Calmly lowering his bow, he fought to slow his heart rate and breathing. They were coming. Any moment now, they were coming. He reached slowly down to retrieve the dozen arrows he had stabbed tip-first into the beach. With those firmly in hand, he suddenly took off, running across the camp. As he leaped into place beside Brynne, he cried, ‘Now, Steven, now!’ and with a wave of Steven’s outstretched hands, a great circle of molten fire burst from the ground to surround them. So fast did the flames appear that Garec’s leggings caught fire and he spent several moments patting out the blaze before he could turn his attention back to the raiders.
The explosion of fire forced the attackers in the forward ranks to fall backwards, their faces and hands seared from the sudden blast, coughing and spluttering and trying to clear their lungs of the intense heat they had inadvertently inhaled. They gaped at the fiery wall, and at their leader, now trapped on the wrong side of the flames, in shock. The tongues of fire reached halfway up the cavern, but there was very little smoke and the heat was far less intense than Mark had expected.
Seeing Mark’s inquisitive look, Steven grinned. ‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s much hotter on their side than ours.’
‘Outstanding!’ Mark was impressed. ‘Steven, you’re getting good at this.’ He gazed around their fire chamber and, almost absentmindedly, put his arm across Brynne’s shoulders.
‘Not really.’ Steven shook his head. ‘Most of the time, I imagine what I want to happen and then try to make adjustments once I get things started.’
‘But still,’ Mark was encouraging, ‘you’ve come a long way since the Blackstone foothills.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Steven still wasn’t so sure. ‘Except for dealing with Malagon’s wraiths, I’m not sure I’ve done much more than a bit of conjuring.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘What the hell am I saying? How can I be so blase about something that shouldn’t even be possible?’ He turned to the pirate leader, who hadn’t moved. Her jaw hung slack as she stared at the dancing flames separating her from her band of ruffians.
‘However,’ he said directly to her, ‘I am not a sorcerer.’
‘Then what are you?’ she asked quietly.
‘I’m a bank manager,’ Steven said. ‘Actually, I’m assistant manager, and if Howard ever retires, then I will become manager. I am only an assistant manager because I lack the skill to be a professional baseball player, and I lack the will and the self-confidence to risk becoming much more than I am – or than I was six weeks ago. I appear to have been chosen by this staff to wield it in compassionate defence of myself, my friends and our cause, but other than that, I have never been able to produce, let alone understand, anything magical, mystical, or supernatural.’ He would have continued parodying his former life, but she interrupted.
‘What are you called?’
‘I am called Steven Taylor, of the Idaho Springs Taylors. You can call me Steven.’ He reached out to shake her hand, but she simply stared, unsure how to proceed. Giving up after a few seconds, Steven introduced his friends: ‘This is Mark Jenkins, a teacher of history, our history, so he finds himself with a head full of completely useless knowledge here in Eldarn.’
‘An absolute pleasure to meet you,’ Mark said. ‘Sorry it had to be behind a wall of fire, but we’re not keen on being slaughtered just at the moment.’ He grinned.
‘Mark Jenkins,’ the woman echoed faintly.
Steven introduced Garec and then Brynne. He was about to suggest the woman reciprocate, and explain why she had ordered her crew of pirate ruffians to attack them without provocation when she interrupted him once again.
‘Garec Haile, the archer. And you-’ she pointed to Brynne. ‘He said your name was-’
‘Brynne. I am Brynne Farro of Estrad. I own the Greentree Tavern in Greentree Square, if you know the place.’
Mark added, ‘We don’t, Steven and me. We tried to go one night. I wanted a tuna sandwich, but a legendary, life-draining demon chased us out of town after eating a stray dog that happened by. Garec and Sallax have assured us that it’s a nice place. Good food, and the kitchen’s open late at weekends.’ The woman wasn’t paying him any attention; she didn’t even query the English word weekend.
Instead, she stared intently at Brynne, and Steven was sure he saw a look of relief pass over her face, although it was replaced almost immediately by the grim visage he was getting familiar with.
‘Sallax,’ she said under her breath, ‘Sallax Farro of Estrad.’
‘My brother.’
‘Where is he now?’
Brynne’s jaw tensed. ‘He is making his way to Orindale.’
‘Is Gilmour Stow with him?’
Garec perked up. ‘Who are you? How do you know Gilmour?’
The woman ignored him and continued staring at Brynne. ‘You must tell me where Sallax Farro is right now. It is important.’
Steven broke in, ‘As congenial as we are trying to make this little gathering, I think it’s time to remind you that you are no longer in a position to be making demands or dealing out orders.’
Brynne ignored Steven and demanded, ‘What do you know of my brother?’
The woman grimaced as she realised blood was still dripping from her mutilated earlobes. Then, grinning, as if she alone were in complete control of all their destinies, she said, ‘When days in Rona grow balmy…’ Her voice faded. She looked expectantly at them.
Steven was getting annoyed; he thought he’d behaved remarkably decently so far, given the woman had been about to kill them all without a second thought. ‘Being cryptic will get not get us anywhere. Now, answer the question. What do you know of Sallax – and for that matter, what do you know of Gilmour?’
‘When days in Rona grow balmy,’ she repeated.
Steven grew more angry. ‘We have tried to be nice about this, but I will suspend you and your entire band of bullies from the damned roof of this place for the next Twinmoon if you don’t-’
Garec grabbed Steven’s arm and hissed, ‘Wait. Give me a moment.’ He dropped his bow and began rubbing his temples, muttering to himself. The others caught bits of what he said, but with his head down and his eyes closed, he sounded more than a little crazy. ‘Sallax, you rutter… so pissing covert – crazy old sorcerer, drunk that night… it’s always balmy down there- I remember! I remember it now, we were drunker than demon-spawn, but I remember!’ He was shouting as a thin smile broke across the woman’s stony countenance.
Then, taking them all by surprise – the bleeding pirate included – Garec threw his arm about her shoulders and drew her firmly to him in a warm embrace. Throwing his head back, he shouted, ‘Drink Falkan wine after Twinmoon!’
‘What the hell is happening here?’ Mark was thoroughly confused.
The stranger smiled broadly at them, her arm now draped over Garec’s shoulders. ‘When days in Rona grow balmy-’
Garec completed the sentence, ‘Drink Falkan wine after Twinmoon.’ He laughed out loud, relief clear on his face.
The woman clapped Garec on the back, then reached out with her opposite hand to slap Steven firmly but good-naturedly across both cheeks. ‘Welcome to Falkan, Steven Taylor, Mark Jenkins. My name is Gita Kamrec, of Orindale, and I lead the southern corps of the Falkan Resistance Movement.’
Steven looked at Gita and Garec while his firewall raged around them.
She smiled again and asked, ‘Would you turn this off now, please?’
Garec nodded agreement and said, ‘It’s really okay.’
As Steven relaxed the wall of flame, Mark suddenly remembered the band of thugs assembled on the stony beach. His body tensed as the fiery shimmer dissipated, tiny flecks of fire dancing about them like orphan snowflakes after a blizzard. The pirates came slowly back into focus. Mark ground his teeth together and felt his stomach flop over. Warily, he reached for the battle-axe. Hearing Garec laugh and carry on with the stranger was not enough to make him entirely confident that they were out of harm’s way. He held his breath, waiting for an attack and hoping Steven could retrieve their defences as quickly as he had released them.