need them if we hope to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Problem is, we haven’t faced revolution since the Tallan wars. It’s hard to know how fast people will join up. Knowing patronage is a lie will not immediately lead everyone to the decision to risk everything for freedom.”
Ivor said, “We need to inspire them, give them a reason to hope we might succeed. That’s why we have to start it all by taking Merkland. We’ll control one of Obrion’s key cities and command an entire army on day one.”
“Or we’ll face pitched battle, with the possibility of needing to kill at least ten thousand of our own countrymen just to survive day one,” Rory said gravely. “I don’t like those odds. We need a way to tip the balance in our favor before it’ll work.”
“We’ve been over that before,” Ivor said, looking a bit frustrated.
“And we’ll go over it as many times as we need to until we find the answer,” Rory retorted.
They ended the meeting after that and Ivor invited Connor to bunk in his rooms in the southern wing of the palace. “Best we don’t let too many people know you’re here yet.”
“They’ll know something once they see the Hawk sitting out in the courtyard.”
Rory grunted. “I’ll have Tomas and Cameron move it to a storage barn and keep it out of sight for now.”
“Good. I’ll contact Hamish via speakstone. Hopefully he’s still with Aifric.”
“We’ll keep you all concealed until after the storm, but then you need to leave. Quietly.”
Connor gave him a confident smile. “No one will know we’ve been here until after we leave.”
51
Family Problems
Hamish decided that trying to hover in place above the towers of the Merkland palace was like trying to nap in the center of an avalanche. Wind gusted in every direction around the towers. It pushed and pulled, sucked him down, and tried to throw him right over backward. If not for the additional directional thrusters Jean had built into the new suit, he’d never have managed it.
On top of gusting insanely, the wind howled worse than Stuart that day Clifden’s prize cow kicked him in the sweets. Snow whipped past in a blinding cloud, and the bitter cold seeped in, despite the heated water he kept circulating through his entire suit.
All those reasons forced him to creep ever closer to the top of the nearest tower. He needed to see what Aifric was doing up there and who the two men were who had just appeared in front of her, as if out of thin air.
One was tall and clearly a warrior. He faced Aifric, profile to Hamish. His face was all hard angles and weathered experience. Despite the storm, his head was bare. His hair was cut short, and he showed no indication that the bitter cold affected him. The other man was barely average height. His back was turned to Hamish, so he couldn’t see much of the man’s face, but something about him looked familiar.
They were speaking, the two men standing in aggressive postures. Aifric looked nervous but defiant. It looked like a fight could break out any second.
As Hamish drifted closer, the sound of his thrusters masked by the howling, whipping wind, the shorter man turned a bit and Hamish recognized his face.
Sir. The Assassin team had tracked Aifric down.
How had she known? Why hadn’t she said anything? He and Connor would have gladly helped defend her until she could explain things.
The tall man pointed at her and began speaking rapidly. Hamish had drifted to within about twenty feet of the tower. He didn’t think either of the men had spotted him yet. He could hit them with a barrage of mechanicals, but didn’t want to start a fight with a pair of Mhortair until he absolutely had to.
The wind suddenly gusted directly away from the men, right into Hamish’s face and carried with it their words. Whatever language they spoke, it was unlike anything he knew. It sounded like whispers on the wind, and the bits he caught were light and lyrical and fast. He wished he understood more.
Aifric, who must have shifted to Student Eighteen, shook her head violently and her hand reached for a dagger sheathed unusually visible on her belt.
Time to intervene.
Hamish landed in a whoosh of thrusters near the two Assassins and shouted, “Hey, does she owe you money too?”
Neither one of them so much as twitched.
Student Eighteen sighed. “Hamish, you’re such a fool.”
Even though Hamish stood near the outer edge of the roof over a hundred foot drop and that area had looked completely clear before he landed, someone seized his right arm and twisted it brutally up behind his back into a strange lock hold. If not for the protective bulk of his suit, the hold would have completely immobilized it.
Hamish turned in amazement to find a short, swarthy-skinned fellow, swathed in furs and an enormous hat that looked like it was trying to eat his head.
“Where’d you come from?” Hamish demanded, trying to shove the man away, but the fellow was very light on his feet and he shifted with Hamish, still pulling on his arm, but not quite able to twist it far enough to control him.
The man drew a short knife with a high, flat point from a wide, cloth belt at his hip. He looked confident, almost bored, and it was obvious he felt he could dispatch Hamish easily.
With a flicker of thought, Hamish fired little jets of quartzite, flipping his arm back around and locking the wrist and forearm straight.
The little fellow, short knife poised to strike, glanced to the tall man and asked in Obrioner, “Shall I dispatch him?”
“Do you think that ridiculous hat will help slow your fall off the roof?” Hamish retorted. The fellow clearly didn’t consider him a threat.
Time for some education.
As the little man again tried twisting his wrist, Hamish was tempted to let him work at it for a few seconds. With the pieces locked together, he could wrestle it all night, but Hamish didn’t want to give the others time to get bored so he activated two tiny bits of quartzite in the front of his helmet. They squeezed a little pouch of liquid between them and shot a jet of concentrated lemon juice into the man’s smug eyes.
Grunting what had to be a curse in that beautiful language of theirs, the man side-stepped, slipping right behind Hamish.
Perfect.
Hamish triggered a small piece of quartzite concealed along the bottom hem of his armored jacket at the small of his back. It fired off a sharp piece of metal.
Jean had figured most attackers would be big, so that stabbing mini knife would catch them in the groin. That short fellow took it in the stomach.
He grunted in pain, but amazingly did not drop his knife. Instead he plunged it into the leather outer layer of Hamish’s suit and scraped against a hardened granite leaf underneath.
The fellow was trying to kill him.
That simplified things. Hamish ignited a bit of marble between his shoulder blades, triggering a
jet of fire that should roast the man’s eyeballs. The man retreated with a muted cry, but the flames leaped away, soaring into the air to hover around the tall leader’s head. His eyes filled with crimson flames, and Hamish tensed for a desperate fight.
Student Eighteen raised her hands and cried, “Stop! Mister Two, he is a friend only trying to protect me.”
Mister Two? That sounded even worse than he’d feared. The title was still stupid, but it meant the tall fellow with fire mastery was one of the senior kill leaders of the Mhortair. Hamish had dropped right into the middle of the fire this time. Literally.
Maybe he should have thought that through a bit more.
Mister Two spoke in cultured Obrioner, sounding like a high lord. His dark hair was graying, and his black eyes held no hint of mercy. “Do not attempt any further interference. I agree to allow you to share my daughter’s fate.”
“Daughter?” That made twisted Mhortair sense. Nothing like a daddy-daughter murder date.
Mister Two gestured and the short Assassin pushed Hamish over to her. That was fine with him. That was right where he wanted to be. The man had sheathed his knife, but his hand lingered on his wide, cloth belt. No doubt he could draw the blade fast if talks broke down.
Sir said, “This is the Builder friend of the Tallan’s heir.”
“But no friend of betrayers.” Hamish said. Facing three Assassins was usually a recipe for guaranteed suicide, even with Student Eighteen to help. He considered possible attacks. He’d only get seconds before they destroyed him, but he wouldn’t make it easy for them.
Mister Two said, “We also honor loyalty and punish betrayers. That is in fact why we are here.”
“I did not dishonor the clan,” Student Eighteen insisted, standing proud before her father.
Sir stepped closer. “Mister Five changed your orders, but the Blood of the Tallan still lives, and you remain his companion. That suggests you lie.”
“He did not understand the situation, but came to realize that the danger we face is not Connor, but Queen Dreokt herself.”
“We know the dread queen has arisen. That does not excuse disobedience,” her father said.