The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  Valo Peli’s wife, Arja, willingly agreed to handle the wedding arrangements. “Would that our own daughter were preparing to be wed,” Arja said, directing this to her husband.

  “She has set her eyes on a new man,” Valo Peli replied with a hint of resignation. “Perhaps when he returns to Tokolas, matters may be moved forward.”

  “If I may ask, who is your daughter thinking of?” Sandun asked.

  Valo Peli looked at Sandun with an unreadable expression and then said, “Scribe Vellen, of the Great Sage Temple, is the man she wishes to marry. He took particular care of her as she was brought back to health. Since he is to be the tutor to Lord Vaina’s son, it would be a good match. But because he is not from the Tea Hills, I have not found a proper go-between who could discuss such a delicate matter with him. For all I know, Vellen is promised to another already.”

  “I can mention this to Lord Vaina, when Vellen returns from Hutinin,” Sandun offered.

  “Perhaps,” Vallo Peli responded.

  “Time is fleeting, husband. A year is too long for Alina to wait,” Arja told him.

  Sandun took the stairs down to the main hall and found the Keltens, save for Wiyat and Padan, drinking beside the fire and telling stories.

  Sandun strode up to the fireplace and announced he was getting married to Miri Kirdar of Shila. He acknowledged that the idea was Lord Vaina’s and admitted he had only met the woman once before.

  Sir Ako was thoughtful when he heard Sandun’s news. He stroked his mustache and said nothing.

  Basil looked concerned, and his words did not offer much comfort. “I have known many unhappy marriages, each with troubles as different as the temperament of hounds. I will not say aforehand that this union is for weal or woe. I have seen the best-suited pairs turn sour with time. Happy marriages seem more chance than planning.”

  Kagne argued strongly against Sandun’s decision. “You must not marry this stranger just because Jori Vaina thinks it would fit his designs! You don’t marry a woman without spending time with her, without meeting her family. What will she do when we go back home to Kelten? None of us knows anything about Shila. This is madness! I will go tell his lordship that it must not happen!”

  “No, you won’t do that, Kagne,” Sandun told him. “It’s my decision. Convince me here, in this place, but as vice commander of the Knights of Serica, I forbid you to speak on this matter outside these walls.”

  “What about the rules of the order, which you seem so free to throw at me?” Kagne retorted. “Are not the Knights of Saint Pellar forbidden from marriage while they remain in the order?”

  “They are,” Sandun replied. “But no such rule is in our laws that bind the Knights of Serica.”

  Sir Ako said, “It is as Sandun says. We are too few to have such a rule. I myself have been thinking it is time to marry.”

  As the implications of his words sank in, everyone turned and stared at Sir Ako. Russu, who was sitting next to Ako, had a such a look of bafflement on her face it was almost like a scene from a comic play.

  The silence in the room was held for what seemed like a candle’s width. Russu gazed at Ako, and several different expressions passed across her face. Ako looked back at her impassively, and then he looked at the faces of the other Keltens, challenging them to say something.

  Sandun felt a sudden lightening inside. A piece of ice broke away from his heart. He smiled and put his hands out to Sir Ako and said, “Congratulations. We can have a double wedding. I’m sure that you and Russu will be very happy together.”

  At her name, Russu started as if poked by a thorn. She put her mouth close to Sir Ako’s ear and started to whisper to him.

  Ako said, “Speak up, dear heart. This is my family now.”

  Russu stammered, “Marriage? Me? You can’t. I can’t.”

  Sir Ako said, “You object?”

  “No. Yes. I…it isn’t possible. As a princess, it could never be allowed, never.”

  “Didn’t I save your life? Didn’t you swear a life debt to me? Aren’t you sharing my bed? What are you saying?”

  Russu looked down at the wooden floor. Very quietly she replied, “If…if you invoked the right of a life debt, then I would have to agree your demand, if it were honorable, like marriage. Such a demand is rare but not unheard of. Most people at the court would understand, I think. Even Aunt Vonmi.”

  She turned and looked at Ako intently. “But do you? Do you invoke the life debt I owe you?”

  “I do.” Ako stood very tall, looking down at his princess. Sternly, like a duke commanding a knight, Sir Ako said, “I invoke the life debt you owe me, and I require, therefore, that you marry me.”

  Russu took a deep breath and nervously replied: “Since you command me to marry you, by right of the life debt I swore to you, I must honor my vow. I will…I will marry you.” Then she threw her arms around Sir Ako’s neck and started to cry. “You didn’t wait too long,” she whispered in his ear.

  Valo Peli came in from the door, having sensed or heard something was up. He shook his head, saying, “The Rakeved. Just when you think you understand them…”

  All the Keltens stood and toasted Sir Ako and Lady Tuomi, and then Sandun.

  After several glasses of Hutinin liquor, Russu stood up and faced them. “You Keltens always sing songs. I have never sung one of the songs of my people for you, but this evening, I must sing.”

  Russu’s cheeks were flushed, but in a pure voice she sang her song. It was in the native language of Rakeved, which no one there understood, but Sandun would remember it as follows:

  Lis kau sul garventen noh gar slive tuerglen

  Beahn shinah ah getrasan fah avail memah

  Doah hoah wei bei dancha sah behn desao

  Shu taki mariheni sehe neh anar nu mool.

  Wa ine mealish? Suar mai lar dafen

  Faah bru an cladith—fah bru natra?

  Ma dran oh mahra mo ma drathanen

  Shu taki mariheni sehe neh anar nu mool.

  Pa misa turson hegus bei noh bley

  Mo moway oh broanyah smal fai parid fah

  Awar fah nadona spah well nakrel

  Shu taki mariheni sehe neh anar nu mool.

  Most of the Keltens shouted loud approval, but Sandun was moved to tears, though he could not say why. Russu smiled shyly and then hid her face behind her hands. After half an hour, she told Sir Ako she needed to lie down, and so she retired to her room. When she left, the Keltens continued to drink and sang songs. None of the other Keltens mentioned Sir Ako’s wife back home in Agnefeld.

  Over the next few days, with Russu’s assistance, Sandun was able to work out a Kelten version of her song:

  We two are traveling down the road together

  With apples in sacks and joy in our heart

  We shall find the land we are seeking

  In my home of green rice fields and the blue ocean.

  Why do you hesitate? The path is open

  Hand in hand we can walk—why pull away?

  Happy we will be together, we two as one

  In my home of green rice fields and the blue ocean.

  Don’t lose me in the hills of night

  Tired we may seem but soon it will be dawn

  Rest upon sandy shores, splash in the waves

  In my home of green rice fields and the blue ocean.

  As the evening deepened, Sandun was sitting next to Sir Ako, drinking. “Life debt?” Sandun said. “You never said anything about a life debt?”

  “She got down on her knees, in the street! I’ve never seen anything like it. After the burning tower, I asked Renieth about it, and he introduced me to an official named Beks who knows all about Rakeved. For ought that I know, he may be the resident expert on Shila as well. A most learned gentleman. You should talk to him.” Ako finished his glass and pour
ed another. “When are you going to introduce us to your Shila woman? Your future wife.”

  “I don’t know. There may be a meeting of both sides before the wedding, which is their custom. I asked Valo Peli’s wife to handle the arrangements, and she agreed.” After a pause, Sandun continued, “Thank you, Sir Ako. That was uncomfortable back there. I can barely defend my decision to myself, much less to the knights.”

  “Sir Sandun, I’ve been meaning to propose marriage to Russu ever since we were cured of the poison. There just never seemed to be an appropriate time to broach the subject. Your…unexpected announcement put the boot on my foot. And I’m glad. I had a feeling that the relation between us had be made straight, like the spear.”

  “Sir Ako, what about…back home?”

  “I have in mind a letter to send to my father. The earl will know how to handle her. This is one of the important documents that Wiyat must carry with him. Next week, I will have the priest pronounce my divorce. May the breath of Sho’Ash carry his words to Lilly’s heart.”

  Three days passed, and the deadening fog that had afflicted Sandun since Ashala’s death began to lift. For three days, the council was consumed with news from the north as the Red Prophet’s death ripped up calculations and predictions. There was much talk but no consensus as to what to do. Lord Vaina announced that the next council meeting would last as long as was required—“All day if need be”—to reach a decision on what they should do.

  Sandun felt as if bulky gears were locked and the strain was building to a breaking point. He no longer felt numb; instead, a rage built in his heart. In the daily council meetings, Sandun had to restrain himself from yelling at Minister Udek, who kept urging patience and no change to set policy. Privately Sandun told Lord Vaina that he was ready ride north and kill Nilin Ulim, alone if necessary.

  “The Kitran Empire has been attacking your northern towns, raiding, burning, pillaging,” Sandun said heatedly. “The only thing standing in the way of an all-out assault by Nilin’s forces on the north are the Red Swords in Kemeklos. We should go and fight the Kitran while we still have allies there. Further, the Kitran have attacked us Keltens twice since we came to Tokolas, three times in all. We owe them vengeance for lives lost. Nilin needs to face retribution at the edge of a sword. All of my fellow knights—and I—we demand satisfaction!”

  “I understand you, Sandun,” Lord Vaina reassured him. “But will your hate sway the others? Ask yourself this question and think hard, my friend. If my Red Crane Army, my elite soldiers gathered from the length and breadth of Kunhalvar, are to be sent north, it must be the wisest course of action, supported by all my advisors.”

  The day of the Grand Council arrived. Everyone dressed their best. Valo Peli wore his most elegant robe, a grand black affair embroidered with green threads showing pine branches covered with short needles. His wife, Arja, had brought it with her from the Tea Hills.

  Sir Ako clapped Sandun on his shoulder before he left. “Good to see you awake, Sir Sandun, and looking fit this fine morning. You know what I want. What all of us want: Vengeance for Sir Gloval! Vengeance for Ashala! The spear of Sho’Ash smiting Nilin Ulim and his Sogand followers!”

  Sandun nodded. He knew.

  At the palace, he sprang up the steps leading to the council hall, while Valo Peli trailed behind, maintaining a dignified pace. When everyone arrived, Lord Vaina ordered the guards out of the room and had the doors closed. The recording scribes were also sent out, but their books and blank papers remained behind.

  “We are come here now to debate a great and terrible decision.” Lord Vaina said this slowly and with his most serious expression. He sat in a chair at the head of the table, and sixteen other men sat at the table in the dimly illuminated room. The windows were open just enough to let a breeze in from outside.

  “Today we must choose between sending an army north to attempt to rescue the Radiant Prince from Kemeklos or to build our defenses and leave him and his followers to their fate at the hands of Nilin Ulim’s massive army. Whatever we settle on, our decision will surely provoke ill will from many. Therefore, I have decided that no records shall be kept of what is said this day. I want the pure, spring-water truth. For those who have been too busy to read the latest reports”—and here Lord Vaina glanced at General Kun—“Number Eight will summarize the current knowledge as of this morning.”

  Number Eight, dressed as usual in his utterly nondescript brown commoner’s clothing, gave a short and efficient report.

  “Nilin’s army of some twenty thousand men has surrounded Kemeklos. At least one fire is burning inside the city. The Red Prophet is dead and with him most of the Red Swords cavalry either killed, captured, or scattered. Kemeklos is defended by perhaps six thousand soldiers and uncounted thousands of townspeople, poorly equipped and of shaky morale. The Radiant Prince’s court is paralyzed by infighting and dissent. Though, it must be said that, in Zelkat province, the new governor, Talmeksi, appears to be reforming the province with notable energy, given the—”

  Lord Vaina interrupted Number Eight. “I remember Sima Talmeksi from my last year with the Red Prophet. I thought he was extremely talented, though perhaps too clever for his own good. When did he become governor of Zelkat?”

  “Two weeks ago,” Number Eight replied. “The previous governor either died or was replaced due to inability. It’s unclear what happened to him.” Number Eight drank some tea and glanced at a piece of paper in front of him. “To the west, Vasvar has almost recovered from their defeat outside our walls. Tuno has declared himself a king and, in keeping with longstanding tradition, two senior generals have been promoted to lead his armies. My surviving spies in Lakava report the attack on Buuk is set and maybe has already begun. General Tuno’s shipyards around Lake Sarken have been working day and night all this summer, knocking out new warships. By now, we estimate the Vasvar fleet is back to its previous count, though they have been forced to replace the battleships they lost to us with smaller vessels. Therefore, despite our much-increased strength, Vasvar’s fleet remains the largest on the Mur.

  “To the east, the Iron Duke and most of his cavalry are reported in action near Lake Rudohe. Whether this is a real attempt to expand Dombovar’s rule and push back the Imperial Army is debatable. My spy in Monavar reports that an alliance may be announced between the three ruling warlords and Dombovar. At the least, conflict along their border ended a month ago. There is renewed fighting in the vicinity of Nurmes. Finally, rumors from several informants claim an army of five thousand foot is marching through the hills in the direction of Hutinin, but scouts have not reported unusual activity in the eastern forests, so that may be false news.”

  “I am confident my cousin, General Modi, can defend his front,” Lord Vaina stated.

  Sandun nodded, as did the other military advisors. Number Eight sat down and folded his hands.

  “Since this is the situation as best we know it, we must now consider whether we should march to Kemeklos.” Lord Vaina said this with no indication that he wanted to follow this course of action. “General Kun, what forces do we have available to send north?”

  General Kun recited the military strength of Kunhalvar from memory. “We should leave five thousand men to defend Tokolas and at least one thousand cavalry in reserve. If we gather our best regiments and uncommitted forces, we can send the Red Crane Army to Kemeklos with a strength of one hundred boats, six thousand foot, and just under one thousand horsemen. Along the way, we can add most of the men from our northern army, which amounts to more than one thousand men, both foot and riders. My plan assumes we take two thousand of General Modi’s best, replacing them with raw recruits. By such measures, the Red Crane Army will live up to its name as the finest army in Serica.”

  “How rapidly can the Red Crane Army assemble, with food and supplies enough for the journey to Kemeklos?” Lord Vaina enquired.

  “Three or four weeks’
time. The men are eager to save the Radiant Prince and their brother Red Swords. My plan relies on taking most of the stockpiles presently warehoused in Tokolas for the expedition, though this means the capital will not be able to withstand a siege. We can do this, and I think we should, Lord Vaina.”

  “For a dissenting opinion, I now call upon Minister Udek.”

  The old minister stood and bowed to Lord Vaina and then addressed the council with a rehearsed speech. He spoke slowly and plainly, using simple words and not the courtly language that Sandun had heard him use in previous meetings.

  “As my lord says, this is time for the truth, and so I say to you that it is time to let the Red Swords die. The Red Prophet was a deluded man. His death is not to be overly mourned; his attack on Daka two years ago was ill advised, and it cost us all dearly both in lives lost and coins spent. His return to Kemeklos, a city of no strategic importance, was an even greater error. One for which he has now paid with his life but which will result, all told, in the pointless deaths of thousands of brave men. We should not add our soldiers to this black ledger.

  “The Radiant King falsely claimed to be a blood relative of the former royal family. He is dead and his son, the Radiant Prince, is a young man of no character and no judgment. The so-called prince’s court is filled with fawning lackeys and corrupt men without morals or learning, excepting Talmeksi, who was left behind in Sasuvi.”

  He paused and looked sternly at General Erdis and General Kun. Then he continued, “Let them die! With our new fleet, we can sail up the Nava River and take Sasuvi, with minimal bloodshed, while keeping Vasvar at bay. Once we have brought good administration to the region, we will have the power to destroy King Tuno, and after that, in years to come, we will topple the Iron King from his throne and bring all of Serica under our rule.

  “My Lord, the Red Swords are an embarrassment to the scholars and scribes throughout the land. You were wise to abandon the wild speculations of the Red Prophet and rule in accordance with the old ways. We will restore proper authority over all of Serica, using the tried-and-tested methods of the Water Kingdom and the Gold Kingdom before it, not by following the drug-induced visions and crazed prophesies of mystics who prey on the gullibility of the ignorant.