Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (64 page)

“Still going to insist you are a brigand, Mr.
Hinterdale?”

“I have my sources. Rumors travel far and fast, and I
believe there is one rumor that you have missed out on, being with the goblins
instead of at home in Megrenn,” Kyrus said.

He wanted to see if Denrik—or Jinzan, he supposed—had
heard about the return of Rashan. He could only surmise that he had not, or his
certainty in a Megrenn victory could not be so total.

“Yes, we found out about the demon you keep company
with. One of the goblin assassins confronted him and was allowed to escape
alive. I am sorry, but if that demon of yours could not kill a simple assassin,
the Megrenn army will find nothing to fear, either,” Denrik responded, trying
to take the wind out of Kyrus’s sails.

“So that is it, then? Even with a demon on our side,
you still persist in wanting to bring war?” Kyrus asked.

He was not yet ready to reveal that it was Rashan who
had returned to them. It was too incredible a story, and even those who had
seen him personally had trouble believing it at first.

“Mr. Hinterdale … Kyrus, you are fighting on the wrong
side in this conflict. You will get conscripted—I cannot imagine them
tolerating brigandry in wartime—and you will have to fight on the losing side
in the coming war. Align yourself with us and you can be a lord of the seas in
Tellurak and a nobleman in occupied Kadrin in Veydrus. I could arrange that.”

*
* * * * * * *

Kyrus had not accepted Denrik’s offer, nor had he
declined. He was unsure which option would serve him best, though he had no intention
of actually joining forces with Jinzan Fehr and his Megrenn compatriots—nor
their goblin allies. On the one hand, he might be able to get more information
out of Denrik if he agreed to join him. On the other, he might let slip
something vital from his own side. It would all come down to his ability to
maintain a lie.

That ability had been called into question when he
found out that Denrik had caught on to his cheating, though he was unaware what
gave him away. Still, it ruled out Crackle as a way of making extra money on
board the
Fair Trader
, and was a warning shot across his bow that his
lies were not going entirely unnoticed.

Kyrus stared out to sea, watching the endless waters
roll. With his aether-vision, he was able to see the sea creatures near the
water’s surface and paused to watch an enormous school of fish flee from
several sharks that had gathered in the area. With practice, it was getting
easier to keep his vision split between the aether and the normal world. It was
fascinating to him to see the Sources of all those tiny little fish in the
water.

As the ship passed over the area where the fray was
taking place, Kyrus took pity on the poor little fishes. Locking his attention
onto one of the sharks, he felt for its Source—a shabby, weak thing for a
creature that large and fierce—and drew at it. The shark had no means of
resisting, and its Source gave up its scant aether with little fuss. The shark
became a lifeless carcass in the water and continued on for a moment before it
floated up to the surface. Kyrus did not even feel the urgency of the aether he
had trapped inside him. It was little enough that he could safely hold it
without even exerting himself. He killed the other sharks within his reach in a
similar manner.

Kyrus had first wondered about whether it was possible
for him to kill just by drawing from a Source after he was attacked in Marker’s
Point. In his panic, he had drawn aether as hard as he could, and though his
memories of the event were hazy, he was certain that he remembered the first of
his attackers falling limp before the blast that destroyed so much of the area
around him.

Marker’s Point … it reminded him of the tattoo on his
arm. They were only two days removed from the events of that day, both the
tattoo and the attack. The ward carved on his upper arm had saved Kyrus’s life
that night, there was no doubt. But what had the cost been? Captain Zayne had
called him a fool and told him that it would leech from his own Source, but he
had yet to feel any such effect.

It is possible that my Source is strong enough that I
do not notice the loss of aether I am experiencing? Or perhaps I am just too
new at this whole business to be able to tell I am being affected.

*
* * * * * * *

Kyrus took his meal in the mess with the men that
night. He felt more at ease among the rabble of the ship’s crew now that he was
confident in the workings of his tattoo ward. Let one of them come at him with
a blade, and he would not be so helpless as poor Ruuglor, killed in his sleep
by a goblin. It was better than dining with the captain and worrying about
whether he would accidentally betray the defenders at Raynesdark by something
he said. Sooner or later, the goblins would attack, and until then, he would
stay clear of the captain as best he could.

Kyrus had learned almost for certain that Denrik’s
counterpart Jinzan was with the goblin army. He now knew that Jinzan was
revered among the Megrenn, so he might make a valuable captive—though that was
a new idea and he had no idea how to go about taking captive a sorcerer of the
power alluded to by Denrik and Stalyart. He knew that Stalyart had traveled to
Kadrin, and that both he and Denrik saw the Kadrin Empire as weakened.

“Hey!” shouted one of the newcomers aboard the
Fair
Trader
. “I hear you’s a witch.”

Kyrus was pressed between two of Denrik’s men at the
table, Grosh and Jimony, among a throng present in the mess. He could not see
who had called out to him.

“I am a wizard, not a witch,” Kyrus yelled back to the
room in general, keeping his gaze in his tankard. The ale was not half bad,
purchased in quantity in Marker’s Point by a few discerning men among the crew
who liked a change from rum now and again.

“Whassa diff’rence?” he heard another shout back.

“Witches brew potions and cast hexes, and you can
never be sure whether they are really using magic at all or just tricking
you—and they are female by definition. A wizard such as myself throws fire and
commands the winds, and ought not be bothered when he is in his cups,” Kyrus
retorted.

There was a chuckle among the men at that last part.

“Come on, then. Shows us some magic, then, hey?”

“Ya, put on a show.”

“Ha-ha. Dance for us, witch!”

The drunken voices clamored for him to show his power.
They had heard rumors about the destruction in Marker’s Point, and many were
skeptical when they heard that it was the thin, bookish lad that Captain Zayne
had aboard.

“Aww, light one of ’em on fire, why don’cha?” Jimony
whispered to him. “That’ll shut em up right quick.”

Kyrus could tell that Jimony was uneasy aboard the
Fair
Trader
. He was aware that Captain Zayne had brought some of his fellow
prisoners from New Hope colony aboard, and they were every bit as much
not
sailors as he was. Kyrus had shown some empathy with the land-dwellers, and
they had begun attaching themselves to him to avoid the wrath of the seafaring
cutthroats that were increasing in population on the ship.

“Magic is no toy to be trifled with,” Kyrus replied to
those who had been egging him on, ignoring Jimony’s advice, tempting though it
might be. “It is enjoyable, but only for the one using it. If the sight of it
amuses you, so be it, but I am not here as your fool. It any of you wish to see
me use magic, draw steel with ill intent in my presence.”

“Haw, what a load! He ain’t no witch.”

Kyrus scanned the room, trying to identify the
speaker. He did not want to have this conversation every time he decided to
take a meal among the crew.

“Whomever just said that, show yourself,” Kyrus said,
feigning anger and standing suddenly. “Whoever was next to you knows who you
are. I shall go to the main deck, and anyone who wishes to have evidence that
my magic is real can join me.”

With that, Kyrus extracted himself from the crowded
bench and made his way through the mess.

I must be crazed. I just threw down a gauntlet before
an entire gang of pirates. I could really use someone here who I could trust to
talk some sense into me.

Kyrus had expected that a small group might follow him
to the deck, but in his wake, nearly every man among them was coming to see. He
had underestimated just how little there was of interest aboard a ship, and how
much the men craved action.

I wonder what I ought to do to convince them. Jimony
would have me kill one just to set an example, but I would rather not become a
murderer just to have some peace on this ship.

When they arrived on deck, Kyrus decided on a plan.

“All of you who believe I am a wizard, move to this
side of the deck,” and Kyrus gestured to the port side of the ship, which was
at his left at the moment. “Those who are not sure, step to the other side.”
The men did not budge at first, but Kyrus snapped at them, “Move!”

Then men lazily arranged themselves to one side of the
ship or the other, with many of them seeming undecided. There was much
muttering, but after some exhortations, Kyrus was able to get two distinct
groups.

First, Kyrus let loose a burst of hurled fire. He made
it a quick one, with little risk to the rigging, just a quick jet of flame from
his hand. There were gasps among the crew, but he heard skeptics as well.

“Street magician trick.”

“I saw a fella in Yulla do that same thing.”

“I ain’t believin’ it still.”

Still, a few moved from one side of the ship to the
other.

Next, Kyrus lifted one of the belaying pins, using
telekinesis. He had been practicing with it silently and was able to manage to
move the pin without having to audibly cast the spell. It was the first time he
had tried it outside his cabin though, and he was pleased not to have botched
it.

“More tricks.”

“I was hopin’ for somethin’ more impressive than
that.”

Again, though, a handful were swayed.

There still remained more than twenty in the skeptical
group, and Kyrus was about to put an end to that.

“Haru bedaessi leoki kwatuan gelora,”
he chanted, taking no risks this time.

When he swept his arms up, every last one of the group
of skeptics lifted into the air.

Telekinesis was a remarkably efficient spell, he
found, and despite so many heavy bodies, he barely felt the strain of holding
them aloft. Not content to suffer the sworn oaths and pleas for mercy from the
now far-less-skeptical group of pirates, he slowly brought them over the
railings of the ship. He took care not to let any of them get within arm’s
reach of the rigging as he guided them out over the open, shark-infested waters
with no land in sight in any direction.

“How is this for a trick? Do you like tricks?” Kyrus
called out to them. “I told you that none enjoy magic but the one wielding it.
Do you believe me now? Would any of you like to see more? I have more.”

There were none left among the skeptics when Kyrus
returned the airborne men to the deck. He had made enemies that night, he knew,
but he would learn to live with that. Let them fear him, despise him even, but
he would not be the laughingstock of the ship. He was beginning to suspect that
he would not be able to stay long aboard, given the situation with Denrik, and
so the prospect of long-term allies was less of a concern for him.

Kyrus stalked past the crew without addressing any of
them. He was tired and worried—to some extent about the tattoo and what it
might one day do to his Source, but mainly about Brannis. It was time to get to
sleep early tonight, to see what was going to befall.

Chapter 32 - Opening Salvo

The sleep that night had been poor for all. The
discovery of the assassin had set the castle on alarm, and guards swarmed
everywhere. The duke’s household was awakened, and Brannis had been forced to
cut short his already meager slumber.

“How did he get in?” Brannis asked.

“I smelled a bit of the sewer on him. There, plain as
snow, once you get around the smell of blood,” the guard captain reported, a
lowborn but competent man named Dern. He was dressed in the duke’s livery, but
it appeared hastily donned. He had his sword belt on but no other arms, and was
unarmored. “We lost five o’ our own, though we are still checking.”

Frantic knocking on the other doors of the hall had
roused the rest of Brannis’s companions shortly after Juliana dispatched the
assassin. Iridan had slept through the incident, confident in his wards. Faolen
emerged from his room with one of the duke’s daughters, though whether it was
Demni or Phaelia, Brannis neither knew nor cared. Faolen had constructed an
illusion of an empty bedchamber to guard against scandalizing the castle staff
should anyone have come across them. Sending the duke’s daughter scampering off
to her own chambers in a borrowed cloak had undone his plan, though in the
chaos of the assassin’s havoc, it passed with little attention paid.

It was hours to dawn, and Brannis was already armored
and content to remain so. It took much to rouse him, even after Iridan tore his
door off the hinges to check on him, finding that it had been Avalanche that
had prevented entrance by less violent means. The sword’s power was impressive.
A runed weapon would have run out of aether before holding off Iridan’s efforts
against the door. Being aether-forged, Avalanche was far more stingy with its
aether use, able to function for decades or more with no maintenance.
Aether-forged weapons were unfortunately uncommon, however, as the process
required a rather skilled sorcerer to handcraft the weapon, imbuing it with
aether all through the endeavor. Avalanche and Heavens Cry were the only ones
Iridan had ever seen.

“Well, anyone who thinks they can get back to sleep,
take a few hours, at least until dawn feast,” Brannis ordered.

*
* * * * * * *

Brannis was exploring the lower mines not half an hour
later. The others had all gone off to their assigned tasks; none had thought
further sleep possible, given the circumstances. While he hoped that the
defenses above would hold, the mines were where they would need to hold out if
they were overrun. The reported numbers of the goblin army worried him, and the
number of the duke’s defenders worried him more so.

Duke Pellaton kept two hundred archers, crews for ten
siege engines, a pitiful contingent of two-score cavalry, four hundred city
guard that would serve as infantry, and a militia of another thousand common
folk who could be armed for Raynesdark’s defense. That left them outnumbered
forty to one, should the reports of the goblin host prove accurate.

“We have near to six hundred ogres working the mines,”
Mennon suggested as they walked the aether-lit depths of the mines.

The tunnels were huge, cut for ogres to walk three
abreast, and they watched ogre workers pass by in both directions, moving ore
out and empty carts back in. Brannis was wary of the huge brutes, though they
paid him and Mennon every courtesy as they passed. He had fought too many of
them to be comfortable in their presence. He expected at any moment for the
placid, docile look in their eyes to be replaced by the cunning ferocity he had
seen—for one to just snarl and leap at him, take its pick as a war axe and try
to cleave him in half.

“Would you trust these brutes with weapons?” Brannis
asked, trying to lead the conversation to Mennon ruling the idea out himself.

“I would just let them loose among the goblins with
their everyday tools. They would hardly make efficient fighters, nor would they
likely follow orders well—not for lack of trying, mind you. They are eager to
please but have the intellect of house pets. Train them for winters at simple
tasks and they will manage them. Expect them to understand what you are saying
conversationally and you will be disappointed.”

“I do not like the idea of them loose on a
battlefield,” Brannis said, stepping around a pile of loose rock that had yet
to be removed. “We can set them on the goblins if they make it as far at the
undercity, but above ground, I would rather try to hold the overcity with magic
and disciplined soldiers.”

Mennon nodded.

“Now tell me more about the stone folk,” Brannis said.

“We ran into them generation ago, when my
great-grandfather was a young man. Our lowest mines ran into their uppermost.
There was an accident, and several of our miners were killed when the ground
gave out beneath them. The stone folk were at fault and admitted such; they
made reparations and we came to an accord on territories.”

“Have you kept in contact with them? Do you trade with
them at all?”

“We try to keep on good terms with them—last thing we
want is a war with the stone folk living right beneath us—but we see them
infrequently. They keep to themselves largely. We trade food for ore in the lean
times, both ways. They are willing to barter iron ore for deep-lake fish and
the large mushrooms they farm. We sell them wheat and mountain goat meat in
exchange for gold,” Mennon said. He was personally responsible for the city’s
finances, Brannis had discovered, which had explained his detailed knowledge of
the city; Mennon had to make sure it was all paid for.

“Do you think they would grant us safe passage if we
had to evacuate?” Brannis asked. It was an indelicate question, but it was just
him, Mennon, and the ogre workers down this low in the mines.

“Should I be concerned at where your thoughts lead?”
Mennon questioned in reply. “I well suspect they would. The price would be
rather exorbitant, I expect, but if we come to that point, I expect money will
be the least of our concern.”

“I plan for the worst. I still expect us to prevail,
but my first goal is to ensure the safety of the people of Raynesdark.”

“Well, if nothing else, the stone folk might support
us to keep Gehlen’s Obelisk out of goblin control. The stone folk may not trust
us fully, but they know we have kept it safe since the earliest days of the
Empire, and they like having it there.”

“What is Gehlen’s Obelisk?” Brannis asked. It was the
first he had heard of it.

“It is an aether-consuming monolith in the upper
mines, near the conduit of the volcano. It draws enough of the ambient aether
in the area that the volcano cannot erupt. At least, it has not erupted since
the obelisk has been there,” Mennon said. He was no expert in magical theory,
and Brannis knew little more; it was an advanced topic at the Academy, taught
to students older than he had been when he had last attended.

“Should I be concerned?”

“I think not. Even if it were destroyed, who knows how
long it would be before the volcano became unstable. Besides, if the goblins
gain control of it, we will likely be beyond caring at that point. Let the
stone folk drive them out of the city and take control of it then. For a high
enough price, we might even buy back the city from them,” Mennon said.

“Now who is being the pessimist?” Brannis observed.

Mennon smiled for the first time since Brannis had
known him.

*
* * * * * * *

Dawn feast had been light fare. None had wanted a full
stomach once the news came from the walls that a thick fog had formed a short
ways from the base of the mountain. Brannis confirmed what many had thought:
the goblins had arrived.

Brannis was intrigued by their choice of cover. Iridan
had used a similar trick in Kelvie Forest, though on a far, far smaller scale.
With the Neverthaw right outside the city, conjuring a large fog was all the
easier, and would tax the goblin sorcerers rather little.

“Stand ready, but do not cut short any of the
preparations,” Brannis ordered. “The goblins are unlikely to attack until later
in the day. They will have the evening sun at their back, and it is a clear
day, so they will want us looking out into the sun during their initial
assault.”

Brannis stood atop the wall overseeing the removal of
all the catapults. He expected the walls to come under heavy bombardment, and
the catapults on the wall would not last long against cannons. The officers of
Duke Pellaton’s garrison had been skeptical, but Brannis knew that he would get
better results from arcing shots over the rubble of the wall once the goblin
infantry advanced.

Ogres flowed up from the undercity, hauling cart after
cart of gravel for the catapults to use as grapeshot. Men shoveled the gravel
into open sacks and piled them near the locations Brannis had ordered for the
catapults’ new positions. Heavy stones would flatten goblins surely enough, but
such large expenditures for so few goblins harmed was wasteful. The gravel was
often smaller than a cherry, but there were pieces as large as a man’s fist
mixed in. Any bit of it would be debilitating to a frail little goblin body,
and it was far more useful to severely injure a few dozen of them than to kill
a handful.

Below, on the outside of the wall, Iridan worked with
a handful of Circle sorcerers that were assigned to Raynesdark, none above
Sixth Circle. For all its wealth and old-Empire beauty, Raynesdark was a forsaken
place in winter and a backwater socially in the Empire. Sorcerers were sent
there as needed by the Circle, but it was no prized assignment. Iridan had them
gathering what aether they could and shoring up the wards, while he worked
recarving them in spots where they were damaged, and making improvements where
needed.

Caldrax had been prevailed upon to take over Ruuglor’s
task of preparing arrows for the archers, allowing them to reach the distant
cannons. Brannis was unsure just how useful that would be, now that he knew
that the goblins were planning to use the fog as cover for their forces.

They will have to let the fog lift to see what they
are shooting at
, Brannis thought.
I
would gladly trade blind shots with them, if the price is their useless cannons
against our useless bows.

Of Juliana, there was no sign, which was as it should
be.

If Duke Pellaton knew what she was doing, I might have
a two-front war on my hands. The thought of burying his city beneath the
Neverthaw Glacier would probably be enough to have him try to remove me from
command.

That is probably why Rashan wanted me to take command.
I do not care for the city, but only for the safety of the people and victory
over the enemy.

*
* * * * * * *

They took their midday meal upon the wall, rather than
heading back to the castle for it. The castle’s cooks had sent up skewers of
goat, soaked in mushroom sauce, and fresh baked bread. The sorcerers working on
the wall’s wards came up for the meal as well.

“You think they will attack soon?” Iridan asked
between bites of goat meat. He had been in his element all morning. Wardkeeping
was something he was comfortable with. The business of being trained as a warlock
was new to him, and he had hardly even begun before his father had shipped him
off to learn under fire.

“They will attack when it suits them. Dusk is my
guess. This late in the season, we have a few hours left, no more. In Kelvie,
they made us wait overnight, but I think this time the late hours favor them,”
Brannis answered.

“When the fighting starts, head for the towers if you
mean to remain on the walls. The wards there are stronger,” Iridan said.

“Where do you intend to be? Did Rashan say where you should
position yourself for a battle?” Brannis asked.

He knew that the warlock had taken Iridan aside and
tried to convey the basics of his trade. However, where Rashan had generations
of experience, Iridan was just trying his hand at the business of war. Kelvie
had tested him and nearly broken him.

What could Rashan have taught him in a few days that
will make a difference?

“He advised me not to trade spells from the wall, but
to keep shield spells on myself at all times, and get close enough to steal aether
from the goblins,” Iridan said. “I have always known how to use aether bolts
silently, so that will be my standby.”

“You are going to wade out among the goblins as they
charge?” Brannis asked, incredulous. He hoped that Rashan had not inflated
Iridan’s sense of his own power.

“Ha! Not a chance. I am planning to wait until they
approach the wall. I doubt even Rashan is reckless enough to just walk into the
middle of an army,” he jested.

Brannis noted that he still called the warlock by name
and did not refer to him as his father. It was a lot to get used to, and Rashan
did not have a very fatherly demeanor.

To be fair, my father never had a fatherly demeanor,
either.

“Just keep in mind how dangerous these goblins are,”
Brannis said. “If you get into trouble, head for the undercity. Do not let them
overrun you or separate you from our troops. They will figure out before too
long that you are a valuable target.”