The Flame Iris Temple

by Colin Glassey

  “Child says horse soldiers rounding up animals from family farm less than a tik north. At least five cavalrymen. Boy ran from house to seek help from soldiers in Molimonik.”

  “Do you know the farm the child talks of?” Sir Ako asked the older boy. He nodded vigorously in response.

  Hikki spoke up, sounding a note of caution. “Dombovar cavalry are well trained. We can expect them to have scouts and to know how to find their companions.” His statement, delivered with calm authority, sobered them all. Judging from Hikki’s manner of speech, Sandun guessed the squire was from a wealthy family.

  “Right, then.” Sir Ako gave his orders: “We hit this group hard, then pull back into the forest. If any surrender, we can leave prisoners with the garrison at Molimonik.”

  They approached the farm with caution. One enemy horseman was in the middle of the field, gazing intently all around. Sounds of shouting and squeals from a pig told Sandun that the despoiling of the farm was still in progress.

  Sir Ako gestured at Farrel, who dismounted and loosed his bow with his usual unerring aim. The guard let out a strangled cry as Farrel’s arrow struck him in his chest. The knights broke from the cover of the trees and rode toward the farm at a fast trot. A previously hidden scout blew a horn; the sound came from the edge of the woods. In response, Sir Ako formed his squad into two lines with the archers in the second rank.

  The Knights of Serica burst into a muddy courtyard to find chickens tied to saddles, a hairy sow with a rope around its neck backed into a corner of its sty, a farmer and his wife and children on their knees beside an open door to a solidly built house. The Dombovar cavalrymen were racing for their horses and readying their bows when the knights arrived.

  As usual, the Kelten archers dismounted and sought targets while Ako, Padan, Wiyat, and Lathe attacked. It was a short affray; once two men were slain, the other six Dombovar cavalrymen surrendered. Their commander refused to put down his sword, but Damar expertly threw a lariat around his shoulders and jerked him off his feet to land face first onto a sack of grain they had been about to steal.

  The officer struggled to his knees and said, “You may have us now, but the boot will soon move to the other foot. The regiment will find you, and there are fifty of us for each one of you!” The young Dombovar officer was bleeding from his nose, but he spoke with confidence. Sandun thought he was bluffing; he doubted there were than a hundred cavalry within twenty miles of their location. No commander would send hundreds out just to raid for food.

  “Padan, you and your squire take these prisoners back to the town. We will meet you on the north road,” Sir Ako commanded. Then he spoke in Kelten: “We will circle around northward, bring reinforcements that way.”

  Sir Ako led the rest of them over the rickety wooden fence on the east side of the farm, and then he angled toward the trees where the sound of the horn had come from. Whoever had sounded the alarm had not joined in the fighting. Scared, or perhaps summoning the main body? Sandun thought a good scout would stay hidden while observing the Keltens, who were down to eight, as well as the farm boy who rejoined them, carrying a spear in two hands. It had the flag of Dombovar on it: six metal ingots stacked in a triangle.

  They didn’t get far into the forest before they heard many horses coming toward them: more than ten, perhaps more than twenty. Sir Ako ordered the men to dismount, and they began shooting as soon as they could. No warning, no hesitation. The Kelten archers picked off five or six Dombovar cavalrymen before the horsemen closed to melee range.

  Sandun hung back with the other archers, but the forest was not ideal for shooting. Clear shots were hard to come by with men and horses running around in between trees. The Dombovar cavalry had their own archers, who were soon firing arrows while other soldiers attacked the knights with spears and long-handled maces.

  The battle was becoming more desperate, and horns kept blowing from the Dombovar side, apparently summoning additional forces to the fight. Suddenly, Sandun saw that Filpa was down; a Dombovar warrior aimed a killing blow with his long-hafted hammer at the prone squire. Despite his previous intention to not use his power, Sandun instantly made the decision to save Filpa. In his mind, he drew a line in the air between the Dombovar warrior and the sky. A flash of light was accompanied by a terribly loud crack of thunder, and the man from Dombovar toppled to the ground, dead.

  For several seconds, all the combatants ceased fighting and looked about, searching for an explanation for this bizarre event. Sandun, being the only person who was not surprised, took the opportunity to fire an arrow at a now-exposed Dombovar soldier. His target grunted in dismay after the arrow struck his shoulder; he looked at Sandun through the trees, and cursed him. With no apparent explanation for the lightning but no repetition of it either, the battle resumed.

  The lightning strike had a curious effect, though: it reduced the intensity of the fighting. The soldiers on both sides kept glancing up at the sky, and all were warier. The mad fury of the battle evaporated as the combatants began thinking again. A few minutes later, different horn calls echoed between the trees. Sandun hoped for soldiers from the city—the horns were not the same as those used by the Dombovar cavalry. Sure enough, Sandun’s hopes were rewarded as spearmen with Red Crane flags appeared from the southwest.

  Sandun kept a careful eye on the new arrivals; he felt it was all too likely that men from the garrison at Molimonik would mistake the Keltens for Dombovar soldiers. However, the arrival of new forces put an end to the affray. The Dombovar commander called for a retreat, for he was leading a food-gathering raid, not attempting to capture a city. Swiftly and in good order, the Dombovar warriors pulled back, their archers providing cover for the retreat by shooting at overly aggressive pursuers.

  The soldiers of Molimonik, more than one hundred strong, formed a rough line and continued their advance, taking a few of the wounded enemy prisoner. Behind them, Padan and Hikki rode up.

  “We thought you’d reach the north road,” Padan explained to Ako. “There were a few raiders up there, but they turned away and headed east. I can see you ran into the main body all on your own.”

  “They reacted fast, concentrating on the sound of fighting.” Ako got his words out between deep breaths. “Your squire did not overpraise Dombovar’s cavalry. I’ll not treat them so lightly in the future.”

  Filpa could barely walk; he had been felled by a heavy hammer blow that struck his left leg just below his knee. Blood ran down his lower leg, but he limped back to his horse, waving off Sandun’s aid…until he collapsed and lay on a pile of leaves while Sandun undid the leather straps that held Filpa’s armor in place and then wrapped his injury with a bandage Sume handed him.

  Filpa took off his helmet and rubbed his ears. “Such a noise. By Eston’s…I mean, by…Sho’Ash…what happened?”

  “It looked like lightning,” Farrel said. “Most unnatural. Whoever heard of lightning in a forest? I don’t see any clouds up above either.”

  “Sho’Ash is looking out for you, Squire Filpa,” Sir Ako announced. “Which is fortunate, because the Kelten armor you wear does not protect you from stupid decisions! You are too aggressive. As a squire, your job is to stay at my back, not to charge off and engage enemies twice your weight. Let this be a lesson.”

  Filpa looked abashed. Sandun sympathized but also knew Sir Ako’s words were true. At times, he himself had felt the blunt end of Ako’s fighting critiques.

  As they rode slowly back to Molimonik, Sandun heard Damar talking to Sume: “You missed a shot back there.”

  “I did,” the woman replied. “I hate shooting in trees. Battles are to be fought on open ground.”

  “Sometimes we have no choice about where we fight,” Damar replied.

  When they reached the east gate of Molimonik, the sun was already behind the walls, sinking fast toward the horizon. The days were getting shorter rapidly as the winter solstice drew
near. Sandun said he had to go, and he wished them well on the rest of their bandit-hunting expedition.

  Sir Ako walked with Sandun away from the others. “Something very unusual happened back there in the fight,” Ako said quietly. “And you were the only person not surprised by it. A lot of rumors came to us in the days following Nilin’s death and Kagne’s disappearance from the camp. Wild stories of a god laying waste to the Sogands with lightning from the sky. A man might think there was a connection between those stories and what happened during this small battle.”

  “Yes, a man might rightfully question.” Sandun looked down at the ground and didn’t meet Ako’s gaze. “We will talk more when you return to Tokolas.” Sandun switched topics. “I saw that you were using a different sword. What happened to your fine blade? Your gift from the queen?”

  Old pain crossed Ako’s face, but he quickly mastered himself and said simply, “It was broken while I fought in the palace of Kemeklos.”

  Sandun hesitated for just a second, and then he undid his sword belt and handed his Piksie sword to Ako. “Take Skathris, Sir Ako. I don’t think I’ll be using it much in the future.”

  The big knight stood there, weighing the short sword in his hand. He looked up at Sandun searchingly. Sandun nodded back, a half smile on his face.

  “You opened my eyes when you fought in Olitik,” Sir Ako said. “It took me some time, but I began think about how I could fight differently with a sword like yours. Too late, I thought. And now, you offer it to me.” He took a deep breath and said firmly, “I accept. I will take Skathris and use it against our enemies. I’ll try not to break it.”

  Sandun smiled and clasped the knight’s free hand tightly with his own hands. “I’ll tell you one more thing before I go. The angel, she held it, before she gave it back to me. It’s a holy sword now.”

  “Sandun! Don’t talk like that!” Sir Ako’s eyes went wide, and he tried to pull his hand away, but Sandun tightened his grip.

  “I won’t say it again,” Sandun whispered, “but it’s the truth.”

  Waving a farewell to the Knights of Serica, Sandun turned down the road and to the dock and to the ship waiting to take him back to Tokolas.

  Chapter Four

  Return

  Sandun walked into Tokolas feeling like a stranger. Everything looked exactly as it had before, and yet he felt a profound confusion. The world had changed. He had changed. Somehow, he expected people to notice him, notice his difference. But at the same time, he didn’t want to be noticed; he wore his hat low for a reason.

  The harbor official who met him at the dock offered him a horse to ride. Sandun looked at the busy street that led from the docks to the massive waterside gate, and he turned down the proffered horse. As he walked up the road, at least a dozen ragged pull-cart men offered him rides uphill; he turned them down as well. He hoped to stretch his legs and somehow find his way back to this vast metropolis that he had left more than two months ago.

  He was nervous. It was true, absurd, and yet undeniable. His wife was waiting for him at the embassy. What would he say to her? He didn’t know. For two solid days, he had thought about what he would tell her. His story was like the ravings of a lunatic, a madman. But it was true, it was all true. His world had been upended, and by extension that meant that for everyone he knew, their world would be turned over as well.

  Without his armor and with his hat low, he was no one special. Just one of the thousands of daily arrivals to this, one of the largest cities in Serica. He no longer even had his magic sword; he was the Fire Sword no longer. Who was he now? Sandun, the champion of Ajh. He chuckled. A title that meant nothing to anyone, and yet it meant the world.

  He was recognized at the gate. The captain on duty spotted him and drew him aside. The captain looked familiar; doubtless he had been on the Northern Expedition to Kemeklos. With apologetic words, he insisted that Sandun go see Lord Vaina without delay. Sandun made excuses: he was not dressed properly, he needed to clean up, he needed to visit the embassy first. All these and more were politely but firmly dismissed. Finally, the captain came close and whispered in Sandun’s ear.

  “Fire Sword, I cannot force you, but I beg you. His lordship sent the strictest instructions that you were to see him at once. I will suffer, my men will suffer, if you do not allow us to take you to the palace. Please, go to him, for all our sakes.”

  Sandun couldn’t help but be swayed by the man’s plea, so he consented. He had to talk to Lord Vaina sometime. His wife, Basil, Valo Peli—they would have to wait. He insisted on walking the rest of way and so, with two guards ahead and two behind and a sergeant leading the group, he passed through the crowd of pedestrians, shoppers, soldiers, merchants, and thousands of other people to the West Gate of the palace. At the entrance to the palace, he left his pack and his two quiescent Piksie weapons behind. Really, the only thing he wore, other than his clothes, was the dragon circle around his neck. It was awake and ready, though he didn’t think he would need it in the coming conversation.

  The palace guards escorted Sandun to the usual alcove where he was wont to meet with Lord Vaina privately. Best-quality tea was served by a maid, a young lady Sandun had never seen before.

  After a quarter of an hour, Lord Vaina appeared. He rushed in with what looked like his usual speed, but Sandun could see the signs of strain and the dark circles under Lord Vaina’s eyes. He looked like he had lost weight, and the merry twinkle in his eyes had vanished.

  This was it, the moment Sandun had been thinking about for a week. He got down on his knees and bowed. “My Lord Vaina.”

  “Sandun! This is a happy day! I am so glad you have returned to us, to me. Your friends were confident you would survive, but I thought their assurances were little more than dreams founded on wishful thinking.” Lord Vaina took Sandun’s hand and raised him up; they both sat on chairs and sipped the tea.

  “You have been ill, my lord. I hope you are recovering?” Sandun inquired.

  “Yes, and I’m feeling even better now that you have come back, from…where?”

  Sandun tried to prepare the ground for his story. He listed several caveats and indicated he had been struck on the head, but Lord Vaina was having none of it and insisted, “Just tell me what happened.”

  Sandun could not lie to Lord Vaina. But he didn’t have to tell the entire story. Carefully eliding Ell’s role and substituting the Serice word adesari for angel, Sandun told Lord Vaina that he had been rescued from the middle of Nilin Ulim’s camp by an adesari and given a new mission: to help Lord Vaina become ruler of Serica. It was not an easy conversation for either of them. After a quarter of an hour, Lord Vaina summarized Sandun’s tale.

  “You are telling me that after you killed Nilin Ulim, an adesari spirited you out from the middle of five thousand warriors and then gave you a divine order to make me king of Serica?” Lord Vaina was incredulous. “Have you gone mad, Sandun? Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”

  Sandun sat back in his chair and scratched his chin. He had shaved on the boat, and now he felt exposed, yet that was the way his face had been nearly all his life. Perhaps he should grow a beard; he was different now. He could tell that Lord Vaina already half believed him, despite his words to contrary. “And yet, it is true,” Sandun said with quiet certainty.

  Lord Vaina looked thoughtfully at Sandun, and the silence lasted for a minute. Sandun waited without speaking as he watched the secret colors of Lord Vaina’s soul while they flickered and shifted. Finally, Lord Vaina broke the silence.

  “After the krasuth and your friend Kagne disappeared, Nilin’s horde broke apart. We learned this after the fact because my army headed south as soon as we could. Our Red Sword allies captured two men who had been in Nilin’s camp the day he died, and they were brought to me in Jupelos. Their stories were…unbelievable. Hundreds of Kitran struck dead by lighting from the Mavana? It made no sense, yet N
ilin was dead and his army scattered. Something had happened. Number Eight’s conclusion was that assassins dispatched from Daka had killed Nilin, and the crazy story was just a smoke screen.” Lord Vaina paused and poured himself more tea. He continued: “As time passed, some Red Swords have become convinced that the Mavana struck down Nilin. They think of it as a delayed revenge for the death of the Red Prophet. But the failure of the Mavana to appear anywhere else made that story even less believable than the stories my people tell of seeing ghosts of the drowned walking on the surface of the Mur. All that aside, what you say is very hard to accept. You say yours was the hand that ended Nilin’s worthless life and that an actual straight-out-of-legend adesari arrived and killed many Kitran to help you escape?”

  “Yes, and after that, I was ordered by the adesari to aid you.”

  While Lord Vaina mulled over Sandun’s words and the implications, Sandun fell silent. He tried to remain impassive, but what he’d just said wasn’t exactly the truth. Ajh hadn’t said, “Make Jori Vaina the next king of Serica.” Instead, she had given him a somewhat different command. Sandun was the one who decided to return to Tokolas and pledge his power to Lord Vaina. His choice, his decision. He could have gone elsewhere to the Court of the Iron King, or to Shila, or to Rakeved, or even to Lakava and supported Two-Swords Tuno. Because what Ajh had ordered was the unification of Serica under one ruler, with two important limitations: not a Kitran and not a Kelten.

  Not that there had been much doubt in his mind, and he was certain Ajh both knew and approved of his choice. Sandun had considered helping the Iron King for less than ten seconds before dismissing the idea as ludicrous. He wanted Lord Vaina to become the king. He had been working to that end since the day he agreed to help Lord Vaina defend Tokolas against the Vasvar fleet, even though he didn’t know it at the time.