Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (4 page)

 “Brannis, the shield wall!” Iridan called out,
drawing Brannis’s attention to a gap that had formed.

As Brannis turned that way, he heard Iridan
immediately began another spell:
“Kanethio mandraxae.”

Iridan crossed his palms, facing outward, and aimed
toward the breach. A blue-white ray of light shone out from him, wide as his
shoulders, and he ducked his head to keep the brightness from hurting his eyes.
The blast was one of pure aether force, and left a large number of goblins
missing entirely when the blinding glare left the spot and everyone could see
there again. But the smoking ruin of a gap was once again quickly filled by a
few of the remaining goblins.

Iridan winced in pain as the aether blast took more
power to cast than his body was accustomed to.  Brannis knew that every vein in
his thin body must have been like a river of fire. Brannis had studied along
with Iridan at the Academy, before being expelled for lack of talent. The pain
was really in the mind, and Iridan’s body would still function if he had the
will to endure through it.

Brannis had taken advantage of the blinding light to
cut down most of the goblins facing him. His back had been to the blast and his
adversaries had seen it directly, blinding them temporarily and giving Brannis
an easy time of dispatching them. With the quick respite in the battle, Brannis
took stock of his army and was dismayed. Both sides had been ravaged during the
fight. Fewer than half of his troops were still standing and goblin bodies
littered the battlefield. Even as he pondered this, a plume of fire erupted
from nearby and engulfed several more of his men.

Brannis spotted a goblin sorcerer—one of two that he
had figured remained in the battle—at the source of the fire. Distractedly
slashing through a goblin that had thought to catch him in an unguarded moment,
Brannis charged across the battlefield toward the deadly goblin sorcerer.

The goblin spotted him as well and began another
spell. Brannis understood nothing of goblin speech or how they used magic. Not
the fleetest of runners, he could only hope he was fast enough to close the
distance in time. He saw the goblin cup his hands together as something grew
between them. It began as a tiny puff of golden light and expanded as Brannis
watched, his eyes intent on nothing else. The energy grew into a globe the size
of Brannis's fist. The goblin sorcerer was struggling to hold it in check,
squeezing it between its bony hands. He tried to slow himself as he saw the
goblin bringing its hands around behind the globe, realizing he was not going
to be able to close the distance in time. His momentum was too great to dodge
to the side. The goblin let his spell loose straight at Brannis's chest.

Brannis saw the blast coming and did the only thing he
could think to do. He brought his sword up in front of him, tip pointing down,
into line with the oncoming missile. With his left arm, he tried to shield his
face from the blast.

He felt a wrenching pain in his right shoulder, and
the sword was torn from his grasp. There was an impact on his breastplate that
felt like someone had just slung a sack of flour into his chest but he managed
to keep his balance and hardly break stride.

When he brought his other arm away from his face,
Brannis caught sight of one particularly astonished goblin who stood gaping at
him. The little creature turned to run but Brannis was running full out, and
dove onto the sorcerer before he could get more than two steps away. Pinning
the goblin was child’s play as Brannis easily outweighed the sorcerer five
times over. The goblin tried casting one last spell, but two heavy blows from
Brannis’s gauntleted fist were more than the creature’s frail body could
endure.

*
* * * * * * *

Iridan and the last remaining goblin sorcerer had torn
into each other’s forces in a fury of magical power while not directly
encountering each other. The goblin sorcerer had seen too much of the human’s
magic to want to test himself against Iridan directly, but now he had a much
better chance. Having snuck around the fallen left flank of the human army, he
crouched low by the brook and, quietly as he could, timed a spell for when
Iridan was most vulnerable.

Iridan had just cast another aether blast spell,
figuring that his own body was a price he was willing to pay to save the rest
of the army. He was beginning to feel nauseous with the pain of his last
casting, once more having pushed himself too far, when he heard a crackling
sound to his left. Turning, he saw a ball of lightning heading toward him and
panicked.

Iridan raised his hands out in front of him and
reflexively drew in all the aether he could muster. Without a word of arcane or
a conscious thought, a translucent barrier formed in the air between his body
and the balled lightning, bowl-shaped and facing his enemy. When the two forces
collided, Iridan felt the impact in his shoulders, as if his outstretched hands
had been supporting the barrier. The barrier flashed but remained intact. The
goblin’s spell rebounded from the barrier and right back at him. The goblin had
no time to react.

Iridan had another problem, however: he had drawn in
more aether than he could control. It felt like a wildfire had been ignited
behind his eyes. He clutched at the sides of his head and fell to his knees,
screaming incoherently. With what little of his mind that was not muddled by
pain, he tried to force the aether out of his body and into another vessel. His
training would have had him divert the aether into fire and heat the nearest
water available to him but he was too blinded by the pain to find the stream,
and so he randomly started to release the aether wherever he was able.

The few goblins that had not begun to retreat when
they saw their last sorcerer fall tried to take advantage of Iridan’s infirmity
and finish him off. They did not realize their mistake until they burst into
flames as they drew too near the human sorcerer.

The ground around Iridan began to steam and the grass
withered to ash within several paces of him. The dozen or so goblins still able
to move were now in retreat, and the few Kadrins still standing sought some way
to aid their sorcerer’s plight.

There was little any of them could do, though, and a
moment later, with a convulsive gasp that sounded like a horrible mixture of
pain and relief, Iridan collapsed onto the blistered turf.

Chapter
4 - Disturbing Dreams

The city's clock tower struck the hour, the count of
chimes lost in the remnants of a lingering dream. Kyrus Hinterdale dragged
himself out of bed, stiff and sore, and made his way slowly to the window. The
room was dark except for a sliver of sunlight streaming between the closed
shutters. When Kyrus drew them open, he had to squeeze his eyes shut against
the brightness, only opening them in a squint once he had turned his head. He
ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth to clear away the sticky, gummy
feeling he had. He took up the pitcher he kept for filling the washbasin and
drank a mouthful. The water was warm, as it had been sitting on his dressing
table for days but he cared little. It was the second day since Expert Davin’s
announcement of his new office, and the second morning in a row that had
greeted him with a hangover.

Kyrus went to the little mirror that hung from his
wall and wiped it clean with a shirtsleeve. The face that looked back bore some
passing resemblance to his own. The green eyes were bloodshot, the sandy-blond
hair was wilder than was his custom, but it was him. The close examination was
more work than his eyes were fit for. He squeezed them shut as a defense.

To keep his mind away from the rioting headache he was
experiencing, he tried to put the remnants of yesterday in order in his
thoughts …

*
* * * * * * *

It was destined to be perhaps the shortest day of
Kyrus’s life. It began shortly after noon, when he found himself staring at the
ceiling of his own room, both wondering how he had managed to get back home,
and not wanting to move for fear of his skull splitting in two from sheer pain.
His dreams, plagued by nightmares of fire and blood, did no justice to the
waking torment that greeted him along with the early afternoon sun.

Davin had brought him a steaming cup of coffee, an
extravagance Kyrus rarely had the chance to enjoy, which had cheered him more
than relieved his headache. Still, it was enough to coax him out of bed. Davin
and the king’s steward Kornelius had hired porters to pack up the old scribe’s
personal effects, so Kyrus’s help had not been needed during the morning hours.
Davin wanted to spend some time with his young successor, though, before he
took his leave. The two of them left the king's man to oversee the packing and
went to find a suitable eatery for what they expected would be their last
luncheon together for a long time.

Dremmer’s Pub was a rich man’s dive. It was situated
on the outskirts of the wealthy side of Scar Harbor, toward the docks but not
near them by any stretch of creative geography. Still, the decor was that of a
dockside tavern, with trophy fish hung on the walls and rustic, rough-cut
furnishings of unfinished wood. The bottoms of the table were kept scrubbed
with seawater to give the place just a hint of the briny smell that reminded
sailors of the sea. It was all show, however, for the food was excellent and
the prices a bit too high for most to afford easily or regularly. Any real
sailor that set foot inside would have had a good laugh at how anyone could
mistake the clean, well-tended tavern for a sea-dogs’ watering hole. It was a
place where the genteel could get a taste of danger without actually
experiencing it, making it a common destination for wealthy visitors to the
city, as well as a few well-off locals with nautical pretensions.

Kyrus and Davin had taken a seat just under a stuffed
swordfish, at a small table in a corner of the common room. Kyrus had never
before set foot inside the expensive establishment. He could not help but gawk
a bit at the important personages that had stopped by to take their lunch
there. He noticed two of the local merchant guild masters, discussing something
over bowls of chowder. A lord, whose name did not come readily to his mind, sat
by himself, looking through a ledger of some sort. There was Admiral Rand, a
pensioner of the Royal Navy and a regular at Dremmer’s, sharing old war stories
with Lord Harwick’s eldest son, Tomas. Kyrus felt out of place among his social
superiors.

"The place is all yours now, my boy. I know you
will do it proud," Davin said over his plate of shrimp.

Kyrus looked down to the Expert Scrivener's medallion
that hung about his neck. It was so new it still smelled of silver polish. It
felt like it belonged around someone else's neck.

"You know, all the secrecy the past week when you
refused to tell me what you were up to ... I somehow never guessed this,"
Kyrus said and gave the medallion's chain a tug. "Greuder had me convinced
you were setting me up with some long-lost niece of yours."

Davin laughed. "My elder brother's only girl is
your mother's age. Tell that baker to stick to his pastries and leave
prognostication to more gifted charlatans."

Kyrus gave a little grin and shrugged. "What can
I say? He had
me
convinced."

Davin waved away his comments. "Kyrus, you have a
good mind between those ears. You just need to get out more. Everything will
work out in the end, there is no need to rush things. Besides, now you have a
shop of your very own. Respectable member of the Scriveners' Guild and all
that."

Davin spent the rest of their meal explaining to Kyrus
how to manage the business of the scrivener’s shop, and filled him in on the
details of the commissions that he had yet to start work on but which Kyrus
would be taking over. There was a good deal more to it than Kyrus had realized,
and he tried his best to remember everything Davin said. Though it had lessened
with the passing hours and continued to abate as he took in some good food and
drink, a bright pain still dwelt behind Kyrus’s eyes; he was sure it had caused
him to miss more than one morsel of advice from his mentor.

What was that about the best prices on colored inks?
Ah well, I am sure I shall have a thousand things to learn on my own regardless
and one more cannot hurt much. Do not want to spoil the old man’s lunch by
making him think I am not listening.

The rest of the day had been spent seeing to the last
of the packing and to making arrangements for Kyrus’s smooth transition to
ownership of the business. It was frightfully dull and dry stuff: papers to be
filed with the guild and negotiating with merchants to reestablish deals made
by Davin in Kyrus’s name. Kornelius had been a remarkable help, for his
position as a king’s man had lent importance to their activities and caught the
attention of otherwise slow-acting officials of the merchant guilds.

Interspersed among their bustling, Kyrus and Davin
managed to conclude a game of chess that had been set up between their two
writing desks. A book entitled
On the Stratagems and Underlying Premises of
the Game of Chess, Insights of Lord Arvind Kendelaine III
sat nearby, well
worn and well loved. It was the first commission that they had worked on
jointly, and the game had been the first thing that Expert Davin found himself
to have in common with his apprentice. It was in playing the game regularly that
their friendship had developed. As they played more and came to discover that
they were well-matched adversaries, Davin came to respect Kyrus’s intellect and
his ability to analyze. In the years since then, Kyrus had come to be almost a
partner to the Expert Scribe, rather than an apprentice in his tutelage. Kyrus
almost wished he had lost the game so that Davin could leave victorious.

By day’s end, a carriage had been loaded with all that
Davin cared to take with him and at the end of the night, he and Kornelius were
to depart for Golis. But Davin’s other friends had not been idle. The
announcement of Davin's appointment as King Gorden's new scribe had been a
cause for a celebration of Davin's own making the night before. For the
occasion of Davin’s departure, however, they had arranged a party of their own
to send him off properly.

Having barely recovered from the aftereffects of
Davin’s surprise revel, Kyrus had made a concerted effort to moderate his
celebrating a bit that time. He could not say how well he succeeded at his
goal, however, for the night’s carousing seemed vague in his memory, though he
remembered seeing Davin and Kornelius into their carriage as the driver drew
them away from the city. He was fairly certain that he had managed his own way
home from the revel as well, but recalled little else.

*
* * * * * * *

Kyrus decided at that point to swear off drinking
entirely. It was unlikely that another occasion would come along soon that
would demand a toast, let alone five or more in one night, so for the time
being, it should have been no problem to go without. Taking another swallow of
water from the pitcher, he poured the rest into the washbasin and splashed some
onto his face. He noticed a bit of blood had reddened the water as he washed, and
he soon found a cut on the knuckle of the index finger on his right hand. It
did not look serious but his careless ignorance of it had reopened the wound,
which he had presumably received last night.

I hope I was not in a fight,
he thought.

His reflection in the mirror was a wreck, but Kyrus
smiled back at himself. For the first time, he truly saw himself as a grown
man.
I am a guild member!
The medallion still hung proudly from his
neck; he had not removed it since Davin had placed it there two nights before.

Yawning and stretching purposefully, Kyrus was
determined to will away his fatigue and headache, and continue about his day.
It was overly ambitious of him, but the chipper attitude he forced on himself
helped him ignore the pain a bit and focus on more pressing matters. As his
mind cleared a little, something struck him momentarily, a fleeting bit of a
dream that seemed out of place.

He remembered something about using magic for the
first time. He had long dreamed during his childhood of being a great wizard
like in the fairy tales, rescuing maidens and battling dragons. But it seemed
that even in his own dreams, he was destined never to be able to use magic, no
matter how long or hard he tried. He had not recalled dreaming of it for many
years, and he remembered his dreams more often than not. Last night, he had
dreamt differently, he knew—or thought he knew. The memory was gnawing at the
edge of his conscious thoughts, just out of reach. Concentrating, he tried to
bring to mind his dreams of last night but the harder he tried, the further
they slipped, as was often the way of dreams. The drinking had only made it
worse.

Kyrus gave up for the time being, and turned his
attention to the more immediate tasks of the day ahead of him. After washing
and dressing, he headed downstairs to get to work. As he passed the door of
Davin’s room, which was slightly ajar, he could not help but wonder anew at the
thought that his old friend was really gone. It still seemed strange to Kyrus,
something he did not expect to become accustomed to for some time. He wondered
what he should do with the room, for he had little enough need of the space his
own room provided. Perhaps he could rent the room to a boarder. The thought
that he might take on an apprentice of his own had not even entered his mind.

The day’s work seemed tedious now, without Davin
around. There was still just as much work and now half as many scribes to do
it. Surely Davin’s work had slowed recently due to his advancing years and
aching joints, but he still was able to write a vast number of pages each day.
Kyrus missed both his contribution and his wit. He set himself to his task,
though, and made it through a greater volume of work than he was normally
capable of, since he and Davin often broke off from working for one reason or
another during the day, when they felt the need. Kyrus, feeling the pressure of
filling his mentor’s place as the preeminent scribe in Scar Harbor, pressed
straight through the day with naught but a short break at noontime for a small
lunch of soup and bread.

At sunset, he put down his quill for the evening. It
was nearly summertime, and the days were already long enough in Kyrus’s
estimation without lengthening them with lamplight. Kyrus flexed the cramps out
of his wrist and decided to take a walk to get his idle legs a bit of
limbering. As he opened the shop’s door to go out, he received a small but not
unwelcome surprise.

“Ash, what are you doing here?” Kyrus asked the
familiar feline that had been lying patiently on the front stoop.

In answer, the cat stretched languidly and walked past
Kyrus into the shop. Apparently he had his own opinion on where he wished to
live.

“I see. Well, I shall have to write Davin and see what
he wants me to do with you, but you are welcome here for the time being.”

Kyrus did not feel the least bit odd talking to the
cat, though a woman closing up a vegetable stand for the night looked at him
strangely. Kyrus had acquired Davin’s habit of talking to Ash as if he were
another person, a trait he had developed during the years he lived alone with
the cat before taking on Kyrus as his apprentice.

Kyrus shut the door behind the cat and started off
down the street with no particular destination in mind. The fresh, mild air
felt good as he filled his lungs, and cleared out the musty feeling that had
settled there from being cooped up indoors all day. The sky was clear. In the
dusk, Kyrus was just able to start picking out stars as the deepening gloom of
falling night revealed them one by one. He tried to let all the worries and
pressures of his new responsibility drift up and float away into the vast
canopy of the heavens. It did not quite work but he felt the better for having
tried.