Set in Stone (42 page)

"Anton."

"Aye."

"Captain, we can take this rabble," Shona said. "Carbrey's almost here. We can win this."

"No lass. If Anton's masking an army, we cannot hold. We retreat to Carbrey and make our stand there."

He spoke as if it were they who would be fighting for their lives. The abrupt change in his demeanor chilled Connor to the bone. Never mind how impossible it was for such a huge Grandurian army to descend on them here.

Down on the lower slope, Carbrey's army had already advanced more than halfway to the plateau. They only needed a few minutes to secure the entire area.

They didn't have minutes. The ground started to shake, and Connor did not need Gregor to tell him hundreds of running feet were the cause.

Just then, Grahame and the secondary strike force appeared in the southern entrance, running hard. "Captain, I heard the signal. What happened?"

Connor ran up the stairs to Grahame. "Did you free my father?"

He shook his head, "Not enough time."

Connor's heart fell. How could the carefully planned assault be falling apart? They were so close to victory!

He pushed past Grahame and ran for the southern stairs. The prisoners were probably being held in the second sub-level. He only needed a few minutes to free them.

Outside, Rory shouted, "To me! Retreat!"

The company formed up, drew weapons, and ran straight for the gathered Grandurians.

Connor snarled and ran after the retreating army. Every step farther from his father drove a dagger of guilt into his heart.

Outside, Anika scowled at Rory. "Maybe I no let you run."

Rory called out, "Next time, lass."

Anika glanced at Erich, who motioned to the rest of the company to stand aside, but then she snarled, "No. We fight now."

She charged at Rory.

Before she took two steps, the ground caught her feet and she fell forward hard. The earth buckled and rolled her unceremoniously aside.

As the company ran past, Gregor called out, "Next time, listen to your brother. You can play with Rory later."

Connor ran to catch up, but Verena moved to block him, and he said, "Look, Verena, I'm sorry about all this."

She gave him a sweet smile, "No hard feelings."

Then she tried to punch him in the face.

He was expecting it this time, and caught her arm and they struggled. Under that cute face and soft voice, she was tough as steel, and Connor barely held her off. Finally he twisted her arms hard behind her back and pulled her close so she couldn't knee him between the legs.

"Stop trying to hit me all the time." He gave her arms another hard twist to punctuate his growing anger.

She yanked against his wrists, despite how much it must hurt, and he had to pull her hard against him to keep from losing his grip. They stood there for a moment, faces inches apart, bodies locked tight together as they swayed and fought for dominance, and Connor suddenly became aware of her in an entirely different way. This was so much like how Rory and Anika had wrestled, that he felt his face flush.

If anyone looked at them right now, would they see them fighting or embracing?

Verena's minty breath washed over his face and, staring into her wide blue eyes, he was suddenly struck by just how pretty she was. It triggered a sudden urge to kiss her grimacing little mouth.

Before he could decide if he really wanted to, she relaxed against him and said, "Connor, please."

Surprised, he slackened his grip a little.

Verena slammed her forehead into his nose. Connor staggered back, blinded by pain, but he didn't need to see to know she was about to hit him again.

He tapped basalt and leaped away.

"Hey, no fair!" she shouted.

His blurry eyes focused on the raging Anika who stood directly in his path. She reached for him, and he had no doubt she'd rip his arms off.

He leaned right, and his wildly churning feet dug into the ground and whipped him in a tight turn right through the open big barn doors. He flashed through the barn, and for a second hoped to race out the far side to freedom.

The far doors stood closed.

Connor tried to plant his feet and skid to a stop, but slipped on the straw-covered floor, and tumbled end over end across the barn before slamming to a halt against the closed doors.

After coughing and spitting blood, Connor clutched the sandstone pendant at his neck and drew heavily from its healing warmth. He only allowed himself a few seconds. He had to escape.

He rolled to his hands and knees, but he'd already lingered too long. Half a dozen soldiers poured into the other end of the barn, led by Anika. Connor pressed himself against the closed doors and wished he'd absorbed granite. At least then he could break through the doors.

Before Anika could wreak vengeance upon him, Verena darted past and blocked the angry Petralist's way.

"Enough, Anika. See to Ilse. I'll deal with Connor."

Amazingly, Anika stopped. After a final glare in Connor's direction, she spun and pushed through the soldiers.

Verena ran to Connor, slipped under one of his arms, and pulled him to his feet. Again he was struck by how perfectly she fitted into the crook of his arm. This time he was smart enough to drive the thought away immediately.

He groaned as bruised muscles complained against the abuse. "Please don't hit me again."

Verena pushed hair out of her face, "Of course I won't hit you, silly. There's no point now."

She led him slowly out of the barn where a huge army marched past and massed along the southern lip of the plateau.

He was trapped, prisoner.

Again.

Chapter 45

Connor stood with Verena as soldiers flowed past until at least a hundred men, and even a few women, assembled. Most were chainmail-clad regulars, but at least eight of them wore the leather armor of Rumblers.

One tall man with broad shoulders, white hair, and a long, drooping mustache stopped beside Ilse, who had been freed from her cage. The man wore a simple brown uniform but no armor. A long, slightly curved sword swung at his hip.

Ilse saluted smartly, despite her dirty face and one swollen eye. "Thank you, General."

"I am glad to see you safe, Captain."

"You arrived just short of too late."

On the slope, Carbrey's army slowed, and a trumpet sounded a long, clear note.

"Good," the new general said. "They seek parley. Who leads their forces and what is their disposition?"

"Carbrey, with a large force of regulars and a nearly full complement of Guardians."

The General blew out his mustaches and nodded. "I should have known. This complicates things."

"Do you think he'll attack outright?"

"If he sees me now with the battle lines drawn, most likely."

"We still have hostages," Ilse offered.

The general shook his head. "What I need are communication channels. How have you been negotiating?"

"A local boy."

The trumpet sounded again.

The general said, "Let us hope he sends the boy soon or many will die tonight."

Verena pulled Connor toward the general, "Over here, sir."

"What happened?" Ilse asked.

Verena shrugged. "He runs faster than he thinks."

"That's not fair," Connor said, but did not dare argue further as they stopped before the tall general. Up close, the man was even more imposing.

Behind the general, a huge man the equal of Gregor for sheer mass, rounded the end of the manor house. He radiated power, despite gray streaks in his dark brown hair, and when his dark eyes swept over Connor, the force of his gaze nearly buckled Connor's already weak knees. The man exuded a sense of vast age and wisdom.

This had to be Anton.

Immediately Connor began to understand Gregor's concern. He would risk much to avoid facing this man.

Two other men followed Anton and moved to flank the general. They looked familiar in their leather and steel armor, with two swords sheathed on their backs and myriad knives strapped all over. They could almost pass as the brothers of two captains in Carbrey's army. These men moved with the same deadly grace.

The general regarded Connor with warm blue eyes. "You are the liaison, are you, boy?"

Connor shrugged. "I just carry messages."

"That is exactly what I need right now." The general extended a large hand, "I am Wolfram." Like Ilse, he spoke with barely a trace of accent.

Connor nervously took the man's hand. He had a strong but not overbearing handshake. "I'm Connor."

General Wolfram started to speak, but paused. His gaze sharpened, and his grip tightened. But before Connor wondered at the pause, the hesitation disappeared and the general's smile returned.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Connor."

"Thank you, sir."

General Wolfram looked disapprovingly to Verena, who still stood with Connor's arm draped over her shoulder. "You and I will speak at length once the current crisis is abated, young lady."

Verena shrugged out from under Connor's arm and made a little curtsy. "Of course, General."

Wolfram turned back to Connor. "Tell Carbrey to stand down."

He was interrupted by a trumpet calling three quick notes.

"Blast the impatient fool," Wolfram said. "He means to attack."

"I'll deal with it." Kilian, the Water Moccasin strode past, carrying a bucket of water.

"This, I have to see," General Wolfram said.

Connor, Verena, and Ilse followed the general to the battle line. The general stopped in the second rank of soldiers but Connor pushed to the front with Ilse.

He wished he hadn't.

Staring down the slope at hundreds of armored soldiers charging uphill made his knees start to shake. They were barely a hundred yards away. Two steps in front of his men, Carbrey led the charge from the center, sword raised and face set in hard lines.

All across the lip of the plateau, armor creaked as soldiers set themselves to receive the charge. On the flanks, soldiers raised heavy crossbows, while others began unbuckling large, bulky canvas packs resting on the ground in front of them. The Rumblers in the center of the line swelled with granite and hefted massive weapons or huge rocks.

Connor was standing on the front lines of what was about to become a pitched battle. He'd seen enough of battle in the past couple of days to know he didn't want to get caught in the middle of one.

He started to back away, but Ilse grabbed his shoulder.

"Stand with men and watch."

Verena pulled a small stone out of her satchel and flashed him a wide smile. "Don't worry, Connor. I won't let them hurt you."

He glared at her, and prepared to tap basalt as soon as Ilse eased her hold. They might all be crazy, but he wouldn't die with them.

On the far left flank, Anton the Sapper rolled up to the line, standing atop a high tower of earth that flowed over the ground like a living thing. But it was Kilian who stepped beyond the lines to stand alone before the charging horde.

Whistling to himself, he threw the water. It arced up and out of the bucket, trailing a thin streamer that remained connected to Kilian's hand. It sailed in a glittering silver arc toward the charging men, gaining speed and thinning as it fell.

It struck Carbrey in the face.

He tried to side-step, but the water followed his movement and whipped out like a snake. The impact knocked him from his feet.

Behind him, the charging soldiers parted to avoid running him over. Rory and Shona, who had been flanking him, tried to lift him to his feet. The rest of the lines kept advancing.

Carbrey convulsed, struggling and writhing around as water frothed in his nose and mouth. They barely held onto him.

The ground shook under Connor's feet from the thudding tread of the charging army. He glanced sidelong at Verena, wondering when she was going to throw a Wallstone or something. She did not move.