Sons of the Oak

Fallion rode in a hot fury. Thick fog hid everything, the road ahead and the inferno behind, but Fallion could feel the flames licking the night sky behind him, and it took little to reach out with his powers and summon the heat, use the energy to renew his own depleted strength.

Numb with pain and fatigue, Fallion wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten here, riding a rangit with Valya’s arms holding him tightly, but for a moment he resented the pain. Each time the rangit hit the ground, the jarring threatened to dislocate his bones.

His eyes itched and his head ached, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more but to fall back into unconsciousness.

On the road ahead, he saw men rushing up out of the fog, or something like men. Golaths, their warty gray skin sagging around their breasts and bellies.

“Clear the way!” Myrrima shouted to them. “Clear the way! The prisoners have escaped.”

The golaths leapt out of her way, fearing that some dire soldier would ride them down. And after the prisoners passed, the golaths stood beside the road peering at their backs in wonder.

Let them try to stop us, Fallion thought, summoning heat from Smoker’s inferno. Let them try.

“Stop that,” Myrrima said from the rangit that raced beside them.

“What?”

“Don’t give in,” Myrrima whispered. “Don’t give in to your rage.”

Fallion tried clinging to the saddle as the rangit bounced ahead, and his mind seemed to spin.

He’d asked Shadoath what she wanted, and she had not answered. Only now was he really certain.

She’d wanted the sleeper to awaken. She’d wanted him to summon the fire, to lose himself.

But why? What would the loci hope to gain from him?

Did they want him to join them? Or did they need something else from him?

Behind them, Smoker’s inferno was raging, roaring in intensity. The fire crackled the bones of his enemies and sent clouds of smoke spewing into the heavens.

Smoker had given himself to the flames so that Fallion would not have to.

I’m a fool, Fallion thought in dismay, and he tried to let go of his rage. He sagged against the rangit, struggling for the moment to remain a child.

When the riders reached the mountain pass, they came up out of the fog and the rangits found themselves on a clear road, hopping by starlight.

In the valley behind them, the palace was aflame and Smoker’s elemental was dutifully attacking the barracks, blasting row upon row of tents, sending out fingers of flames that seemed to have an intelligence all their own, pure malevolence bent on destruction.

The whole valley seethed like a hornet’s nest.

Myrrima could hardly believe that a single wizard could cause so much annihilation.

At the edge of the woods, she got off her mount and drew a rune in the dirt, one that would lock the valley below in fog for a week.

Then she lit a torch and they were off again. She worried about patrols in the woods, even though she and Smoker had done their best to take care of that.

So they raced for hours under the starlight. They picked up some strengi-saats as they rode. The great beasts snarled in the woods, and floated behind them like shadows, leaping from tree to tree.

Myrrima shivered and kept the children close. Jaz quit fighting her after a while, and seemed to realize who she was, and that she was taking him to safety. He clung to her and wept.

“I’m sorry,” Jaz said over and over again.

“You’ve no need to be sorry,” Myrrima said.

“I got Smoker killed. Shadoath was so beautiful. I wanted to be with her.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Valya told Jaz in a soothing tone. “I’ve seen grown men give themselves to her that way, thanking her even as she twisted a blade into their hearts. Beauty was just another of her weapons.”

Myrrima worried at that, wondering what kinds of things Valya might have seen.

After two hours, a half-moon rose, adding a wan tone of silver to the night.

With a clear road, the rangits picked up speed, and the faster they hopped, the less jarring the ride became.

They neared town just an hour before dawn.

Fallion seemed to sleep most of the way, until they reached the docks, where Captain Stalker and some of his men were waiting with a ship’s boat.

They transferred the children into the boat, and Stalker peered up the road.

“Smoker comin’?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

“I’m afraid not,” Myrrima said. “His elemental burnt down the palace and set flames to at least half the camp.”

“Ah, he always was one of the good ones,” Stalker said. “Don’t know how I’ll ever replace him.”

A good flameweaver, Myrrima thought. She’d never met one that she would have called good before, but now, sadly, she realized that Stalker’s assessment was right.

I’ll never meet his equal again, she told herself.

They rowed out to the Leviathan, and carried the children aboard. Myrrima held Fallion on the deck, while one of Stalker’s men ran to fetch some water. Fallion’s forehead was burning up.

Some of the crew began pulling anchor, while others rushed about unfurling masts, ready to make way.

Stalker peered at the other ships in the harbor darkly. Four ships. Shadoath’s ships. He dared not leave them, lest they give chase.

“Fire when ready,” Stalker said, and his men went to the catapults, put torches to iron shot wrapped in pitch, and sent the balls arcing out into the night. The nearest two ships each took a ball, and soon Myrrima could see crewmen racing to put out small fires.

The ships were only manned by a skeleton crew, two or three men aboard each.

“That ought to keep ’em busy,” Stalker said, grinning.

The crewman brought Fallion a ladle filled with fresh water, and he raised his head to drink. For a moment he peered at the ships out on the wine-dark water, with their little flames.

Myrrima felt the heat in him, a fever that suddenly felt explosive. Then it raced out in an invisible ball that could be felt but not seen, and struck out over the water.

The fires surged, went twisting up the mastheads and washing over the decks. A ball of flame leapt from ship to ship; in seconds all four pirate ships had become an inferno. Their crewmen shouted in fear and leapt into the sea.

Stalker peered at the conflagration in astonishment.

Fallion smiled. He could hear the flames sputtering, the voice of his master, gleefully hissing in appreciation.

He had used his powers, and given glory to Fire.

Not until Fallion was sure that his fires would do their job did he take a drink.