Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (47 page)

“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.

The most bookish of the students in Jinzan’s class,
Jurl was a very serious young lad. His ancestry was unknown, or at least
partly. He had been born to a whore in Dellanter, and there was plenty of
speculation of his father likely being a member of the Imperial Circle. He had
always studied hard and was once the top student in the class, but that ended
once they were old enough for the Ranking.

Jinzan was the top-ranked student now. They had teased
him for winters, for his darker skin—though their own grew nearly as dark in
the summer months—for his accent, for the fact that he was from a lesser
bloodline. The latter bothered him the most, since among the Megrenn, he would
have been considered exceptionally well-bred. His parents were both sorcerers,
though secretly, as it was only recently that Kadrin had granted Megrenn
citizens the privilege of taking sorcerous training.

Jinzan had taken Ranking Day as a small sampling of
the vendetta he was harboring. He had thrashed his classmates and easily
claimed the top ranking, not even bothering to toy with them. He had even
beaten the top student of the class ahead of him, before finally succumbing to
one of the older and more polished duelists in the Academy.

“Rashan the Deceiver,” Jinzan added, unable to keep
the contempt from his voice. His accent had been a bit stronger in those days,
and he heard a few snickers at the slightly misspoken word.

“True enough. There is no need for bitterness, though.
Megrenn is part of the Empire now, and those old grudges have been set aside.
Your being here is proof enough of that,” Dolvaen said. “But that leads to an
interesting topic. Does anyone—besides Jinzan—know how he got that name?”

“Was that when Warlock Rashan negotiated a peace deal
and used the signing of the treaty as a cover for a surprise attack?” Jurl
said. “That was Rashan’s Bargain, right? He offered them a good deal just to
get them to agree to the terms, and at the signing ceremony, he killed all
their top generals and their king, not to mention a dozen sorcerers.”

“I see someone has been reading
The Diplomacy of
Fire and Steel
. All the knights read it as a matter of course, but I highly
recommend it to anyone who wishes a deeper understanding of Warlock Rashan, or
even just warfare in general.

“Does anyone else have other names he was known by?”
Dolvaen asked, pausing to give the students an opportunity to respond but
hearing nothing.

Jinzan could have gone on at some length of all the
things he had heard Rashan called. His people were quite creative when it came
to the subject, having been made a laughingstock by the long-dead tyrant. The
warlock was eighty winters dead, and still the Megrenn were known for being
naïve and trusting, all from that one incident. It had destroyed their identity
as a free-thinking land of philosophers and warrior-poets in the minds of the
world, and replaced it with the image of a farmer who invited a wolf to make
peace with his chickens.

“Very well, then we move on to the war with Megrenn
itself. At the time, Megrenn was believed to have been strong enough to
withstand an extensive campaign, with allies from across the sea and with the
goblins to the west and southwest, as well as favorable relations with the ogre
tribes. As we now know, much of Megrenn’s strength was exaggerated, both by
bards’ tales and careful use of spies to spread false rumors of treaties …”

Jinzan could feel the eyes of his classmates drifting
to him as the talk centered around his homeland, its deficiencies, and their
weaknesses as a people. Jinzan knew that Dolvaen was oblivious to the
embarrassment he was causing, but the young sorcerer just hoped his skin—for
the half shade darker it was than his pure-blooded Kadrin classmates—was dark
enough to hide his blush.

*
* * * * * * *

The serving girl who brought the wine was not one of
the lord’s household staff—those had likely managed to flee with the rest of
the lord’s household. She struggled with the wine cork, seemingly never having
used a corkscrew before. The goblins had rather haphazardly organized their captives
according to what they felt needed to be done, with no real attempt to find out
who was qualified to what tasks. Presumably, Jinzan thought, they figured that
the mundane tasks that would be required of them could be done by anyone.

The three goblins at the table with him shared a laugh
at the girl’s ineptitude. Jinzan was tempted to just use a little magic to pull
the cork out and be done with it, but he found himself distracted by the girl
herself. She had jaw-length dark hair, and blue eyes, rimmed red from crying.
She looked haggard—understandable given that her town had just been sacked by
the very people she was trying to serve wine—but not very old. Jinzan suspected
that she probably had a very young child somewhere nearby, being watched over by
goblin guards and some barely pubescent girl. Still, despite not looking her
best, she was comely enough, and Jinzan had not been among other humans for
many long weeks.

[Your turn, sorcerer, make a play,] said N’ft’k,
seated to Jinzan’s right. [Have the serving girl later.]

The goblins laughed at the comment. Despite not
understanding a word of goblin-speech, the girl was savvy enough to get the
gist of the comment, and she blushed as she continued to stab at the top of the
wine bottle with the corkscrew.

Jinzan turned and looked sidelong down at his tiles,
absently playing one. He had given up on trying to win and was just playing for
the sake of playing now. His gaze fell on the lesser-ranked General N’ft’k, and
his eyes narrowed. The goblin’s laughter petered out awkwardly under Jinzan’s
glare. He turned his attention back to the serving girl, looking her in the eye
as he took the bottle and corkscrew from her hand.

“Here, allow me,” he told her in Kadrin.

With a few expert twists, he had the corkscrew in and
easily pulled the cork out without needing any magic. She set out four goblets
and took the bottle back from Jinzan to begin to pour their drinks. After she
had poured the first two, he held out a hand for her to stop.

“Just a moment,” he told her, still using her own
language.

“Haru bedaessi leoki kwatuan gelora,”
and N’ft’k rose suddenly from his chair. The ceilings
of Lord Feldrake’s manor home were thrice the height of a man, nearly six times
the height of a goblin. Jinzan left the unfortunate goblin pinned heavily to
the ceiling, as if leaving a sack of grain atop him. He then took up the two
empty goblets and stood.

“I believe I will take my leave of you gentlemen for
tonight. Please thank General N’ft’k for his suggestion when he returns,” Jinzan
reverted to Megrenn, which he assumed the serving girl did not understand, but
he knew that G’thk did not speak Kadrin. He cared not a whit whether the tinker
could, but he would not have put it past the wily old goblin.

As the sorcerer stalked off toward the room he had
borrowed in Feldrake Manor, he gestured imperiously behind him.

“Come along,” he ordered in Kadrin.

A swish of skirts and the scuffling of soft shoes on
the lord’s rugs told him that he had been heeded.

*
* * * * * * *

Jinzan let out a long sigh. He felt more relaxed than
he had in a long time. He had been so caught up in his plans for the assault on
Raynesdark that he had not taken the time to properly celebrate Denrik’s return
to the seas. Certainly, though, the wine and the exertions of the unclad
serving girl curled asleep on his chest had helped some as well.

He did not feel that he had mistreated the girl. He
had offered her no violence, and she had not protested, which for Jinzan’s
conscience was enough, given the circumstances. He could not entirely fool
himself into thinking she had gone to his bed willingly, since the implied
threat of violence was present, whether he would have carried through with it
or not. He told himself that he was better than the Kadrins who had sacked Megrenn
in his grandfather’s time. The girl, whose name he had not even asked, had been
frightened and trembling when he took her away from the goblins. Now she lay
sleeping peacefully.

He had come near to killing N’ft’k just a short while
ago. It might have been the final hole that would sink his ship, had he gone
through with it. G’thk was growing weary of him, he could tell. Perhaps it
would be best to keep out of the way of the goblin general for a few days. He
had to keep in mind that without the goblins, he lacked the means to take
Raynesdark and get into the mines.

The Staff of Gehlen would give him the power to make
the Kadrins
truly
pay. The aether-void around its tomb had been
impenetrable for thousands of summers, the draw against all aether within a few
paces of it was ferocious. The wards that protected it rebuilt themselves and
repaired chips that were knocked loose from spears, sling-stones, and arrows.
Even catapults seemed unable to harm it enough to break through before it undid
the damage the siege engine could inflict. Cannons would be different.

He just needed patience.

He wrapped an arm around the sleeping serving girl,
who stirred slightly at his touch. He felt the warmth and smoothness of her
skin. He had not been with a woman in far too long. Jinzan laid his head back
and closed his eyes, snuffing out the magical light that had kept away the
darkness as midnight approached.

It was time to see what Captain Zayne was up to.

Chapter 24 - How to Start a War

Brannis closed the door to the library behind him as
he exited, thankful that no other guards had been posted in the meantime.
Rashan had allowed him to sleep in the unguarded library for the rest of the
night. Brannis’s head hurt where the warlock had slugged him, but apparently
Rashan knew what he was doing, and there had been no blood, and any bruise
would likely be covered by the fall of his hair. The latter was just a guess,
as the library had no mirror, and Brannis had yet to find anywhere to freshen
up. His face was scratchy with stubble, and his clothes had been slept in; he
expected that he looked much less the Grand Marshal than perhaps he should.

That demon can explain to everyone why I look like I
have just stumbled home from the taverns, if anyone asks.

Brannis eschewed his quest for a wash basin and
mirror, or even a morning meal, and headed for the offices of the various Inner
Circle members, whose entrances were the floor below the Sanctum. The Tower of
Contemplation was ornately appointed and well lit with aetherial lights, but
sorely lacked for windows. Brannis was unsure how late the hour had grown, but
the activity level in the Tower suggested that it was at least a respectable
hour of the morning. There was a general bustle of sorcerers and servants about
the main central stairways that Brannis took to be business as usual; he had
little basis for comparison, however, since he had only been there previously
under extenuating circumstances.

As he reached the door to the high sorcerer’s office
(now occupied by a warlock), he overheard voices within. It struck Brannis as
odd that the Inner Circle would be so careless—or arrogant—as to leave their
doors unwarded against eavesdroppers.

Maybe they are
so
paranoid that the wards produce false conversations to be overheard?
Brannis mused. That seemed more in keeping with the sorcerers he knew.

Trying to avoid the impression that he was loitering
in the hopes of overhearing them, he knocked smartly on the door. The
conversation abruptly halted, and a breath later, the door opened. Brannis
stepped quickly aside as a middle-aged sorcerer brushed past him.

“Congratulations, Marshal,” Shador Archon greeted him
in passing.

Brannis was familiar enough with Shador, a tall,
broad-shouldered gentleman nearly his own size. Shador’s hair was grey at the
temples, but it was his only concession to aging. He was Second Circle and
likely one of the sorcerers who had been overlooked for the vacancies Rashan
had created among the Inner Circle, though Brannis had never kept such close
accounting of the Circle’s hierarchy. Shador was also Juliana Archon’s father.

“Thank you, Sorcerer Shador,” Brannis replied, caught
somewhat off guard.

He was not quick enough of wit so soon after waking to
formulate a follow-up question. Pleasantries dispensed with, the older sorcerer
took his leave, and Brannis could only watch after him as the Questions
Ministry within his mind slowly began catching up on its workload.

Brannis, still looking over his shoulder, entered
Rashan’s office. He turned his attention back to the warlock as Shador passed
out of sight down the stairs. He was seated in an overly large armchair,
clearly better suited to the late Gravis Archon’s stature than his own. The
office was bereft of most of its contents, the personal effects of the previous
high sorcerer having already been reclaimed by his kin. Heavens Cry rested in
its sheath on an otherwise empty bookshelf, and a few notes and books were
scattered about the desk, clearly what Rashan had been working on in his brief
time back at the head of the Imperial Circle.

“Good morning, Brannis. Close the door behind you, if
you would,” Rashan said. Once Brannis had complied, he continued: “All is well
in your dreams?”

“After a fashion, yes.”

“The spell I showed you proved adequate?” Rashan
asked.

“It was not entirely how I expected it to go, but
generally, yes,” Brannis answered, still puzzled by the warlock’s interest—and
the fact that he had taken Brannis’s bizarre quest the previous night so
seriously. There was a long pause, and Brannis felt the need to elaborate to
fill the uncomfortable silence: “Is there a way to have it bring your clothes
along?”

Rashan smiled. “Practice, mostly.”

That seemed to be enough to satisfy the demon that he
had actually put his advice into practice. Brannis wondered if Rashan was
trying to verify whether he really had been able to perform the magic in his
dream.

“Come, let us get to work this morning,” Rashan said.
“There are goblins at work on our western border, and we need to determine
their plan. I received a message via the speaking stone in Naran Port that
Illard’s Glen was sacked three days ago. Refugees have escaped to Raynesdark
and Korgen, with messengers reaching Naran Port late last night,” Rashan said.

He pushed aside the documents and books that covered
the desk and drew a map from one of the desk drawers. It showed the Kadrin
Empire as it stood presently. By Brannis’s estimation, the map could be no more
than twenty summers old, given that it showed an independent Megrenn and what
was once Tuermon still a part of the Empire. In Rashan’s wars, Megrenn had
fallen before Tuermon.

“How many survivors? What of Lord Feldrake?” Brannis
was going to have to get used to Rashan’s blunt style of delivering even
shocking news. Most of the generals that Brannis knew were prone to much more
preamble prior to getting to the heart of a matter.

“Wrong question. Think to win first, then worry about
the cost,” Rashan said.

“How large a force? Was there any indication whether
they were settling in to occupy, or just using the city as a way to resupply
and cross the Neverthaw?” Brannis tried again.

“Much better. The survivors estimated that there were
at least sixty thousand troops,” Rashan said, and Brannis’s blood chilled. That
was no tactical force to strike and flee with. That was a full-scale invasion.
“They also had at least a few sorcerers among them, which is not unusual for a
goblin army, especially one that size. There were reports of some new siege
engine, similar to a catapult, which the goblins have invented. It tore huge
holes in the town wall, allowing Illard’s Glen to be overrun by goblin
infantry. There was an unconfirmed report that there was a human traveling
among the goblins, as well.”

Rashan stared at Brannis for a moment, then asked,
“What do you make of it?”

“Illard’s Glen is too small a town for goblins to have
sent such a large force. Goblins prefer to attack with a clear advantage, but
they could have sacked Illard’s Glen with a third that force.”

“I agree.” Rashan nodded.

“If the report is true that there was a human
consorting with the goblins, I would wager heavily that he is Megrenn. Megrenn
raiders had taken control of High Pass with none of us the wiser, so it stands
to reason that this activity by the goblins is in support of that effort. I
think it is safe to assume that there is some degree of coordination between
the goblins and the Megrenn to take at least some portion of the western part
of the Empire. I would assume if that is the case, then the human is a
liaison.”

“That seems reasonable. As to your other question, the
survivors could make no clear determination of the goblins’ intent. They had
made no concerted attempts to hunt down the refugees, and were flooding the
city with troops, but they could just be consolidating their forces and resupplying.
They had not burned the town, so I think it safe to conclude that they are
staying long enough to want roofs above their heads at night.”

“Illard’s Glen is no great prize—no offense meant to
those farmers and other loyal Kadrins who live there—so we must assume they
will have further plans. East of Illard’s Glen is Raynesdark.” Brannis pointed
at the map, mostly for reference and to help him think aloud. He had no reason
to suspect that Rashan knew any less about Kadrin geography than he did. “South
along the Neverthaw is Korgen.” Brannis pointed again. “And at the mouth of the
Neverthaw is Naran Port. Now Naran Port would be quite a prize. They would take
over all our western shipping and seriously curtail any ability of ours to land
reinforcements west of the Cloud Wall Mountains.

“But that would not explain why they would strike
Illard’s Glen. Korgen is more directly on the path from Kelvie Forest, and even
Korgen could be bypassed by overland routes if they were willing to march
openly without tree cover.

“No, Raynesdark is their next target. The mines are
still prosperous enough to make it an attractive target. There has not been
gold in the Raynesdark mines for ages, but the deeper mines still yield
diamonds, and the whole area is rich in iron ore.”

“The goblins worship their dragon gods,” Rashan said.
“If some dragon remembers Raynesdark as rich in gold from ages long past, I
could consider that they might have designs to take it for their own. So you
think this is a mining expedition?”

“No, not really. It seems too straightforward. The
goblins use enough strange minerals in their metallurgy that I doubt iron is a
priority for them, and they could likely buy the diamonds from us for less than
what this campaign is going to cost them. If I had to make a guess, there is
something they want those mines for that they either cannot get by trade, or
that they do not wish us to know about.”

“What if this is a feint? Maybe they intend to take a
flotilla down the Neverthaw, taking Korgen along the way to conquering Naran
Port,” Rashan said. His tone was flat, suggesting that he was not actually
advocating the possibility, merely being thorough.

“It would certainly be a surprising tactic. Given the
number of troops the reports indicate, they would need a lot of ships, though.
I would think that any ships that were able to get under sail or oar would have
departed Illard’s Glen at the first sighting of a hostile force. That would
mean the goblins would have to build their flotilla in Illard’s Glen, and that
would negate any advantage of surprise they might think to take—building enough
ships would take the best part of a season.

“Besides, if we prepare Raynesdark for an attack, and
they make for Korgen instead, we can take a force and pursue them. We would need
to be careful, but if we time it correctly, we could arrive in time to pin them
between ourselves and the defenders in Korgen.”

“Very well, you can detail your plans on the way
there. Be prepared to depart early tomorrow morning. I will have sorcerers to
support you, and I shall scavenge about the palace for any useful magics that
have been squirreled away in the name of the nonexistent emperor. Any
questions?”

“Yes. What were you and Shador Archon discussing?”
Brannis asked. He was beginning to understand how Rashan thought and figured he
would need to be direct to get any useful answer out of him.

“Wrong question. You have a lot of—”

“No, this time I have the question I want. I may have
more later, but this is the one I would like answered first,” Brannis said.

Rashan looked perturbed, a slight frown creasing his
delicate features. After a moment’s pause, a smile curled one side of his
mouth.

“I am going to enjoy having you leading my armies,
Brannis. I spent much of yesterday bullying sorcerers thrice your age and then
some, men who had for long summers ruled unquestioned. None of them dared
interrupt me, much less contradict me. A few hold back because they distrust me
and wish to wait for the ideal time to strike, but for the most part, it is
simple fear that stays their tongues. Always remember, Brannis, it is your mind
that I value—your insight, your inquisitiveness, even your conscience. If I
wanted a swinging sword and an empty helmet, I have a whole army filled with
those already to choose from.”

“And you still have not answered,” Brannis said,
folding his arms in front of him.

“Very well. I was speaking to Sorcerer Shador about
his daughter. I saw the matchmakers records, so I know she was once promised to
you, but I believe it was understood that the marriage was contingent on you
turning out to be a sorcerer,” Rashan said.

Brannis could not help but flush in a combination of
embarrassment and shame. It had been winters since he had put the Academy
behind him, but the sting could still be brought fresh to the surface by
thoughts of Juliana.

“She is too bright a flower to be unwed at her age,”
Rashan said. “I thought that she would be an ideal match for Iridan.”

“What!” Brannis exclaimed.

He had held some vague illusion that perhaps Rashan
had been leading up to explain that a grand marshal would still be a fine and
honorable husband for a sorceress of the Archon line.

“Well, Iridan would have been considered for a prime
match long ago had the Circle known of his lineage. He cannot just linger around
and marry some daughter of a lesser nobleman, or a simple commoner.” Rashan
sighed. “And he is just the sort, too. I could easily see him falling for some
nobody, a sweet little thing from a worthless family, pleasant enough but no
fit match to be sure.”

“Who is his mother, anyway?” Brannis asked.