A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings #1) - Kevin Hearne Page 0,263

quick hug and murmured words of praise as he took heaving breaths. We broke apart as the shrieking song of thornhands split the dawn: Mogen’s lavaborn had poured through the fire of the southern gate, armor and axes aflame, and charged to the east to take out our catapults.

That was around the corner of the wall from me, though, so I dashed back toward the trees to see what new poison they were sprouting.

—

Fintan returned to himself and held out his hands, forestalling any applause.

“As this was happening, Gorin Mogen’s trusted firelord, Volund, had taken a glass boat north and spotted the dark mass of the Nentian army advancing on the Hathrim city in the early dawn. He was the only lavaborn among a crew mainly employed in rowing against the prevailing current. But a single firelord can do tremendous damage with the ability to spark, stoke, and spread flames. Squeezing a mixture of dung and hay around the tip of an arrow, he used his kenning to ignite it and shot it in a shallow arc to the grasses of the plains. Since most of the Nentians were already looking at the inferno combusting the flanks of the Godsteeth, few of them saw the single flicker off to the west, and when it disappeared into the grasses, there was no need to comment or raise the alarm. But Volund had only begun his work. Dropping his bow to clatter in the bottom of the boat, he stretched out with his kenning and pushed those flames through the grasses toward the Nentian army, and once they reached the westernmost flank of the forces, he spread them to the north and south to illuminate them, relieving the dim silhouettes of early morning. Shouts of alarm spread among the ranks, and near the front, where the mounted men were bunched, the horses shied and whinnied, and Volund grinned. The flames gave him a glimpse of a Nentian armored in bright, beautiful colors, no doubt their leader, and Volund directed the flames to spread in his direction, and once they arrived under the horse carrying him, he pushed hard and fanned those flames to engulf both horse and rider. He could hear their screams carry across the plains and the water, and he smiled, taking a moment to rest. The effort had drained him, and the Nentian forces churned and reared and shouted in panic. The fire was still there, waiting to be directed or simply burn on its own, and he could afford a short span of time to marshal his strength for another push.

“Except he discovered a short six breaths later that he was profoundly mistaken. The mass of men behind the cavalry rippled, a wave of shadow passed among them, and then the sky darkened from a deep blue to black off to the east. A massive light-sucking flight of arrows blocked out the nascent sunrise, and Volund’s mouth dropped open as he recognized his mistake. Whoever he had killed, it wasn’t the only person capable of assessing the situation and giving quick, efficient orders. There was no evasive maneuver they could execute, no shields they could raise above their heads. He spoke a quick prayer to Thurik, and then the shower of arrows rained upon him and his crew, cutting them down and leaving their lifeless boat at the mercy of the western ocean tides.

“Volund’s mistake was this: the immolated Nentian had not been the King’s Tactician Diyoghu Hennedigha but rather Junior Tactician Senesh—younger brother of Viceroy Bhamet Senesh—dressed purposely in the brightest regalia possible as a decoy. It was a position of honor precisely because of its danger. And so the Nentians marched on toward the Godsteeth and Baghra Khek.”

Fintan threw down a seeming sphere and changed back into Gorin Mogen, this time dressed for battle, axe and armor aflame and teeth clenched in a savage grin.

In my youth, before I became a Hearthfire, I used to be a timber pirate until I rose to captain my own ship and then take over Harthrad from my sire. We had to deal with thornhands as a matter of course when we raided the Fornish coast, and I had forgotten how much I enjoyed thwarting them. They are freakish creatures who become instruments of death at the sacrifice of their own lives. But they are not unstoppable. No Fornish hardwood can penetrate Mogen steel.

Sefir and I led a cluster of lavaborn, six-foot-high shields carried purposely on our right sides as