Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (70 page)

“Thus is my third option. Let us remove ourselves from
this battle and contest it among our minions only. We take up a vantage above
the city and watch, each monitoring the other that we do not interfere. The
loser might return to their home afterward, no matter which side wins,”
Rashan said.

He wondered if he had done enough to the goblin army
to show the dragon that there was no way she could rely on her minions in the
battle against him. He needed her to be sure that not only was he disdainful of
the goblins’ ability to harm him, he was personally dangerous enough that she
should worry for her own fate if facing him alone.

“Is that cowardice I hear for your mind’s voice,
demon?”
Ni’Hash’Tk laughed at Rashan
mentally.
“If you offer such a deal, it means you must fear me. You reveal
your weakness.”

“Cowardice? Have you heard of Loramar? I faced him and
destroyed his army of the dead. I swear to you, I would not allow you to
survive a battle against me. Even in death, I would wound you mortally. No, I
merely wish to take no chances, for however sure I am of your death, should it
come down to combat between us, I am not so certain of my own survival. Instead
let us choose to live long after this day.”

“Loramar? I have not heard the name. Still, I can see
merit in your plan. You are not so weak as your minions,”
the dragon said.
“I will cease my attacks upon your
minions, and you shall do likewise. We will watch each other and view the
battle together. I will see the routing of your forces.”

“Nor are you as weak as your minions, Nihaxtukali,”
Rashan replied.
“Meet me atop the glacier above
the city. It is the only flat spot large enough for both of us at once, with a
view of all the fighting.”

“Agreed.”

Rashan broke off the contact at that point and
reoriented himself to the swirling chaos around him. Hardly noticing, he had
killed scores more goblins, fools who had no notion that he was beyond their
ability to harm. What he did notice was that he was being watched.

Off to the north, a human sorcerer hid himself against
the backdrop of the mountains and snow, using aether to camouflage himself. It
worked well enough against most foes but shone a light upon him in Rashan’s
ever-present vision in the aether. He looked right at the sorcerer, Megrenn by
the slightly darker skin and hair than was typical among Kadrins, and narrowed
his gaze. Had he not just agreed with the dragon to cease assaulting her
allies, he would have been tempted to slay the Megrenn sorcerer out of hand.
Unfortunately he preferred to honor his agreement and keep dragonfire off his
list of worries … at least for the time being.

“Iridan,”
Rashan called out to his son, using the same spell he had used to contact the
dragon’s mind.
“There is a human sorcerer—Megrenn, it seems—camouflaging
himself and riding a lizard. He appears headed to the northern part of the city
in some haste. His likely target is the upper mines. Intercept him.”

“All right,”
a weary Iridan replied.

Rashan sped off toward the city and beyond, rushing to
reach the top before the dragon got there and had a chance to grow impatient at
his absence. He could already see the beast ponderously taking to the air, clearly
not in the best of health.

Ahh, someone had drawn dragon blood today. Was that
you, Iridan?

*
* * * * * * *

Celia watched the battle from the entrance to her
tent. First the fog then the onset of darkness obscured her view, but she much
preferred the poor view to one any closer. The tent was icy cold from having
the flap open at length, as Celia could not help but stare out into the
torch-lit gloom and watch her fate playing out. The heavy coat she wore kept
her warm, but not entirely on its own. She had been leaking tiny bits of aether
into it since mid afternoon, warming the thick wool against the bone-gnawing
cold. It was risky—it was all too easy to set fire to a garment—but she felt it
worth the gamble, lest she suffer frostbite watching the two armies clash.

Dark as it was, she could still see the fires burning
where the warlock had made his stand. She had known at once who it had to be
when someone seemed to shatter the very aether around them, someone who had a
draw such as she had never witnessed before. It was impressive that she could
even notice the draw of a particular combatant from so far away, her tent being
well back where the cannons had been before the goblins advanced them. It had
left no doubt in her mind that the rumors of the return of Rashan Solaran were
true. It also made her decision about the Megrenn sorcerer, Jinzan, much
simpler.

As had all good little boys and girls at the Academy,
Celia had studied the Empire’s history. There were dates and places and
emperors’ names to remember, but nearly every student paid rapt attention when
the subject turned to war. Bloody and gory and speaking of the glory of the
mighty Kadrin Empire, the children could not get enough of the stories of the
ancient warlocks of old. There were no defeats mentioned in the Kadrin
histories; the details of those were for more advanced study by the Circle and
the knights. Celia had been devastated to learn that Sir Lornhelm—whose daring
rescue of Empress Euphelia some twelve hundred summers ago had set a younger
Celia’s heart quickening—had been killed ignobly a few months later in a duel
behind a tavern. Warlock Rashan had been different. When the legends of his
exploits were peeled back by more mature versions of his life’s story, there
were no secret shames to hide. The perspective given in the children’s
histories remained largely intact and was merely expanded on to show his
personal flaws: megalomania, ruthlessness, and a vicious and capricious temper.
He was, simply, what anyone would infer a man to be who had whispered in the
ears of emperors and convinced them to make war on anything their armies could
reach.

If this was the Rashan of history that she witnessed
before her, Celia felt that history had treated him ill. His magic was
inspiring, casual in its destruction of literally thousands of goblins, as best
she could estimate. Of the warlock himself, she could see no sign. There was a
wall of Sources between her and the spot where he battled, and if his Source
was as powerful as she expected it must be, she could still not make it out so
far away.

With a warlock on the field and among the goblin army,
she knew that even a dragon would not swing the balance in the goblins’ favor.
Jinzan’s offer would be rendered worthless before daybreak. She needed to plan
an escape.

Chapter 34 - Rashan’s Bargain

Juliana had watched from the gate down to the
undercity for some time. Twice she had retreated back down the tunnel to avoid
the dragon’s passes as it raked the ground with dragonfire. None of the strikes
had been particularly close by, but Juliana knew little of the dragon’s
abilities and limitations, and took precautions as she passed.

She had heard the crash of the great beast as it was
brought to the ground amid a residential district on the wealthier side of town
nearer the cliff wall. She heard the shriek of pain and surprise, the crush of
stone, and various other debris being flung about. Juliana rushed back to the
gate entrance and saw wings flexing and flapping, as if to test them after the
dragon’s fall. She heard the smaller gout of flame sent down the street and saw
the light from it, though she could not see the flame itself. Highlighted
against the small fires burning in the city, she saw the dragon crane her head
and look westward.

Juliana hunkered down in the entryway, trying to avoid
attracting the dragon’s notice. Something was going on. The dragon had ceased
her attack and was just looking out to the plains. With the dragon so near and
the great bellows of dragonfire being spewed forth, Juliana was too close to
massive shifts in the aether to have noticed Rashan’s arrival. She watched the
dragon in rapt fascination. With a closer view and the dragon still, she could
see what a beautiful creature it was: sleek, graceful, and majestic.

Her musings were broken when the creature turned
suddenly in her direction. Juliana ducked and pressed herself against the
stones of the arched gateway, but the dragon paid her no heed. Jadefire
extended her wings and, with a great heave, thrust herself aloft, wings raising
a cloud of dust and debris as she cleared the site of her tumble and gained
altitude. Juliana got an excellent view of the dragon’s underbelly—a slightly
lighter shade of the deep green scales about the rest of her—as the beast
passed above her toward the top of the glacier. She heard a great crunch of
snow and ice as the dragon settled above her location.

I hope the wall can hold her weight along with that of
ice and snow,
Juliana thought.

*
* * * * * * *

Iridan ached. He could move—that much of him worked at
least—but that was the most he could credit himself with. He remembered the
layout of the city well enough that he would be able to find his way to the
mine entrance easily enough. That was not the problem he faced.

Actually it was two and perhaps even three problems
rolled up into one giant problem that he was preparing to deal with. He had
exhausted himself, body and Source, in the battles for the wall. He was only
now feeling up to drawing aether again, should he have to, and it seemed that he
would have to. He could walk and possibly even jog a bit, but his aching
muscles probably did not have a run in them. If it was to be a race to the mine
entrance, he did not like his chances.

Once he got there, he was to stop the human traitor
who had taken up with the goblins. It seemed safe to assume that the goblins
had not taken on the least sorcerer they could find among the Megrenn, so he
was expecting to face a true foe when he got there.

Iridan was slouching in a chair in the sitting room
closest to the castle’s door, where the soldiers assigned to oversee the
retreat of the downed sorcerers had been bringing them. The sitting room was
littered with spent sorcerers. Two of the lesser Circle sorcerers were laid out
on blankets, unconscious, possibly dead. Caldrax was about, but he was up and
alert, seemingly having withdrawn himself from the battle before his last
energies were spent. If any of the goblin forces breached the castle entrance,
it was comforting to Iridan that someone at least was fit to put up a
resistance. Faolen was laid out on a chaise, unmoving. He rose to take water
when the servants brought it, so Iridan knew that he was at least still living.

As for Iridan, he was neither in the best nor worst
shape of the lot of them, but he was the one who had received orders directly
from the Warlock of the Empire himself—and he was the one training to follow in
the way of the warlocks. Iridan forced himself to his feet and stretched his
back, working out the stiffened muscles that had settled into unhelpful places
as he recuperated.

“Caldrax, watch over them,” Iridan ordered, making
clear his intent to depart. “I have a task from the warlock. There is a
sorcerer trying to reach the upper mines. I must go to stop him.”

“You seem in no condition,” Caldrax said. “Do not
waste yourself in combat in your current state.” The older sorcerer looked
haggard when Iridan turned to look at him, and scared.

I suppose he would rather I was here to defend this
part of the castle instead of just him alone
, Iridan thought.

Instead Iridan chose not to answer at all but made for
the castle’s front entrance. The guards obliged when he ordered the portcullis
opened for him, despite the fighting that grew nearer by the moment. The Kadrin
troops were fighting a slow withdrawal action, never holding ground at too
great a cost, but making the goblins pay for their advance every pace of the
way.

Iridan’s back groaned in protest as he ducked under
the portcullis; the guards had lifted it just enough for him to pass beneath.
The streets were deserted in the immediate area of the castle but did not seem
as if they would remain so for long. The fighting was close by and growing
closer. The chittering cries of the goblins and the screams and yells of the
Kadrins mixed together with the sounds of steel striking steel and occasionally
stone. There was light of a sort, but it was haphazard and not nearly adequate.
The fires of collateral damage were too far and too little, and the starry sky
grew dimmer as the smoke from those fires wafted upward and became thicker.
Iridan switched over to aether-vision.

Rashan had warned that the sorcerer was camouflaging
himself, so even in good lighting, it seemed a better bet to watch in the
aether than in the light. His aether-vision was keen enough that he could make
out the streets and buildings by the disruptions in the aether’s flow, so he
worried but little about stumbling blindly. As a bonus, it allowed him to keep
an eye toward the advancing goblins infantry as well and keep well clear of
them.

The entrance to the mines was not far. The castle was
built largely into the north mountainous wall of the city, just a short way
from the defensive walls. The entrance to the mines lay between the two, the
primary concern of the original lords of Raynesdark—who were no dukes in those
early days—and the primary reason for the construction of the walls in the
first place. The gold of the upper mines was the life’s blood of Raynesdark in
those bygone days.

Iridan saw the mine entrance as he hurried—not quite
jogging but rushing his steps at least. The mine seemed undisturbed, with no
excess traces of aether to suggest that someone powerful of Source had passed
there. The entrance was of stone “timbers,” with runes all about them like much
of the old, preserved architecture of the city. There was a pair of rusted iron
rails running out from it, which had been less well preserved. There was no
debris or refuse kept in the mine entrance, and it seemed well preserved,
though Iridan knew not why.

If no one has passed through yet, I am in time to stop
him
, Iridan reasoned.

He found a small civic garden a few dozen paces away
and crouched behind a hardy evergreen shrub. The shrub’s own Source was
unimpressive, but it was the strongest of the meager plants that the Raynesdark
folk grew, and large enough to hide him from light as well as obscure his
Source some. He began to hold back his aether to husband it for the expected
battle, as well as to disguise its power.

He had not long to wait, as he saw a pair of Sources
coming from the direction of the wall. One was a lizard of some sort, being
used as a mount. The other was his prey.

With neither parley nor warning, Iridan struck from
ambush, loosing a bolt of aether with most of what he had held. The blast was
considerable and silently cast, one of the spells Iridan had first learned to
cast in such a manner. He took the head clean off the lizard that the sorcerer
rode, and the sorcerer himself was thrown to the earth some paces distant. The
invader’s shielding spell had shattered but had saved his life. Iridan had
eschewed such defenses himself lest they be seen by an alert foe before he
struck.

With surprise lost, Iridan quickly saw to his own
defensive shields, quickly armoring himself silently in aether. The Megrenn
sorcerer was no fool, though, taking the initiative and attacking immediately,
before even seeing to the replacement of his own shields.

“Kolo ketenxu mafira.”

Still lying on his side from where Iridan’s spell had
hurled him, the Megrenn sorcerer made a claw-like gesture down. Iridan was
unfamiliar with the spell but learned the gist of it quickly enough when the
ground turned liquidy beneath his feet. With no magic ready to support him,
Iridan sunk quickly into the soupy soil.

A second gesture, the complement to the first,
solidified the ground again with Iridan stuck chest deep, his arms trapped
below the surface before he was able to raise them.

Iridan drew as hard as he could, his Source aching
with the effort. The Megrenn sorcerer was already launching into a new spell,
and Iridan needed to do something or he was going to be a stationary target for
it.

“Hakvea golotanu dexjahi ecalamu,”
the Megrenn intoned, drawing himself to his feet.

Iridan knew the spell and diverted all the aether he
had just drawn into reinforcing his shield construct. He hoped it would be
enough.

His adversary formed a sphere with his two hands, and
within grew a distortion in the air. Once it grew to the size of a wheel of
cheese, it shot forth, crossing the distance to Iridan in the beat of a
swallow’s wing.

*
* * * * * * *

Jinzan watched in satisfaction as the apprentice in
warlock’s garb was torn asunder, the top half of his body gone to gore and
splintered bone where it had once protruded above the soil.

Satisfied that he had no further opposition, Jinzan
rechecked the contents of his pockets and headed into the mines. There was no
light within, so he quickly made one for himself, not trusting to his
aether-vision. He had no map of the mines, so he needed to be alert for any
signs of his direction. The goblin advance was proceeding well, but since the
arrival of the demon—
Is it truly Rashan Solaran, or just a descendant?
—he
would bet no amount on their chances, let alone the success of his whole
mission.

*
* * * * * * *

“Your little ones are doing poorly, demon,”
Nihaxtukali commented, gazing down at the city far below.

She and Rashan stood upon the crest of the Neverthaw
Glacier, the only flat spot around that offered the vantage of the whole battle
that they were looking for. Despite her protestations against the cold earlier,
the dragon was thankful to be able to bury her maimed forelimb in the ice to
sooth the shooting pains it gave her. The icy cold on the rest of her seemed a
small price now for such relief.

“Perhaps,” Rashan answered, speaking draconic. “But we
will not settle this until one side surrenders or is wiped out. I have trust in
my followers.”

He was not three paces from the dragon, each on guard
against treachery by the other. Despite his fears of the mighty beast, his mind
tangled and untangled plots of how he might slay it, bargain or no.

The dragon knew that Rashan’s magic was formidable,
possibly able to cut through her nigh-impervious scales or even affect her
monolithic Source itself. She also knew that the demon was quick afoot and
might well dodge claw or tail or even dragonfire as he worked his magic against
her.

For his part, Rashan knew that the claws and teeth of
the great dragon were little concern to him. His physical body was a tool of
his Source, not the reverse, and despite horrifying wounds, he would be able to
fight on. The dragonfire was his real fear. While fire was a power that had
many counters in the ways of magic, dragonfire was mostly aether, borne on
flame. It could cut through wards and stone alike, and burn things that no
other fire would harm. Caught in a full blast of it, he was almost sure to
perish; even his shields could not withstand more than a short or incidental
burst of the stuff.

What Nihaxtukali did not know, however, was the true
nature of Heavens Cry. His boast about Loramar was the first gambit he had made
in his thoughts of bringing the dragon down. When she claimed never to have
heard of the necromancer—whose few score winters of prominence could easily
have escaped the notice of the ages-old dragon—he knew that she must have been
ignorant of Heavens Cry as well, for their tales were interwoven too closely.
Sadly it would not be so easy to kill a dragon with the blade. Its poisons
would not do much to dragon scales, certainly not quickly enough to make use of
in combat. Getting Nihaxtukali to inhale the vapors might work, but that was an
uncertain ploy. He needed something better before he would strike. He might
only get one chance.