SWNOVELS Fireblade: Chapter 9
MY NIGHT-RIDE ACROSS the desert was nothing compared to this. Zandar soars higher than the mountain where I first landed with Shadow. The cold doesn’t touch me now. Fire runs through my veins like burning sparks and I can see my hand glowing where it grips the hilt of my sword.
I have never seen stars so bright. A vast arc of blue-silver light-fire glows above us, reflecting sharp and clear on the curving dune-crests far below. I don’t want this journey to end and yet I know it must end soon, before the clash of fire and ice within me becomes too much for one body and mind to handle.
The moonlit landscape below us changes as the sand gives way to scrub and then wheatfields before the great mountain range that divides Annubia from Rapathia rears its sharp peaks ahead of us. Zandar heads for the wide gap in the range that funnels the main trade route between the two countries. On the far side, the land stretches away southwest in a flat plain whose darkness is broken by hundreds of tiny fires. Beyond that lies the swampy, forested flatland of Rapathia, a place I have heard so much about but have never seen.
The dragon swoops in to land on the crest of the last low hill, concealing his fire to ensure our presence remains unnoticed. I try to do the same and fail, so I have to make do with staying in the shadow of his great scaly head. Looks like I’ll need more time and space to practice this essential transformation, as well as learning how much of the flame it will take to kill anyone I touch with it.
Even from here the stench of death tells its own story of a killing field that has seen several days’ fighting and destruction. The morning’s battle will surely see a clash of exhausted and bloodied fighters after losses that have already been heavy and cruel.
“Zandar, have you fought in a human war before now?”
No. I have no interest in such things. They make no sense to me.
They don’t make a lot of sense to me either but I search for something in the confusion of my own motivation that might have meaning for an Elemental.
“You understand the need to have territory? When we first met, you told me I was intruding on your place.”
Of course. But why would I have any desire for more? Elementals are the essence of the land. I have my own place of power and my influence keeps my country fertile and wealthy, even though much of Annubia is desert.
“If only humans could be so logical, Zandar. But Shan’domir told me that Rapathia has been trying to annex your country for many years––and the Usurper wants to take your power and use it for his own ends, just as he has done with Nagal.”
He lets out a savage hiss at the very suggestion, sharp enough to sting my ears. I assume that means he is now well-motivated to engage with tomorrow’s battle. With that thought comes a haunting shiver of warning. Too motivated, and his determination could easily break free of the tenuous control I have with him.
“Zandar, how are we going to do this? I can sense the binding with you is not complete and the conflict of ice and fire inside me leaves me without enough strength to take on more than a fraction of the Rapathian army.”
The hiss becomes deeper and more thoughtful, becoming a low rumble like an approaching storm.
I could not allow a closer bond with an outsider, a foreigner. And in any case, it would leave me with very limited power to kill humans. I think you discovered this with your own Elemental.
“So we have to cover the rear of the Rapathian army, well away from the Annubians you are pledged not to harm.”
So be it.
I was hoping he would have something more constructive to offer by way of a plan. After a few minutes’ thought I am starting to see why close communication with a human fighter was needed before an Elemental like Zandar could be drawn into further involvement in this war. Even now, it promises to be a fragile balance between some measure of control and a trail of random slaughter.
It feels like a long wait until dawn comes and war-horns announce the start of the battle. Zandar rises slowly into the air and hovers so that I can see how things are laid out below.
Not good. The Rapathian army is huge. A checkerboard of dark red and black livery waits in serried ranks of disciplined readiness. And it is more than twice the size of the defensive stand of Annubians whose gold and orange clad fighters seem to rely on individual acts of courage and heroism.
One champion after another runs forward to challenge the enemy commander. Unfortunately the commander has no such concept of heroism and simply orders his foot soldiers to attack. Then he watches as dozens of them are cut down before, inevitably, overwhelming the Annubian hero by sheer weight of numbers.
War is a dirty business at the best of times but I can see that this culling of the bravest and the best is no more than a desperate ploy by the Annubian general in an attempt to get the numbers more evenly matched. And, sadly, I can see that it has no chance of working. The Rapathian commander is simply amusing himself and waiting to give the signal for a final massive attack that will wipe out the last defenses of Annubia.
A panic-stricken yell from below announces the moment that someone has taken his eyes off the fighting for long enough to stare into the rising sun and notice our presence.
“Zandar, time to move.”
He wheels and turns, flying a wide circle around the two armies before swooping across the rearguard of the Rapathians, breathing fire and destruction down on them. The spears and arrows flung at us simply bounce off his glittering scales, while I defend myself with the fire of my blade. The screams and the stink of burning fill me with disgust but also a compelling thrill of power. I have not felt as awake and alive as this since fighting the Rapathian army in the Northlands with Shadow at my side.
I understand the danger of this exhilaration only too well now, the lure of power and mastery that has always turned Blade adepts into brutal murderers. This same addiction will turn Marin into a ruthless warlord unless I get back in time to shift the balance of military power in this war, ensure it is to Samaran’s advantage. Too late and Marin will be forced to follow this same destructive path as the only way to save his country.
I know I should resist the savage call of dragonfire but the flames burning through my body are too strong, too alluring and all I want is more.
“Turn! Go again!”
Zandar needs no further urging and we cut another burning swathe through the red and black ranks. Some of the soldiers are fleeing for their lives and the dragon slaughters these pitiful cowards as well, leaving scorched cinders instead of corpses scattered across the burned and blackened prairie.
At last something akin to humanity filters back through the red heat of exultation and bloodlust. These are just miserable conscripts who probably didn’t want to be here in the first place. We have to take out the leaders if we are to stop this war without killing every last Rapathian here.
“Zandar, stop. We have to kill the commanders. Then this battle will end without further destruction.”
Not possible. They are at the front, too close to my own people.
I should have thought this through more carefully, because now he tries to comply with my request by taking the only other alternative and following the few soldiers who have escaped. They are heading for a nearby town.
And then he starts burning down the houses.
“No! Zandar, these are civilians––women and children! You have to stop!”
A sharp hiss of irritation as he immolates the largest building into a blackened pile of rubble and corpses.
I told you. I do not understand your wars. You want me to kill your enemies and then you want me to stop.
It feels like I set a wildfire onto a battle and then expected it to be selective. Without Zandar’s pledge, extracted by an unnamed Power Mage back in the mists of time, we would probably have included the slaughter of Annubians as well and my war-crimes would be even worse than those I have just committed.
“There is one thing we can try. Circle around until you are facing the front line of the Rapathian army, make a lot of noise and flame but don’t actually kill anyone. It might be enough to force the enemy to break ranks.”
If a hiss could sound resigned and exasperated, this would definitely be it.
That makes no sense to me. But if you insist.
He circles around again and hovers above the Annubians who are now being attacked on all sides by an enemy desperate to take out the only target they have a chance of destroying.
We descend and move slowly forward to the faultline where the two sides are hell-bent on killing each other. I spot one of the Rapathian generals standing far enough beyond the first few rows to be in a safe zone for Zandar’s own people.
I lean forward, get one of my throwing knives in his eye and he drops like a stone.
“Zandar, kill the soldiers around that one I just marked.”
The shock of the next fire-blast is enough to cause confusion and fear in the fighters on the edge of the burned circle of bodies, until this section of the battle becomes a chaos of soldiers trying to push past their comrades and escape.
“Let me get down. I’ll take it from here if you can keep going with your terrifying dragon performance.”
He dips low enough for me to slip from his neck to the ground, the location of the other Rapathian commander fixed in my memory. The effort of cutting my way through the serried ranks of red and black clad warriors brings back powerful memories of the battle in the Northlands, the desperate push against time and numbers and steel to reach Akadian and kill him.
Before he could return to Corinium to kill my sister.
Except that this time it feels terrifyingly different, the new incandescent surge of fire inside me trying to break free of my control like a wild horse that refuses to be tamed.
I try to hold on to the memory of how it felt back in the Northlands, when I had almost gained control of Shadowblade strength and speed. Now the fire in my veins is bringing back the terrible bloodlust that steals my reason and judgement and forces me into actions that only serve to hurt those I’m trying to protect.
Right now, this fight is not so much with the enemy soldiers who are falling like reeds under the fire and steel of my blades, but more with myself and the uncontrolled burning inside me that feels so compelling and addictive. The only thing that works is to hold on to the last image I have of Marin trying to protect our people. If I can’t keep to my purpose I know he cannot survive for much longer in the unequal task he has set himself.
The Rapathian commander is finally within my reach, no longer surrounded by a protective shield of his own warriors. I approach this bull of a man warily, trying to work out if he is like Akadian, unwilling to attack unless he judges his opponent already critically wounded.
Evidently not. He lets out a furious yell and charges straight at me, the heavy sword raised high above his head for a deadly strike. In the split second I have to think before reacting it occurs to me that this needs to be a final message from me to the rest of his troops if I want them to surrender. I take two rapid steps to my right and leap high enough for the flaming crysteel to swing sideways above his shield with all the force I can give it. I feel the jolt as it cuts through cowl and helm and I turn to land back on my feet just as his head falls to the churned mash of bloodstained mud around his boots.
Leaderless and terrified under the circling shadow of the dragon, the Rapathians finally throw down their weapons and kneel in surrender.
I locate the Annubian commander and walk across to him, stepping over bodies as I go.
His effort to hold firm and show no fear is painfully visible. Unlikely it is because he finds me excessively terrifying even if I am covered in blood and flame.
His eyes are fixed on Zandar.
The dragon has swooped to the ground and is now following close behind me. I can feel his hot breath on my back and sense his sharp concern that he might need to defend his own people from my attack.
Elementals seriously do not understand human war.
I halt directly in front of the commander, lay my sword flat across both palms and offer it to him as a sign of alliance and fealty. I leave enough space between us to show that I don’t expect him to actually take it, seeing as neither of us know how badly it would burn his hands.
I make a polite bow and speak slowly and clearly in my own language.
“Tell your Khalim that Samaran has upheld its side of the treaty. Please remember that if we ask for aid in the future.”
He doesn’t respond. I repeat the message in my newly-acquired fluent Annubian.
Another silence, before he dips his head in acknowledgement.
“I will take your message. But understand that the Khalim makes his own decisions.”
I just have to hope that this man’s description of me will only include a strange-looking wraith of blood and fire. Best if there is nothing to suggest that the dancing girl so recently and generously given by Shan’domir was not in fact kidnapped by Rapathians––and is instead roaming the battlefield in the company of the Guardian of Rahimar.
If Shan’domir can maintain his trusted status and his position in the royal court, he might have some influence on Samaran’s behalf.
An impatient scaly prod jabs into in the small of my back.
I wish to leave this place.
“So do I. We head for Samaran.”