Set in Stone (24 page)

He couldn't die like this, eaten by a pedra.

He focused on the Curse roaring through his body and released it into his fist.

This pedra might kill him, but he wouldn't go quietly.

With a mighty wrenching twist of his entire body, he yanked an arm free. The muscle screamed in agony as the monster's claws ripped loose, but Connor didn't relent. Nothing mattered but getting one final breath of fresh air before he died.

Blindly, Connor punched at the pedra's torso, driving his Curse-laden fist with every ounce of strength he could muster. It was a clumsy blow, but he connected with something solid.

The pedra grunted and its jaws loosened their hold. Connor clawed at the outer jaws and wrenched them open. He gasped as the meaty jaw came free of his face and drew in a lungful of the creature's fetid breath.

His stomach heaved and spewed everything he'd eaten in the past day. Vomit coated the creature's jaw, making it slick, and splashed back across Connor's face as he yanked at the creature's jaw again.

The pedra screamed full in his face and released its hold. Connor swung hard in the wind, tethered to the monster by his other arm, while his ears rang painfully. The movement wrenched his shoulder and a fresh wave of agony lanced through his torso. The world spun below him and it took a second for him to realize where they were.

They'd crossed the clearing and soared over the first row of trees, although the pedra seemed to be dropping. The monster screamed again and raked at Connor with its clawed legs. He drew his dagger and slashed wildly at it. He scored a deep hit on the pedra's other foreleg and it screamed again.

Together, they crashed through the branches of a tall oak, and plummeted to the ground. They hit hard and Connor rolled away from the beast. It leaped upon him, striking at his throat with its horrible double jaws.

Connor drove his dagger up through its mouth and into the soft tissue at the back of its throat. Its jaws clamped down hard on his arm but he wrenched the dagger around with all his might.

The pedra convulsed and staggered away, blood pouring from its open mouth. Its wings flapped weakly and it fell over, heaving for breath and clawing at the soil.

Connor backed away, unaware of the tears streaming down his face. Every limb trembled from the shock of what he'd just experienced as he watched the monster die. His hand shook so badly he could barely keep his dagger pointed in the beast's general direction. When it was clear the pedra was no longer a threat, Connor collapsed.

All he could think was,
How can I still be alive?

Chapter 25

Connor wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball, but he couldn’t stay there. He had to move.

He staggered to his feet and inspected his wounds as best he could. His head hurt, and when he touched the back of his skull, his hand came away smeared with blood. It felt like his scalp was still in place though, so he decided he'd live.

His arms had been punctured deeply by the pedra's claws, but when he cut open the sleeves of his hunting tunic, the bleeding had already stopped and the wounds did not look as serious as he expected. His skin felt raw as if it had been scraped with pumice stone, but it didn't hurt as much as it had just moments ago.

How could he possibly have survived that mauling with only minor injuries?

Connor stared at his fist thoughtfully. He'd Curse-punched the pedra and surely that saved his life, but the memory of his entire body going dead like his fist did just before releasing the Curse rattled him. The Curse had never done that before.

Maybe it also granted protection like Rory's Guardian powers had? How else could he explain it? The monster had him by the head. Those jaws should have ripped his face off.

If they survived until evening, he planned to hold Rory to the promise to explore his Curse further. He needed to know what it really meant. Perhaps Patronage had begun somehow altering his Curse already? He'd thought there would be more to it than that.

The distant screaming of pedras broke his train of thought. Connor headed back toward the clearing where the fight was still under way. He pushed through some trees and nearly stumbled upon a small herd of mountain goats cowering in some thick brush at the edge of a small glade. The goats huddled together, the entire mass of small bodies shaking with fear.

Connor got an idea. Lifting his face to the sky, he screamed a pedra hunting cry. He could mimic most of the animals that roamed the Maclachlan Mountains and had practiced the pedra cry in the days after he'd witnessed the pedra blood hunt.

The goats huddling nearby bolted from their concealment, bleating with terror. Overhead, a pedra plummeted out of the air onto one of the fleeing goats. The impact knocked the little animal from its feet and the pedra killed it with a single powerful snap of its double jaws.

Connor swallowed at the memory of those horrible jaws clamping down over his own head. The pedra easily crunched through the goat's bones. It should have done the same to him. He shivered.

The pedra launched itself into the air and screamed again. Other pedras answered, and soon half a dozen of the flying monsters circled overhead, diving into the forest and emerging moments later with dead goats dangling from their clawed legs. The successful hunters flapped north to feast, and later to mate.

Connor returned to the edge of the field just in time to witness the soldiers down the last of the living pedras with a barrage of thrown spears. Dead pedras littered the field. Connor looked for the great stone pedra, but didn't see it.

As he watched, the soldiers gathered into one body about thirty paces from the sentinel rock. Shona left the group and jogged to the rock, where she crouched, as if taking cover.

Was she insane?

A triumphant scream from overhead sent a ripple of new fear through Connor's overtaxed nerves. The stone pedra plummeted out of the sky.

Connor expected to see the soldiers sprint toward her in a desperate attempt to save her life. They did not.

Shona stood with a battle hammer in one hand, and screamed her own battle cry, a wordless shout of defiance.

The pedra struck. It bore down on Shona, grasping at her with its three unbroken legs. Shona shouted again and swung a mighty blow at one leg. The beast caught her hammer and pulled it from her hand. Then it dropped over her and grasped her with its wicked claws.

"No!" Connor shouted and although he had nothing but his dagger as a weapon, he ran from cover toward the rock. It was a useless gesture but he refused to admit it and ran as hard as he could. On the far side of the sentinel rock, Rory and his men finally began a belated charge to help.

The pedra flapped its wings hard to launch itself back into the air with its prize. It rose twenty feet with Shona dangling from its claws, its speed growing with each span.

Then unexpectedly it seemed to bounce in mid-air and veered hard to the side, arcing down as if tethered. It slammed into the ground hard. Shona rolled free and ran to where her hammer had fallen. The pedra leaped high, flapping hard to escape the approaching soldiers.

Again its headlong flight ended abruptly about twenty feet in the air. This time Connor was close enough to see the stout rope tied around one of its rear legs and anchored to the sentinel rock. Bound to the earth by the rope, the pedra rebounded and slammed into the ground. Even as it rolled back to its feet, Rory and his men swarmed over it.

Led by the five Guardians, soldiers bore it to the ground with their weight. Men wielding heavy war hammers pounded at its wings and then its torso. Captain Rory charged straight at its head and shattered part of its outer jaw with the first blow of his hammer.

Shona joined the fray by jumping onto the monster's back and slamming her own hammer down onto the base of its neck. Something broke, and the creature collapsed. The soldiers continued beating on it until nothing remained but a pile of muddy rubble. By the time Connor reached the fight, it was all but over.

Shona tossed her war hammer to a nearby soldier and swept hair that had come out of her tight braid away from her face. She stood panting, more beautiful and regal in that moment than Connor had ever seen.

Then she reached down and ripped off the leather plate over her stomach. The entire section of her armor came free, revealing her midriff.

Connor gaped. Her gray skin was perfectly sculpted, every muscle defined with exquisite detail. It shone like polished granite. She looked like, well, a perfectly formed living statue.

Shona tossed the leather plate to a nearby Guardian and said, "Replenish this for me." Her skin faded back to its normal tone, and her stomach rippled with living muscles again.

Connor approached while the Guardians gathered around Shona and removed plates from their stomachs and thighs. A couple of them produced small leather pouches, and the men knelt and sprinkled the contents onto the insides of the armor they'd removed.

The Guardian who had received Shona's armor divided the contents of the little pouch he was given between his armor and hers. Connor stepped closer as the man worked.

Granite. Connor recognized it instantly. He'd worked with granite powder all his life.

Why would they coat their armor with it?

As they moved and fought, it would surely chafe and irritate their skin. The powder stuck to the armor as if the inside edge were sticky.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked.

The man stood and handed Shona her armor. She regarded it critically. "This isn't full."

"That's all there is, miss."

Shona turned to Rory who was working on his own leather plate. "Are we so low on supplies, captain?"

Rory straightened and buckled his leather plate back into position. Connor felt he understood a little about their myriad straps and buckles, but the ritual with precious granite powder still didn't make much sense.

Rory said, "We brought enough for only one re-arming. We'd expected to resupply from the shipment from Alasdair."

Understanding finally hit Connor. That's why everyone was so concerned about the theft of the granite powder. Somehow they used it to fight.

"Why didn't you bring more?" Shona asked.

"By orders of your father. Stores in Merkland could not be depleted in case the Grandurians launched a full attack."

"That was stupid."

"Nay, lass. It was sound thinking. If the barge had arrived as planned, it would have been the right choice."

"We don't have enough," Shona said. "Ilse and her men will destroy us if our powers run out too soon."

Connor blinked with new realization. Somehow the granite powder actually triggered their powers. The magnitude of the realization rocked him to the core. He sat on the ground and stared, unseeing. His family had quarried granite for fourteen generations, powdering it to dust and shipping it down to Merkland, and they'd never realized why.

They'd been supplying the power to fuel the Petralists.

How could it also fuel Guardians?

No wonder everyone treated it like gold. It was unbelievably valuable.

Around him, soldiers were preparing to move out while the handful of men injured in the fight with the pedras gathered around the Healer.

One soldier caught sight of Connor and clapped him on the shoulder. "How'd you escape that pedra, lad? By the Tallan, I thought you were dead for sure."

"I got lucky."

Behind him, Rory said, "We proceed as planned. There is granite to be had at Alasdair. We outnumber the Grandurians five to one. We'll take them by surprise. They won't last long enough for the powder shortage to matter."

"Connor, come here," Shona called.

He rose painfully to his feet, suddenly more exhausted than he ever imagined he could be.

She grimaced, "You're a mess. Go wash yourself."

He washed off the blood and vomit with cold water soldiers hauled up from the river.

The Healer inspected his wounds, mumbling to himself. Tilting Connor's face toward the light he asked, "How old are these abrasions?"