Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  “Ah, I see.” A sardonic smile curled one side of the hermit’s mouth. Brannis furrowed his brow in confusion. “It has all been play up until now. The ordering of soldiers about on the field of battle, the salutes, the ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir.’ It all seemed like a grand game until things got bloody.”

  “I have seen battle before, and killed ogres and goblins. I have seen men die, and it grieved me then as well. But this time, I did it myself, with my own sword. Maybe if I had not used my own sword, a cursed thing fit only for striking down foes, not killing for mercy. But there it was next to me, my sword, the one that I used to kill one of my own men.”

  “Do you feel better now?” the hermit asked. Brannis was taken aback and struck dumb momentarily. “I wager you would never have said that to any of your own men, except perhaps that sorcerer friend of yours for whom you have shown so much concern. So do you feel better having told someone?”

  “Maybe … a little.”

  The hermit simply smiled.

  “And now that I am a bit relieved of that burden, I am reminded of something. You never did give your name when I introduced myself,” Brannis said.

  “My apologies. My name has often been a source of ill feelings for people and is part of the reason I live here alone in the wilds. By long habit, I do not give it unless someone asks explicitly.”

  Brannis looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

  The hermit smiled back.

  “So what is it … your name?” Brannis finally asked.

  “My name is Rashan. I have grown to dislike it but find it a curiously difficult thing to lie about,” he replied.

  Brannis tried without success not to laugh, despite his mood.

  “Well, that would explain why you have gone into hiding. What kind of parents could name a child that? No offense, but why not just go by another name?” Brannis asked.

  In his time at the Imperial Academy, Brannis had learned of the history of the Kadrin Empire, and the name Rashan was prominent among the annals of the Empire’s most bloody era. Rashan Solaran—Brannis was unfortunately a distant relation of the long-dead sorcerer—was the last and most notorious of the Empire’s warlocks. A ruthless conqueror in the height of his power, Rashan had been responsible for the destruction of entire armies and had brought many independent realms under the control of the emperor. There was still a phrase in common use, “Rashan’s bargain,” which was used to describe either a threat disguised as a choice, or a truce used as cover for an ambush. It was used most often by those whose lands had fallen into imperial control during Rashan’s time, and it was far from complimentary. It was an accusation of a planned betrayal, worse than negotiating in bad faith.

  “I see you know a bit of history then, Brannis. Though since you call yourself ‘Solaran,’ that would seem only natural that you recognized the name. As for why I chose to keep the name … well, I have considered it from time to time, but I never could get used to any other. To my mind, ‘Rashan’ and ‘me’ are one in the same. I cannot think of myself by any other.

  “And as far as concerns my parents … think of them what you will. They gave me the name, and I have learned to live with it.” The hermit—Rashan—rose from the log and began to walk back toward his cottage. “Now that you have my secret, I trust you not to make a fuss over it in front of your men. I doubt many of them have much of a grasp of history, but that accursed idiom has plagued the name ‘Rashan’ for all time, it would seem. I do not keep pitchforks or torches lying about, but I am sure the superstitious peasant-folk you command could make do with swords should they decide to rid themselves of an unfortunately named stranger.”

  “Wait,” Brannis called quietly after Rashan, concerned not to let his voice carry as far as where his men lay sleeping. “What do you mean by that? Do you think that my men will kill you just because of some coincidence about your name?”

  Brannis got up and followed after the hermit.

  Still walking, Rashan replied, “I expect them to think it an ill omen, and yes, perhaps even to try to end my life. I am sure to be blamed for anything that goes amiss. That is how the ignorant get by in life: they blame that which they do not understand for their troubles. I know these woods well and could probably elude any of you for longer than you would care to look, but I do not wish to be driven away. I am concerned for your sorcerer friend, Iridan, and would not leave him untended if I am able.”

  He shot Brannis a sharp look, and his point was all too clear.

  He will take care of Iridan, but I must ensure that the rest of the men do not find out his name. I wonder if I should not have asked him in the first place.

  Brannis followed Rashan back to the cottage in silence. His mind was now a blur of varied worries, and the dark thoughts that had haunted his mind and driven away sleep now had company in plenty inside Brannis’s head.

  What drove this hermit, Rashan, into seclusion? Was he persecuted because of his name, or was there some other reason? That was something to consider, certainly. Brannis sighed, knowing as well that he had gotten caught up as keeper of an unwanted secret. What if I let slip his name in front of one of the commoner soldiers? Would he really be in danger from them?

  As Brannis lay once more on the soft forest floor, the weight of his fatigue pressed down on him anew. But now without the recurring vision of Sir Aric’s face to afflict his thoughts, he was able to surrender, finally, to the urgent calling of his body for rest.

  Rashan, who had watched through half-closed eyes until the rhythmic rise and fall of Brannis’s chest proclaimed his slumber, quietly arose from the tree against which he rested and went to check on Iridan.

  Chapter 7 - Bearers of Bad News

  The morning sun was high above the horizon and the dew that had graced the leaves and wild grasses had burned away already. There was a nervous edge to the mood of the goblins as they took their morning meal. Jinzan Fehr was stomped through the camp, his glare clearing a path before him as he the human sorcerer waded among his goblin hosts. He sought out G’thk to find out what had befallen.

  “What is this about?” Jinzan demanded of G’thk when he found the goblin general. He was ill-kempt and bleary-eyed from having just awakened, having come directly from his tent, seeking neither grooming nor dawn feast. “I was supposed to be informed as soon as the runners arrived with news of the battle! Here it is, full morning, and yet I was not awakened!”

  [They have not returned yet,] G’thk replied simply and calmly. This stopped Jinzan short. [You were not alerted due to this event not happening. Had we received news from the battle, this news would have been yours to know as well.] The two of them each understood the other's language but each spoke his own. Jinzan could hack and cough out bits of the harsh goblin tongue when he had to but prefered to spare his throat the pain it caused him. G'thk would grow winded with all the vowels of the Megrenn dialect of human that Jinzan spoke.

  “What do you mean? The runners should have been sent as soon as there was word. The battle should have been over hours ago. Send out a search party immediately to find out what has become of them,” Jinzan ordered, not even bothering to beg askance of the goblin general.

  G’thk’s eyes narrowed. [My commanders are given discretion to choose how best to carry out their orders. I ordered that the humans be eliminated and that none be allowed to escape. I ordered that runners come with news when news is to be had. I gave no order that runners must be back in time for dawn feast so as not to anger human sorcerer and plan battle accordingly. I gave no such foolish orders. You will wait, as I do. Go eat.]

  "Has there been any word on the progress of the construction efforts in Tnk’Ch’Nck?” Jinzan asked as the general turned to leave. He stumbled over the awkward goblin city name but had nothing else to call it.

  [I have received no news of any new progress. The tinkers are still working with the plans you provided, and their last report was favorable. This device is new to my people, but we are eager to learn mo
re about the wondrous things you have described to us. Do not despair, sorcerer, for your plan seems sound. We will build your device by the time it is needed.] The general patted Jinzan on the arm. [Have faith in our metallurgists and alchemists.]

  Jinzan kept his face impassive but nodded an affirmation to the general. Inwardly he groaned.

  Of course … faith, Jinzan thought. Everything comes down to that with you goblins, does it not?

  Jinzan had lived among the goblins for a more than a season and had learned a great deal about their culture, including their religion.

  The goblins believed that so long as they followed their dragon gods’ precepts, everything would work out in the end. It was a philosophy that grated on Jinzan, for he had never believed that anything would go right unless he forced it to do so by his own will. Nevertheless the belief in the rightness of their own actions made the goblins fearsome opponents. The very fact that goblin sorcerers engaged in combat at all—especially given that most human sorcerers considered magical combat one step removed from suicide—showed that this belief system aided his plans. Without goblin sorcerers on the battlefield when the time came, his plan might be revealed too soon.

  Surrounded by a small army of goblins, Jinzan had little choice but to obey the general, so he made his way to the mess line. He more poked at the mush that made up dawn feast than ate it, though, as he was preoccupied with the lateness of the army’s report. By all accounts, the raiders should have made it to the Kadrins’ campsite before midnight, and he could not imagine a scenario that could cause the battle to be so prolonged that it would still be raging come morning.

  Jinzan had not half-finished his mush when the goblin sentries raised the alarm thatthe survivors of the battle had been spotted. Initially the sentries believed them to be runners bearing news of battle, and they sent them directly to G’thk. Jinzan discarded the remains of his meal hurriedly, eager to hear what had happened.

  Eleven goblins in all had returned, the survivors of the battle with the Kadrins, but they only had five spears among them. All were fatigued from having fled the battlefield at a run. Jinzan suspected he was not the only one to think these looked less like runners than they did deserters.

  [Report! How went the battle?] G’thk demanded. There was nervous shifting among the survivors, as none seemed to want to step forward and admit what had taken place. [Well, which of you is the runner? One of you had best answer me.]

  A garbled mess of goblin-speech followed as several of the survivors began to speak at once, each relating their version of events, which Jinzan struggled to understand. G’thk quieted them with a raised hand and pointed to one of the goblins who had been speaking.

  [We … We were defeated, General G’thk,] the selected goblin said. [Our sorcerers, three even, could not overcome the humans’ sorcerer. One of the human knights wielded a foul sword that seemed enchanted to belch forth fumes, which harmed all that they touched. We fought them well and killed many. The human sorcerer lost control of his aether and began to throw flames wildly. If he is like our firehurlers, he must be dead now, as he fell to the ground and lay still afterward. The human knight with the sword we could not kill, though, and the few of us left could not fight off the last of the humans.]

  Jinzan kept outwardly calm but his mind was spinning. How can this be? The Kadrins should not have been able to withstand the attack. The scouts reported that their numbers were few, and three sorcerers should have been enough.

  The survivor’s report held but one bright spot, which was the apparent demise of the Kadrin sorcerer who had defeated three of his own. The Kadrins were not know for employing firehurlers in their battles; the term referred to inept sorcerers with so little control they could manage no better than to ignite aether as a weapon—a crude tactic, wasteful of aether, and dangerous. It was not uncommon for goblin firehurlers to draw in more aether than they could safely handle in the heat of battle. When overcome in such a manner, it was almost always fatal to the goblin that had lost control. The bodies became burned-out husks, charred from the inside. Goblins were not above bringing such dangerous liabilities among their number, but the Kadrin sorcerer had to have been better than that. He had bested three goblins who were far better than the common firehurlers G'thk had originally wanted to bring along before Jinzan objected. If the Kadrin had been overcome by the aether he had drawn in, it was possible he had survived; maybe not likely, but possible.

  G’thk turned from the survivors and clasped his hands behind his back. He appeared lost in thought. Jinzan, however, was not so pensive.

  “What are you doing back here, cowering like misbehaving children?” Jinzan demanded. “Why did none of you think to stay behind and watch over the army.” Jinzan paused, seeming to take note of the blank look on the goblins’ faces. They did not understand a word of what he was saying, though they could understand well enough that he was furious with them. Angrily resigning himself to using goblin, he tried again: [Why you soldier goblins not stay and die or stay and see? Now soldier humans leave, you not know where! We blame you! Plan say we not have humans know we come. My plan, and you break it!]

  “Haru bedaessi leoki kwatuan gelora,” Jinzan quickly growled out under his breath and then made a sweeping gesture with his arms. The goblin who had given his report to G’thk went flying through the air, landing in a bush a score of paces away. The surprised screech the goblin let out at being lifted into the air by magic gave way to a yelp and a dazed moan, as the unfortunate soldier apparently survived his flight.

  [No fail plan, or more goblin-birds there will be,] Jinzan warned all the goblins present, survivor or not. He turned and stalked back to his tent to think in peace.

  * * * * * * * *

  It was a disaster in the making. Jinzan sat fuming in his tent, trying to think of a way to prevent word of their army’s presence in Kelvie Forest from reaching Kadrin. Surely they must have already been suspicious, thought Jinzan, or they would not have sent an armed force into the woods to investigate. They had obviously underestimated the goblins’ presence, for if they had known of the true strength of the expeditionary force, they would have sent far more troops than they had.

  Jinzan was also troubled by the presence of a knight armed with a magical sword. Such artifacts were rare indeed, since sorcery was required to create them and sorcerers had little use for them. Most were gifts given to heroes of the Empire in reward of great achievement, and they were passed from generation to generation. That could mean that either the knight was distinguished among his peers for his accomplishments, or was the descendant of such a one. The only other aether-forged swords that Jinzan knew of within the Empire were those that had been wielded in the bygone days of the warlocks. While he considered it unlikely, Jinzan knew that there existed the possibility that this was a warlock’s sword, given to the knight for this assignment due to an especial effectiveness in combating goblins. It was not a comforting thought.

  Jinzan needed to find answers. He hugged his arms closely to his body, shut his eyes, and lowered his head. He took a deep, steady breath. As he focused on each breath in turn, he gradually extended feelings into the aether, and he began to discern the Source of every plant, every goblin, and every stinking oxen in the area. With his eyes closed, he could see the flows of aether wafting from each Source, stream into river, river into ocean, filling the very air around him.

  Every muscle in Jinzan’s body tensed as he willed his consciousness into ever-clearer focus. He was not attempting to create magic, but to find it. Two human soldiers had been marked by the assassin Gkt’Lr during the night of the first raid, a bit of tracking magic to help locate them should the hunters lose their quarry. Gkt’Lr was no sorcerer, though, and the magic had been a paltry thing. Jinzan had monitored the fighting, waiting for the marking magic to appear to him and had kept tabs on the two men until the magic on one of them failed. The one that he had been able to watch had been found by G’thk’s raiders and had led the way to a sec
ond human army camped in Kelvie Forest. The loss of the other man still nagged at Jinzan and he now sought to find either one of them, hoping to pick up some trace of the marking magic.

  Jinzan’s musing was broken by someone opening the flap of his tent. Turned from his introspection, he was suddenly aware of a clamor of activity outside in the goblins’ camp.

  [Sorcerer, we are moving out. We are going to occupy the humans’ campsite and lead our search from there. If any returns to the battlefield, our sentries will find them,] G’thk called into the tent.

  Good, thought Jinzan, they are not going to sit idle. Still, Jinzan worried that the humans had a head start in their escape, for surely they would not have remained long after such a battle.

  “Send for that assassin. Have him meet us at the Kadrins’ camp,” Jinzan ordered G’thk.

  G'thk glowered at Jinzan, who realized he had overstepped himself. The infraction went unmentioned, but Jinzan knew he had only so much rope before his noose pulled taut.[I will dispatch a runner to fetch him. Do not worry, sorcerer. My people do not leave business unfinished in such a way. We will hunt those humans down and finish them off before they give away your plan.]

  G’thk managed to save a little face by that last remark, subtly pointing out that it was Jinzan’s plan—and not his own—that was going awry. With three of his sorcerers apparently killed by the Kadrin humans and without even the small protection that the assassin’s presence would have afforded him, G’thk was in no position to have a confrontation with the dangerous Jinzan Fehr.

  * * * * * * * *

  The runner had been sent to seek out the elite goblin assassin, Gkt’Lr, and the goblin army had set out toward the battlefield, guided by the survivors of the slaughter. The camp had been broken down in a remarkably short time. Tents were packed up, gear was stowed, oxen were laden, and troops were assembled. Quartermasters had overseen the whole of the operation, and Jinzan could quite honestly say that he had never before seen such an organized group in his life. Each knew where everything belonged and directed soldiers to move each item quickly and accurately onto the proper ox. Jinzan lived in the huge port city of Zorren and had seen many cargo ships loaded and unloaded in his lifetime. Those chaotic productions could hardly be any more at odds with the neatly efficient coordination of the goblins.