THE QUEEN’S QUARRY
FRANK MORIN
The Queen’s Quarry
Book 5 of the Petralist
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2019 by Frank Morin
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All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-946910-06-6
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-946910-07-3
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-946910-08-0
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A Whipsaw Press Original
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Edited by Joshua Essoe
(http://www.joshuaessoe.com/)
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Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter
(http://www.bfillustration.com/)
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Illustrations by Jared Blando
(http://www.theredepic.com/)
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Book design by Kathryn Morin
First Whipsaw printing May, 2019
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CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Maps
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
End
Also by Frank Morin
About the Author
Acknowledgments
The Queen’s Quarry is here! I’m so thrilled to get this epic adventure into your hands. I know you’re going to love it. I do.
As usual, I owe many more people for their assistance, encouragement, and inspiration than I can name individually. There are a few that stand out, though, and I need to mention them because they know where I sleep.
My family, of course. They’re my biggest fans and my most brutal critics. They hold me to the highest possible standard, and you should all thank them for insisting I push the limits with every book. Jenny is the heart and soul of my world. Going on a quarter century married together, and she keeps our relationship fresh and fun, and fills my world with humor and inspiration. Kate and Kyle, my brain trust and sounding boards. Emily, my nutritional support agent (she brings me cookies), and her undying enthusiasm. And Jacob, whose relentless energy and good humor inspire me.
Thanks again to my Fast Rollers, the beta readers who devour every word, even though they read early drafts that aren’t nearly so incredible. Your support keeps me focused and energized.
As usual, Joshua Essoe produced an edit as epic as the novel. This time, my draft worked better than usual and he actually said, “You should be proud.” Yeehah!
Brad Fraunfelter produced yet another gorgeous cover, and Jared Blando took my rough sketches and turned them into two new, fantastic maps. This team is unstoppable.
And THANK YOU to all of you fans who share my enthusiasm for this work, and who encourage me to keep going, hound me for release dates for the next novel, and tell your friends about these stories. Without you, none of this would be possible.
1
The Challenges of Dealing with Complicated Friends
Connor backpedaled across the hard, frozen ground, barely avoiding the whistling tip of a sword that slashed the cold air half an inch from his chin. Aifric pursued in the quick, graceful dance of obsidian. Connor smiled, tapped limestone, and focused it on his teeth. They started to glow.
“Are you trying to get me to knock out those pretty teeth?” Aifric asked, speaking in the merciless tones of her Student Eighteen persona.
It never ceased to amaze Connor how everything about her changed when she slipped on a different personality. A grim expression replaced Aifric the Healer’s ready smile. He’d lost count of how many times her practice sword had bruised him right through his battle leathers in the past two days of intense practice.
“Admit it. They distracted you a little.” Connor released limestone.
“You need more than shiny teeth to win,” she said, lunging again. He barely parried before she could skewer him.
“I’ll find a way,” he promised.
“Try hitting me for once.” She chuckled, stepped back a pace, and motioned him to pause.
Connor gladly lowered his sword and dagger and checked to make sure he hadn’t moved too far to the edge of the practice area. Student Eighteen had knocked him into a tent once and hit him four times before he could roll free.
The light dusting of snow wasn’t thick enough to cover the charred scars marking the place where Ingrid had died, along with the monstrous elfonnel. It happened on that very spot on the high mountain plateau, just north of Badurach Pass.
When Connor thought of all of the death and suffering that had resulted from the Obrioner invasion, he felt a deep sense of frustration. They’d failed to kill High Lord Dougal in Alasdair, and he’d raised the terrifying, ancient Queen Dreokt from her centuries-long slumber. Connor still hadn’t effectively begun spreading the truth about patronage to his countrymen either.
The wind gusted, shakin
g the tents huddling on the icy mountain pass on three sides of the practice field as it raced south toward Obrion. Dark, ominous storm clouds were piling along the northern horizon. They’d been building all day, and the air felt heavy with the weight of the impending storm.
The unusually warm weather they’d been enjoying had fled south, and temperatures had plummeted all day. The mid-afternoon sunlight felt weak and timid. Winter was finally arriving and seemed eager to make up for lost time.
Good thing they were camped on a barren, battle-scarred plateau, high atop the rugged Maclachlan Mountains. No, in Granadure they were called the Abwehr Mountains. Not that it mattered. A fierce winter storm would freeze him just as gleefully, no matter the name.
“I think that bout went better,” Connor said as Kilian neared.
Kilian chuckled. “Next time try fighting more than glowing.”
Student Eighteen nodded agreement. “I figured you’d get tired of blocking my sword with your ribs so often.” She wore dark gray furs over her soldier’s uniform. Her thick, brown hair hung past her shoulders, but was pulled back from her face by a fur-lined, leather cap. Her deep brown eyes watched him with her assassin’s alert gaze.
“Very funny. I was trying to explore strategic misdirection,” Connor said, frustrated that his glowing teeth hadn’t affected her more.
When Mattias set his teeth glowing, they seemed to distract every girl he met. Even Verena had seemed affected far too much.
As usual, his thoughts turned to Verena and her lingering coma, but he pushed his worries for her aside. Aifric raised her sword, and she liked helping him re-focus by cracking him with it.
Kilian retreated a step and said, “Again. Focus this time.”
As if focusing would help him defeat a Mhortair assassin. Still, when Student Eighteen shifted closer, Connor tapped obsidian and lunged. He struck with both sword and dagger, moving with perfect balance, his entire body tuned to fight.
Obsidian pulsed through his limbs, so different from the itchy-crawly feel of granite or the coursing energy of basalt. Obsidian flowed like words whispered on a distant wind, and somehow it improved his agility and reflexes. Obsidian helped him learn faster and move with unmatched grace. It also helped him read his opponent and anticipate her moves.
Unfortunately, Student Eighteen anticipated better than he did.
She leaned and twisted, somehow managing to slip just past his practice blades. The two of them spun apart, wooden blades lashing out and cracking as they connected half a dozen times in three seconds.
In that moment, Connor felt one with the fight as they shifted and flowed around each other in the deadly, obsidian-fueled dance. He drew deep from the igneous stone, one of his primary affinities, which he had absorbed in its powdered form through his skin before the fight. Its power infused him, heightening his senses to the point where he captured every minute detail of the moment.
As he dragged in great gulps of the thin mountain air, it didn’t seem to fill his lungs enough. It carried the scents of leather and frozen sweat floating on the humid smell of impending snow. The creaking of their battle leathers sounded sharp and clear, as did the crunch of their boots and the swish of practice swords slicing the air. The crashing of their weapons echoed with staccato intensity.
The other reason Connor loved tapping obsidian was that it always triggered the sound of Verena’s soft laughter in his mind. That heartwarming sound helped ease his constant terror that she might never awaken from her coma, or that even if she did, her mind might have suffered some permanent, incurable wound.
That was one of the reasons he’d insisted on training so hard with obsidian since returning to the Grandurian side of Drumwhindle Pass. When he trained, it was as if Verena stood close beside him, her blue eyes watching every move. He could almost feel the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder, whispered encouragement buried within the laughter.
Every muscle moved in perfect harmony. The sword and dagger were like extensions of his hands and he knew exactly where they would strike. With obsidian-fueled confidence, Connor stood against Student Eighteen with the skill of a warrior with months of intense training experience instead of barely two days.
For a moment he even held his own.
Her predatory expression hardened and Connor marveled again at how her features seemed to alter in her different persona. Her oval-shaped face that seemed so open and honest as Aifric seemed more angular and menacing as Student Eighteen. Her eyes were harder, her voice harsh and merciless.
She increased the tempo little by little until their blades blurred as they lashed out, parried, slashed, and stabbed. He had seen Blades dueling before, always amazed by their fluid grace, their deadly speed, and their incredible control.
Living the moment felt a thousand times better.
The two of them shifted across the circular practice ground, situated on the southern end of the Grandurian army camp that huddled below the broken peaks of Badurach Pass. Nearby tents flapped in the gusting wind that cut through his battle leathers and chilled his sweaty forehead.
Few spectators watched their duel. Most people not assigned a specific duty were smart enough to stay inside the relative warmth of their tents, or huddle around the huge bonfires that strove to drive back the chill.
Kilian paced nearby, watching their every move. Connor had yet to see him sweat in their practice sessions.
Of course, the fact that they ended so fast might have something to do with that. He hadn’t lasted more than three seconds against Kilian. Student Eighteen had lasted five, and she was an acknowledged master among the Allcarvers in camp.
Obsidian enhanced many attributes, but it did not offer the superhuman speed of basalt. In his centuries-long life, Kilian had mastered basalt like no other. When he fought, he seemed to blur, limbs moving with breathtaking speed. Most other Wingrunners only knew how to run with basalt, but Connor was learning that there might be many aspects to speed still to be learned. He looked forward to studying the concepts with Kilian.
With an abrupt reversal, Student Eighteen slipped under Connor’s high slashing sword and cracked her weapon against his ribs. The blow struck hard enough to add a new bruise to his growing collection. Connor danced back, rubbing his side.
“Better.” She sheathed her weapons without even bothering to look. They just slid into place like sweetbreads plunging down Hamish’s gullet. No hesitation, and no chance of missing.
“Not good enough,” Connor grumbled.
He was grateful for a rest, although he bet he could have kept fighting for hours under that Obsidian-induced battle high. He loved that he could spend so much time practicing with the amazing stone. He’d only established affinity with obsidian during the fight with the elfonnel at the Carraig, only to have Dougal use his obsidian affinity to try seizing Connor’s mind. The threat of that mind control had prevented Connor from daring obsidian much since then. Only now that he felt confident Dougal was too far to make another attempt could he practice openly with it.
Kilian said, “You’re making solid progress. In the next bout, I want you to try something different.”
“What?”
“Win.”
Connor rolled his eyes. Student Eighteen grinned and said, “I think you’ve advanced to the point I should demonstrate what a really thorough beat-down feels like.”
“Don’t you remember Catriona’s hugging days at the Carraig? I know what it feels like to get beat up,” he reminded her quickly. Those were not happy memories.
Her smile shifte
d to Aifric’s warm, friendly one. “Don’t worry, Connor. I promise to heal you when Student Eighteen finishes the lesson.”
As the two of them settled into fighting stances again, Connor decided he definitely needed to change tactics.
He really needed to figure out a way to cheat.
2
Breaking Records
Connor wished Hamish was around. He could really use some of that skunk extract. Unfortunately, Hamish had left days before to take the refugees of Alasdair north to the Emmerich quarry to settle into their new homes, arranged by Kilian and Wolfram.
Connor hoped his family was handling the change all right. With Hamish to help shepherd the transition, maybe there wouldn’t be too many problems.
Student Eighteen moved toward him, weapons held casually, not hiding the fact that she expected to beat him easily. If he stuck to his training, she definitely would.
Using obsidian, he’d progressed with astonishing speed. Somehow he not only learned the fighting techniques and principles more quickly, but retained the knowledge better. Even his muscle memory felt like he’d been practicing for months instead of days.
He felt confident of his chances in a one-on-one duel against any non-obsidian warrior. That didn’t help him with Student Eighteen, though. Before he could figure out a plan, she closed in a rush, wooden blade snapping out toward his sword hand.
No way he’d let her disarm him in the first strike. Connor deflected the blow and drove an elbow toward her face. She’d expected him to strike with his dagger, so the elbow strike almost landed.
She was just too fast, though, and ducked under it. That left him open. Somehow she sheathed her dagger, slapped him a stinging blow across the face with her left hand, and drew the knife again before he could bring his own dagger to bear.
Connor retreated, rubbing his cheek. The cold made the sting worse. “Ow.”
She chuckled. “Good improvisation. If you’d connected, it might have worked.”
“I’ll get you,” he promised.
She beckoned him on, her expression amused.
So he circled instead of attacking. Tapping obsidian was like standing before a window in his mind that was only opened partway. To tap more, he pulled the window open wider, allowing more sound to pour in, igniting greater power throughout his entire body. He concentrated that power into his mind, accelerating his thoughts, considering and discarding a dozen crazy ideas for beating her. He really needed to learn Kilian’s fighting tricks, but even if he knew them, Student Eighteen would never give him time to purge obsidian and absorb basalt.