Set in Stone (47 page)

She passed the sheep pen, and led him into one of the small storage sheds on the far side. Normally it held farm tools and miscellaneous supplies for working the gardens along the eastern edge of the plateau. They had been replaced with all kinds of rocks piled high on the shelves. The air was thick with the smell of earth and dust.

He recognized some of the rocks, stone figures or carvings from the lower levels of the manor house, including a couple of large, cube-like crystals a hand span thick. He'd never figured out what they were supposed to be. On one shelf at about shoulder height, he was surprised to see chunks of diorite. They looked like the broken pieces of the Ashlar's hammer.

The noble girl turned to him and said, "I've met your friend, Connor."

"You must be Verena."

"How did you know?"

"Connor told me about you."

She grinned, looking ridiculously pleased. "Really, what did he say?"

"He said you're dangerous."

"I am."

Hamish's smile faded. He wasn't sure if he should believe her. She looked so nice.

Verena crossed the small shed and picked up a couple of tiny chunks of blue marble that had once been part of a statue's arm. She handed one to him and popped the other into her mouth. "Tell me what you taste."

Finally, someone who understood.

He sucked on the rock, but didn't need to bother. He'd always liked marble, more than ever since tasting the oven. "Spice."

He'd been practicing so much with marble in the past two days that he instinctively pried open the stone's power and released a tiny jet of flame. Then he yelped and spit the rock out as it started burning his tongue.

Verena caught it, but instead of dropping the flaming rock, she held it up and the flames winked out.

"How did you do that?" Hamish asked.

"In a minute." She picked up a couple of pieces of granite, handed him one, and spit out her piece of marble exactly the way he usually did. She got good distance with it, and it clattered down onto one of the shelves. He was starting to like this girl.

Granite was as familiar to Hamish as his own family. "Crackers."

"Uh-huh." She picked up a couple of crystal-like stones that had been sitting on one of the cube crystals he'd noticed earlier.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Quartzite."

He knew the taste, just hadn't known what to call it. "This one tastes like a summer breeze."

Verena laughed, a simple, happy sound. "Yes! That's the perfect way to say it." She turned serious. "You're a Builder, Hamish of Alasdair, and I'm going to teach you what that means."

"Really?" He'd dreamed he might learn something from her, but dreaded it too. If he really shared similar powers, would she call the soldiers to take him away? "Why would you do that?"

"Call it a favor to Connor."

Hamish couldn't help grinning, and he tentatively explored the quartzite stone in his mouth. There. He found a tiny crack like he did with the marble. He pried at it, and was thrilled when it cracked open a bit.

The stone blasted out of his mouth, propelled by a jet of air. It struck Verena in the forehead and she stumbled back with a cry.

Oh, no.

Hamish leaped forward to help, but Verena tripped over a rough stone on the floor and fell to her backside. Hamish tripped over her and crashed into one of the shelves piled with rocks. It splintered, and he fell in a heap amid an avalanche of small stones.

Hamish pushed rocks out of his face and tried to rise. Rocks rattled and bounced as they rolled off him like water. Verena, who sat a couple feet away, started laughing. Hamish couldn't help but join in.

They stood and Hamish retrieved a piece of marble from the pile at his feet. He held it up and triggered a little flame. "Can you show me how to turn it off?"

Verena covered his hand with hers, and the flame winked out. "That is only the beginning."

Chapter 53

Connor left the Fast Rollers and moved through the camp, driven by a restless energy. He avoided the masses of regulars who were resting, playing at dice or cards, sharpening weapons, or fixing armor. He declined an invitation from Donald to sit with the Striders, and slipped into the forest to avoid Marcas, the old Healer.

Not only did worry about the upcoming battle unsettle him, but he couldn't help thinking about the prisoner Carbrey mentioned. Could it be the same boy Wolfram told him about? Could this entire conflict really be a result of the taking of a boy? Why would High Lord Dougal order such a thing? Was there more history he did not yet know about that would justify it?

His wandering steps led him north of camp, to the smaller clearing where Rory's army had camped the first night and where he'd helped Marcas heal so many soldiers. He passed several scouts along the way, but no one challenged him.

In the northern clearing, Gregor the Sentry stood atop a full tower of earth that reared twenty feet and stood eight feet in diameter. He faced north, his hands embedded in rails connected to the top of the tower. A man in the baggy pants of a Strider, along with half a dozen soldiers dressed in hunting leathers, sat around a small fire not far away.

As soon as Connor saw Gregor, he realized he'd been looking for the man. Ever since the conversation with Tomas, another nagging worry had tugged at his mind.

He strode to the tower and, as he reached the base, Gregor spoke without turning around. His deep voice seemed to flow down the tower with great weight. "You seek knowledge, boy."

Now that he stood close to the tower, looking up at the giant of a man standing so far overhead, Connor's determination wavered. He took a deep breath and said with forced confidence, "I want to know about Sentries."

Gregor glanced down, "And what if I told you I want to know about cutting granite from the mountain?"

"I could tell you all about that."

"Please do so."

"Now?"

Gregor nodded.

Such a simple request. Even though he'd never be Ashlar, Connor knew everything about cutting granite. But as he opened his mouth to speak, he paused, unsure where to start.

Gregor stood there, unmoving like a statue, and appeared willing to remain there all day. Under his heavy stare, Connor felt compelled to speak.

"Well, there's actually quite a bit. Do you want to know everything, or just the basics?"

"Exactly."

Without warning, the high earthen tower sank smoothly into the ground. Connor stepped back as the ground shook and the air filled with the heavy scent of tilled earth.

"That is the question, is it not?" Gregor asked. "To learn of the Sentry is to learn of the earth. I am a student of the earth and yet lack understanding in many things."

He sure chose a long way to say 'Be more specific'.

Connor considered his next question a little more carefully. "What is your affinity?"

"Slate."

"Do you absorb it like granite, or just hold it like sandstone?"

"Neither. Slate is a metamorphic stone." Gregor sat back, and the ground flowed up behind him into a huge chair to catch his weight. "What drives this interest?"

Connor shrugged. "I'm trying to learn everything I can while I have the time."

"Why is that?"

Connor's frustration flared under the barrage of deflecting questions. "Because I can't save my family in ignorance!"

Gregor leaned back in his earthen chair, "Ah. Atop the foundation of truth, useful knowledge may be laid."

"So does that mean you'll tell me about Sentries?"

"It does." Gregor's calm façade cracked for the first time into a genuine smile. "Few bother to ask. Metamorphic stones are the tertiary affinity, and few there are who attempt such a long road. Fewer find success. To be a Sentry is to be alone, and at the same time it is to be the servant of all."

It sounded miserable.

"Why do it then?"

Gregor's smile widened and he tapped one arm of the earthen chair upon which he sat. "The earth grants many gifts to those willing to learn its secrets. Are you willing to pay the price to learn?"

The unending cryptic answers drove Connor to change tracks.

"I heard you talking about Anton. Do you think he'll be hard to beat?"

Gregor chuckled. "Aye, lad. That he will be."

"Can you do it?"

"Not one to mince words, are you?"

"My family's in danger. I can't afford to."

Gregor leaned forward and pointed one thick finger at Connor's heart. "Keep the knowledge of your purpose close. It will guide you."

"I will."

"Anton has stood alone against entire armies. He is the most decorated Sapper ever to live, a true disciple of the Tallan."

"He didn't seem that evil to me, just kind of old. Like weathered granite."

"He is not evil," Gregor said. "Not in the true sense."

"I didn't know there were different senses of evil."

"There are many, including true evil of the heart, as well as evil by association."

"You'll stop him though, won't you?"

"I must. It is my duty."

"What are you going to do?"

Gregor chuckled. "Keep pondering on it." He gave Connor a thoughtful look and added, "They say you are Guardian-Agor, and powerful even for such a one."

"I've heard that too."

"Are you willing to test yourself against the earth?" His voice reverberated around Connor like a landslide.

"If it'll help, I'll try anything."

Gregor rose. "Good. Increase knowledge at every opportunity and your foundation will ever be solid."

From his jacket pocket he drew a thin wafer of stone and handed it to Connor, who slid his fingers across the smooth, greenish-brown surface.

"Do I bite it, or something?"

"Put it in your shoe."

"Really?"

"Metamorphic stones are unique. They enable affinity with the elements. This is their power, and a truth many fail to grasp. Raw elements are untamed and untamable, but we who establish this affinity may learn to walk with them. When successful, they will lend us of their strength in direct measure to our capacity. Thus slate is placed closest to the earth."

Connor felt more than a little foolish as he removed his right boot. Before he could slip the wafer inside, Gregor said, "For the first attempt, better to leave your shoes off."

The huge man pulled up the thick turf as easily as Connor might brush aside a cobweb. In seconds, he cleared a wide, bare patch of earth and motioned to Connor to stand in it, with the wafer of slate under one foot.

"Concentrate on the slate, reach through it with your senses to the earth beneath. It is the gateway to the element."

Connor closed his eyes and focused. The earth felt cool under his feet, and surprisingly soft. His toes dug into the loose soil, and the smell of turned earth and grass drifted on the breeze. He wondered idly how slate would taste to Hamish.

Despite the soft buzzing of insects and the occasional trill of birds, the clearing fell quiet. Connor felt for the slate under his foot, and reached for it like he did the sandstone pendant. He tried drawing strength from the slate like he did healing, but even though he tried for several minutes, nothing happened.

Gregor spoke softly. "The bucket does not command the river to flow. It is filled only when placed in the waters."

He really needed to get this guy together with Bruce. Bruce knew more sayings than any ten people Connor had ever known. One of his favorites was 'roost with the pedras, wake with the spirits.' It had come to mind several times over the past days.

Still, Gregor might prove his match.

Instead of pulling at the power of the slate, Connor tried pushing against it, tried to reach out to the earth, through the stone.

The response came immediately. His thoughts seemed to sink through the thin wafer, and touch something vast. It was like leaning off the edge of the stone pier at Loch Wick and plunging his face into the still waters of the loch.