The Firebrand Legacy

by T. K. Kiser

  But no matter how much she told herself this, another part of her felt that she was betraying Louise and her parents, even herself. She was torn between wanting safety from magic and wanting comfort in the beliefs she’d always held.

  David squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Welcome, travelers!” cried the wish vendor. She had thin, graying braids and a wide pink blanket spread over her back. “Make yourselves at home. What will it be today? Enchanted weapons? Flying carpet? Elixir of life?”

  “You don’t really have all that stuff, do you?” David said.

  “Just a joke!” she said, clapping her hands. “Though you might be surprised what has made its way to this little town.”

  “I don’t suppose you get much business,” Giles said.

  The wish vendor smiled, her teeth too small for her wide face. “I add the dust,” she said excitedly. “Here, see? I add it from this bag. It dissuades invaders.”

  Carine inspected wishstones on a shelf. Even covered in dust, their words glittered.

  The vendor swung out from behind the counter and picked an item from the floor. “Can I interest you in this helmet for your journey? It’s noise-canceling.” Her face fell a little when no one responded. “An ever-filling water pouch to keep you hydrated. It’s always smart to invest in your health.”

  “How much are the wishstones?” David asked, joining Carine at that shelf.

  “Ten rimecks per stone, or fifty rimecks for six.”

  Carine nearly whistled at the price. Ten rimecks was a day of food for her family. David bought six, and as he paid with a portion of the money that Limly had grabbed for them, Carine stepped back from the shelves and looked up to the high ceiling.

  “Overwhelmed?” Giles asked.

  Carine exhaled, her hand to her temple. “Is it even possible, Giles, to have magic without a dragon?”

  Giles raised an eyebrow. “Possible? Everything is possible. Magic isn’t a far-off phenomenon. It is simply the calling of nature, the manipulation of physics by the pronunciation of Manakor.”

  “Right, simple. But only dragons can pronounce Manakor. For everyone else, it’s impossible.”

  Giles crossed his arms. “You are too quick to write off possibilities. True, it is dragons that pronounce Manakor. It is too deep a language for folk to imitate. But I have studied scholars that have gotten close.”

  “Who?”

  “Two or three centaurs. Menfolk and faunfolk don’t live long enough. It took one philosopher a hundred years of dancing in the shallow waves of Verdiford to convince the water to trust him. He joined in with the call of nature, the call of Manakor, with his physical movements. He wrote in his journal that he suspected he could convince the waves to crash to the right or left depending on how he moved his hip. Of course, he died soon after in his old age and never proved his claim.”

  “But that’s nothing compared to the havoc in Esten,” Carine said.

  Giles raised a brow. “Well that’s a different story. Pronunciation is the purest form of Manakor. The more manipulative magic comes from mispronunciation.”

  “What is that?” Carine said.

  The wish vendor looked up from her counter, handing a few small coins of change to David. “Ahh, you speak of physics!” She narrowed her eyes. “The opposition of pronunciation and mispronunciation—fascinating subject.” She stepped out from behind the counter. “Just as fire can cleanse and tear down, so too can language. Have you ever mistakenly thought you heard someone say your name?”

  Carine nodded. She’d also, many times, thought she’d heard people saying the name of Louise, when in fact they were carrying on normal conversation.

  “What happens when nature has the same experience? When nature supposes that it heard a call that wasn’t meant for it?”

  Carine didn’t have a good feeling.

  “And more interesting, what happens when a creature with the Gift to pronounce intentionally mispronounces the call of the Etherrealm?”

  “Does that ever happen?”

  “Ahh,” the wish vendor said, “every day.”

  “So anyone can mispronounce? Why doesn’t everyone use magic then?”

  “No,” the wish vendor answered. “One can only mispronounce as a choice, if and only if one has the power to pronounce in the first place, like dragons. This is called the Gift of Calling. Those without that Gift cannot mispronounce—not with any effect, anyway.”

  Carine tried to connect the dots between the dragons’ power and the man who was isolating Esten. “So what is the difference between pronunciation and mispronunciation?”

  “Good magic and dark magic,” said David.

  Giles raised an eyebrow. “In layman’s terms, yes.”

  “When you say that dark magic happens every day, who do you mean? Who, besides dragons, has the Gift of Calling? The Heartless Ones?” Carine said.

  “The Heartless Ones use dark magic, yes. But they do not own the power they use. That Gift belongs to someone else,” the wish vendor said, a spark in her eye.

  “The snow dragon,” Carine said. “They borrow his power when they feed him their hearts.”

  “Precisely.”

  This dichotomy all felt so simple. “What about Kavariel? Does he use dark magic when he kills?”

  “No,” said the wish vendor.

  David stepped in, grinning. “I know this! Kavariel is one of the nine obedient dragons. They have never mispronounced.”

  “But I don’t get it,” Carine said. “How can killing not be considered dark magic?”

  To this, no one had an answer. On the one hand, the difference between pronunciation and mispronunciation finally made sense. But it wasn’t clear how Kavariel could justify killing Louise. Carine no longer believed that all magic was evil, but neither could she believe that all magic was good.

  Carine asked the wish vendor, “Do you have any defense against someone with the Gift of Calling?”

  “If I do, dear, I don’t know it. That’s not the type of object one can easily test.”

  “Let’s go then,” Carine said, the whole experience more overwhelming than helpful. But David picked up a bow that he found in the corner and tested it out.

  “Wait a second,” he said.

  Carine crossed her arms, perused a shelf of vials, and looked closer at the tag on a tiny vial of green liquid . “Dragon’s bane—a thousand rimecks for an ounce of liquid? That can’t be right.”

  “Indeed, dear,” the wish vendor said. “It’s worth every rimeck. What you see there is gullon blood. If you’re interested in more affordable medicine, I have strawberry jam to heal infections and enchanted ash water to heal burns, thirty rimecks each.”

  Carine had heard of gullons—the part-man, part-wolverine folk type—in the tales told around Esten. Like every other folk except humans, gullons had an innate magical quality. They had the gift of healing blood.

  For most of their evolution, they built quiet villages up north in Gullonia. But as Navafort and other kingdoms grew wealthier, gullons began to trade each drop of gullon blood for huge sums. Newly rich, the creatures built ostentatious towns with magnificent buildings, contracting centaurs and others to do their work. They were wealthy, fat, and happy until the more generous of them decided to heal outside their kingdom walls.

  What followed was disaster. The gullons healed a few people, but were then taken captive not only in Navafort but in other countries as well. King Marcel II demanded a ransom from Gullonia for the gullons’ release, and once the gullons were drained of their fortune, the king demanded supplies of gullon blood. The story was that the current King Marcel had traded away his predecessor’s stores to afford his lavish lifestyle.

  “I’ve heard one drop of gullon blood heals the severest wounds in any creature,” Carine said and recounted how the bartender at the Hopping Rabbit got sick once. Everyone—Carine included—was sure he was going to die. When he walked in one day completely
restored, he served the whole tavern free lunch. His uncle had been able to get him gullon blood through the black market. It had saved his life.

  The wish vendor nodded.

  “Even dragons?” Carine asked.

  Silence blanketed the room. The wish vendor turned, slowly understanding Carine’s suggestion.

  David spun on his heels and grabbed the vial. “Dragon’s bane,” he said. “Carine, you are a genius!” He kissed the side of her face and the glass of the vial. “Ha! I’ll take it. One ounce of gullon blood to heal our beloved beast.”

  “You carry around a thousand rimecks?” Carine said.

  Giles went rigid, his lips particularly severe. “This is a terrible idea. Retrieving a flame is one thing; feeding a dragon, quite another.”

  “Giles, I was made for this mission,” David said. “You know how much I love the dragon. This must be why. I will feed the gullon blood to the dragon. He will magically be healed, and everything will go back to normal.”

  “He will turn you to ash.”

  “Then I’ll shield myself. Do you have anything fireproof—a shield, maybe, or a cloak?”

  The wish vendor shook her head. “No, you’re not likely to find that type of article enchanted by our dragon.”

  “We can’t spend that much money on a fool’s errand,” Giles said. “We only have so much left to make the rest of the trip.”

  David put the rest of his money pouch on the table. “I have to.”

  33 The Gates of Midway

  “But…but…Your Majesty…to feed blood to a dragon…you will die!” Limly said when David proudly told him of the new plan.

  Carine rode with David this time, and the more he prattled on about the dragon and how King Marcel would finally be proud of him, the more she feared that David wouldn’t make it out alive. Then again, to capture the flame would protect Navafort for one year; to heal Kavariel would restore the pattern that had kept the kingdom safe for centuries.

  “I’ve been thinking…the one that killed Selius, how did he do it?” Carine asked.

  “I have been thinking about that too,” Giles said. “It is possible that Luzhiv decided on his own to extinguish the Heartless One, Selius. Although it is the most technically feasible, it is the least probable for behavioral reasons. Luzhiv seems to take pleasure in having his Heartless army run amok. I doubt the motive.”

  “So it was the second magician?”

  “That is the other possibility. In order for a folk person to extinguish a Heartless One, he would need the Gift of Calling, just like a dragon. He would have to pronounce the Manakor word for sever so authentically that it would cut Selius off from his connection with Luzhiv.”

  “It won’t matter,” David said. “Once I heal Kavariel, he’ll fix everything.”

  David’s voice trailed off as they neared the Navafort-Fletchkey border. Thick brick walls towered on the horizon, surrounded by fields of cotton, indigo, and corn that the centaurs sold downriver.

  “It’s Midway,” Carine breathed. “I’ve only ever seen this in murals.”

  Giles smirked. “Just wait until you see Verdiford.”

  David clicked his tongue. “Their torch is out too.”

  Unlike Esten’s dragon statue, the torch at Midway was stately: a large, smooth pillar that touted the strength of the centaurs that built it.

  “Have any Heartless entered Midway?” Carine asked.

  David shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  But as the horses approached the closed gates, Carine made the unnerving observation that not a single farmer stood among the fields. Even the city itself seemed quiet. At the twisting iron gates, Carine and the princes jumped down from the horses.

  “This isn’t normal,” David said. The first thirty feet of a clean straight road were visible through the bars. After that, houses blocked the view.

  “This is Prince David, grandson of your king. Is anyone there?” David said.

  No answer.

  He opened his mouth to yell, but Carine held his arm. “Quiet! What if there’s a Heartless One in there?”

  Giles stood with one arm across his chest and his other hand under his chin. His lips were pursed as he gazed into the city. “The gates of Midway do not close.”

  “What is that?” Carine asked. “A poem or something?”

  “It’s a fact. Midway thrives in its trade. It would never shut its gates.”

  “So we should leave right now,” Carine said, mounting one of the horses. “Let’s go around.”

  “How exactly do you plan to do that?” Giles asked. “We need to go north, but a river blocks us. To circle around the city in the other direction would take even longer.”

  “No, wait!” David pointed through the bars. “There’s someone in there. Hey! I see you! Open these gates!”

  A man with white frizzy hair ducked back behind a wall.

  “What is he doing? Hey! We are your princes!”

  “Let’s go,” Carine said. “We’re wasting time, and I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “We can help you,” David said through the bars. “Get us through Midway and we’ll get Kavariel to relight your torch.”

  Suddenly, the cornstalks bowed as a cold breeze swept through the thin fabric of Carine’s surcoat. At first, the silent bowing appeared to be a dramatic reaction to the wind. The tops of the stalks swung low, hugging the earth, and staying there. It began with the stalks along the path, but swept out to all the fields. Every inch of crop folded over.

  “What’s happening?” David whispered.

  “The entire field is bending over, like it’s been trampled,” Limly said.

  Carine saw her own terror in his face. “Let’s move!” Her horse whinnied nervously.

  Giles pulled out his sword. “We can’t outrun him.”

  “What are you doing?” Carine hissed.

  He ignored her. “Show yourself,” Giles commanded simply.

  The sorcerer didn’t answer. The grain had all fallen over, and it remained so. Nothing else moved.

  “Show yourself,” Giles repeated. His vocal control gave Carine courage. “I know you hear me. Are you not only Heartless but devoid of courage too? Show yourself.”

  Maybe it wasn’t a Heartless One. Maybe it was the one that had killed Selius, one that could manipulate nature on his own.

  “Maybe he’s gone,” Carine said. “Let’s get on the horses and go.”

  “And if he’s not?”

  Carine’s blood boiled. “Get on the horses. I’ve told you a million times. We can’t fight him. We have to run!”

  She pushed David toward the horse, but it reared out of control. Carine reached for the reigns, but the horse bolted into the field, receding into the distance as a brown line among rows of green.

  The other horse reared as well, and Limly held on with all his might. It sprang away, but Limly, unable to hold on, fell to the ground.

  “Limly!” David ran into the field, but Carine stayed with Giles, glad that at least he had a drawn sword. David and the servant emerged from the field, Limly hobbling quickly back to his second charge, Prince Giles.

  Carine turned to the gate, searching for the old man, who showed only his eyes and forehead as he looked out. “Help us,” Carine begged. “Please.”

  He disappeared again behind the wall.

  She pounded her fist against the bars. “Don’t leave! Let us in!”

  “Carine,” David panted, voice rising, “close your eyes.”

  Before she could ask why, the ground shook. Not the ground exactly, but the path. More specifically, the particles of dirt trembled. They shook and sifted upward, like slow, inverted rain. The dust plumed, engulfing the four in a cloud of red silt.

  Limly, David, and Carine backed together against the closed gates. Carine coughed. David coughed. Giles coughed, but she could barely see him through the cloud, just a dark silhouette. She tried to bat the silt away. “He’s choking us.”

  “No
,” said Giles. He sounded closer than he looked. She could barely see him now. “Not choking. Blinding.”

  The wind whispered far away. It did not change how the silt hung in the air.

  Through the red dust appeared a hooded silhouette. He whispered two words:

  “You left.”

  34 You Left

  The sorcerer’s whisper attested to the silence. Only because they all held their breath could they hear his voice. Carine’s heart pounded. Her hand was sweating as she squeezed David’s. She felt his pulse in her grip.

  Giles slammed his sword toward the sorcerer, aiming for his side, but he did not scream. Instead, the sword flew from Giles’ hand and landed at David’s feet. Giles moved again. Through the dust, Carine saw the short edge of Giles’ knife. He leapt to attack again, but this time he didn’t get close. The knife flew away and hurtled toward them.

  Carine ducked.

  The knife struck flesh. Carine opened her eyes. Blood spilled. Limly clutched his bleeding neck. He exhaled and dropped.

  “Limly!” Carine knelt, cradling him to keep his head from falling back. “He’s bleeding out.” Blood pooled on Limly’s shirt, staining the indigo flag. It dribbled onto Carine’s surcoat. Limly’s eyes widened and looked between Carine and David. He tried to speak, but no sound came.

  The sorcerer stared down. Carine couldn’t see his face through the silt, especially not with the hood blocking his eyes.

  Blood gurgled between Limly’s fingers. David ripped the bottom of his shirt. “Use this.” His eyes pooled as he knelt down, carefully tying the fabric, threading it around the neck and Carine’s arm where she held Limly.

  When Carine looked back, the sorcerer was gone.

  Giles seemed to have turned. Color came to his silhouette as he stepped closer.

  “Use the gullon blood,” she murmured. “Heal him.” But even as she spoke she hated the position they were in: use the blood for Limly and save his life, or use the blood for Kavariel and save Navafort.

  David reached for his pocket, but Limly mouthed the word no. His lips moved as he tried to speak a sentence, but he didn’t have the voice or strength to do so.