Oberon's Dreams - By Aaron Pogue Page 0,94
I could. I never tried.”
“But how—”
“There isn’t time for that,” Corin said, raising his arm to point. “Ephitel approaches.”
From their place near the gate, Corin could see Ephitel’s battle lines. There might have been a thousand men, mostly mounted and all wielding the flintlock rifles Jeff had mentioned. They had their attendants, too, and as Corin looked closer, he frowned.
“Are those catapults?”
“Mangonels, by the looks of them. Is that so strange?”
“For a man who has access to cannons? Yes.”
“Perhaps he had no time to have them built. Or he lacked the resources.”
“He equipped a thousand men with rifles and pistols,” Corin growled. “He could have made a pair of cannons.”
“You seem to suspect a reason. Say it. Why would Ephitel bring catapults?”
Corin bowed his head, remembering so many things the king had said. He sighed. “Why would Oberon raise the fire brigades?”
A quarter mile out, among Ephitel’s lines, someone gave a short, sharp trumpet blast, and Corin turned to Avery. “Take cover. Here, inside this shop!”
He grabbed the gentleman’s sleeve and dragged him off the street just as the two catapults slammed into violent motion. They hurled their ammunition high into the air, overshooting the walls by at least a hundred paces. Avery chuckled. “That won’t get them in.”
“That was not the goal,” Corin said. “They weren’t stones or darts. They were wooden barrels.”
One of the barrels lost itself somewhere behind the building Corin and Avery had used for refuge, but the other smashed down two blocks over, among the shops and houses, and as it landed, it shot a pillar of fire ten paces above the rooftops. It boomed, and an answering explosion rang out to the west.
“He meant to start a fire,” Corin said. “He meant to kill the townsfolk. That man needs to die.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Avery screamed. “What was that?”
“A powder keg with a long fuse.”
“He fired on the city?”
Corin heaved a weary sigh. “We locked the gates and he wants in. Perhaps he hopes in the panic, some of our people will open the gates. Or…gods’ blood, he might have done it for fun. He wants to break Oberon’s dominion, and killing off a lot of people should accomplish just that.”
The explosions’ thunder was long since gone, but a new roar was rising. It came with the wall of thick black smoke and the heat haze heavy in the air.
“It’s working,” Avery said. “Age of reason, the fire will take the whole city soon.”
“No,” Corin said. “Oberon already raised the fire brigades. Maurelle’s coordinating them.”
“Even so, they aren’t here yet, and there are people in those buildings.”
Avery darted for the street, but Corin caught his shoulder and spun him back around. “Where are you going?”
Avery frowned, looking confused. “There are people in those buildings.”
“Let someone else see to them. We have a higher calling.”
“Killing Ephitel? There will be time enough for that later.”
Corin licked his lips. “Maybe not. There is not much time at all.”
“Then I would spend it on my friends before my foes.”
“This is for your friends. This is for Kellen.”
Avery sucked a deep breath, then met Corin’s eyes. “Kellen’s dead. These people aren’t.”
“You’re not a hero. You’re a thief.”
“I am a hero. Oberon himself said so. But that is not what matters. The important thing is that I am not a monster.”
He tried to leave, but Corin would not let go. “Those people do not matter!”
Avery’s eyes went cold. Corin tried to stammer an explanation, but the gentleman thief—the mayor of Gesoelig—shrugged out of Corin’s grip and turned away. He called back over his shoulder, “I am sorry, Corin, but this is what I must do.”
Corin nodded, watching him go. Of course. His hands were bound by history. Corin took a deep breath and released it as a string of curses.
Oberon was right. This was a memory, a temporary shard. Corin had proved it with his step across the city. Nothing done here really mattered. He would have been much better served to grab a warm meal and a cool beer and wait to be sent home. He might have shared a pleasant hour with his hero instead of leaving him on such unhappy terms.
Leaving Oberon had not been any better. The king seemed critically weak. From ten paces distant he’d asked Corin to come closer to the throne, to be sent home. What chance that he could accomplish that from across the city? Corin had been a fool to leave.
What chance had he alone to cut down Ephitel, even if he had the