“You can still surender,” Jon yelled from the darkness, at the group of soldiers that had slowly gathered into a circle to defend the noble on horseback. “You can still go home with your lives if that’s what you want.” 

“Why would ten men surrender to one?” Lord Burton answered, using his gift again in the most frivolous way possible to amplify his voice rather than simply yelling. To think that that was the skill he had practiced with his talent. It was laughable. Jon could feel the fire in a torch well enough to track a man a hundred feet away, he was sure that an airblood could use a similar trick to track a man breathing in the dark. Learning a trick like that would have required discipline though, and the Burtons would never eclipse the Shaws in that regard.

“Because your ten men are down to seven now. Count them yourself,” Jon shouted behind his tree. He was glad he kept his response short, because two arrows were loosed in his direction. One went wide to his left, and the other struck a tree trunk somewhere off to his right, so while they might be wild shots, it wasn’t impossible that they’d get lucky if Jon gave them enough chances. 

That suited him fine. His conscience was clear. He’d given these men every chance to avoid what was going to happen next. He leaned against the tree and reached out with his magic to locate the jug of oil he’d left out earlier, finding it about where he expected. It wasn’t too far from where the men stood, and while it might not be a fire shard, it still had an immense amount of energy stirring inside of it. To him it was a beacon in the darkness of the cold field, and was barely contained in the thin layer of earth and water that kept it a viscous liquid, rather than a raging inferno. Jon broke that barrier though, pulling the fire from the vapors rising from the open jug until they spontaneously lit into a veritable fountain of liquid fire that rippled and coruscated like a living, elemental creature rather than a bonfire. The bright flash illuminated the orchard for a moment, turning the darkness into dawn, and gave Jon an excellent view of the fear and confusion on his enemies faces.

That was just the opening act though. Making it explode would be the easiest thing in the world, but that would have been sloppy and set much of his orchard on fire. He wanted to do something that was complicated, but more impressive. He wanted to make sure that when he sent Lord Burton home with his tail between his legs he told a tale that was terrifying enough to send a real army to bring his supposed uprising to heel. Instead of an explosion, he channeled the fire with precision, making the fountain stretch skyward before it started to stretch and deform, acting more like a snake or a water dragon than any natural fire ever would. Its tail remained in the jar, slowly burning away its fuel, but second by second, the fire extended. It wound through the trees in a sinuous fashion almost as fast as a man could run as it glided to the first soldier. 

The defensive circle held for longer than Jon would have thought as the men watched his fiery magic in disbelief. They must have believed that it was an illusion or been utterly petrified by fear, because no one did anything but brace their shields until the serpent coiled around the closest soldier and he started to scream. The scream’s didn’t last long. As soon as he was fully engulfed in fire they choked off in a strangled gasp. After that everyone ran in different directions, with no thought for anything but saving their own skin. Well - almost everyone. Lord Burton’s horse spooked and bolted faster than anyone else, but only after it had reared up and bucked the noble off. He landed on his back in the grass, completely alone as his men abandoned him. 

They wouldn’t get far anyway. Jon wasn’t worried about the former Warden just now. Instead he focused on the remaining soldiers, sending his fire chasing them in a slowly widening spiral while they ran for their lives. He might have been able to catch a few more if he wanted to, but that wasn’t really the point. The point was to terrify them and spread his story. Jon wanted everyone to know what had happened here tonight, and that anyone who opposed him did it at their own peril. So he made a show of it, letting his serpent loop and spiral, swiping tall grasses here and there while Lord Burton sat on his ass surrounded by flames. Then just as suddenly as Jon’s fury was unleashed, it dissolved in a wisp of smoke and it was gone, leaving them in the dark with nothing but a smoldering corpse, an empty clay jug, and a few small brush fires to show that it had ever happened. 

Jon strode through that darkness, advancing on the former Warden while the man looked around, terrified. That little show had been more exhausting for Jon than all the previous fights of the evening put together, but he tried hard not to show it as he advanced. 

“It… that’s not… you can’t” Lord Burton babbled as he scrambled backwards away from Jon. 

“I can. I did.” Jon smiled wickedly. “I could do it again too. I could burn you and every one of your soldiers alive tonight, just like this poor bastard.” As Jon spoke he nudged the still smoldering corpse of the man he’d burned to death, careful not to look at him. The smell already made him nauseous, and he knew from experience that if he looked at the smoking corpse his tough persona would crack open so wide that even this buffon would notice. Death was a reality he’d learned to accept on the battlefield, but in the aftermath the guilt always resurfaced. 

“Even the warcasters in the emperor’s guard can’t do that,” The Lord babbled in disbelief. “No man gets that much power unless he sells himself to the elves!” He wasn’t wrong. Jon knew that. In the old stories there were tales about men that could do what he did, but he wasn’t aware of a fireblood that was half as strong as he was in generations. It wasn’t a fair comparison though. No one else had had to spend years doing what he did just to survive either. 

“We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you.” As Jon spoke he advanced, and once he reached the sniveling Lord he extended his hand. “I—”

“I surrender,” the Lord blurted out, his eyes wide with fear. Even though Jon’s hand was empty, the noble obviously feared he was going to set him alight or melt his brains or whatever else the evil fire mages did in the fairy stories. Jon suppressed a smile. All he was going to do was yank the bastard to his feet and put the fear in him, but he could see that part was already done. 

“And I accept,” Jon said, yanking the noble to his feet. “I need you alive. To send a message.” 

“Of course,” Lord Burton agreed, “Whatever you need. You just tell me and I’ll—”

“Go to King Marin, in his city by the sea, and tell him that House Shaw will have justice.” Jon commanded coldly, enjoying the way the flabby noble in his grip went pale as he spoke. “In exchange I’m happy to offer him peace or war - he can have whichever he would prefer.”

“Are you mad?” Lord Burton sputtered, “You can’t expect to take a whole army on yourself, no matter what twisted magic you use!” 

“You’re right.” Jon admitted. “Don’t forget to tell him about my army though. Those peasant uprisings all along the southern rim and through the heathlands between Alberand and the lower Mendar? That’s my army - and they might be busy setting wrongs right just now, but it will be where it needs to be before the battle starts.” 

“I haven’t heard of any such uprisings,” the Lord scoffed, “but—”

“Why would you? You’re a lazy backwoods Warden on the edge of nowhere.” Jon mocked the Lord to his face, daring him to show even a hint of the outrage that the former Warden had shown in their previous encounters. “You’ll hear plenty as you make your way back to the capital though.” He’d probably even have company, Jon thought. If everything was going as planned then Lord Burton wouldn’t even be the only noble coming to beg for aid from the crown.

“But he’ll have my head,” Lord Burton sniveled. 

“That’s true,” Jon said, gathering the heat of the stray embers and the smoking corpse, and pulling from them to make the surface of his signet ring red hot. “But that will do almost as well, won’t it?”

Lord Burton nodded in agreement, but wore a confused expression while he did it. He wanted to agree, but he had no idea what he was supposed to agree with. That suited Jon just fine as he used his left hand to grab the older man painfully by the hair, before embedding the glowing ring into the noble's forehead, branding him with the crest of house Shaw in the same way he’d mark a wax seal. 

The former Warden let loose a strangled scream as he tried to pull away, but Jon kept him there for a few seconds more before he let him go. With him went an indelible reminder of who had defeated him. As soon as he finished Jon cooled the ring down. He’d burned himself a little in the process, but it was worth it. Even now Lord Burton struggled and groped, trying to figure out exactly what Jon had done to him, but he’d need a mirror for that. 

“Wha-what did you do to me!?” The noble demanded. 

“I spared your life and made sure that everyone would get my message, even if you tried to weasel your way out of it.” Jon answered simply. “They’ll have to answer for this - the dignity of the empire is at stake here. It’s an affront to the nobility.” 

“But I surrendered…” the older man protested. “You said—”

“The longer you snivel instead of using the good sense the gods gave you to run, the more likely I am to inflict other injuries on you,” Jon cautioned, smiling wickedly. “You know - to make sure they get the message.” 

The Lord certainly got that message, and started to back away slowly. When he was far enough away that he judged it safe he turned around and broke into a run. “You haven’t heard the last of this!” he yelled as he retreated. 

“Don’t forget to tell every post and garrison what I’ve done while you’re on your way to Lloren,” Jon yelled back smiling. That was the first time Lord Burton had actually bothered to yell all night, and Jon was pleased to have so completely unmanned such a fop. He stood there until he could no longer see the Lord running away, and then he started walking back to his home. Tomorrow was going to be the first day in a very long time that he’d slept in, and he was determined to enjoy it. He had a lot to do between now and the day the next train arrived, but not even those concerns could prevent him from basking in the joy of reclaiming his father’s house, scattering his enemies before him, and after so many years finally being able to sleep in his own room again.