Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  * * * * * * * *

  Brannis saw Jadefire’s dragonfire spew errantly to the side and watched as the window shutters ignited and awnings transformed into ash. He saw the dragon approaching even lower and realized she was going to attack with claw and fang.

  She is going to eat me, he thought suddenly.

  He hesitated, trying to decide which way to dive when she made her strike, and realized that the dragon’s reach and quickness meant he would likely be doomed either way.

  Thinking quickly, he waited to the last moment and held Avalanche out before him, blade up, and dropped to the ground, releasing the blade to hang in the air above him. The dragon’s claws moved to close around him but found an immovable impediment instead. The dragon’s scream of pain was deafening, heard across the city and down upon the plains. The angle of the blade had not been such that the dragon’s toes were severed upon the impact, but the claws that caught upon the blade were bent back unnaturally, breaking bones and wrenching toes from their proper places at the end of the dragon’s forelimbs. The sudden jerk was also enough to skew Jadefire in her flight. Already perhaps too low above the rooftops, she pitched forward far enough upon grasping Avalanche that she could not keep her wings from snagging among the buildings.

  With a great crash, the dragon hit the cobblestone streets of Raynesdark, her wings wrenched back by stone walls that could not withstand the force of her breath or her bulk, but which held firm—though not unscathed—against the impact of her massive wings.

  Brannis was struck a glancing blow as the dragon’s broken toes popped free from around his sword. He was spun over thrice and dizzied, but Liead’s armor saved him from any real injury.

  I wonder how many more such blows this armor can deflect before its wards give way?

  He scrambled to his feet and retrieved his sword from its place in the air a few paces away. He gave it a cursory inspection and found it to be intact.

  What a blade this is! It suits me so much better than Massacre ever did.

  He looked and saw the dragon sprawled upon the street several blocks away. He fortunately found himself unmolested by goblins troops, who had given their goddess a wide berth and who were doubly frightened by the prospect of something having injured her. Great gutters had been carved in the street where her back claws had dragged behind her, and masonry from the buildings that lined the street was all about, the sinewy wings still having bulk enough to damage all that they struck.

  The dragon twitched and squirmed, trying to gather herself and get her limbs back under her. She was obviously disoriented, if not fatally wounded, and Brannis was drawn to pursue. He set off at a bit more than a jog but a bit less than a run, cautiously making his way down the rubble-littered street. He saw the sign of a bootblack lying face up in the road, and a set of draperies that had been pulled down along with the window they had fallen with. There were bits of a shattered cart and the wares that had been left in it. He had to avoid the remains of a stone balcony that had been dislodged from its vantage and now barred half the road.

  And now I go to chase down what creature did all this, and by accident? I must be crazed!

  Unbeknownst to him, Brannis’s pursuit of the fallen dragon coincided with the arrival of the warlock, Rashan, upon the battlefield. Being blind and insensitive to the aether, he had no way of perceiving the massive disruption in the flow of the aether all around the city that heralded Rashan’s appearance on the plains below, but many others had been keenly aware. Jadefire snapped her head up, twisting her long neck in the direction of the disturbance.

  * * * * * * * *

  Ni’Hash’Tk had assumed until then that the demon had been hiding among the troops somewhere, biding its time. It had just been a matter of waiting until it showed itself and then destroying it.

  This was a bit different, though. The transference spell shook and warped the aether like few others, and she knew the power it took to perform one. Had she been the size of a goblin, or even a human, she could have managed one herself, but Ni’Hash’Tk’s vast bulk required too large a chunk of the world be moved for even her mighty Source to bear.

  Whatever it was that had just appeared—and she reasoned that it was most likely the demon her assassin seemed so frightened of—it was strong. She feared no creature of muscle and bone, save perhaps another dragon, for none were her equal. Magic … now that was a different matter. She had just had an object lesson in the pitfalls of the hidden powers of magic—Blast that dratted human knight and his trick sword!—and had paid a price for it. She watched in the aether as the newcomer drew great surges of the stuff, and kept watching as the tiny, sturdy little Sources of her followers turned from vibrant and healthy to tiny little decaying candles, wafting out their last bits of living aether.

  Too many. Too quickly.

  The Kadrin demon was laying waste to the goblin ground forces. Her right foreleg was a wreck of broken bones, and her wings ached badly. She worked the wings and felt confident they would hold her in flight, though maybe not for a prolonged engagement in the air.

  She noticed movement in her peripheral vision and drew a quick breath. A burst of flame sent the seeking human knight diving headlong behind one of the buildings.

  Sneak up on me? Not likely, she thought spitefully.

  She could not spare the time or effort to chase after a single knight. She contented herself to claim his magics for herself later.

  Something must be done about that demon, she told herself but did not relish the thought of fighting in her current condition.

  “Greetings, Mighty One,” a voice called in her head, and she found that perhaps she had an alternative to pitting her dragonfire against that demon’s spells.

  * * * * * * * *

  Jinzan, too, had felt the rush of power in the aether, and had quickened the pace of his mount.

  Stealth be gutted, I must get away before I am caught up in that.

  He could feel a gentle pull in the whole of the aether as more and more of it was drawn over to where the massive surge had originated.

  I think we just found the real demon, unless there were two to begin with.

  Jinzan kept an eye to the south, where the carnage was beginning. He could pick out no Source at the center of the growing maelstrom of fire, lightning, and telekinetic energy that was engulfing the goblins forces. No Source … the hallmark of a demon.

  That other one, I would have fought should I have found it blocking my path. Should that one come between me and the mines, all is lost.

  Jinzan had never seen anything like the display to his south. It was a garish display of power, obscene in its excess.

  War was a time for judicious use of aether, if a sorcerer were to enter the battle at all. There was only so much aether to be had before the field was run dry and there was no more aether left to power spells. Once that happened, the sorcerer was left defenseless, save for whatever skill at arms he might possess—dreadfully little in his own case—and what aether slowly spilled anew from the combatants over time. Jinzan knew from Denrik’s life what the feel of a sword in his hand was like. But he recalled also seeing Kyrus wield one, knowing only its use in another world. Jinzan would be no better off for Denrik’s knowledge, and despite a bit of life extension, he was not so young a man as to make up for such deficiencies with youthful vigor and strength.

  On a whim, he decided to take a better look to see what had befallen.

  “Makto enfusi delgaja,” he spoke, loosening his hold on the reins to touch thumb to thumb and forefinger to forefinger of each hand and drawing them wide to expand the circle they formed. A shimmering disc formed in the air and followed along with the bouncing gait of his mount as they ambled along the plains, rapidly approaching the base of the mountain.

  Through the disc, everything seemed larger, clearer, and closer. It mimicked the effects of a spyglass from Tellurak and did its job far better. Jinzan adjusted the view and panned around, following the carnage back to its source.
Goblins kept trying to attack, to their credit, but the view was kept clear as wave upon wave of them were thrown back like the little cloth-knot dolls the poor children of Megrenn played with.

  There within the wide ring of dead bodies was a human, slight of build, with long, pure-white hair flowing over the black, red, and gold garb of a warlock. He was only head and shoulders taller than the goblins he fought, once Jinzan saw one get close enough before dying to make the comparison. Jinzan himself was tall enough that most of the goblins only came to his waist, and he was not accorded as a tall man. At the demon’s hip was a sword that dragged nearly to the ground, though he eschewed its use in favor of spells and his bare hands. Twice Jinzan saw lone goblins approach close enough to land blows, which the demon turned aside with disdain before disposing of his attackers.

  This is not good. The Kadrins have themselves a true warlock it seems, and a demonic one as well. Where could he have come from?

  For all the demon’s ferocity, he seemed passive on the offensive. He had not advanced and, in lulls in the fighting, stood with a distant look on his face. Jinzan was not certain what that portended, but he took the chance to bring his view even closer, focusing on just the demon and ignoring the area around him.

  It cannot be! Jinzan protested in his own thoughts.

  He was as good a student of history as the Academy had seen in quite a long time, centuries perhaps, and he had an obsessive interest in the conquest of his own homeland. He had read The Diplomacy of Fire and Steel a dozen times from cover to cover, bringing his blood to a boil anew with each reading. He had seen sketches of Rashan Solaran in its pages and had even once viewed the bust of him in the Sanctuary of the Tower of Contemplation.

  It is him!

  Jinzan’s stomach knotted. He was not a man prone to idle fears and had steeled himself against many a foe, taking his magic into battle time and again, despite the risks and despite not having the skill of a warlock. But here … here was a warlock so notorious that his whole civilization despised the memory of him; the name was a curse for them.

  If that is not Rashan Solaran, he has had a descendant with all the power the histories attribute to him. Either thought was discomforting and reinforced his desire to reach the Staff of Gehlen so that he might possibly stand against such a monster.

  As he watched in his aetherial spyglass, the distant look left the demon’s face. It turned to look right at him, and the eyes narrowed, as if in annoyance. The visage appeared for a moment to be indecisive and then it disappeared from view.

  Jinzan panicked. He released the spell of far-sight and scanned the battlefield south of him. He caught sight of a blur of motion—the demon, headed up the mountain pass to the city. In a series of great leaps and strides that would shame a stripe-cat or a mountain goat, he disappeared from view into the city in mere moments.

  Jinzan had reached the base of the mountain himself by then, his mount making easy work of the slopes with its long claws digging in to grab footholds. He urged it on, conveying his need for haste to the beast, which was not quite so dumb as it first appeared. The lizard picked up its pace, and they ascended the uncut rocky slope with nearly the speed they had kept on level ground.

  Jinzan clutched at the miniaturized cannon kit in his pockets and held the pieces secure as he bumped along atop the lizard’s head. He could only hope that whatever had distracted the demon had done a good enough job that he could reach the upper mines unhindered.

  * * * * * * * *

  “Greetings, Mighty One,” Rashan spoke once he contacted the great dragon’s mind. “Whose army do I have the privilege of destroying?”

  The goblins continued to throw themselves at him heedlessly. For creatures possessed of the cunning he had long attributed to goblins, it seemed a senseless waste. He paid them scant attention as he began his negotiation with their god.

  After a brief wait, he got a reply: “What are you doing in my head? I am Jadefire, demon, no mind for your petty magics to trifle with,” the dragon replied telepathically.

  “‘Jadefire’? Come now, what sort of name is that? You have a proper one, as do I. My name is Rashan Solaran, Warlock of the Kadrin Empire. I have conquered kingdoms and slaughtered armies. Grant me the honor of the name your mother gave you upon your hatching,” Rashan replied.

  Draconic was the language of the dragons, but not everyone knew that it was the same as the runic language used for spellcasting. Rashan understood it fully as well as Kadrin. He would deign to address the dragon in its own tongue once he knew its given name.

  “Hmph. Very well. I am Nihaxtukali—Ni’Hash’Tk in goblin-speech—Queen of the goblins of Feduwliax—F’d’lsh in their own tongue,” Ni’Hash’Tk replied. “The goblins of the cities of Ni’Stb, Dl’Rzl, and Tnk’Ch’Nck worship me as their goddess. Enough with pleasantries. Why do you parley?”

  “As you wish, Nihaxtukali. I believe that we have three options left to us to choose from. First, we could tear each other’s followers to pieces as we are doing now and then contest between the two of us at the end, leaving the winner as the sole survivor of a massacre. Second, we could seek each other out and battle singly, the winner free to wipe out the other’s forces unopposed,” Rashan’s mind spoke now in draconic, fluent enough that Ni’Hash’Tk was pleased to hear it spoken. The goblin tongue was so much pidgin draconic. It grew wearisome at times, and proper draconic was rare to be heard. “I despise both options as wasteful.”

  “Hah, you value your minions too closely,” Ni’Hash’Tk replied. “My goblins live to serve my whim, and when many die, I simply permit more of them to breed. Worry over your pitiful humans if you must, but I shed no tear for goblins that die obeying my command.”

  “You misunderstand me. I care as little for my followers as you do yours,” Rashan lied. He was willing to put lives to use and was willing to risk them, but wantonness was never a trait of his. The dragon’s point about the goblins’ breeding habits was well taken, though; the Kadrins would suffer far more from such a loss. “In both my first two options, one of us dies. I am twelve-score summers old and have no end to the days before me. I suspect you are far older, with ages yet unborn before you. What a shame that after tonight one of us would see no more days.

  “Thus is my third option. Let us remove ourselves from this battle and contest it among our minions only. We take up a vantage above the city and watch, each monitoring the other that we do not interfere. The loser might return to their home afterward, no matter which side wins,” Rashan said.

  He wondered if he had done enough to the goblin army to show the dragon that there was no way she could rely on her minions in the battle against him. He needed her to be sure that not only was he disdainful of the goblins’ ability to harm him, he was personally dangerous enough that she should worry for her own fate if facing him alone.

  “Is that cowardice I hear for your mind’s voice, demon?” Ni’Hash’Tk laughed at Rashan mentally. “If you offer such a deal, it means you must fear me. You reveal your weakness.”

  “Cowardice? Have you heard of Loramar? I faced him and destroyed his army of the dead. I swear to you, I would not allow you to survive a battle against me. Even in death, I would wound you mortally. No, I merely wish to take no chances, for however sure I am of your death, should it come down to combat between us, I am not so certain of my own survival. Instead let us choose to live long after this day.”

  “Loramar? I have not heard the name. Still, I can see merit in your plan. You are not so weak as your minions,” the dragon said. “I will cease my attacks upon your minions, and you shall do likewise. We will watch each other and view the battle together. I will see the routing of your forces.”

  “Nor are you as weak as your minions, Nihaxtukali,” Rashan replied. “Meet me atop the glacier above the city. It is the only flat spot large enough for both of us at once, with a view of all the fighting.”

  “Agreed.”

  Rashan broke off the contact at that point and
reoriented himself to the swirling chaos around him. Hardly noticing, he had killed scores more goblins, fools who had no notion that he was beyond their ability to harm. What he did notice was that he was being watched.

  Off to the north, a human sorcerer hid himself against the backdrop of the mountains and snow, using aether to camouflage himself. It worked well enough against most foes but shone a light upon him in Rashan’s ever-present vision in the aether. He looked right at the sorcerer, Megrenn by the slightly darker skin and hair than was typical among Kadrins, and narrowed his gaze. Had he not just agreed with the dragon to cease assaulting her allies, he would have been tempted to slay the Megrenn sorcerer out of hand. Unfortunately he preferred to honor his agreement and keep dragonfire off his list of worries … at least for the time being.

  “Iridan,” Rashan called out to his son, using the same spell he had used to contact the dragon’s mind. “There is a human sorcerer—Megrenn, it seems—camouflaging himself and riding a lizard. He appears headed to the northern part of the city in some haste. His likely target is the upper mines. Intercept him.”

  “All right,” a weary Iridan replied.

  Rashan sped off toward the city and beyond, rushing to reach the top before the dragon got there and had a chance to grow impatient at his absence. He could already see the beast ponderously taking to the air, clearly not in the best of health.

  Ahh, someone had drawn dragon blood today. Was that you, Iridan?

  * * * * * * * *

  Celia watched the battle from the entrance to her tent. First the fog then the onset of darkness obscured her view, but she much preferred the poor view to one any closer. The tent was icy cold from having the flap open at length, as Celia could not help but stare out into the torch-lit gloom and watch her fate playing out. The heavy coat she wore kept her warm, but not entirely on its own. She had been leaking tiny bits of aether into it since mid afternoon, warming the thick wool against the bone-gnawing cold. It was risky—it was all too easy to set fire to a garment—but she felt it worth the gamble, lest she suffer frostbite watching the two armies clash.