Zaehr wanted to know what these creatures were and what their connection was to the Pride—but she needed to even the odds before she could start a conversation. She slid up behind the stocky figure, her stealthy motion further masked by the sound of the fire. As the creature reached for a desk covered with papers, she struck, slamming the steel pommels of her blades into the back of her enemy’s head. The man staggered, howling in a strange inhuman tongue, filled with pops and hisses. Zaehr had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out herself. The creature’s skin was hot, searing her skin where she’d brushed against him. Hardly unexpected—but this was not a foe she’d plan to bite.
The sound was sure to summon the creature’s companions, and time was of the essence. He turned toward her, a long brass knife in his hands, and made a wild thrust in her direction. Zaehr easily avoided the blow, but the intent was clear—Zaehr might have struck with the pommel, but he was using the blade.
So be it, she thought.
She swept the burning man’s blade to the side with one sharp blow, following up with a gash on his wrist. Dark blood pooled along the wound, steaming in the warm air. Before her enemy could recover, she lashed out with twin arcs of deadly steel, digging deeply into both sides of his neck. If he’d been human, the blow would have decapitated him. As it was, he fell to the burning carpet without a sound. Steaming blood poured out of the wounds. An instant later, his body simply dissolved into ash.
With her opponent down, Zaehr studied the room. It was too late to stop the fire—the flames were already spreading to bookshelves and the timbers of the floor, and the smoke was stinging her eyes and burning her throat. She glanced around, trying to see something that stood out, something that might be worth this destruction.
The fire was almost her undoing. Her keen senses were dulled by the smoke and the crackling flames, and she almost didn’t hear the creature approaching from behind. The flash of motion in her peripheral vision, the heat from the burning spear—she recognized the danger just in time to fling herself forward, rolling and spinning to face her foes. The two remaining fire-folk were there: the squat man with his brass spear and a heavyset woman, the one who had melted the lock with her touch.
Zaehr let fury and instinct take over. Adrenaline surged through her as she flung both knives at the spearman. The first caught him directly in the forehead, cracking the skull and lodging in whatever lay beneath. The second sunk deep in his throat. He let go of his spear, dropped to his knees, and clutched at the handle of the lower knife. Even as he pried it out, his body disintegrated into ash and embers.
Zaehr already had another pair of knives in her hands. “Out on the street!” she snarled at the burning woman, squinting against the smoke. There was no saving the house, but Tolar knew the art of truthtelling, and he could force the stranger to tell them everything.
The glowing creature said nothing. She smiled.
“Don’t you understand?” Zaehr said. She raised her knives. “Out now or you join your friends!”
“You join us all,” the woman said, in a voice like a roaring bonfire. “We serve the first fire, and we will return.”
Zaehr leaped, both knives raised, but she wasn’t fast enough.
The woman exploded in a brilliant burst of fire. The shockwave slammed into Zaehr and flung her into a burning bookshelf. Fire swallowed the world.
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
Recognition of Tolar’s voice—the realization that she was alive—was drowned out by the agony that had been dulled by unconsciousness. Each breath brought a wave of pain, the air tearing at her burned lungs.
“Drink.”
She didn’t want to open her mouth, but the first drop of thick fluid brought a wonderful cooling sensation. She could feel it healing her blackened tongue. She let the potion flow down her throat. The pain slowly receded, and she felt her strength returning.
Zaehr opened her eyes.
She was lying on hard stone. She could see the burns fading from her snow-white skin as the healing potion worked its magic, but she was covered with ash. The smell of smoke clung to her clothes and made it difficult to tell what other scents were in the air, but she saw a black column of smoke rising to the east.
“Is that—?” Her throat was still parched, and her voice cracked.
“Yes,” Tolar said. He was sitting on the ground next to her, sifting through a leather satchel. He produced a skin of water and held it to Zaehr’s lips. “The building was beyond salvation.”
“So she’s talking now, is she?” The voice was cold and hard, for all its high timbre. The speaker was barely three feet tall, and Zaehr had the immediate sense that he enjoyed being able to look down at someone. Despite his size, he was no child. He was a gnome, with sharp features and a carefully waxed black heard. “I do so look forward to hearing her explanation.”
“If your guards had responded more swiftly, you might have caught the arsonists and saved the building, lieutenant.” Tolar said.
Zaehr squinted at the gnome, taking in his green-and-black uniform and the presence of a few larger members of the Sharn Watch standing nearby.
“Yes, well. At least we’ve done one of those things, yes?”
“You caught them?” Zaehr said. Her thoughts were still thick and muddled, her head filled with wet sand.
“Well, that’s original,” the gnome said. “I suppose you had nothing to do with this? You happened to break in and were prowling around the professor’s house when a passing wizard flung a fireball through an open window?”
“Lieutenant,” Tolar said quietly, “both my associate and myself are professional inquisitives, fully bonded by House Tharashk. I sent her here in pursuit of an investigation. If you wish, I can establish a truthtelling zone to prove her innocence in this matter.”
“Or you’ll say you’re truthtelling,” the gnome said with a sneer, “and let her lie to her heart’s content.”
“Of course not. I’ll establish a zone of veracity, which forces all those within its bounds to speak the truth. If you stand next to her, we can easily prove the power of the spell with a few questions about your recent income and commitment to the cause of justice. But perhaps there are more pleasant ways to test the truth of that.” He produced a small pouch, which clinked as he flexed his fingers.
The gnome smiled. “When you put it that way…” He took the pouch and glanced inside. “Far be it from me to interfere with the work of House Tharashk, though the fire wardens may make their own investigation.”
“If they don’t trouble us, you’ll have as much again at the end of the week.”
The lieutenant nodded. “Good luck with your work then. Always a pleasure.” He inclined his head and turned away, rejoining the troops who were examining the burned out building.
“I hope we’re getting well paid for this job,” Zaehr grumbled.
Tolar helped her to her feet. “Well enough,” he replied. “I trust you didn’t burn down the building this time?”
“You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” Zaehr said, scowling. “No, this one wasn’t me. I think it was the same people who attacked the Pride.”
“And they escaped?” Tolar said. “The damage was quite extensive by the time I reached you, but I saw no other bodies.”
Zaehr forced herself to sit up. “They just… disintegrated. The one who exploded said, ‘We will return again.’ ”
Tolar frowned. “Tell me everything. Quickly.”
Zaehr recounted the tale as best as she could. Tolar interrupted with questions.
“When the man dissolved, what happened to his robe and weapons?”
“When you struck him, did the heat of his body damage your blade?”
At last he was satisfied.
“Azers,” he said. “Lesser denizens of Fernia, the plane of fire. The ‘sparks’ the heart mentioned, I am certain. But they could not come here on their own. Some greater power is drawing them to this world.”
“The woman said they served the ‘first flame.’ ”
Zaehr knew Tolar as well as anyone. She could read his emotions as easily as a book… easier, since she’d never cared much for reading. He tried to conceal his emotions, and a stranger might not have noticed the change, but to Zaehr his surprise and fear were as clear as the peal of the bell that rang the hours.
“What?” she said. “What does it mean?”
“This is no time for discussion,“ he said, eyes hard. “Did they leave a trail you can follow?”
Zaehr tasted the air. The lingering stench of smoke made it difficult, but the path was there—the threefold trail of molten metal muffled under cloth. Traveling away from the dragon’s door and disappearing down and alley.
“Yes,” she said, brushing the soot off her clothes and looking back at the ruined cottage. “But first, I need my knives.”