Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  Who is he? Jinzan wondered. After what Stalyart figured out, I no longer believe the innocent façade. If he can cheat the likes of the men around that table at Crackle, I think wordplay would be but a lark.

  Stalyart—tides bless the man—had picked up on it. The lad was lost in the game at first; he knew the rules but was no match for the type of opponents he faced. He stared at his own cards and the common cards, typical of a beginner. A master such as Stalyart, or even reasonably skilled players such as Denrik, watched their opponents, since no amount of staring at one’s own cards will tell you anything new about them. Stalyart had noticed that Kyrus started to turn his “luck” around when he started staring at his opponents’ cards and the ones about to be dealt. He lost some small pots but never became entangled for much money unless he was sure to win.

  Stalyart was not sure how he did it, but knew he did it. I know how, though. That boy must have marked the cards with aether. I would have caught him at it easily, but not Denrik. Denrik can barely see into the aether at all, and the effort gives him headaches.

  Somewhere out in this world, there is a dark mirror of that boy running free. He is probably as much like Kyrus as Denrik is like me: a magic-less outcast who has had to make do with his wits and daring. What sort of man would that make him, if he truly is Kadrin? Jinzan mused.

  There were certain facts of Kyrus’s story that were too easily checked for him to have lied about them. Faking a Kadrin accent might be difficult, and faking speaking it entirely would not fool Jinzan in the least. It was galling to think that some little nobody from Acardia had pulled such a ruse on him, but the rest of Kyrus’s story was entirely called into question. Was he a highwayman? Was he truly now north of Pevett? Did he truly come by his magic from imitating some itinerant sorcerer who took up with brigands? The last was the most obvious lie in the bunch. If he was to begin questioning Kyrus’s story, that was the place to start.

  Kadrin was run by sorcerers. The army knew it. The nobles knew it. Even the emperor likely knew it. The Inner Circle wielded more power than the Megrenn High Councilors did, and they were the official seat of power in the kingdom, for Megrenn was a kingdom in name only. The Circle doled out that power generously to the sorcerers of the Empire, giving them free rein and freedom from all but themselves and a scant few others. Those sorcerers that served the noble houses were only slightly less well off, given that the populace was conditioned to treat all sorcerers as a higher class of citizen. The thought of rogue sorcerers making their way by brigandry was … unlikely, at the least. Nearly any crime could be forgiven, and if the Circle would not have him, a sorcerer could find a patron with ease, if not among the nobles then among the wealthiest of the merchant elite.

  So … what then?

  Where would he have learned magic that he would want to keep it secret? Jinzan regretted that Denrik may have shown his hand too soon. Kyrus had not known that he was a Megrenn sorcerer before giving his own story, but that did not excuse the lapse in being so frank with the lad. Kyrus had claimed to harass the Kadrins along the trade-ways, and he had wanted to do him one better. Kyrus had led with a feint, and Denrik had fallen for it.

  So the lad was smart. He could accept that and brush aside the sting of being fooled so that he might puzzle through who Kyrus might be in Veydrus. He could not trust him in Tellurak until he knew who he was dealing with. It was about time to start piecing together what he knew and trying to fill in the missing pieces with the best guesses he could make.

  Kyrus’s counterpart was very likely Kadrin and knew how to use a sword with some skill—that much Kyrus was able to demonstrate, though his counterpart was clearly more fit for such swordplay. He was most likely not a robber and had almost certainly not learned magic from some rogue sorcerer. Unless the Empire had changed much since the rebellion, Kadrin had no rogue sorcerers.

  Let us begin with where he learned the rudiments of magic. If he had proper training in magic, he would never have been so generally ignorant of spells and the way aether and Sources work. If he was faking being such an ignoramus, he is far, far ahead in this test of wits. I shall consider that eventuality later, perhaps. For now, who would have access to shoddy teaching in spells? A nobleman with a sorcerer in his family’s employ, perhaps. A guardsman in the Tower of Contemplation? A possibility. He could be a sibling to a sorcerer, but that would not fit as well as the first two in explaining why he might also be skilled with a blade.

  Jinzan blew out a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed more information to go on. There were too many unknowns, and he risked deluding himself should he commit too far down an incorrect path. Perhaps Kyrus’s twin was nothing worth troubling about. It was possible that he was merely being prudent, especially now that he knew that Denrik’s counterpart was Megrenn.

  Blast it, if only I had not been so eager to make his alliance and given him a clear answer.

  Jinzan was rescued from his self-torment by a Source approaching from behind. Aside from the sorcerers and the assassin, Gkt’Lr, all the goblins Sources looked alike to him. He turned to see who was intruding upon his solitude.

  [Cheer up, sorcerer, you are getting your wish,] G’thk greeted him.

  The goblin general was in his travel gear, layer upon layer of wolf furs over his uniform. The general clearly intended to ride, as his gait was hindered by the overabundance of warm clothing weighing him down. Jinzan smiled wryly; Megrenn may have been far warmer—lying north of the Kadrin Empire, with the ocean-borne currents bringing warm weather down from tropical regions—but he could brave cold weather that would turn the goblins to worthless, shivering wretches. He could only hope that their skittishness about the cold could be suppressed long enough to conduct a battle in late-autumn weather in the Cloud Wall.

  “We are leaving? How soon?” Jinzan got right to the point. He was weary, though truly only mentally, of all the waiting. The sooner they left, the better.

  [Mighty Ni’Hash’Tk is planning to catch up with us at the mines. Gather what you need, as we leave immediately,] G’thk said. The general now seemed as eager to go as Jinzan.

  “So you deliver messages personally now?” Jinzan joked. G’thk had rarely come to him directly, preferring to send an underling to summon him, or even deliver a message directly.

  The general chuckled. [Yes, it seems. The messengers are all afraid of you, sorcerer. They think you are angry and will kill one soon. None wants to be the one to anger you enough that you finally do it.]

  “So does this mean we are attacking in two days?” Jinzan asked. He wanted to be sure that there would be no further delays.

  [Do not worry, sorcerer. When Ni’Hash’Tk arrives, there will be no question of delaying the attack. This will be glorious. Not only will we win a new lair for Ni’Hash’Tk’s whelp, but we will have a great deal of plunder for us as well. We also have word that there are many more of your toys being brought along. The tinkers like them, and the other generals are beginning to request them as well. They have been making them without stop since the first were finished. The ones they bring with them will make our triumph simple.]

  “That is … excellent news,” Jinzan said.

  Well, if by “excellent,” you mean “disastrous.” I had not anticipated the goblins’ zeal for the things. Megrenn had best stay on their good side through this war, else we may find a formidable enemy on our western border.

  The general left him to see to his preparations. Jinzan lingered for a moment on the balcony. He looked again to the north and imagined that he could see Raynesdark against the mountain backdrop.

  And what might I find when I get there? Will Kyrus turn out to be the son of the lord of the mines? Have I perhaps alerted an Inner Circle guardsman who spies between worlds? Will there be a dozen sorcerers manning the walls when we arrive?

  Jinzan left his vantage point and found his way back to the room he had commandeered. Not far from the lord’s balcony, the hallways teemed with goblin so
ldiers. Preparations were already well under way, with much of the equipment the goblins had been storing in the manor house having already been removed. The goblins took their deity’s orders to heart and were ill-inclined to displease her.

  Fortunately the goblins feared Jinzan enough that none impeded him as he stalked along the stone-walled corridors. The day they had arrived, those same corridors had been adorned with tapestries and paintings but now were bare. The tapestries had been claimed as spoils of war, and the paintings—showing visages of Kadrin noblemen to have inhabited the place—had been relegated to the fireplaces to keep them warm. It felt to Jinzan as if they were beginning the task of rewriting Kadrin history … and writing the Kadrins right out of it. Illard’s Glen may have been a small step along the path Jinzan had chosen to blaze, but Raynesdark would be a much greater achievement. In just a few days’ time, he would be walking through the halls of Duke Pellaton’s castle in the same manner.

  He arrived at his temporary quarters to find them occupied. One of the chambermaids was busily packing his belongings, neatly folding his spare clothes—freshly laundered—and bundling them into his traveling pack. Jinzan glanced around the room, ignoring both her curtsy and greeting of “Milord” as he brushed past her and began to search the room. He scanned though the chest of drawers hastily, finding nothing.

  “I have nearly finished packing, milord,” the girl claimed, a tremor in her voice.

  She was one of the pretty ones he had allowed to share his bed, though he had not bothered putting a name to her. She was clearly ill at ease about something, and he had not recalled her being so timid when last she was in his room.

  “Why are you disturbing my belongings?” Jinzan demanded.

  “The … The goblins are preparing to leave. I assumed … you would be departing with them. I was helping you pack. I … wanted to repay your … kindness,” she finished quietly, starting to sob.

  Jinzan had indeed made a habit of seeing that the manor staff were treated well, even if many of them had been pressed into service from other backgrounds and knew little of their assigned work. The goblins cared little either way, and Jinzan got much more … cooperation than he would have otherwise as a tyrant. He was suspicious of her motives nonetheless.

  “Step aside, girl,” he barked at her and then swept her out of his way as he ripped open the pack and began removing its contents.

  He found what he was looking for buried near the bottom of the folded clothing: a pair of scroll cases. He popped the end of one and was satisfied that its contents were intact. As he was opening the other, his aether-sense felt the girl moving for the door behind him. He whirled suddenly and caught her by the wrist as she tried to bolt.

  “What have we here?” He grabbed her hand, now clenched in a fist, and pried it open. There were slight ink stains on her fingers, no doubt from the documents he had just inspected. “Curious, were we? What were you looking for in my belongings?”

  Without warning, a plume of fire in front of his face startled Jinzan. Stumbling backward, singed but not otherwise injured, Jinzan lost his grip on the chambermaid, who made her escape out of the bedroom door. Feeling his face briefly to make sure he still had everything he began the day with, he found only eyebrows to be lacking. Other than that one omission, his face felt as if he had been in the sun too long but not bleeding or weeping as a severe burn might.

  Thus satisfied, he took off after the chambermaid. She was half his age and had a head start, but he liked his odds. He had real magic—not like her feeble attempt at firehurling—and an entire city full of goblins on his side.

  As he reached the hallway, he shouted, “Stop that girl!” then corrected himself and hoarsely crackled [Stop that girl!] in goblin speech, nearly choking himself in the process. He hated speaking the worthless language even at a conversational volume, but shouting was more than his voice could bear. Still, the nearest goblins began to give chase and spread the alarm. [Alive!] he added, almost not bothering due to the trouble of giving the order loudly enough to hear over the din in the manor.

  Jinzan did not even bother to give chase personally. Far from a feeble old man, life extension had been good to him, but he was no athlete. Let less important men—or in this case, goblins—do the work instead. If she had any other tricks, let them find out firsthand instead of him.

  A few moments later, she was hauled back before him. A dozen goblins trained spears on her, guarding the two that held ropes tethered to her bound wrists. The front of her chambermaid’s dress was torn and bloodied at knee height, and her hands and elbows were raw and bloodied, likely by the goblins dragging her to the ground. Her face was bruised and bloody as well, evidence that the goblins had felt she needed more subduing than just the ropes.

  [Good work,] he praised the group in general, seeing no officer among the goblins who had captured the girl.

  “Who are you?” Jinzan asked, speaking Kadrin.

  He looked the girl over in a different light now, trying to divine what he could without her answer, rather than doing his thinking with his loins. She was fair-skinned, common among Kadrins native to the southern half of the Empire, with dark hair, bordering on black. That she kept it cropped short at jaw length was either a sign of low status or a part of her disguise. Nothing prevented highborn women from keeping their hair short, but fashioning elaborate hairstyles was a common hobby among the idle elite, sorcerer and noble alike. Her disappearing act showed that she had some muscle beneath the deceptive curves of hers, but youth could often provide such, even when less active habits were preferred.

  “Celia Mistfield, Seventh Circle,” she replied defiantly. “The Circle will ransom my safe return.”

  “Seventh Circle. That would explain why you could barely even singe me with hurled fire. I suppose, though, your weak Source was the only reason you could even pass among the common folk in the first place. How old are you, girl?”

  Celia was silent for a moment, as if considering whether she should answer at all. “Nineteen autumns, if I live to tomorrow,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

  “Nineteen autumns … and already such a good spy. What did you hope to find among my things? Were you hoping to discover my plan and warn someone?” Jinzan asked.

  “No,” she said simply, defiant in her lack of explanation. Her head was lowered, but she was still watching him, glaring death at him through her drooping bangs.

  If she had any power behind those eyes, I would likely be in great pain right now, Jinzan mused.

  [Drop the ropes. I will handle her,] Jinzan ordered quietly.

  The two goblins looked wary of their captive as they turned her loose, but neither questioned the order nor hesitated in carrying it out.

  Times like this remind me of why I began dealing with them in the first place. Such efficient little minions. No fuss, just obedience among the rank and file.

  Celia was still ringed by spear points and was going nowhere, as the former rope-holders ducked under the circle of sharpened steel to safety. Jinzan used a bit of silent magic and the slackened rope came alive, swirling around her and binding the girl’s arms to her sides, then looping around her neck. By the force of the magic pulling on the ropes, he dragged her toward him, motioning to the goblins to allow her to pass. She stumbled as he drew her in, but the force of the ropes kept her from toppling over. If there was one thing that goblins respected, it was a good show of magical force. They saw that the human sorcerer had the situation well in hand now; after the first one of them bowed and took his leave, the rest soon followed suit.

  “I see you have thrown your lot in with these goblins, rather than you own kind,” Celia jeered at him.

  She was obviously frightened and lashing out, but he respected that kind of bravado. He made a point of being brutally honest with himself, though, and knew that the satisfaction he was feeling was just trying to compensate for the fool he had been made by another young Kadrin sorcerer, who seemed both cleverer than this one and a thou
sand times more dangerous.

  “My own kind? I assure you my own kind is Megrenn, not goblin … nor is it Kadrin, I might add. Your Empire has overstayed its welcome on the continent, and we are driving you out of it, slowly but inevitably. We took back our own lands at great cost, and now we have rebuilt and have the power to put an end to your dominion,” Jinzan said.

  The goblins knew his general plan but were absorbed in their own concerns. Stalyart knew well enough as well, but only cared for the money he could make. It felt good to lord it over someone of some tiny import among the Kadrins—this less-than-promising sorceress of the Seventh Circle even—and tell them of the vengeance that awaited them.

  Still, he felt his point may be lost on her. She was only nineteen, and the rebellion had ended before she was born. She had grown up in a world that had only known a Megrenn free of Kadrin occupation.

  Jinzan took a moment to compose himself after his little rant, while Celia remained silent, having no response other than to continue glaring at him.

  “Very well, let me assure you that I do not intend to kill you … on the condition that you make no other attempt to escape or cause me or these goblins harm. I care little enough for their infantrymen, but neither will I protect you from them if you anger them enough to warrant them wishing you dead,” Jinzan told her.

  He stepped back into his room, leaving her in the hall but still within easy earshot. He went about finishing the packing that she had begun, and which he had largely undone. He was untidy about it, though, merely stuffing garments and gear into the pack well enough to get it all in.

  “We will be making one more stop. Come along,” Jinzan told her as he strode past. He gave a tug on the ropes and dragged her along until she decided to keep up willingly. “You will be accompanying me. I will not have you freezing on the way. We will find you something suitable.”