Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  Kyrus could not see the whole of the ship from his quarters, so he could not check on the whereabouts of Captain Zayne, and he was fairly certain he did not want to go looking for him, either.

  What would I even say?

  There were twelve men in his immediate company who had died at Captain Zayne’s hands, and Juliana had narrowly avoided being another of his victims.

  “I will spare your life here, and you will spare me there,” Jinzan had said.

  Was it even binding? Brannis had agreed to nothing, and Kyrus certainly had not been there. Where was the line between Kyrus and Brannis, between Captain Zayne and Jinzan?

  Kyrus had much to think about before he opened that warded door and left the cozy safety of his cabin. If Captain Zayne bore him ill will from their encounter in Veydrus, Kyrus knew he had best leave prepared to do battle.

  No, that is ludicrous. I must remember that here, I am the sorcerer. Jinzan may know a thousand tricks of aether for all I care, and Captain Zayne can manage none of that. He would be a fool to try anything to harm me.

  Kyrus examined the ward tattooed into the flesh of his shoulder. It glowed reassuringly in his aether-vision, its protections solid and unyielding. Of the warnings of dire peril that Captain Zayne had predicted, Kyrus still noticed nothing. If aether were being drawn into the ward directly from his Source, he was none the worse for it.

  Maybe my Source is just a bit stronger than Jinzan’s, and better able to shrug off the additional burden. Captain Zayne has always seemed impressed with my Source and how powerful it supposedly is.

  Kyrus had tried looking in the mirror, but mirrors only reflected the light, not aether. It was awkward trying to view his own Source, some quirk of how Source and aether-vision interacted that prevented him getting a good look at his own. The best he could do was infer. There seemed in general to be more aether about his person than he saw near others, and when it came time to draw it, it came readily and speedily to his call. All other aspects of his Source, any that needed direct observation, were obscured to him. Was he so different from Jinzan, who rivaled the Inner Circle members in power?

  Brannis had heard tell of Iridan’s battle with Captain Zayne’s alter ego, having both reports and firsthand accounts of how the battle went on all fronts before taking his slumber. Though tired and worn down, Iridan had drawn against Jinzan and lost, saved only by the quick-thinking illusionist, Faolen.

  Would that it had been Rashan who crossed Jinzan’s path, and not just Iridan. I could suffer Captain Zayne’s presence in good conscience if I did not have to worry that he worked against my homeland and friends in another world.

  In theory, Kyrus knew that dispatching the captain of the Free Trader would have been a simple matter. Neither pistol, not blade, nor the presence of four-score loyal sailors could stop Kyrus—and the loyalty of so new a crew was a paltry thing when asked to stand in the way of a sorcerer with murderous intent. But that was the rub: murder. Kyrus had been wronged in no way by Denrik Zayne—indeed, he had been helped at many turns by the captain and his associates. Brannis had even been explicitly spared by Jinzan, who by all rights ought to have obliterated them all before using a transference spell to flee the mines.

  Kyrus’s stomach growled, reminding him that no matter the moral dilemma, he could not remain in his cabin indefinitely. Outside on deck, the men sang a song that reminded him of the ones Juliana had them singing on the way to Raynesdark. Kyrus would much rather have been there in the wreckage of Raynesdark than isolated and alone on a Megrenn sorcerer’s ship.

  * * * * * * * *

  “Ha-ha, so I was right to think he was lying to us.” Stalyart grinned. The first mate sat straddling one of the chairs in the captain’s cabin, his crossed arms resting on the back of it. “So everything else went according to your plan?”

  “Largely, yes. I did not stay to witness the battle’s end, but there was a dragon and a warlock back from the dead there, and I did not wish to risk the staff’s safety around either of them. Once I got it, I got myself out by magic and back to Megrenn lands. I sleep right now in my very own bed for the first time in months. In the morning, it will be a hero’s reception for me again,” Denrik said, letting out a satisfied sigh. Denrik Zayne was a hard, solitary man, but Jinzan at least had known love in his life.

  “So what is our little sorcerer like in the other world, hmm? I admit, I had guessed him to be a useless noble son, seventh in line to some worthless scrap of Kadrin with a fencing tutor who had taught him to use a blade. Bookish, timid, much like our Kyrus, that was my guess. Oh, but how wrong, hey?” Stalyart joked. He had little stake in the war between Kadrin and Megrenn, certainly nothing beyond just the financial gain to be had in supplying foreign-bred mounts and iron ore for their military efforts.

  “He tried to bargain with me, offered to take me alive and guaranteed my safety if I gave myself up. Typical Kadrin ploy. I bet they would have had my throat before dawn. No, I read my history. No fop shall be made of me in the stories written about the fall of Kadrin. I bartered my life here for his twin’s life there. I slew the rest of his companions, save for one slip of a sorceress that he shielded with his body. I took a moment’s panic, thinking I had killed him accidentally, but his armor was warded strongly and turned aside my attack. I know not what Kyrus would have done if I had slain his twin, and once I realized he would sacrifice himself to save the girl, I spared her as well. That boy has violence within him, even if it is not at the surface. I still worry that he might not hold to his end.”

  “What would we do if he did not?” Stalyart asked, shrugging. “You saw the smoke from the fires in Marker’s Point. Eleven men, he said. Would it make a difference if it had been a hundred? We have no sorcerer here to balance against him. My advice to you is better now than before: befriend him. You know his secret now. Let the tide wash the footprints from the sand. Make new ones. Are you Jinzan? Is he the Kadrin knight you saw? Let him search the ship all he likes; the Staff of Gehlen is not here. He can choose a life of drinking and whoring and plundering, or he can slink off to the hills of some desolate backwater to make his home away from those who would shun him as a witch.”

  “And what if he decides he can make himself a king?” Denrik countered. “Surely people will fear and shun him, but let him slay an army and they will kneel to him. I doubted the boy had it in him, but I bet you that knight does. That means Kyrus is capable as well, there is no mistaking. The lessons of the one world carry into the other. You explained that one to me. The ‘Rule of the Twinborn,’ you called it.”

  “Then do not let him think of the possibility. Make a grand gesture of your acceptance of him. Make him truly your friend. Then maybe he does not think of running and conquering. Oh, and I understand too, if he decides he is a lion among kittens, we are dead men the day he chooses to leave us. We would be just an angry tantrum as he carves an empire of his own—men who knew too much.”

  “I will have to think on it,” Denrik muttered, half to himself. Stalyart took that as a sign he ought to be going and stood up. “One last thing, Stalyart. Has Kyrus left his cabin yet today?”

  “I shall check, but I had not seen him yet this morn,” Stalyart replied.

  What can I do? Denrik wondered as soon as the door shut behind his friend and first mate.

  The door provided no answer as he stared at it. He was suddenly wary of that door. Somewhere on the other side was a man who might well feel wronged by him, or at least stood as a mortal enemy—kingdom to empire—not far away.

  Will today be my end, not at the gibbet, but at the hands of an angry Kadrin sorcerer? Will he weigh the life I spared in the mines of Raynesdark against my own life here? If it were me, I would honor the bargain, even though I had not agreed to it. A man’s life is not his own to barter at times like that. I had his life in my hands and gave it back to him. Does a Kadrin even have enough honor to understand that debt?

  Denrik felt the comforting shape of the pistol in his belt and
ran a hand along it.

  Fool or not, that ward makes this pistol a condemned man’s last resort. Source like his, he is unlikely to let that ward of his falter, especially after what has transpired.

  No amount of staring at the cabin door was going to change his fate, but Denrik tried nonetheless.

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus ate his morning meal in the mess, keeping to himself. After the previous night’s display—which Kyrus had nearly forgotten about after the war he had witnessed in his dreams—few were eager to share his company. Even Jimony, who had tried to warm to Kyrus in order to be shielded beneath his aura of power and influence with the captain, took his own meal at another table. Kyrus poked his spoon a bit at a lackluster fish strew—how anyone could undersalt saltwater fish was beyond him—but ate little.

  He caught a glimpse of Stalyart, but there was no sign that the captain was about.

  Is he afraid of me? Kyrus wondered.

  The ship’s first mate had made no eye contact with Kyrus, and that was unusual for the outgoing and boisterous southlander.

  There was shouting up on deck, but Kyrus could not make out what was going on. He could see Sources congregating outside the captain’s quarters. Curiosity started picking off the others in the mess as they went to see what was going on above. Kyrus sat at the table, mindlessly staring into his stew until he was the last remaining.

  “Everyone on deck. Captain’s orders,” came a shout from above.

  Kyrus could only imagine that his presence had been missed. If it was to be a call for his head or a duel between him and the captain, so be it. Kyrus steeled himself and pushed away his bowl.

  As he started for the stairs, he checked his ward for what must have been the twentieth time since he awoke. It was still fine, and he added a bit of aether to it to be safe. Thinking on it, he also drew a bit of aether to hold onto. Kyrus was getting used to retaining aether for emergencies, out of habit, and was to the point where it barely burned to hold it anymore. Even without any proper spells for battle, simple firehurling would be enough to defend him against any of the ship’s inhabitants.

  “All right, men,” Kyrus heard as he reached the top of the stairs. Captain Zayne was holding court from the aft castle, addressing his men like a king from a palace balcony. “Gather ’round. This is a joyous time. Look at you all,” Denrik shouted, grinning. “A proper pirate crew if I ever saw one. It had been too long since I had seen the likes of you. We will make our mark upon the world. Men will fear us. The sound of the name Fair Trader will be spoken in reverent whispers among the seafaring merchants much as Honest Merchant once was.

  “But today, tonight, we will make for a gentler port. Tonight we will feast in Denku Appa.”

  A cheer rose up from a scattering of the men, those worldly enough to have known or heard of the tiny island. Kyrus had seen it on the ship’s maps but knew little of it. It was but one strange name among many, a lone island far from most others, though close enough to Marker’s Point that they were reaching it in just two days at sea.

  “So I gather that some of you have heard of Denku Appa, but not all,” Captain Zayne continued once the cheer died down.

  Men were continuing to press closer about the deck below where he held court, while Kyrus kept to the back of the assembly. There was an energy about the captain that Kyrus had not seen before. He had realized the charisma of the captain not long after their proper introduction, but he seemed to have enthralled his men, though Kyrus saw no hint of tampering with them in the aether.

  “For those who have not, it is a paradise. The natives who live there are friendly, and their hospitality is unmatched. We will drink and feast and take the company of their women, and all for the price of a little steel, which they cannot make themselves.”

  “Tell more about them women,” someone shouted.

  There were murmurs and shouts of agreement. And so the captain did, as Kyrus watched. He felt detached, wondering how the men of the crew could be so gullible.

  You would really sell your lives to this man for the chance at primitive women and shoddily distilled liquor?

  It was a magic that Kyrus did not know but which he envied. It was the power to plant seeds in men’s minds and make them grow into ideas that they think are their own. It was like planting a garden of dreams.

  Ask a man what he wants in life, and there are many who would answer: riches, drink, and the company of many beautiful women. Not every man dreams so simply or so crudely, but Denrik Zayne need only choose his crew from among those who do.

  And where do I fit in among these? Can I even truly dream, or is it not a “dream” in quite that sense? If it is just to unlock the key to the heart’s desires, all I want is to find a way to be with Abbiley again. The rest … It would work itself out, and I could be content however it befell.

  By the time the captain had finished, the crew was clamoring to get to Denku Appa and sate their gluttony and lusts among the welcoming savages who lived there. Kyrus wondered what it would actually be like once they got there. Could enough rum allow a man to imagine a primitive paradise where there is only squalor? Could dreams make a spit-charred grouper taste of lemon-brushed salmon, or an awkward and nervous native girl seem an exotic temptress? Captain Zayne was promising a Garden of Ma’Lai, and there was no way he would be able to deliver all he boasted of. Like the merchants Kyrus had met in Acardia, there was an art to such selling that he just could not fully wrap his mind about.

  As the speech finished, Captain Zayne ordered the men back about their work, and they complied eagerly, excited by the prospect of exotic island delights by nightfall, if they kept their course and speed. They pushed and jostled as too many men moved about the deck to get to where they were headed. None touched Kyrus. There was an area about him that might well have been forged of steel, a pillar into which no man could enter. It was magic that managed it but not of the aetherial sort; Kyrus had them scared of him. Glances did not long linger on him—lest a sailor make accidental eye contact—save for one. Denrik Zayne locked gazes with Kyrus and gave him an even look, not betraying any intent but interest.

  As the last of the men were clearing the area of the aft castle, the captain yelled down, just loudly enough for Kyrus to hear clearly: “Mr. Hinterdale, a word in my cabin, if you will.”

  It was an order but a politely delivered one. Kyrus did not see Stalyart lingering about, so he wondered if it was to be a private conversation, with no ally ready at hand. Kyrus kept his walk slow as he crossed to the door of the captain’s cabin, hanging back long enough for Captain Zayne to make the walk down from the castle and meet him at his own door without having to wait.

  “Come in. Come in.” Denrik gestured as he entered his own quarters.

  Kyrus followed and closed the door behind him. He knew his ward was still ready in case of treachery, but the captain’s jovial mood did not suddenly shift once they were alone, as he had feared it would.

  “Ah, Kyrus, that was marvelous,” the captain beamed.

  “Which do you mean?” Kyrus asked.

  He was unused to the captain being jolly, but it was all he could think to describe the mood he saw. There was wine set out at the captain’s private table, and two stout goblets made of silver, inlaid with rubies. Captain Zayne slumped into one of the chairs and threw his feet up onto the table. He took one of the goblets and drank deeply, then gestured for Kyrus to join him.

  “I mean everything,” Denrik stated. “What has gone awry for me these past weeks? A month ago, I was sitting in a prison cell on Rellis Island in Tellurak and treating with goblins in Veydrus, trying to get them to go to war with my enemies. Today I have my own ship, practically smelling of fresh paint and filled with new cannons, and I have secured the Staff of Gehlen and begun the downfall of the Kadrin Empire.”

  “Seems a bit premature to gloat, do you not think?” Kyrus asked. “You may have your staff, but at what cost? Any allies you might have had among the goblins are dea
d. Rashan Solaran has returned and taken over his duties as Warlock of the Empire and has already slain a dragon and routed an army.” Kyrus saw Denrik’s brow furrow at the mention of a dead dragon, momentarily cracking the façade of joviality he presented. “Staff or no staff, you fled rather than face him. If you thought you could stand against him, you ought to have done it right there, before he knew you possessed it; now that chance is gone. Life here is good, I shall not deny, but you have more troubles than you think in Veydrus.”

  “Before you decide that I have troubles in this world after all, let me assure you of one thing: this world is not Veydrus. The dead feel no pain; I will shed no tears for my slain allies. They served their purpose, and in truth, their company had worn on me awfully. I suspected the battle was lost when I puzzled out that it was truly your dead warlock reborn. I bear no ill will toward you for whatever role you play in the Kadrin army or the defeat of my clever little associates, though I do begrudge you the Kadrin habits that seep over into you from the other world. I may have called you a brigand, but that was Jinzan speaking, and to whomever your twin may be, not to you. If you do not mind me asking, what is your name in the other world? Who are you? Mind you, every word I have spoken about my life in Veydrus has borne true, while you have confronted me with lie upon lie. Have it out: who was the man I spared in Raynesdark’s mines?” Denrik said, and the word “Raynesdark” sounded so odd to Kyrus with its Kadrin sound to it, spoken in Acardian.

  “The truth?” Kyrus supposed it was past hiding at this point. “I am Sir Brannis Solaran, Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army.”

  Denrik shook his head and gave a small smile. “Fine, if you do not wish to tell me, then—”

  “No, that is the truth of it. That armor that saved my life from whatever spell you intended for everyone else? That was from the personal collection of the emperor, once worn in battle by Liead the Only, not runed but aether-forged. I was the one who matched wits with your goblin allies, the one who escaped Kelvie Forest to warn of your approach and to put a ready army at the walls of Raynesdark when you arrived, cannons in tow.”