Star Fire

Druan rode the border in the twilight gray at the edge of winter. It was the deep, cold abyss before the faint spring that crept into the northlands, when the sun rose to the horizon and cast a glow over the hillsides and turned the snow to silver. The sky was endless overhead, filled with stars like scattered shards of ice, and always the fitful glow of the sky fires gleamed and shimmered at the far north. There, in the darkness that ebbed but never faded, dwelled their enemy.

Two years gone, since the slaughter at the Pass of Bones, and Druan was grown into a warrior. Now he knew how to ride a horse and wield a sword and a spear. He wore his own iron scale armor and bore a shield of oaken planks and dark hide. He was harder as well, his long limbs filled in with muscle and his face drawn into grim lines. He was no boy any longer; his cold gray eyes had seen too much death.

He rode to the top of a hill and looked north, always north. Soon he would turn south and ride for home, for even the weak day was enough to keep the enemy at bay. Only in the dark they came, the wind always with them to snuff out the flames they feared. Now the race of men had been driven out of their homes by the scourge of the winter wraiths, and they lived in fortified villages, protected by earthworks and by wooden palisades, but most of all by men. Riders ever patrolled the highlands, into the hills, seeking the signs of an attack.

Six times they had come, on the coldest nights. Six times the walls had flamed with fire and cold steel, leaving death in the wake of war. Each time the enemy took away their slain, and the people of the valleys had learned bitterly to guard their own dead. The dead, as well as the living who were dragged screaming into the dark, were never seen again.

Druan drew rein and searched the dark edges of the forest for a sign of the enemy. For a moon there had been nothing, and it made him uneasy. To go so long without a fight with even a few hounds was unusual. He sensed something fell brewing over the horizon where none could see.

Something flashed in the sky overhead, and he looked up, startled to see a bright streak arc across the heavens. He had seen falling stars, but this was something different. It was big and slow and it burned brightly, like a torch in the sky. He watched as it broke apart, splitting into three flaming trails, and one of the pieces spun and flashed over him, so close he had to shield his eyes from the blaze of it.

When he looked again, he saw it flying low behind the hills, and then the sound of it came and it was like thunder, shaking his bones and frightening his war-horse, so he had to fight to keep in the saddle. The flare of its fire turned the hillsides white and cast shadows sharp as knives, and then it vanished behind the hills and there was a sudden echoing sound like the greatest storm he had ever heard, and he hunched against it and covered his ears from the splitting sound. The earth shook under his feet and the snow was blasted from the trees by a hot wind he felt across his face.

Rocks broke loose from the hillsides and tumbled down, and snow slid free and rushed hissing down into the valleys. Druan’s horse panicked and this time he could not control it. It screamed and bolted, and he held on as hard as he could, knowing he would be lost out here if he fell. His steed rushed down the hill, and Druan wrenched at the reins and managed to draw it up short before it plunged them both down a slope too steep to recover from. Rocks scattered down from the churning hooves.

Another shuddering crash reverberated across the sky, and Druan looked up to where the hills were lit with the light of fire, just on the far side of the ridge. Something had fallen, burning, from the sky, and even now it burned. He looked up into the night and knew one thing only – that fire was the bane of his enemy.

o0o

They called it Iron Hill, because once it had been a place where ore was dug from the ground in great lumps, ready to be smelted and forged. Now it was a hill surrounded by rough earthworks still being built, and by palisades made from green logs roped together with heavy leather thongs. It had a heavy gate made from wood, designed in twofold, so there was both an inner and an outer gate, and the space between could be filled with oil and set aflame. So far, none of the assaults had proved able to reach the gate. The enemy attacked with waves of hounds clawing their way up the barriers, and they had to be slain and driven back by hand.

Druan rode to the gate, and it made him uneasy to see it open. The enemy never attacked in even this feeble day, but that day was short, and even with scouts always scouring the passes, seeing the gate open touched him with a cold finger. He rode in between the shoulders of earth that made the sides of the portal, and into the busy encampment that had become his home.

Hundreds of people had gathered here, driven from their steadings and villages. There were hunters and warriors and herdsmen and root-diggers, and here in the southern lands there were even farmers, tilling the earth outside the fort in this feeble summer. It was strange for Druan to see bare soil and growing things.

The ground inside the walls was crowded with longhouses, all of them dug into the hillside and thatched over with green grass, smoke rising from chimneys. He was surrounded by the smell of people – woodsmoke and cooking meat and roots, the smells of manure and sweat and fermenting liquor and the burnt smell of the forges and smelters that ran day and night. Smiths hammered constantly, working to produce spearheads, sword-blades, axe-heads, and coats of armor.

At the top of the hill was a larger hall, with stout timbers and a watchtower at the top where a man could see far to the horizon. This was where the clan chiefs gathered to make decisions in hard, sometimes bitter councils. There was no single chief in Ironhill, only men who wished to keep what remained of their people safe from the dark. He could see the standard was raised, signaling that a council was in progress even now. Druan was not a chief, and though he knew he could speak at the council and be heard, because he bore prestige from his deeds, he did not turn to go up the hill.

He went to his own house, and men gathered when they saw him. They knew he was a warrior, and men followed him when he let them. It sat ill on his shoulders, and that was why he preferred to ride on scouting paths alone. Now they saw him come and they gathered, a dozen men, most of them younger than he. They did not want to only survive and defend, they wanted to carry the war to their enemies. Druan knew better than most the folly of such a wish, and yet they knew he was a killer, so they wanted to follow him.

This day, he was glad of it. He rode his horse to the open place before the door of his house. He came down from his saddle and stood on the good ground again. It was cold, but he did not fear the cold. He stretched his back, and then he tied his horse and kicked the ice from the surface of its trough so it could drink. He drew his sword, stabbed it into the earth, and waited. This was a sign that he would speak, and these men who wanted to follow him gathered to hear.

“You heard the thunder in the sky, and saw the light,” he said. He knew they had, and they nodded, muttering small invocations against evil. He looked at them, wondering if he had ever looked so young as they did. He was barely a man, yet he felt old. “I saw it come. I saw a light in the sky, and then a burning thing fell and struck the earth. I know where it lies, and I will seek it.”

“It could be a thing of evil,” the boy called Arun said. “Something sent from beyond the sky to curse us.”

“It burned,” Druan said. “I saw it, a thing of fire from the sky. It was sent to us by Ajahe, the Goddess of Fire who wields the eternal flame. I will go to this thing, to see the fire, and to gather it and carry it. What fire would be stronger than the fire of the goddess? We must have the blessing she sent to us, and I will go. If you would go with me, gather your weapons, and your horses, and meet me outside the gates.”

“What of the council?” another said. “We should tell them of what you have seen.”

Druan looked up to the high hall, and then he turned away. “They will bicker night and day and never act. They are afraid, and would rather defend what they have than seek anything new. I will not lead a war that cannot be won, but I will seek new weapons.” He turned, and nodded to them. “Go and prepare, if you will ride with me.”

o0o

They set out under the lambent glow of the sky fires, the stars gleaming high above, hard and cold, everything was cold in this land, and they knew no other. Druan led them on his best horse, his dark helm hiding his face, his iron-bound shield on his left arm. He remembered where the fire fell, and he led them by the most careful paths he knew. He knew the sound and fire of the starfall had been so great it could not be missed, and he was perhaps not the only one who sought it. He touched the bone amulet of Ajahe under his cloak and felt her guiding him.

The forest paths were dark, under the snow-heavy trees, and he watched the trails for signs of the enemy, knowing they could wait in ambush in the shadows. He smelled burning, and he wondered if the woods were afire from the burning thing. He wondered what it was, if he would see the very form of the goddess herself when they reached the place where it came to earth.

As they drew closer, the trees were bare of snow, for the great impact had dashed it off them. The snow was heaped on the earth below, and Druan saw dead birds lying scattered there, slain by the terrible sound. They rode up the ridge, hidden from sight, and the smell of smoke grew stronger. The sky was darkened and smudged with ashes, and the men who followed him clutched their weapons closer and muttered as they saw the glow that rivaled the sky fires. They were close, and Druan imagined he could feel the heat, as from a great bonfire.

They rode up the slope, past the tumbled and churned rocks ripped and hurled by the impact, and when they reached the top they could see. Druan stayed among the trees, where they would not be silhouetted against the sky, and looked down on a scene of destruction.

The valley was blasted, the tress all blown down, lying in a pattern that radiated out from the center, where there was a black scar upon the soil and a column of smoke rising like a pillar into the twilit sky. At the heart of the black sear and the smoke something glowed, like an ember, and Druan felt his heart quicken when he saw it. A fire had indeed come from the sky, sent by the hand of the goddess, and now he would take it, and wield it against the enemies of his race. He firmed his grasp upon his shield and his spear, and he nodded. “There, follow me, and keep watch. They are the enemies of fire – they will come here before long.”

o0o

Druan rode down the hillside, picking his way among the jagged rocks and the fallen trees. There was no snow anywhere in the valley, and it was as if the breath of fire had blasted all of it away in a moment. He felt the heat against his face and it was strange to feel it here, under the sky. He pushed down the leather that covered his mouth and rode on, seeing small fires among the blasted trees, the trunks blackened and covered in white ash.

His horse shied as he neared the center, and then shied again when he tried to force it ahead. It did not like the heat, the fire, and the smell. There was a scent in the air, like iron smelting in a clay vessel, and the horse snorted and shook its head. It would not go closer.

He swung down from the saddle, gave the reins to one of the men. “Wait here,” he told them. “Circle the fire and keep watch.” They did not refuse him; their eyes were wide and afraid. Druan found he was not afraid – he felt right, as if he walked along a path with no branchings, no turns. One way only opened before him.

On foot he made his way down, closer to the source of the smoke and the flame. He saw there was a pool of something molten and burning around some central shape, and he coughed as he stabbed his spear into the earth and left it, pushed closer, his shield protecting him from the heat radiating outward. Fire coiled and shimmered, and he saw there was a mass at the heart of it, something dark that yet glowed with a streaming fire.

Horses screamed, and he heard men shouting. He took his sword in his hand and drew it, the iron blade gleaming with reflected flame, and he heard the sound of horns uplifted in the twilight. Before he could turn to rejoin his men, he heard the screams and hisses of hounds as they raced out from the shadows, claws raking the cold earth.

The wind sprang up, and he shielded himself as the fell wind blew over the heath, blasting out torches and snuffing the small fires. But it did not extinguish the fire from the sky, and Druan felt his heart leap within him as he realized Ajahe had sent them her eternal flame.

Pale forms raced in from the darkness, and Druan thrust his sword into the burning pool, drew it forth dripping with fire, and he bellowed a war cry to the heavens. “To me! Backs to the fire! To me!” He turned as a wave of naked hounds rushed for the sound of his voice, but then they shied back from the heat, and he laughed. They cringed and gibbered and clawed the fallen trees, but they would not approach the fire.

Behind them he saw the tall form of a hunt master, and he saw the evil, cold breath wash toward him again, scattering dirt and broken branches. It struck the fire and hissed and the flames roared and danced, but they did not die. Druan held up his sword, and he laughed and he called on the power of the fire, and he attacked.

The hounds fell back from his flaming blade, and he cut down two that were too slow. His men came stumbling toward the fire, some of them caught and dragged down. He heard the screams as they were ripped apart, and it drove him to a new fury. He left the safety of the warmth and ran toward the silhouette of the hunt master, tall and white-faced, like a skull above the black robes.

The thing met him with its own sword, and the blade of frost and the blade of fire met with a clangor and the splashing of sparks and flame. He saw the fire reflect in the black eyes of the thing, saw it recoil from the heat, and he shoved it back, sent it crashing to the earth. He smote down with a terrible blow and the hunt master parried, but his black sword snapped in half, and the burning blade bit into his chest and then broke off inside his flesh, the iron weakened by the heat.

The hunt master erupted in fire, screaming and clawing at itself. Druan flung away the useless hilt and drew the old bronze sword he carried at his side always. The hounds leaped at him and he cut them down, used his shield to smash them to the earth as he fought back to the undying flame. Seven of the men who followed him now remained, huddled close to the heat. They had branches taken from the fallen trees, and they dipped them in the fire, used them as brands to drive the enemy back.

Without the huntsman, the hounds milled in confusion, crawling on their hands, hissing and gnashing their black teeth. They were a mockery of men, blank-faced and sunken, eternally hungry and mindless as worms. Druan looked to his men, knew they would have to drive the hounds away to get free of this place with their lives.

Out in the smoke-filled twilight, something moved. Druan heard a footfall like the crashing of a tree, and he saw something huge pass through the smoke like a shadow. He heard a growl, and then a bellow that shook his skull. The men shrank away as they saw it. Something new, born from the cold abyss where the enemy came forth into the world.

It had the shape of a man, but was twice as tall, massive and with long arms knotted with powerful muscles. It came forward with heavy footsteps, dragging at the earth with claws like a bear. Its head was misshapen and ugly, with a wide mouth set with long tusks. It looked at them with pure white eyes, and it sniffed the air and hissed like boiling flesh.

Druan swept his sword through the burning pool and drew the bronze forth shining with fire. He screamed his war cry and the men with him joined in. The giant bellowed and vomited forth another blast of cold that sent them reeling, and still the fire did not die. It flickered, it whipped as in a terrible wind, but the fire did not go out.

The giant charged them, and there was joined a grim battle under cold stars. The beast rushed on them and they scattered before it. It was too big to stop. Druan leaped to the side and smote at the creature’s armored thigh, saw the fire sear it but draw no blood. It smashed a man to the earth, then caught up another and rent him in half with brutal strength.

Druan stabbed desperately, sinking the ancient bronze blade into the cold flesh, and then it broke off, finally giving way. The hot bronze burned the giant and it howled, struck out at him. The great sweep of arm barely touched him, yet his shield splintered and he was flung away to land hard on the scorched earth. The giant’s arm swung out and smashed against the hard core of the fire, and it drew back, howling, its hand aflame.

Something broke in that dark center of fire, and it came free and landed on the earth like a shard of molten flame. It was as long as a sword, and lean, jagged as a broken piece of iron, and flames surrounded it. Druan heard the screams of his men, the hissing of the eager hounds, and he cast aside the last of his fear.

He tore off his fur cloak and fell on the fallen shard, wrapped the fur around it so he could lift it without being seared at once. He felt the heat come through the heavy leather, smelled the burning and saw fire blacken the hides. He had only moments before the heat clawed through to his skin.

The giant towered above him, a titan of war, arms wide and threshing blind in the smoke. Druan rushed in and used the long, jagged blade of fire to hew at the treelike leg, and the edge bit cleanly, severing tendons and bones and leaving fire crawling in the wound. The giant howled and fell, and the bulk of it crashed against him, drove the burning edge back to cross his face and his left eye like a brand.

He felt his flesh burn, felt the pain like red iron and his eye went dark. He fell to the earth, the shard of fire falling from his hands. He cried out, the sound lost in the tumult of the furious giant. Black blood poured from the leg, half-severed, trailing by meat and skeins as the thing sought to crawl away from the heat of the fire.

With his one eye, Druan saw the burning blade, fallen into the pool of fire and sinking out of sight. Desperate, he tore the coat from his body and crawled to it, caught it just before it sank from sight with the coat as his protection. He drew it like a flaming splinter from the fire, bright and jagged-edged, and then the giant crawled to him, jaws gaping, furious and breathing forth a terrible miasma as it howled. Teeth gnashed for him, and he struck with the star-fallen blade and shattered them. The giant screamed again, and with both hands Druan struck with his burning weapon.

The red-glowing blade sheared through the gaping jaw and tore out the thick throat with a single stroke, and the giant thrashed back, head filling from the neck, black ichor streaming forth to steam and burn in the dark air. It burned with blue flame like oil spilled from a lamp, and the head, all but cut clean, hung only by a strip of flesh. The great body heaved up, and then fell to the earth with a great weight that shook the ground.

Druan let the blade fall from his hand, watched the fire consume his leathers. He was without a coat or a cloak, but so close to the undying fire that he did not feel cold. He touched his face and felt a terrible pain, flinched away from it. There was a line burned across his face from brow to chin, and though his eye remained it did not see. All was quiet, and it seemed that the hounds had fled the fall of their giant kin.

Two men came through the smoke, two only, and they looked weary and afraid, but there was black blood on their swords, and that made them good men to his remaining eye. He beckoned them, and they came. “Are you wounded?” they said, and he waved the question away.

“Tell me your names,” he said.

“Arun,” the boy said.

“And I am Sultai,” said the other one, a big man who was younger than he looked.

“You are my companions now,” Druan said. “You have seen. Go back to the Iron Hill, and tell the people there that we have been given a gift from Ajahe. It is not there, it is here. They must come. I will build a new fortress around this fire, and it will warm us, and protect us, and it will give us victory over our enemies. Go, and I will remain here. The fire will warm me, it will guard me. I will build a temple in this place, and a fortress around the temple, and then a kingdom.” He looked up through the smoke to where the stars burned like white-hot shards of steel. “Go now.”