Lord of Fire: #1 The Fire Chronicles

by Susi Wright

  Shaken, but relieved it was not a wild animal, Fralii got to her feet, brushing the dried leaves from her clothes and gathering up the kindling she had dropped. Peering out into the forest, she could see no sign of the stranger. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. As she made her way back to camp, she had an odd compulsion not to tell of what had happened. After all, she was not hurt, convincing herself it would cause her father undue worry. All her life, it seemed, Chadren had been obsessively overanxious about robbers and mysterious, terrible things in the forest. Something strange had happened the night he lost Zula, of which he never spoke.

  While preparing and cooking the evening meal, Fralii’s thoughts constantly strayed back to the accident, wondering if the young man had been out hunting, or even running from someone, or something. Notably, he was very strange in appearance, particularly the eyes. In all her travels, she had never seen the like, and looking so frightened and guilty, he said nothing, then ran off, disappearing so quickly.

  As she was trying with great difficulty to fall asleep that night, her mind’s eye returned time and again to the young man. He did not seem to mean her harm. His luminous green eyes were so brilliant from excitement, they actually seemed to glow in the shadows of the forest, imploring her to silence, to secrecy. Perhaps he should not have been there. She wondered why.

  The image remained, as she drifted off, of those beautiful bright green eyes, the long white-blonde hair, tousled from the wind, and the unfamiliar clothing, with a cloak that seemed to float weightlessly around his wide shoulders, crouching, staring at her, mysterious, quiet, and still.

  Very odd though, she did not then feel afraid, even there alone in the forest—only fascinated.

  Chapter Seven

  When they arrived at the ornate iron gates of Splendo towards evening (as they had countless times before, yet these were no less welcoming this summer, with the hot orange sun nestling into the soft purple mist of the nearby hills), Chadren’s group trundled tiredly through the portals of their destination. Nothing had changed, except Fralii was now astride her proud black samblar as had become her habit, since satisfactorily proving her riding skills to her father. Zaf and Simban drove one heavily laden wagon, Chadren the other, into the benevolent shade of the city walls, eager to make their way to Runo’s establishment to ensconce their valuable cargo safely in the warehouse, and settle into their accommodations for some well-earned relaxation.

  The jovial Runo met them as expected on that familiar street, greeting them happily, ‘Welcome, my dear family and friends!’ He opened wide the warehouse doors to allow them entry. ‘And, Fralii, how grown-up you are, aboard your samblar now, I see!’ he chortled, as she rode her mount to the stables to dismount and give her grandfather a hug. ‘Yes, Grandfather! Is he not beautiful?’ She tied Spirit up and patted the sleek neck. ‘And very fast!’ she added with a cheeky grin, lowering her voice conspiratorially, ‘I gallop him all the time!’

  Runo patted her head affectionately, as he had since she was a small child. ‘You are your mother’s daughter—that is certain!’ He stated with a wry smile to Chadren, ‘She was a young hellion! Gave me no end of trouble!’ Chadren, amused, nodded and rolled his eyes in agreement, about mother and daughter. He remembered fondly how Zula had challenged him and put him in his place many times.

  ‘Come, Fralii, with me. You can freshen up before dinner,’ he said as he led the way to the house, leaving the men to finish their work for the day. Simban took Spirit’s reins, setting about untacking, brushing, and stabling his charge, while Zaf and Chadren unhitched the wagons, doing likewise with the other samblars. Chadren bid goodnight to his two men, who would feed and water the animals before finding their city lodgings for the night. Simban was initially heading to visit his mother and brother; Zaf made directly for the tavern, looking forward to washing the dust from his mouth with his first ale in many weeks.

  Chadren joined Runo and Fralii, already seated and chatting in the dining room of the villa. Runo looked up, addressing his son-in-law affectionately, ‘Come, Chad, it is time to eat. Be seated next to me.’ Chadren gratefully did as directed. ‘Thank you, Runo, it is always wonderful to be here. Safe and sound!’

  A few moments later, Sala presented the meal. They had all met Simban’s mother on previous visits, a slight austere woman, her long, greying hair pulled into a bun, her weathered brown skin telling of the long hard years outdoors, herding samblars. Sala’s expression these days was one of contentment. Runo’s offer of employment had come at a crucial time, for which she was very grateful. She had her own quarters, which she shared with her son, Deven, a small annexe adjoining the villa. They had never known such comfort and safety. She had proven to be an excellent cook and very efficient at household duties. Runo was also well pleased with the boy, who now helped the head labourer in the warehouse.

  The meal was delicious, consisting of roasted plains-partridge and a range of vegetables basted in local honey, followed by fresh pekunis berry pie and thick labis cream. Their hunger satisfied with the home-cooked delicacies, the family retired to the sitting room to catch up on more news, while Sala cleared the table and finished her duties for the night.

  After a few rounds of cards, played at Fralii’s request, they all admitted to being quite tired, retiring quite early to sleep. Chadren and Fralii were to rise before dawn for a long day of business at the marketplace without Zaf and Simban, who had been given the day off.

  An impressive breakfast greeted them before daybreak. Sala must have risen at least two hours earlier, and had prepared freshly baked bread, honey, and fresh fruits, fermented labis milk and herbal tea. Runo, at this early hour, as was his habit, would still be abed for a couple more hours—well deserved at his age, Chadren thought.

  Finished breaking their fast, Chadren and Fralii started walking down to the marketplace. They chatted on the way, Chadren commenting, ‘I can see Runo is very well looked after, these days. I am happy for him!’

  ‘Yes, Father, it has worked well for everyone. He has company and help, Sala and Deven have a home, and Simban is a great help to us on the road. What more could we all want?’ Fralii agreed, and they continued in companionable silence, enjoying the fresh morning air, while Fralii’s secret thoughts, as they so often did, strayed to the green-eyed stranger in the forest.

  Chadren glanced briefly over at his daughter, remarking to himself how she seemed to have matured in the last year. Of course, she still had that rebellious streak, but it had been tempered by a new-found pride and responsibility, born in part from her graduation to full ownership and management of her samblar, and partly by her inevitable coming of age.

  Their individual reflections came to an abrupt end, when they came upon a noisy scene in the marketplace. A wild-haired old man with tattered clothing was gabbling incoherently to a gathering crowd, most of which did not appear to understand his unfamiliar dialect. He was covered in black smut or dirt, waving his arms and yelling like a lunatic. Curious, Chadren and Fralii pressed closer, but even then it was not clear what this commotion was about, so Chadren asked a man standing to his left, ‘Excuse me, sir, do you make any sense of it?’

  ‘I cannot make much of it… Far Northern dialect, I think, only used by the old people. I heard them speaking it when they told stories in the inns, when I worked in the mines up there years ago. He talks of flames… snakes, I think… doom or destruction…’ The man looked doubtfully at Chadren, suggesting, ‘He is very likely crazy!’

  During their travels, Chadren had seen many odd characters and heard many tall tales, much of which were exaggeration and superstition, so a ragged old lunatic gabbling about wild animals or even monsters was not such a surprising sight. Their acquaintance, apparently also losing interest, joined them as they turned to leave, commenting, ‘He is not making sense, to anyone. Looks like everyone is leaving… I have business to attend. Good day to you, good people.’ With that, he walked off into the market, leaving Chadren and Fralii to d
o the same.

  ‘What do you think, Father?’ Fralii asked, somewhat disturbed by the old man’s rantings. Chadren advised her not to take it too seriously; they had much to do before midday, and they had better get started.

  During the morning, they had heard several conversations in passing, where the topic had been the old man they had seen earlier. The many and various comments showed a great deal of difference of opinion amongst the townspeople, notably ‘Lunatic!’, ‘Have you heard of such a creature?’, ‘He’s been taken to the watch-house for disturbing the peace!’, and a darkly conclusive ‘We are all doomed! Mark my words!’ Not a single person seemed to be able to throw any real light on the occurrence, and it all appeared to be nothing more than conjecture.

  So pressing on, Chadren completed his trade orders and collected some fresh produce for Sala, and the two returned to Runo’s villa before midday, as the heat of the day was building to oppressive summer heights and was proving quite draining. Anticipation of a refreshing cool drink foremost in their minds, such a luxury after the dusty deprivation of travelling, they mounted the marble steps into the forecourt, where Runo met and ushered them into his shady garden haven, where it was their custom to spend the humid afternoon hours in pleasant companionship, juice and sweetmeats laid out in readiness.

  Chapter Eight

  Another delicious dinner, surpassing even that of the previous evening, was consumed with relish, every mouthful a delight compared to the hard biscuits and jerky, the spartan but necessary staples on the road. The conversation that followed was quite mundane until, towards the end of the evening, Fralii recounted the incident in the market square, asking Runo what he thought of it. His expression, momentarily surprised, was quickly schooled to neutral as he answered, ‘My dear Fralii, there are many crazy folk in this world, unfortunates, mostly… life can be hard… drives some to madness! Don’t worry, there is a place in the city that takes them in and gives them shelter.’ He smiled reassuringly.

  Seeming satisfied with her grandfather’s wisdom, Fralii bid the men goodnight and retired to her room upstairs. But Chadren, with a sneaking suspicion that Runo knew more than he had said to Fralii, as soon as they heard her door close, quizzed the older man, ‘So… do you know more about this? Has something else happened?’

  Runo hesitated. ‘Well… two days ago, a woman with a babe came into the city pleading sanctuary… everyone was talking… many thought she had invented the far-fetched story about her village being burned, her husband killed, and a fire-breathing monster, for sympathy… possibly just another woman abandoned by a man, just hoping someone would take her and the child in. I heard another report, just yesterday, of a badly burned man riding through the gates at a full gallop, but he fell from his mount and died before anyone could question him. There have been other whisperings of dangerous times ahead. It could be scaremongering… but to me, these stories are starting to add up. All these unfortunate people have apparently come from one or other of the far Northern mountain villages.’

  Chadren agreed the stories seemed too similar to be mere coincidence. Something must have really happened in those remote mountains, perhaps marauders in some kind of disguise. It was not unheard of. Tribal raiders often dressed in skins of animals to frighten their victims, and inevitably torched the villages. Runo was thoughtfully hesitant, then seemed to make the decision to mention a legend that had just come to mind during the afternoon, which his grandmother used to tell when he was a small boy. ‘She used to tell the story of how our family originally came to Baram. Our people lived in the far mountains over the border beyond Chuli, many generations ago, driven from their land by the Fire Spirit, an indestructible creature which, according to legend, had five heads. But that was hundreds of years ago. We always thought the story just that, superstition. Nothing like that was ever told to me, by anyone else in all my travels!’

  ‘I think it wise not to alarm Fralii, eh?’ was all Chadren said. Then after a few moments of pensive silence, he resolved to make further enquiries around the city in the next few days, to see if he could find a credible explanation.

  Both men retired for the night, the question that there could even be such a creature hanging heavy and unanswered.

  Chapter Nine

  During the next few days, while they remained in Splendo, waiting for the ironsmiths to complete a large order of arrowheads, Chadren and Zaf found themselves free to make enquiries about the mystery without causing Fralii undue alarm, since she and Simban spent most mornings riding in the hills. So far, both men had heard much supposition and empty gossip about the three unfortunate individuals who had recently arrived in the city with tales of terror, but nothing more.

  Chadren approached one of the dried-produce stalls he often visited; a huge array of baskets full of different meat-jerky, colourful dried vegetables, fruit, and beans was on display. The wrinkled old lady heaved herself up from her seat, a large hessian sack of beans, greeting Chadren in anticipation of a sale. ‘Good day, good Chadren, I know you… I give good price… like last time?’

  ‘Well, that is the reason I come back, quality for a fair price… I will buy everything I need here… if I get a good deal!’ Chadren knew he had to bargain every time with this shrewd old lady, but once the protocols were over, he was able to proceed with his selection while the trader scribbled the required quantities of various commodities, on a smooth flat slate with a chunk of lime-chalk. Her young helper would ready the sacks for collection the following evening, when the wagons were brought for loading.

  ‘Tell me, good lady, you have heard the talk. Do you know if there is truth in it?’

  ‘I do not know the truth of this… but I tell only you, because I know you trade in the Northern Mountains… my father saw the bones of a flame adder when he travelled through the Chuli mountains fifty years ago. He said the skeleton stretched the entire length of the gorge through which he passed. He told no one but our family, the bones were very old. I do not know if these creatures still live now, but I say, beware in your travels, Chadren!’ She made the sign of the Ancestors over him for protection.

  Chadren paid and thanked the woman, busying himself with further purchases for the remainder of the morning, but unavoidably feeling more than a little anxious about their upcoming journey north.

  The next morning, the men driving the fully laden wagons and Fralii riding her samblar, the caravan embarked on the last trading journey before winter, which normally lasted a few weeks. Chadren had taken his men aside and briefed them to be even more vigilant, particularly as they travelled further north. By conducting some very profitable trade in towns and villages on the way, they expected to be able to buy a large quantity of valuable gems before the cold weather closed in. The villagers would need furs, dried foods, and the hunters, arrowheads to provide game through the winter months. The cold season in northern Baram, although quite short in duration, lasting three months, was extremely cold and bleak, and villagers relied on this last delivery of supplies from Chadren’s caravan, as no other traders would venture there after them, this year.

  The journey north customarily took anywhere from one week to three to reach the Northern Mountains, doing some trade on the way. This time it took them ten days of relatively uneventful travelling.

  In the early afternoon, they arrived in Chuli village, high in the foothills of a mountain by the same name, under a blanket of fine mist, and after a gruelling upward climb on the steep, narrow road, which they had taken since first light. It had been drizzling rain since daybreak, and the travellers were wet through and cold, but glad in the knowledge that this night they would be sleeping on a comfortable feather mattress, in the cosy warmth of the small boarding house here.

  The housekeeper stepped outside the front door to greet them. ‘We have been expecting you, Chadren. Thank the Ancestors you had a safe journey!’ She hurried along the street, her shawl pulled around her head against the biting wind, opening the barn door for the group to drive in
. Once inside, they unhitched and stabled the samblars, before making their way to the welcoming hearth of the inn, where a roaring log-fire was burning in one corner. Long, hewn benches running the length of each side of a massive dining table, set up for patrons to dine, dominated the common room. Simple floor cushions strewn around low tables in front of the fire provided more relaxing seating, where various folk were having beverages. The guest house only had four rooms, as visitors to these far reaches were scarce, and these were all available, so each member of the group could have their own room. And this was welcome comfort since the previous three days had been arduous. The roads had been rocky and slow for the most part, then that morning they had to dig out one of the wagons from deep mud, caused by a deluge the night before. They all spent the remainder of the afternoon at the inn resting, as they well deserved.

  The guesthouse was always very popular for evening meals, particularly on chilly evenings, the cook’s excellent and hearty lapin stew, famous and much appreciated by the villagers and miners, who had been labouring hard all day. Good ale and warm mulled wine completed the comforts offered. The common room began filling with eager patrons as soon as the sun went down.

  Chadren, Fralii, and the men came downstairs to a surprisingly full house, though they had heard the building noise of conversation for the last hour, from their rooms. Luckily, the innkeeper expected these numbers, and had prepared enormous pots of stew during the day. Her young daughter helped to serve up the steaming dishes each with large trencher of fresh bread, and soon everyone was tucking in with relish, talking companionably between mouthfuls of delicious lapin stew and vegetables.