Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  Cold was one ally, however, that Brannis could not afford to underestimate. The goblins were a thin, wiry people, with little insulating their bodies. They wore heavy—for them, at least—clothing, but they just did not generate the kind of body heat to keep apace with the Raynesdark nightfall. They fought like crazed animals knowing this; it kept their bodies warm, and it drove the humans farther and farther toward the warm security of the sheltering undercity. Once the goblins took the fighting underground, the cold would no longer hamper the scrawny invaders.

  Yet minute by minute, the goblins advanced, despite Brannis’s best efforts to hold them back. Brannis moved up and down the line of spearmen, forcing the goblins back anywhere he found a spot weakening against the onslaught. He had lost all track of time once the sun had set. Fires burned here and there still from the dragon’s attacks, but the battle was being fought largely by moonlight. The endless horde of goblins seemed to pour out of the dark nothingness beyond his vision. A score would die at his feet, and from down side streets and around corners came more. Brannis knew rationally that there was an end to them somewhere, but he doubted whether they would see it.

  Kthooom!

  Brannis and two men behind him were thrown clear of the front lines by cannon fire. The artillery had arrived.

  * * * * * * * *

  Iridan vomited all down his chin and chest. With his arms trapped at his sides beneath the dirt and held upright, he could hardly manage otherwise. He saw nothing of his torso and just a gruesome half-man left buried in the soil just beneath his head. He ached throughout, especially the parts that were not there anymore.

  “It is not real. Pull yourself together,” Faolen spoke quietly, yet harshly. The illusionist wiped away the tableau of gore and blood he had painted over the stricken Iridan. “It fooled that Megrenn at least. Now let us get you out of there.” Faolen looked pale and moved stiffly, but seemed alert and in command of his power.

  Iridan tried to turn to see his fellow sorcerer but could not turn anything below his neck. Faolen saw his struggle and moved to Iridan’s front. He looked down at the trapped apprentice warlock and smiled reassuringly. He poked Iridan in the chest, clothed again in a black tunic, trimmed in red and gold, and entirely there.

  “I promise. You are not dead.”

  Iridan shook his head to clear it. The world sounded a little fuzzy and muted. Faolen sounded a long way off.

  “Ears,” he mumbled.

  Faolen took Iridan’s head in his hands and turned his ear toward the half moon for better light.

  “There is some blood. You shall likely feel worse for this, but you have lived through it,” Faolen assured him. Iridan only believed the part about feeling worse. “I do not have much for spells to undo this sort of thing. If you have any strength left to lend aid, start moving earth.”

  Through a series of small telekinesis, the two began to un-plant Iridan from the soil.

  * * * * * * * *

  Juliana cried out in shock. She had heard the cannon fire and saw Brannis disappear from view—she had been watching him the whole time—but did not see where he ended up. The fight was drawing closer to the gate, and she resisted the urge to rush out to his aid to see if he had survived. She suspected he had, wearing that fabulously enchanted armor Warlock Rashan had outfitted him with, but there were limits to all magic, and she hoped that Liead’s armor had not found its own.

  Juliana saw that the goblins had discovered grapeshot, when crushed paving stone clattered against her shielding spell. The spell held, but the soldiers nearby had not been so well protected by their armor. Juliana saw that the men who had hung by the gate along with her were largely gone, bleeding their last upon the stone roadway that led down into the bowels of the city.

  Time to end this vigil and shut the gate.

  “Get inside!” Juliana shouted. “I am dropping the portcullis!”

  A short way from the gateway, there was a heavy wooden door, from whence the guards controlled the workings of the portcullis. She rushed inside and saw there was no one within.

  Must have been among those killed while watching the battle, she assumed.

  There was a crank like a ship’s wheel, with handholds all around, and beside it a lever. If she were to pull the lever, it would release the catch that kept back the weight of the portcullis. The whole thing would crash down, and any who were caught on the wrong side would be trapped at the mercy of the goblin army.

  Back to the doorway, she poked her head out and watched as the Kadrins withdrew to the safety of the undercity side of the gate. They did not flee, but gave ground and kept back the goblins from following them in, at least as well as they could. When she saw that the line held right at the entrance, she went in and gave the lever a great heave. It took all her weight on it to move the handle, but it was enough, and outside she could hear the great iron grate crash down into place, separating the two armies. She collapsed against the doorway in relief, watching to see the Kadrin defenders and goblin invaders jabbing through the bars at each other with their spears.

  Suddenly the goblins pulled back and scattered. The Kadrin defenders did not react in time, but Juliana dove back within the gate control room.

  Metal shrieked and groaned, screams of iron and men mingled, and a light rain of rock fell from the ceiling of the passageway. Juliana peered outside and saw that there was a hole in the portcullis large enough for the goblins to run through three abreast. She quickly pulled the door closed behind her and barred it before they got around to doing so.

  There was a second door within the control room, on the far side from the one she had entered from. She opened in and rushed through. She caught herself immediately, though, grabbing the doorjamb before she slammed into the next wall, not a full running pace away. The door had led her to nothing more than a garderobe, put in place for the soldiers stationed at the gate.

  Juliana could hear the goblins pouring through the ruins of the gate, driving the surviving human defenders before them. She ran back across to the outside door—still barred and as yet disregarded by the goblins—and pulled out one of her daggers. Frantically she carved the runes of a protective ward on the wood of the door.

  * * * * * * * *

  “Hmm, it seems your army is retreating underground, demon,” Nihaxtukali observed, chuckling—a deep bass that was felt through the warlock’s whole body.

  Why, yes, I had noticed, you great reptilian town crier.

  The dragon’s eyes were far better than his own, but Rashan wagered that his aether-vision was stronger. He used it nearly constantly and saw what befell in the gateway and just before it, where the dragon’s eyesight was blocked by rock and snow. Nihaxtukali most certainly could see the aether too, but through so much dead earth, he doubted she could watch what he saw.

  “Those toys your tinkers made have done admirably,” Rashan commented sweetly, trying to keep the contempt out of his voice.

  He had not found a weakness to exploit, and the battle was going toward the sewers, both literally and figuratively. His eyes played along the scales and curves of the dragon’s form, watching the interplay of muscle and sinew from her fidgeting and deducing the anatomy beneath.

  “Why do you keep looking at me, demon?” Nihaxtukali demanded, suddenly suspicious.

  She brought her head down level with Rashan. The great dragon’s nostrils were at his head height, her fangs longer than his body. It was beginning to occur to her that the demon was much too small to be a threat physically. If she could just wait until she could draw up all the aether in the immediate area—starving him of magic—she could have her chance to destroy him.

  “I have never seen a dragon before, let alone so close up. Pardon me if I cannot help myself marveling at your beauty. Would that the ancient gods had taken so much care in crafting humans,” Rashan said.

  It was commonly held that dragons were vain creatures, and his musings on their beauty had enough truth to it that he hoped it assuaged Nihaxtuk
ali’s suspicions. He had not worked magic since they had taken up their vantage on the glacier. His Source, ever industrious, had been supplying more than his body required for that whole time. His normal habit of siphoning that excess off into multitudes of tiny magics had been put on hold, and his reserve of aether was growing. Soon he would either have to find his spot for an ambush, or find a way to begin venting off that extra aether without Nihaxtukali noticing.

  * * * * * * * *

  Brannis spat blood, nauseated. It was not his own. Whomever had fallen atop him had only done so from the collarbone up. It took him a moment to gather himself once he realized he had been blown clear of the immediate fighting. Fallen among the corpses, he had been ignored by the goblin forces. It would seem that they trained their soldiers well enough that they did not stop mid battle to plunder.

  Brannis wished he was sensitive enough to tell if the warded armor was depleted. He could barely believe the blow he had just survived, both the initial impact and slamming into the western cliff wall of the city afterward. He was still mashed against the rock, blood dripping all over him. Gagging at the mess and smell, he turned onto his hands and knees.

  Where is it? Brannis wondered, not seeing his sword about. He looked to see if it had driven itself clear into the rock, but found no hole to mark its entrance. It must have been knocked loose when I was hit. When … I … dropped it.

  Realization dawned, and Brannis remembered the nature of Avalanche. He looked up and found the sword hanging in the air a few paces back the way he had flown.

  Looking back that way, he saw that the portcullis had been blasted though, and goblins poured through into the undercity. Of the defenders at the gate, he saw none. There were cannons being wheeled through as well, interrupting the flow of troops as their heavy carriages were maneuvered through the ragged opening.

  I have got to put a stop to this, Brannis thought. There is no one around. I have to find a way to bring the avalanche wall down.

  Brannis looked to the sword, hung from nothing, waiting to be reclaimed.

  Time for you to earn that name of yours, he silently told it.

  The sword accepted the news stoically. Avalanche was not too far from the corner of a house, so Brannis used the building as cover and then sneaked up and made a short leap for the sword, pulling it out of the air. Goblins took notice, but those who first took notice were quickly dispatched with a swipe of the blade. After that, Brannis ran off, ducking behind the houses and occasional shop that formed the neighborhood around the gate. Goblins continued streaming down the main trade road, making their way straight from the main city gate (recently destroyed) to the undercity gate (even more recently destroyed).

  Brannis made his way to a more remote section of the western cliffs and searched for a handhold. Climbing had never been a hobby of his, even as a boy, but this was a circumstance that demanded risks be taken. Keeping Avalanche drawn and ready, he found twofold purpose for it in his climb. He was able to use its irresistible blade to carve spots for hands and feet to grip, and more importantly, he was able to let go the hilt and use it as a brace, trusting that the armor that could hold back a cannonball could protect him from the blade of Avalanche as he leaned on it.

  He made slow progress up the side of the cliff. Goblins below noticed before long and threw spears and tiny daggers at him, but all bounced off Brannis’s armor to no effect.

  Were those hitting wards, or was that the metal turning those blades?

  For Brannis’s plan, it would be very useful if the wards had not exhausted themselves.

  At length, Brannis made it to the base of the avalanche wall and carefully walked along the narrow flat area before it to the gate to the undercity. Goblins took note of him, but he was beyond the reach of their thrown weapons, and out in the cold, by himself, when there was a war and warm air to be found in the city below, Brannis seemed to be better left to the attention of “someone else.” Brannis managed to keep free of interference as he steeled himself to do the craziest thing he had ever considered.

  Taking Avalanche in both hands, he leaped and swung the blade flat-first through the wall in a great diagonal slash. He felt the barest of resistance as rock shattered at his sword’s passing. Without waiting to see the results of his handiwork, he hopped backward, off the cliff, leaving the sword out in front of him to drag through the rocky cliff face all the way down.

  Above him, Brannis heard the groan and crack as rock, snow, and ice shifted and began to fall. Downward he plummeted, rolling and turning to try to fall with the sword aside him rather than risk falling with it atop him, or him atop it. The resistance of blade in stone was minimal but slowed him from being fully in free fall. The remains of the portcullis bent and then shattered as the sword caught it. After that, it was the duration of a blink before Brannis slammed into the road on his side, crushing goblins beneath him.

  Brannis was stunned by the fall, his left arm exploding in pain where it was caught beneath him.

  So much for the wards, Brannis mused.

  Then the Neverthaw Glacier fell atop knight and goblin alike, dropping a hundred feet of snow and ice across the entrance to the undercity.

  * * * * * * * *

  Rashan had tensed as he watched Brannis inch along the avalanche wall, rune-forged blade in hand.

  Clever boy. Do it! It is the chance I need.

  When Brannis’s blade breached the wall, the city’s protection against the Neverthaw Glacier gave way. The glacier shifted and began to fall, the support it had relied on for countless generations suddenly no longer sufficient to hold back its awesome weight.

  The dragon panicked. She and Rashan had been watching her forces overrun the undercity gate below and bringing siege to the castle on the north side of the city. All was going in the goblins’ favor, then without warning, the ground began to give way beneath them. The dragon’s instincts caused her to stiffen her forelimbs against the falling motion, even as she unfurled her wings to slow her fall and take flight.

  But in that short moment, she seemed to forget the demon she had been holding vigil over. Rashan did not hesitate. He had spent his time with the dragon mapping out her muscles and scales, finding where best to strike if the chance was presented. He could tell by the expansion of Nihaxtukali’s chest as she breathed where her lungs ended. His aether-vision saw the shielding construct built around her and where he could penetrate it. She was an impressive beast, but a middling sorceress, and he had his pick of spots where his own magic could whelm hers.

  Rashan aimed his strike just behind her left forelimb as she extended it to halt her slide. On a human, it would have been a strike aimed roughly at the chink most armor had beneath the arm. Dragon scales were not so clumsily assembled, but they faced the unnatural strength of a demon. Drawing Heavens Cry and lunging with a two-handed grip in one blinding action, he sent an aether blast to his target ahead of the blade. The magical attack weakened the dragon’s shielding construct just enough that Rashan’s strike was able to drive the point home.

  The rune-forged sword punctured dragon scale, and Rashan’s blade plunged to the hilt. Unleashing the terrible magic of his creation, he pumped all his stored aether through the blade. The sword was lodged in Nihaxtukali’s left lung, and the plume of toxic fumes not only filled the dragon’s lung but melted through it, eating away the heart and other lung as well.

  Nihaxtukali screamed … or tried to at least. The great bellows that had earlier announced the doom of the Kadrin forces now choked off in strangled agony, accompanied by a billowing cloud of the noxious vapor that had been forced into her. The dragon’s pain was short lived, though, as it was already a corpse by the time it pitched face-first into the snow, ensuring that the avalanche would take the whole glacier with it. With the dragon’s added bulk, there was no stopping that.

  Rashan rode the dragon’s corpse, hanging onto the blade until they had nearly reached the ground. Before the impact, the warlock leaped free of the monstrous, de
ad sledge. It was a gleeful, liberated demon, drunk with bloodlust, that fell amid the teeming masses of goblins. It was a stake thrust into history with Rashan Solaran’s name upon it. Dragon-slayers were the stuff of storybooks, not histories, for dragons resisted slaying like no other creatures. The mantle of “Dragon-slayer” would fit nicely among his boasted titles, Rashan thought.

  Out on the streets of Raynesdark, and afterward on the plains below, goblins died. And died. And died …

  * * * * * * * *

  Juliana heard the immense thunder of the crash, and felt the ground shake as if the whole of the mountain would come down atop her. She heard the frightened goblins running down the passageway and then the relative silence that followed. She put away one of her daggers and risked unbarring the door.

  Outside, the corridor was clear. Magic lit it—left by some goblin sorcerer most likely—and she saw bodies all about, mostly human, some goblin. At the gate entrance, she saw the whole of it blocked by fallen ice and snow, some of it forming a slope back into the corridor. Here and there, a limb or a spear or bit of shining metal shone through the debris. She caught a flash of gold …

  Brannis!

  Juliana rushed over, heedless that any goblins backtracking to the entrance would have her trapped. She put away her other dagger and rushed over to begin digging in the snow with her hands.

  “Brannis? Brannis! Can you hear me?” Juliana asked.

  “Yph,” came a muffled response from beneath the snow. A minute’s effort had revealed Brannis’s face. Once she knew better where he was, Juliana drew aether and warmed the snow around him. She pulled off one of the vicious gauntlets of his armor and took him by the hand with both of hers. She heaved and pulled as she melted the snow that pressed down on him, slowly dragging him free enough that he could help the rest of the way.

  “Thank you,” Brannis said, collapsing on his back to catch his breath.