Set in Stone (14 page)

Everyone seemed to move at once and the camp filled with bustling soldiers. Verena gave Connor a long, thoughtful look that made him distinctly uncomfortable before she moved off.

Exactly three minutes later, the group headed upriver with Connor walking in the lead beside the captain and Verena. Shona, who walked in the middle of the group, surrounded by four watchful soldiers, filled Connor's thoughts.

He was such an idiot!

What better reason for Grandurian soldiers to be here in Obrion than to kidnap a noblewoman? He'd heard rumors of skirmishes between High Lord Dougal's soldiers and Grandurian forces, but that all seemed so far away.

What else could he have done, though? No one in these peaceful lands could stop a war party like this. If the other soldiers were half as tough as Eric, they could slaughter the entire population of Alasdair. Getting them away would be the safest course for his home town, but what of Shona?

He was still pondering the situation, trying to determine what to do, when they reached the barge that Erich had drawn up onto the bank. The group paused and Ilse asked, "What is the barge carrying?"

Connor shrugged. "Bags of powdered granite, and a few unfinished blocks."

She gaped at him for a second before shouting, "Erich! Anika! The barge."

Erich and his sister leaped aboard, and a moment later Erich called out, "Is right, Captain. Many bags. Powder much good." The soldiers of the company, who had remained stoically silent ever since Connor met them, broke into excited murmurs.

Why would a war party lost and trying to get home get so excited about granite? Sure, it was valuable, but it wasn't like they could do anything with it here.

Grandurians were weird.

"How many bags?" Ilse called.

"Twelve!"

The excited whispering grew and Ilse grinned. She placed a hand on Connor's shoulder. "This is wonderful news." She raised a hand. "Secure the powder."

Men raced to obey. In less than a minute, the dozen sacks of granite powder were carefully stacked nearby.

Erich raised one of the unfinished blocks. "What do these with?"

"Throw them overboard."

"Wait!" Connor cried. He'd watched with growing concern as they pillaged the powdered granite from the barge. He couldn't imagine what they intended to do with it, but couldn't just watch as they threw the precious stones into the river.

Ilse said, "Do not interfere."

"But why?"

"Such resources cannot be left in the hands of the enemy."

"You're the enemy," Shona snarled as she approached. Even though the two women stood almost the same height, somehow Shona made it appear as if she were looking down at Ilse. "Enjoy your ill-gotten gains. It won't matter. Your venture is doomed to failure, and you know it."

"I celebrate each victory."

"My father will eat your heart," Shona said with such calm assurance that Connor did not doubt it would happen.

Ilse shrugged. "You already promised he'd skin me alive and boil my flesh. If he gets that far, he's welcome to eat whatever he likes."

Confused, Connor looked from one to the other. It almost seemed as if they considered the capture of the granite as important as holding Shona herself. Connor's family had been cutting granite from the mountain for fourteen generations, so he knew its value better than anyone.

On the barge, Erich and Anika lifted the heavy, unprocessed granite blocks and threw them impossibly far out into the center of the river. Connor watched, awed by their strength, and devastated by the loss. As each block splashed into the murky waters, the sound struck him like a blow from his father's broken hammer.

He had to turn away, and found Shona regarding him with an unreadable expression. He gestured at the boat and managed weakly, "They're . . ."

"I know," Shona said in a disgusted tone. "Those two are Petralists."

"Petralists?" he repeated, his voice cracking.

On the boat, Anika lifted a block that easily weighed more than Connor high over her head, threw her head back and laughed. Her body looked hard, perfectly sculpted, and her skin seemed to glow in the moonlight like the granite block she carried. With an almost negligent flip, she threw the block far out over the water.

Bruce's countless stories of the superhuman warriors flitted through Connor's mind. If they really were Petralists, they wouldn't need him to guide them over the mountains. They'd just fly. Connor couldn't help but grin as he thought of the wonders Bruce had shared with them.

Lady Shona had to be wrong. He was about to tell her, but her disapproving frown silenced his words. Instead, he glanced around at the soldiers, and at Ilse, who regarded him with one raised eyebrow, as if daring him to ask a question.

He couldn't resist. "Petralists? All of you?"

Shona rolled her eyes. "Of course they're not all Petralists. Even they wouldn't risk so many."

"I don't understand," Connor stammered. "Why are you here? How did you get here? What are you--"

Shona's cut him off. "They are here for only one reason: to kidnap me and drag me back to Granadure."

Connor cringed back from Shona's displeasure, berating himself for disappointing her again. Ilse was watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. "Why?" was all he could ask again.

It didn't make any sense. Why kidnap Shona? Why take such a risk?

Shona stood to her full height which was just a little shorter than his and said in a ringing voice, "I am High Lord Dougal's eldest daughter and heir to his domain."

Verena, who had stood silent until now grunted, as if unimpressed and Shona rounded on her. "Have you realized yet your fatal mistake?"

"I hardly think you're that dangerous."

"You took the wrong branch of the river," Shona said in a conversational tone. "You're stuck out here in the mountains and my father's forces are closing in." Shona stood tall, shoulders back, the image of composed, self-assurance. "You will fail."

Captain Ilse shrugged and said, "Don't celebrate your victory before it is won, Lady Shona."

Shona smiled as if humoring a child. "You've placed your futures in the hands of a simple common Linn who's terrified out of his mind. Do you really believe he knows a way through these mountains that have stood impassable for generations?"

"I'm not that scared," Connor offered, but Shona only glared. He wanted to protest that he wasn't so common, that he was to be a Guardian, that he'd only agreed to help the Grandurians in order to spare the helpless people all around from their depredations.

He said none of that, however. Too many thoughts, too many emotions, whirled through his heart. He couldn't see clearly the best solution. Every choice he considered presented too many terrible consequences to be the right one.

"That's enough," Ilse said with a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

Shona said softly, "You and your men will all die out here."

"Time will tell." Ilse dismissed her and ordered, "Take ten bags of powder. Destroy the rest."

Shona glared. "You will regret that choice, woman."

Erich and Anika vaulted from the barge, lifted the extra bags of granite powder and carried them back to the boat. They slit the tops and dumped the powder out onto the river.

Ilse frowned as the powder spread like a white stain across the dark water and shook her head. "What a waste."

Connor fell to his knees and barely kept from being physically sick. It was worse than a waste. They were destroying weeks of hard work. They might as well be spilling the lifeblood of Alasdair onto the river.

The consequences would be dire. One shipment of granite blocks was lost twenty years ago, and the town had suffered for months. Wages were withheld, food rationed, and work quotas increased. People still whispered of those dark days when the curse of the Tallan hung over the valley.

The casual barbarity of these invaders reminded him why people feared them. He yearned for Shona's prediction to prove true, for High Lord Dougal's forces to kill them all.

Then he realized, with icy dread, they'd kill him too for agreeing to help the invaders. He wanted to beat himself with a stick. How could he be so stupid as to believe a bunch of Grandurians? He'd agreed to help the nation's enemies kidnap his own High Lord's daughter. He glanced at Verena, who stood a little to one side, watching the Petralists work. She'd lied to him.

Then it all made sense. Of course they couldn't go south back down to Merkland to find the pass to Granadure. They'd just come from there, bearing Shona away prisoner with High Lord Dougal's forces in pursuit. Downriver meant death.

Soldiers hoisted the heavy bags of granite powder onto their shoulders, apparently planning to carry them the long miles to the border. That casual acceptance of such a heavy load revealed much about them. The troop resumed their march upriver with Connor plodding along with leaden feet.

How could I have messed things up so badly?

Chapter 12

They marched on through the night, pausing only briefly to rest. Connor did not speak with anyone as he wrestled with what to do. If High Lord Dougal caught them, would he kill Connor outright or just withhold Patronage, which would result in the same thing? If he didn't catch them, Shona would be taken to Granadure to suffer . . . something, and Connor would never secure Patronage.

Either way, his life was forfeit.

The unfairness of it enraged him. He would not accept that fate. He'd worked too hard, suffered too long with the Curse for everything to end this way.

He had to find a solution.

After a time, Captain Ilse stopped in an open stretch of shoreline and looked out over the river. Connor followed her gaze, and gasped.

A man was walking on the water.

The moon had nearly set so very little light remained, but even after Connor blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn't dreaming, there could be no mistake. A man rounded the last bend downriver, approaching upriver with fluid movements, as if skating on the surface of the gently flowing river.

Ilse watched the man approach with a hint of a smile. The man skated upriver to the shore and stepped onto dry land. His hair was dark and he wore loose-fitting trousers and tunic over his lanky frame. A sword and long dagger swung at his side.

He stopped before Captain Ilse with a smile and made an extravagant bow that ended in a salute. Her voice held a hint of humor in it as she said, "Report."

"No sign of pursuit, Captain. They have gained no ground."

The tiniest of frowns crossed Shona's face, but quickly disappeared.

"Very well."

The man turned to Connor, who still stared open-mouthed, and laughed. "What's the matter, kid? Never seen a Water Moccasin before?" He spoke with only a hint of an accent.

Connor shook his head, not trusting his voice. His world had been shaken too much tonight already. Bruce had shared many wondrous stories about Petralists, but none included walking on water.

"Want to try?" the man asked, holding up a small flask. He gave it an absent flick, the exact same gesture some of the old timers used on their home-made ales to ensure the chunks didn't settle to the bottom.

Connor shook his head. "Why don't you just turn into a fish? Wouldn't that be faster?"

The man laughed. "Better yet, why don't we just fly over the mountains?"

Connor nodded eagerly. "You really can do that?"

"No, son. Where did you get such ideas?" The rest of the company laughed along with him.

Connor looked around, embarrassed. Only Shona and Verena didn't laugh, although Verena was grinning. Shona regarded him with a thoughtful, almost compassionate look. To have such a great lady see everyone laughing at him was too much.

"Bruce told me all about you Petralists!"

"And who is this wise mentor of yours?" The Water Moccasin asked.

"Lord Gavin's . . . guard," Connor said, realizing even as he said it how ridiculous he sounded. A fresh wave of laughter erupted from the group.