Affinity for War

by Frank Morin

  Connor had seen the intricate maneuvering of running battles before, but never with so many basalt Petralists involved. The land wasn't big enough for them to bank and turn properly. He feared they'd smash into each others' lines and half would die in the initial impact. The thought sickened him.

  As the Obrioner army rushed forward into the breach, he realized the clever attack with the weakening powder hadn't done nearly enough. The Obrioner army was still far too big.

  "We have to help," Connor cried.

  Hamish reached for the controls of the Storm, but Verena slapped his hands away and said sharply, "No. You know our orders. We remain in position."

  Hamish cried, "But they're going to lose. Then it'll be too late to help."

  Connor was surprised when Verena shook her head and gave Hamish a reassuring smile. She gestured back toward the battlefield and said with calm confidence. "This battle isn't over, Hamish. It has barely begun."

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  "Even the ship that glides upon the waves is battered by the tempest."

  ~Evander

  Connor, Hamish, and Martys leaned forward again as one. Water and fire still exploded above the middle ground several thousand feet below where they hovered. The earth appeared solid enough for the Boulder-led charge though, and the Obrioner main force appeared totally committed.

  The Grandurians were not charging to meet them, but remained formed in tight companies, heavy shields raised, hammers and swords at the ready. As the Obrioners closed to within fifty yards, the front ranks of the Grandurian lines suddenly retreated five quick steps.

  The movement exposed the next ranks. Every Rumbler in that line was holding a speedsling. As one, they lifted the weapons, the long tubes already spinning. With the speedsling companies Connor had spotted earlier flanking them, the entire front line of the Grandurian army unleashed in unison a storm of hornets.

  The deadly little hardened-granite projectiles ripped the air between the two armies, and the front lines of the Obrioner advance seemed to melt under the onslaught.

  A percentage of the hornets were embedded with diorite. They exploded with horrific effect among the tightly-packed soldiers. They tore through armor and stone-hardened flesh, ripping gaps in the Obrioner lines, and sending soldiers tumbling.

  Verena had told Connor that they had improved the hornets, but he hadn't expected to see such devastation. Even heavily armored Boulders carrying thick shields crumpled under the onslaught. Some writhed and screamed, clutching at ghastly injuries, but many lay unmoving. The entire assault stumbled to a halt.

  Some of the speedslings tilted higher, and the hornets soared completely over the faltering Boulders and tore into the thousands of auxiliary troops behind. Those men fell in waves, and the screams echoing across the battlefield clearly reached Connor, even when he released quartzite.

  Hamish, his face pale whispered, "That's sickening."

  Verena nodded with unshed tears in her eyes. "And we created those weapons."

  In grim silence, they watched as the charge faltered under the withering onslaught, then reversed direction. As the desperate troops fled into the middle ground between the armies, walls of protective earth rose up behind them and the hornet onslaught ceased.

  If the speedslings weren't out of ammunition yet, they soon would be. There were enough projectiles for at least a couple of rearmings, but Connor hoped they wouldn't be needed again.

  Movement on the flanks of the battlefield drew Connor's attention. The long lines of fast-moving Striders and Wingrunners were closing on each other, and in his enhanced vision he could see the fury on the faces of the Striders. They had seen what happened to the Boulders, and it was clear they were eager for a taste of blood. They ran with short swords raised or daggers poised to throw.

  Seconds before the lines of fast movers smashed into each other, the Grandurian Wingrunners suddenly all braced their legs and skidded to a halt. A dozen of them cast small stones to the ground.

  Connor cringed. That could not be good.

  Walls of earth erupted out of the ground. A little bigger than the midget-pounders, the low walls shot across the ground with tremendous speed and smashed through the Strider lines like balls into Tumble-Tosser pins.

  "I forgot you distributed the speed-crack walls!" Hamish exclaimed.

  "Good thing the Wingrunners didn't," Verena said.

  A few of the Striders along the fringes managed to bank away from impact, but most of the tightly-packed Striders lacked the time to avoid the collision. Many tried to skid to a halt, but it was simply too late.

  Moving faster than galloping horses, the Strider company smashed into the walls, which were sliding almost as fast in the opposite direction. The brutal impact sent some Striders tumbling in every direction, although most of them were simply plowed under. They were left half-sunken into the soft ground, broken limbs twisted into unnatural angles.

  The Wingrunner corps descended upon the groaning, fallen ranks with clubs and chains, quickly capturing most of the Striders and dragging them back toward the Grandurian lines as helpless prisoners. The few Striders who escaped the initial impact raced away, with Wingrunners in close pursuit, meteor hammers raised to deliver crippling blows.

  "I can't believe it," Connor whispered, stunned by the brutal encounter. "I've never seen Striders disabled so fast."

  "I'd say more than three quarters of Carbrey's fast movers are out of commission," Verena said, trying to sound calm, but Connor saw the anguish in her eyes.

  He took her hand in his, and her fingers trembled against his. He wasn't sure how to comfort her.

  Bash fighting was so much fun, but this was war, not a friendly contest of superhuman warriors. Even the battles of Alasdair hadn't prepared him for such violence.

  "I dinnae understand," Martys said with wide-eyed shock as he watched the unexpected changes of the battle. "Why dinnae the tertiaries strike down those Tallan-cursed Builder mechanicals with the elements?"

  Verena pointed. "They couldn't. They weren't winning as easily as they believed."

  As she spoke, the elemental battle above the contested middle ground, which had drawn perilously close to the Grandurian lines, shifted abruptly back to the center. A firestorm of blue-white flames, intermingled with ropes of glittering water, erupted from the Grandurian side and smashed into the Obrioner elements. The intertwined elemental barrage swept all the way across the battlefield to the retreating Boulders.

  The earthen barriers shifted to arced, defensive mounds protecting the Boulders as they fled toward the dubious safety of the main Obrioner lines. Fire scorched those earthen barriers, leaving black streaks like whip marks.

  "They dinnae need to harry them like that," Martys growled. He was gripping the rails in white-knuckled hands, his face a mask of fury.

  "At least they didn't try flooding them out," Verena pointed out.

  "Don't ye speak to it," Martys snarled, rounding on her, his skin fading to granite gray, but his face purpling with rage. His eyes blazed and actually seemed to glow red. Connor wondered if maybe Martys was a secret Solas.

  Verena recoiled from his rage, while Hamish pivoted in his seat, hands coming up into fists. "She's not the one doing it, so back off."

  "Just because ye spring from the same town, dinnae think I won't skelp yer wee behind if'n ye look for a square go with me, laddie."

  "Calm down," Connor urged, shaken by his uncle's fury. "I might know some of the people caught in that speedsling trap too, but tearing the Storm apart won't help any of them."

  Martys turned his angry glare on Connor, and he looked on the verge of losing control. If he did, Connor would have to knock him out of the Storm before he wrecked it. He prepared to tap granite, and verified his marble was already in place under his tongue.

  "Me mates ain't in that mess," Martys growled.

  "And neither are you," Connor reminded him. "You're the one who volunteered to come with us."

  "I know, laddie,
" Martys said with a heavy sigh. His skin returned to normal color, and his expression softened. "I may be no longer with them, but I be no traitor, and no friend to Grandurian tricks."

  "What do you expect?" Verena demanded, turning angry. "Your high lord started this fight. We're going to do everything in our power to kick him and his army back out of our lands. All that suffering you see down there is on his shoulders, not ours."

  Martys shook his head. "Whether ye speak truth will come clear when ye try sleeping, lassie. Then we'll see if ye can justify yer wicked ways."

  "Stop it," Connor snapped. He understood Martys's anger at one level, but his own anger was rising in response to Martys's insult.

  Martys surprised him by grinning. "Good on ye, lad. The beast is awake in yer heart, and I see ye're prepared to unleash it to protect yer bonnie lass."

  "No one should have to protect anyone up here," Verena said angrily.

  Martys made a placating gesture. "Easy, lass. Ye made yer point an' I am no gaun to fight ye."

  "Look," Hamish exclaimed, pointing down and drawing their attention back to the battlefield.

  A huge, cresting wave of water had burst the banks of Harz Lake and now thundered between the Grandurian companies, pouring into the middle ground in a flood. Many of the Obrioners probably couldn't even see it coming, with their view blocked by those heavy, protective earthen walls and the dazzling display of fire and water colliding over them. The Spitters must have felt it, though.

  The aerial display of battling elements faded as the waters tore into the middle ground and churned toward the retreating earthen walls and the Boulders protected underneath. Connor felt sorry for the Obrioners fleeing the new assault.

  Then the waters abruptly plunged into the ground a hundred yards short of the Obrioner earthen defenses. The battered soldiers raised their hands in triumph. They interpreted the defeat of that deadly wave as a sign that the battle was again turning in their favor.

  The truth always hurt the optimistic ones the most.

  Those long, curved, protective earthen walls shattered, and a cresting wave of bubbling mud erupted out of the ground where they had stood.

  "Tallan's fury!" Martys exclaimed in horror as the wall of mud struck the Obrioner lines.

  The muddy waters swept the entire Obrioner center from their feet. It tumbled them back toward the central command position on the high ground near the southern end of the valley.

  For a moment Connor worried that the army would suffocate in the muddy earth. Wolfram's forces needed to break the Obrioner attack, but he did not want to see hundreds of people slaughtered using an idea he had come up with.

  The churning mudslide finally slowed just short of the Obrioner central command position and mud exploded in every direction. The heavy mud tumbled thousands of auxiliary troops off their feet, but deflected away from an invisible barrier protecting General Carbrey and his senior officers.

  As the Obrioner Petralists wrested control of the earth, their soldiers began popping out of the soupy mess and sliding across the surface toward higher ground. The water began draining at the same time as the Spitters sucked it away.

  "That won't work so well a second time," Hamish said.

  "It worked this time, though," Connor said, pointing.

  On the Grandurian side of the battlefield, Anton's central earth tower had re-formed, complete with ancient symbols of power outlined in fire and water. The Grandurian army appeared unaffected by the first attack, while the Obrioner lines were in disarray. Connor couldn't imagine how many soldiers had died or been wounded in the initial clash.

  "The whole thing was a feint?" Hamish exclaimed.

  Connor opened his mouth to respond, but a voice caught his quartzite-enhanced hearing and drew his attention.

  It was Shona.

  "Connor, I need you. Please hurry."

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “A sweeping rain that leaves no flood is anger without substance, but love will sacrifice to lift another from the deep.”

  ~Gregor

  They left Martys in the Storm, hovering in the clouds. They circled around the battle and the Obrioner army to the west, following the sound of Shona's voice. Connor rode on the back of the Swift, while Hamish flew beside them.

  They spotted Shona behind a couple low hills that screened her from the rest of the Obrioner camp. She stood in the middle of a circle of small tents, already staring up at them.

  "Keep watch from up here," Connor said.

  "Wait," Verena called, but Connor let himself fall off the back of the Swift.

  He laughed as he plunged toward the ground, spreading his arms to let the wind tear at his leathers while he lay back and looked up at Verena and Hamish. Verena had pivoted the Swift, and for a second he thought she planned to race after him.

  Or was she planning to shoot him out of the sky?

  Thankfully the speedslings didn't begin to spin up. She did descend, but at a much slower pace. Hopefully she would be wise enough to realize he was right and remain high and out of danger of whatever trap Shona was surely plotting.

  Hamish waved.

  Connor waved back, then spun in midair and faced downward. Shona's eyes were already locked on him, a little smile on her full lips.

  He looked away from her lips. They carried too many confusing memories.

  Shona looked pleased, but not surprised to see him dropping out of the sky toward her. It rankled that she knew him so well.

  Her message had better be good.

  The sight of her triggered so many memories that for a moment Connor just stared. Shona wore Boulder battle leathers with the same unique flair as always. Her shapely figure, confident stance, and proud, beautiful features set her apart from every other noble lady. Her thick, blond hair was drawn back from her face.

  The many experiences he'd shared with Shona, both good and bad, flooded his mind. Their relationship had spanned so much, he still wasn't sure what he felt for her. Execution had definitely been a low point in their relationship, but it wasn't the only one. They'd had some good times too, but always her conniving ways had undermined her efforts.

  He blamed her father.

  Connor considered the best way to make his landing. He could simply tap granite and slate, and plunge into the earth, although he'd probably sink fifty feet before rising again.

  That wouldn't convey the right impression. Slowing his fall with marble would be the easiest solution. He could even change the colors of the flames to add some flair, and he could probably torch all those tents too. If there were soldiers hiding in there, he'd know.

  But Connor wanted to demonstrate to Shona that he had changed since he'd left her. So he focused on the gateway to quartzite and applied the stone externally. He had a few seconds, so he envisioned the gateway like a cloud-filled doorway above the other elements, then thrust his will through. The gateway opened without resistance, and his thoughts slipped into the air.

  It was wild.

  Air rushed about in mad confusion. Gusts collided in every direction, stronger currents twisted around themselves, and strange, unexpected eddies suddenly whipped into invisible whirlwinds. Air was always unstable, but he'd never felt it so wild. The massive elemental battle had churned it into a fury.

  That made the challenge harder, but success would be all the sweeter. So Connor drove fingers of thought into the air, testing the turbulent, unruly winds, and tugging at them, seeking for purchase to help arrest his fall.

  The wind seemed eager for an excuse to vent its frustration, and it roared in around Connor, buffeting him from every side. It tossed him to and fro and rolled him over in a complete somersault.

  "Stop it!" Connor shouted, but the wind only tore down his throat and nearly choked him.

  He spat it out and yanked savagely against the wind with the full might of his elemental connection. If it wouldn't come willingly, maybe he needed to show it who was boss.

  For a second he owned it, felt it respond
. He righted in the air and in that second felt united with it and glimpsed the marvelous possibilities that air mastery might offer.

  Then the air rebelled and rushed in from every side, blasting every inch of his body. It packed in tighter and tighter, compressing so much that he had to tap granite to keep from imploding.

  For three long seconds he hung motionless in the air, trapped by more pressure than he'd felt at the bottom of Loch Sholto. He couldn't breathe, and the air refused to obey his call.

  Then it fled.

  Air whooshed away, leaving him in a vacuum of calm, two hundred feet above Shona, whose expression had turned concerned. Air was always unruly, but it had never done that before. He wasn't sure what it meant, but hoped he hadn't ruined his chances for future flight.

  So Connor sucked deep from marble, building a painful burn in his mouth, and calling forth mighty flames. White-hot fire erupted from his feet, and he laughed, filled with the exuberance of fire. It hadn't fled at his call, but seemed eager for a chance to burn.

  The crazy tumbling had shifted him so he would now land on Shona's head. At the sight of a hundred-foot tongue of flame exploding under his feet, Shona yelped, grabbed protectively at her hair, and retreated behind the nearest tent.

  Connor landed in the center of the circle of tents, on the very spot she'd been standing a moment before, and let the flames rise around him, circling him like hissing serpents.

  He turned to Shona and gave her a friendly wave. "Hello, Shona. You called?"

  Shona approached and gave him a long-suffering frown. "Connor, will you turn off that fire before you burn down my tent?"

  "Don't you trust me?" Connor asked, directing the snakelike ropes of fire across the ground to circle Shona's feet.

  She walked right through them, and Connor had to pull them aside to keep from burning her. She approached, joy infusing her lovely features. "I trust you above all others, my Guardian."

  "That's close enough," Connor told her when she drew to within a couple of feet and seemed intent on stepping right to him.

  He wasn't sure if she planned to embrace him, try kissing him again, or punching him unconscious. She'd greeted him in all those ways more than once, so he couldn't guess what she intended.