Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  “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 h
ad 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.

  “Rashan the Merciless,” offered another student, Chessa Destrier.

  She was fair and grey-eyed, and had taken the lead among her peers on the path to womanhood. With curves where the other girls were only beginning to hint at them, she drew the attention of all the boys in the class. Jinzan was no exception, but he realized that she was out of his reach. As the pride of the Destrier family, and the granddaughter of Inner Circle member Fenris Destrier, Jinzan would be lucky to escape with his life if he were to ever bed her, and would be lucky to escape with a shred of his dignity if he even hinted to her of the possibility. She was all smiles and curtseys when the teachers were around but was a young tyrant among the students when they were left unsupervised. Fifteen summers of being told she was better than her peers had sunk in well.

  “That one hits the mark! Very good, who else?”

  “Rashan the Murderer. That was what Loramar called him in the formal declaration of the First Necromancer War,” said Jurl.