Set in Stone (77 page)

Atop the edge of the cliff, Hendry and the others scrambled on hands and knees to the edge to see what had happened. They gawked at the flood erupting from the huge breach in the cliff.

"Oh, son, I am so sorry," Hendry whispered. He'd only wanted to help, but in trying to save his son, he'd destroyed him.

The thundering of water and rending of stone made thinking difficult, and as Loch Sholto poured through the breach, more of the mountainside tore free, shaking the ground where they lay.

Hendry surged to his feet as he realized the terrifying truth.

"Run!"

He hauled Hamish to his feet and all but threw him toward the safety of Quarry Road. Then he grabbed up Nicklaus as Stuart pushed Verena in that direction, and they all sprinted along the narrow ledge that ran along the banks of Loch Sholto while the waters swiftly drained.

The ground shook harder and Hamish staggered, nearly falling.

Stuart caught his arm, steadying him and shouted, "If you fall, you die! Run!"

Behind them, the lip of the plateau began to collapse with a terrifying grinding of stones. They raced past the edge of the loch and kept running until they were far back from the edge of the cliff before turning back to look. With a final shudder of ground, the entire outer shore of the loch collapsed, releasing a final avalanche of granite and water.

It was as if the very elements mourned Connor's death. Hendry clutched Nicklaus tight while tears streamed down his face.

Not far away, Verena threw her arms around Hamish and sobbed into his chest.

"Connor."

Hamish awkwardly patted her hair. "He did it."

"He’s gone."

Those two words pierced Hendry's heart deeper than any knife every could. He sank to his knees, and the boy Nicklaus awkwardly patted his shoulder.

Chapter 96

When Connor struck the iron gate with the diorite hammer, lightning-like power erupted from the hammer, blasting through every pore of his skin in a white-hot sheet of living fire. It eclipsed the cold of the waters as it consumed the hammer, the iron gate, and the wall of the cliff.

For a moment, it felt like it consumed him too.

In that second, Connor united with the earth-shattering power, and it filled him with unquenchable power, as if he could shatter the roots of the mountain. Then the flash blinded all sight from his eyes while the booming shockwave ripped something deep in his ears. The searing agony rippling along his skin overwhelmed his ability to comprehend it.

Everything went dark, and silent, and numb as the blows to his senses smashed him to the brink of oblivion.

As if in a dream, he felt the cliff explode. Millions of gallons of water erupted from the mountainside, dragging Connor along with them.

The only sensation that penetrated the numb deadness enveloping him was the screaming of his lungs for air. He focused on his eyes, desperate to determine his location, or even if he still lived.

Images blurred past. He blinked again and tried to rub at his face, but only managed to club himself in the side of the head. He barely felt the blow.

Then he realized what he was seeing. Stone. Ground. It appeared blurry because he was hurtling over it at tremendous speed, bare inches above the ground, propelled forward by the relentless flood.

The vision changed. The ground fell away, and the waters dragged Connor vertical. For a second he looked out through the smooth front edge of the flood as he whisked upward, over the back of a giant.

Connor blinked, but the image did not disappear as he rose up along the legs and then the torso of the translucent titan. Then the waters tossed Connor out into open air. As he tumbled along the inverted crest of the wave, understanding no longer mattered. He breathed.

Connor sucked in two life-giving lungs full before splashing down into the churning waters. He plunged deep, tumbled wildly before being dragged to the surface again.

Connor managed a gasp, and nearly choked before falling below the surface again. He still heard nothing and the silence gave everything a surreal quality, like a nightmare. He felt nothing, his sense of touch as dead as if his mind inhabited the body of a man already entombed.

As he whirled in the torrent like a leaf caught in the raging Upper Wick, he caught glimpses of the world outside the still-growing wall of water. The watery giant bent under the strain but still somehow holding the flood at bay. The Grandurian soldiers scrambled out of the water’s path. Even the figures that ran along the edge of the cliff high above.

He tried to fight the current, to swim to the surface, but lacked the strength to make any headway.

Rippling flames shot through the giant's form as the waters drove Connor along its torso again. Kilian appeared between the giant's feet, ringed with flames, as if flowing out of the titan's watery form. He coalesced in a single heartbeat, and the giant shuddered.

Then the waters tossed Connor high again, and broke his view. A few seconds later, the watery giant collapsed and the floodwaters thundered down upon the shell of the manor house.

The wild tumbling subsided. With an outlet available, the waters dragged Connor along, floating near the top of the torrent. He fought to the surface and, as the flood raced for the southern edge of the plateau, Connor swam hard across the current, hoping to reach the outer edge and escape.

He didn’t make it. The flood thundered off the edge of the plateau, dragging him with it. The current tumbled him around several times and he saw very little of Carbrey’s army as it scrambled for safety.

Then he reached the forest. Giant forms of trees appeared out of the murky waters, some with long branches grasping at him like demons of the underworld. Others, torn from their roots, tumbled in the churning flood, threatening to smash the life out of him.

Then the wild tumble through the trees ended. The long rope, still secured around his torso, snagged on something and snapped him to a halt against the current. He hung there, tethered and unable to break free. He pawed for his belt knife, but he’d lost it.

His world faded to black as he hung helpless in the flood. It was insulting to think he’d survived so much only to drown because he couldn’t untie one blasted knot.

He flailed around in blind desperation, and his hand closed on the branch of a tree. He pulled himself to it and tried to climb toward the surface, but the tangled rope prevented him from rising more than a foot.

The surge of water shifted, dragging him down against the branch, and a spark of renewed hope flickered to life like the dawn of a new world.

The flood was receding.

Chapter 97

An hour after the flood, the solid wooden lift descended like a wraith through a heavy fog that had suddenly rolled in off the river. Hamish stood in its center with Verena and Nicklaus both clinging to him. He regarded the fog suspiciously. He’d never seen fog appear so thick or so fast.

Then again, after the events they had just witnessed, nothing would surprise him. The lift touched down in the blocking yard, and Verena led Nicklaus off.

Hamish, his unruly red hair dirty and his face streaked with tears, squared his shoulders and followed. Wolfram stood nearby, flanked by half a dozen soldiers. Several carried torches that did little to illuminate the fog. Dierk, the Builder, pulled Verena into a bear hug.

Nicklaus launched himself across the blocking yard and threw himself into the arms of a very tired-looking Kilian.

"Uncle Kilian!"

The Water Moccasin held the little boy close and whispered soothing words.

As the lift began to rise behind Hamish, Wolfram stepped forward and extended a hand. Hamish stared at it for a moment but kept his own hands by his side.

"Connor?" Wolfram asked.

Verena started to cry again, and Hamish shook his head, fresh tears glinting in his eyes. "Connor is dead."

"I am truly sorry."

"Are you really?" Hamish asked, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. "You were going to kill us all. He died to protect us from you. It’s your fault he’s dead."

Wolfram sighed, looking older. "Regardless, I am sorry."

"Then keep your word. Leave everyone alone. Leave and never return."

"That is exactly what I plan to do."

Verena moved to Hamish's side and gently took his hand. "Come."

Hamish shifted his sword belt and followed along as she led him up the road to Alasdair and through the wall gate into town. Dierk clapped him on the shoulder and fell in beside them.

He was already missing his family, but there could be no other choice for him. He faced a sentence of death in Obrion for being a Builder, and he could not hide his powers now that he'd unlocked them. Besides, he needed to learn the secrets only Verena and Dierk could share with him. He blamed Wolfram and Carbrey equally for Connor's death, but he needed Verena, needed to learn all he could.

He would never again be a victim.

Verena had assured him she could teach him to use his new sword just as she would teach him the skills of the Builders. He chose to trust her. What choice did he have, really?

The fog thinned to mist beyond the wall gate, although it formed a solid low cloud just above the few intact rooftops.

Hamish paused to stare at the destruction. Every building in the center of town was simply gone, the stone of the streets stripped. Only a few houses, particularly those along Cliff Street, had escaped the devastation.

Alasdair would have to be rebuilt.

In the center of town, where the village square should have stood, Ilse reported to Wolfram, "The troops are ready."

"Then it is time to go."

The Grandurian army stood clustered around half a dozen strange looking wagons. They were long and wide and filled with rows of benches. Instead of wheels, they were equipped with skids like sleighs, but there were no harnesses in the front for horses or oxen.

Verena led Hamish to the first wagon and climbed up to the high front seat while the army found their places in the backs. Wolfram sat on the other side of Hamish.

Ilse called, "General, all troops present or accounted for."

"Very well. Can we thicken the camouflage?"

"No, sir. Kilian barely managed this much."

Wolfram blew out his mustaches. "It will do." To Verena he said, "Take us home."

Hamish realized the wagons must be like the flying wagon Connor told him about, and a thrill of excitement flared for a second before fading under the blanket of grief.

Verena sighed and leaned forward over a series of long, stone levers. She grasped two of them, closed her eyes in concentration, then pulled them back.

The wagon gave a lurch and rose smoothly into the air. Hamish grabbed for a handhold, and Wolfram placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, son."

The wagon rose until it hovered just under the ceiling of fog. Nearby, the other wagons followed until they all hovered in a tight formation.

Hamish gaped in unabashed astonishment. "Amazing."