Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (75 page)

“Tell more about them women,” someone shouted.

There were murmurs and shouts of agreement. And so the
captain did, as Kyrus watched. He felt detached, wondering how the men of the
crew could be so gullible.

You would really sell your lives to this man for the
chance at primitive women and shoddily distilled liquor?

It was a magic that Kyrus did not know but which he
envied. It was the power to plant seeds in men’s minds and make them grow into
ideas that they think are their own. It was like planting a garden of dreams.

Ask a man what he wants in life, and there are many
who would answer: riches, drink, and the company of many beautiful women. Not
every man dreams so simply or so crudely, but Denrik Zayne need only choose his
crew from among those who do.

And where do I fit in among these? Can I even truly
dream, or is it not a “dream” in quite that sense? If it is just to unlock the
key to the heart’s desires, all I want is to find a way to be with Abbiley
again. The rest … It would work itself out, and I could be content however it
befell.

By the time the captain had finished, the crew was
clamoring to get to Denku Appa and sate their gluttony and lusts among the
welcoming savages who lived there. Kyrus wondered what it would actually be
like once they got there. Could enough rum allow a man to imagine a primitive
paradise where there is only squalor? Could dreams make a spit-charred grouper
taste of lemon-brushed salmon, or an awkward and nervous native girl seem an
exotic temptress? Captain Zayne was promising a Garden of Ma’Lai, and there was
no way he would be able to deliver all he boasted of. Like the merchants Kyrus
had met in Acardia, there was an art to such selling that he just could not
fully wrap his mind about.

As the speech finished, Captain Zayne ordered the men
back about their work, and they complied eagerly, excited by the prospect of
exotic island delights by nightfall, if they kept their course and speed. They
pushed and jostled as too many men moved about the deck to get to where they
were headed. None touched Kyrus. There was an area about him that might well
have been forged of steel, a pillar into which no man could enter. It was magic
that managed it but not of the aetherial sort; Kyrus had them scared of him.
Glances did not long linger on him—lest a sailor make accidental eye
contact—save for one. Denrik Zayne locked gazes with Kyrus and gave him an even
look, not betraying any intent but interest.

As the last of the men were clearing the area of the
aft castle, the captain yelled down, just loudly enough for Kyrus to hear
clearly: “Mr. Hinterdale, a word in my cabin, if you will.”

It was an order but a politely delivered one. Kyrus
did not see Stalyart lingering about, so he wondered if it was to be a private
conversation, with no ally ready at hand. Kyrus kept his walk slow as he
crossed to the door of the captain’s cabin, hanging back long enough for
Captain Zayne to make the walk down from the castle and meet him at his own
door without having to wait.

“Come in. Come in.” Denrik gestured as he entered his
own quarters.

Kyrus followed and closed the door behind him. He knew
his ward was still ready in case of treachery, but the captain’s jovial mood
did not suddenly shift once they were alone, as he had feared it would.

“Ah, Kyrus, that was marvelous,” the captain beamed.

“Which do you mean?” Kyrus asked.

He was unused to the captain being jolly, but it was
all he could think to describe the mood he saw. There was wine set out at the
captain’s private table, and two stout goblets made of silver, inlaid with
rubies. Captain Zayne slumped into one of the chairs and threw his feet up onto
the table. He took one of the goblets and drank deeply, then gestured for Kyrus
to join him.

“I mean everything,” Denrik stated. “What has gone
awry for me these past weeks? A month ago, I was sitting in a prison cell on
Rellis Island in Tellurak and treating with goblins in Veydrus, trying to get
them to go to war with my enemies. Today I have my own ship, practically
smelling of fresh paint and filled with new cannons, and I have secured the
Staff of Gehlen and begun the downfall of the Kadrin Empire.”

“Seems a bit premature to gloat, do you not think?”
Kyrus asked. “You may have your staff, but at what cost? Any allies you might
have had among the goblins are dead. Rashan Solaran has returned and taken over
his duties as Warlock of the Empire and has already slain a dragon and routed
an army.” Kyrus saw Denrik’s brow furrow at the mention of a dead dragon,
momentarily cracking the façade of joviality he presented. “Staff or no staff,
you fled rather than face him. If you thought you could stand against him, you
ought to have done it right there, before he knew you possessed it; now that
chance is gone. Life here is good, I shall not deny, but you have more troubles
than you think in Veydrus.”

“Before you decide that I have troubles in this world
after all, let me assure you of one thing: this world is not Veydrus. The dead
feel no pain; I will shed no tears for my slain allies. They served their
purpose, and in truth, their company had worn on me awfully. I suspected the
battle was lost when I puzzled out that it was truly your dead warlock reborn.
I bear no ill will toward you for whatever role you play in the Kadrin army or
the defeat of my clever little associates, though I do begrudge you the Kadrin
habits that seep over into you from the other world. I may have called you a
brigand, but that was Jinzan speaking, and to whomever your twin may be, not to
you. If you do not mind me asking, what is your name in the other world? Who
are you? Mind you, every word I have spoken about my life in Veydrus has borne
true, while you have confronted me with lie upon lie. Have it out: who was the
man I spared in Raynesdark’s mines?” Denrik said, and the word “Raynesdark”
sounded so odd to Kyrus with its Kadrin sound to it, spoken in Acardian.

“The truth?” Kyrus supposed it was past hiding at this
point. “I am Sir Brannis Solaran, Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army.”

Denrik shook his head and gave a small smile. “Fine,
if you do not wish to tell me, then—”

“No, that is the truth of it. That armor that saved my
life from whatever spell you intended for everyone else? That was from the
personal collection of the emperor, once worn in battle by Liead the Only, not
runed but aether-forged. I was the one who matched wits with your goblin
allies, the one who escaped Kelvie Forest to warn of your approach and to put a
ready army at the walls of Raynesdark when you arrived, cannons in tow.”

“Hmm, perhaps this time it is the truth after all. Well,
then, let us toast to a friendship in this world while we begin our rivalry in
the other. I say this: let this ship be as an embassy of the Kadrin Empire. We
can treat here with no hint of our activity showing among our own allies and
keep each other apprised of diplomatic messages.

“House Solaran, you say,” Denrik mused. “It seems they
have gone downwind in their pursuit of sorcerous perfection. I think they made
you too good, and when your Source broke in half from the strain, the whale’s
share ended up here, rather than in Kadrin. You tell me that Rashan Solaran is
returned among you, but I think I would more greatly fear Kyrus Solaran,
properly trained among those of the Imperial Circle. You may lack for guile and
ruthlessness compared with him, but they would have put that into you at the
Academy had you shown this sort of promise.”

“In fact, I did attend the Academy. They expected much
of me, given my birthright, and for some time suffered my slow development in
magic, before casting me out. I joined with the knighthood instead, and my
family ties came to my advantage only once I met Rashan,” Kyrus said. “It was
he who elevated me to grand marshal.”

“Tell me, what is the monster like? How was it he has
kept himself alive so long? He must be near to two hundred fifty by now,”
Denrik asked, leaning toward Kyrus a bit.

“He is a philosopher and a keen observer, thoughtful
and kind. His knowledge and wisdom span centuries, and he teaches and guides.
The next moment, he is bloody to the elbows with a score of corpses in his wake
over some slight or misstep, with a look in his eyes akin to madness, even joy.
The moment after, he will calmly resume his pleasant demeanor, as if no one had
noticed what he had done. It preys on his thoughts, I think, the rage that
lurks inside him, and I think that is why he was away so long—to find some
other way of being.

“As to his longevity, he had found the secret of the
demons, of a perfect Source that loses no aether. He is a demon now himself,
and a monster in both the classical and literal senses,” Kyrus said.

It felt odd speaking of Rashan while in Tellurak,
since the warlock was so alien to it, a creature of naught but magic in a world
that did not even admit the existence of it.

“Tell me this, Kyrus, why do you follow him, if you
see this so clearly? You seem to understand the evils you consort with—the
monster who enslaved my homeland six generations ago—yet you serve him.” Denrik
seemed perplexed.

“If you wish him slain, do it yourself with that staff
you are so proud of plundering. He killed a dragon and I cannot count the
thousands of goblins. When I fell exhausted into my bed last night, Rashan
Solaran was still chasing down anything that survived in the plains below the
city. I am loyal to Kadrin, and for now at least, he is our best weapon against
you. I could not stand against him if I wished to, and at present, I do not
wish to,” Kyrus said.

“Well, I shall let it go at that for now. I shall make
it my goal to sell you the merits of a free Megrenn ruling over Kadrin. You may
be too highborn to see it, but your people suffer for the rule of the powerful
houses—noble and sorcerous alike—and I intend to see them free to live as
Megrenn do, as equals to be judged on their own merits. I will win you over. I
will find what it is you love in life, and you shall have it. You are made of
different stuff that those men out there.” Denrik gestured broadly beyond the
walls of his cabin. “But I will find your heart’s song and a bard to play it
for you.” Denrik smiled at Kyrus.

I bet you cannot find me another Abbiley, nor take her
aboard the
Fair Trader.
You will
find no hold over me.

*
* * * * * * *

The boats held ten men each, and Kyrus had been
summoned to the first one with Captain Zayne. They were to head ashore first to
meet with the chieftain of the people on the island. The boat swayed a bit as
each man climbed aboard, down the rope ladder over the
Fair Trader
’s
side. Three nights they had been promised, to take in the pleasures of the
island’s hospitality. The Denku—for Denku Appa literally meant “Denku Place” in
their own tongue—would be expecting them, having seen the ship from their
little fishing boats.

The water was placid and calm, with just the slightest
of rolls to give any hint of being at sea at all. The ship anchored a ways from
shore, as the island was surrounded by reefs and shallow waters all about. The
long boats would be the only way to go ashore.

Kyrus went with more than a bit of trepidation. He
meant to keep his magics to himself; if a cosmopolitan people like the
Acardians could be driven to stake-burning frenzy at the prospect of magic, how
much worse would savages react to having a witch in their midst? Kyrus might
survive, but what might he wreak in the meantime? Would he kill half his own
crew this time? Perhaps the boats …

Four poor men had the unlucky draw to get duty on the
oars, and slowly they began making their way to shore. The night air was warm,
and the clouds sparse in the starry sky. The moon and starlight sparkled
against the tepid waters of the southern Katamic. The sound of the oars
rhythmically breaching the water brought to mind memories of illicit visits to
Dragon’s Eye Island back in Kadrin, when a younger Kyrus—err, Brannis—was
wooing a younger Juliana Archon. Kyrus smiled, but amid the eager smiles of the
lusty sailors about him, its nostalgia felt tainted amid less pure intentions.

As they neared the shore, smaller boats came out to
meet them and guide them in to shore. These boats were little more than a pair
of hollowed tree trunks, lashed together with wooden poles that held them
separated by two paces or so. In each boat, one of the hollowed trunks carried
a small mast and little triangular sail little taller than a man’s height. The
Denku sailors wore little but loincloths and an occasional ornament—a necklace
of sharks’ teeth, a leather bracelet—and they carried small lanterns hung from
poles, which they dangled a bit in front of the long boat to light its way. It
was an unnecessary gesture on the brightly lit night, but it was just that: a
gesture. The native Denku seemed eager to appear welcoming to their visitors.

Fires appeared on the shore, lighting areas of broad,
white sand and casting the small figures gathered around them into sharp
contrast. There were scores of the Denku out to greet them once they reached
shore. Kyrus saw no sign of weapons among them, which he found curious.

Even Marker’s Point had guns trained on us and boarded
the ship before we were allowed in, and one ship is no real threat to them.
Four-score pirates could slaughter these people, yet they guide us to them with
unarmed fishermen?