Set in Stone (40 page)

"Very well. Let's move out. You and Donald scout ahead."

Connor eagerly agreed. The strike force included Tomas and three other Fast Rollers, Grahame the Pathfinder, Gregor the huge Sentry, and Donald the Strider, as well as a full score of regular infantry.

After getting the company pointed in the right direction, Connor trotted ahead with Donald. The slender fellow offered some advice before they tapped their basalt and poured on the speed.

"Lean forward as you accelerate or your legs can literally run out from under you."

He explained how to alter course by shifting weight more than by actually trying to turn his feet. "The faster you run, the smaller the movements to avoid a crash."

They broke out of a thicket of fir and the ridge ascended to a hidden valley. The slope lay open and unobstructed under the moonlight so Donald said, "Let's go. Start small and accelerate gradually."

Connor opened himself to the power of basalt, and his legs quivered with the need to run. He bounded forward into an effortless sprint, and within seconds raced across the slope faster than one of Lord Gavin's horses. Laughing with the thrill of it, he increased his tap-rate. His legs blurred and, as he topped small rises, he literally flew across the slope for dozens of yards.

Donald kept pace with him all the way up the ridge and across the hidden valley. There, the trail wound up a steeper slope to a long bluff that would take them along the flank of the mountain to the game trail.

Shadows deepened as they entered thick stands of trees, and Connor started to slow. Donald pulled ahead and called back, "Come on, lad, where's your spirit?"

Connor accelerated again, but Donald pulled even farther ahead. He wanted to laugh again as he increased the tap-rate. Although he'd only just established affinity with basalt, flying across the landscape on stone-enhanced legs felt as natural as if he'd done it his whole life. The boundless energy rippled through his legs like a constant wind, lifting him and easing the strain until running felt easier than breathing.

The two of them entered a series of tight turns, with trees looming out of the shadows so fast, he avoided them by pure instinct. Even though he should be rightly afraid of crashing, Connor grinned with the thrill of it. Buoyed by the basalt, he tried to match Donald's grace, tried to shift his weight to pull his body around turns, but found it far more difficult at greater speed.

One large bush appeared suddenly, and Connor's balance was off from the last bend. He tried to turn hard, but lost his footing, tripped over the bush, and tumbled into the nearby forest. He crashed through branches and barely missed hitting a large tree.

Donald must have heard the racket because even as Connor staggered to his feet, shedding branches, the Strider slid to a halt nearby.

"Shoulda had that one," Connor said.

Donald grinned. "Those so-called Fast Rollers have no idea what speed really means."

Connor blew out a breath. "It's amazing." His heart beat fast, but he barely felt winded. His body ached from the wild tumble into the brush, but the battle leathers had protected him from the worst of it.

"You've barely touched what you can do," Donald said. "I'll warn you now of the danger."

"You mean more than just watching out for trees?"

"No lad, the real danger lies in finding out how fast you can really go."

"Why is that a problem?"

"Because once you hit your top stride you'll never be satisfied with walking again." He paused and gave Connor a long look. "Basalt opens a door you can never return through completely. You can never live life slow like the rest of the world. There's a need burning in your heart to always push the limits, reach the ultimate boundary of your speed, the very cusp of the threshold."

"It can't be all that bad," Connor said, struggling to comprehend how running fast could prove such a danger.

Donald shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

As they walked out of the thick brush, Connor clutched the sandstone pendant tucked under his jacket and drew a whisper of healing strength from it, just enough to wash away the worst of the bruising. Donald's warning slipped to the back of his mind as he looked forward to the freedom of super-human speed.

Donald led him at a slower pace up to the next open slope that would top out at the trail. "Let's race to the top."

"If I win, you get me a long-knife like yours."

Donald barked a laugh. "Never going to happen. You haven't tasted real speed yet."

"But what if?"

"Better to get one of the meteor hammers like that Grandurian Wingrunner used."

Connor thought of that long steel cable, capped with the spiked ball the Wingrunner had used to clobber one of the Fast Rollers. "I hope you have one handy, because I'm going to win it."

Without waiting for a response, he sprinted up the trail and drew deep from the basalt. He accelerated so fast, he almost outran himself, and had to ease off for a second to regain his balance.

In that second, Donald caught up. Connor poured on more speed, but could not pull ahead. The ground blurred past as they raced up the slope, faster than an arrow.

Connor grinned with the challenge of it, but then Donald called out, "See you at the top."

The Strider shot forward, so fast Connor might as well have been crawling on hands and knees. Connor stared for a second in wonder, and then increased his tap-rate as far as he could.

He accelerated again, but deep within the very bones of his thighs and hips, pain started throbbing, and then spiked to sharp intensity. His legs felt like they were fracturing.

Connor eased off and the pain faded. Donald waited for him at the top of the slope, leaning against a tree, a grin on his face.

"How did you do that?" Connor asked.

"Have to draw deep, so deep it hurts."

"It started to. Felt like my legs were cracking."

Donald nodded. "The official term is Basalt Max-Tap Joint Displacement Shift, but we just call it The Fracking."

"Fracking?"

"Aye, when you go Fracked, or fractured." He gestured at his baggy pants. "It's the reason Striders and Wingrunners wear these. The Fracking is when the tap-rate triggers a physical change."

As he spoke, the top several inches of his thighs suddenly bent outward with loud pops until they shifted nearly horizontal. His lower legs bent abruptly downward, as if he'd grown new joints.

Connor grimaced. "What did you just do?"

Donald bounced where he stood. "It's hard to stand still like this." With another loud pop, his legs snapped back to normal. "The Fracking changes us so we can move faster. You've already hit the limit for moving your legs back and forth. When we go Fracked, that extra joint allows our upper legs to rotate in full circles without our lower legs having to move so far. That's when you find out what fast really means."

"I think I'll just take your word for it tonight."

Donald grinned. "I don't blame you. Took me weeks to build up the courage to break my legs."

Connor wondered if he'd ever dare to do it.

Chapter 43

The rest of the company caught up with them an hour later. Connor led everyone to the trail, then down to Lookout Rock where he liked to enjoy the panoramic view of the valley.

Down on the lower plateau, the manor sat dark, with only a couple of lights gleaming in the lowest windows. Even as they watched, tiny fires sprang to life beyond the manor house, far away at the base of the slope where Carbrey's army moved into position.

A growing sense of excitement mixed with dread in Connor's heart. Ilse had proven herself more than clever. If she had a larger army, Connor would fear they'd never force her out. But despite her courageous stand, she could hold no hope for long-term victory.

This had better work. Connor trusted that Carbrey knew what he was doing, and trusted Rory even more, but he wondered what Ilse had prepared.

If the attack failed, would she really follow through on her threat to kill Lord Gavin and his entire family? Would she really kill Connor's father and the other Cutters? Were they wise to take that chance?

Connor led the party down to Quarry Road, and Grahame indicated no one patrolled nearby.

Before they reached the deep lochs of the ancient flooded quarries perched near the edge of the cliff, Gregor called a halt. As the party gathered around him, the powerful Sentry crouched and drove one hand into the hard-packed road. The ground rippled out from his hand and pulsed against Connor's feet, flowing halfway up his boots.

He shifted, and the earth moved with him, but did not release its hold. He shook his foot harder, but the ground did not fall away.

"Stop it," Gregor said in a deep, low whisper beside Connor. "It is the plan."

Connor jumped. He hadn't noticed the big man rise. The rest of the company stood quietly, as if not bothered by the ground's strange behavior.

"Try to stay in step," Gregor said softly. "It eases the burden of masking so many." Then to Connor he added, "In case that Builder can listen through her wall stones too."

The group moved out slowly and settled into a steady march, everyone moving in step. The ground flowed under their feet even as they walked, and seemed to catch them at every step and lower them gently to the surface of the road.

After the first few steps, Connor lost his unease, and resumed scanning the area. For whatever reason, Gregor felt this important, and Rory didn't seem surprised by it. He had to admit, traveling with Guardians was never boring.

They began descending the steep switchback road down the cliff to the plateau. Protective darkness wrapped around the manor like a blanket, but the Grandurians stationed on the far side, along the rim of the plateau, were exposed and easily noted.

Halfway down the face of the cliff, Grahame called a halt with a raised hand. He pointed at the manor house and made a series of gestures to one of the soldiers. The man moved to one side, pulled out a sling, and fitted a round stone.

He stared at the manor house intently, and Connor followed his gaze. Only then did he notice the Longseer standing atop the tower, which sat only a little lower than their position. She was turned profile to them, intent on Carbrey's army downriver.

The slinger whipped the sling around his head and released it with a soft snap. The Longseer pitched to the side and crumpled silently.

"Good shot," Rory whispered.

As the group resumed their march, Connor glanced over at the soldier and wondered if he might have another sling handy. Connor was the best stone thrower in Alasdair, but he'd never imagined such a shot.

As they reached the plateau and began moving toward the northern entrance of the manor, Grahame pointed out two sentries lurking in the shadows. Two slingers stepped forward this time and launched rocks simultaneously.

At the same time Donald leaped forward, so fast he must have Fracked. The stones struck true against the Grandurians' helmets with distant pings.

Donald caught the Grandurians even as they fell, and dragged them around the manor house. By the time Rory's company trotted up to the house, he already had the men gagged and securely tied.

Connor led the group along the eastern wall to the kitchen entrance. Gregor remained there while Connor led the others inside. As he slipped into the kitchen, lit only by a single candle and the dying embers of the fire, Connor fought to control a rising tide of tension.

They'd made it to the manor house. He prayed they'd succeed in freeing his father.

Rory looked at the blackened walls, shattered shelves, and the rubble. "What happened here?"

Connor hadn't seen the devastation of the kitchen since he left it wreathed in flames. The destruction was even more complete than he remembered.

"Curses and Heatstone ovens don't mix very well."

Rory coughed, and his face reddened as he tried to suppress a laugh.

Shona gave him a withering glare, and then frowned at Connor. "Where's Ilse?"