Accelerant

by Ronie Kendig

  The man made no acknowledgement, yet his eyes told of his guilt.

  “I see it in your eyes that you know this path is wrong.”

  “We have little choice,” the man said, his voice and bearing weary. “Jujak are gone or spread thin. Many Ignatieri have fled—”

  “Save Eftu.”

  The man’s lips thinned.

  “So, he’s the leader of the incipients,” Haegan pointed to the line of evil behind them, then looked up as the streams of fire grew brighter. “You fool! Can you not see they would kill you, too?”

  “Incoming!” Drracien shouted.

  But all Haegan seemed to notice was the change in the air. Cold. Very cold. The incipients were sucking all the heat from the people and the elements of nature. Freezing his ability to—

  Something . . . changed. Something was different. Haegan glanced down. To the side. Frowned. What?

  It wasn’t warm, but in some strange, incomprehensible way he sensed more heat. More than ever before. It infused him. Roiled through him. Invigorated him. Strength not his own coursed through his veins.

  This doesn’t make sense.

  The sky went as day. A long, thick blanket of fire speared the night, shattering darkness. It would reach them. They would die in a blaze of glory.

  Well, in a blaze. The glory he wasn’t sure about.

  Tingling rushed up his fingertips. He glanced at his hands. Though he saw nothing, he felt . . . everything. A buzzing. An iciness hotter than anything he’d encountered before. As if something in him were drawing heat from . . . from the volley? From the incipient?

  Separate from whatever it was that surged through him, the ground shook, vibrating like the drums in the Ematahri camp. But faster. More violent.

  Shouts went up, drawing his attention to the guards. Horses reared. Shrieked. “What’s happening?” Graem shouted, shielding his eyes, but keeping watch on the panicking Dagger.

  The ground rattled.

  A roar filled the sky.

  Crack! Pop!

  The noises came from the trees and mingled with shouts—as a unit, the Nivari poured from them, clearly visible in the moonslight. Though harried in chaos, they slowly formed up a hundred yards from the tree line, their backs to Haegan as they gazed at the forest. Apparently, they were as confused and concerned as everyone else.

  Haegan looked to the woods. And his brain lied to him. Said there was a forest, but there wasn’t. Trees flew this way and that, as if an enormous gardener pitched weeds.

  What in blazes?

  “Haegan!”

  Drracien’s shout pulled Haegan around. The accelerant had dismounted, wielding, dancing. Fast, frantic. A warbling wall of energy and heat sailed out as he tried to stall the blanket of fire. But Drracien was failing. Six to one. It wasn’t a fair blaze.

  Joining Drracien on the ground, Haegan focused on the heat he’d sensed thrumming through his fingers and shoved his hands toward the sky. Crossed them, then splayed across the canopy, forming a shield. It glittered and crackled as he worked to stop the volley from killing everyone on the field. He thought to speak the words useful against the Ematahri, but as he opened his mouth to utter the ancient words he had never learned, overgrown men hurled themselves in front of Haegan with bloodcurdling roars.

  And in the space of a blink, as the giants’ feet thudded to the ground and the din of combat faded beneath the hot-icy thrumming in his veins, Haegan heard different words escape his mouth. “Ïmnaeh waeïthe he-ahwl abiałassø et Thraeïho. Miembo Thraeïho!”

  Drracien jerked toward him. Shot a look filled with panic. Shock.

  As if dropping from the sky—their hurdles from the trees long and fluid—three more Drigo landed within a dozen paces of Haegan, pitching him off balance. Backs to him, they faced the enemy, clearly enraged by the sons of Ederac.

  The middle giant—the largest and garbed in blue-green—fisted his right hand. Covered it with his left. And lifted both hands over his eight-foot height. He gave a primal shout that rattled the heavens. As if in response, the other Drigo did the same.

  The Drigo stomped their feet four times. Thud. Thud-thud. Thud. Then jerked their hands to the side in unison. The concussion of their combined shouts knocked Haegan backward as if someone had punched him.

  Haegan’s heart crashed against his ribs. He scrambled back to his feet.

  “Drigo.”

  “Of all that’s holy and . . .” Graem’s words trailed off, wonder and terror vying for supremacy on his face.

  “They’ve returned.” Drracien’s words pushed Haegan to interpret what he saw. What his mind refused to believe. The Drigo before him were no longer eight feet tall. They were at least twelve or thirteen. Their arms muscled like centuries-old trees. Their hair flowing like rivers of gold down their now-bare scaled spines. Beautiful and terrifying.

  With brutal and swift actions that belied their monstrous size, the transformed Drigo crushed the incipients. Bones crunched as men were flattened into the earth. Breath stolen by the gruesome sight, Haegan could not move. Could not scream. Could not think. Shock held him fast as the giants delivered swift justice to the wicked.

  Screams behind Haegan turned him in a daze to the rear, to where the men of Baen’s Crossing had challenged them. But instead of a hundred men, there were four more Drigo. And only one man standing. The leader.

  Haegan forced a swallow.

  “Hae—” Drracien’s word was clipped, losing the last syllable in a gasp.

  Behind him, Haegan sensed it. That same thrumming in his veins. He turned slowly. And looked up . . . up . . . up.

  His stomach fell as he saw the enormous shape moving toward him.

  “Back! Back!” Tokar shouted at the morphed giant, rushing in with his sword.

  A mere splinter to the Drigo.

  Forehead melting toward his nose, the Drigo scowled at Tokar. Fury in his eyes. Death in his touch.

  “No no no!” Haegan sent a harmless puff of heat against Tokar, throwing him backward a few feet. “Stand down.”

  “But did you just see—”

  “Aye.” He held out hand to the rest of his companions, pushing enough heat against them so they knew not to advance. “Nobody moves.”

  “More soldiers coming out of Baen’s Crossing,” Graem said directly behind him.

  At this, the Drigo turned toward the city, and growled.

  Haegan’s stomach churned. It was not lost on him that this Drigo stood at his right hand, watching the soldiers flood out of the city. As the Drigo looked to the walls, then to the forest, his massive chest wall heaved breaths that sounded like loud snores. But he didn’t seem out of breath. Just . . . loud.

  His face had changed. At least, Haegan thought it had. Now there seemed to be sectioned plates. In fact, the Drigo’s chest, legs, and arms even seemed segmented like a protective shell. Armor.

  When he tipped back his head again to look the Drigo in the face, the creature was watching him. His upper lip seemed pushed against his nostrils. His eyebrow furrowed into his nose. Maybe that was why he was snore-breathing. But the eyes—they seemed to dig into the depths of Heagan’s heart and pour light. Pure, unadulterated light.

  The Drigo shifted back a single step, causing Haegan to wobble. The giant bent his right knee to the ground. “Fhurïaetyr.”

  Fire roiled through Haegan’s chest, as if answering the giant’s call. He stepped between Drracien and Tokar, who struck out a hand toward Haegan. “Wait—how—”

  But Haegan was locked onto eyes that were changing from red to orange. Like a fire. “’Tis well,” he said to Tokar as he emerged from the protective circle of friends.

  The giant held his hands out to the side, and instantly the other Drigo went to their knees. Haegan swallowed and skirted a sidelong glance to each giant but didn’t allow himself to retreat.

  The leader—was he a leader?—arranged his hands as he had moments before he and his brethren had morphed into the massive creatures that knelt be
fore him now.

  Tensing, Haegan expected to get hammered into the ground like the incipients. Instead, the Drigo touched fisted hands to their foreheads with a thud. They then struck their chests over the heart. Haegan winced at the sound. With a reverence that permeated the atmosphere, the Drigo stretched their right hands toward him, tucked the left behind themselves, and bowed before Haegan.

  29

  Outside Baen’s Crossing, Kingdom of the Nine

  What am I to do with that? Haegan felt sick as he stared at the seven golden heads bowed before him.

  “I think you are to release them,” came Drracien’s whisper.

  “How?”

  “The same way you summoned them.”

  “Summoned the—” Haegan jerked toward the accelerant. As he did, he recalled Drracien’s shocked look when he’d uttered the ancient words. “I didn’t—”

  A roar jolted Haegan again. At this rate, his heart might surrender before the enemy did. What was the giant angry about? Because he hadn’t released him?

  Eyes that were now nearly golden and matched the flowing hair, stared back with expectant patience. “Thelikor serve.”

  Drracien’s shoulder was against Haegan’s now. “I think Thelikor is his name”

  “You think?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “I thought you were raised in the Citadel? Shouldn’t you know?”

  “And who keeps bragging about the books he reads?”

  Haegan stared at the giant. “Thelikor . . .”

  The giant seemed to smile at hearing his name. But with that sectioned plate rather than skin, it was hard to be sure.

  “I beg your mercy, Thelikor,” Haegan said.

  “Thelikor serve.”

  He had served. And well—killing the enemy. Routing incipients from Baen’s Crossing. “I thank you.” It was earnest. And all he could think to say.

  The Drigo seemed to purr, his eyes slipping closed in apparent pleasure as he inclined his head. Relief?

  “Abiassa be praised!”

  Like lightning, the air crackled.

  Thelikor, though a dozen feet tall and massively strong, moved swift and true, like an arrow.

  It was so fast, so sudden, Haegan didn’t see the target until it was nearly too late. “Thelikor, wait!”

  The giant froze, his clenched fist hovering over the ornately garbed figure of High Marshal Eftu. Arrayed behind him, a half-dozen awed Ignatieri cowered.

  And Haegan knew without a doubt what he had suspected on instinct and intuition back in the Citadel. “Eftu, you’ve conspired against Abiassa.”

  The proud marshal shifted and looked to the side, as if gauging his subordinates’ reaction. “No.” His hands were raised as if to protect his head from Thelikor’s fist, which had yet to drop.

  Thelikor’s growl fueled Haegan’s determination. “He smells it on you.” He walked toward the marshal, who seemed frozen. If the Drigo unleashed judgment, the marshal’s arms would be twigs beneath a boulder. Another realization struck Haegan. Made him sick. Furious. “That is why the incipients were here, so close. You betrayed me.”

  “No, I’m here to help.” Eftu swiped a hand over his mouth. “I—I just came beyond the wall to tell you that he’s waiting for you to release him. He’s in his heightened state, the vudd. It’s painful.” He peeked up at Thelikor. “See? I’m trying to help.”

  The giant growled, louder, angrier.

  Which meant the accelerant was lying again.

  “No more,” came the tumbling-rocks growl of Thelikor as he reached toward Eftu, large fingers pinching at the high-collared overcloak that indicated his stature and supposed submission to Abiassa’s will, and ripped it off the marshal, dragging him backward.

  Haegan resisted the urge to tell Thelikor to stop. What he did, disrobing—stripping—the high marshal was only done at the guiding of Abiassa.

  Behind Eftu the handful of accelerants watched, white-faced and frozen like statues. Haegan, anticipating more stripping, trained his attention on Thelikor. None of the other Drigo moved, but they had all closed in, tightening the perimeter. Thelikor scanned the accelerants, who quickly dropped into low bows. He spared them no more than a passing glance, then huffed. Turned back to Haegan and inclined his head in another bow.

  “Thelikor,” Haegan said.

  “Thelikor serve Fhurïaetyr.”

  Hot and powerful, the words of the giant brushed against Haegan’s body—no, inside his body—like a warm, stiff breeze. The sensation was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. The giant knelt again before him, this time, his arm resting on his knee so he could look at Haegan directly, as if ready for a fireside chat. Gentility rested in eyes that had been a storm of violence only seconds earlier. Focus and resolute dedication lined the smooth planes of his face.

  Haegan struggled to believe what was happening. And more than anything at this moment, he wanted a little less . . . giant. “How do I release you? Is that what you need?”

  He grunted. “Speak,” he rumbled.

  Haegan swallowed. The words to summon the Drigo had not been ones he’d known or learned. They’d arisen from his tongue as simply as air filled his lungs. He turned and glanced back at Drracien.

  “Fierian,” came a quiet, humble voice from the row of accelerants. A mandarin-collared tunic that cross-tied over the chest adorned one who could not be much older than Haegan or Drracien. The black and white trim on the overcoat gave a striking accent to the white pants and sash. “I might be able to help, Fierian.”

  “Conductor,” Drracien spoke loudly, coming to Haegan’s side protectively. “What do you know?”

  The conductor hesitated, then bobbed his head. “You must release them in the ancient language.”

  That would make sense, since it was how he’d accidentally summoned them in the first place. Haegan angled his head toward Drracien. “I don’t know the ancient language.”

  “I do.” Unabashed, the conductor shifted forward. “I believe the words exsaeilto Thraeïho will sever the abiatassan link.”

  Thelikor purred his agreement, his gold eyes shifting from the accelerant to Haegan.

  “What does it mean?” Drracien asked.

  “Thraeïho—obviously—is the Drigo. Exsaeilto . . . well, there is really no transliteration, but it basically tells him to rest, which releases him from the vudd state.”

  Abiatassan link? The words spoken, Haegan waited for the change. For the vudd state, or whatever was going on, to lessen. But nothing happened. Thelikor remained as a kneeling giant-warrior before him. Haegan cast a questioning glance to the conductor. “Why didn’t your words work?”

  “Because I am not linked to the Drigo. Only Deliverers and the Fierian—and of course, Abiassa Herself—can command the giants. You must speak it, my prince.”

  Command the giants? “Thelikor, I thank you for your protection today.” It seemed necessary to let the Drigo know of his appreciation. “I release you, Thelikor. Exsaeilto Thraeïho.”

  A rumbling noise, pleasant but loud, sifted the air. Again, Thelikor held his right fist with his left covering it, and touched his forehead, then his chest. “Mwaheatiel embran, Fhurïaetyr.” He tilted his head back and splayed out his arms.

  Haegan looked to the conductor.

  “He said, ‘You have but to summon, Fierian.’” The conductor shrugged. “Again, it’s a loose translation. The ancient tongue doesn’t have full equals in our language.”

  Thelikor pushed to his feet. He gave one last nod to Haegan, then started toward the others. Tokar, Praegur, and Graem grouped up tighter as Thelikor approached. Haegan held his breath, implicitly trusting that Thelikor would know his friends were allies of Abiassa. Was this what it was like to watch mountains move? As the seven giants stalked back to Ybienn’s Black Forest, he squinted. They were growing smaller. Maybe it was just because they were farther away.

  Perhaps both.

  “Fierian.”

  Numb, rattled
, and disoriented with the normalcy of standing on a grassy field, Haegan shifted back to the conductor. Stared at him blankly.

  “We beg your mercy for our earlier disrespect.” He bowed to the ground, forehead on the grass, fingers splayed out toward Haegan in total submission.

  Weariness clung to Haegan. He rubbed his forehead and looked to the forest once more. Besides toppled trees, no trace of the giants could be found. It was a relief to see the Nivari standing in a loose collection near the forest’s edge. They were on foot—not a single horse had remained nearby in the wake of the Drigo’s entrance—but unharmed. “I know not what transpired within those walls before this morning, but from this day forward, you will be sure those within serve Abiassa.”

  “Of course,” the conductor muttered into the grass.

  “Get up.” He was tired. Agitated. Feeling . . . empty. Again, he looked to the mountains, feeling a tug to go after the giants. “And speak to no one of my identity as the Fierian or of the giants. Already Poired seeks to kill me.”

  The conductor nodded. “Would you honor us with your presence at a feast on the morrow?”

  Haegan blinked. “What?” Feast? “No.” Annoyed at the thought when there were bodies on the plain and rot within the hearts of so many, Haegan turned away.

  “You need rest,” Praegur said softly.

  He sighed. “Aye.”

  “We will happily provide you with a place to stay. And food.”

  Haegan squinted at the conductor. “What is your name?”

  “Tiadith.”

  “You are high marshal now, Tiadith.”

  The accelerant’s eyes widened. Hesitated.

  “As Fierian, he says who serves Her and who does not,” Drracien said.

  “Thank you, Prince Haegan.”

  “Serve Her well . . .” The world tilted. Arms caught him. He let them, falling into the deep.

  30

  Outside Baen’s Crossing, Kingdom of the Nine

  Bones crunched. Heads popped. Limbs splatted. Fire engulfed the room. The body of his father writhed. A hand reached out to Haegan and he lunged for it. In that moment, a Deliverer appeared.