The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  Rogge finished his tea and then switched the conversation to a new direction. “But I did not come here to tell you of the weather when you can see the sky as well as I. No, the reason I came is because Evet here, he wishes to attempt a merchant expedition across the Tirala Mountains to Kelten next spring, and if you could provide advice, a map, or even a letter of introduction, I would call our account even.”

  Ako considered Rogge’s words; they echoed in his mind. Back across the Tiralas to Kelten, in the spring. They could do that. They didn’t have to stay in Serica; they could return home to Kelten. But then a host of reasons stood forth and called out against leaving. A long journey, thousands of miles across empty high lands, the only voices from the people you were with, the constant rushing noise of the wind blowing through the pine trees in the valleys and on the slopes. And what about the princess—would he leave her behind? Ako slapped the table in front of him and then walked over to stare at the empty fireplace. As he looked at the soot-covered bricks, his thoughts turned to the battle two months ago, the exploding arrows, the burning ships in the night, and the explosive powder, lopor.

  Turning back to the two merchants, Sir Ako said, “I need to consult with Sandun. This matter requires thought.”

  “Is Master Sandun well?” Rogge asked with concern in his eyes.

  “No. His woman, Ashala, did not survive the poison. He has taken it hard.”

  “The daughter of Gushi is dead?” Rogge looked at his nephew and then stood. “We have come at a terrible time. I did not know this. We will come back later.”

  Sir Ako said hesitantly, “If you tell me where you are staying, Sandun and I will come to see you. He needs to rejoin the world, walk about the town. It will do him good.”

  “We are staying at the Inn of Overflowing Cups. A goodly establishment, off the west market. Not fancy, but we traders like it.” Rogge stood and shook his head in dismay. “Just like the people of Tokolas to pay no heed when a woman of Gipu dies. For them, a barbarian woman from the west, her passing—of no consequence. But to me, and the other mountain merchants, this is sad news indeed. Her father has long been an influential friend to the traders, and she was a sweet girl.”

  “That she was. I thank you for your kind words. We all miss her. We will see you at the inn, later today or tomorrow. If not, I’ll send word.”

  “Till we meet again, Opmi.” Rogge walked out of the room. Evet, stoic and unsmiling, followed him.

  Sir Ako went upstairs and knocked on Sandun’s door. “Sandun, awake. We need to talk. Trader Rogge is in town.”

  There was a noise from inside the room, and then the door opened. Sandun stood there, his hair matted and uncombed, his eyes bloodshot. “I wasn’t asleep,” he said in a flat tone of voice.

  “Didn’t you hear? Trader Rogge is in town.”

  “I heard…how is he?” Sandun might have been talking about a worn-out boot.

  “He looks fit, says the wound doesn’t bother him much. But you need to wash and dress and wake your mind. There are things to discuss. His nephew, a trader named Evet, is planning on following our route back across the Tiralas to Kelten!”

  Sandun stared at Sir Ako for a few seconds, and then he blinked several times and said, “Yes. Yes. That matters. I’ll get dressed. Is he staying for dinner?”

  “He left. I told him we will meet at his lodging sometime later.” Sir Ako paused and then said more quietly, “I didn’t want to tempt fate by eating the food they serve at one of the inns of the west market. My insides are none too settled even now. You come down speedily, and we can talk. Meet me in the library.”

  Half an hour later, Sandun came into the library. He looked more like his normal self, but Ako could see the bags under his eyes. “Trader Rogge has a nephew, and his nephew is going to go to Kelten along the trail?”

  “His words,” said Ako, “His nephew didn’t say much, but he looked capable and healthy. Leaving in the early spring next year.”

  Sandun nodded. “It’s too late to leave now, but six months of planning gives them time enough. I wonder…who should go with him? Who among us is going to guide him back to Kelten?”

  “Are you so sure one of us needs to go? Rogge didn’t ask for a guide.”

  “I think so.” Sandun said this as though he doubted his own words. “There is news that should be sent to King Pandion, and maybe for his ears alone, unwritten. Also the more mundane material that can be safely put on paper.”

  “Neither of us can make that journey.” Sir Ako said this firmly but behind his words, he felt doubt. If Sandun left, could any of them stay? Having formed the Knights of Serica, Ako was not going to give it up. He took a deep breath and suppressed his misgivings. He was not ready to leave Serica, and thus Sandun could not leave either.

  Sandun looked at Sir Ako, and his eyes seemed to gain some clarity. He slowly nodded in agreement. “Who then?”

  “Damar or Wiyat. I need Padan as my second, and Farrel is not sober blooded enough for the mission.”

  “You are thinking about…lopor?” Sandun spoke slowly, reluctant to even say the word.

  Ako paced around the small room. “I am. It must be done. Sho’Ash knows what will result, but King Pandion must know of it. Lopor is a weapon that Kelten must have. We owe this to our king.”

  “Shouldn’t we then send someone who knows the details of lopor’s manufacture?” Sandun rubbed his forehead as though trying to relieve a headache. “I’m thinking of Lathe and therefore of Wiyat, as they have become friends.”

  “The two of them?” Ako stood still for a few moments, considering the idea.

  “They are the youngest, and it’s a hard trail. It won’t be a fast trip with a party of merchants and goods.”

  “What you say has merit, but I will offer the mission to Damar first. It’s his by right of seniority. Let me see what he thinks. Perhaps he has a powerful desire to return home.”

  Sandun shrugged, and then his face fell. “Sir Ako, what will happen to our Kelten when lopor becomes known?”

  “Not much, I think. It will give Kelten an advantage in war—for as long as we can keep its composition a secret—but it’s hardly going to change our land. A united Kelten is not threatened by Issedon, and Fiodroch is no longer an enemy. Perhaps with lopor, King Pandion might build a fleet and take back Lindao from the rebels.” Sir Ako sat down and flexed his muscles. “It’s a tool, just like our fine blades and steel armor. A useful invention, no more. The farseer hasn’t changed the world. The Archipelago is still the same.”

  Ako stood up and took Sandun by his shoulders, staring down at him intently. “Whoever goes, Damar or Wiyat, you will have to train him, educate him. He will need to become more than just a scout, more than a hedge knight. Whoever goes will need to learn something of what you know about government. Promise me this.”

  Sandun took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll spend some time with the one who agrees to go. Does either of them know their letters?”

  “Wiyat was taught his letters by our priest at my father’s castle; Woodburn was his name, a learned man. I don’t know about Damar, but if I tell Damar something, he doesn’t forget. Still, Wiyat has a connection through his father, the guard captain to my father.” Ako ran his fingers through his hair. “The more I think of it, the more Wiyat seems the right choice. There is always someone who will see change as a threat to their power. Whoever returns will need allies back in Kelten. Well, I must see what Damar thinks; he will take it amiss if he’s not asked.”

  Sandun’s eyes had glazed over, and he stifled a yawn.

  “Drink some tea,” Sir Ako chided. “You need to get out of your room and join us in practice. Body and mind work together. You need to pull yourself out of your gloom.”

  “You’re right, of course. I just…yes, I’ll do it.”

  Ako left the library in search of Damar. He found him in
the back, brushing the coat of the one horse they had kept. They didn’t have enough space for all the horses from Hazeny, so the others had been sold to the Tokolas cavalry. Sir Ako explained himself to Damar and asked if he wanted to lead the return expedition back to Kelten.

  Damar didn’t say anything for a minute while he brushed the stallion’s neck and fed it a green apple. “I’ll go if you want me to, Sir Ako,” he finally replied.

  “I don’t want you to go, but I’m giving you the choice.”

  “What about Farrel?”

  “If you don’t want the mission, I’ll ask Wiyat.”

  “We’ve seen a few rainy nights these last couple of years.” Damar turned and looked Sir Ako straight. “I’m not for breaking up a team that pulls well together. I’ll return to Kelten when you do.”

  “Sir Damar.”

  Damar replied, “Lord Commander,” and turned back to the horse.

  Wiyat was more than agreeable to the idea of returning to Kelten. “Gladly, Sir Ako, I’ll do it! I’ll come back in a year or two. You’ll see.”

  Sir Ako doubted that was feasible but responded by saying he would ask Lathe if he would also make the journey.

  “Marvelous! He and I have talked about Kelten. He said he’d like to see the place. I’m certain he will come. I’ll see my mother and father back at the castle, and your parents too, Commander.”

  “First, you will talk to the king on your return. Which is why I’ve asked Sir Sandun to teach you in the months before you go. You will act as a proper knight and speak courteous words.”

  Wiyat’s face was a study in confusion and excitement. “The king? And me introduced as a knight to him?” Wiyat went to one knee and earnestly said, “Thank you, sir, I’ll do my best.” Standing up, he seemed taller, nearly bursting with joy. “I’ll tell Lathe myself, if that’s all right, sir. Seven months till we leave? That’s a long time.” Wiyat ran off.

  Sir Ako was happy for the younger man. For the rest of them, who knew when they would leave Serica?

  Damar came in late to dinner and in a happy mood. A big smile wreathed his suntanned face. He complimented the food and thanked them all for saving him. He had a kind word for everyone at the table. Ako wondered what caused the good mood: Turning down a chance to return to Kelten wouldn’t make the man this happy, would it? He waited to see if Damar would explain his feelings of his own volition. After all the plates were carried away, Ako just sat in his big chair at the head of the table, with a glass of Serice rice wine in front of him.

  Damar stood up from the table as if to leave, hesitated, and then sat down again. “I believe I have found the perfect woman,” he said.

  Kagne immediately retorted, “There is no such thing. Every woman will disappoint you. Give her time.”

  “This one is a keeper,” Damar replied with his slow drawl. “She is as pretty as a daisy, she rides a horse clean and swift. And she can shoot like a Sogand, while riding!”

  Ako said, “She rides, she shoots, but can you speak to her? Or does that matter?”

  “She’s not so talkative, but that’s just the way I like a woman,” Damar replied. “Serice is not agreeable to my tongue. Fewer words are better.”

  “How did you meet this ‘perfect’ woman?” Kagne inquired.

  “I was out on my own past the east gate two days ago. She rides up beside me and shouts, ‘Catch me!’ Then—bang—off like a bolt of lightning. A few men are better riders than I, but no woman. I gave chase and caught up. She had a good horse, and she rode it well, but I did catch her. She slows to a trot, and then she points to this pinecone in a tree off the side of the trail. ‘Hit that,’ she says. So I unsaddle, string my bow, and knock that cone off. ‘Can you do that on your horse?’ she says. ‘No,’ says I, ‘a horse archer is not a Kelten archer.’”

  All the Keltens at the table nodded and murmured agreement.

  “She points to another pinecone near the one I shot off and then strings her bow, gets back on her horse, and rides off a ways, then back, galloping mind you, and shoots that pinecone without slowing. My heart was shot also.”

  “Love at first shot,” Padan said jestingly. “Isn’t there a song about that?”

  “Quiet, you!” Damar said in mock anger. “Sure, it’s a small bow she is using, no punch to it, but I’ll remember that moment as long as I live.”

  “Bring her over,” said Ako. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Serice woman who could use a bow.”

  “There’s no supply in Kelten, neither,” Olef said quietly.

  “Only you, Olef,” replied Ako. “And that girl in Sir Bor’s company.”

  “Humph. Betty. She could usually hit the target, but she was ‘Betty’ at lying down.”

  The men laughed at Olef’s pun, as Betty was said to have rolled in the hay with more than a few soldiers of Kelten’s southern army.

  After dinner, Sandun mustered the last of his energy and went to see Valo Peli. Since Valo Peli’s wife, Arja, had recovered from the poison, Valo Peli had moved with her into a larger room on the second floor. His daughter was living next door, and one of his clansmen stood guard all night. Sandun was admitted, and he found Valo at his desk, reading. Valo offered him a seat and asked very politely how he could help.

  “Valo Peli, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Please, name the request.” Valo Peli took up his pen, and then he set it down again. “Anything at all. What can I do?”

  “I’d like you to write a letter for me. It’s to Ashala’s father in Gipu. He needs to know that…his daughter isn’t coming back home.”

  “I understand.”

  “I can’t write it. I can’t write Serice properly, and I don’t know what to say. I promised him that I would take care of her. I promised.”

  “You did more than any man could be expected to have done,” said Valo Peli. “Success is in all things is promised to no one. Was not the Great Sage himself dismissed from his position in the government of Linuno? I will write the letter, and I can send it with a merchant I know who is set to travel that way soon. We have some contact with Gipu from our lands in the Tea Hills.”

  “Thank you. When you are done, can I see it?”

  “Of course.”

  Sandun took his leave and walked around to the other side of the courtyard and into his own room. He went to bed, but sleep eluded him. He went to his desk and tried to write out the daily log, but while his fingers gripped the pen, no words appeared on the paper. He returned to his bed and tossed and turned. Hours passed, and the sounds of the city died away. The low, mournful note from the bell tower at intervals marked the passage of time. He lay staring up into the darkness, his thoughts covering the same ground, over and over. All the things he had done wrong, the suspicious manner the new cook had behaved in the afternoon before the poisoning, his decision not to take Ashala with him to see the archers from Shila, the times he had slept on the journey to the Great Sage Temple. If, if, if.

  If only he had told her he loved her.

  At last he sank into few hours of sleep but woke early, soon after dawn. Nothing had changed.

  After breakfast, Sandun joined the others for some exercises. He felt slow and numb. His sword strokes lacked strength; his blocks were feeble. Sir Ako became angry and accused him of not taking the practice seriously. Then he gruffly asked Sandun to write a note for Rogge as they were going to see the trader after lunch. Sandun did as he was told and resolved to practice more every day.

  Ako, Sandun, and Wiyat made their way to the west market after lunch. It was a sweltering day, near the end of Heptamon, and the stones of the street radiated heat. Flies were buzzing all through the air and settling on the piles of horse dung at the side of the street. Even Sir Ako conceded that it was too hot for most armor, so the three wore only helmet, cuirass, and tunic with the symbol of the order emblazoned on it. How ma
ny people were living in and around Tokolas now? No one knew, but the west market was jammed with shoppers and merchants. Many people recognized the knights and pointed to them. The city guards knew Sandun and Ako by sight and saluted them.

  The crowd around the Inn of Overflowing Cups was dense as the awnings overhead provided shade, and the fine drinks, for which the inn was famous, were being served by a bevy of comely working girls. Inside, the three Keltens stood for a moment, enjoying the cooler air and the relative quiet, as the clamour outside was replaced by ordinary voices talking. The innkeeper made his way over in haste to greet the men. Sir Ako asked him about Trader Rogge’s whereabouts.

  The innkeeper personally led them to a meeting room where a group of some fifteen men were standing around boxes and chests, talking and arguing. There were goods of diverse types inside the chests, and the men were picking them up and talking about quality, quantity, and, most importantly, price. Sandun saw the merchants had silks of a hundred colors and embroidered hats and shoes on display. Rogge was easy to spot; he stood beside a chest, showing off a small bronze pot to another merchant. Inside Rogge’s box of wares, Sandun noticed some hats that came from Gipu, perhaps even decorated by the Gipu women who had taken up with the Archives Expedition the previous winter.

  When Rogge saw the Keltens, he bid the other merchant farewell, closing and locking his chest with a sizable iron key. Then he led them out of the merchants’ trading room and upstairs to his chamber. Tea was brought by a serving girl, along with some tasty fried fish cakes. Evet joined them after a few minutes, and introductions were made. Sir Ako explained that Wiyat would go with Evet’s caravan and guide them to Kelten. He also mentioned that Lathe Ruppe would be going with the caravan as well. Rogge and his nephew were very pleased with the news. Evet smiled, for the first time, and shook Wiyat’s hand.

  They spent two hours talking in general terms about the caravan: the time it would take, the speed required, the goods that it would sell, where water could be found, and more. Not being merchants, none of the three Keltens had good answers for some of the questions Rogge asked.