Shadow of the Flame - Chris Pierson

by Dragonlance

  “Mother of the gods,” she murmured.

  An inferno blazed several leagues from Ilmach, brighter and hotter than any of the others that burned upon the Cauldron’s surface. The conflagration was unnaturally shaped, spread out in a long, narrow band parallel to the shore. And it was moving closer at a slow but steady pace.

  And when she squinted, she saw that the conflagration was no shapeless mass. No—it was made up of human-shaped figures, armed with swords and spears and whips of flame.

  Hult and Azar came up alongside her, one on either side. Nakhil loomed behind, panting from the exertion of forcing his horse body up the stairs.

  “Bran’s withers,” swore the centaur. “That’s an army.”

  Shedara nodded, too stunned to answer.

  “It’s as I feared, then,” said Malkis, peering down at the fire. “The one advantage we have always had over the minions of fire was our discipline. Now they march together and fight as one.”

  “What will you do?” Hult asked.

  The old gnome shrugged. “Seal up the columns and weather the siege. I don’t know if it will be enough. The kurshakur are vicious, and if this Maladar is as cunning as you say …” He sighed, leaning on his staff. “They will find their way inside. It is only a question of when.”

  “What about the other colonies?” Nakhil asked. “You’re not the only minoi. Send word to your allies that you’re at need.”

  “It is already being sent,” Malkis replied, pointing to the west. “Look there.”

  They did. “I don’t see anything,” Hult said.

  “I do,” Shedara said, shading her eyes with her hand. Several small objects were buzzing away from Ilmach, faster than any horse could run. They flashed silver and gold in the firelight as they winged westward, skimming the tops of the columns. “They look like birds.”

  “Clockwork birds,” Malkis replied. “We call them Palgantothanyugarbascivashobori. They carry scrolls to the other first-makers, at Aldinanachrukathoshangu and Nabrutacildiscarabimakaldascut, and the smaller holdings as well. The makers will send all the fireships they can spare to our aid. But it will take time for them to reach us. When they get here, there may well be nothing left but ashes.”

  “What about us?” Azar asked. “We’ve got to get to the Chaldar. That’s the only sure way to beat the kurshakur. We must find Maladar and stop him, once and for all.”

  “He’s right,” Shedara said. “If there’s going to be a siege, we need to be away from Ilmach before they can blockade us.”

  Malkis grimaced. “It’s not that easy. The fireships must be made ready for the journey. Sailing on the Burning Sea takes its toll, and they need repairs after each voyage. Those kurshakur will be here in less than two hours. We only have one craft that can possibly sail before then.”

  “Then we need to use that craft,” Hult said. “It’s your people’s best hope. If you’re so sure your allies can’t save you, then we’re all you have.”

  The gnome knew it; the knowledge was clear in his face. He was a deliberate thinker, though, and not given to quick action. He stared down at the kurshakur, chewing on his mustache and shaking his head.

  “Malkis,” Shedara said. “Look at me.”

  He did. His eyes sparkled with fear.

  “There’s no time for doubts,” she said. “Our chances get worse every second. Send a runner to your smithies, tell him to bring us weapons and armor and whatever else we need. Do it now, before we lose our chance.”

  She had a spell ready, its first word on the tip of her tongue, her fingers poised to gather Lunis’s power. The red moon was full, up behind the clouds. It would be easy to use the magic to coerce the gnome, to force him to him do her bidding. She’d done it before, many times. But as she was about to begin, Malkis bowed his head.

  “You are right,” he said. “Come. We will go to the shipyards.”

  Ilmach’s indoor wharf was vast but crowded, filled with gnomes and steam and noise. Huge gears and pulleys worked all over the place, lifting and swinging grease-streaked masses of steel that did the gods knew what. Well, the gods and the gnomes—the minoi knew what they were doing, which levers to pull, which valves to turn. To Shedara it looked like insanity, but even she had to admit it was insanity with a system.

  One thing that made it different from every other harbor she’d ever been to, of course, was that there was no water. Neither were there docks. The fireships—broad, stout boats with hulls of pitted black iron—hung above the stone floor, suspended by chains that rattled with the vibrations of hidden gear-works. Gnomes dangled around them, suspended by ropes and hammering away with mallets that made a maddening din. Stone hatches on the floor radiated heat into the shimmering air: below, she realized, was a long drop down to the magma of the Cauldron.

  “If I had spoken of such a place while I lived among my people,” Hult said, chuckling, “they would have cast me out as a madman. And I would have thought it just.”

  “Which is our ship?” asked Nakhil, staring at the hulks suspended above them. “None of these look like they’re ready.”

  “They aren’t,” said Malkis. “Follow me.”

  He hobbled into the middle of the bustle, and Shedara cringed, expecting someone or something to slam into him. At the speed the minoi and their machines were moving, a collision would likely kill the old gnome. Instead, however, the hubbub shifted, parting around him to make a path. The activity didn’t pause, and no one even gave him a second glance; they simply adjusted their routines and went about their business. Halfway across, Malkis glanced back and waved a gnarled hand.

  “What are you waiting for?” he called.

  Shedara hurried after him, and the gnomes parted around her as well. Nakhil and Azar followed, Hult coming last of all, staring at the chugging engines and spinning cogs all around him. As machinery went, the Uigan had the wheel and not much more. Shedara caught a glimpse of a grin on his lips and shook her head. He was enjoying it.

  For one so old, Malkis kept a surprisingly brisk pace. He led the way across the sweltering shipyard, straight to the southernmost side, closest to the Cauldron itself. As they drew near, Shedara glanced at the wall and realized it wasn’t basalt, like every other part of Ilmach. It was metal, probably bronze, with massive pipes running to it from all sides. Several of the pipes dripped water where joints had loosened, and moisture beaded on the wall, sliding down to pool at their feet.

  “That looks like a giant cistern,” said Nakhil. “What do you suppose it’s for?”

  Shedara shrugged. She had no idea. “Malkis! That metal tank. Why is it there?”

  “Protection,” the old gnome replied without looking back. “Ilmachrutandabrunthabram is not without defenses. Here’s the ship.”

  He gestured with his staff, and Shedara’s heart sank. The vessel he pointed to was smaller than any of the others and much older: a scaly, battered lump no larger than a fishing scow. It had no sails, but rather a rotating wheel at the stern, like a watermill’s, with paddles on each spoke.

  “That’s it?” she muttered. “We’re all going to die.”

  “No, you’re not,” Malkis replied, shouting over the clanks and whooshes and shouts of the shipyard. “The Varyashakurvatonagorlitanthapuloram is the oldest ship in our fleet. It’s been around since just after the Destruction, and it hasn’t lost a battle with the kurshakur in all that time. If it were me crossing the Cauldron, I’d want no other vessel under me. Isn’t that right, Captain Noskalibaharokalmaraslindogahar?”

  A wild-looking gnome with an eye patch, burn scars over half his face, and a red-plumed helmet came stumping up to them. He inclined his head. “No other vessel, no way. So you’re the fools going to the Chaldar, eh?” He squinted, looking Shedara and her friends up and down. “Motley lot, ain’t you? Well, no mind—my business is how, it ain’t why. I’ll get you from here to there. And back again, if I can.” He grinned, showing several silver teeth, and extended a hand that was blistered and red. “Call
me Nosk. Keeps it simple.”

  Shedara shook the scarred gnome’s hand. His skin felt strange, callused but too smooth from all the burns. “We’ll have to run fast,” she said. “With all those kurshakur coming—”

  Nosk shrugged. “Kurshakur I can handle. Now if you’ll get aboard …”

  “Not yet,” Malkis said. “There’s still the gear you need. Where is it, anyway?”

  “Bunch of firesuits and frostblades?” asked Nosk. He jerked his thumb toward a heap of boxes on the other side of the little ship. “Plain old hammers too? They got here just before you did. Come on. Let’s go have a look.”

  They made their way to the heap of supplies. It was all a bit strange looking, but Shedara quickly sorted it out. There were suits of what looked like ribbed leather armor, scarred black where cinders had scorched them. She picked one up, turning it this way and that.

  “These protect us from the fire?” she asked.

  “More or less,” Nosk said and waggled his hand. “There’s water pouches inside, to keep you cool. Just have to refill them every hour or so. And they’re treated with a special kind of grease to keep them from catching fire. I wouldn’t suggest you go for a swim in the magma, but other than that, you should be right as ratchets.”

  “You have one that will fit me?” Nakhil asked, picking up a centaur-shaped suit. “That’s a surprise.”

  “Well … we didn’t at first,” said Malkis. “But we do transport livestock, from time to time. Beg your pardon, not that I meant to call you that. The point is, I had the suitsmiths take part of a horse’s suit and part of a man’s and stitch them together.”

  “They sewed that?” Shedara asked. “So quickly?”

  Malkis shrugged. “There are machines to do most of the work, don’t you know. Quick, now, put them on, and Captain Nosk will show you the frostblades.”

  Hult and Azar took their own suits. The Uigan scowled as he donned his. Shedara understood what was going on in his mind: the armor was bulky and uncomfortable, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust it either. She combed through her spells in her mind, selecting a charm to protect them from fire. If she had to, she’d fall back on magic.

  “All right now, pay attention,” Nosk said, raising what appeared to be a short sword. “You all know how to use one of these?”

  “Yes,” Nakhil replied. “The sharp bit goes in the other fellow.”

  Nosk roared a laugh. “Well said, my good horse! Well said! Yes, it looks like a common sword. No, we don’t have any with longer blades, so don’t ask. But here’s how it’s different from the steel you already carry.”

  He turned toward a burning brazier, sword whipping around, and thrust it into the heart of the flame. The fire went out with a hiss of steam.

  Hult whistled.

  “Impressive,” Shedara agreed. “How does it work?”

  “White dragon bile,” Nosk said. “There’s a capsule of it in the hilt. Press the stud here on the cross guard, and it releases a dose, running down the fuller.” He pointed to the groove running down the middle of the blade. “That’ll take care of most fires, except, I suppose, for a dragon’s flame. Never tested for that. You’ve only got four or five doses before the capsule’s empty, though, so be mindful. There’s a box of vials with more bile in them, but likely you won’t have time to refill in a pitched battle.”

  He held out the sword, hilt first, and Shedara took it. She ran her thumb over the triggering stud—a black gemstone set into the hilt—then gave it a couple practice swipes, back and forth.

  “Nice balance,” she said. “Can I have two?”

  “Don’t see why not,” Nosk replied, tossing her a second blade. He handed out more to the others, then lifted a heavy sledge. “You know what this is too, I suspect. No trick to these—hit things with them, and they break. But you won’t find any better-made warhammers in all of Taladas … not even among the Fianawar dwarves, and don’t let them tell you different.”

  “Where do you get the dragon bile?” Hult asked.

  “We have a few young wyrms held captive in a chasm between the columns, not far from here,” Nosk said. “Clip their wings, and they can’t fly off. Then we just drug them now and then and harvest the bile. It doesn’t make the dragons very happy, but it works. Anyway, enough talk. Let’s get you aboard. The Varya’s quick, but I’d rather have room to run, and those kurshakur aren’t getting any farther away. Come on.”

  They followed him to a small platform beneath the ship. When they were all standing on it, Nosk pulled a lever and the platform jerked into motion, rising on a steel piston until it stood next to the ship. He hopped onto the deck. The Varya’s insides were made of gray stone. Half a dozen other gnomes scurried to and fro, securing supplies and stoking a furnace near the paddlewheel. Looking the fireship up and down, Shedara felt queasy. That thing was going to bear them across a sea of molten rock? It shouldn’t be possible. But the minoi had been doing that for centuries with boats just like the Varya. Swallowing, she stepped aboard.

  Azar followed her, then Nakhil. Hult came last of all, smiling as he set foot on the deck. She glowered at the sight of him. How could he be having a good time when her own worries were so strong? Did he really trust the machine more than magic?

  Malkis remained on the platform, leaning on his staff. “Here I leave you, my friends,” he said. “I wish we could have known one another longer. Perhaps, when this business is over, you will return to our halls.”

  “Perhaps,” Shedara said. “Good-bye, Malkis, and good luck.”

  The old gnome nodded. “The same to you. Reorx watch over you.”

  He pulled the lever again, and the platform lowered out of sight. When he was gone, Nosk clapped his hands with a thump. He’d put on a pair of leather gloves and pulled a hood over his head as well. Shedara and the others followed suit. He waved to his crew, shouting in the minoi tongue. They called back. He nodded, grinning his mad, silver-toothed grin.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s get this bucket moving! We’ve got an army to outrun, and a tower to reach!”

  Gnomes started shouting all over the place. The chains suspending the Varya began to move, and with a juddering lurch, the ship lowered toward the floor. Unseen gears squealed, and a wash of golden light shone up from below. Shedara leaned over the gunwale, looking down: a hatch in the floor had swung open, revealing blazing lava beneath. The Varya was rumbling down toward the Burning Sea.

  Her mouth ran dry. She pulled back into the ship, and for the first time in many long years, genuinely began to pray.

  Chapter

  29

  THE BILO SHORE, HITH’S CAULDRON

  I will give you a goat, Hult thought. Jijin, if I survive to reach the Chaldar—if I survive the next few moments—I will give you ten goats. I will cut their throats and pour the blood upon the ground. I will burn the fat of their hindquarters on an altar in your honor. I will—

  He stopped, realizing how many times he’d made that very promise since the massacre at the Run. There likely weren’t enough goats in all of Taladas to make good on all his vows. He would have to spend the rest of his life wielding the sacrificial knife, making offerings of gore, prostrating himself before the horse-god in all his glory. He shook his head as the fireship descended toward the Burning Sea.

  Enough of this, he told the god. If I die, I die. It is up to you.

  Shedara was muttering, invoking her own strange gods of woodland and magic. Nakhil fingered a string of beads, eyes shut, lips unmoving. Azar simply looked straight ahead; he had no gods. He didn’t know what a god was.

  As for the gnomes, they carried on like any ship’s crew, shouting and cursing and scurrying about the stone deck. They were lowering toward a lake of liquid fire and racing to confront a deadly army on the march, but by their behavior, it could have been simply a day of ill weather at the harbors of Kristophan or Suluk. Hult took comfort from that, and from the heft of the frostblade in his hand.

  The sw
ord was all wrong—too short, too straight for his liking. And he had his doubts about the white dragon bile. But he had to admit there was something oddly comforting about the weapon.

  Still, as they cleared the stone shaft that led down from the gnomish wharf and began to descend through open air, he had to stop himself from offering the goats again.

  The gnomes had tunneled a bight out of the columns, making a sheltered cove surrounded by the massive stone pillars. Hult didn’t dare look down, so he looked out instead, across the Cauldron.

  The kurshakur were plain to see from there: a wall of fire little more than a league away, creeping toward Ilmach across the roiling red lava. He glanced at the frostblade in his hand and almost laughed: the short sword seemed pitiful against such a horde. A thousand warriors armed with the weapons wouldn’t be able to prevail against such a force.

  “This is going to be difficult,” said Nakhil, gazing at the kurshakur.

  “That’s a word for it,” agreed Shedara. She wriggled her fingers, readying them for her spells. “Azar, if we need your help, can you give it?”

  Azar thought about it. He alone was unperturbed by the sight of the army of fire swarming across the Burning Sea. “I will try. I don’t control my powers the way you do. I can only see what must be done, and then do it.”

  Shedara met Hult’s eyes and made a face. Not good enough, her gaze said, but she shrugged it off and glanced over the gunwale. Sweat streamed down her brow, and Hult became aware of how much he was perspiring as well: despite the cooling armor of the minoi, it was still hotter than midsummer on the Tamire.

  “Almost there,” Shedara said. “Hold tight.”

  He wanted to grab her hand, but she wasn’t sitting close enough, so he tightened his fingers around the edge of the bench where he sat. There was a sound that was more slurp than splash—the Cauldron was thicker than any sea of water—and the boat lurched, rocking him forward on his seat. He winced, half expecting the flames to rise, the magma to eat its way through the hull and turn them to cinders.