Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  “Where do you intend to be? Did Rashan say where you should position yourself for a battle?” Brannis asked.

  He knew that the warlock had taken Iridan aside and tried to convey the basics of his trade. However, where Rashan had generations of experience, Iridan was just trying his hand at the business of war. Kelvie had tested him and nearly broken him.

  What could Rashan have taught him in a few days that will make a difference?

  “He advised me not to trade spells from the wall, but to keep shield spells on myself at all times, and get close enough to steal aether from the goblins,” Iridan said. “I have always known how to use aether bolts silently, so that will be my standby.”

  “You are going to wade out among the goblins as they charge?” Brannis asked, incredulous. He hoped that Rashan had not inflated Iridan’s sense of his own power.

  “Ha! Not a chance. I am planning to wait until they approach the wall. I doubt even Rashan is reckless enough to just walk into the middle of an army,” he jested.

  Brannis noted that he still called the warlock by name and did not refer to him as his father. It was a lot to get used to, and Rashan did not have a very fatherly demeanor.

  To be fair, my father never had a fatherly demeanor, either.

  “Just keep in mind how dangerous these goblins are,” Brannis said. “If you get into trouble, head for the undercity. Do not let them overrun you or separate you from our troops. They will figure out before too long that you are a valuable target.”

  “Rashan warned me about that as well. His advice was to kill enough of them that they started individually deciding that seeking me out was a bad idea. If enough of them do that, I will be the one chasing them,” Iridan said.

  “You think that will work?”

  “It might have if he let me have his sword. On my own, I doubt I can be that fearsome. Who knows, though, maybe someday …”

  Hours passed after midday, and the sun grew low. Brannis waited. The lower the sun got, the more he caught himself staring out to the west, expecting the first reports of the goblin cannons. He was the only one who would recognize the sound for what it was. For everyone else, it would be terrifying. There was no helping it, though; the cannon was something that had no counterpart in Veydrus. There was magic—terrifying in battle in its own right—and siege weapons, but nothing with the sort of destructive power that could strike from so far away it could not be countered.

  All around him, bowmen and officers waited impatiently, conversing in hushed tones and keeping wary eyes on the fog. Fog was not so uncommon around Raynesdark, but even the most skeptical among the soldiers was convinced that the goblins lay beneath that misty blanket, and that the fog was magical. Real fog would have burned off in the late morning.

  Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  There was no warning, no preamble. The air erupted in metal. Low overhead, the whistle of the cannon shot sped by, the shots themselves moving too fast to be seen. There was a crash among the stone buildings of the city where the cannonballs had found a place to cease their flight, though not their intended target. Nearly everyone on the walls moved to the city side to see what had just befallen.

  Homes had largely been struck in the first volley, with a smithy taking a shot as well. The sturdy stone construction of Raynesdark’s buildings, many of them hundreds of summers old or more, was no match for the goblin version of Acardian cannons.

  “Stay low, wait for them to lift the fog. They are firing blindly at us,” Brannis yelled out a warning to everyone on the wall.

  Following Iridan’s advice, he made his way along the wall to one of the large defensive towers that had sported a catapult earlier that day. Without the catapult crews in the way, the tower was an excellent vantage point.

  Brrrraaaaaaaaapp. Brrraap. Brrrraaaaap. Brrraaaaaap.

  The sound of the horn echoed among the mountains. Brannis eyes widened in comprehension: They have a spotter!

  “Look to the fields! Find where that horn is sounding from,” Brannis shouted.

  Men were already rushing to the very edge of the wall to seek out the source of the noise. The fresh fallen snow should have made picking out the goblin spotter easier, but the distance was working against them, and the goblin may have used magic to cover his tracks.

  Kthooom!Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  The volley was less dangerous than the first, smashing into the road leading up to the city. The shots hit various switchbacks, but all were low by roughly the height of the wall. The goblins were adjusting their aim by the spotter’s signal.

  Brrraap. Brrraap. Brrraaaaaap.

  “Iridan, bring one of those can—metal balls up here,” Brannis called out, just stopping himself before calling it a cannonball. “And someone fetch Faolen, and quickly.”

  Brannis had an idea how to play the goblins’ blindness against them. If they could fool the spotter, they would not need to find him and kill him.

  Kthooom!Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  Brannis ducked instinctively as the sound of the shots passed close next to him. There was a wet, splattering sound, and one of the archers on the wall nearby was gone. Two other shots had clipped the top of the wall, shattering stone despite the wards.

  This is not good. I had hoped that the wards would have done more.

  “Brannis, here!” Iridan shouted.

  Brannis turned to see an bronze sphere floating his way. Brannis caught the goblins’ cannonball as it came close. It was still hot and would have burned his hand if not for the protection his gauntlet offered. It was identical in size to the ones he had seen aboard the Fair Trader. He turned it over and around, studying the runes carved into it. He was no expert on runes, but these seemed meant to damage the wards that the walls bore. The cannonball was even in good shape after its impact. It could probably be used again without having to be tended to by a smith.

  “Where is Faolen?” Brannis shouted, finding renewed urgency in misleading the goblin spotter.

  If we cannot get them to miss the wall, it will not last long.

  The accursed horn sounded again: Brrrraaaaaaaaapp. Brrraap.

  Brannis could only hope that they could get Faolen to the wall before the goblins found their range and brought it down around them.

  We need to get the goblins to commit to a charge while the wall is still intact.

  Then: Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  The tower where Brannis stood shook under the direct impact of at least two of the shots. The goblins were on target. The tower’s wards held, but the wall had not been so lucky. Plumes of stone dust rose skyward as the cannonballs made holes in several places. Some spots just cracked, as the wards spent themselves protecting the walls, but not enough wards were holding.

  Dammit, Iridan! Was that all that could be done to shore up those runes?

  “Sir Brannis!” Faolen yelled. He was out of breath after being brought back from the safety of the castle and climbing the ladder up to the wall.

  “Quickly! Hide that dust cloud. We need to have the goblins think they missed,” Brannis ordered.

  It may have been too late already, but it was their best chance. If they adjusted their aim again, they might be able to convince them they were hitting wall when all they were destroying was the road below.

  “Huaxti janidu deldore wanetexu elu mulaftu sekedori puc’anzu margek lotok junubi,” Faolen chanted quickly.

  He seemed to paint the air with his fingers, creating an image of clear air in front of the debris made by the cannonballs’ impact. It was a much longer incantation than Brannis was used to hearing, but he knew little of illusion and could see how it might need to be a bit more intricate than turning aether into fire or wind.

  No way am I going to remember all that; I could barely follow it. That is, if I live to see nightfall at all for Kyrus to make use of the knowledge.

  Brannis had to remind himself that there was a horde of goblins who were intent on destroying them, and it
was not a foregone conclusion that he would see the next day.

  Brannis and the other Kadrin defenders had no perspective that would let them see how the goblins were perceiving Faolen’s illusion. The aether construct of a patch of clear air “painted” in the sky was set between the debris cloud and the goblin fog shroud.

  They waited.

  After a long while, the horn sounded again. The spotter must have been confused.

  Brrrraaaaaaaaapp. Brrraap. Brrrraaaaap.

  Brannis wished he had been better able to pick out a pattern in the trumpeting. He wanted to know whether he was going to be seeing cannonballs crashing into the rocks below the wall or ducking ones near his head. There was nothing to do but wait. The soldiers along the wall were becoming accustomed to the pattern and hunkered down behind the parapets after the horn’s call faded.

  Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  The ground shook but not like it had before. Brannis looked over to see that the shots had missed low. The cannons were striking at the rock just below the base of the wall. A few shots had ricocheted into the wall itself, but the wards had held against the reduced impact.

  “Faolen, show them that they hit. Unmask the debris cloud. Make it more visible if you can,” Brannis ordered.

  “Consider it done,” Faolen replied.

  They toyed with the goblins for volley after volley. They seemed to be catching on that something was wrong, but the goblin spotter was guessing against them and losing. Faolen adjusted the visible debris and created the appearance of damage where there was none, or revealed earlier damage from the errant shots that occasionally slipped through their web of deceptions and hit the wall anyway.

  Brannis wished there was someone that could lend aid to Faolen, but there was no one else who had more than a basic understanding of illusion. It was an ill-reputed discipline, and a highly specialized one; illusion attracted few to its way. Brannis could see the strain it was putting on the slightly built sorcerer’s body.

  It thus came as no surprise when Faolen collapsed unconscious after one more time having to renew his spell for painting the sky with lies.

  “Quickly, get him into town,” Brannis said. “Get him water and lay him down. If you can rouse him, help him back to the battle.”

  This is it. The goblins are going to figure out their range, and we will lose the wall.

  Brannis had expected it, but it was no less galling to be driven back. Still, they had not lost the wall yet, and it was possible that they might have run the goblins out of—or at least low on—ammunition or black powder.

  Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  There was little they could do but wait it out, and hope the wall still offered some protection when the goblins ran out of shots to fire, or patience, and attacked.

  * * * * * * * *

  Looking out the flap of the tent, Celia could see little in the heavy, magical fog. There was visibility to a dozen paces or so, but that only showed her the commanders and the Megrenn sorcerer.

  He had taken her again that morning, a final human comfort before going into battle beside the goblins. He whispered promises that he would protect her and, for the first time, spoke of not ransoming her back to Kadrin at all. He said he wanted to bring her back to Megrenn with him after conquering Raynesdark and take her for a wife. She would be his fourth wife, he said, and rich as a princess.

  “There is no future in Kadrin as a sorceress,” he had said.

  She was oddly conflicted. Jinzan had been the only one kind to her in the least since the goblin invasion. Her husband had died trying to flee the city—without her—and had been caught by the goblin invaders. He was Lord Feldrake’s guard captain and had disgraced himself badly. He had talked bravely, but after a few short months of marriage, she had discovered that he was just a braggart and a bully, and on the day he died, she realized he was a coward who would abandon her to save his own hide. Jinzan was a hero among his people: he had fought for—and won—his people’s freedom. He was ruthless, but he was also intelligent and brave in the true sense, backed by actions and not just idle words. Enemy or not, he was more a man than her late husband, and she was now widowed.

  Can Megrenn really retake not only their own lands, but steal Kadrin’s as well?

  An alliance with goblins and the marvelous war machines they had made from Jinzan’s plans spoke to a shift in power in favor of the mistreated former vassal. She had been hearing the “cannons,” as he called them, for nearly an hour. The noise they made was unlike thunder, which was loud but lasted and faded. These cannons split the air itself with their report. She learned after the first volley to wait for the spotter’s horn, then plug her ears.

  At least they had left her hands unbound. She did not know whether it was arrogance or oversight. Jinzan had taken no chances with her, certainly. She had slept the night gagged and with her wrists and even fingers tied together. He would treat her as a dangerous enemy, he had told her, until she had chosen her fate. If she agreed to return to Megrenn with him, he promised there would be no more need for such precautions. She believed him too. She had seen his Source and seen his draw. He was far more powerful than Celia, and she knew it.

  I wonder how he would treat me if he knew I was Fifth Circle, and not Seventh? Celia mused.

  She had lied to keep from being considered even more dangerous than a lesser-ranked sorceress would be. Her Source looked weaker than it truly was, due to her aptitude at life extension. Diverting much of her Source into preserving her youth limited her power, but it was well worth it in her mind. She was seven springtimes older than she claimed but looked young even for the nineteen autumns she pretended to be. For the young sorceresses of Kadrin, it was never too early to begin preserving their looks.

  Still, despite summers of habit, she could stop diverting so much of her Source to keeping her youth and instead try to ambush Jinzan. It would cost winters off her life perhaps—life extension was like a dam, and unleashing it would cause much trouble that could not be quickly or completely undone—but she could be a hero to Kadrin.

  If we win, she amended to herself.

  If things went badly, maybe she would consider his offer.

  * * * * * * * *

  [I grow weary,] Ni’Hash’Tk muttered, heeding the warning G’thk had given her about remaining quiet to retain the element of surprise.

  She understood the logic of it and was rather enjoying the sound of K’k’rt’s new toys, but it was cold outside, and while dragons were warm-blooded and she was in no danger of hypothermia, as were her minions, she longed for the comfort of volcanic caverns.

  The city was peopled by humans, with their knights and sorcerers, and according to Gkt’Lr at least, a demon. Aside from the last, the rest barely registered as threats, and she did not fear the demon.

  [Patience, Mighty One,] G’thk advised.

  His lesser-ranked generals had taken over conducting the battle as soon as she had arrived. G’thk had devoted his energies to trying to placate her and keep her amused while her worshipers dallied about in their conquest of the human city. There was nothing he could do—either by law or through force—to stop her seizing his army from him if she tired of waiting for him to deliver the city.

  [We do not wish to waste any of our troops. Let the tinkers’ weapons do their work on the K’drn’s defenses first.]

  [Send for my masseurs. I wish my wings readied for flight,] Ni’Hash’Tk instructed, thinking that once she felt up to it, she would join the battle. It had been some winters since she last flew anything other than lazy loops around her lair to enjoy fine weather or to awe her worshipers on holy days. Her muscles ought to be worked loose before testing them in combat.

  G’thk relayed the order and added a few of his own. He could sense her impatience, she could tell; he was an attentive and perceptive minion. While Ni’Hash’Tk was utterly confid
ent in her imperviousness, G’thk was cautious and wished to conduct a proper military operation, with few risks and total victory, or so he claimed. Goblins would need to live in that city when they were done conquering it, and razing it with dragonfire was counterproductive, or so he claimed.

  G’thk plugged his ears.

  Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom! Kthooom!

  Ni’Hash’Tk clenched her jaw tight to keep from wincing at the sound, which was beginning to wear on her as much as her general’s empty claims. How many more such volleys would she have to put up with before she took matters into her own claws?

  * * * * * * * *

  “Wolves!” the shout came and then was carried down the wall.

  Defenders poked their heads above the ruins of the wall, wherever they could find shelter. Brannis had ordered the evacuation of the wall except for a handful of lookouts, who were posted on the highest remaining points of the wall. Ladders had been moved into place based on where there was still a place worth climbing. All four of the wall’s towers had been damaged beyond the point where any sane soldier would man them; thus only a handful remained stationed there, Iridan among them. The would-be warlock was weary of being shot at by unseen engines of war and hungered to show off the real trick his warlock father had taught him during his brief tutelage.

  “Man the walls!” Brannis ordered.

  Soldiers and militia alike took up spears and climbed the ruins of the wall to gain the hilltop they now formed. Men helped one another up by clasped wrists and knees used as stepladders, any method they could find to get in place to finally face their enemy on the field of battle.

  Those at the top saw what appeared to be a stampede of wolves, black furred and near to the height of a horse. These were Ni’Hash’Tk’s outriders, though none of the defenders could have known that. For the last two days, the Raynesdark scouts who ventured beyond sight of the city walls were overrun and killed by these same packs of monstrous wolves—and their riders. The wolves carried the goblin equivalent of light cavalry, armed with spears and daggers, and they were having no difficulty traversing the snow-dusted plains that filled the void between the Kadrin defenders and the main goblin host.