Affinity for War Read online

  Table of Contents

  Affinity for War

  Maps

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Reader's Group

  Review

  Petralist Stones

  Igneous

  Sedimentary

  Metamorphic

  Secret Stones

  New Stones

  Other Works by Frank Morin

  About the Author

  Affinity for War

  Book 4 of the Petralist

  Kindle Edition

  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.

  Copyright © 2018 by Frank Morin

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  ISBN: 978-1-946910-03-5

  A Whipsaw Press Original

  Edited by Joshua Essoe

  (http://www.joshuaessoe.com/)

  Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter

  (http://www.bfillustration.com/)

  Illustrations by Jared Blando

  (http://www.theredepic.com/)

  Book design by Kathryn Morin

  First Whipsaw printing June 2018

  Acknowledgements

  Book four is here! I'll just say "Wow".

  Wow for the epic length. This book is about 30% longer than No Stone Unturned, and it refuses to shorten any further.

  Wow for the amazing new adventures I can barely believe, even though I'm the one recording it all.

  Wow for how this book pushed me to the limits in this epic ten-month writing and editing saga.

  Wow for the finished product.

  As usual, no book is written in a vacuum, and I have to take a moment to thank the great team supporting, encouraging, and assisting in the work. My kids remain my most enthusiastic core supporters, and my lovely wife Jenny inspires me every single day.

  My Fast Rollers team and Story Squad play a more critical role than they know. Thanks to them and to my beta readers for your dedication to this series and your undying enthusiasm. A particular thanks to Eve Ledesma and Joshua Lee for their detailed feedback above and beyond all others.

  I hadn't thought Brad Fraunfelter could wow me with a new cover more than he had with the last one, but he did it yet again. The depth of his skill and his dedication to excellence are the marks of a true master craftsman.

  And I blame Joshua Essoe for forcing me to dig deeper than ever to produce the best Petralist novel by far. Edits ended up taking a lot longer than I had hoped, but I couldn't rest until I made this story the best it could be. Joshua's insightful comments and unrelenting demand for clarity helped me shape the ultimate journey for Connor and his friends.

  I know you've been anxious to get your hands on this story.

  I hope you enjoy devouring it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

  Chapter One

  “The north wind drives away the rain, but only he who tills the earth can enjoy the harvest.”

  ~Gregor

  Connor laughed with the thrill of clinging with all his might to the hand rails on the back of the Swift. Verena tore into the sky, taking them up in a nearly-vertical ascent. The amazingly nimble little craft roared, every thruster thrown wide. If Connor wasn't tapping granite strength, he never would have managed to hold on.

  He was free in a way he'd never been his entire life, and for a moment, he could almost believe nothing would ever interrupt that glorious feeling.

  Except for maybe the looming war.

  "Are you still with me?" Verena called, glancing back at him from the pilot seat.

  Only her head extended above the armored plating protecting her on every side. The Swift was little more than a flying, armored chair, with quartzite thrusters attached on every plane, allowing Verena to spin, twist, and roll in any direction. And of course, the many deadly mechanicals built into the craft transformed it into a unique battle platform.

  "You can't ditch me," Connor grinned.

  She pushed up the visor of her helmet as she slowed, banked to the left, and entered a concealing cloud bank. "Is that a challenge?"

  Her bright blue eyes sparkled with humor, and her cute, heart-shaped face was very distracting. He knew not to underestimate her, though, so he lifted one hand in a placating gesture. "Maybe once we're safely out of Obrion."

  They had both risked too much to escape the Carraig. Falling from over two thousand feet would definitely dent his plans to reach Granadure with her. They had crossed half of Obrion in recent days and were almost back to the northern border and Alasdair.

  As they slowed to a hover in the clouds, surrounded by the gossamer tendrils of mist that concealed them from prying eyes, Hamish banked in close to their right side. In his amazin
g Builder battle suit, he was as agile as the Swift in the air, and just as deadly.

  Jean clung to his back, her long, blonde braid snapping in the wind. While flying, she replaced her normal blue dress with a pair of heavy leather trousers, wore a pair of long-vision goggles to protect her eyes, and seemed unable to keep from laughing.

  "Think anyone saw us?" Hamish asked.

  "I doubt it," Connor said.

  Merkland was still far enough away that even Pathfinders on the famous white walls would have a hard time spotting them. They had waited to leave the river until they turned into the Lower Wick from the mighty Macantact.

  As Verena ghosted southwest over the rolling, forested hills toward Merkland, Hamish drifted closer. Connor helped Jean transfer to the top of the storage box at the rear of the Swift beside him.

  She extended one hand, trailing it through the clouds. "It's like the mists that rise from the Wick on cool mornings."

  Hamish rolled onto his back and spread both arms wide. "Wait till we fly through a thunderhead cloud. They're so full of water, it's like flying through the river."

  "Aren't you worried about getting struck by lightning?" Jean asked.

  "Don't talk with Hamish about lightning," Verena said with a groan. "He once flew into a thunder cloud carrying a pastry on an iron stick. Lightning nearly took off his hand."

  "You didn't!" Jean gasped.

  Hamish shrugged. "There's got to be a way to use all that charbroiling energy to cook dinner."

  Connor said, "Cook your brain, more like it."

  "There's Merkland," Verena interrupted, pointing to their left.

  She slowed to a hover, and the steady hissing of the thrusters would be dispelled through the clouds. Hopefully any listening Pathfinders would mistake the sound for a distant breeze. The Swift was painted mottled gray and white, which turned it nearly invisible in just about any sky. As long as they remained in the clouds, they should be safe from discovery.

  They spent a moment studying the panoramic vista through the misty clouds. The low hills flanking the Wick changed to flat farmlands that spread for miles around Merkland. The mighty fortress, seat of High Lord Dougal's realm, was built on a flat-topped bluff overlooking the junction of the Lower Wick and the mighty Macantact rivers. The famous white granite walls towered thirty feet, broken by two huge gates on the landward sides.

  The many spires of Dougal's central palace would have seemed wondrous if Connor hadn't just spent months living at the Carraig. The inner city was so packed with soaring towers that Merkland looked like a humble village in comparison.

  Well, it would if the Carraig hadn't just been thoroughly smashed by a raging elfonnel. The memory of that desperate day, full of terror and death, had lingered with Connor ever since Shona had freed him from her service and sent him away with Verena.

  Surprisingly, the memory that clung to him the most from that terrible day was not witnessing Declan's heroic sacrifice, finding the dead, savaged bodies inside the monster's stomach, or the shattered plain and falling buildings. Even though he'd taken command of all of the combined armed forces, ascended through the threshold with soapstone, and unlocked incredible new powers, it was the unrivaled sense of glory he'd enjoyed that haunted his dreams.

  He had become a rampager.

  That memory chilled him again as he thought about it. Daring porphyry and the agonizing transformation into a rampager had been a last, desperate ploy to escape Dougal's control and face the unrivaled power of the elfonnel. As a rampager, he'd been stronger than the mightiest Boulder, as fast as a fracked Strider, and able to take the fight to the elfonnel.

  When he remembered that experience, he found himself yearning for more porphyry and for an excuse to tempt the transformation again. That yearning had awakened him from sleep several times, and it returned in quiet moments when he let his thoughts wander. Even though he was out of porphyry, he found himself thinking of situations when it might be necessary.

  His best defense against such disturbing yearnings was to think about Verena. Her face, her smile, and her minty lips always helped ground him.

  Connor sucked on the little piece of quartzite already wedged into his cheek, focusing his thoughts on the liquid warmth of quartzite power pooling in the center of his head. With a simple thought, he directed some of that power to his eyes.

  He winced at a brief, sharp stab of pain. Even though he expected it, he still rubbed one eye with a finger, marveling anew at how the soft orb had transformed into hard, faceted crystal. He blinked a couple of times, then looked out over a world turned marvelous.

  The beautiful landscape seemed to glow, and he drank in the deeper hues now visible. Quartzite enhanced colors with deeper reds and more vibrant blues and purples, invisible to unenhanced eyes. As he focused on the distant Merkland Torr, his vision swept down like a diving hawk and he clutched the hand rails harder as his stomach lurched.

  As he scanned the castle, it seemed as if he was hovering only a few feet above the walls instead of nearly a mile overhead and three miles distant. Soldiers manned the parapets, and he picked out three Sentries and four Pathfinders.

  They were not looking at the sky. Most of them were turned toward the north where an army was issuing through the huge main gates, ten abreast, marching into the wide plain north of town.

  "Do you see the army?" Verena asked.

  "I'm staring at one captain's warty nose right now."

  She chuckled. "I can't zoom in quite that far."

  She had activated the quartzite embedded in her visor, enabling her long-vision goggles, which did a remarkable job of imitating Pathfinder vision. She had explained that for Builders, releasing the air power of quartzite was easy, but affecting the senses was far more challenging. For Petralists, just the opposite held true.

  The constant smile Jean wore while flying faded as she peered at the distant army. "Are they heading toward Alasdair?"

  Verena reached back and touched Jean's goggles, activating the long-vision aspect. "I set your zoom factor to about eight times normal. Close things will seem gigantic, but you should get a pretty good view of what's going on down there."

  They watched the army for a few minutes before Jean said, "The walls really are made of Alasdair White."

  "They are," Connor confirmed.

  He'd seen the fortress on his journey south months ago, on his way toward Raineach and his Aunt Ailsa. At that time, those gleaming white granite walls had seemed like one of the wonders of the world.

  Hamish whistled softly. "What a fortune to stack into walls."

  Verena said, "I've heard that it's all builded stone."

  "You can't be serious," Hamish exclaimed. "They kill Builders in Obrion. There's no one to maintain it."

  "It's one of the wonders from the Age of Discovery before the great purge," Verena said.

  "What does touching granite with your powers do?" Jean asked.

  Hamish said, "Hardens it. Like the projectiles in the speedslings. They become nearly indestructible."

  Among the impressive armaments the Swift carried were a pair of extra-long speedslings, mounted to either side of the bottom of the chair. Verena could unleash thousands of deadly little hornets in a matter of seconds. Hamish carried a much smaller version of the weapon in a holster on his hip.

  Verena added "The mystery is how the wall still stands. Even if they only opened a tiny fraction of the stones' power, it should have all been spent by now. So much was lost during the purge."

  Hamish pivoted and pointed toward the south. "What is that?"

  Something that vaguely resembled a long, narrow house was approaching Merkland along the main highway, moving at remarkable speed.

  Connor focused on it and frowned. "It's sliding up a set of iron rails built beside the road."

  Verena said with a note of excitement in her voice, "That's the speedcaravan."

  Chapter Two

  “The heart of the mountain is but a dormant volcano, but fires rag
e only after a spark is struck.”

  ~Ilse

  "I've heard of the speedcaravan," Connor said, studying the fast-moving vehicle with even more interest.

  Verena pivoted the Swift to improve their view. "It's one of the few remaining Builder inventions that has survived since the Age of Discovery. That's the last working one. It runs from Merkland, down half the length of Obrion, to Donleavy. How it's still operational after three hundred years is a mystery. We've started trying to build new routes in Obrion, but track maintenance is causing a ton of problems."

  "Wish we could study it," Hamish said.

  Verena shook her head. "Only high officials ride them. There's a good chance Dougal is aboard."

  "He made good time." Connor wouldn't have expected anyone else could have crossed Obrion as fast as they had.

  Hamish's tone turned eager. "We could attack. They'd never expect a strike from the air."

  It was tempting. Dougal was the driving force behind Obrion's war effort. Connor had sensed his determination to unleash death and destruction upon Granadure. He didn't like the idea of killing anyone, but if they could remove Dougal, how many lives would they save?

  "Tempting," Verena said, as if reading Connor's mind. "But we've seen enough. Let's get back to Kilian."

  Hamish grumbled something under his breath as Verena banked away, but did not protest. Connor was glad they were leaving. He didn't want to spend any time near Dougal. The man had tried to take over his mind during the battle against the elfonnel. He didn't want to think about that terrifying experience. He wanted to enjoy his new-found freedom for a while.

  "You don't feel any connection, do you?" Jean asked.

  "No, and I don't want to. I don't have any more porphyry so I can't fight him off again."

  Verena said, "We'll have to see if the charred porphyry powder we have at the Builder compound works."

  "You have more?" Connor exclaimed, grabbing her shoulder harder than he intended. Knowing they had access to more triggered an intense yearning for it. He felt a mighty urge to skip the visit to Alasdair altogether in order to get it sooner.

  "I don't think it would be wise for you to take any more," Verena said slowly, twisting to look at him. Her voice sounded concerned. "We interviewed the captured rampagers, and they were slaves to that powder. They would have done anything to get more. I don't think I want to see you like that."