The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  Basil knocked on his door. “Get up!” he said loudly. Basil was his best man, just as Padan was best man for Sir Ako. New clothes were laid out on the dresser. Skillful Serice seamstresses had copied Sandun’s Kelten clothing but used silk. They had also created a coat that looked more like one of Valo Peli’s robes than anything a Kelten would wear. Sandun dressed and went out to find the embassy a beehive of activity.

  “Sandun, you could at least try to look happy,” Basil reproved him. “If not for your sake, then for Sir Ako’s. You look like you are ready for a funeral. And what is that coat you’re wearing?”

  Sandun shrugged and went down to the kitchen to find some tea. He didn’t feel like eating, but he did make an effort to smile at everyone. Really, what did he have to complain about? A beautiful young woman was coming to live with him and share his bed. There were worse fates. After all, they were going north in a week’s time to fight an army of the Kitran Empire. The remainder of his life might be best measured in days.

  Russu flew past him, holding flowers in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other.

  “I’m hiding from Ako,” she said gaily. “If you see him, tell him to stay away from the kitchen and the dining room.”

  “Princess, we have a wedding at the temple in less than three hours, and you need to be dressed. Let the others handle the decorations.”

  “I’ll be there, don’t you worry. Just find Ako and keep him out of sight!”

  There were ten horses now stabled out in the back, good horses, including a fine black-and-white one that Sandun had claimed and named Hep, short for Hepedion, his hometown. The ladies in their elegant dresses would be traveling in carriages, which had been hired earlier in the week at a price that Sandun thought a highway robber on one of Kelten’s byroads would have been ashamed to demand. After saddling the horses and combing their manes, the men brought the horses out front and waited for the carriages to arrive.

  While Sandun and Ako and their best men were dressed in civilian clothing, the other Keltens wore helms, cuirasses, and gauntlets. They were also armed, as was traditional at a knight’s wedding.

  “I feel very silly,” Kagne said to Sandun as a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek from under his helm. “And hot. We aren’t wearing armor for the second wedding at the palace, are we?”

  “You can take some the armor off, as only Lord Vaina’s guards will be armed for that event.”

  “But keep your tabard on, Kagne,” said Sir Ako. “To remind everyone who saved this city.”

  Three carriages showed up, half an hour late. Under the cover of a big sheet of red silk, Russu ducked into one carriage while Olef and Arja Boethy took the other. Everyone else rode escort, with Sandun and Ako leading the way. First, they went to collect the Lady Miri from her temporary residence at the Temple of Thundering Truth. She also was escorted into her carriage while hidden from view by a similar sheet of red silk held by several monks of the temple.

  Jay and Ven were dressed in full armor, in the Serice style, and wore longswords at their belts. A moment’s observation told Sandun that their horses were superbly trained, and he guessed the Rutal-lil had brought their horses all the way from Shila. He greeted the two men warmly, and they smiled and shook hands firmly.

  “The Rutal-lil go armed to weddings?” Sandun, said, stating the obvious. “It is our custom also.”

  “Abductions do happen in Shila,” said Jay.

  “Sometimes more than one man desires the same woman,” added Ven.

  “And sometimes scoundrels kidnap brides and hold them for heavy ransom,” said Jay. “Our combined force is sufficient, I think, to deter any rogues. Lead on, Fire Sword, after this is over, we have oaths to swear.”

  Sandun wondered what Jay meant, but it was time to go.

  Although they did not have drummers and trumpets accompanying them, their wedding procession attracted a good deal of attention. People stopped and looked intently at the Keltens and the two Rutal-lil riding beside the carriages. Some soldiers cheered, and a few merchants waved. The press of people on the main street was like a sea of hats and parasols bobbing and weaving. Sandun slowly picked his way through the crowd on the main north–south road and then led the wedding party down the small streets to the Temple of Sho’Ash.

  The wedding was like the two dozen he had attended before in Hepedion and Tebispoli. Except this time, he was the one standing before the priest and hearing the blessing.

  The Lady Miri finally appeared out from under the red silk screen. Sandun saw that she wore a dramatic dress with a red silk skirt covered by a black silk half robe with sleeves large enough to conceal a basket. Her black top was edged with red threads in a pattern of birds flying around each other in a spinning dance. She looked very beautiful, and it came as something of a shock when Miri stood next to him and said confidently to the priest, “Yes, I marry this man.”

  Russu Ti Tuomi appeared next. Though in her usual style, her dress was an extraordinary creation of red silk with gold threads forming a pattern of flowers falling from her shoulder down to her hips. Her pants were of a pale green. Russu very definitely answered the priest’s questions in Kelten: “I do now marry Sir Ako Bous of Agnefeld, from this day forward, till the last day, till the end of days.”

  The remainder of the ritual passed quickly, the priest intoned the final blessings and that was that: Sandun was married and Sir Ako was married. The remaining time in the temple was a blur of congratulations and kisses.

  From the Temple of Sho’Ash they proceeded directly to Lord Vaina’s palace. Leaving their weapons and much of their armor with the guards at the gate, they threaded their way between the many palace buildings to the garden at the rear.

  The ceremony in the garden consisted of Miri and Sandun bowing before a table heaped with fruits and honeyed candies. Set in the middle was a red lacquered box that opened from the middle, and written on the inside were the names of Sandun’s ancestors in Serice writing. He and Miri both repeated the phrase “May our ancestors look upon this union with benevolent appreciation” as they bowed and bowed again. Then it was a simple matter of sitting underneath an opulent silk canopy held up by posts painted blue, red, and green while the assembled guests come up to them and offered their congratulations.

  Lord Vaina and his four wives went first. Sandun had only met one of the four women before: Eun, Lord Vaina’s wife from Shila. Now, for the first time, he saw Lord Vaina’s primary wife, the Lady Osmo. She was a rather short and plain-faced woman who did not overdress. To his eyes, she looked a bit like a sparrow standing beside two blue jays and a hummingbird. After she offered her well wishes, she looked searchingly at Sandun for some time, but what meaning lay behind her penetrating gaze remained a mystery. Lord Vaina’s other two Serice wives were nearly as tall as he was. Both were elegant and very attractive; they could have been sisters so far as Sandun could tell. One of the two was visibly pregnant, while the other had given birth to a baby girl not five weeks earlier.

  The Lady Eun spoke to Miri in the language of Shila, and Miri replied gravely and then bowed to her while remaining seated. Eun simply nodded in response and turned away.

  All of the ministers and most of the generals Sandun knew from the council meetings came up with their wives and offered their wishes for good health, many children, and long life. After each guest, a servant presented a gift to newlyweds: Serica-glass plates, cups, bowls, a teapot, and more than ten folded lengths of silk. Renieth and his young wife came last, since he was the newest minister. After the formal well wishes, he announced that the Ministry of Rituals was presenting a gift chosen by Sandun for his new wife. Two servants came up and set the timbal in front of Miri.

  Miri smiled and then covered her mouth with her hand. She took her hand away and said, “This humble woman thanks her husband and the Ministry of Rituals for this timbal. I shall treasure it always.”

&nb
sp; “Do you know how to play the timbal?” Sandun asked her.

  She looked at him and slowly nodded. “This woman has no notable talent but…it is my favorite instrument.”

  “Can you play a piece for us?” Sandun wondered how she would react to this question. It was a test, of sorts.

  Miri looked back at him steadily and then replied: “Yes.”

  The assembled guests who stood near all became silent as she strummed the many strings of the timbal. Frowning, she adjusted several of the wooden bridges that tuned the strings. Then she played.

  Her performance that afternoon became etched in Sandun’s mind. Her fingers skipped and caressed the strings, and she leaned over the instrument and swayed back and forth, as though calling up sounds by breathing on it. The timbal sounded like a harp but was differently tuned, and unlike the bards of Kelten, she did not sing. She played a melody that was at times lively, then slow and poignant. She ended with a dazzling sequence of fast notes played with both hands and demanding of intense concentration. Sandun felt his heart catch as he connected with the woman, the music, the melody all in a timeless moment of joy.

  When it was over, there were gasps from several members of the audience followed by loud clapping led by Lord Vaina.

  Miri bowed back at her audience. There was a faint flush to her cheeks, and she pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

  “That piece, called ‘Rocks Dividing Two Seas,’ was composed by the master musician for the high lord of Kirdar. He taught it to me less than a year ago.” She turned and faced Sandun. “My husband’s gift is a magnificent instrument. I am not worthy to be its player.”

  “I think you are,” said Sandun emphatically.

  Lord Vaina loudly proclaimed that he had several pressing matters to attend to, and he bade farewell to his guests and left, followed by his wives. The Keltens, only a bit worse for wear from the strong Hutinin liquor, assembled and marched out of the garden as a group, leaving the Serice ministers behind to toast and compose poems for each other.

  Outside the gate, the carriages were gone. As it was only a short way back to the embassy, the women rode double on the horses; Miri and Russu sat in front of their new husbands.

  “Our first trip together,” Sandun said to Miri as they slowly made their way down the street.

  “Who can say how many more tik we will travel?” she replied softly.

  “We leave with the army for Kemeklos in seven days,” Sandun said. He felt her back stiffen, but she did not reply. “In Kelten, we call this ‘the bear’s honeymoon.’”

  “Why so, my lord?”

  “There is a story from my land of a young king, Arkturos, who married and then immediately had to go off to war, and his new bride went with him.”

  “And what of the bear?” Miri asked.

  “In those days, Arkturos was accompanied by a huge bear who, it is said, talked to him in secret, giving him sage advice. In later years, after the awesome bear disappeared, the king himself was called the bear. Our flag of Kelten displays the bear in his memory.”

  “In my country,” Miri said slowly, “the king going to war will take one of his wives. It was an honor to be picked, of course, but sometimes the woman did not return.”

  At the gate to the embassy, Miri gracefully dismounted. They walked in amid greetings from Valo Peli’s kinsmen and the household servants. The downstairs was decorated with flowers hanging from the rafters and richly colored pieces of paper folded into spirals and interlocking chains that represented happiness, luck, and marital harmony.

  Before they could eat, Russu and Ako went through the Rakeved marriage ceremony. Aunt Vonmi’s servant, reading from a piece of paper, said short phrases in the language of Rakeved. Russu repeated them back and translated them into Kelten. Ako then said what Russu had said. Although the wording was different, in effect it was the same thing: asking the blessing of their ancestors for the marriage and vowing to marry and stay with each other till death.

  The temporary altar had been set up in the rear of the dining room. Two pieces of thick paper were suspended from a polished wooden frame, next to a metal gong. The papers listed Russu’s ancestors and Ako’s.

  Then it was over, and the last of the three ceremonies of the day was concluded. Sir Ako kissed his new bride with a measure of flair, knocking the yellow circular hat off her head. Russu smiled happily and fit herself by his side. All the Keltens congratulated their leader and his new wife.

  Looking at the happy couple, Sandun was reminded of a picture he had seen in a history book of Kelten. The picture, an illumination done by an unknown artist, showed Arkturos standing next to his queen, Findair. Arktuos, an imposing man, bear-like, his massive arms resting on Chalris, the sword of Kelten. Findair, small and delicate beside him, proud and determined. Very much like Ako and Russu as the Kelten stood at least a head taller than his new wife. Ako had put on weight since coming to Tokolas, and Sandun knew from hard blows during training that it was all muscle. It was strange how images of the past echoed down through history. Was all this part of a grand design, or did people naturally follow in the footsteps of their forefathers?

  Unexpectedly, while they were eating a proper Kelten feast of roast beef, Russu’s aunt arrived with three servants in tow. Vonmi grandly entered the dining room as though on a tour of inspection. Russu sat frozen in surprise, but Sir Ako stood and spoke courteously. “Vonmi Ti Tuomi, you are welcome. Please join us on this festive occasion.”

  Vonmi gave a questioning look to her servant, who had been helping Russu for the last ten days. The woman nodded briefly in response to her unspoken query.

  Coming up to Russu, she spoke to her in Serice. “So, you went through with it. Well, what’s done is done. Maybe your Kelten opmi will come down to Rakeved someday and save us from the Murkathaz. Perhaps this will turn out to be Eston’s blessing in disguise.”

  Russu, not daring to say anything just yet, stood up and hugged her aunt.

  Vonmi hugged her niece and then offered her hand to Sir Ako, who got to his knee and kissed it. Vonmi theatrically hid her mouth with her other hand, her eyes wide with affected surprise.

  Russu finally said, “Thank you for coming. I’m so happy.” She dabbed at her eyes with a piece of cloth from the table.

  “Well, child, I had to make an appearance,” Vonmi said as she took Russu’s hands in hers. “There, there. Time enough for tears in days to come. I don’t know what you need—likely a great deal of money, as it looks like your new husband is big enough to eat for three. But I also brought you some silks from Rakeved.” She gestured to her servants, and they came up and placed two boxes on the floor beside Russu.

  “This is not as bad as it could be, I suppose,” Vonmi said to Russu. “You could have married worse. However, I recommend that you stay away from Velochaken for a few years, till things have settled down. In the meantime, I’ll see about sending up some dresses for you and a trustworthy maidservant as well. Now, I must go. If I stay, I’ll start crying, and it would ruin my face paint.” She took a rich bag from the third servant and placed it in Russu’s hands; from the clinking sounds, it contained silver cats.

  Turning to Sir Ako, Vonmi spoke slowly in simple Serice: “You, Opmi of Kelten, take safe care of my sister’s daughter. No more poisonings. No more assassins. We of Rakeved do not make empty threats.”

  Sir Ako replied with a well-chosen statement in Serice. “The dragon and the bird of five colors now joined, will never be parted.”

  Vonmi started to reply but then closed her mouth and nodded briefly in recognition of the correctness of his response. Taking up a proffered glass of wine, she raised the glass and spoke in precise but accented Serice: “To Russu and Opmi Ako: long life, matchless happiness, and many children!” She drained the glass and set it down on the table. The rest of the assembly copied her.

  Vonmi turned to leave, but a
t the door she stopped and said, “I’ll be heading home before the army goes north on Lord Vaina’s mad adventure. Till we meet again in the green land beside the sea.” Then she exited the room, and it was as though a sudden gust of wind had blown out the candles.

  Russu said quietly to Ako, “As we say in my homeland, it is best to treat even a sick elephant with consideration. After all, it might recover and be grateful.”

  Miri’s timbal was brought forward, this time by Kagne, and she was convinced by the wedding party to play again. Looking nervous but willing to please, she sat on a low stool near the altar and tuned the instrument as before. Then she said to the room, “This piece is played for happy occasions, like flower day at the market, in the spring.” Miri stroked the strings, summoning delicate sounds like a light rain on a small pond. Sandun thought this new tune Miri played was more the music of Kelten, with a stronger melodic line, though it followed patterns that were strange and occasionally jarring.

  Basil’s last remaining duty was to see that Sandun and Miri left the party before Sandun was drunk. This he accomplished and so, with many ribald jests, Sandun and Miri found themselves alone together in a newly tidied and furnished room on the first floor. Many flowers stood in vases, while Miri’s few belongings had been conveyed there during the day and were now stacked in one corner.

  In later years, Sandun often thought of this first night with Miri. For a man to be alone with a woman having met her just an hour earlier is commonplace, hardly worthy of note. Sandun knew women of easy virtue were found in taverns and pubs across the length and breadth of Kelten. Here in Serica, it was the same. A woman’s company could be purchased with coins or cats and, in a trice, a man could find himself in bed with a woman only half an hour after first laying eyes on her. This was all a matter of playing roles, long established by custom, founded on human nature. The man desired, and the woman acceded, pretending enthusiasm to speed the plow.