by Frank Morin
Shona had tried everything to win Connor back, but Verena had never imagined she’d attempt something this daring. Was she really so arrogant she thought it would work?
Shona sniffed. “You do not speak for the revolution, witch. What do you say, generals? Rory, Ivor, you have accomplished great things today, but two-thirds of my army yet remains and as we speak, my vanguard is taking Merkland. My condition is simple. I require only that you accept me as a full partner, a commanding general of the revolution.”
Verena blinked in surprise. She scarce believed Shona wasn’t demanding Connor swear fealty to her again.
Rory looked equally surprised, but Ivor started to laugh. He clapped a couple of times and took Shona’s hands in his. “This revolution just got very interesting. Welcome aboard, Shona.”
Rory chuckled. “How can I refuse partnership with our own high lady?”
“And of course, you’ll recognize my claim to my realm and this city.”
“Let’s discuss that once we salvage the city,” Rory said, once more serious.
Shona extended a hand and Rory took it with a rueful grin. “I can’t say I ever imagined you’d join us, but I’m grateful you have, Lady Shona. I’m proud of you.”
She gave him a dazzling smile, as if his words actually mattered to her. And then, incredibly, she began to glow.
Rory looked stunned and Ivor exclaimed, “When did you achieve a secondary affinity?”
“Recently. Do you like it?”
“It fits you perfectly,” Rory said with a straight face.
Shona’s glow brightened, no doubt fueled by their fawning approval. It made Verena seethe with renewed fury. She thought they all hated Shona, but she was worming her way back into their affections with that unmatched deftness that had twisted Connor’s heart into knots so many times.
If Shona ever tried to leverage her newfound position of authority within the revolution to make another play for Connor, Verena would kill her, no matter what anyone said.
Shona declared, “Win or lose, this land no longer belongs to my father. Come, I’ll need an escort to speak with the rest of my army.”
Tomas whistled softly and shook his head with admiration. “Doesn’t that beat all? She just stole our whole revolution.”
“And Rory locked the gates behind us and everything,” Cameron agreed.
100
Lady Jean
Jean ran toward Merkland with over three hundred soldiers at her heels. Her heart raced with nervous excitement. She barely believed she could really be in this situation. Everything happened so fast.
They’d passed the broken ground near the bridge, covered in shattered pieces of speedcaravan ramp and seething with raging elements. That had to be where they were fighting Harley.
Jean longed to lead her troops there to give battle to the dread Petralist, but she couldn’t throw away so many lives. She forced herself to trust Hamish and trust that Connor and Kilian and Ilse and Verena could keep each other safe. She couldn’t really do anything to help them.
But she could help save Merkland.
One of her Pathfinders had reported that somehow the Army Gate was open and intense fighting was raging all around it and into the city. She didn’t understand how the enemy could have breached the city, unless the people in there hadn’t recovered from the porphyry bomb. They needed help, and she was the only one positioned to offer it.
As they raced up the curved road around the city, with the towering white walls of Merkland soaring high above, she finally caught sight of the gate. It was indeed open, and thousands of soldiers were pushing their way inside. Screaming and clashing of arms rang through the still air.
“What are your orders, Commander?” her caller asked.
“We liberate the city, of course.”
“I thought that was our original orders.”
“Same orders then, just liberating from a different group.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Let’s just fight that group at the gate and sort everything else out after we’ve won, all right?”
“As you say, Lady Jean,” he said, looking a bit confused, but willing to accept her orders. He bellowed, “Charge!”
The army accelerated, weapons at the ready, Striders racing around the flanks, and Boulders swelling with granite power. Her few tertiaries prepared their elemental attacks.
Only then did Jean realize she might not want to be running right in front of them. As the army accelerated, a wall of steel and affinity stone, she had to run faster to keep from getting trampled.
That meant she’d be the first to crash into the enemy soldiers. They had seen her little army, and the rear guard was turning to face them.
Jean was about to run right into the middle of a pitched battle, and she’d used up most of her weapons. She couldn’t show cowardice or the entire charge might falter. So she reached into one of her pockets and drew forth her last mechanical and her keystone.
Her caller shouted a battle cry, and her troops took up the cry. It rose into the air and thundered through her, filling her with wild elation and a notable lack of common sense.
“For Lady Jean!”
Jean sprinted up the road, hand raised high, shouting with her troops, and led the charge.
Fire and water began whipping back and forth between her troops and the rear guard blocking their path. The ground rumbled dangerously underfoot, but did not suck them down to their deaths. Twenty feet from the wall of armor and sharp steel waiting to rip her to pieces, Jean placed the keystone against the little piece of slate and diorite, twisted it to quicken the mechanical, and tossed it in front of her.
A two-foot speedcrack wall erupted out of the ground. Twelve feet wide, it shot across the distance and smashed into the gathered ranks of soldiers, sweeping aside the first three rows, tumbling screaming soldiers off their feet and into the tight ranks behind them.
Then it exploded.
Jean cringed as the concussion threw soldiers in every direction, knocking weapons flying and shredding armor. She was a Healer, not a warrior. She wasn’t supposed to hurt people.
If she didn’t, how many thousands more would die?
“Lady Jean!” her troops shouted and surged past her on either side. Her caller swooped her off her feet and she cried out in surprise as he carried her back through the army, which split for her, shouting her name.
She felt immense relief. They weren’t forcing her to leap into battle after all. But her brave troops charged ahead and plowed into the ranks of the enemy. The air split with fresh screams, the hard crashing of steel on steel, and the sickening thud of steel rending flesh.
Fighting back tears, Jean forced herself to watch, to encourage her soldiers. She spotted two Healers at the tail end of her company and excitedly waved them over. She hadn’t noticed them before, but felt immensely relieved by their presence.
“Make sure all the wounded are brought back here so we can tend them,” she ordered her caller, who saluted and rushed into the fray, bellowing orders as he closed on the enemy with his huge sword.
Then strong hands grasped her by the shoulders and lifted her into the air again. This time she soared ten feet up and her cry of alarm faded to a shout of joy as she realized who had taken her.
“Calm down,” Hamish shouted. “I’m trying to save you.”
She twisted in his grasp and clung to him. She felt an overwhelming sense of relief. “I’m so glad you’re all right, but please put me down. I need to lead my army.”
“Have you cracked?” He slowed to a hover, looking confused.
“I don’t have time to explain. Can’t you see the city’s been breached? We have to help.”
“Fine, but you stay at the rear.”
“That’s where I was when you arrived,” she reminded him, exulting in the joy of knowing he was safe.
He lowered her to the rear of her little force, where the wounded were being dragged. She began extracting her herbs and medicines while her Healers plac
ed hands on the most grievously wounded.
“Do you know what’s happening in there?” Jean asked.
He shook his head. “We were busy. Just finished defeating Harley. It was a close thing, but we got her.”
“Thank the Tallan. Let’s hope we can sort the rest of this battle out soon too.”
Connor and Kilian flew overhead, wreathed in fire and ice, and landed atop the wall.
Hamish had also spotted them, and she read the conflict in his eyes. “Go. I’m fine here. You can do more at their side. Just stop the fighting soon.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to kill a lot of people.”
Jean hoped with all her heart that he was right. Far too many had already died.
Hamish shot into the air, aiming for the wall.
Three seconds later, A Firetongue burst out of the melee and rose several feet into the air amid an explosion of orange flames. Soldiers recoiled from him, and Jean recognized him as the wild, flame-haired Captain Aonghus from General Carbrey’s army.
He looked furious, and he bellowed, “You fools! We’re on the same side. You’re interfering with our invasion.”
Jean’s huge caller stepped to the forefront of the crowd and shouted, “We serve Lady Jean now!”
That started a renewed chant of “Lady Jean!”
Aonghus snarled and made a clutching gesture. Flames appeared around the caller and yanked him into the air. He screamed as blades of fire materialized and slashed at him from every side. Jean felt horrified by the display. Her troops stopped chanting and retreated.
Did Jean have no Firetongue who could stop Aonghus’s murdering?
She turned her mini-hub to Hamish’s stone, but before she could speak, Captain Aonghus shouted, “There you are, you wicked little imposter!”
“Hamish!” she shouted, suddenly terrified.
Aonghus launched himself over her troops, driven by crackling flames. He swooped toward her, fire billowing from his mouth, his expression completely insane. He laughed maniacally and shouted, “Now you pay the price for everyone’s follies, Lady Jean!”
Hamish’s voice rose from her speakstone. “Run! Jean, I’m coming!”
She glanced up and saw him shooting over the wall, thrusters roaring, aiming for Aonghus’s back. The sight of him filled her with joy, but he’d never make it in time.
Jean stepped away from her Healers and the fallen wounded, moving to a clear bit of ground, and turned to face Aonghus. She couldn’t outrun him, and she refused to endanger her patients.
She hoped to try speaking with him, but Aonghus formed an enormous spear of white-hot fire and threw it from fifty feet away.
Terrified, Jean screamed and tried to dodge. The spear split into many fiery shards. Those smaller spears plunged into her body, and flames boiled over her.
Intense pain exploded through her as superheated air singed her lungs and turned her world into an inferno. She clenched her eyes against the burning fires. As she fell to the ground, writhing in pain, with horrible crackling and sizzling sounds filling her ears, the clinical part of her tried cataloging all of her injuries.
She couldn’t focus on the effort and screamed through the pain. More screaming echoed all around, but she couldn’t tell if it was her voice, or others.
Her last thought was that Aonghus had better spare her patients.
Then she fell into blessed oblivion.
101
The Cost of Freedom
Verena insisted on joining Ivor and Rory and their small company as they marched through the center of the fighting to return to Shona’s command. She didn’t trust Shona farther than the depth of an open grave.
Ivor plowed a path through the fighting with a literal plow made of water. Most of the Boulders he knocked aside didn’t stop fighting, but just rolled over each other, still bashing with unbreakable enthusiasm.
Rory shouted, his booming voice piercing the din. “Wrap it up, boys. Bash fight’s over in one minute.”
The fighters redoubled their efforts.
“Can’t we just stop it now?” Verena asked.
“Don’t be so mean,” Tomas protested.
Cameron nodded vigorously. “You can’t go snatching a man’s fun right out of his fingers. Change is hard for a lot of people. Gotta give ‘em time to get used to the idea of doing something different.”
Shona’s officers looked eager to fight Rory and Ivor, but Shona said loudly, “Stand down. Order all troops to stop fighting. We’ve reached an accord.”
They looked shocked, but obeyed her. Officers began shouting with Pathfinder-enhanced voices for soldiers to stop fighting, to stand down.
No one believed them.
Shona scowled at Rory. “However you’ve been managing to confuse everyone, it’s backfiring now.”
Ivor shrugged. “We weren’t sure we’d ever get this far, so it sounded like a good idea at the time.”
“Well it’s no longer a good idea. Come on. Get me up there so they can see me and know it’s me.” She gestured into the air.
“But Lady Shona, I thought you didn’t like flying,” he said with a smile.
“Oh, shut up, Ivor. Help me.”
Chuckling, he pulled her close. She wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders. They both looked comfortable in that position, as if they’d flown together before. Ivor threw them both into the air with a burst of flames, then fashioned crimson wings of fire on his back. Holding Shona tight, they glided over the fighting, and Shona began to glow like a golden-haired sun.
Flying on wings of fire with Ivor, the sight was truly breathtaking. Verena hated her all the more for how she could transform herself into the apparent embodiment of all that high ladies were supposed to be. Shona’s voice cracked like thunder.
Her Pathfinder commander must have enhanced it. Verena certainly hoped Shona wasn’t demonstrating a new tertiary power. She was already far too proud of her limestone secondary affinity. A tertiary would make her absolutely unbearable.
“Stand down. This is High Lady Shona and I order you to stand down. The fighting is over.”
Echoes of her words bounced back from the hills but did not die away. Instead they magnified and multiplied until Shona’s voice reverberated in every ear and shook the valley.
“Stand down! Stand down!”
The words began to change. Soon Shona’s larger-than-life voice was shouting, “How dare you ignore the command of your high lady? Put that man down! You there, don’t tempt my wrath. Stand down, oaf!”
Verena giggled and looked around. She didn’t spot Student Eighteen, but she recognized her handiwork.
Ivor and Shona swooped back around and landed nearby a moment later as the fighting fell silent. Ivor was laughing, but Shona looked annoyed.
“I do not sound like that,” she insisted.
Bethia asked, “That wasn’t you, Lady Shona?”
“Of course not.”
“I thought you went aloft specifically with that purpose in mind.”
“I did, but oh, never mind.” She scowled at Ivor. “Stop laughing like a fool. Come on, we have to get to Merkland. The fighting there needs to stop before they destroy my city.”
They again shot into the air and swept north.
Verena rushed to Bethia. “I have to go help. I need quartzite.”
Bethia glared at her until Rory said, “Go on. Give her what you’ve got.”
She looked annoyed to be taking orders from the commander of what was supposed to be the enemy army, but she produced a pair of quartzite pieces far too small to actually fly with. Verena doubted any other Pathfinders had larger blocks handy. They only needed small pieces to fit into their cheeks.
“I need a Strider. Get me some basalt in stone form, please,” Verena asked Rory. Tomas and Cameron had rushed back into the Great Merkland Bash Fight to enjoy the last minute.
It took a moment, but Rory managed to get someone to find her a couple pieces of non-powdered basalt.
“What
are you planning?” Anika asked.
“I’m not about to let that woman get anywhere near Connor without me around to defend him.”
She rushed west, beyond the outer fringes of the army, and slid the basalt into loops built into the front of her armored shins. She quickened it, then quickened the quartzite. As air gushed out of the little stones, she leaped.
Verena landed on her knees and accelerated fast, sliding along the quickened basalt, propelled by the quartzite. It wasn’t as graceful as flying, but it was nearly as fast as a Strider. The snow helped soften the bumps that would have otherwise made the journey painful.
In seconds, she slid past the huge army, marveling anew at the unexpected twist in the fighting. Shona had sided with them, had saved thousands of lives, and come out in open rebellion against the queen.
Why?
It had to be Connor.
Verena tried to tap more quartzite, and angled back to the road after passing the northern elements of the army. Once she reached firmer surfaces, she accelerated more. She flashed past the next bridge and the shattered battleground where Ilse was sitting awkwardly next a body.
Lukas was dead, and Ilse’s hips and legs looked terribly crushed.
Fresh tears stung Verena’s eyes. She understood a fraction of Ilse’s pain, wanted to rush to her and comfort her, but she had to save Connor. She did turn her mini-hub to Rory’s speakstone and passed word for Healers to be dispatched to help Ilse.
As she swept around the curve of the road, she caught sight of the open Army Gate. Soldiers were standing in a loose half-circle, not fighting, all focusing on a small group of people crouched over a blackened patch of ground.
It took a few more seconds for Verena to recognize them, and her heart raced with new fear. Hamish and Connor were crouched over a horribly burned person. Hamish looked devastated, weeping openly, and Connor was clutching his sandstone pendant, looking terrified as he worked on healing.
Verena wondered if he should bother. The victim looked badly burned, their hair gone, their scalp blistered. Their right arm was little more than a blackened, twisted stump that would definitely need to be amputated. If they survived. They had to be someone important to command so much attention, especially with Shona and Ivor already swooping over the walls, commanding everyone to stop fighting.