Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (14 page)

It continued thus for a handful of moves, with the two
men passing the stick back and forth in silence. The hermit handled himself
much better than Iridan had initially expected, and he had found no clear
advantage. He studied the board for several moments before deciding to try
distracting his opponent.

“So who are you anyway? All this time, and you have
not so much as given your name,” he said, making a noncommittal move and
passing the stick to the hermit.

“Oh, I have already gone through that whole business
with your friend Brannis. I have grown unaccustomed to giving my name. Talk to
Brannis later if you are truly curious. I think he would explain things better
than I.”

“What sort of answer is that? If you have already told
Brannis, what harm is there in telling me?” Iridan found that the stick had
somehow wandered back into his hand. The hermit had made his move while Iridan
had been talking.

“None really, I suppose.”

Iridan waited.

“Well?” he asked. “Are you going to tell me, then?”

He made another move—a rather defensive one that
closed off what appeared to be an imminent attack by the hermit’s rook—just to
get the hermit to move while he talked, and passed him the stick.

“No, I think not. I shall let Brannis enlighten you
when he decides to,” the hermit replied. “Are you sure you have played this
game before?”

Iridan’s attention was brought back more fully to the
game, and he watched as the hermit took a decided advantage—the rook had been a
diversion. Iridan saw now that he would lose in just a matter of a few moves.

“All right, let us try that again. I was distracted,”
Iridan snapped, upset with himself that his trick had backfired.

The hermit smiled and patiently rubbed out the drawn
pieces and set the game up once again.

The game resumed anew, this time with the hermit
taking a more aggressive approach than he had in the first game. Iridan
immediately found himself struggling to defend his pieces.

“From your accent, I take it you are originally from
the Empire,” Iridan probed, now genuinely curious about the hermit. “What did
you do before you left?”

“Oh, a number of things. Odd jobs and the like, for
one of the highborn families. I would fix things, deliver messages, that sort
of thing. Primarily they had me working as a butcher. Eventually I tired of
it—the slaughtering of helpless animals. Mostly I think I grew tired of all the
blood. I felt that I just had to get the smell of it out of my nostrils, so I
left.”

“You just left?” Iridan stopped playing for the moment
and made no moves, his attention fixed for the moment on the hermit.

“It was a thankless job. After one particularly long
day’s work, I decided I'd had enough, and I just left.” He snapped his fingers.
“Just like that. Not a word to anyone. I came to live out here. That was
winters ago.”

The hermit nodded back to the game, prompting Iridan
to move.

*
* * * * * * *

Sometime later, Brannis returned with the two soldiers
who had accompanied him to refill the group’s canteens. Brannis looked
curiously at the two men sitting together—his best friend and the strange
hermit that he did not quite trust yet—and went over to see what they were up
to. Rashan turned toward Brannis as the knight approached him from behind.

“Well, your friend seems to have suffered no lasting
effects of his unfortunate mishap, presuming that he was rather dim-witted
before the incident,” Rashan commented, smiling lopsidedly.

“Do not listen to him, Brannis, he is really good. I
bet he would even give you a tough time of it,” Iridan interrupted, defending
his maligned wits from the hermit’s sarcasm.

“Please,” Rashan said. “I have never known a knight
who could get out of his own way in a game of chess. They make a few moves and
start whining about a draw if there is no obvious advantage right off. No
offense.”

“None taken,” Brannis said. “I actually first learned
the game at the Academy, not the School of Arms. I spent several winters there
before they gave up on me ever becoming a sorcerer. I know how to play both
ways.”

It was true that the two institutions had markedly
different ways of playing the same game. To those at the Imperial Academy,
chess was a game of wits to determine who was the better. They played by what
they considered the “pure” rules, with all options available until one player
was defeated or the game became stalemated. At the School of Arms, the game was
used as a microcosm of a battlefield. Pawns were only considered expendable if
there was a clear gain, and more important pieces were defended heavily and
rarely were they captured or lost intentionally for any strategic gain. Draws
were common, often after only a handful of moves if neither player had gained
an advantage. Headmasters presided over the game and judged performances based
on territory—or number of squares—that a player controlled, and what kind of
“casualties” had been suffered. True victories as the sorcerers saw them rarely
happened when squires played. The knighthood had long held that the game gave
great insight into the minds of sorcerers, and revealed the most important
reasons why they never be given command of troops.

Brannis decided to give the remainder of his men a bit
more rest and indulge the hermit in his game. He was curious to discover what
he could about their deeply layered companion.

Maybe I can start piecing him together like a puzzle
if I can see him from enough angles.

Brannis took Iridan’s spot across from the hermit and
quickly scribbled his pieces back in their starting locations, then put his
opponent’s pieces back, even drawing them upside down so they faced the Rashan.

“Not too bad. You seem at least passingly familiar
with the game,” the hermit admitted. “I shall make the first move.”

Brannis played Kanix’s Defense, an advanced and
complicated opening sequence that looked to unbalance the board and give both
players ample opportunity to attack. It was a test, to see if Rashan had
learned the game at any advanced level. As the hermit responded, Brannis noted
that he took none of the standard attacks but still seemed to be making strong
plays and threatening his position at every turn. Not having seen any style of
play Brannis was familiar with from either the Imperial Academy or the School
of Arms, he carefully worked to a more neutral position. He then decided to
play his usual manner: a long-term plan that did not look so much to score wins
in pieces or get a particular gambit to work, but rather to gain the most use
out of each of his pieces, gaining options and restricting his opponent’s.

“Falling back to the knights’ way, then?” Rashan
commented as he saw Brannis’s play grow less aggressive and threatening.

“Not exactly,” Brannis replied, exchanging one of his
knights for one of the hermit’s bishops.

Several moves later, Rashan seemed to finally notice
that Brannis had been subtly marginalizing his remaining bishop, to the point
where it was nearly useless to him.

“Where did you learn that?” Rashan wondered aloud,
shortly before scrubbing out his dirt-drawn king and admitting defeat. “I am
not accustomed to losing, and I would like to know: what just happened?”

“You lost. That happened.”

Brannis smiled at being able to play the same game the
hermit liked to play with words, ignoring half the question to give an
unhelpful answer to the rest.

“A rematch, then,” Rashan offered, and he began to set
the board up again.

“I do not think now is the time for another game. We
have to get moving again,” Brannis continued.

Looking about the hilltop, he could see that most of
the men had already finished eating their lunches and were just sitting or
lying about, taking what rest they could.

“They are tired, you know,” Rashan said. “You are
pushing them too hard. You will not make it back to the Empire like this; you
will lose half your men to exhaustion.”

“We have no choice. If we do not get word to Kadrin
and arrange for reinforcements, those goblins could wipe out Korgen, or maybe
Illard’s Glen. We shall get horses once we cross into Kadrin territory, then it
will be easier on everyone.”

“Very well, then.” Rashan sighed. “Perhaps I can help
you with something.”

The hermit turned his attention to the trees above and
raised his right hand, palm up. Then he began making melodic twittering noises,
reminiscent of the calls of birds they had heard each morning they had been in Kelvie
Forest.

A few breaths later, a small sparrow flew down from
the trees and landed on Rashan’s outstretched hand. Rashan gently closed his
hand over the bird, and he began stroking the back of its head with his thumb.
Brannis and Iridan looked on in amazement, for the hermit had seemed to work no
magic. The bird had merely come to his call. Brannis could tell that Iridan was
resisting the urge to stretch his senses into the aether to confirm what he had
seen, no doubt because he did not want to risk taxing his mind when he was just
beginning to feel like himself again. Several soldiers who had seen the bird
fly in now began gathering about, wondering what was going on.

“Brannis,” Rashan said quietly, seemingly to avoid
disturbing the bird. “Where
exactly
do you want your message delivered?
Mind you, somewhere where someone who would not be struck dumb seeing a bird
delivering one might be found.”

“Umm … The capital … Kadris,” Brannis replied
skeptically. “I guess at the palace. Someone from the Imperial Circle would
likely find it.”

“Very well, I know where that is. It should prove
little trouble. Now I will need you to speak two messages. The first will be
heard by whoever first finds the bird, and will need to tell them to whom the
bird need be delivered. The second will be the true message, and you should
choose someone who will not discount the word of sparrow.” Rashan could not
help grinning at that. “Also, it should be someone who will recognize your
voice, for sparrows cannot speak with one of their own,” Rashan added, as if it
were somehow natural that they should speak with a voice that was
not
their own.

Brannis thought for a moment. Who should he send the
bird to? Juliana was the first sorcerer who came to mind—as she often did—but
she was young and not of high rank in the Imperial Circle. It might raise
eyebrows if he sent such an important message to her instead of someone more
senior. Brannis’s father would certainly be respected enough to bear such news
to the rest of the Inner Circle and to the High Command of the knights, but he
would sooner kiss a goblin than rely on his father to take his warning to
heart. Truly the message would best have been delivered to his immediate
superior, Sir Garibald, but he could hardly imagine the stodgy old knight
conversing with a sparrow. At last, Brannis decided on his elder sister,
Aloisha. She would most likely recognize his voice, though they spoke seldom to
one another, and she carried a great deal of respect among her peers. As a
bonus, it would seem all well and proper that his sister receive the message,
rather than a young sorceress to whom he had once been betrothed.

Brannis nodded to Rashan that he was ready, and the
hermit calmly held the sparrow up closer to Brannis face. Feeling silly
addressing a bird, Brannis began his first message.

“This bird bears a message for Aloisha Solaran of the
Imperial Circle. You are hereby commanded to convey this messenger immediately
to the lady’s presence, for the matter is most urgent.”

Brannis looked expectantly at Rashan, and the hermit
nodded in approval, holding up two fingers. It was time for the second message.

“To my sister Aloisha, I give greetings. This bird
bears a message from Brannis Solaran, with news of the search in Kelvie Forest.
The goblin presence is greater than we feared. We have confirmed the loss of
Sir Ferren’s battalion with but two survivors, and my own command has suffered
heavy casualties. There has been no word from Sir Dennever’s battalion, and I
fear it has been lost as well. The goblins are gathering in numbers, likely for
an invasion of the western empire. I return to Kadris in all haste.”

Brannis nodded to Rashan once more, and the hermit
raised his hand quickly, releasing the sparrow, which flew away immediately,
heading east.

“How did you do that? I did not see you use magic,”
Brannis asked, confused.

“I thought you could not see magic at all, so I do not
find that surprising,” the hermit replied sarcastically. He seemed to enjoy
picking at Brannis’s words.

“You know what I mean: you did not cast a spell. The
bird just came when you called it.”

“Small children have been doing bird calls since long
before I was born. I doubt they relied on magic to do it.”

“And the message? I suppose that was a child’s trick
as well,” Brannis pressed, meaning to get answers from the mysterious hermit.

Rashan seemed always to be acting helpful and speaking
in circles. It was beginning to grate on his nerves, for he knew not whether
the hermit was being playful or deceitful.