Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (46 page)

I will show them
, Kyrus thought, starting to feel a bit of self-confidence.
I will
show them that they would not be able to manage without me.

“Eehu dolkavi esfenetor gelex ajihru,”
chanted Kyrus loudly, mimicking Captain Zayne’s
thrusting claw hand action. Kyrus made sure to pull hard on the aether as he
finished the spell, funneling as much power into it as he could manage.

From nowhere, a gale sprang, catching the sail—which
had been slack in the light breeze—and snapping it taught. There was a great
and ominous creak of wood straining, and the bow of the ship lifted up as the
ship accelerated unnaturally. Kyrus lost his footing and stumbled against the
pillar that supported the wheel.

Kyrus was not finished, though. He was tired, and
scared, and was suddenly finding an outlet for all the frustration and
hopelessness he had found since his capture. He hurried to the port side of the
ship and tried something he had been curious about. For all the dangers it was
supposed to carry, he figured that there was plenty of water handy to absorb
any mistakes. Kyrus leaned out over the railing and extended both hands out
toward the merchant vessel that they were starting to pull away from. He did
not know if the gesture helped any, but it felt right.

Kyrus just drew in any and all aether he could manage.
The normal cool rush of it burned instead as it tore through him, but it did oh
so much more once he released it. A massive gout of flame poured across the
expanse separating the two ships and rolled up and into the rigging and sails.
He stopped short of raking the decks with flame; angry as he was, he was still
not a killer at heart, despite the company he had accepted.

“Mr. Hinterdale, if you do not mind me asking … why
did we need to rescue you?” Captain Zayne asked, clearly taken aback by a
display of sorcery that was unheard of in his experience.

“That was my backup plan. I was not about to go to the
gallows without a fight,” Kyrus bragged. He sincerely hoped that in light of
the conflagration he had just unleashed, no one would notice the fact that he
was shaking.

Over the next few minutes, men emerged from
belowdecks, and several helped get the sails set and rigged properly. Stalyart
took over the wheel as Captain Zayne took reports on the execution of their
plan.

On the whole, they had suffered only minor injuries.
There had been a slaughter below, as Mr. Crispin’s ruse had gotten them to
within striking distance, with knives out, before the crew had even realized
something was amiss. Eight men had been taken prisoner and the rest were all
dead. Before he took over the wheel, Captain Zayne had gone into the captain’s
quarters and knocked out Captain Rannison; they went back in after to tie him
up. There was no evidence of sabotage or damage to the ship, and there were
plenty of supplies stored aboard; the ship had been preparing to leave port in
just two more days.

*
* * * * * * *

Dawn broke and found Captain Zayne a free and
contented man. He stood on the deck of his own ship, so new that he had not yet
decided on a name for it. He had considered just naming it
The Honest
Merchant
and carrying on as if he had never lost the original, but he knew
the name would always ring hollow to him if he did.

Taking a deep breath of the sea air on a clear
morning, he turned to survey his prisoners. There were nine in all—eight common
sailors and one captain—standing in a row by the starboard bulwark. Captain
Rannison was stripped to his underclothes as Denrik had appropriated his
wardrobe and given it to Grosh to make alterations. The former captain was also
the only one bound, with his hands tied behind his back.

The whole crew was on deck, except for Holyoake at the
wheel and Kyrus. The hero of their escape had taken to his new quarters on the
pretense of exhaustion and had shut himself in. He had commandeered one of the
senior officers’ cabins, making it only himself, Mr. Stalyart, and the captain
who had deluxe accommodations. The minor officers’ quarters were generally twos
and fours, and there were enough of those to go around that none of the crew
had to bunk where the navy’s common sailors had slept.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I imagine that after last
night’s events, you are all surprised and perhaps grateful to be alive,”
Captain Zayne said, speaking loudly enough that all could hear him. “Well,
today I am in a magnanimous mood. I have a new ship, and a fresh crew, and the
rolling sea beneath my feet again. As you may notice, we are shorthanded. I may
go so far as to offer you gentlemen jobs.

“But first, I would like to deal with the issue of
your Captain Rannison. I imagine that if you spend long enough aboard a ship,
you may come to resent your captain, perhaps even bear him a grudge. It may
even be the case that despite your own tenuous situation, that you are enjoying
seeing him squirm,” Denrik said, though in truth he believed that the old
captain’s stoicism was very dignified and rather admirable. “So I offer my
pistol, loaded, to the man who would take his captain’s life. I shall not
question your motive; your reason you may keep to yourself.”

He offered the pistol, handle foremost, to each of the
eight men in turn. None of the men moved.

“I see, so none of you has a grudge you would like to
settle today, to end this man’s life by your own hand?” Denrik asked. “Very
well, then.”

Denrik then grabbed Captain Rannison by the shoulder,
pushed him against the railing, and shot the man himself. He leaned on the
stricken Rannison and heaved him over the railing. No one but Captain Zayne saw
him hit the water, but all heard the splash. It was like a punctuation mark at
the end of their hijacking.

In the end, each of the eight men was dumped in the
water. Denrik had asked Mr. Crispin about each of them, and he was unwilling to
vouch for any. Disappointed, but certainly grateful that Crispin was a hard
enough man to let them all die rather than take a chance, Captain Zayne set his
crew and headed for the meeting spot to transfer men and supplies from
Stalyart’s merchant ship. It would still be a small crew, but they would work
that out in due time.

*
* * * * * * *

In an elegantly appointed office in the heart of
Golis, Lord Harwick opened the message he had just received. It had been
delivered by horse just moments before by a messenger from Scar Harbor who had
claimed it was of utmost urgency. The man had ridden well into the night to
reach Golis but had been stopped cold by Lord Harwick’s own assistants, who
would not be persuaded to rouse the aging magistrate in the night for anyone
short of the king or the high councilor.

Lord Harwick adjusted his spectacles and read through
it. The secretary who had brought the message in watched Lord Harwick’s eyebrow
raise at first, then saw his brow furrow. After a moment, he saw the lord’s
face redden.

“Clarsey, do you know what this is?” Lord Harwick
demanded.

Clarsey knew enough that his lordship was angry, but
not with him.

“No, your lordship. What is it?” Clarsey played along.
Lord Harwick was a good man and a keen jurist, so he could be forgiven his
occasional theatrics.

“Those superstitious bumpkins in Scar Harbor have found
someone guilty of witchcraft. They want me to convince the king to make an
exception to the moratorium on executions. And of all people, Kyrus Hinterdale,
an expert in the Scrivener’s Guild. Same lad who put Lord Kendelaine’s treatise
on chess into publication; I have a copy of it myself. If that lad is a threat
to the society, then I am one of his majesty’s hunting hounds!

“Put an order together, Clarsey. I want Expert
Hinterdale brought up here and given a new trial. And I want Lord Lionsvaen up
here as well, to explain himself. Oh, and draft up something for the council,
recommending we strike that silly witchcraft law from the books. It is a farce
that we still have that on record.

“That poor boy. I shall see to it that he is cleared
of this ridiculous charge.”

Once his assistant had left the room, Harwick took up
his pipe and clamped it firmly in his mouth. He leaned back in his armchair and
laced his fingers behind his head. With no one else observing him, a tiny flame
sparked unbidden, lighting his pipe.

Chapter 23 - Dragon Time

Jinzan watched out the window as one of the reins of
the great, winged beasts the goblins called a ch’pt’rk was tied to one of the
wrought-iron fences in the flower garden of Lord Festrius Feldrake. Jinzan knew
that it was a sign of poor leadership and an ill-controlled temper to kill
messengers who bore unwelcome news, but he had been sorely tempted to
incinerate the pompous skyrider who had delivered Ni’Hash’Tk’s decree.

A tenday? Really, dragon, you could not make any more
haste than that?

The delay seemed excessive to the impatient sorcerer,
who saw no preparations to leave, but rather a settling in among the goblins of
G’thk’s army.

The citizens of Illard’s Glen had fled in great haste
as the goblin army overran the town. Many of the defenders had remained behind
long enough that most of the refugees had been able to escape. Knights had
stood their ground against impossible odds to buy the civilians extra moments
to make it to the eastern and southern gates, where they might flee to
Raynesdark and Korgen, respectively. G’thk had ordered a token pursuit of the
refugees, and his forces had engaged those who had gone along armed to protect
the peasants, tradesmen, and others who were ill-equipped to defend themselves.
The goblin general cared little for the fleeing Kadrins, however, and quickly
recalled his forces before they became too far separated from the main body of
the army.

The goblins had swept the city and rounded up all
those humans who had remained. The able-bodied men were all killed as a
precaution, with the exception of two knights that were taken alive with the
hope of ransoming them later. The children and the infirm were taken hostage
and reasonably well cared for. The goblins fed them and allowed them proper
shelter; they did not mistreat or intentionally frighten them, and left them to
be overseen by some of the older girl children. The women were pressed into
service as attendants to the goblins, especially the officers. With the
knowledge that the safety and well-being of their young ones were at stake,
they were docile enough as household servants.

Jinzan tried to remain detached from the goblins’
treatment of their human prisoners. His own people had been conquered by these
same Kadrins ages ago, and it held a warped and distorted mirror before his
face to see the way the goblins casually disposed of and used them. It would
have felt more like a proper vengeance if Megrenn soldiers had been the ones to
kill the human prisoners, rather than having them burned by the dozen by goblin
firehurlers.

More than a week I shall wait in this worthless Kadrin
town. And for what, an escort from that great overgrown lizard?

Jinzan had been allowed to meet Ni’Hash’Tk when he had
first proposed his plan. While the dragon-goddess was certainly impressive in
size and certainly seemed capable of inflicting great harm, he found her to be
insufferably vain and naïve. He had known beforehand that Ni’Hash’Tk was looked
down upon by the other goblin tribes as a fool, and his plan had relied on it.
Convincing the dragon to send her armies to conquer a lair for her dullard
offspring worked brilliantly for getting him into the upper mines of
Raynesdark.

[Quit looking out the window and come play,] a
crackling voice called him from his musings.

Jinzan turned and saw three goblins seated around a
small square table. Like many of the human furnishings in Lord Feldrake’s manor
home, the legs had been cut short by the goblins since they had moved in. What
had once likely been a table where the lord and his guests might play at cards
was now little more than a platform at shin height. A set of velvet upholstered
chairs had likewise been shortened to goblin size, and contained the personages
of K’k’rt, G’thk, and N’ft’k, who was the commander of the reinforcement
divisions that had recently joined up with G’thk’s troops.

“Do we not have more pressing tasks?’ Jinzan asked.

He knew the game well enough but suspected strongly
that the goblins would conspire against him. Jinzan looked down at the pile of
square ivory tiles that were strewn face down on the table. K’k’rt mashed his
hands in among them and mixed them vigorously, but with such a practiced hand
that they did not flip over in the process.

[Sorcerer, you worry too much. We will have Ni’Hash’Tk’s
blessing for the final battle. That is all we could wish for. Your toys are
most effective and impressive, certainly, but with Ni’Hash’Tk’s aid, we cannot
lose. Your plan will work now. Enjoy yourself,] G’thk said.

The general had been satisfied with the army’s rapid
conquest of Illard’s Glen, but had been somewhat less optimistic about their
assault on Raynesdark, which boasted much sterner defenses. News of their
dragon-goddess joining them, though, had erased all his doubts. While Jinzan agreed
that the dragon’s aid would certainly weigh heavily in their favor, one small
detail in the message nagged at him.

“And what of the demon Ni’Hash’Tk mentioned?” Jinzan
asked, grateful that at least the dragon’s name was pronounceable with Megrenn
sounds.

The sorcerer pulled up a large silk pillow to the
table and used it for a seat, folding his legs under him. The chairs were cut
down so low that his knees would have been up by his chin had he tried to sit
in one, and even if he had found one still left at human height, the table
would have been too low to reach. The pillow was comfortable, if somewhat
undignified.

[That is why she comes. Ni’Hash’Tk will deal with the
demon, if it is brave enough to show itself in battle despite her presence,]
G’thk said.

The goblin general lazed in his chair and reached to
select five of the tiles for himself. K’k’rt and N’ft’k did likewise, taking
their starting allotment for the game. Jinzan still felt uneasy playing the
game in the first place, but took his five tiles as well.

It was a simple enough game on the surface. The tiles
were blank on one side. On the other face, each edge of the square tiles had a
symbol. On his turn, a player would play a tile and draw a tile from the middle
to replace it. After the first tile was placed, any other tile placed had to
lie adjacent to another with a matching symbol. Each player was attempting to
make a ring of tiles that enclosed the largest area possible. Once one player
completed a circuit, the round would end and bets would be paid out, using a
complicated system that related to how large an area was fenced off in tiles,
and certain modifiers for combinations of symbols facing inward. Players
predominantly played on their own tiles but were free to spend a turn adding tiles
to their opponents’ rings as well, to hinder them. If a player either had no
eligible plays or simply wished to pass, he could drop a tile faceup in the
middle and select another as his turn.

Those last two parts were what always concerned Jinzan
about playing with the goblins. There were no rules preventing two or more of
his opponents from ganging up on him to let one of the others win, and
discarding tiles faceup meant that cunning opponents could pass tiles to each
other. Jinzan had learned a different variant of the game where the discarded
tiles went facedown, but G’thk considered his way to be the “proper” way to
play. The goblin’s name for the game had no proper exact translation in
Megrenn, but G’thk had explained that it came out to roughly “swineherd making
fences.” Jinzan’s people had learned the game ages ago from trade with the
goblins and had named it “Avarice.” Many a game was lost when someone held out
too long for a large payoff and someone finished a smaller ring before their
masterpiece was completed.

Jinzan looked at his tiles. He was a rank novice at
the game, in addition to his suspicion that the goblins would cheat him out of
his money. He had already counted his coins as lost. The tiles he held were as
good as any others; he had no grand plan for winning. He merely humored his
goblin allies in playing, and wanted to be in on their conversation, especially
if he could steer it toward making useful plans rather than counting on their
reptilian liege to take care of their affairs for them.

Jinzan picked one of his tiles at random and plunked
it down on the table as his first move. They had not yet decided the order of
play, but Jinzan skipped over that formality and took the initiative. If this
was to be a test of wits and wills—one likely stacked against him from the
outset—he would rather be bold.

The goblins exchanged glances, but none spoke against
their human ally. Play proceeded as if nothing untoward had occurred. Jinzan
began to wonder if anything had. These goblins had their own way of thinking of
such things; perhaps he had just stumbled into something they considered
socially accepted, taking the lead in starting the game. More likely, though,
he had just marked himself as a troublemaker to be dealt with within the game.

[You worry too much, sorcerer,] G’thk said, placing a
tile in front of him. [I can tell you would rather we gather up all our troops
and charge straight to the humans’ mines. Rush in, blast with magic and your
new weapons, take what we want.] G’thk picked up a tile, and play proceeded
past him as he talked. [Surely I would much enjoy finishing our campaign with a
great and crushing success. Sometimes prudence weighs more, though. You think I
take the warning of a demon lightly? I do not. I take the assurance of Ni’Hash’Tk’s
protection very seriously, though. To rush in now, and perhaps face a demon,
maybe we lose half our forces. Demons can be all manner of shapes and sizes,
and we know almost nothing of this one. With Ni’Hash’Tk leading us, no demon
will stand against us.

[So I say we are in no hurry. My kind have a fable we
tell, of a fox and a monkey who both wish to get to an island in the center of
a deep pond. They have heard that there is a great treasure there and are each
eager to claim it. The monkey—]

“Yes, my people have that story as well, or a version
of it. The monkey is impatient and gets eaten by monsters that live in the pond
when he tries to swim it; the fox waits until winter and walks across once the
water freezes,” Jinzan said. He absently played a tile and drew another from
the center.

[Spoken just like a monkey, too,] K’k’rt said,
laughing at Jinzan’s expense. [I may hate the cold, but I would like to walk on
the frozen water rather than swim with the lake monsters. You would think that
humans live so long that they would show more patience. I would wager you are
ten summers older than I am, but you sit still as well as a child.]

“I do not care for your tone, tinker,” Jinzan warned.

He realized that his temper was growing short. The
room had begun to feel uncomfortably warm, and he suspected that it was not the
room that was growing heated. He had decided going in to the game that G’thk
and K’k’rt were too valuable as allies, but should the lesser-ranked N’ft’k
cross him, he was prepared to slay the goblin right at the gaming table. With
the performance of the cannons during the brief assault on the defenses of
Illard’s Glen, he felt he had reaffirmed his value and was prepared to trade
some of the leeway that accompanied that for a bit more respect—and fear.

[Have ease, sorcerer,] G’thk said. [We are having a
game tonight. Perhaps K’k’rt has had too much of the human lord’s wine and has
freed his tongue, but perhaps you have drunk too little. Your brain is tied in
knots with worry. Wash them loose with wine. I know you tell me the Kd’rn wine
is like urine, but it comes from the stores of your enemy. Drink it and think
it is their tears and blood.]

“I am not certain tears or blood would taste any
better,” Jinzan said dryly, drawing chuckles from his opponents. “But if I am
to lose all my coin tonight, I may as well enjoy it.” Switching over to the
Kadrin tongue, he yelled out, “Girl! Bring me wine, the best Lord Feldrake kept
in his cellar.” Jinzan spoke fluent Kadrin, with a smooth Megrenn accent unmistakable
atop it.

The sorcerer let out a long sigh and ran his fingers
through his hair. Speaking Kadrin for the first time in years, surrounded by
people who viewed him as a curiosity and who likely spoke daggers of him behind
his back, it brought back old times for Jinzan…

*
* * * * * * *

“Today, we continue the lesson on the expansionist
wars of Warlock Rashan. As we covered yesterday, the Empire was not always so
large as it is today, and we have Warlock Rashan to thank for many of the
varied peoples who now pay fealty to Emperor Dharus,” their teacher had droned
in that uniquely didactic tone that seemed to develop in all classroom
instructors if you stood them before students for enough summers. “While these
territories have now been assimilated into the Empire proper, Warlock Rashan
made many enemies in the process. Who can tell me one of the many epithets his
enemies used to describe him?”

“Rashan the Bloodthirsty,” volunteered one student, a
fresh-faced lad named Krough who was always eager to get himself noticed.

“Good try, but that was how he came to be known here
in Kadrin, by those who grew weary of his constant warring,” said the
instructor, Dolvaen Lurien.

Dolvaen Lurien was a respected member of the faculty
at the Imperial Academy, a Third Circle sorcerer who was marked for high places
despite his low birth. Jinzan liked him better than the pompous sorcerers from
the well-heeled bloodlines. Jinzan had always thought the Imperial Circle’s
control of the breeding of the major sorcerous bloodlines of Kadrin made them
like warhorses or dogs, creatures bred for servitude and only allowed to rut
when and where their masters wished. Dolvaen treated the lowborn and non-Kadrin
students in his class equally, and Jinzan vowed he would not forget that fact.