A stones throw, p.45
A Stone's Throw, page 45
part #2 of The Petralist Series
When he spoke, a nearby Pathfinder magnified his voice. Connor reminded himself that he needed to study the technique.
“My lords, ladies, representatives, and officials,” Lord Dail declared. “Teachers, students, and honored guests.” He spoke for five minutes about the great honor bestowed upon those who received a nomination to compete as champion of the Tir-raon, of the long and glorious history of the games, and the weight of duty carried by all contenders, whether they won or not. If he had been trying to settle the crowds from the wild heights of enthusiasm, he couldn’t have picked a better way.
The only indication that he lacked his normal vigor was that he cut off his remarks after five minutes. From what Connor knew of him, under normal circumstances, he usually would have rambled on far longer in front of a crowd that big. When he finally confirmed Redmund’s nomination, the crowds erupted into cheering again. Some of them continued cheering Redmund’s name even as Ivor took his place, prompting Ivor’s supporters to chant his name even louder. For a moment, the two camps vied for dominance, and Lord Dail looked happy to let them keep at it as long as they wanted. While he waited for the cheering competition, he waved a Healer to join him. The girl was subtle, masking the renewed healing she offered him with the simple act of bring to him a drink.
Ivor settled the cheering contest by summoning pillars of fire that burst from the ground and met ten feet over his head, forming a white-hot burning archway. The impressive feat must have cost him half a mouthful of marble and scorched his tongue. Fire began dripping out of his mouth and he laughed with the wild vigor of the flames. The spectacle silenced Redmund’s supporters while driving Ivor’s to frothing excitement. They chanted with as much enthusiasm as Hamish would if old, fat Neasa handed him the keys to her bakery.
Ivor might only be a Guardian, but he was a skilled showman, and he played to the crowd with great skill. He re-formed the fiery archway into a single pillar of fire that raised him at a stately pace twenty feet above the ground. He leaped off the pillar, but water boiled out of nearby barrels, forming a flowing liquid pillar to catch him. He proceeded to jump, forming pillars of fire, then water to catch himself, circumventing the entire pavilion to growing cheers. In the final jump, he intertwined both columns together. Vapors of steam rose around him, adding a hint of mystery as he stood atop the two opposing elements, binding them to his will in an impressive display of control. When he settled back to the ground, he looked tired, but exultant.
While he performed, Connor changed into his Dawnus outfit. He absorbed a fresh handful of granite powder and grinned as the familiar itch of his long-time curse crawled up his arm. When he tapped his curse to swell his muscles and test the extent of the flexibility in the shifting plates, he discovered the suit was more than it first appeared. As the plates shifted to accommodate his increased mass, they revealed concealed patterns. Starting at his left shoulder and rippling around the main plates on the left side of his chest appeared flames crafted out of bright, red leather. Brilliant blue water patterns decorated his right side, glittering in the sunlight.
No one would forget which affinities Connor would use as Dawnus, and the effect was impressive. He practiced tapping and untapping granite, swelling and then deflating his muscles to reveal, then conceal, the patterns. He decided he’d have a lot of fun with that suit. Better to find ways to enjoy shackles he may never escape than rage against them.
With his preparations complete, he crept to the top of the hill and peeked around the final screen of trees just as Ivor’s nomination was confirmed. He tried to remain calm as Padraigin took the place of honor before the pavilion, but it was almost time to crash the party, and he found himself grinning with anticipation, while at the same time wanting to curse-punch nearby trees in frustration.
He’d been so close!
No, he hadn’t. He’d been a fool who had nearly killed himself and everyone around him.
Padraigin’s appearance was greeted by muted cheering, drowned out by more booing and catcalls than support. She faced the pavilion without acknowledging the hecklers, standing tall, a graceful figure, projecting enough confidence that the detractors fell silent.
Lord Dail spoke. “Declare your name, contestant.”
“Padraigin Deildinni Gottskalkur.” She used the same Pathfinder trick to magnify her voice until it shook the valley, beating into Connor’s skull like a sculpting hammer, the words rolling off her tongue in the undisguised dialect of her homeland. He had never known anyone with so many names. They sounded so foreign, so mysterious when spoken that way. If the high lord representatives really wanted to bar Connor from winning a nomination, all they had to do was demand that he repeat her name.
“And are you, a daughter of Althing, prepared to accept the conditions of entry into the Tir-raon as a champion contender?”
“I am,” she declared, generating a fresh wave of angry booing from the crowd.
“Which of the high lords sponsors your nomination?”
A pudgy woman with a fat neck rose from her seat among the high lord representatives. She was past middle age, and every time Connor had seen her, she’d appeared just a bit desperate. Her name was Lady Una, and she represented High Lord Pilib. She joined Lord Dail at the front of the pavilion. “My master sponsors this beautiful contestant.”
“And do you, Padraigin, accept that if you win--” Lord Dail was interrupted by louder angry yelling, which he silenced with a wave. “If you win, you renounce citizenship with Althing, commit to marry into High Lord Pilib’s family, and that all progeny will be raised as citizens of Obrion?”
“I accept the conditions,” Padraigin said without hesitation.
Connor grimaced. He’d thought the requirements placed upon him were difficult, but he wasn’t committing to renouncing his country forever. He wondered why Padraigin would agree to such draconian conditions. Seeing what she was willing to sacrifice to participate helped him put his own troubles into better perspective, and he calmed his breathing. This was not his first choice, but it was an honorable life, and he’d make the best of it.
He had no choice.
“Then you must complete a task as defined by the board of chancellors and the high lord representatives,” Lord Dail declared. “Should you succeed, your nomination will be confirmed. Should you fail, your fate will be determined by the existing and applicable treaties and signed negotiations completed on your behalf.”
“I accept,” she repeated. Connor was starting to secretly wish she’d refuse. He needed to win the Tir-raon, but she was committing as much to the upcoming competition as he was.
Lord Dail launched into yet another speech, reminding her of the singular honor being granted upon her, a foreigner, to be allowed to compete as a contender for champion of the famous Tir-raon, a game rooted in history, whose honor had never been tarnished. Padraigin endured the pompous speech with silent composure.
Finally Lord Dail declared, “Then let the contest begin.” He gestured for the huge Lord Kane to take his place at the head of the pavilion.
Lord Kane didn’t try to hide his contempt as he looked down upon Padraigin. “So you think you’re good enough to beat every son of Obrion in our own game, do you?”
“Indeed, I do,” Padraigin declared, her voice ringing with conviction.
Lord Kane scowled. “We’ll see about that. Your nomination challenge will be run by Evander himself.”
Chapter 74
Connor leaned forward, popping a piece of quartzite into his mouth and applying its liquid power to his eyes. With enhanced vision, he scanned the pavilion. He wasn’t familiar with the name Evander, and he didn’t see anyone new. He did notice a few of the representatives and officials looking nervous.
Lord Kane turned toward his left, but there was nothing beyond the pavilion on that side other than the lake and a nearby hill. Then the ground began to rumble and that entire hill actually split in two with a groaning of earth so deep it shook Connor and nearly sent him stumbling. Many students and onlookers did fall.
A giant of a man rode across the ground, through the gap, on a half-reclined, narrow seat very similar to the one Anton had ridden down the slope outside Alasdair to face Gregor. With legs and hands propped on handles that extended from the front like almost-horizontal stirrups, the man looked dangerous and relaxed at the same time. He wore a leather jacket that matched the black, shaggy hair and beard blowing in the wind of his passage. His skin was so tanned as to be almost black, and his heavy-browed eyes were ebony, with almost no whites.
The man slid to a stop not far from Padraigin, who managed to not retreat from him. Connor’s enhanced sight and elevated position allowed him to see her suppressed shiver, her widened eyes, and a bead of sweat trickling down her temple. She concealed her fear extremely well, but no one could stand impervious to such an amazing entrance. The man, who Connor assumed was the Evander that Lord Kane had spoken of, exuded a powerful presence eclipsing even that of the powerful Sentries Connor had known.
Silence descended over the entire field at the arrival of the huge newcomer, who topped seven feet when he arose from his reclined seat. The unique conveyance sank into the earth behind him. He spoke softly in a voice so deep it sounded like the groaning of the mountain itself.
“Committing to battle against a foe one does not know leaves at best a distant chance of victory.”
Padraigin made a little nod of respect. “And yet, to fail to make the attempt guarantees defeat.”
“A petal may ride a torrent,” Evander replied. “While a stone may withstand a flood.”
Padraigin didn’t look like she knew how to respond to that one. Connor would have had to say something like, “Rainwater in soup is better than bread thrown to ducks.”
Lord Kane interrupted the strange interview. “Master Evander, welcome, and thank you for agreeing to oversee the nomination challenge.”
Evander scanned the silent assembly, and many cringed back from the weight of his stare. As he completed his circuit, his gaze swept the hill upon which Connor crouched, and Connor felt sure the man must have spied him, but Evander made no move to indicate he knew Connor was concealed nearby. Connor’s hands started to sweat and he felt suddenly exposed. The giant was a new player, a complication Connor had no idea how to account for. He spoke like a Sentry, but Connor sensed there had to be something more to the man.
That was the last thing he needed. Already he felt rushed, unsettled, and desperate. He’d face Evander if he had to. There was no going back for him now.
The ground under Evander rose, barely shaking the nearby grasses as it lifted him high upon an earthen tower. Earthen posts rose from the top to link his hands to the construct. He spoke from twenty feet off the ground, his booming voice easily carrying across the valley.
“That which was sundered may yet be repaired, and those lost may return to the fold. Morning breaks only after the darkest of the night, and rejoicing may indeed replace mourning.”
“I don’t understand,” Padraigin said.
“Understanding is a flower whose petal opens fully with time and contemplation,” Evander said. “Allow today to occupy your time, contestant. I will speak plain that all may understand the task which lies before you.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Padraigin said with a little smile.
“Daughter of the eastern shores, you must today traverse the lake, from south to north, shore to shore.”
“That’s it?” Padraigin asked, glancing toward the nearby lake.
“Indeed,” Evander said. “And yet all journeys are fraught with dangers. Fire and water may nourish earth, yet at times combat against it. Today they rise as foes. Daly, who walks with fire, will attempt to delay your progress, and the lake itself will stand athwart your purpose, awakened by the captain of the Spitter class.”
Lord Kane snapped his fingers, calling forward Daly and the Spitter captain, a willowy woman named Amalia. Connor had not interacted with her much, but he’d seen that she possessed a powerful affinity with water. His heart sank. With Daly and Amalia opposing her, Padraigin faced a daunting challenge. She lacked any affinity with water, but had to cross through the heart of Amalia’s strength.
Daly took his place on the eastern side of the small lake, flames flickering along his arms and torso, a fierce grin on his face. As soon as Amalia reached the western shore, Lord Kane said, “This contest begins now. If you can reach … Hey, I’m not finished!”
As soon as he said ‘now’, Padraigin leaped into a fully fracked sprint, reaching the southern shore of the lake before Lord Kane could protest her lack of courtesy. The ground beneath her ramped upward at a steep angle, extending out over the lake like a horizontal avalanche. Connor was impressed. It was hard to maintain solid contact with the elemental earth while running so fast. He’d never attempted it, but Padraigin clearly knew what she was doing. She tore up the new ramp’s sloping length, moving so fast, she’d reach the far side in seconds. As she ran, the air vibrated with the sound of invisible drums beating a staccato chorus that set Connor’s heart racing.
Padraigin’s abrupt start to the challenge might have caught Lord Kane by surprise, but the other students were ready. Geysers erupted from the lake, crashing into the underside of the fast-forming ramp of earth spreading a dozen feet above the lake. Connor expected the water to shear through the slender earthen ramp, but Padraigin had rounded the underside, which deflected the initial onslaught.
Daly wasn’t so easily slowed. He lashed out with whips of fire that stretched across the long space to snap at Padraigin with deadly cracking reports. She vaulted the first two in a graceful, diving roll, but the third clipped her arm and knocked her sideways. She rolled to the outer edge of her bridge, almost tumbling off, but part of her bridge shifted under her, lifting her back to her feet.
The delay cost her. Amalia attacked again, launching snakelike lengths of water to snatch at her.
Padraigin shattered them with an explosion of hardened air that also somehow sounded a trumpeting chorus. Connor smiled. She was facing the daunting challenge with courage and class. He’d need to practice that hardened air trick.
Unfortunately, her opponents were settling into their roles, and they launched simultaneous attacks before she could resume her fast-running stride. Amalia tore at the bridge with hardened blades of water, ripping the underside to shreds, and it started to sag. At the same time, Daly rose atop a raging column of fire and threw sheets of flame at Padraigin, followed by more whipping tendrils of fire, trying to dislodge her from her sagging perch. The intensity of his assault caught her by surprise, and must have burned through half of Daly’s marble.
Connor found it hard to breathe, expecting to see her fall, hating how hard her opponents were striving to defeat her. They clearly resented the fact that she, a foreigner, was standing for nomination.
Earth rose around Padraigin, forming a barrier that withstood Daly’s onslaught. The air between her and the Firetongue darkened, like a fast-moving shadow crossing the lake. That translucent shadow wrapped around Daly, forming a sphere of hardened air that snuffed out his fire and toppled him from his pillar. Few Pathfinders practiced much with the unstable expanse of air, but Padraigin was demonstrating exceptional affinity. Connor wondered if she was using the same air he did. He’d never managed such fine-tuned control.
Within the air-tight prison, Daly’s fires faded and he pounded uselessly against the inner edge.
Then Amalia struck again, waves of water crashing over the sagging bridge, and for a moment, Padraigin was completely inundated. The crowds of spectators began to cheer, sensing victory.
Connor took a step forward, unable to restrain himself. It wasn’t fair what they were doing to Padraigin, and he felt an overwhelming urge to help in some way. The ground under foot softened and flowed over his boot, sealing him in place. Surprised, Connor looked toward Evander on his earthen tower just as the giant glanced in his direction and gave the barest shake of his head. He had noticed Connor somehow after all.
A shiver of awe, tinged with dread trickled through Connor. Evander had noted him among thousands and had reacted to a single step. That suggested a partnership with the earth that eclipsed anything Connor had before seen. If he was ordered to face Evander, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
Out over the center of the lake, Padraigin erupted out of the water, riding a newly formed column of earth. She threw out her arms and invisible trumpets sounded, while cresting waves of earth erupted from every side of the lake, knocking Amalia aside and forming a dozen ramping bridges that all met in the center, supporting Padraigin in a rapidly expanding construct.
With those earthen legs growing and pouring more and more earth into her central platform, Padraigin once more seized the advantage. She raced forward, the massive size of her defensive bulwark thwarting Amalia’s attempts to stop her. She only needed seconds to reach the far shore.
Daly’s prison shattered as he max-tapped granite and burst free. Bellowing with battle fury, he launched a firestorm at Padraigin, driving her back from the forward edge of the bridge with an unbroken wall of flames. She dodged to the side, but anger was the perfect emotion for a Firetongue, and Daly reached his max strength, ripping at the earthen bridges with fire, shattering the ramping legs, and sending Padraigin completely on the defensive as she dodged and rolled and deflected his overwhelming attack. For the first time, she looked genuinely afraid.
The ground holding Connor’s feet frozen melted away, releasing him.
Taking that as permission to intervene, Connor sucked deep on marble and reached for the raging fires Daly was wielding. The Firetongue had spread his influence so thin that Connor easily yanked control over the imposing wall of fire at the northern end of Padraigin’s platform. The flames shot up into the air and crossed to Connor, who jumped off the top of the hill into the fiery embrace.
