Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  Caymus stood also, nodding towards his mentor. “I promise, Master.”

  “Good," said Be'Var, nodding as he looked around the room. "Well, for your penance, this hearth needs rebuilding, as do, I think, another dozen or so around here. Think you can handle that?”

  Caymus sighed, already resigned to his fate. “Yes, Master Be’Var,” he said, and as Be'Var left for the sanctuary, the young disciple went in search of a broom, a pan, and a few bundles of everwood, beginning a project he knew would keep him busy right through the evening meal.

  About an hour before ninth-bell, which would signal the curfew hour for disciples of the Temple of the Conflagration, Caymus stumbled into the dormitory he shared with his two roommates, Rill and Sannet. The two boys were already there, Sannet sitting up in his cot in the corner, reading as usual, and Rill on the top of the bunk bed he and Caymus were meant to share. Caymus had passed on the bunk when they were first getting settled in three years ago, opting instead for a mat on the floor. Mattresses never seemed to be quite big enough for him. Plus, he liked being able to see the night sky out of their third-story window. As he entered, Rill sat up. “Hey Caymus, we missed you at supper. What happened?”

  Caymus pulled his mat from its resting place against the wall, threw it onto the floor, and promptly fell on it. “Penance,” he said, exhaling dramatically. “Be'Var had me rebuild every hearth in the east wing.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried to ignore sudden hunger pangs. “I...made a mistake.”

  “Ah, the old 'send you to bed without any supper' act,” said Rill, his face breaking into a grin.

  Caymus dropped his hands to his sides and looked over at his friend. “Heard of it, have you?”

  Rill's grin grew broader, and he reached behind himself and pulled out a small pouch, which he then lightly tossed in Caymus's direction. “Yes, I have,” he said as Caymus caught it. It smelled like food. “And,” he continued, “have you ever noticed how the groundskeepers keep most of the everwood bundles on the west side of the building while the classrooms are all in the east wing?”

  “I noticed today,” said Caymus as he opened the pouch. It was jerked mutton, no doubt filched from the kitchen this evening, on his behalf. He sat and held the pouch up. “Rill, my friend, you are a lifesaver.” A few pieces of dry meat weren't exactly a filling meal, but they would at least quiet his stomach until morning. Greedily, he ate.

  Rill shifted and sat up, dangling his feet off the side of a bed so old that even his light frame got a few creaks out of it. He was grinning like an idiot, pleased with himself as he was. Even his vivid blue eyes, which perched above a crooked nose, twinkled with delight. “Any time, Caymus. Just try to remember my lifesaving skills next time you notice me conspicuously absent at dinner.”

  Caymus chuckled. “I'll do that.”

  “You're just encouraging him, you know,” remarked Sannet, his face hidden behind a particularly thick tome.

  “To do what?” said Rill.

  Sannet laid the book flat on his lap and turned his spectacled eyes toward Rill, an ironic smile on his face. He held up three fingers and started counting them off, one-by-one. “To break the rules,” he said, “to act recklessly,” he continued.

  “To add to the general confusion!” they all shouted in unison, each boy doing his best to imitate Master Be'Var.

  After the chuckles had died down, Sannet's smile faded and his expression took a more serious turn. “Seriously though, Caymus, I heard you put on quite a show today.” Sannet's meaning was clear. “Mistake, you say?”

  Caymus let his shoulders slump as he answered. “Yes,” he said. “I think that's the kindest term for it.”

  Sannet sat up straight, looking concerned. “I was speaking with Wrentyl at dinner tonight. He said he could hardly breathe at one point.”

  Rill turned to Caymus. “What's this?”

  “He's right,” said Caymus. He didn't really want to say more, but he continued when Rill kept staring at him with those probing eyes of his. “Be'Var decided it was time to test my ability to pull today. It went well, to a point. Then I took it too far.”

  Rill seemed absolutely astonished. “Pulling? Really?”

  “Really,” said Caymus.

  Sannet chimed in. “It's really not that surprising, Rill. Caymus takes his Test of Faith tomorrow. It's not as though it's unusual for the masters to start training disciples in pulling a few days before they enter the Third Circle. I just hope he hasn't spoiled anything for the rest of us. I still think I make Third by the end of the year.” He removed his glasses and squinted at Caymus as he cleaned them on his ink-stained tunic. “So, how was it?”

  Caymus smiled. “It was amazing, Sannet, like nothing you've ever felt before. It's...” he raised his hands, searching for the words, then let them down again. “I can't explain it," he admitted, looking between the two of them. "You'll have to find out for yourselves.”

  Rill sighed. “Yeah, when—if—I ever get past Second Circle.” He flopped back down on the bunk.

  “You worry about that too much, Rill,” said Caymus. “Strong will and lots of practice; Master Eavuk keeps saying anyone can become a master with enough work.”

  Sannet chuckled. “You're one to talk,” he said. “After tonight you'll be stepping into the Conduit for your third trial—what is it, a year-and-a-half before anyone else in the history of this building?”

  “Fifteen months,” Caymus replied in a mock-defensive tone. “And I can't help it if the masters think I'm the greatest thing to walk these halls in a thousand years.” He looked at his friends in turn. “I'm just gifted, that's all.”

  Rill laughed out loud. “Oh, you're asking for it,” he said as Sannet threw a well-aimed pillow at Caymus's face.

  Caymus took a moment to ponder what Sannet had said, his friend's words echoing what Be'Var had told him just a few hours before. Caymus had come to the Temple of the Conflagration in his fifteenth year. Since arriving, he had taken his lessons in stride, learning easily as he passed through the First and Second Circles of discipleship. He'd never given his rapid progress much thought, though. His lessons had always seemed simple. Correct answers, just like the majority of today's exercise, had felt like second-nature.

  Sannet was the complete opposite of him. Whereas Caymus picked things up on an intuitive, emotional level, Sannet studied for hours on end, absorbing the details and nuances of every lesson. Having arrived at the Temple at about the same time, the two had shared many of the same instructors. They were both fine students, but when asked a question, while both would generally arrive at the same answer, Sannet could always explain how he had come to it, with all the boring details, while Caymus would always just shrug his huge shoulders and say that it “felt right.”

  Caymus sometimes wondered if Sannet ever resented him for the fact that he had progressed more rapidly despite having put far less effort into his studies. If so, he'd never shown any sign of it.

  Rill was, well…was Rill. Though Sannet was a good friend, he was a student first, putting the interests of the Temple and of his own education before anything else. Rill, on the other hand, was the kind of friend who came through in a pinch and was always around when you needed him. He wasn't a particularly good student and had barely passed his Test of Spirit, the gateway to the Second Circle, but he was loyal, honest, and was good at judging a situation. If ever Caymus ever found himself in a difficult position and didn't know what to do about it, he could always turn to Rill for a good solution, even if that solution was to simply escape from his problems for a while.

  Suddenly, Caymus’s thoughts were interrupted as the dormitory’s door flew open and all three boys turned to see who was intruding on them. Standing in the doorway was Ramone, a First Circle disciple who had latched onto the trio since arriving about six months ago. He had dark features and a lean frame as well as a usually overly-enthusiastic smile. People liked him as a rule, but he was generally a bit too high-strung for Caymu
s’s taste. At that particular moment he was out of breath, and his clothing and hair were in disarray, as though he'd been running. “Maidens at the doors!” he said.

  All three stood up sharply.

  “What?” said Caymus. “When did they get here?”

  “Showed up about ten minutes ago, three of 'em, plus a couple o' fellers look like they could use a good dose o' civilization if you know what I mean. Missionaries from Flamehearth in Kepren, they said. Said they're here to get supplies for their mission and drop off the two fellers.”

  They all stood there for a few seconds. Ramone looked at them incredulously. “Well?” he said. “Come on, ninth-bell's some time off yet, so if we hurry we can go help out and get some time with 'em.”

  Rill was heading for the door. “What are we waiting for, then?” he shouted, laughing as he pushed Ramone out of the way.

  The four made a mad dash down two flights of stairs, through three chambers and several hallways, and then out the sanctuary doors, much to the surprise of Master Ket and the small group of travelers who had been talking just outside the Temple's main doors. The women in the red traveling cloaks must have been the missionaries. The eldest of them, a woman with long, silvered hair and kind eyes who looked to be in her late sixties, had obviously just been speaking to Ket. The other three women were much younger—girls, even—ranging in age somewhere between fifteen and twenty.

  Caymus understood what Ramone had meant about the two men that were with them. Their skins were a deep brown color, their heads were shaved, and they carried unfamiliar markings on their bodies. Their dress was simple: breeches, tunics, and leather moccasins, all loose-fitting and travel-worn. One of them carried a satchel, which contained something large; it was at least the size of a melon and appeared quite heavy, but Caymus couldn't discern any further detail than that. Their faces weren't exactly unfriendly, but they seemed to be sizing the group of boys up, as though making up their minds as to whether Caymus and his friends constituted trouble.

  Ket's expression was much easier to read. The always frazzled-looking man looked at the boys and raised a bushy, gray eyebrow at them. He always reminded Caymus of an owl. “Gentlemen,” he said, “can I help you with something?”

  Caymus decided that this was no time to be meek. He stepped to the front of the group and immediately became its spokesman. “Master Ket, we had heard that these travelers had come a long way and merely wished to lend our assistance wherever it might be needed." He estimated his attempt at persuasion to be a modest success: the three young women smiled shyly at the boys while the adults looked knowingly at each other.

  “Well, I don't know,” said Ket, turning back to the woman. His voice held a distinct tone of mischief. “Matron Y'selle, what do you think about all this?”

  The silver-haired woman beamed with delight; she was enjoying this, too. “Well, Master Ket, there simply isn't all that much that needs to be done tonight.” She looked the boys over. “I'm not sure that such assistance is warranted, and I'd hate to put them out with ninth-bell so close. These young disciples surely must have studies to attend to?”

  One of the girls spoke up then. She had golden-blond hair and fair skin. “Matron Y'selle, if I may?”

  Caymus couldn't help thinking that the situation seemed bizarre. He felt as though everybody was putting on a play, rather than actually talking.

  The woman turned, still smiling. “Yes, Gwenna? Do you have a suggestion?”

  “Well, Matron, besides the sacks of grain, there are those heavy barrels of ore that we need to take with us.” She turned to the boys. “I know we were going to use the horses to haul them up and into the wagon tomorrow, but if these helpful young men could handle them instead, the poor horses could save their strength for the journey home. I'm sure there's still time.”

  Rill winced. “Oh, that's going to hurt,” he said, just loudly enough for his friends to hear.

  The matron clapped her hands together. “Oh, what an excellent idea,” she said. “Girls, if you could show them where we want everything, I'll just finish discussing a few matters with Master Ket here.”

  Ket gave the boys an approving nod, which seemed to Caymus more than just a granting of permission. Ket liked to go on about “the balance” and he was likely quite satisfied with the deal the boys had just struck. They'd got what they came for: some time spent with the girls. They were, however going to pay a hefty price for it, not only shouldering near half a ton of ore and scrap metal, but also trying to do it quickly enough to have time to spare before curfew. Ket would like that. Pleasure mixed with pain. The good came with an equal amount of bad, and thus “the balance” was maintained.

  The girl named Gwenna motioned them over. “Come on boys,” she said, “let's get to work.”

  Half an hour later, Caymus and Rill, working together, hauled the last of the hundred-pound barrels outside and heaved it into the back of a creaking wagon. Caymus wiped his hands on his tunic and looked around at the group. The seven of them had been chatting while they worked—or rather, while the boys worked—and they had learned that the girls, Gwenna, Monette, and Bridget, were indeed from Flamehearth Mission in the city of Kepren, a couple of hundred miles to the Southeast. They had spent two weeks traveling across the Tebrian Desert and over the Greatstone Mountains to get here, and they were only planning on staying a day or two before heading back.

  Part of the reason they had come was for the supplies they had just loaded. Apparently, there was a drought in Kepren, one which had lasted long enough that people were starting to worry. The region was mineral-poor, so the ore they were taking back—salvaged from shipyards and other industries in Krin's Point, to the West—could be used to barter for supplies, including, so it seemed, water. Caymus could barely wrap his head around the idea of selling water to people; it seemed wrong, somehow.

  The other reason they had come was to escort the two dark-skinned men, Guruk and Fach'un, to the Temple. They were converts who had been living at the mission for a couple of months and who now wanted to spend some time learning about the Conflagration from the masters themselves. Their culture was also one of fire-worship, but it embraced different Aspects than those that Caymus was used to. The Aspect of pulling, for example, was a skill that Caymus was quite familiar with, something he saw the masters perform on a near-daily basis. These people—they called themselves the Falaar—didn't know of pulling, but apparently knew of an Aspect which protected them from being burned or even singed by fire. The girls hadn't known what was in the satchel, but guessed it was some sort of gift to the Temple or possibly the Conflagration itself.

  “Well, that should do it,” said Ramone, sitting down against one of the wagon's large, wooden wheels. He sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Wasn't too hard,” he said, puffing out his chest and trying to appear larger than he actually was.

  The red-haired girl named Monette sat down next to Ramone. She wasn't what Caymus would call fat, but her wide hips and round face made the other girls look like twigs by comparison. “Well you're just so strong,” she said, feeling his arm and putting on a show of being overly demure. “You made it look so easy.”

  “You think so?” he replied. When she nodded, they both sat staring at each other until she turned away, blushing slightly.

  With amused glances, the other five decided to quietly make their way somewhere else. The two were roughly the same age and had obviously taken an immediate liking to each other. Privacy was such a rare thing in a place like this; they should have a few moments of it.

  The group walked away from the dust and grime of the loading area near the stables at the back of the building, and made their way to the large lawn at the front. A slight breeze blew past them; it lent a cool, refreshing feel to the grass. Caymus removed his cloth-and-leather shoes as they walked and enjoyed the cool, tickly feeling on his bare feet. As the others, encouraged by his example, did the same, he looked up at the dark, late summer sky. Bright stars filled the bl
ackness and a full moon cast a pale light down on everything. It was a fine night to be outside.

  He stole a look back at the Temple, his home for the last few years of his life. It wasn't exactly a magnificent building, but it was a large one. The edifice stood four stories high and spread over two hundred yards from end to end. The large, cylindrical structure that marked the sanctuary divided the two wings, themselves rectangular in shape. Many small windows, tiny squares of black against the moonlit glow of gray bricks, looked out over the lawn where they now stood. Some of the windows revealed the faint glow of firelight as masters and disciples alike prepared for evening curfew. Small vents, which ran throughout the walls and ceilings of the entire building, funneled the resulting smoke away until it escaped through grates near the roof. Short ramparts ran around the top of the building, telling tales of the days when it had been a fortress, guarding against enemies who sought to destroy the inhabitants inside.

  The thing which dominated the scene though, and which still caught Caymus's breath in his throat every time he saw it, was the Conduit, the huge pillar of fire that seemed to begin at the roof of the sanctuary and which then extend heavenward for as far as could be seen. Every flame in existence was a conduit that connected the world to the vastness of the Conflagration, but this conduit, The Conduit, was different. It burned and swirled as it rose ever upward. It had been there as long as anyone could recall. It fed on nothing. It was the sole reason that the Temple had been built here—in an area that was otherwise the middle of nowhere—in the first place.

  Caymus shuddered, partly with the overwhelming majesty of the vision before him, and partly with dread. He was going to step into the Conduit in the morning, taking his Test of Faith and proving himself worthy of the Third Circle. Caymus had been preparing for that moment for over a year, and still he worried. He loved the Conflagration and all its wonders, but he knew that a wise man also feared it. He wondered which would be the more appropriate response to intentionally stepping into a raging inferno.