by Frank Morin
“I will defend myself with his own words.” She extracted from a pocket a geometric crystal, and a deep voice, etched with worry, echoed out of it.
“Kilian doesn’t matter. The Matron of Evil is our ultimate target and ever has been. Connor may be our best hope for stopping her.”
“Wow. Play that again,” Hamish said. That was a really neat trick. He wondered if he could create a voice-recording mechanical. He needed to convince her to share a bit of serpentinite with him.
“Not now,” Student Eighteen said softly, not taking her eyes from her father.
The short Assassin frowned at the crystal. “I find it hard to believe he spoke those words.”
“You call me a liar?” Student Eighteen asked in a deadly cold voice, one hand slipping to her own knife.
By his expression, the short guy would eagerly escalate the argument into a fight. Hamish knew Student Eighteen’s deadly skill with her knives, but that little guy was more dangerous than he appeared. He had slipped his hand under his wide belt, as if grasping a weapon there, although Hamish had never heard of anyone fighting with a belt.
Sir spoke before he could. “Patience, Daulah. Guilt is not yet confirmed and I want neither of you dead before it is.”
Daulah gave Student Eighteen a contemptuous look. “She is no threat to me.”
Mister Two spoke softly, but his voice slid into Hamish’s ears like an icy blade. “You insult my family?”
That made Daulah nervous. He made a strange gesture with his hand, ducking his head a bit in what Hamish assumed was a sign of apology. “I mean no disrespect, but I do not believe those are his words.”
Sir said, “Share the first sentence again.”
Again Mister Five’s voice echoed out from the crystal. “Kilian doesn’t matter. The Matron of Evil is our ultimate target.”
Sir raised his hands, making little motions, as if he was parting a piece of invisible cake hovering in the air in front of him. After a moment he nodded. “I confirm these are Mister Five’s words and they are unaltered.”
Daulah looked disappointed.
Mister Two motioned Student Eighteen closer, his expression unreadable. She obeyed and he placed hands on her shoulders and said, “You recognized the truth even before the ultimate threat was clear. Mister Five confirmed your choice at the end. I declare the blood quest complete and find you innocent.”
He pulled her to him in a fierce hug, which she enthusiastically returned. Tears stood in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. Sir looked pleased, Daulah glum.
“So this is a happy family reunion now and not a mass funeral for foolish Assassins?”
Mister Two barked a laugh. “I have heard of your confidence. Tonight it bordered on recklessness, but I salute you as a true friend.”
Student Eighteen said, “Father, will you come inside and meet with Connor? He helped me restore Aifric when the queen killed her mind. I named him family.”
“You didn’t!” Daulah exclaimed, looking furious. “You’ve forever tainted the honor of the entire clan.”
She rounded on him. “I used to respect you, Daulah, but now I see you speak before you think.”
He glared, but Sir waved him to silence.
Mister Two said, “Such a use of that honor is unusual, but I will consider it.”
“So you’ll come meet him and ally with him?” she asked expectantly. Hamish held his breath. A formal alliance with the Mhortair would be a huge victory.
But her father shook his head. “Not yet, daughter. Like Mister Five said, the Matron of Evil is our target. We leave as soon as the storm blows itself out.”
Hamish asked, “You’re really planning to attack the queen? In her seat of power?”
Mister Two nodded. “That is usually the best place. She will be overconfident and not expect danger. The speed of her takeover has thrown every other potential enemy on the defensive. We will take her. Daughter, you will guide us.”
Student Eighteen smiled coldly. “I am eager to avenge Aifric.”
Hamish said, “You’re eager to die then. Remember what happened last time? She spanked you and Connor and Ivor. She could have killed you all. Do you think she’ll make the same mistake twice?”
Mister Two said, “For any others to undertake this mission, your fears would prove accurate. We possess secrets that should tip the scales in our favor. We cannot ignore this opportunity to strike now before she consolidates her hold or raises any other ancient servants.”
Hamish shuddered to think of a dozen more Harleys running around Obrion. The four of them turned toward the door to get out of the brutal weather. Maybe Mister Two was right. Maybe they could kill the queen.
That made his choice easy.
He caught up with Student Eighteen and said, “If you have the tools to kill her, I’ll take you there.”
“We don’t need your help,” Daulah snapped.
Sir shushed him again. “You mean to fly us?”
Hamish nodded. “Best flyer alive. We can set down anywhere in or around Donleavy. I can get you there in a couple of days instead of weeks.”
Mister Two smiled. “Done.”
52
Only Trust Bread You Baked Yourself
The next morning, Connor allowed himself to sleep in late. He still felt exhausted. Ascension, battling Harley, and restoring Aifric all took a toll. By the time he arose, Ivor had already left the rooms. When he wandered into Ivor’s sitting room, he noticed a note on a small table.
It was from Hamish, and all it said was, “I’ve taken the student on a little family trip. Should be fun. Be back in a few days.”
That did not sound good. No, it sounded terrible.
Connor studied the note. It suggested that Student Eighteen’s family had tracked her down right there in Merkland. That would explain why she’d acted afraid, but he felt angry that she hadn’t invited him to stand with her. It sounded like she’d convinced them she hadn’t betrayed the family honor, and that perhaps they’d reconciled, but what did Hamish mean by a little family trip? What was Hamish thinking?
The outer door opened and Tomas and Cameron entered without knocking. They were bundled against the bitter cold, their faces red as if they’d just come in from morning exercise.
“Good morning,” Connor said, motioning them toward the fire.
Cameron grunted as he removed his woolen hat and extended his hands toward the fire. “Woulda been better if we hadn’t wasted sleep time traipsing through the tail end of that blizzard before dawn.”
Tomas said, “Well, if you hadn’t irritated the general, he wouldn’t have sent us on that fool’s errand.”
“I didn’t irritate him. You’re the one who left his knife in that tankard.”
“He wanted a drink. Just didn’t know it yet. Fishing out that knife woulda forced him to do a bit of self-reflectioning.” Tomas tapped the side of his head knowingly.
“What errand are you guys talking about?” Connor asked.
“That flying wagon. General told us to hide it before anyone spotted it this morning on account of your clandestine arrival and all,” Tomas said.
Cameron grunted again, looking grumpy. It wasn’t as if a little extra beauty sleep could help that brutish face, but Connor would have resented getting ordered out into that storm before dawn too.
“But Hamish lifted into the sky just as we arrived,” Cameron said.
“Where’d he go?” Connor asked.
Tomas shrugged. “Took off south. Maybe he’s going to hide it in the forest.”
“I don’t think so.” Connor glanced at the note again, his worry spiking higher. “Was anyone with him?”
“Hard to tell with those shimmering windows, but might’ve been at least a couple,” Tomas said.
Cameron asked, “Why? What’s he up to?”
“I’m not sure. Probably something dumb.”
The two big soldiers exchanged a knowing look. Tomas said, “Gotta be a good mission if it’s s
o secret even his partner on this secret mission doesn’t know.”
“A double secret mission would be good, but Connor probably just sent him away so he can do all the breaking himself,” Cameron replied.
“I’m not planning on breaking anything. I’m just going to meet with Rory and Ivor.”
“And break the entire kingdom,” Tomas finished for him.
Cameron shook his head. “With goals that big, Merkland doesn’t stand a chance.”
Connor gave up. Those two would make up their minds about what they expected him to do, and he’d never change them. The unnerving thing was how often they guessed right. This time they were just teasing, though. There was no reason to destroy Merkland.
“Where’s General Rory?”
“Up in that tower with Ivor again,” Tomas said.
“He should try a different secret meeting place,” Cameron said. “That one’s been used so much, people are starting to request time with him up there instead of waiting till he returns to his office.”
“I’ll suggest it,” Connor promised.
The two Fast Rollers led him to the kitchens to grab some breakfast. He felt starved and piled an enormous platter with bacon, sausage, meat pies, a huge piece of some kind of delicious egg-baked pie, an entire honey cake, and a coupe apples. The cooks protested, but Cameron insisted he was filling an order to feed the general and ten assistants.
“Althing food kind of thin?” Tomas asked as they escorted him up to the tower meeting room.
“I’ve been busy,” Connor said between mouthfuls of honey cake.
Cameron chortled. “Can’t wait to hear that story.”
They left him at the door and headed back to oversee shift rotations along the city walls.
Connor watched them march back down the stairs, wondering at Rory’s decision to appoint them captains. They were deadly fighters, with penetrating insights into political intrigue and masterful battlefield strategies, but could they really manage the day-to-day affairs of the Fast Rollers? If things got confused, they’d just order a general bash fight.
Rory and Ivor were again sitting around the small table in the tower room, near the fire, but Connor paused to stare out the huge windows. The spectacular view of the snow-covered city took his breath away.
The storm had finally blown itself out and bright morning sunlight set the pristine snow glittering like millions of diamonds. The palace and city gleamed like a fairy tale. Across the river, the township, snow-covered fields, and forested hills looked surreal under their blankets of fresh snow. Even the river that curved around Merkland before running south looked bluer than Connor had ever seen.
“I see why you like meeting here,” Connor said as he joined them at the table near the fire and balanced his platter on his knees.
Rory, who sat facing the northern window and its view toward the Maclachlan mountains said, “The view helps us remember what we’re fighting for.”
Connor glanced toward those distant mountains. The Drumwhindle Pass was too far to see without quartzite, but he bet that was what Rory was looking toward. Was he fighting for freedom of his nation, or was his a far more personal motivation?
Ivor reached for a sausage, but Connor slapped his hand away. “Get your own breakfast.”
“You can’t possibly eat all that,” Ivor laughed.
“I’m training for my next meal with Hamish.”
Ivor snatched a sausage and took an enormous bite. “Too bad. Friends share.”
Rory took a breakfast meat pie with a grin. Connor sighed. Sometimes friendship carried a heavy price.
“Tomas and Cameron reported that Hamish lifted off this morning just as the storm broke,” Rory said.
“What’s he up to?” Ivor asked.
Connor handed him the note. “Not sure, but it might not be good.”
He explained briefly about Student Eighteen’s situation, the expected threat from her family, and his hope the note suggested they’d reconciled.
“So he might be caught up in Mhortair business?” Rory asked gravely.
“Possibly.”
Ivor grimaced. “Not good, although if we could secure an alliance with the assassins, we’d win a critical advantage.”
Rory didn’t look convinced. “I don’t think we can count on them, but we’ll keep an open mind for an opportunity. For now, we need to focus on timing for the first strike.”
Connor asked, “How soon?”
Ivor gestured toward the maps and parchments on the table. “That’s what we’re working on. We’d like to move up the timeframe and launch our first strikes during the dead of winter, maybe even during another big storm. That would make it harder for the high lords under attack to get communication out.”
“Or for reinforcements to marshal,” Rory said.
Connor frowned. “But that would make it harder to time strikes from abroad. You’d have to stand alone against the queen and all her loyal forces for longer.”
Ivor shook his head slowly as he considered their charts. “There has to be a way.”
As they discussed different ideas, Connor again felt impressed by their detailed planning. With Ailsa’s network of contacts, they already had communication established with every major city. Between them, Rory and Ivor knew a lot of people who would likely join the movement once they understood the truth.
Connor had definitely chosen his leaders wisely. He wouldn’t have planned nearly so much, but would have leaped into action with his first idea. He’d proven that wasn’t the best way to start a revolution.
With their help, Connor polished off the entire tray of food and even convinced Rory to order some more while they worked. Several trays of bread, meat, and cheese were brought in, along with bowls of fruit and tankards of mulled cider to help chase away the chill.
“That’s more like it,” Connor grinned.
Ivor leaned back with a tankard in one hand and a warm sweetbread in the other. Between bites he said, “Our biggest challenge is still figuring out how to convince everyone beyond any doubt that we’re telling the truth.”
“And convincing the local lords to throw in with us, or at least not openly oppose us. It’s a hard sell,” Rory agreed around a huge chunk of cheese. “The lie is so ingrained. Some days I still feel doubts creeping in, and I’ve seen Connor transform into that rampager and return.”
Ivor said, “Not enough have. We should push the story of that transformation at the Carraig. Several hundred people saw that, so it won’t be hard for folks to find independent confirmation.”
“Except most of those witnesses are heirs of noble houses. They’ll be motivated to downplay what they saw, or even lie about it when they realize the stakes,” Connor said.
He considered the challenge as he downed a couple of sweetbreads. They were still warm from the oven, and they had a wonderful, spicy flavor. He’d never tasted any quite like that.
He held up a third one. “This is really good. I don’t think—”
Pain erupted through his innards, and the bread fell from his hand. Groaning, he clutched his stomach.
“Connor?” Ivor asked, concerned.
He couldn’t answer. The pain blossomed through every limb. It was almost as if something was eating at his flesh from the inside.
Then the pain reached his heart and flared to blinding intensity. As if from a great distance, he felt his limbs snap out, his head whip back, and a scream rip from his lips. Raw emotions boiled through him and the beast in his heart flexed and rose.
With horrifying clarity, he understood.
Porphyry.
53
Ravarooroo
Impossible, but it was happening.
Panic fueled Connor’s intensifying emotions. His muscles convulsed and his second scream deepened and shifted into ranges of sound beyond the realm of the human voice.
Somehow he’d ingested porphyry, and he couldn’t stop the transformation. He hadn’t absorbed it through his skin, but that didn�
��t seem to matter.
His vision clouded as a purple haze descended over everything. Rory and Ivor leaped to their feet, shouting words he couldn’t understand.
“Get back,” he managed before his jaw expanded, becoming a fanged maw. His hands and feet transformed into clawed paws and his muscles expanded beyond the limits of granite, stretching his skin until it split and transformed into thick animal hide.
Then the pain disappeared, replaced by pure euphoria. Strength and power flooded through him, so strong he gasped a ragged, panting breath. The transformation completed two seconds later, and he rose on all fours, flexing his mighty limbs and flicking his long tongue across massive jaws.
Fury enveloped him, a purple, unfocused rage that sought a target.
He found two of them.
Fear hung on the air as two puny humans stumbled back, their heartbeats accelerating. His rampager vision tracked the pulsing of their blood as it coursed through their thin hides. The sight ignited his hunger.
He took a single step toward them, intent on ripping out their still-beating hearts and consuming them.
No.
A tiny voice somehow penetrated the purple haze of fury and bloodlust. It was weak, but still compelling, and he growled with renewed fury. He was the deadliest hunter in the world, perhaps the last of the mighty rampagers. No one told him no.
No, the voice came again and he recognized the voice of his weak, human self.
Shrugging off that pitiful resistance, he took another step toward the humans, who had retreated to the door. One swelled with granite, a meaningless gesture, while the other stood defiant with hands encased in water and fire. He must die first. He was the greater threat.
His puny Connor voice returned, stronger. I promised Verena. I will not surrender to this again.
Verena.
An image blossomed in his mind. Verena, lying lovely and peaceful in her bed in Altkalen.
The rage subsided enough that he recognized Ivor and Rory and understood the words they shouted at him, but he ignored them. The inner struggle for dominance consumed his full attention.
Could he allow the puny human to dictate his actions? The thought made him growl with anger and glance hungrily at Ivor again. If he ate that one, he could silence his Connor self forever.