Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  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 conte
nt 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 whe
re 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.