David Farland - The Wyrmling Horde

"I can only hope that my brother is alive, and that there is something left of what he once was. I intend to set him free, and if the people will accept him, I hope to see him sit upon the throne. No man is more deserving."

"He is fortunate to have you as a friend, and an ally," Talon said.

The emir did not like compliments. He never quite knew what to say.

"Now," the emir said, "I must ask you of this Fallion Orden-the son of his shadow self, the son that, in my world, at least, he never had. What kind of man is he?"

"He is a young man," Talon said. "I have followed at his back since I could crawl, and so I know him well, perhaps as well as anyone alive…"

"So I have heard," the emir said.

"Everything that you have said about the father, is doubly true of Fallion…" Here she hesitated.

"But?"

"Everything but the compassion," she admitted at last. "The Earth King s compassion was the stuff of legend. He loved his people so much that in the end he gave his life for them, and went traveling the world, seeking out good and humble folk, and bestowing his blessings upon them. Even long after the threat was over, he kept traveling the world, never able to rest."

"Perhaps," the emir said, "he could not rest because he knew that the war was not over. My father said that sometimes when a war is coming, you can smell it far off, years or decades in the brewing. Other times it is thrust upon you at a moment s notice."

"Yes," Talon said. "I suppose that could be. Anyway, Fallion is not like his father. He loves, but not indiscriminately. He is a man of… tremendous discipline."

Talon seemed not to want to say more, but the emir said, "He is a flameweaver, is he not? It would take tremendous discipline for one like him to lead a normal life, to take on the responsibilities of a home and family, wouldn t it?"

"Yes," Talon said. "Yet you manage it, don t you?"

"I have never given myself to the flames," he said after a long moment. Then he glanced back toward his pair of roasting grouse.

The fire licked their flesh, and their fat dripped into the flames and sizzled, sending up a sweet-smelling smoke.

"It s time," he said. "I ll be facing Vulgnash, a Knight Eternal, a flameweaver of considerable power."

I should have begun this instruction years ago, he thought.

"Wait!" Talon said.

The emir turned to her.

"You re a generous man, too," she said hesitantly. "You re planning to end your life when this is over, give back your endowments-aren t you?"

"Let us just say," he answered, "that if you see me fall in battle at the end of the fight, do not come back to save me."

"Do you think that that is what Siyaddah would want?"

"I think that she would be hurt," the emir said, "but in time she would think of me less and less often."

"I think that some pain can never die," Talon argued.

"Whatever happens to me," the emir said, "tell her that I died valiantly, in battle."

"What if I don t want you to die in battle?" Talon asked.

Tuul Ra had no answer for that.

He rose, and climbed up from the cattails at the edge of the brook. He went beside the small fire. Little smoke came from the dry wood, and it was being dispersed by a light wind and by the trees.

In fact, the wind was strong enough that the flames sputtered with every gust, as if the fire would go out.

He had always felt uneasy around fire. He d always been aware of how it pulled at his sanity, sought to command him. But today he felt more wary than ever.

He had learned what kind of man he had been on the shadow world-faithless, brutal, an enemy to all of mankind.

Of course, that s not me, is it? That was someone else, in another life.

But somehow it felt like him.

Fire was the connection. Fire was always there, at the edge of his consciousness, calling to him: Use me. You need me. You are not whole without me, and I am not whole without you.

I was the most powerful flameweaver in the history of the shadow world, the emir thought. And I could be the most powerful in mine.

Yes, the fire seemed to whisper, its bright tongues speaking to some primal part of the emir s soul, piercing the base of his brain. You could be powerful. The world needs you to be powerful, to give yourself to the flames. How else will you conquer the wyrmling hordes?

How else indeed? Tuul Ra wondered.

It is a small matter, the fire whispered. Step into the flame. Give yourself to me.

It was a temptation. It had always been a temptation. Tuul Ra often suspected that his skills could blossom if he but let them. He d dared imagine himself fighting the wyrmling horde, striding into Rugassa with a ball of sunlight balanced in his hand, one so bright that it would make the wyrmlings eyes sizzle in the backs of their heads.

They are an evil people. Someone needs to destroy them.

The emir knelt in front of the fire, as if before an altar, and gazed into the flames.

Filled with curiosity, Talon, Daylan Hammer, and the Cormar twins all gathered around him.

The emir had long been able to bend smoke to his will. It was a talent he had noticed in childhood. And he could make flames rise up and dance like snakes at his command. But it was not a gift that he lusted for, or that he took pride in.

He studied the flames now. His pair of grouse was cooking unevenly. He sat staring at the flames, tried to twist them upward and to the south, so that the birds would cook more evenly.

But after what seemed like several moments, nothing happened. Fire was aware of him, of that he felt certain. He was drawn to it, as it was drawn to him. But it would not bend to his will.

"You can t just force it," Daylan Hammer said. "Fire always requires a sacrifice. Go fetch some wood. Try building it up."

"I ll get some," the Cormar twins said in unison, and they glanced at each other, laughed maniacally, and then leapt up and raced into the brush, each step choreographed, each move perfectly matching the other.

The emir considered waiting for the wood. But he knew that wood was not the only sacrifice that might be given. He reached up to his neck and pulled at a leather cord so that a sheepskin pouch popped out from beneath his ring mail. He opened the pouch and dumped a lock of hair into his hand, black and shiny.

He tossed the hair in, watched the fire consume it greedily, tiny flames flickering green and blue as they consumed the oils in the hair.

It had been the last memento from his dead wife.

In the hissing of the flames he heard the words "Serve me."

"I will feed you," he replied. "You may have my service, but not my soul."

Once Talon and the others had finished eating and broken camp, the emir kicked the coals from the fire off into the nearest bushes; seemingly with a thought the fire raced among some dry leaves and began licking the trunks of the nearest oaks.

What good will it do him, she wondered, to give himself thus to Fire? All it will do is warn the wyrmlings. They ll see the smoke.

Daylan watched the flames for a long moment and said softly, "It is written that Raj Ahten fed his fires day and night, burning entire forests. I suppose that such sacrifices must be made if you are to gain his powers."

"It is not much of a sacrifice," the emir said. "There is a blight upon the land. The trees will be dead within a month anyway, I fear, and then the first spark would set this whole land alight."

"Sooner than a month," Daylan said, "unless we can break the wyrmlings hold upon the land."