Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (69 page)

Brannis was struck a glancing blow as the dragon’s
broken toes popped free from around his sword. He was spun over thrice and
dizzied, but Liead’s armor saved him from any real injury.

I wonder how many more such blows this armor can
deflect before its wards give way?

He scrambled to his feet and retrieved his sword from
its place in the air a few paces away. He gave it a cursory inspection and
found it to be intact.

What a blade this is! It suits me so much better than
Massacre ever did.

He looked and saw the dragon sprawled upon the street
several blocks away. He fortunately found himself unmolested by goblins troops,
who had given their goddess a wide berth and who were doubly frightened by the
prospect of something having injured her. Great gutters had been carved in the
street where her back claws had dragged behind her, and masonry from the
buildings that lined the street was all about, the sinewy wings still having
bulk enough to damage all that they struck.

The dragon twitched and squirmed, trying to gather
herself and get her limbs back under her. She was obviously disoriented, if not
fatally wounded, and Brannis was drawn to pursue. He set off at a bit more than
a jog but a bit less than a run, cautiously making his way down the
rubble-littered street. He saw the sign of a bootblack lying face up in the
road, and a set of draperies that had been pulled down along with the window
they had fallen with. There were bits of a shattered cart and the wares that
had been left in it. He had to avoid the remains of a stone balcony that had
been dislodged from its vantage and now barred half the road.

And now I go to chase down what creature did all this,
and by accident? I must be crazed!

Unbeknownst to him, Brannis’s pursuit of the fallen
dragon coincided with the arrival of the warlock, Rashan, upon the battlefield.
Being blind and insensitive to the aether, he had no way of perceiving the
massive disruption in the flow of the aether all around the city that heralded
Rashan’s appearance on the plains below, but many others had been keenly aware.
Jadefire snapped her head up, twisting her long neck in the direction of the
disturbance.

*
* * * * * * *

Ni’Hash’Tk had assumed until then that the demon had
been hiding among the troops somewhere, biding its time. It had just been a
matter of waiting until it showed itself and then destroying it.

This was a bit different, though. The transference
spell shook and warped the aether like few others, and she knew the power it
took to perform one. Had she been the size of a goblin, or even a human, she
could have managed one herself, but Ni’Hash’Tk’s vast bulk required too large a
chunk of the world be moved for even her mighty Source to bear.

Whatever it was that had just appeared—and she
reasoned that it was most likely the demon her assassin seemed so frightened
of—it was strong. She feared no creature of muscle and bone, save perhaps
another dragon, for none were her equal. Magic … now that was a different
matter. She had just had an object lesson in the pitfalls of the hidden powers
of magic—
Blast that dratted human knight and his trick sword!
—and had
paid a price for it. She watched in the aether as the newcomer drew great
surges of the stuff, and kept watching as the tiny, sturdy little Sources of
her followers turned from vibrant and healthy to tiny little decaying candles,
wafting out their last bits of living aether.

Too many. Too quickly.

The Kadrin demon was laying waste to the goblin ground
forces. Her right foreleg was a wreck of broken bones, and her wings ached badly.
She worked the wings and felt confident they would hold her in flight, though
maybe not for a prolonged engagement in the air.

She noticed movement in her peripheral vision and drew
a quick breath. A burst of flame sent the seeking human knight diving headlong
behind one of the buildings.

Sneak up on me? Not likely,
she thought spitefully.

She could not spare the time or effort to chase after
a single knight. She contented herself to claim his magics for herself later.

Something must be done about that demon,
she told herself but did not relish the thought of
fighting in her current condition.

“Greetings, Mighty One,”
a voice called in her head, and she found that
perhaps she had an alternative to pitting her dragonfire against that demon’s
spells.

*
* * * * * * *

Jinzan, too, had felt the rush of power in the aether,
and had quickened the pace of his mount.

Stealth be gutted, I must get away before I am caught
up in that.

He could feel a gentle pull in the whole of the aether
as more and more of it was drawn over to where the massive surge had
originated.

I think we just found the real demon, unless there
were two to begin with.

Jinzan kept an eye to the south, where the carnage was
beginning. He could pick out no Source at the center of the growing maelstrom
of fire, lightning, and telekinetic energy that was engulfing the goblins
forces. No Source … the hallmark of a demon.

That other one, I would have fought should I have
found it blocking my path. Should that one come between me and the mines, all
is lost.

Jinzan had never seen anything like the display to his
south. It was a garish display of power, obscene in its excess.

War was a time for judicious use of aether, if a
sorcerer were to enter the battle at all. There was only so much aether to be
had before the field was run dry and there was no more aether left to power
spells. Once that happened, the sorcerer was left defenseless, save for
whatever skill at arms he might possess—dreadfully little in his own case—and
what aether slowly spilled anew from the combatants over time. Jinzan knew from
Denrik’s life what the feel of a sword in his hand was like. But he recalled
also seeing Kyrus wield one, knowing only its use in another world. Jinzan
would be no better off for Denrik’s knowledge, and despite a bit of life
extension, he was not so young a man as to make up for such deficiencies with
youthful vigor and strength.

On a whim, he decided to take a better look to see
what had befallen.

“Makto enfusi delgaja,”
he spoke, loosening his hold on the reins to touch
thumb to thumb and forefinger to forefinger of each hand and drawing them wide
to expand the circle they formed. A shimmering disc formed in the air and
followed along with the bouncing gait of his mount as they ambled along the plains,
rapidly approaching the base of the mountain.

Through the disc, everything seemed larger, clearer,
and closer. It mimicked the effects of a spyglass from Tellurak and did its job
far better. Jinzan adjusted the view and panned around, following the carnage
back to its source. Goblins kept trying to attack, to their credit, but the
view was kept clear as wave upon wave of them were thrown back like the little
cloth-knot dolls the poor children of Megrenn played with.

There within the wide ring of dead bodies was a human,
slight of build, with long, pure-white hair flowing over the black, red, and
gold garb of a warlock. He was only head and shoulders taller than the goblins
he fought, once Jinzan saw one get close enough before dying to make the
comparison. Jinzan himself was tall enough that most of the goblins only came
to his waist, and he was not accorded as a tall man. At the demon’s hip was a
sword that dragged nearly to the ground, though he eschewed its use in favor of
spells and his bare hands. Twice Jinzan saw lone goblins approach close enough
to land blows, which the demon turned aside with disdain before disposing of
his attackers.

This is
not
good. The Kadrins have themselves a true warlock it seems, and a demonic one as
well. Where could he have come from?

For all the demon’s ferocity, he seemed passive on the
offensive. He had not advanced and, in lulls in the fighting, stood with a
distant look on his face. Jinzan was not certain what that portended, but he
took the chance to bring his view even closer, focusing on just the demon and
ignoring the area around him.

It cannot be!
Jinzan protested in his own thoughts.

He was as good a student of history as the Academy had
seen in quite a long time, centuries perhaps, and he had an obsessive interest
in the conquest of his own homeland. He had read
The Diplomacy of Fire and
Steel
a dozen times from cover to cover, bringing his blood to a boil anew
with each reading. He had seen sketches of Rashan Solaran in its pages and had
even once viewed the bust of him in the Sanctuary of the Tower of
Contemplation.

It is him!

Jinzan’s stomach knotted. He was not a man prone to
idle fears and had steeled himself against many a foe, taking his magic into
battle time and again, despite the risks and despite not having the skill of a
warlock. But here … here was a warlock so notorious that his whole civilization
despised the memory of him; the name was a curse for them.

If that is not Rashan Solaran, he has had a descendant
with all the power the histories attribute to him.
Either thought was discomforting and reinforced his
desire to reach the Staff of Gehlen so that he might possibly stand against
such a monster.

As he watched in his aetherial spyglass, the distant
look left the demon’s face. It turned to look
right at him,
and the eyes
narrowed, as if in annoyance. The visage appeared for a moment to be indecisive
and then it disappeared from view.

Jinzan panicked. He released the spell of far-sight
and scanned the battlefield south of him. He caught sight of a blur of
motion—the demon, headed up the mountain pass to the city. In a series of great
leaps and strides that would shame a stripe-cat or a mountain goat, he
disappeared from view into the city in mere moments.

Jinzan had reached the base of the mountain himself by
then, his mount making easy work of the slopes with its long claws digging in
to grab footholds. He urged it on, conveying his need for haste to the beast,
which was not quite so dumb as it first appeared. The lizard picked up its
pace, and they ascended the uncut rocky slope with nearly the speed they had
kept on level ground.

Jinzan clutched at the miniaturized cannon kit in his
pockets and held the pieces secure as he bumped along atop the lizard’s head.
He could only hope that whatever had distracted the demon had done a good
enough job that he could reach the upper mines unhindered.

*
* * * * * * *

“Greetings, Mighty One,”
Rashan spoke once he contacted the great dragon’s
mind.
“Whose army do I have the privilege of destroying?”

The goblins continued to throw themselves at him
heedlessly. For creatures possessed of the cunning he had long attributed to
goblins, it seemed a senseless waste. He paid them scant attention as he began
his negotiation with their god.

After a brief wait, he got a reply:
“What are you
doing in my head? I am Jadefire, demon, no mind for your petty magics to trifle
with,”
the dragon replied telepathically.

“‘Jadefire’? Come now, what sort of name is that? You
have a proper one, as do I. My name is Rashan Solaran, Warlock of the Kadrin
Empire. I have conquered kingdoms and slaughtered armies. Grant me the honor of
the name your mother gave you upon your hatching,”
Rashan replied.

Draconic was the language of the dragons, but not
everyone knew that it was the same as the runic language used for spellcasting.
Rashan understood it fully as well as Kadrin. He would deign to address the
dragon in its own tongue once he knew its given name.

“Hmph. Very well. I am Nihaxtukali—
Ni’Hash’Tk in goblin-speech—Queen of the goblins of Feduwliax—F’d’lsh
in their own tongue,”
Ni’Hash’Tk
replied.
“The goblins of the cities of Ni’Stb, Dl’Rzl, and Tnk’Ch’Nck
worship me as their goddess. Enough with pleasantries. Why do you parley?”

“As you wish, Nihaxtukali. I believe that we have
three options left to us to choose from. First, we could tear each other’s
followers to pieces as we are doing now and then contest between the two of us
at the end, leaving the winner as the sole survivor of a massacre. Second, we
could seek each other out and battle singly, the winner free to wipe out the
other’s forces unopposed,”
Rashan’s
mind spoke now in draconic, fluent enough that Ni’Hash’Tk was pleased to hear
it spoken. The goblin tongue was so much pidgin draconic. It grew wearisome at
times, and proper draconic was rare to be heard.
“I despise both options as
wasteful.”

“Hah, you value your minions too closely,”
Ni’Hash’Tk replied.
“My goblins live to serve my
whim, and when many die, I simply permit more of them to breed. Worry over your
pitiful humans if you must, but I shed no tear for goblins that die obeying my
command.”

“You misunderstand me. I care as little for my
followers as you do yours,”
Rashan
lied. He was willing to put lives to use and was willing to risk them, but
wantonness was never a trait of his. The dragon’s point about the goblins’
breeding habits was well taken, though; the Kadrins would suffer far more from
such a loss.
“In both my first two options, one of us dies. I am
twelve-score summers old and have no end to the days before me. I suspect you
are far older, with ages yet unborn before you. What a shame that after tonight
one of us would see no more days.