“But you will not fail in the end, Commander,” Isaam whispered. He leaned against the dead oak, the first tree he’d killed with his spell. He called another enchantment forth from the recesses of his labyrinthine mind and let it flow to his fingers then into the dead tree. When the bark grew warm to the touch, he stepped to another tree and did the same then moved to another.
Isaam watched an ember spark to life on the first dead oak, initially looking like a firefly had landed there with its tiny light blinking to its fellows. The oak had become so dry that the magical ember quickly blossomed and others appeared around it. His firefly was indeed calling more to join it.
The sorcerer had detested the march through the Qualinesti Forest, but he’d paid attention along the way. The forest was vibrant, except where he’d just spread his withering touch. Fires were common in the dry, wooded sections of Neraka in the hot summers; the slightest spark set them off. People in Neraka wisely built homes and settlements away from the woods, not wanting to lose their worldly possessions, and perhaps their lives, to raging forest fires. No doubt the Qualinesti Forest boasted its share of fires too, though the place was not so brittle and dry as the woods in summer in his beloved Neraka.
“Burn,” Isaam coaxed. “Burn for Bera Kata.”
Small flames licked up the trunk and toward the upper branches. More flames traveled down to the forest floor, looking like liquid flowing toward all the dead leaves the tree had dropped.
“Let this forest be so much kindling for my magic.” Isaam smiled and wished Bera were there to witness his pleasure.
The fire crawled to the second tree Isaam had touched, smoke spiraling up like artfully curled ribbons as it rose. So many leaves had dropped from Isaam’s enchantment that there was plenty of detritus for the fire to feed on. Then his fire rushed to a third tree and a fourth-more and more.
Satisfied, he hurried to the north, where Bera’s men waited, and he glanced up at the forest canopy as he went. The fire had reached the first oak’s crown and had started to spread through the heights. It was moving faster than he had expected.
“Magnificent.”
The sorcerer heard the men in the distance calling “Fire! Fire!” Someone with a loud, shrill voice, one of Bera’s female lieutenants, shouted “Goblins!” The different shouts mingled.
The fire at the top of the oaks rode the wind south to the next tree and the next, dancing faster than someone on the ground could outrun it. The flames spread east too, and Isaam knew the goblins would find themselves under the fire soon-if they weren’t trapped already. His magic would spread panic, kill and diminish their numbers, and give the Dark Knights the edge.
He cast another spell, adding to his mental fatigue. The enchantment caused him to float above the ground, higher and higher until he was above the topmost canopy. Then he willed himself to stop. Floating there, he watched his dazzling fire jump. Sometimes it cleared a tree, sparing one on some capricious whim, only to catch the next one to the south and engulf it with a roar. The woods were so dry because he’d drained the life and the water. The trees easily accepted the fire.
The druid could do nothing to aid the goblins. No one could stop Isaam’s magic.
The wind blew stronger up in the treetops, no thick trunks to slow it down. Each gust set another section of the forest canopy on fire. In one place the fire jumped a quarter mile, he guessed, embers borne by the swift breeze, hurtling across a stream. The edges of the stream burned. Nothing Isaam’s magic touched was safe.
He heard shouts; they were faint, a fair distance away. The cries sounded pitiful. His fire had indeed found the goblins.
“Burn,” he hissed. “You like to burn the corpses of your dead. Let the forest you ran to be your funeral pyre.”
A fire whirlwind lit the sky, a column of flame Isaam suspected had come from Grallik-a feeble attempt to snuff out the main fire. But there was no main fire. Fire was everywhere.
“An ineffectual attempt. Your magic was always beneath mine, Grallik N’sera. Your rank as well.” The sneering Isaam floated a little higher and drew his robes tighter around him to cut the slight chill of the night breeze. The fire did not warm him.
The flames spreading to the west were erratic and a little unpredictable, encountering trees that hadn’t been kissed by Isaam’s draining spell. They put up a fight, but the fire was too strong to be denied. Isaam suspected the druid was in anguish and working diligently to figure out how to neutralize his spell … but Isaam’s magic was superior and spreading.
Birds shot into the air by the hundreds, squawking so loud that they briefly drowned out the whoosh and crackling flames of Isaam’s great creation. But they were gone quickly, in search of a safer part of the forest. The animals trapped on the ground would not be so fortunate. The fire was moving too fast for escape.
A dense cloud of fiery embers pushed to the south just ahead of the flames that were swallowing one tree after the next. The fire was taking a firm hold in the peat soil too and would be spreading across the ground, though it would move slower there as the wind couldn’t help spread it.
“Burn well and wildly, my creation.”
He could hear the goblin shouts easily-louder, clearer, closer. And though he couldn’t understand the language, he could well translate their terror. Bera was right; they did sound like wild dogs yowling.
A haze formed over the upper canopy from all the smoke and the wind that continued to agitate the fire. It reminded Isaam of fog hanging over pastures on early spring mornings. There was something beautiful and otherworldly about it. He stared proudly at his creation for several long moments.
Even though he was above it all, his eyes were watering and his mouth felt dry from the effects of the fire. Isaam didn’t mind the uncomfortable sensations, though. They spoke to his magic’s success. He took a deep breath of the sulfurous air.
Likely when the fire finally died down, they would find only goblin bones. They could well turn everything to ash-bones and ash.
“As hot as the Abyss, that blessed fire must be.” Isaam swelled with pride. He floated a little farther east and north, spotting the knights below. They fought goblins and hobgoblins that must have broken into the Dark Knights’ camp right before the fire struck. There’d been no flames to keep that group of foul creatures back. But that was a fortunate thing, he decided. “Let Bera have some fun. It will keep her mind off Zocci.”
The fire would keep all the rest of the goblins and hobgoblins at bay-the thousands that had no doubt been streaming toward the Dark Knights. The fire would slay all of the stinking rats for Bera.
The light from the fire made it easy for Isaam to pick out details on the ground below. In the front rank, Bera fought madly, parrying attacks from two goblins that looked to have some skill with knives. Her fighting form was never better, he thought.
Isaam drifted lower for a better look. He could aid her with a simple spell or two, make her blade sharper and her arm stronger, or he could give her more energy so she could fight faster. But Bera might not appreciate either of those spells. So instead he used his magic to lock the image of her battling into his mind. Then he could retell tales of her bravery with perfect clarity later, reporting to the Dark Knight Counsel that would want to hear about the mission. He would use spells to replay the most vivid parts, and he would make Bera shine. She could gain the promotion she’d been dreaming of.
FIGHTING WITH FIRE
On the forest floor, Bera was coughing hard with each swing of her sword. Her eyes stung so badly that tears streamed down her face. Her men fared the same, but all of them fared better than the goblins and hobgoblins who were closer to the fire.