A Stone's Throw, page 12
part #2 of The Petralist Series
Did that make him a traitor?
He didn’t have time to worry about that. Shona’s presence at the Carraig changed everything. He pushed back through the crowd, moving toward the smaller east gate to begin his morning rounds. He needed to speak with Ailsa about Shona, but he lacked time. The rounds were due, and he needed to deliver them before Shona joined her class.
As he walked, his thoughts churned with a wild, tumbling mass of images as he re-lived those crazy days when he first learned what his curse really meant, when he fought armies of two nations for the safety of his village, and when he honestly believed a high lady might be falling in love with him.
Most of the villagers had survived, but he’d lost everything.
He found a quiet spot behind an ivy-choked wall at the edge of garden and leaned against the cool stone, his hands shaking with powerful emotions. He’d been a fool. He’d been so worried about discovering who had sent the watchers, how to avoid Catriona, and how to manage a life at the Carraig with Ailsa, he’d overlooked the most obvious danger. Of course Shona was at the Carraig. She was a high lady, a Petralist, and but a year older than he.
He never should have come.
Could Shona be the person trying to manipulate him? Would she bother?
He doubted it was Shona, but seeing her again proved that he couldn’t remain at the Carraig. Despite the enormity of the castle, his duties with the daily rounds would guarantee he couldn’t long remain hidden from Shona. As soon as he completed the rounds, he needed to talk with Ailsa. He should flee that very night. The only other option chilled him with terror. Should he seek out Shona and reveal himself in private?
The thought left him confused and unsure. If he could convince her somehow to take his vow of allegiance, she could offer patronage again and save him from the imminent loss of control of his curse that was already overdue. He didn’t want to become unclaimed, but did he dare go to Shona? He’d always wanted to be a Guardian, but now he felt a deep reluctance to shackling himself to the will of Shona or any high lord.
He needed to decide before she saw him and made the choice for him.
Chapter 18
As Connor searched for the primary affinity training academy building, the crowds thickened. People crowded the halls and streets, noble and linn alike, moving about their business, although not quite mingling despite the press. There had to be thousands upon thousands of people. A low hum of conversation filled the castle with life, and a subtle energy tickled the hairs of Connor’s arm. Different than the various manifestations of his curse, it was as if the castle had absorbed the power of so many generations of Petralists and slowly breathed it back out.
Many of the great halls and high-ceilinged rooms he crossed were hung with flowering plants, and their aromas were clearly designed to augment the beautiful tapestries, towering statues, and glittering stained-glass windows. He was grateful for the gentle fragrance. It helped mask some of the horrid perfumes many of the nobles wore. The linn workers and countless servants in the orange and yellow of Lord Dail’s staff were easier to approach. They smelled of fresh outdoors, tilled earth, and honest sweat.
No one looked as lost as he did, so he tried to pretend he knew where he was going. He wasn’t really lost if he intended to take every one of those wrong turns. The pleasure he’d felt earlier in exploring the vast complex had wilted under the new fear that he’d run into Shona around every turn.
Even when he asked for directions, it took another half hour to find the correct wing of an imposing structure lined with carved columns, guarded by twisted gargoyles set into the roof. Inside, he passed a great hall hung with bright-colored banners in the colors of the various high lords, proclaiming the lineage of the rulers of the various houses. Another branching hall was hung with banners proclaiming the champions of the Tir-raon each year. He couldn’t risk the time to jog that long hall, but there were hundreds of banners. Many of them bore the blue and green of High Lord Dougal’s house.
Connor finally found the wide stone hall that held the classrooms where the professors taught the Boulder students theory and tactics, along with more mundane topics like accounting, slave management, and trade negotiation. Classes had already started. The bearlike Professor Greim stood at the front of his class beside a chalkboard filled with scribbled formulas. He pointed Connor to a table where he wanted the daily portions deposited, then signed for the delivery without even pausing the lesson. He was instructing the students in mathematical calculations to determine profits from various types of harvests. The long-suffering expressions of the students confirmed the topic was a boring as it seemed. Connor was happy to slip away. One class down, and no sign of Shona.
Professor Nandag and Professor Todhar’s classes were set up very similarly. In Professor Todhar’s class, Princess Catriona made a point of ignoring him, which he appreciated. Professor Nandag again berated him in a caustic, running monologue over a startlingly wide array of faults Connor had never imagined he possessed.
Professor Hector arranged his class very differently. He stood in the center, on a raised platform, with the students arranged in a circle around him. He again wore tight-fitting leathers and maintained a low tap-rate to keep his muscles perfectly defined and straining against the clothing. The same burly student who had been beckoning to Jean the day before at the practice field sat near the front of the class. Connor wished he could think of a way to ask the student where he could find Jean. That mission was more important than ever.
When Professor Hector noticed him enter, he frowned, then beckoned Connor urgently forward. He again deposited every last portion into his pants pockets. He hefted his teacher portion for a moment, looking disappointed.
“Wait at the back,” he gestured Connor away. “I’ll sign for the round later.”
None of the students seemed to care that he hadn’t signed immediately, and Connor was grateful for the near-invisibility his servant status granted him. He still longed to learn from the professor, but hated to linger. He couldn’t object, however, so tried to listen instead of counting each second that slowly passed by.
Hector launched into a lesson detailing the importance of purging powers daily to avoid debilitating sickness. At first, Connor felt disappointed. He knew about purging, about the strange lamacal waste powder produced, and he was intimately familiar with the terrible sickness that resulted from not purging.
He hadn’t realized that the magnitude of the sickness was related to the amount of unused powder left in the system. Nor had he realized the key was to purge prior to sleeping. Apparently a short nap didn’t pose a lot of risk, but the longer and deeper one slept, the greater the chance the power would sour.
“Thus, the power gradient reversal matrix is an inverted arc,” the professor said, making an arcing gesture with one hand, which gave him a chance to slip in a couple of flexing poses. “Choose the side of safety,” he cautioned. “Once you suffer Untapped Reversal Sickness, your ability to tap your strength will be curtailed for up to twenty-four hours.”
Connor also hadn’t realized that only igneous stones triggered untapped reversal sickness, or that different stones produced different types of sickness. He’d assumed they were all the same, but then again, he used to think there was only one type of power stone.
After describing the weakness, nausea, fevers, and general achiness that could result from Boulders failing to purge, the professor described the dangers for Striders. “Their effects are generally limited to lethargy of the mind and body, sleepiness, and a propensity toward grumpiness.”
“Sounds like they get off easy,” that burly student mumbled, generating a chorus of agreement.
“On the contrary, Jok,” Professor Hector said. “Although Striders cannot enjoy our same strength, to them the absence of even their limited powers must be a terrible loss. And to you, should you command the field of battle, the loss of your Striders could prove a dangerous tipping of the balance of powers in favor of your enemy.”
They had no idea how amazing it felt to fly across the land with the speed of the Striders. Connor’s granite curse was as familiar to him as breathing, but he’d hate to be limited to that power alone. He was disappointed that Professor Hector explained nothing more about the strange lamacal powder produced from purging. The professor only mentioned the waste powder in passing, reminding students to manage their powder stores carefully to end the day with as little waste as possible.
“There’s nothing worse than wasting precious granite,” Professor Hector added, turning to survey the students, and increasing the tap rate of his abs enough to make his perfect six-pack stand out against his tight leathers.
Soon thereafter, the class dispersed to meet at the practice field. Connor lingered for the signature.
“I hope your mistress will be satisfied,” Hector mumbled as he signed with a flourish.
He didn’t understand the reference but said, “I’m sure she will, sir.”
“See that she is,” he snapped, a smoldering anger in his gaze. “I will not suffer this insult for long.”
Connor nodded and left. He had to hurry to make his rounds to the Strider classes, and he needed to speak with Ailsa prior to his appointed sparring practice with Professor Todhar’s class after lunch.
So engrossed was he in worrying about Shona that he nearly ran into the student Jok, who stood in the hall outside the door, flanked by two other students.
“About time,” Jok said. “I’ve got a few questions for you, linn.”
Chapter 19
Connor was thrilled. He didn’t need to figure out a way to speak with Jok. The student had come to him.
“That girl you were standing with at the field yesterday,” Jok said. “Who is she?” As he spoke, his eyes lit up with a fierce hunger, and Connor’s good humor vanished.
“I don’t really know,” he lied. “We just met.”
“Really?” Jok asked, sauntering closer. He stood a little taller than Connor, and quite a bit broader. His features were strong, but unremarkable. He poked Connor in the chest, not hard, but the movement held an unmistakable threat. “You weren’t hugging her like a girl you’d just met.”
“Well if she’s that friendly to a simple linn, think what she’ll do for you,” one of the other students said with a leer.
“I really have to finish my rounds,” Connor said, shifting his satchel, hoping the importance of his daily mission would offer some protection.
“Is she your girl?” Jok asked, not deterred.
“No, just a friend.”
“Good. That’s very good,” Jok said, continuing to advance, driving Connor step by small step back toward the wall. The other two students flanking him blocked any potential avenue of escape. “Although when I’m finished with her, you can have her back.”
The casual way he talked about taking possession of Jean infuriated Connor almost as much as what Jok clearly planned to do with her. Lord Gavin might have been a pretty useless local lord, but he’d been smart enough to leave the daily management of the quarry to Connor’s father, and the management of the town to the women’s circle, led by Connor’s mother. He’d never preyed upon the commoners he ruled. Jok spoke casually, as if never considering how his planned actions would wreck the life of a girl he didn’t yet know.
“That’s very generous of you,” Connor mumbled.
“I know,” Jok said. “My father insists we take care of our people.”
If that was taking care of people, he’d hate to see what Jok considered abuse.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Connor said, trying to slip to the side. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Jok grabbed his shoulder and pushed him against the wall. “I’m not finished with you yet. What’s your name?”
“Connor.”
“See, that was easy, wasn’t it?” Jok asked.
Not as easy as curse-punching him in the mouth would be.
When Connor didn’t answer, Jok sighed, his expression long-suffering. “Look, Connor. You’re new to the Carraig. I’ll explain a couple of things.”
“Just beat it out of him,” urged the student to Jok’s right. The boy had a layer of fat over his sturdy frame and close-set, pig-like eyes.
Jok waved him to silence. “The Carraig can be a dangerous place, Connor.” He brushed a spec of imaginary dust off of Connor’s shirt. Then, without warning, he punched Connor in the stomach.
The blow wasn’t all that hard, but it caught him by surprise. Connor doubled over, and the sandstone pendant slipped out from under his shirt to dangle from his neck by its silver chain. Before he could conceal it, Jok snatched it and pulled it over Connor’s head.
“Please give that back,” Connor said, trying to keep the terror out of his voice. If anyone figured out the truth about that pendant, Ailsa would find herself in a lot of trouble.
Jok bounced the pendant on his palm, a victorious smile on his face, but showed no indication he recognized its value. “Did you know my father is Lord Dail?”
“No.” Connor hadn’t thought the situation could get worse. Jok’s father ruled the Carraig.
“I thought not,” Jok said. “I’ll make this easy for you, Connor. I only want to know about the girl. Tell me what I want and I can make life at the Carraig very good for you.”
It was such a little thing, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t give Jok any information about Jean, make it any easier for him to take advantage of her. Connor felt a terrible rage growing inside of him, and he was grateful he lacked any granite, because he wouldn’t be able to keep from tapping it. If Jok hurt Jean in any way, he’d kill him, no matter the cost. Jean was like family, and Connor had learned in Alasdair that sometimes one had to risk a lot to protect family.
Something in his expression must have betrayed his thoughts because Jok leaned close, growing angry. “I tried to be nice, linn. I figured you’re a friend of the girl and I was trying to show respect for her sake.”
“Hit him,” the pig-eyed student said again, looking eager to help.
“If I have to,” Jok said. He bounced the pendant on his hand again. “But I think I’ll keep this trinket for a while.”
“Don’t,” Connor cried, snatching for the pendant.
Jok elbowed him back into the wall, hard enough to bruise. “This is important to you, yes?”
When Connor nodded, unable to speak for the fear and anger bubbling through him, Jok hissed, “Finding that girl is important to me. I want her, and you’re going to tell me where to find her.”
“I don’t know,” Connor said. “I have no idea where she is.”
“Too bad,” Jok said, retreating a step, pendant clasped in his fist. “That’s really too bad.”
He turned to leave and Connor couldn’t help but blurt out, “Knowing you stole from me isn’t going to impress Jean. I can tell you that much.”
Jok grinned. “Jean. I like that. It suits her. Such a beauty should have a pretty name.”
Connor cursed himself for including her name. The fear of losing the pendant, layered over the terror caused by Shona’s presence, had clouded his thoughts. He held out his hand for the pendant. “If I see her again, I can put in a good word for you.”
“Oh, that’s not nearly good enough,” Jok said. “But I’ve got an idea. I’ve got people searching the castle, but they haven’t found her yet. Here’s a geall for you, Connor. You find Jean before I do and tell me where she is, and I’ll give this trinket back to you. If I find her first, I keep it.”
The pig-eyed student looked disgusted. “You’re really running a geall with a linn?”
“It’s that, or I beat it out of him,” Jok said with a shrug. He looked at Connor. “Either way, I get what I want. Play the game, and you might get what you want.”
Connor couldn’t think of any way out of it. At least by accepting the geall, he’d buy some time to figure out how to get the pendant back some other way. Filled with simmering anger, he thumbed his nose. “Geall on.”
“Geall on.” Jok echoed the move. “Better hurry, Connor. It won’t take me long to find her. Impress me.”
He slipped the amulet over his head and tucked it under his shirt, then left with his friends.
Connor watched them go, already dreaming of pummeling Jok to dust in some darkened street late at night, in a time and place he could risk unleashing his curse-punch. Jok wouldn’t be laughing then.
Jean was in terrible danger. It didn’t surprise him that she’d attracted the gaze of some of the students. Jok was probably not the only one who had taken a fancy to her. Jok’s arrogance eclipsed that of any other Petralist he’d ever known, though. Connor had to figure out a way to protect her, but he was only a commoner. Jok was a noble. Worse, he was the son of the lord of the Carraig. Even if he abused Jean terribly, he probably wouldn’t earn more than a reprimand, if that.
Jean was a common linn, so no doubt everyone would assume she’d be thrilled by Jok’s brutal attention.
Connor would kill Jok before he allowed that to happen. If he didn’t figure out how to win the pendant back before fleeing the Carraig, he’d hunt down Jok and exact his revenge. He owed Jean that much.
Maybe he could take Jean with him? Only if he found her. He longed to hunt for her again.
Speaking with Ailsa was even more important.
First though, he had to shoot some Striders.
The welcome action of trying to kill the fast-running Striders helped settle Connor’s rage and center his mind. He pushed Professor Bran’s students, launching arrows far ahead of them, shooting so they could only intercept them by taking flying leaps off the tops of hills, and firing fast enough to keep the entire class involved.
After exhausting his supply of arrows twice, Connor spent half an hour instructing the students on proper bow technique, stance, and grip. Most of them weren’t as eager to learn to shoot a bow as they were to catch arrows. A few did, though, with Lorcc the most enthusiastic of them all. The stocky Strider was the class captain, so his interest helped motivate some of the others.
