by Frank Morin
"Martys, let them go. I know what you want, and I'll do it," Connor shouted as he marched toward Martys. He stopped forty feet from the monster as Martys turned back to him.
"We'll help you as soon as he releases the Ashlar," Ilse said softly.
Connor shook his head. Martys had threatened the town, had hurt Hamish and Jean both, and now threatened his father. Connor's anger and fear had solidified into a burning determination. He felt the beast stir in his heart, and this time he embraced it.
"Martys is mine."
He looked at Ilse and added, "But if I lose control, do what you have to."
She gripped his shoulder, her expression grave. "You're stronger than that, Connor. You'll return."
"Promise me," he urged.
She nodded. "I'll do what must be done."
Connor shed his battle jacket and drew forth the pouch of porphyry. He faced Martys and pried open the drawstring. "You owe me one final duel, Uncle."
Martys's maw opened, his purple eyes focused on the bag in Connor's hand.
Lilias cried, "Connor, if you have to kill him, just remember who you are and don't become a monster to destroy another."
He hated that she had to witness what was about to happen. "I love you, Mom. Sometimes there's no other way."
As Connor let the purplish, powdered stone slip through his fingers, his hand quivered with anticipation. The yearning to absorb it and embrace the dangerous power was like a living thing, tearing at his restraint. There were so many reasons to feel terrified of embracing porphyry again, but they all paled against the simple truth that he had no choice.
He might die if he embraced the monster in his heart.
His father would surely die if he didn't.
Connor looked to his mother, who stood facing him, hands clasped, looking terrified but resolute. Then he gripped the powder and opened himself to it.
Immediately the powdered stone began biting into his skin like a thousand little teeth. His hand locked around it, the muscles cramping with pain.
There was no going back now.
As those invisible teeth chewed up the inside of his arm, Connor groaned in pain and clutched at his forearm. Why had he been so eager to experience this again? How had he forgotten how much it hurt? With growing fear, Connor staggered.
His mother took a step forward. "Connor, we love you. No curse can destroy you unless you yield to it."
He groaned. "Get back. Get--"
The porphyry ripping up his arm reached his heart.
Connor convulsed as pain exploded through his body. He felt his arms snap out wide and his back arch, beyond his control.
"Help him!" his mother shouted.
"It will pass. You must stay back," Ilse said. She looked worried, and the Crushers retreated from Connor, weapons hefted, expressions guarded.
A scream of pain and terror ripped from Connor's lips. His thoughts seemed to fade to pure emotion. Rage and hatred swept through him. As he stumbled toward Martys, the sound shifted into ranges beyond what should be possible. It became a deep-throated howl of animal fury as the porphyry ripped him apart and remade him into a monster.
Martys tossed Hendry aside like a toy and lifted his own muzzle into the air, howling long and loud, the sound melding with Connor's cry of exultant horror.
Then the pain disappeared, replaced by the euphoria unique to porphyry. Connor howled again, relishing the power of his animal voice.
He leaped to his four feet, filled with more strength than even granite and slate combined had ever provided. The purple haze of fury intensified, and he raged to think how long he had denied himself this glory.
He smelled fear and heard the rapid beating of many hearts nearby. A half-circle of pitiful humans faced him, puny weapons held at the ready. He easily tracked the pulsing of their blood, visible to him through the thin shells of their soft hides. He yearned to feast, but another scent drew his attention the other way. A mighty beast faced him across the stony ground.
Their purple-eyed gazes locked and a growl rumbled through Connor's chest. Its stance, its challenging gaze, and the scent of blood and death that clung to it made its intention clear. It intended to invade his territory and kill the herds that were his to savage. He stalked toward the intruder and it mirrored his moves, its own growl echoing across the plateau.
A thought floated to the surface of his hate-filled mind. He needed to fight this, to maintain control over something, but what?
What was there but the hunt, the kill, and the blood feast?
Something . . . Something soft. But what soft thing was good for anything but food?
Verena's smiling face appeared in his mind, like a buoy line that helped him awaken from the purple haze of rage and lift his thoughts above the bloodlust. For a second Connor remembered who he was, recognized Martys and why they really had to fight.
Then he saw in his mind Verena lying broken and motionless in the shattered Swift at the base of a cliff, saw again Hamish bleeding on the stones of the plateau. Rage swept away his rational mind and ripped a howl of fury from his fanged maw. His thoughts tumbled into a maelstrom of rage and lust to kill.
Connor leaped, and Martys lunged to meet him. Connor threw himself against Martys with every ounce of fury he possessed, driven by the need to rip out the hated enemy's throat.
They collided in a fury of snapping jaws and ripping claws. Connor drove against the enemy with every ounce of strength, but Martys twisted him off balance, knocking him to the ground and raking his underbelly. The beast's maw gaped wide and snapped at Connor's throat.
He kicked it away and rolled free, trailing blood. The pain enraged him, but also instilled a hint of caution. He would rip out Martys's throat, but if he leaped in without control, he would be the one to die.
The two circled and Martys's tongue lolled out in a mocking laugh. He growled words incomprehensible to human ears, but Connor understood.
"You're young and untested, Connor. I could teach you much. Swear fealty to the pack and I'll spare your worthless family."
Connor risked a glance at his parents. Hendry was sitting, looking dazed, with Lilias kneeling beside him. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she was sobbing with fear. The sight helped ground him to who he was. They were the reason he was fighting.
Martys's pack was dead. They had been a gang of wild killers, with no honor, who killed without remorse or mercy. They represented everything his parents had taught him to oppose.
"My family is my pack."
Martys growled. "You killed my pack, pup. You and yours will die together."
Martys lunged and tried to slam a shoulder into Connor to knock him from his feet and expose his throat again. Connor slipped aside and raked Martys from ear to shoulder. Then they came together again, snapping and clawing, trying to gain advantage. The rage drove Connor to fight with unbridled fury, but he struggled to maintain enough clarity of mind to keep from making another stupid mistake.
The two of them fought and tore at each other across the rough stone plateau, smearing the rocks with their blood. The human cattle scattered, but he could hunt them later.
Connor exulted in the absolute power of porphyry. He shed brutal injuries without slowing, his hugely-muscled limbs quivered with inexhaustible strength, and he moved with unrivaled speed.
Martys spun and caught him with a kick of his hind legs, sending Connor tumbling. He rolled back to his feet before Martys could take advantage of the opening, and the two circled. Martys matched Connor for size and speed, but he was more experienced.
Connor could not defeat him.
Not if he limited himself to a beast.
He had managed to tap soapstone fighting the elfonnel. The thought of Verena had given him the strength to focus, the humanity to connect with his other affinities. He focused on her now as he and Martys circled, growling and probing.
Verena's face came into his mind, but it lacked the power to motivate him as it had last time. He loved Verena mor
e than life, but she loved Mattias. The lingering doubt that she wasn't being honest with him dulled the effect he'd enjoyed in the past.
Martys lunged, jaws snapping at Connor's throat. Connor twisted and knocked Martys away with his shoulder and a fast-slashing claw that laid open Martys's right foreleg.
Connor glanced again at his parents. His father was standing, one arm draped around Lilias's shoulders, and they were watching him, terror and courage on their faces.
They were his pack. They were the reason he fought. That thought helped him focus, and the gateways to soapstone and marble glowed in his mind. He'd lost his piece of marble, but he'd sucked deep enough on it before transforming that the connection was still strong.
The Wick glowed in his soapstone senses. He could summon the waters and drown Martys the way he had the rest of the pack, but that didn't feel right. The wild ferocity of fire melded better with the savagery of his rampager form.
"Time to die, boy," Martys growled, crouching to spring.
Connor's fangs began to burn.
Martys paused, his stance radiating surprise and perhaps a hint of fear. So Connor leaped at him, snapping with those burning fangs.
His uncle responded with unabashed fury, and the two of them again swarmed around each other, ripping and tearing, fighting to reach a jugular vein, or to disembowel each other.
This time, Connor left scorch marks on his uncle's hide. As he embraced marble deeper, his claws also began to burn. When he raked them against his uncle's flanks, they left nasty, bubbling wounds.
Martys began to give way and Connor pressed his advantage, drooling flames as he attacked the hated betrayer. He dimly recognized that the human warriors were flanking them on both sides, shouting words he didn't bother to understand. He'd deal with them later.
With a snarl, Martys lunged up at him, trying to turn the momentum of the fight, but Connor seized his foreleg with his jaws and snapped it almost in half.
When Martys flinched, he slashed his muzzle with burning claws. Martys broke away and began circling again. He surprised Connor by laughing.
"I don't have to defeat you, boy. You've just killed everyone you love."
Connor involuntarily glanced toward his family, and Martys lunged. He slammed a shoulder into Connor's ribs, knocking him off his feet.
The two rolled over and Connor tore at his uncle with burning fangs and claws. Martys ignored the ghastly wounds and snapped his heavy muzzle across Connor's throat, tearing into the hide and muscle, fangs digging for the lifeblood of his main arteries.
Connor ripped at Martys's belly with his rear claws, opening it and spilling hot guts to the cold stone, but Martys did not relent. His jaws continued to close, a fraction of an inch at a time, slowly and inexorably crushing Connor's breath and shearing into his flesh.
Connor could not defeat him.
The cold truth helped his mind awaken. His rear legs were still slashing, ripping Martys's innards out. Martys would die within minutes, but he still had the strength to take Connor with him.
If he couldn't defeat Martys with his claws, he'd defeat him with his fire. Connor focused all his waning energy on that gateway to fire.
It too was fading as he burned through the last of his marble. With no way to replenish it, he only had enough for one final strike.
Connor threw all of the flames, all of his focus, all of his will to live into a white-hot spear of fire that he drove between Martys's hind legs.
Not even a rampager could ignore castration by incineration.
Martys's jaw released its deadly hold, opening wide in a high-pitched howl. Connor grabbed his jaw with both paws, sinking claws into his maw and ripping with all his strength in one convulsive heave.
Martys's bottom jaw ripped away in a spray of blood and flesh, and he fell to his side, shaking with agony.
Connor leaped upon his back, digging claws into his hide and chomping down onto the back of his neck with all his might. His flames winked out as he burned through the last of his marble, but he didn't care. He tasted blood and sensed victory, and his mind was swept away in blood lust.
Martys writhed under him, but his many devastating injuries were finally taking their toll, and his strength failed him.
"I can't die this way," he groaned, the growl barely distinguishable through his shattered snout.
Connor leaped off and slashed Martys, rolling him onto his back and exposing his throat. "You're right."
He snapped his jaws across Martys's throat and bit with all his strength. In the face of violent death, Martys found a last reserve of strength and tried fighting back, but managed to do little more than roll the two of them over a couple of times.
Connor ended up on top again and braced himself better, holding Martys down as he slowly plunged his jaws deeper and deeper into Martys's throat.
His uncle had nearly killed him that way, but the remembered terror of that near death only drove Connor to bite harder. With a final wrenching heave, Connor crushed Martys's windpipe and his teeth severed the main artery. Hot blood gushed across Connor's fangs and into his mouth.
He swallowed some of it.
The taste of the life blood of his hated enemy triggered a wave of bloodlust like Connor had never known. His aches and pains seemed to fade under a new rush of strength and he threw his muzzle back and howled long and loud, exulting in the victory of the kill.
The beast at his feet was dead, but Connor could kill again.
With renewed strength, he turned toward the herd of pitiful humans. He howled with anticipation and bounded toward them. Most of the flock scattered, as they should, but the warriors held their ground. A dim memory tugged at his mind, but he drove it away, refusing to be distracted from the hunt.
One large human stepped in front of the others. It looked injured, but faced him with a stone hammer in its hands, its stance and scent declaring its willingness to fight. A much smaller female joined it, and her scent was familiar somehow.
He padded toward them, growling his intent to kill, even as he tried to puzzle out those scents. They did not flee, and another human joined them, this one armored and wearing twin swords. He was helping a wounded human to stand, one with gashes on its chest, a shredded suit hanging from its limbs. That one touched the hammer, then licked it.
The strange move tugged at Connor's memory, and he paused in front of them, shaking his maw, trying to understand. The confusion enraged him, and he decided he'd kill them first, then figure out the mystery.
He'd waited too long. As he crouched to spring, the man with the hammer leaped forward, swinging the ridiculous hammer in a useless gesture of defiance.
The hammer struck Connor in the face like a falling mountain, and lightning ripped through his skull, blinding him and scattering his thoughts. His entire body shook from an explosion that shattered his hearing and threw him away with unbelievable force.
Unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to move or howl or react in any way, he tumbled across the plateau, bouncing all the way to the steep slope above the river.
Tumbling down the slope, he splashed into the cold waters and sank like a stone.
Chapter Eighty-Six
"The rope woven from many tiny strands holds fast against even the mightiest tempest."
~Evander
"By all the oaths of the people, this cannot be," Mister Five hissed. He looked terrified.
Aifric didn't blame him. Stories of Dreokt, the queen mother of Obrion, were told not only to scare children, but to motivate all the Mhortair to pursue their mission with unwavering vigor. That's why they sought to remove Kilian and block the return of the Blood of the Tallan. They had sworn the oath of generations to rid the world of all traces of that most evil bloodline.
The Matron of Evil was back.
Aifric barely believed it, but how could she doubt it?
Even as she struggled to comprehend what had happened, Kilian leaned forward into a dive toward his mother. His fires condensed
to a hundred spears of bright blue flame that shot ahead of him.
Dreokt made a shooing gesture, and the flames deflected away. "Is this any way to greet your mother after all these years?" she asked in a disgusted tone.
Kilian stopped twenty feet above her, but sent all the rest of his flames whipping around her in a deadly firestorm. Raging flames completely obscured her.
The crackling roar rose to a crescendo that reverberated back and forth across the steps of the quarry, building upon itself until the air shook. Aifric had to push some of the sound away to keep it from becoming painful.
Kilian would have overwhelmed Aonghus in a heartbeat with that attack. Aifric held her breath, hoping he could destroy the demon mother of Obrion.
A few seconds later, Dreokt erupted out of the flames. She soared across the quarry, batting aside whipping flames. Kilian pursued the attack with more intensity than anything Aifric had ever seen, but Dreokt snatched away the flames far too easily. She used them to blast herself into the air and away from him.
"Take her," Mister Five urged, leaning forward, intent on the battle.
"Good thing you didn't kill him already," Aifric said.
"This changes everything," he moaned, and when he glanced down at her, she read stark terror in his eyes.
She decided she should be a lot more scared than she already was. She hadn't known anything could terrify Mister Five. What else did he know about the queen mother that she hadn't been told yet?
Dreokt landed atop the northern rim of the quarry, looking annoyed by Kilian's relentless attack. Dougal cringed away from her, and crazy Captain Aonghus threw up a wall of fire and retreated when she looked at him.
Dreokt made a shooing motion, and Aonghus's flames winked out.
"Go!" Kilian shouted as he drifted closer, riding a tornado of flame. A fresh wave of fire erupted away from him and swarmed over his mother.
She leaped out of the flames, shooting across the northern rim toward Aonghus, one hand outstretched. He was already moving. He leaped off the rim and blasted himself away with an explosion of flames.