Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  The hermit took the stick and casually sketched a new pawn of his own, erasing one with his thumb, mirroring Iridan’s play. It was the sort of bland, unimaginative move that Iridan would have expected of a merchant or tradesman—someone not much practiced at the game. He planned to enjoy beating the hermit and tried not to let his smile show, with limited success.

  It continued thus for a handful of moves, with the two men passing the stick back and forth in silence. The hermit handled himself much better than Iridan had initially expected, and he had found no clear advantage. He studied the board for several moments before deciding to try distracting his opponent.

  “So who are you anyway? All this time, and you have not so much as given your name,” he said, making a noncommittal move and passing the stick to the hermit.

  “Oh, I have already gone through that whole business with your friend Brannis. I have grown unaccustomed to giving my name. Talk to Brannis later if you are truly curious. I think he would explain things better than I.”

  “What sort of answer is that? If you have already told Brannis, what harm is there in telling me?” Iridan found that the stick had somehow wandered back into his hand. The hermit had made his move while Iridan had been talking.

  “None really, I suppose.”

  Iridan waited.

  “Well?” he asked. “Are you going to tell me, then?”

  He made another move—a rather defensive one that closed off what appeared to be an imminent attack by the hermit’s rook—just to get the hermit to move while he talked, and passed him the stick.

  “No, I think not. I shall let Brannis enlighten you when he decides to,” the hermit replied. “Are you sure you have played this game before?”

  Iridan’s attention was brought back more fully to the game, and he watched as the hermit took a decided advantage—the rook had been a diversion. Iridan saw now that he would lose in just a matter of a few moves.

  “All right, let us try that again. I was distracted,” Iridan snapped, upset with himself that his trick had backfired.

  The hermit smiled and patiently rubbed out the drawn pieces and set the game up once again.

  The game resumed anew, this time with the hermit taking a more aggressive approach than he had in the first game. Iridan immediately found himself struggling to defend his pieces.

  “From your accent, I take it you are originally from the Empire,” Iridan probed, now genuinely curious about the hermit. “What did you do before you left?”

  “Oh, a number of things. Odd jobs and the like, for one of the highborn families. I would fix things, deliver messages, that sort of thing. Primarily they had me working as a butcher. Eventually I tired of it—the slaughtering of helpless animals. Mostly I think I grew tired of all the blood. I felt that I just had to get the smell of it out of my nostrils, so I left.”

  “You just left?” Iridan stopped playing for the moment and made no moves, his attention fixed for the moment on the hermit.

  “It was a thankless job. After one particularly long day’s work, I decided I'd had enough, and I just left.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Not a word to anyone. I came to live out here. That was winters ago.”

  The hermit nodded back to the game, prompting Iridan to move.

  * * * * * * * *

  Sometime later, Brannis returned with the two soldiers who had accompanied him to refill the group’s canteens. Brannis looked curiously at the two men sitting together—his best friend and the strange hermit that he did not quite trust yet—and went over to see what they were up to. Rashan turned toward Brannis as the knight approached him from behind.

  “Well, your friend seems to have suffered no lasting effects of his unfortunate mishap, presuming that he was rather dim-witted before the incident,” Rashan commented, smiling lopsidedly.

  “Do not listen to him, Brannis, he is really good. I bet he would even give you a tough time of it,” Iridan interrupted, defending his maligned wits from the hermit’s sarcasm.

  “Please,” Rashan said. “I have never known a knight who could get out of his own way in a game of chess. They make a few moves and start whining about a draw if there is no obvious advantage right off. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Brannis said. “I actually first learned the game at the Academy, not the School of Arms. I spent several winters there before they gave up on me ever becoming a sorcerer. I know how to play both ways.”

  It was true that the two institutions had markedly different ways of playing the same game. To those at the Imperial Academy, chess was a game of wits to determine who was the better. They played by what they considered the “pure” rules, with all options available until one player was defeated or the game became stalemated. At the School of Arms, the game was used as a microcosm of a battlefield. Pawns were only considered expendable if there was a clear gain, and more important pieces were defended heavily and rarely were they captured or lost intentionally for any strategic gain. Draws were common, often after only a handful of moves if neither player had gained an advantage. Headmasters presided over the game and judged performances based on territory—or number of squares—that a player controlled, and what kind of “casualties” had been suffered. True victories as the sorcerers saw them rarely happened when squires played. The knighthood had long held that the game gave great insight into the minds of sorcerers, and revealed the most important reasons why they never be given command of troops.

  Brannis decided to give the remainder of his men a bit more rest and indulge the hermit in his game. He was curious to discover what he could about their deeply layered companion.

  Maybe I can start piecing him together like a puzzle if I can see him from enough angles.

  Brannis took Iridan’s spot across from the hermit and quickly scribbled his pieces back in their starting locations, then put his opponent’s pieces back, even drawing them upside down so they faced the Rashan.

  “Not too bad. You seem at least passingly familiar with the game,” the hermit admitted. “I shall make the first move.”

  Brannis played Kanix’s Defense, an advanced and complicated opening sequence that looked to unbalance the board and give both players ample opportunity to attack. It was a test, to see if Rashan had learned the game at any advanced level. As the hermit responded, Brannis noted that he took none of the standard attacks but still seemed to be making strong plays and threatening his position at every turn. Not having seen any style of play Brannis was familiar with from either the Imperial Academy or the School of Arms, he carefully worked to a more neutral position. He then decided to play his usual manner: a long-term plan that did not look so much to score wins in pieces or get a particular gambit to work, but rather to gain the most use out of each of his pieces, gaining options and restricting his opponent’s.

  “Falling back to the knights’ way, then?” Rashan commented as he saw Brannis’s play grow less aggressive and threatening.

  “Not exactly,” Brannis replied, exchanging one of his knights for one of the hermit’s bishops.

  Several moves later, Rashan seemed to finally notice that Brannis had been subtly marginalizing his remaining bishop, to the point where it was nearly useless to him.

  “Where did you learn that?” Rashan wondered aloud, shortly before scrubbing out his dirt-drawn king and admitting defeat. “I am not accustomed to losing, and I would like to know: what just happened?”

  “You lost. That happened.”

  Brannis smiled at being able to play the same game the hermit liked to play with words, ignoring half the question to give an unhelpful answer to the rest.

  “A rematch, then,” Rashan offered, and he began to set the board up again.

  “I do not think now is the time for another game. We have to get moving again,” Brannis continued.

  Looking about the hilltop, he could see that most of the men had already finished eating their lunches and were just sitting or lying about, taking what rest they could.

&
nbsp; “They are tired, you know,” Rashan said. “You are pushing them too hard. You will not make it back to the Empire like this; you will lose half your men to exhaustion.”

  “We have no choice. If we do not get word to Kadrin and arrange for reinforcements, those goblins could wipe out Korgen, or maybe Illard’s Glen. We shall get horses once we cross into Kadrin territory, then it will be easier on everyone.”

  “Very well, then.” Rashan sighed. “Perhaps I can help you with something.”

  The hermit turned his attention to the trees above and raised his right hand, palm up. Then he began making melodic twittering noises, reminiscent of the calls of birds they had heard each morning they had been in Kelvie Forest.

  A few breaths later, a small sparrow flew down from the trees and landed on Rashan’s outstretched hand. Rashan gently closed his hand over the bird, and he began stroking the back of its head with his thumb. Brannis and Iridan looked on in amazement, for the hermit had seemed to work no magic. The bird had merely come to his call. Brannis could tell that Iridan was resisting the urge to stretch his senses into the aether to confirm what he had seen, no doubt because he did not want to risk taxing his mind when he was just beginning to feel like himself again. Several soldiers who had seen the bird fly in now began gathering about, wondering what was going on.

  “Brannis,” Rashan said quietly, seemingly to avoid disturbing the bird. “Where exactly do you want your message delivered? Mind you, somewhere where someone who would not be struck dumb seeing a bird delivering one might be found.”

  “Umm … The capital … Kadris,” Brannis replied skeptically. “I guess at the palace. Someone from the Imperial Circle would likely find it.”

  “Very well, I know where that is. It should prove little trouble. Now I will need you to speak two messages. The first will be heard by whoever first finds the bird, and will need to tell them to whom the bird need be delivered. The second will be the true message, and you should choose someone who will not discount the word of sparrow.” Rashan could not help grinning at that. “Also, it should be someone who will recognize your voice, for sparrows cannot speak with one of their own,” Rashan added, as if it were somehow natural that they should speak with a voice that was not their own.

  Brannis thought for a moment. Who should he send the bird to? Juliana was the first sorcerer who came to mind—as she often did—but she was young and not of high rank in the Imperial Circle. It might raise eyebrows if he sent such an important message to her instead of someone more senior. Brannis’s father would certainly be respected enough to bear such news to the rest of the Inner Circle and to the High Command of the knights, but he would sooner kiss a goblin than rely on his father to take his warning to heart. Truly the message would best have been delivered to his immediate superior, Sir Garibald, but he could hardly imagine the stodgy old knight conversing with a sparrow. At last, Brannis decided on his elder sister, Aloisha. She would most likely recognize his voice, though they spoke seldom to one another, and she carried a great deal of respect among her peers. As a bonus, it would seem all well and proper that his sister receive the message, rather than a young sorceress to whom he had once been betrothed.

  Brannis nodded to Rashan that he was ready, and the hermit calmly held the sparrow up closer to Brannis face. Feeling silly addressing a bird, Brannis began his first message.

  “This bird bears a message for Aloisha Solaran of the Imperial Circle. You are hereby commanded to convey this messenger immediately to the lady’s presence, for the matter is most urgent.”

  Brannis looked expectantly at Rashan, and the hermit nodded in approval, holding up two fingers. It was time for the second message.

  “To my sister Aloisha, I give greetings. This bird bears a message from Brannis Solaran, with news of the search in Kelvie Forest. The goblin presence is greater than we feared. We have confirmed the loss of Sir Ferren’s battalion with but two survivors, and my own command has suffered heavy casualties. There has been no word from Sir Dennever’s battalion, and I fear it has been lost as well. The goblins are gathering in numbers, likely for an invasion of the western empire. I return to Kadris in all haste.”

  Brannis nodded to Rashan once more, and the hermit raised his hand quickly, releasing the sparrow, which flew away immediately, heading east.

  “How did you do that? I did not see you use magic,” Brannis asked, confused.

  “I thought you could not see magic at all, so I do not find that surprising,” the hermit replied sarcastically. He seemed to enjoy picking at Brannis’s words.

  “You know what I mean: you did not cast a spell. The bird just came when you called it.”

  “Small children have been doing bird calls since long before I was born. I doubt they relied on magic to do it.”

  “And the message? I suppose that was a child’s trick as well,” Brannis pressed, meaning to get answers from the mysterious hermit.

  Rashan seemed always to be acting helpful and speaking in circles. It was beginning to grate on his nerves, for he knew not whether the hermit was being playful or deceitful.

  “Well, now you get to the meat of the question, so to speak. Yes, I have learned a few tricks over the winters. Any crazy old coot can talk to animals, but it takes some skill to get the animals to talk back.” Rashan looked around to all the soldiers who were gathering their belongings, and then he began to walk eastward. “Come on. We can afford a more leisurely pace now, but since you have no intention of indulging me in a second game, I suppose we should be on our way.”

  Iridan was feeling much improved after having eaten, well enough to walk on his own, much to the relief of all those who had been taking turns bearing the litter that had carried him for a day and a half. The sorcerer chose to walk with Rashan, and the two conversed through the long hours of the journey that afternoon. It seemed to Brannis that the hermit had taken an unusual interest in Iridan, which gave further credence to his growing suspicion that Rashan had at least some minor training in sorcery, whether he would admit it or not. He also could not help but notice how similar the two were. Iridan was only the taller of the two by a little, and heavier only by grace of a healthy diet and little strenuous exercise. Both were thin-limbed and fair of complexion, though the hermit was far paler than appeared healthy. Rashan most likely saw Iridan as a kindred spirit, Brannis decided, one who made his way in life by wit and magic, just as the hermit seemed to.

  The day turned foul some hours after the break for replenishing the group’s water supply. The trees that had thoughtfully allowed the warm sunshine through their leaves to cheer them all day had now permitted the dark clouds that gathered above to soak them with a cold rain—more typical of the late autumn, but far less welcome. The storm had come on them suddenly, sneaking up from the west at their backs, unnoticed until they were caught up in its midst. The winds that brought the storm also blew the rain hard at their backs, the only blessings being that it gave them a tailwind and kept the rain from their faces. To the knights and soldiers wearing heavy armor with thick padding beneath, the rain soaked them and was absorbed in great quantities by their undergarments, chilling them and weighing them down even further under the weight of their packs. Iridan seemed to have the worst time of it, just recently having recovered the strength to walk on his own, worrying Brannis. The hermit Rashan seemed entirely unconcerned and unbothered by the weather.

  As they traveled along the rolling forest terrain, they came to a shallow valley between hills where the rainwater had pooled and made mud of all the ground. Men grumbled as the ground sucked at their boots while water splashed into them, drenching their feet. Then a few of the men stopped, whispering to one another. Curiosity and gossip quickly brought the whole group to a standstill, with the first few who had stopped all staring in the direction of the hermit. Soon all eyes turned to Rashan, who stood with raised eyebrows, seeming to wait quietly for someone to mention why they were staring at him. One of the men pointed to the ground behind him,
and the hermit turned and looked down. So did everyone else.

  There were no tracks.

  There was an uncomfortable silence as all eyes turned once more to the hermit. The commoner soldiers seemed to be extremely wary, unconsciously leaning away from the hermit, but not taking so much as a step away. Iridan seemed more surprised than wary, thinking that this was something he ought to have noticed, or at least felt, if magic was about.

  Brannis was the one to break the silence: “Well, care to explain this?” he asked, trying not to sound too accusatory.

  The hermit cocked his head to the side. “Explain what? You really ought to try being more specific. You give me more credit than is my due if you think all is known to me.”

  “The footprints … Why are there none? Is that specific enough for you?” Brannis said.

  The foul weather had worn his patience thin.

  “Ahh, there we go, a proper question. Well, it seemed rather bothersome to trudge about in the mud, so I chose not to.”

  “Well, stop it. You are making us all uneasy, working strange magics without letting on that you are doing so … and now that I look closer, you are not even wet!”

  Rashan rolled his eyes and blew a long, weary sigh. “Very well, I shall muck about in the mud with the rest of you, but I will not get rained on just for your peace of mind. I hate going about in wet clothes for no good reason.” And with no warning, the hermit sank a finger’s-breadth with a soft splash and a squish of mud. He crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “Better?”

  “All right, but let me know before you use magic again,” Brannis said, a little bothered by how easily the hermit performed such minor feats of magic.