The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  Back at the embassy, Sandun ate his delayed lunch of cold beef and soup while he examined the bags of equipment and checked them against the list of things they should bring on the campaign. He heard faint notes from the timbal drifting down from above as Miri practiced songs on the instrument. Many of the other Keltens were out on last-minute errands or saying farewell to women.

  Suddenly there was shouting from the gate. Sandun’s heart started racing; his thoughts returned to the attack on the embassy three months ago. Then Sandun recognized the voice, and pleasure washed away fear.

  “Tell them that Blue Frostel has come! I challenge the opmi from Kelten to a contest of martial skill! Will anyone inside dare to face me?”

  Miri came running down the stairs, holding a dagger in one hand and Sandun’s sword in the other. He calmed her, saying, “I know this man. He is a friend.”

  In the courtyard, Valo Peli’s clansmen were gathering from all directions, their spears at the ready, pointed at the door.

  “Arna Frostel, have you come to batter down the door of the Kelten embassy?” Sandun yelled out.

  “Sandun!” the voice from the other side of the wall boomed. “Are you going to let me in, or must I stay out here, hurling challenges in the street like a common brawler?”

  Reluctantly, the door guards pulled back the iron bar and opened the door.

  Standing in the street, with a bulging pack beside him on the ground, was Frostel, larger than life. He had a massive glaive in one hand and a sword hanging off his belt.

  “Frostel! I was just thinking about you. Welcome to the Kelten embassy in Tokolas.”

  Frostel lifted his pack off the ground with ease and walked into the courtyard. He looked around, nodding in approval, as if he were going to buy the place. “This is a suitable space for a contest of arms. I can be prepared in an hour. Who will face me?”

  “Frostel, we are going north to fight the Kitran army tomorrow. There is no time for duels.”

  Sandun thought he knew how to play Frostel’s game. Mimicking Sir Ako, Sandun came right up to Frostel, mere inches from his chest. Arrogantly Sandun gazed at Frostel with a stern expression. “You came here to join us in the campaign, yes? That’s why you brought your armor?” Sandun poked Frostel’s pack with his foot.

  “First, you need to prove that you are worthy of my company in a test of arms,” Frostel said, staring right back at Sandun.

  “Pshaw! The opposite! You need to prove to us that you are worthy of joining the Opmi of Serica! We crossed the Tiralas, we destroyed a bastiuani of Kitrans in Wheat Town. We set fire to fourteen mighty warships of Vasvar. Although you have a famous name, do you have the courage to match your ancestor in deeds of valor on the battlefield? We are going to war against the Kitran Empire. Will you lend us your sword arm? Will you match us in feats of arms? When we are slaying the Kitran before the gates of Kemeklos, where will you be?”

  Frostel stared expressionlessly at Sandun for several heartbeats, and then he chuckled. “Good enough. You promise battle and glory? I will come. With just days before the battle, now is not the time to risk injury. Later, in the dreary months of winter, there will be time for martial sport.”

  Basil came out from the kitchen and greeted Frostel warmly. After half an hour, Sir Ako walked through the gate. When Frostel met Sir Ako, he sized him up and nodded. “You are the mighty Kelten warrior.”

  “I am,” replied Sir Ako, with a deep, bear-like growl.

  “To see how you fight, I have come more a thousand tik.”

  “We train every day. Sandun told us about you, about your climb up to the Great Sage Temple. If you can ride, you are welcome to join us.”

  Frostel smashed his fist into the palm of his hand with satisfaction. “Ha! I can fight from horseback as well as any Sogand—better!”

  When Sandun introduced Miri, Frostel was taken by surprise. “You are married? To a woman from Shila?”

  “I am now,” replied Sandun with a faint smile. “And there is more. Two Rutal-lil, my wife’s cousins, will accompany us as guards when we go north.”

  Frostel looked all around him like a hunting dog seeking a scent.

  “There are Rutal-lil here? In Tokolas? This is not just an army going north; this will be a company of heroes! We will slay the Kitran by the thousands. Storytellers will lack the words to recount all our deeds.”

  “Did anyone else from your temple, the Rulon Mors, come with you?” Sandun asked Frostel. “Or are you alone?”

  “I am alone.” Frostel’s face fell momentarily. “When news reached us that the army of Kunhalvar was going north to fight Nilin Ulim, none of my companions at the temple believed it was true. Everyone thought it was a ruse, a deception to lure Vasvar or Dombovar into a hasty attack. I myself did not know what to think, as the plan seemed quite mad.”

  Sandun thought there was something more to the story than Frostel was saying, but after a brief pause, Frostel continued. “But I came to find out. There will be more glory for me as a result. They will drink cups of bitter wine when they learn they stayed safe behind the temple walls while I ventured out to find the test of steel! They will be forced to acknowledge me as the true heir of General Arna Frostel.”

  Damar and his warrior woman, Sumitar, came in not long after Sir Ako. Sandun noticed that Sume—as everyone called her—was very interested in Frostel. She was normally self-possessed and rather aloof, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off Frostel. That evening, perhaps their last dinner at the embassy, Sandun watched as Frostel’s gigantic personality filled the room. All the other women regarded him like a muddy bull, a bit wild and dirty and best seen at a safe distance. But Sume stayed close, listening intently and laughing at all his stories. For his part, Frostel paid no special attention to Sume and instead regaled them equally with stories from his travels throughout eastern Serica.

  He showed them scars and talked of duels he had fought. His life reminded Sandun a little of the wandering hedge knights, men of small domains or none at all who traveled across the Archipelago looking for tournaments to fight in. Such freelance knights were romantic figures, the subjects of songs and improbable stories, but were rarely encountered in the flesh. Frostel was not a knight, nor was he a Rutal-lil nor a mercenary. He was a strange character, something that Serica seemed to excel in producing.

  By noon the next day, the parade was set. One of Minister Renieth’s colleagues arrived at their gates with a timetable. Their attendance was requested at the reviewing stand near Lord Vaina in two hours.

  “Full armor,” commanded Sir Ako. “The campaign begins today.”

  “Stay alert,” Valo Peli counseled them. “This scholar can think of at least five occasions where military parades served as the cover for a rebellion by a treacherous general. What better time to end a war than when it is starting?”

  As the Keltens rode in the direction of the plaza where Lord Vaina would be reviewing the army, Sandun wondered if the Keltens were now part of the governor’s bodyguard. In a sense, they were, though they had sworn no oath to the lord of Tokolas. They were an embassy without an ambassador; they represented Kelten but lacked any contact with their king so far away in Seopolis. Sandun was an advisor to Lord Vaina, but he served because he had been asked, not because of any instructions from home.

  The ties that bound him to Lord Vaina had grown very strong over the half year that they had spent in Tokolas. A month ago, Sandun thought he was doing a favor to Lord Vaina by agreeing to marry Miri Kirdar, but now he realized that she was a gift to him. One of the old philosophers of Pella had written, “When you truly aid another, you gain vastly more than the effort you spend.” This was true; Sandun felt it in his bones.

  Miri was riding with Sandun on his horse, Hep, just like on the day of wedding. Because of the armor he wore, she rode behind and had to put her arms around his waist to keep from falling. It pleased hi
m to have her holding on. As they rode, they attracted notice from many people on the streets. Although she was wearing a hat with a wide brim and had wrapped a translucent silk scarf around her face, she was nervous with all the people looking up at her.

  “So many people here know you, my lord,” she said in his ear.

  “You didn’t realize you had married a famous man?” Sandun smiled to himself. He wasn’t that famous.

  “Knowing something is different from feeling something in your heart,” she replied.

  On the reviewing stand, the Keltens stood near Lord Vaina and watched for hours as close to five thousand men and nearly one thousand cavalry marched past. Each unit had its own drums and horns, its own battle flag and equipment. They all saluted as they went by. The shouted pledges of victory or death, the noise from the blaring trumpets—Sandun found it ear splitting and mind numbing. The Keltens and many of the civil advisors took breaks, going back behind curtains to sit and take refreshments.

  Lord Vaina and his generals stood through the whole parade, commenting on the soldiers as they went past. Lord Vaina kept several scribes busy as he gave orders for unit commanders about deficiencies in weapons and men that he noticed. Two unit commanders were demoted on the spot because their soldiers looked unready and ill equipped. That Lord Vaina knew the names of every unit commander no longer surprised Sandun; Lord Vaina seemed to remember everyone he’d ever met.

  Valo Peli’s warning of potential trouble proved groundless. Most of the soldiers looked eager for battle. There was even a separate unit of Red Swords who had come in from the southwest, fighting their way through General Tuno’s border guards—all to help rescue the Radiant Prince. Kagne pointed out to Sandun that many of the soldiers wore red silk on their arms or tied around their swords.

  “They are followers of the Mavana. Red Swords,” Kagne told him.

  Lord Vaina heard Kagne say “Mavana” and said to them, “Yes, many of the soldiers still believe. I have told my commanders that they are to take no position, either for or against the Mavana. We need all the allies we can get.”

  Minister Udek and some of the other civil advisors frowned and whispered to each other.

  The people on the streets who came to watch the parade seemed cheerful in the main, though plenty of worried faces could be picked out in the crowds: tearful mothers, sisters, newlyweds.

  Sandun was repeatedly asked by Lord Vaina to raise his Piksie sword overhead as different battalions passed by. Strangely, the glow, which was once barely visible at night, was now noticeable in the shade. Skathris gave off no heat and in other respects seemed unchanged. Well, not quite unchanged. Sandun saw the faintest hint of colors that seemed to be in motion around the blade. It was as though strange vapors in the air were somehow attracted to the weapon. He asked his fellow Keltens if they saw anything odd about the sword when he held it aloft. Only Kagne saw what Sandun saw, but he confessed he had no idea what it meant. Polkinombu, the krasuth, who was standing in the back behind Lord Vaina, looked at Sandun’s sword with interest but made no comment.

  At the end of the day, when the last unit, the elite white-plumed cavalry, had saluted Lord Vaina, Sandun knew that this was not the full count of soldiers who were departing Tokolas. Nearly three thousand men were going with General Kun to Sasuvi. The main force of more than seven thousand was heading north, and a thousand more were already holding positions on the north side of the Mur. An additional thousand of the most promising new recruits were being sent north in the following week as transports became available. The garrison left to defend Tokolas would consist only of the oldest veterans and the youngest recruits.

  Although this army outnumbered King Pandion’s army at the battle of Agnefeld, it was not close to the greatest army Sandun knew of. Five years before Sandun was born, at the battle of Woodland, more than twenty-five thousand men on each side had fought from morning till night. The historians claimed Woodland was the largest battle in all of Kelten’s history. Even so, sending eleven thousand men out in two different directions was a huge undertaking, and Kunhalvar was but a single province of Serica. The effort of getting this many men equipped and supplied was Herculean. All told, Lord Vaina had nearly thirty-five thousand soldiers under his command at this moment. And yet the Iron King of Dombovar had at least as many men, and Two-Swords Tuno had was not far behind them. Serica was an immense land, far outstripping Kelten, and populous to boot. If Serica were ever unified, it might possibly rival all the kingdoms of the Archipelago put together.

  Lord Vaina announced that the vanguard of the army would cross the Mur this very evening, and he, with the battleships, would set sail at noon the following day.

  In the morning, the seventh day of Haligmon (the ninth month), the embassy courtyard was a picture of farewell from three lands. From Serica, Valo Peli’s wife and daughter bowed before their husband and father respectively. They washed his feet before putting on his travel boots for him. Then they said they would never let a day go by without praying to Eston for his safe return. He bowed in response and said that his duty called him away but that he would return with the Keltens on the wings of victory.

  From Rakeved, Russu played the role of a princess, stoically bidding her warrior husband farewell. Sandun thought she needed a few more days of training for that part, as several tears trickled down her pretty face. She took Sir Ako’s sword and placed it in his hands, saying, “Husband, the Kitran Empire has long been the enemy of my people. Twice they sent armies to destroy our cities and ravage our country. Twice we fought them and drove them out with much loss of life. You go to fight the enemies of us all. Come back to me with your sword stained red from the blood of the Kitran. Know that…” And here her voice broke, and she had to brush away more tears. “Know that your wife will wait for your return till the end of her days.”

  Finally, from Kelten, Olef played her part as the all-business wife, seeing her (not quite) husband off on a long trip. She asked him if he had extra socks (he did) and extra bowstrings (he did) and told him to write when he had the chance. But even Olef had teary eyes as she hugged Basil fiercely. Little Niksol, teething now, wailed bitterly and would not be shushed. Basil’s dog sat by his master; he was going on the trip and was content.

  Sandun was convinced such scenes had been enacted since the days of the first kings, but their repetition didn’t make them less poignant. As for himself, what business did he have to feel sad? Traveling again, in the company of nearly everyone he knew and cared for within three thousand miles. What complaints could he make? Only Ashala was not present, and he had left a flower at her grave just after breakfast.

  Standing outside the gate, guarding their collection of horses, packs, armor, weapons, and even more arrows were the others: Jay and Ven, Frostel, Sume, and Lathe.

  Sandun noticed that Lathe was grinning from ear to ear.

  “No long faces for us two,” Sandun said quietly to Lathe. “But what makes you so joyful?”

  “Vice Commander Sandun, you would not believe the woman I spent last night with! I can scarcely believe it myself…”

  “Go on.” Sandun could tell Lathe was eager to boast of his conquest.

  “Minister Momen’s daughter! She had been making eyes at me during the military review. After the parade was over, her servant girl slipped me a note.”

  “A blind man can see how this story plays out,” said Sandun. “You looked very handsome in your new armor.”

  Lathe preened. “Even in times like these, a minister’s daughter is not a girl to dally with. But as I weighed the balance in my mind—her father’s illness, my going off to war, newly made armor in the Kelten style—I took the chance.”

  “You are still alive and not caught—yet. Do we need to get you on the boat within the hour?”

  “Not caught, but it was a near thing. The young lady was unable to muffle her pleasure in my company. Servants came to her
door. I hid behind a screen, and she spoke movingly of her sadness at her father’s illness. They left. Her tears were real, but they were not from sorrow. Eston’s mercy, I mean, by the Sho’Ash spear, that girl could teach the teahouse women a thing or two.”

  “Are you going to ask for her hand in marriage?” Sandun was curious. Such a thing would not be unheard of in Kelten. Knights were nobles, after all.

  “No chance,” Lathe said lightly. “She’s already promised to another official’s son. Said she wanted to have a real man at least once in her life, instead of a man with a pen for a—well, you know.”

  “Things may change, Lathe. I have no doubt you will be knighted soon, the first born in this land. You are not such a bad match, even for a minister’s daughter. Just stay alive for the next month.”

  “How can I win glory and fame if I try to stay alive?”

  How indeed, thought Sandun. Was that the goal of a true knight, to seek death? To hunt for death and not find it, and so live with fame? Was that the philosophy he had to embrace, now that he was an opmi of Serica? Sandun pondered this question all the way down to the docks as Miri rode silently beside him.

  Sandun was on the same ship as Lord Vaina, the flagship with the few women on board. The rest of the Keltens were assigned to the second battleship while their horses traveled on a barge towed behind them. Nearly all of Lord Vaina’s cavalrymen were going by boat to Jupelos, so as to keep them fresh for the expected battle with the Kitran.

  The harbor of Tokolas was teeming with activity as all manner of boats were sailing about. Few boats were coming in; most of the river craft, loaded down with men and supplies, were heading into the river and then making their way east, upriver. Lord Vaina’s army was being ferried two days’ journey up the Great Mur to a town called Senmihali. From there, they would march north to the city of Jupelos, the northern border town of Kunhalvar. Meanwhile, the battleships would sail directly to Jupelos, going up the Mur and then turning north and sailing up the Jupol River. The whole army could not travel by boat, as many ships were still needed to carry General Kun’s soldiers down the Mur to Sasuvi.