Set in Stone (43 page)

Carbrey thrashed harder, his antics drawing Connor's gaze from the terrifying sight of the charging army. It looked like he was drowning.

Rory scooped at the water with his hands, but it flowed around his fingers. Carbrey heaved, clearly trying to vomit, but nothing came out. The water continued churning into froth around his face.

Connor had nearly drowned once in the wild Upper Wick. Seeing Carbrey writhing and unable to clear his lungs brought that remembered panic back with terrifying clarity. He glanced at Kilian, who stood with one hand half-raised, the thin stream of water connecting him to Carbrey holding steady in the air like a solid arc of silver.

"Stop it! Don't kill him," Connor shouted.

Kilian glanced back and winked.

Carbrey convulsed again, and the water disappeared. He'd swallowed it. For a second, Carbrey seemed to be all right, but his face went ashen and he grabbed at his stomach.

Then he screamed.

He writhed on the earth, twisting and pounding at his own chest, screaming in pain. Connor looked from Kilian to Carbrey and shuddered. He'd learned much about various Petralists, but he'd never imagined anything like this.

The charging army was barely fifty yards away and closing fast when Rory snatched a trumpet from a nearby soldier and blew two loud notes. The army skidded to a halt. Within three running strides, they went from a full charge to parade rest. Silence descended over the battlefield. Carbrey's cries of pain echoed clearly across the slope.

In the center of the lines, Connor recognized many of the soldiers, including the hulking Captain Peader and several Fast Rollers. Several of them recognized him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. They knew he'd been captured again. If the armies did collide, they could help free him.

Maybe Ilse had planned this all along to plant the seeds of doubt in their minds. Would they fall for it, and wonder if he'd sided with the Grandurians?

Rory blew two more notes, and the army retreated down the slope until they stood behind their leader, who had stopped struggling. The two captains with all the knives moved to Rory's side, and appeared to be arguing.

Shona's voice carried across the field, "Stand down. I support Rory's decision."

With Rory's help, Carbrey climbed shakily to his feet, but then doubled over. In a single, convulsive heave, he spewed the water out.

It splashed to the ground, but instantly gathered into the air. A long tether reached back to Kilian.

Connor thought back to the water bladders he'd burst back at camp. Did that mean he was a Water Moccasin too, or whatever they called that affinity in Obrion?

The possibility disgusted and fascinated him in equal measure. To one day skate across the surface of the river would be wondrous beyond imagining. And yet, look what pain Kilian could inflict.

Shimmering like liquid silver, the water flowed into the shape of a sword and floated across the front lines of the army. Every soldier drew back from it, and it returned to face Carbrey.

Kilian spoke, his voice calm and loud enough for everyone to hear. "Return to your camp and await our messenger."

Shona lunged forward and slashed at the liquid sword. Her blade passed through it and she stumbled. The liquid blade swept toward her face. She shrieked and retreated.

Rory stepped in front of the liquid blade and held up his hands in a sign of peace. "Send your messenger." Then he turned his back on the liquid threat and barked a few orders. The army began a slow retreat back to the trees.

Kilian turned to Ilse and made one of his extravagant bows before throwing a cocky salute.

Ilse smiled, "You can't resist, can you?"

"What? Stopping a massacre? Saving hundreds of lives? No ma'am, I cannot."

"Show-off."

Kilian began pushing through the ranks of soldiers but paused next to Connor, "The trick, boy, is not in how much force you bring to bear, but in knowing where to apply it for the greatest result." Then he winked and disappeared through the ranks of soldiers.

Connor looked after him, completely torn. Should he hate the man for torturing Carbrey, or should he applaud him for stopping a battle?

"Come," Ilse said to Connor, and drew him back to where the general waited for them.

"I owe that man a medal," the general said.

"He'd prefer a good steak."

"Done."

To Connor, the general said, "We have much to discuss."

Chapter 46

Wolfram led Connor and Ilse back to the manor and up to Lord Gavin's study on the second floor. The big man moved with confidence, as if he'd lived in the manor for years and not just arrived. Wolfram rounded the huge desk, stood beside Lord Gavin's chair, and motioned Connor to sit in one of the leather seats facing the desk. Ilse remained by the door.

"How did a local boy become the messenger of choice between our forces?"

When Ilse didn't speak, Connor said, "I just sort of fell into it, sir."

"I am glad you did, Connor. We meet at a difficult time. Fate has placed us on opposite sides of this conflict and by rights we should be enemies." He leaned forward and said, "But in you, I see no enemy. I see a brave lad who wants only the safety of his family and village."

How could Wolfram possibly know?

Wolfram continued. "With your help, I believe we can avert pitched battle and save many lives. Will you help me do this?"

Pride stirred deep in Connor's heart that such an important man would show so much confidence in him and treat him with so much respect. "I will, sir."

"I knew I could count on you." Wolfram turned to the western window that looked over the river, hands clasped behind his back, as if deep in thought. After half a minute like that, he turned, "Tell General Carbrey these are my terms for peace. He must maintain a buffer of at least two miles from the village and this manor house. More importantly, he must return that which was stolen. If he does, we will leave peacefully and no one gets hurt."

Ilse had mentioned the cryptic stolen item. It must be worth a fortune if they would risk open warfare to retrieve it.

He licked his lips and whispered, "And if he doesn't?"

Wolfram gave him a look of both sorrow and determination. "I will flood this quarry and kill all the prisoners."

Connor recoiled, horrified by the words, and by the matter-of-fact way in which he said it. "But you can't," he blurted. "They didn't do anything to you!"

"I am afraid that is not the point." Wolfram looked genuinely sorrowful.

Connor looked from Wolfram to Ilse, angry and confused. How could they talk about being friends and in the next moment calmly threaten to kill and destroy?

"That's not right," he finally said.

"War is never right," Wolfram said. "But it is necessary. The choice is Carbrey's to make. We do not wish for bloodshed, but we will not allow his aggression to remain unanswered."

His
aggression? Carbrey wasn't the one threatening Connor's family.

"The situation is more complicated than you know," Captain Ilse said, speaking for the first time.

"You keep saying that, as if it justifies the terrible things you've been doing, but it doesn't!" Anger drove Connor to his feet to face Ilse.

"We didn't start this, but we'll finish it," Ilse snarled.

"Start what? You invaded."

"That was not the beginning of this conflict," Wolfram said, drawing Connor back around to face him. "This conflict began when a small boy was kidnapped by agents of your High Lord Dougal. All the suffering, all the death that has resulted is guilt he bears responsibility for."

"You lie," Connor said softly, but thought of Carbrey's strange comment about a boy when he first entered the camp.

Could it really be true?

"Open your eyes, Connor," Wolfram said, his gaze boring into Connor, "and you will see the truth."

He clapped Connor on the shoulder and said, "Deliver my terms and make sure Carbrey understands my determination in this. On his shoulders lies the fate of many. Go now. Be brave."

Connor retreated to the door as if in a fog, his mind whirling with Wolfram's revelation. It had to be a lie. They had to be twisting the truth somehow. He lacked the knowledge to see through the lie, but he swore to find it.

As he reached the door, Wolfram added with another friendly smile, "Stop by the kitchen on your way out. Young men your age are always hungry."

The general clearly hadn't visited the kitchen yet.

Connor didn't trust his voice, but stepped into the hall. Wolfram called after him, "Be wary of Carbrey. He is a very dangerous man."

The man's view of events was so twisted, Connor could barely comprehend it. "If I may, sir, isn't that something an enemy would be expected to say?"

"But we are not enemies."

"I don't understand, sir."

"In time, I hope you will. Consider what you've learned, and with the Tallan's blessing, you will see the truth."

Connor recoiled, pulled the door closed, and leaned back against it. Why did they insist on invoking the devil's name? It only confirmed that their point of view was too corrupted for him to understand.

He wanted to pound something to relieve some of the tension. Every time he felt like things were going to be all right, something happened to show him just how powerless he really was.

Wolfram's words rang in his mind with terrifying finality. He would kill Connor's father. With an entire army here to reinforce Ilse, Connor wondered how Carbrey would ever be victorious.

How could the general claim they weren't enemies? Could he be telling the truth about the kidnapped boy? Connor suddenly wished he'd asked more questions.

Ilse's voice drifted through the door to him. "When Carbrey learns you are here, he will strip the garrison at Merkland and flood this valley with troops."

Connor pressed his ear against the door, and barely caught Wolfram's soft reply. "That is my fear."

"This could be an ideal time to attack Merkland directly with our main forces."

"Perhaps."

Footsteps sounded on the polished wood floor down the hall, so Connor pulled away from the door and trotted toward the stairs. He almost ran into Verena at the landing. He recoiled, and lifted a hand to protect his face and throat.

Verena smiled and took his hand in her warm, little one. "Oh, Connor, you're so funny."

She pulled him to the end of the hall to the wide window overlooking the southern slope. She turned to him, and in the soft light, her skin seemed to glow and her eyes to shine.

Still holding his hand, she said, "Connor, I'm real sorry about what happened. You must be so frightened."

The intensity of her gaze made it hard to concentrate. "I'm more worried for my family. I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Me too."

Even though she'd hit him and helped capture him three different times, he felt a surprising connection with the amazing young woman. "Verena, do you think anyone can stop the fighting before lots of people get killed?"

She leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, "I hope so."

"How?"

She met his gaze and squeezed his hand. "I don't know yet, but I'm more confident knowing that you're helping."

Connor snorted. "There's not much I can do."

"You're already doing it." She reached into her ever-present satchel, and he tensed. Instead of throwing some evil rock in his face, she withdrew a small, ornately carved wooden box.

She extracted from it an oblong white stone about the size of his thumb and handed it to him. "This is special."

"I thought every rock you touched was special."

She smiled, her face radiant in the dim light. "You can be really sweet sometimes." She closed his fingers over the rock. "This is quartzite. A gift, for you to remember me by."

"What does it do?"

Instead of replying, she smiled, and her blue-eyed gaze became so deep he worried he might sink into it and lose himself. "I'm glad you're safe, Connor."