Dragon's Fire
Arrows came in a steady rain, common shafts mixed with fire arrows. The startled horses stamped and snorted, and a few of them shied hard enough to rock several of the company's wagons, shifting them a little out of line. A handful of the company's servants clung to the wagons and fought to calm the animals. To them, it seemed, a wagon mattered more than a man dying—perhaps more than their own lives. They were desperate enough to make him think so.
Juhwan quickly soothed the horse hitched to his own wagon and drew it forward. The bandits wanted whatever was loaded in the company's wagons, so they would not, at least, loose fire arrows in that direction. Sure enough, every flaming shaft fell short, striking the ground well away from the wagons. They were only meant to light the ground and make the shooting easier.
He guided his horse away from the incoming arrows and drew up alongside a merchant wagon. If a shaft did fly their way, it would bury itself in the company's wagon rather than his own. When one horse startles, the horse beside it feels it, and the company's servants had no choice but to calm Juhwan's animal as well, bustling back and forth between the wagons.
The shifting wagons must have frightened her. Through the gap between the driver's seat and the wagon bed, Lizzie pressed herself close and peered out, Dorothy clutched tight in her arms. Her face looked unusually white. Juhwan saw the two of them and smiled.
"I'll stay right here, so it's all right. You don't have to be afraid."
Oz was perched on Dorothy's head, as usual. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, Juhwan met the rabbit's eyes.
"Oz, look after Lizzie and Dorothy. Don't leave their side. Not for anything."
"Pii."
Oz gave a sharp cry, as if it understood. Juhwan stepped onto the driver's seat and climbed onto the wagon roof. After the last raid, part of the roof had been left clear—a narrow space, just wide enough to stand with his feet braced apart. He stood there and aimed into the dimness. The sky was still black, but he could tell something was moving in the dark. Dawn could not be far off.
Eyes used to Earth's nights, bright with lights, could never have managed it. But eyes grown accustomed to the nights of this world caught, faintly even in pitch darkness, the shapes of men and horses shifting. He did not need to hit them cleanly. Near enough would do. If they hesitated, slowed even a little, or were driven toward the other companies, that was enough. I'm sorry. Staying alive comes first.
Juhwan drew hard and held his breath. He set the taut bow on the enemy in the dark and quietly let go, and the arrow cut the air with a whisper of wind. One, then another—the shafts flew, and someone in the darkness screamed. There were more screams than arrows he had loosed.
He rolled his eyes just enough to glance around and saw that Leonard, master of the Miller Trading Company, was already shooting into the dark. Gordon was nearby, and he was shooting too. So a trading company in this world was less a merchant's shop than a store run by mercenaries. Both men seemed better with a bow than Juhwan was. Every time a thick shaft flew, a bandit's scream burst out of the dark.
Several of the Miller Trading Company's escorts were hit. This was not the only place under attack; the other companies around them were in much the same state. Have they been hiding their numbers until now? Before, the bandits had never come in more than thirty. It had seemed closer to twenty. Now their numbers had jumped all at once—fifty at the least. A hundred? Perhaps more.
Maybe, as Leonard had said, they had been picking off wagons that fell out of the column and looting them: one group to strike the train, another to strip the stragglers. They must have divided the work that way. The bandits who had only ridden back and forth loosing arrows were finally coming in for a direct assault. Hoofbeats, and then a shout rose from every side.
The sun had not risen, but the black air had already paled to a gray dusk. He could not see the faces of the enemy bearing down—only their shapes, black against the dim light at their backs, drawing closer. It was like a scene from a film.
Juhwan shot arrow after arrow, then leapt down from the wagon. They were close enough now that a blade would be faster than a bow. He flung himself at a man who had come near the company's wagon, and an axe was already in his hand. Humans were not goblins. They were more cunning, and they used weapons. This would be harder than facing goblins in the mountains. His mouth set in a hard line.
He searched for the mages. The ones who ought to have been doing the most were nowhere to be seen. Those bastards. They had taken the comparatively safe side, standing behind a few escorts they were using as shields. The Wind Mage seemed to be controlling the wind itself. Incoming arrows bent at strange angles and skimmed past them. Whether that was simply how mages fought, the other escorts did not seem to blame them for it.
The one who stood out was the Fire Mage. He fought with a long whip wreathed in flame. Every time the whip cut the air, fire streamed from its tip, and a serpent made of flame struck a man. So that's how you use it. Fire magic, it seemed, was not like his own—setting a body alight directly and burning it. If Juhwan used an ordinary whip, the thing would simply turn to ash. His power was too strong. Other people were probably not so different, so perhaps there was some special device worked into that whip.
Ah. He suddenly remembered leaving the Goblin Village. Then he had poured mana hard into the flames ringing the outskirts and put the fire out. Fire cannot burn in ash. Seizing on that, he had driven the blaze even hotter and turned every bit of fuel wrapped around the village to ash. Fire wrapped in mana flowed along the fuel. Was the Fire Mage smearing oil or pine resin on his whip and using that same property? If so, there was already something here coated with fuel. Good.
Juhwan seized a torch stuck in the wagon and set it alight. Pine resin coated the wood. If fire magic could be worked through a whip, it could surely be worked through a torch. He swung it at the bandits coming in and sent fire-mana streaming through it.
It worked as he had thought. The mana running along the torch made a huge fire in the air, and the mana he spent was incomparably less than what he had used before. Several bandits closing on the wagon were swallowed in flame. Now I understand. How to use this power.
He swung the torch at them again. The fire grew. The blaze slashing through the empty air looked like a club swelling mid-swing, and the dancing flames were as huge as Gulliver set down in the land of the little people. In an instant Juhwan's fire swallowed men and horses. A bandit's horse screamed. A man wrapped in flame flailed and fell. The stink of burning hair and burning flesh spread in every direction, and horses and men ablaze looked like a painting of hell.
But it did not end. Every time his arm cut the air, another bandit was wrapped in fire.
"A high mage! They've got a high fire mage!"
Someone among the bandits shouted, and at once arrows concentrated on Juhwan. He amplified his mana through the torch and swung it around himself. The huge club of flame turned the incoming shafts to ash where they flew.
Then one arrow came, unusually fast and strong, as if it had eyes. Ordinary arrows do not fly straight. They are bound to draw a slight curve. But that one flew straight at him, like a guided missile—an arrow loosed with wind magic. His body reacted before his head. He twisted and dodged the shaft coming for his skull, and felt a faint stir of wind across his skin. Perhaps the arrow had simply been so strong that he felt the wind of its passing. He did not think so. It was only a sensation, yet wind seemed to have risen from the surface of his own skin. The arrow's path shifted by a hair. It grazed his forehead and was gone.
Another came at once. This time the wind on his skin was unmistakable. The arrow aimed between his eyes, but it skimmed his ear by a breath. So he could use wind magic as well. For now it was only the faintest stir of air. The one who had aimed at him with wind magic seemed to be the bandits' leader. Perhaps because he used a bow, that one alone stayed far back.
Juhwan gathered mana in his hand. If the man sent arrows on the wind, Juhwan had fire. Though maybe I have wind now, too. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Fire for wind. He drew the torch back the way one cocks a baseball and swung it hard forward. A huge flame burst from the torch, and fire laden with mana flew through the air. It felt exactly like watching a fight in a comic. The fire he had thrown flew straight to the enemy leader and struck. Man and horse burned together in one heap.
"Stop! We're pulling back! They've got a high mage! Fall back! Fall back!"
Someone among the bandits shouted. But they did not flee. All at once they began shooting at their own fallen comrades, and then, as one, they turned their horses and retreated. In the gray light Juhwan caught sight of a few horses that looked as if they belonged to officers. They seemed extremely well trained. Even at the sight of fire they hardly startled, and they obeyed their riders. The muscle on their legs and bodies looked far better than any horse he had seen so far. The bandits vanished into the distance in an instant.
Not ordinary bandits. The merchant train did not seem to have horses that fine, either. In a medieval world a horse was expensive. Neither in the Goblin Village nor among the adventurers had he seen animals like these. They might be mercenaries. But if they were, they would not have shot their own men dead. They said this country is at war. Enemy soldiers disguised as bandits? Either way, the crisis had passed. There might still be stragglers. He stood where he was for a moment, watching the place where they had disappeared, while groans and screams rose from every side.
Once he had confirmed that Lizzie and Dorothy were safe, he began treating the wounded nearby, starting with those closest at hand. Hurry. A moment ago he had only seen his family's faces from outside the wagon. He wanted to finish quickly, go back, and hold the two of them tight—to let them feel his warmth and know they were safe. His hands, sending healing mana into the wounded, moved faster.
"It's a dragon's fire!"
Dorothy's eyes went round at the huge fire her father was making. The great blaze bursting from the torch in his hand looked like flame pouring from a dragon's mouth.
"Amazing."
A little torch became an enormous fire and shot out in every direction. It was as if Dad's hand had turned to flame and was eating the air.
"Mom! Dad turned into a dragon! It's incredible! Our dad is incredible!"
The bad men had all run away. Dad had driven every one of them off. Dorothy looked up at Mama Lizzie's face.
"Mom, Dad is so, so strong! I told you. Our dad is the strongest."
But Mama Lizzie still seemed anxious. She held Dorothy tight and watched Dad through the hole in the driver's seat. The hole was small, so his figure appeared and vanished by turns. After a little while he came close and looked in at Mom and Dorothy over the seat. The bad men had all fled, but Dad did not come into the wagon. He asked if they were all right, then went off somewhere again. He said he would be back soon, but the moment he was gone she suddenly felt uneasy.
She heard people moving. Everyone seemed busy—groans, the clatter and bang of things being shifted. Sounds heard from inside the wagon felt, somehow, more frightening. Dorothy spun around and hugged Mama Lizzie hard. It was not because Dorothy was scared. She was hugging her because Mom might be scared.
Really, Oz.
She said it in her heart to Oz on top of her head, then buried her face against her mother's chest. Mama Lizzie must have been frightened too. She held Dorothy tight. They stayed like that for a long while. Then, suddenly, something rattled outside the wagon door.
Is Dad here?
She thought so, but something was a little wrong. Whenever Dad came to the wagon, he always called Mom's name. He never tried to open the door just like that. Mama Lizzie set Dorothy down and moved her behind her back, then picked up the spear lying in the corner—the sharp-tipped bamboo they had brought from the house in the mountains.
"Dorothy, from now on you shout as loud as you can. All right? So Dad can hear…."
Mom aimed the spear at the door and spoke in a trembling voice, then suddenly collapsed to the floor.
"Huh? Mom!"
Dorothy lurched up in fright—and a sting bit into her neck.