Set in Stone (12 page)

The bargeman, who had been crouched over the rudder under a hanging lantern, stood and stretched his back. "Just about finished."

"Good. Sign the shipping statement and then be off with you."

The two men disappeared into the Powder House. With his heart in his throat, Connor raced for the stone pier and leaped aboard the barge. He slipped to the bow, past stacks of precious powdered granite in canvas sacks. There he pushed aside a couple bags from the last stack to make a little nest for himself. He slipped down into the hole and arranged the sacks so that no one would see him without close inspection.

A moment later, the bargeman stepped aboard, and the boat began to move. It rocked softly, with water slapping against the bow, as the bargeman plied the long oar at the stern and slowly propelled the boat across the loch and into the current of Lower Wick.

Connor huddled down in his dark hiding place that smelled of old canvas and granite dust, and couldn't help but think about the Sogail.

Why couldn't he have just controlled the Curse one more day? If he hadn't used it . . .

He'd be dead. As bad as things were, that was worse. Probably.

As the boat floated downriver, Connor focused on the Sogail, trying to bring it to life in his mind since he wouldn't see it in person.

The entire day would be dedicated to the festivities. Lord Gavin would provide mountains of food, and this year they'd have plenty of fresh meat thanks to Connor's hunting. He smiled to think of everyone gawking at the torc's head, which would hopefully be displayed in a place of honor.

All morning there would be contests and games to showcase the townsfolk's devotion to Lord Gavin, who would then grant the Teagair. Connor doubted anyone else would be denied possession of their children and made Daor.

It was Age-Day. Everyone born in the same year celebrated the same age day. Connor, Hamish, Stuart, Jean, and even Moira were all turning sixteen. They'd celebrate the Saorsa, their transition to near-adults. Lord Gavin would assign the others their vocations.

Connor's friends' formal names would change from Saor-Linn to Leigeil-Linn. When they eventually married, they'd be able to drop the Leigeil and be full adult Linn.

He would miss all that, but he tried to imagine the wonders of the Sogail in Merkland. He'd never been anywhere beside Alasdair, so it was hard. Surely Merkland would be wondrous, although he doubted anyone could sing as well as Jean.

Just before the feast tomorrow, Jean and Moira would sing the Sogail Oran and be recognized as eligible maids. Jean sang like an angel. Connor could listen all day.

After the feasting and whatever gift Lord Gavin announced would come the dancing, which would last through the night. Jean would be free to be courted. Moira too, although not by any of the locals.

Connor snuggled down lower into his tight hiding spot as the evening chill deepened, and imagined himself dancing with Jean, holding her as she twirled, her hair flying around her head while she laughed. He imagined really kissing her for the first time.

For long minutes, Connor forgot where he was, a little smile on his lips. He made a point not to think about Jean dancing with Stuart. Hopefully she'd slap him if he tried to steal a kiss.

Connor's Sogail would be so different. He knew little about the life of a Guardian, but he decided that it would be a life of adventure.

As he tried to imagine all the great things he'd do as a Guardian of the Realm, the gentle rocking of the barge, coupled with his own exhaustion, dragged him down to sleep.

Chapter 10

The barge lurched to a sudden, jarring stop. Connor pitched forward and three heavy sacks of granite powder rolled onto his back, nearly suffocating him. He struggled against the heavy sacks, but was so badly tangled he could not get enough leverage to escape.

What could have happened? Did the bargeman fall asleep and run the boat aground? If he had, he'd be grouted for sure.

Somewhere behind him, the bargeman started cursing.

A deep voice with a harsh, guttural accent called out from somewhere nearby, "Wait, boat man. We ask question."

Connor stopped struggling. The voice came from somewhere to the front, beyond the bow. Maybe the bargeman really did run the boat aground.

In the rear of the boat, the bargeman exclaimed, "Grandurians!"

Two quick footsteps sounded on the heavy wooden planks of the boat followed by a big splash in the river. Little splashes sounded in quick succession, growing farther away.

"Wait! We no harm to you," shouted the deep voice.

More footsteps on the boat, close beside where Connor lay pinned.

"That could have gone better," said a girl's voice. It sounded pleasant, with only a trace of accent.

The bargeman dove into the river to get away.

No matter how pleasant that girl sounded, he decided to lie still and wait until they left. Almost as soon as the thought formed, someone stepped on one of the sacks pinning Connor down, forcing an unwilling groan from his lips.

"Hey, someone's in here," the girl called out.

Someone pulled the heavy sacks aside and hauled Connor to his feet. Deep night covered the land, but a full moon hung in the sky, bathing the scene in a pale glow. The smooth waters of the Lower Wick reflected that glow from both sides of the barge.

Both sides? The boat floated far out into the river, unmoving, so how had the intruders gotten on board?

The man who held Connor's arms wore black armor that covered him like a dark shadow. Only his pale face topped with close-cropped blond hair was clearly visible. Worse, he wore a sword belted to his waist.

That could not be good. Only Lord Gavin's guards wore swords in Alasdair, although Connor had never seen them actually draw the weapons in anger. His big captor radiated power and danger in a way Lord Gavin's guards never could.

He must be some kind of soldier from downriver.

Beside the big soldier stood the girl. She looked young, close to Connor's age, and stood half a head shorter. She regarded him with big blue eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. She wasn't beautiful like Jean, but still cute. Her tiny button nose, shoulder length hair, and the inquisitive tilt to her head triggered a smile.

She returned the smile. "Why were you hiding down there?"

Connor tried to come up with a plausible explanation, but the single word the bargeman shouted before jumping from the boat rang through his mind and blanked out all thought.

Grandurians. Even in the remote town of Alasdair he'd heard horror stories of Grandurians. Once part of Obrion, Granadure had split away hundreds of years ago and, ever since, had fought to destroy Obrion. Those captured by Grandurians were never seen again.

The town of Alasdair actually lay close to the border with Granadure, but was protected by the impassable Maclachlan Mountains. The little Connor knew of their neighbors to the north was enough to set him shaking all the way down to his toes.

His mind whirled. He would have sworn by the Tallan's Eye that things could not have gotten worse. Good thing he hadn't. He didn't need that extra curse on his head. He instinctively feared the big soldier, but could the girl really be all that dangerous?

Better not to find out. Connor lunged for the edge of the barge in an attempt to leap into the river like the bargeman had, but the soldier held his arms securely.

"Calm down," the girl said. "We won't hurt you."

"No hurt yet," the big soldier said. He propelled Connor to the bow of the boat and pushed him off the edge.

Instead of falling into the river, he stumbled onto a solid earthen wall a full span across that stretched to the bank. That explained how they had reached the barge, but he'd never heard of an earthen wall blocking the river. The bargeman would have known about it.

As Connor traversed the wall toward shore, he glanced around. In the dim light of the moon, he didn't recognize any landmarks, and the mountains looked wrong. They must have drifted far south, beyond the lands he knew. That only made the situation more terrifying.

The night was cool, with a light breeze that smelled of river and nearby wheat fields. Frogs croaked along the bank, and an owl hooted nearby.

When they reached the shore, Connor again tried to bolt, but the soldier held him fast. The girl came up beside him and put a gentle hand on his arm. "I said we won't hurt you."

Her little accent was so cute, he found it hard to doubt her. "Then why are you holding me prisoner?"

She gestured at the soldier, and he released Connor and stepped back a pace. Connor had to fight the urge to flee.

The girl pushed her dark blond hair out of her face and said a little sheepishly, "We need directions."

"Directions where?"

She looked at her feet for a second, and said softly, "Home. We're lost. We need to return to Granadure."

"Seriously?" Connor looked from her to the big soldier and tried to relate this situation to all the stories Bruce had told of Grandurians. None of them ever mentioned these terrifying killers had a bad sense of direction.

How could a pair of Grandurians end up here anyway?

The girl met his gaze again. She looked so earnest, Connor squashed the urge to laugh. Instead he pointed downriver and said, "Go that way to Merkland. I've heard there's a pass near there to Granadure."

"We can't go that way."

"That's the only way I've ever heard about. There aren't any passes upriver. There's nothing there but mountains and Alasdair."

"Alasdair?"

Connor shrugged. "A small town. Nothing there but the quarry."

The two Grandurians shared a look and the girl's eyes lit up with interest. "What kind of quarry?"

Idiot.

He shouldn't have said anything about it. Lord Gavin had several guards, but this one soldier could probably kill them all. Connor looked around for a way to escape, but the girl stood in front of him, and the only open avenue was back to the river and that strange earth wall.

"What's your name, boy?"

Boy?
He was celebrating the Saorsa tomorrow. He wasn't a boy. She didn't look any older.

"Connor. What's yours, girl?"

She smiled at the challenge in his tone and made a little curtsy. "I'm Verena."

Only then did Connor realize she wasn't wearing a dress like every girl he knew. She dressed in dark pants with a black leather vest over a dark blouse. He lacked sufficient light to see the details, but just knowing she dressed more like a soldier than a normal girl drove home the fact that they were Grandurians, not locals. He was surprised to find the knowledge fascinated him as much as it scared him.

"Look, Connor," the soldier said in his thick accent that made his name sound foreign and frightening, "We want only back our home." With a rueful grin, he added, "We no should be here. Be much trouble if we find."

Verena gave a little laugh and said, "You sound like a little kid, Erich. Your Obrioner is terrible."

Erich scowled. "No much have time practice."

She laughed again. "Just stop. No one's going to take us seriously with you talking like that."

Erich's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. "Take serious when . . . spank with big knife."

Verena giggled and Connor asked, "You spank people with your swords?"

Erich frowned. "Word no right." He mimicked a stabbing motion.

"You meant stabbing with your sword."

Erich nodded. "Yes. Stab. Much kill. Take serious."

Verena wiped her eyes. "Just stand guard and look tough. Let me do the talking."

She drew Connor aside a pace and leaned close. She smelled like the mountains. "Connor, I really need your help. There has to be a way across the mountains. If you can show us, we'll leave and no one has to get hurt."

"What makes you think I'd know another way?"

She glanced meaningfully down at his hunting leathers. "You hunt. You know."