City of Fire

Prologue… The city burned.

Tahrain wiped his brow and peered into the darkness, straining his eyes to the north. Nothing but sand, he mused bitterly, but he knew that somewhere, perhaps a hundred miles away, Kalpesh burned-if it still stood at all.

And yet he, the city's guard captain and Protector of the Opal Throne, abandoned Kalpesh's defense and fled into the desert on a vital mission that looked more hopeless every hour. For easily the twentieth time that day, his brown, callused hand found its way inside his light chain shirt to the oilskin packet against his right breast. He looked up and scanned his eyes over the faces of the few men and women who now lay in small clumps silently around him. They did not notice as his fingers found the leather thong and checked its secure knot.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Tahrain turned again to his remaining soldiers. His most loyal troopers, twenty of Kalpesh's finest, followed him into the desert to die without any explanation. Only one man knewTahrain's true mission in the wastes, and he wasn't even a man by most civilized folk's standards. Most called him "brute" at best, but Tahrain knew differently. He looked for this brute among his exhausted soldiers.

The captain's eyes found the person they sought. Every man and woman in their company lay splayed out under the black desert sky, hoping to forget hunger and thirst in the short respite a fitful slumber offered. Everyone but himself, he thought, and this one person. The brute stood alone, on the other side of their makeshift camp, looking northward into the desert night. When Tahrain had found him, years ago, the creature was alone, dressed in tatters, and nearly dead from numerous wounds. Even now his armor looked as if someone cobbled it together from three different-sized suits, and his weapon, a brutal greataxe, was stained and notched, and appeared as if its haft might break on the very next swing.

If this soldier's kit looked mismatched and ugly, it was simply a reflection of the wearer. Long-armed and grey-skinned, he appeared to be made of disparate parts himself. His body refused to blend together in the normal way, as if his bulging eyes and jutting chin wanted to escape the confines of his face. His hair looked as if it had been hacked at with a knife, and it was obvious his swollen arms and legs had been, once. He wore no boots on his oversized feet but only light sandals, held on with makeshift straps.

Tahrain rose painfully and quietly. He did not want to wake any of the soldiers that managed to find sleep. Picking his way carefully around the huddled clumps, he moved across the camp.

The man who turned to watch his captain approach was a half-orc. Born almost certainly out of violence, forced to live hard and doomed to die violently, half-orcs looked as if their own bodies struggled to free their separate halves from each other. This struggle, Tahrain had heard, usually spilled out into the world, making half-orcs unpopular in civilized lands. Certainly, when Tahrain brought this one to the city and insisted he be nursed back to health, there had been more than a few who'd wondered (privately or aloud), "Why bother?"

Tahrain hoped to answer that question soon.

"Krusk?" he whispered.

The bulging eyes stared at Tahrain. One fang protruded from the half-orc's lower jaw up over his scarred, thin upper hp. His face twisted into what others might interpret as a snarl. The captain knew it for a smile, as close to one as Krusk could get. That didn't mean the half-orc was happy, though. Krusk was seldom happy.

"They're closer," he growled.

Tahrain nodded. He'd guessed as much. He cursed inventively at his pursuers, but only briefly. Krusk waited, as stoically as ever, for the captain to speak.

"How close?"

"Eight hours. Maybe nine," Krusk grumbled in his deep, gravelly voice.

Tahrain didn't know how the half-orc had divined this information, but he knew it was accurate. Among his soldiers he had many rangers-he was skilled in the lore of the wilderness himself-but Krusk had something more. If the half-orc said their pursuers were a day's ride from catching them, the captain believed him.

Tahrain shook his head and sighed, "We won't make it, will we?"

The half-orc simply stared at him, then looked away and shrugged.

"They're weak," he said eventually.

Krusk seldom spoke and knew little of tact. The half-orc probably didn't even think calling the best soldiers of Kalpesh "weak" was an insult.

"But you're not,"Tahrain finally said. "You could make it? Alone?"

Again the half-orc shrugged. He loomed almost a full head over the tall captain, but somehow the shrug made Tahrain think of a child who had something to say he knew his parent wouldn't like.

"What is it, Krusk?" he asked gently.

Looking off into the darkness, back toward the pursuers they both feared, Krusk shifted his weight, digging holes in the sand.

"I won't go," he said after a long pause. "You saved my life."

"As you've saved mine since," Tahrain said. "If I were a man to keep score of such things, we'd be even. But we don't keep score like that, do we, Krusk?"

The half-orc didn't lookback, and Tahrain didn't push. Arguing with Krusk was like arguing with the desert wind.

"Let's get to our lesson, shall we?"

The captain took a few labored strides out into the darkness, farther from the camp, and Krusk followed. Tahrain walked until the two put a small dune between themselves and the other soldiers. He sat down heavily in the sand, with Krusk crouching before him. If the half-orc craned his neck, he could still see the exhausted soldiers. They'd done this for the past six nights, but Tahrain feared this would be the last time.

Drawing the leather packet from inside his mail shirt, the captain opened it slowly. He showed Krusk the brittle papers inside and talked him through the contents of each one, and made Krusk repeat, in a voice as low as the half-orc could manage, everything Tahrain told him. Krusk couldn't read, but his memory was perfect. When they finished, Tahrain went over everything again. They started a third iteration but the half-orc put a hand on the captain's shoulder. Only then did Tahrain realize he was drifting off, still talking though nearly asleep.

He shook himself and said, "I need sleep…" But as Krusk stood Tahrain grabbed his thick wrist. "Wait! There's one more thing. Whether we make it to the canyon or not, Krusk, this has to get there, and beyond. It has to be kept from the hands of those who even now burn Kalpesh for it, and it has to make its way into the right hands. Even more than the protection of the city, this has been my sworn and secret duty, as it was my mother's before me and her father's before her. Every Protector of the Opal Throne swears to protect this beyond the lives of his soldiers and even the life of the city itself."

Tahrain blinked, for a moment fully awake. He locked his dark eyes on the half-orc's mismatched pupils, trying to will the barbarian to understand.

"I fear, Krusk… I fear my city has been consumed in flames by now," he said, "but that doesn't change a thing. Those who came to Kalpesh came for this. You can't let them take it."

He pushed the packet into Krusk's hands. Taken aback, the half-orc fumbled the packet, then tried to hand it back to his captain. A small, golden disk among the papers shimmered in the starlight. Tahrain pressed the half-orc's hands between his own, tucking the disk back into the pouch.

"No. This goes beyond everything else. There's something I haven't told you."

The half-orc pulled the packet back, but still he hesitated. He waited patiently, though, for his friend to continue.

"The secrets I protect lead to a treasure beyond either of our imagining. If that was all, I would have gladly given it up to save Kalpesh, but the treasure is secondary. These secrets are secrets of power. This disk is the key to an empire beyond this world."

Tahrain paused, the adrenaline fueling his tired limbs was spent. The half-orc stared at Tahrain with a look that said he was hearing everything and storing it away, even if he didn't understand.

"It isn't just a matter of getting this somewhere safe, or keeping it from those who desire it," the captain continued. "The attack against Kalpesh is proof that someone else knows about this." Tahrain wiped his brow and looked down. The disk was still partially visible and he fixed his gaze on it. "I don't know everything there is to know about it. I've told you everything I do know, these last few nights. I know that the time has come for someone to seal the gate and destroy the key. I'm sorry, but it has to be you."

The captain looked toward the meager camp, but his soldiers hadn't stirred.

"I'm giving this to you so you can finish a job that began centuries ago. I've made you learn every part of it in case we can't make it to the canyon. You've got to get away and carry this knowledge somewhere safe. Find people you can trust to help you, and then do the things I taught you.

"We can't all make it, Krusk," he whispered. "Unless a miracle occurs, you're the only one."

"No. You're the captain. You will make it," Krusk said, as if the strength of his words could make them true, but Tahrain shook his head and smiled sadly.

"I won't. I can't leave them-" he waved his hand at the sleeping guardsmen-"Fortune is against me, but my whole life has been dedicated to this task. Through you, I can fulfill it."

Tahrain put his hand on the packet Krusk still held. He pressed it against the half-orc's chest. Reluctantly, Krusk tucked it away inside his armor.

When Tahrain finally threw himself down amid his soldiers, his eyes still found Krusk standing alone near the edge of the camp, the half-orc's face turned toward the darkened desert.

"Captain! Look!" one of the soldiers on point called out, drawing the attention of everyone with any attention to spare.

She waved her arms and gestured toward the horizon. In the light of the new morning, Tahrain squinted ahead and saw the unmistakable outline of hills.

Still far off in the distance, but within sight, he thought as he felt a grim strength renew itself in his limbs. There is hope. The canyon is safety. If we can reach it, we'll stand a chance.

A cry from the rear of the company interrupted Tahrain's hopeful thoughts. The warning came from Krusk. Tahrain squinted back toward the source of the sound and felt his empty stomach sink. A cloud of swirling sand broke the evenness of the horizon behind them.

"Dust storm?" Polrus asked without much hope.

Krusk jogged through the company, stoically ignoring the pain and frustration of those around him. Stopping in front of the captain, he gave his report.

"They're coming, Captain," he growled. He had his bow in his hands, strung. "An hour back at this pace, maybe less."

Tahrain cursed. "So they've caught us. We can't reach the canyon ahead of them. Now's the time."

He looked pointedly at Krusk. The half-orc ignored him but Polrus opened his mouth to ask a question.

Krusk interrupted, "Can you run?"

Polrus blinked, then shut his mouth.

A sneer came to his lips but Krusk leaned in and growled, "Run or die, human. Your choice."

The challenge was all the lieutenant needed.

"We can run," Polrus said loudly.

The soldiers around him looked up, startled. He licked his dry, cracked lips.

"We can run, half-breed," he said even louder, shrugging out of his pack and throwing its useless weight to the ground.

Most of the soldiers followed their lieutenant's lead, abandoning everything they couldn't use in a fight.

"Everyone! Get in close,"Tahrain called.

The soldiers kept moving forward, but clustered around their captain. They were tired, sore, and thirsty, but they hadn't given up yet. Tahrain blinked in the sunlight. He was proud of them, and he wished he hadn't doomed them all.

"The canyon's ahead," Tahrain called. "It's not close, but if we can make it there, we can use the cover of the rocks to punish them for what they did to our city." It wasn't a rallying cry so much as a statement of hope. "They're close behind. I want everyone to jog, double time, and drain your waterskins if you've anything left."

Some looked at the captain with confusion, but most understood. Water would do them no good if they died before they could drink it.

"Keep them and your weapons, drop everything else. If you can't run," the captain continued, already panting, "don't try." His face darkened as he said what needed to be said, "And don't stop for anyone. If you can't keep up, stop where you are and find cover. Slow them down. Die with honor."

As the captain ran, he looked around and saw grim determination on the faces of men and women he'd known for years. His lieutenant, Polrus, jogged by his side, and when their eyes met, he simply nodded. They trusted him, he knew, and they were content in their duty.

Then they heard the howls.

At first, the sound was like wind raking across the dunes. Then the sound came like dogs baying in a hunt. That would have been frightening enough, but there was something about the howls that didn't seem like the wind, or like dogs, but like a language. The howls had words in them, foul, inhuman words crying out behind the exhausted soldiers.

Soldiers started to run, not jog. Bursts of adrenaline carried a few men and women past the front of the company.

When the captain noticed their discipline breaking, he called out to Polrus, "Keep everyone together! No running- double-time, that's all!"

The captain panted. The lieutenant stumbled but kept up the pace as he moved toward those who seemed on the edge of panic. He couldn't get to them all, but most started to slow, to maintain a steady pace. Those that didn't slow, the company passed in minutes, gasping, struggling on the ground, trying to stand.

"Fight," the half-orc said as he passed the fallen. "Die with honor."

Before long, the howls behind them mingled with screams as the first to fall out were overrun. Tahrain raised his sweat-soaked head, and the nearness of the canyon surprised him. Already they were passing scrub grasses and mounds of dirt. In a few minutes they'd reach cover.

But there were no more minutes. The soldiers could run no farther. Nearly half the company had collapsed already. Tahrain called out to the half-orc, only a few steps in front of him. The barbarian pulled up short and looked back at his leader.

"Now-now's the time!"

Krusk shook his ugly head but Tahrain stopped his refusal with a curse.

"Now, damn it! You've got to get away. I'm going to die here regardless of what you do. My only hope lives with you."

He slammed his palm against Krusk's chest, where he knew the half-orc kept the packet.

But still Krusk refused to part. He gripped his greataxe and looked at Tahrain. When the two pairs of eyes met, Tahrain wondered how anyone could consider this misshapen creature anything but a valiant man.

"Go," Tahrain pleaded.

"Lookout!"

The cry came suddenly and Tahrain whirled away from Krusk.

A mounted figure seemed almost to materialize out of the swirling dust and heat shimmers amid the remnants of his company. It drove in among the rearguard-a black horse, a rider clad all in black armor, and a sword upraised like Hextor's own. Tahrain had seen this figure from the city wall, commanding the assault.

Now the bastard's here, Tahrain thought, intent on killing what's left of my company.

Below the knight, a soldier from the rear guard struggled to draw her own weapon, but the knight's arm came down. The black sword fell just as the Kalpeshian's blade cleared its scabbard. The woman cried out as the black blade split her skull. Blood splattered the horse's side as the soldier collapsed into the sand.

The knight spurred the horse forward. Soldiers dived out of the destrier's path, or simply collapsed to the side. The knight ignored them. The full, black helmet fixed itself on Tahrain, as if the wearer suddenly knew who led the desperate company. The horse lunged.

Tahrain readied himself for the charge, but a hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him off-balance. He stumbled and fell. The knight swept over him, the horse's hooves missing his head by inches. He heard the beast stumble on the suddenly rocky ground. As the captain looked back, he saw the knight struggle to stay astride the animal as it tried not to fall or break a leg.

Rolling away and up, Tahrain turned toward his rescuer to tell him to obey orders and keep running, but then he saw the man's face. It wasn't Krusk, whom he'd expected, but Polrus. The half-orc was nowhere to be seen.

Polrus grinned feebly as the knight fought to turn the horse.

"My turn, sir," he said. "Get going."

The lieutenant maneuvered so the knight would have to ride over him to keep Tahrain from escaping toward the canyon. He braced his shortspear for the charge.

The captain looked around. Krusk was gone. He'd obeyed orders, finally, and gotten away. Tahrain silently sent a quick prayer to Pelor to protect the half-orc then he drew his own weapon. It was a long-handled falchion and Tahrain gripped it in both hands. The howls of the gnolls grew closer.

"No, lieutenant. I'm staying with you. I've fulfilled my oath. Our mission goes on though we do not."

Nodding without fully understanding, Polrus turned toward the knight.

"Someday," he said wryly, "you'll have to tell me what all this is about."

Tahrain grinned.

The black knight stood over the bloody, arrow-filled corpses of Captain Tahrain and Lieutenant Polrus. Barks and howls sang out all around, and gnolls, some carrying bloodstained axes and others wielding crude bows, loped up to the armored figure.

"Any survivors?" asked the knight. The voice sounded almost musical, but also cold, even metallic.

The gnoll's tongue lolled in its mouth as it ducked its head. It bore two weapons, a hand axe and what looked like an oversized scimitar with a cruel, hooked end. A white patch of especially long fur adorned its canine head. Its ears had many notches-marks of challengers to the gnoll's dominance, all defeated.

It barked a reply in its own language.

"Good," the knight replied. "We'll question them, but we must hurry. I need to get back to the army before it disintegrates."

The gnoll howled quietly. It was almost a whimper.

"Don't worry; you'll have your fun. Make them talk. Find out if any escaped. If you can't get anything out of them-"The knight toed Tahrain's corpse and the gnoll's answering bark took on a cruel, snickering tone. The blood from the captain's body had stopped flowing, but the sand all around it was mud-red. "Well, that's why I brought the shamans. You'll get answers. From them, or from him."

The gnoll bobbed its head and stepped back. The knight crouched to look at the body. Gauntleted hands gracefully removed the black helmet. Long ebony hair spilled out and across armored shoulders and framed the narrow face of a severe, yet beautiful woman. Her blue eyes traveled up and down Tahrain's fallen form and her fingers felt along the blood-soaked raiment. For a moment, she gazed into the captain's dead, staring eyes, then she stood and walked away.

Krusk watched the slaughter from the relative safety of the canyon's rocky edge. He felt his rage grow until he could barely control it. He hugged the rock to stop himself from bursting forward when the captain dueled the black knight, and he pressed Tahrain's packet to his face when the man was struck down. Never had the half-orc done something so difficult, or that felt so shameful, as hiding while his only friend fought and died. Krusk knew that he couldn't have saved the captain, he couldn't even have saved himself if he'd been with the others. He would be dead, and the woman in the black armor would have Tahrain's papers and the golden disk. If not for his promise, that's how Krusk would have wanted it.

From the rocks, Krusk marked the dark warrior and the gnolls, memorizing their faces and voices. He would take the packet to the place Tahrain described, with or without help, and he would keep his promise. Then, with his oath fulfilled, Krusk would see the knight and the gnolls again.

He would see them again.