The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  “When did you become opmi?”

  Sandun became a bit uncomfortable, but he felt that had to tell Ven the truth. “Only recently. In Kelten, I was a scholar for many years. Basil was a hunter and a guide. Kagne was a trader and traveler. The rest of my companions have been warriors for several years.”

  Ven looked steadily at Sandun and nodded. “This is good to know. My brother and I have a role to play after all. In watching Sir Ako practice, it is clear that I can no more defend him than I could defend a tiger. The best I can do is stay out of his way. You, Sandun, do not walk like a warrior. My brother and I have wondered if this was a studied deception on your part to lull others into a false sense of confidence.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “This also explains why the Lord Vaina asked you to be his advisor. You are a scholar who knows somewhat of fighting, not a soldier. Perhaps someday you will tell us how you came in possession of a sword that can cut through metal.”

  “Someday,” Sandun replied.

  In the afternoon, Lord Vaina and ten of his guards joined them. Despite his earlier words, Lord Vaina seemed happy to get off the flagship, and he laughed and told them stories about faithless women and foolish merchants as they rode beside the herd. They stopped at a small village, and Lord Vaina got off his horse and sat beside a well, talking to the village headman about the harvest and the weather. Lord Vaina’s accent became strong as he talked to the villager, and Sandun soon lost the thread of the conversation. The headman called him “Governor Vaina” and offered all of them glasses from a cask of hard cider, which Lord Vaina accepted on their behalf. The cider was refreshing; it had a bite along with the strong apple flavor. The line of horses going past them seemed endless. The dust the animals kicked up became so thick they had to bid farewell and return to the fleet.

  That afternoon, Miri and the Lady Eun found themselves alone together at the prow of the flagship. The land was flat in all directions, and the brown-water river snaked its way in lazy curves between fields of rice that were, in many places, being harvested by lines of men and women.

  Miri could no longer restrain her curiosity, and so she asked the question that had been in her mind ever since she arrived in Tokolas. Speaking in the language of Shila, she said, “You reached Tokolas six months before I did. May I ask how?”

  “Dear girl, we took the easy path, across the narrow sea to Monavar. Then my escort followed the Grand Trade Road up and through the hills to Naduva. Once there, it was so simple to hire a boat to take us down the Great Mur. A relaxing journey. I was as fresh as a flower when I arrived in Tokolas, and my lord husband was instantly smitten. So sad you had to go the long way, dodging pirates and bumping your way up and down through tribal Torsihad. It must have been so unpleasant with all those savages leering at you, day after day.”

  “Jay and Ven took care of the difficult men,” Miri said gravely. “Torsihad is quite lovely in places. It’s not all farms and towns like this.” She waved her hand at the land around them. “There are places of natural beauty like you can find in the mountains north of Sorabol.”

  “When my lord leads his army through Torsihad on his way to conquer Godalo, I will have a chance to enjoy its rare, unspoiled beauty,” Eun replied lightly.

  “The lord of Tokolas is going to attack Godalo?” Miri said with surprise.

  “Of course not, silly girl. No one cares about Godalo! That was humor. What do they teach young Kirdar women these days? Oh, I forgot—you didn’t spend much time in the capital.”

  “I don’t see why you have to be so mean,” Miri said reproachfully. “We are both a long way from Shila.”

  “I’m not mean; I’m glad you are here. We can talk like civilized women.” Eun paused and then said softly, as though musing on a difficult verse of a poem: “If I were a tiny bit mean, you would be…so very, very pale right now. Your spirit would be looking for a new body, I think. It pleases me that you convinced that Kelten man to marry you. It’s terrible, all the poisonings going on these days. I feel it’s all the fault of the Kitran. They are such barbarians! Did you know they actually allow cultivation of the Doorway plant?” Eun shook her head, and the jewels on her hairpins caught the sunlight and shone in Miri’s eyes. “My house learned this the hard way from one of our agents in Daka.”

  Miri held herself very still as she replied, “But I’m no threat to you now.”

  “My sweet, sweet girl, you were never a threat. I didn’t come here alone. I was sent here by the chief minister himself. House Tols takes all appropriate steps to accomplish its goals, as you should know. Tokolas is a big city, with so many people coming in every day. You would be surprised, I think, to learn how many people from Shila are living in and around the city.”

  “I…we had no idea,” Miri said weakly. “House Kirdar only learned of Lord Vaina recently. Why did the chief minister send you? Why did you agree?”

  Lady Eun turned to face Miri. “I could ask you the same question, but I already know the answer. All right, I’ll tell you.” She leaned closer to Miri. “Despite the war and the armies arrayed against him, the chief minister told me that four of the eight spokes led to Lord Vaina becoming the king of Serica. Those are odds I’m willing to take: to be queen of Serica.” She lifted her fan and cooled her face with it.

  “You’re not his first wife,” Miri said. It was such an obvious statement that she regretted saying it immediately.

  “Yes, but I am his favorite, which is why I’m here, sailing up this river, en route to a great battle and a glorious victory, while his other wives cower in fear back in Tokolas. My lord is spending so much time with me this trip, I’ll be carrying his child before the next moon.”

  “The chief minister in Sorabol thinks the governor of Kunhalvar will become king of Serica?” Miri knew this was a matter of high state, but she asked anyway. “What of the Iron King?”

  “What do you know about the Iron King?” Eun glanced at Miri, and Miri knew she was being tested. She decided to tell the truth, despite the not-so-veiled threats.

  “His circle of flowers has more than twenty-five women. Many days are feast days, with poetry and dance far into the night. His kingdom has gained no land in two years.”

  “So House Kirdar’s scholars did teach you something. My half sister is one of those twenty-five women. I have read a few of her notes that were smuggled out of the palace. What you say is—more or less—correct. The Iron King is pretending he is lord of all, when he rules but a single province.” Eun lowered her voice to just a whisper. “As Ekon’s grace is unknowable, the future is not set, and the Iron King may win out in the end. My husband may take an arrow in the eye tomorrow. My house has placed me here, and I must make of it as best I can.”

  Eun picked up a candied plum and ate it and then smiled at Miri. “Oh, it’s so good to be out of the palace and away from that odious official in charge of the inner palace: Thrun! How I hate him! Now I can have Lord Vaina all to myself. You should get some attention from your Kelten man. Or do they not teach girls of House Kirdar the arts of seduction?”

  Miri felt herself blushing, but she replied, “I’ve been taught.”

  “Then I suggest you put some of your training to use. My lord will not steal another man’s wife, but it would best for everyone if you became…rounder. The Keltens will fight harder if they are defending wives who at least pretend to love them. And the harder they fight, the more likely it is that my lord will become king over all of Serica.”

  Miri looked away at the farmers working the fields beside the river. They were busy on this late-summer afternoon; the wheelbarrows were piled high with cut rice stalks.

  “Don’t get any ideas that I can be replaced by you,” Eun said, as though talking to the river, and then she turned away from the river and stared at Miri. “If I die, your remaining time in this life will be no longer than that of a mayfly. Oh, don’t loo
k so startled. Once you accept that you will never share Lord Vaina’s bed, I’m sure we will be best friends.”

  Miri looked at Eun, her eyes wide. She hadn’t considered that idea. Both Eun and Sandun would have to die before that could become even a remote possibility. It was preposterous. Absurd. But plainly Eun had thought of it.

  “Of course, Lord Vaina would never marry another man’s wife,” Miri said, almost stumbling over her words. “No king of Serica would do such a thing and yes, plainly we will become the best of friends.”

  Later in the afternoon, the men returned to shore beside the battleship. While servants took care of the horses, they were ferried aboard. Miri made a conscious effort to stay close to her husband, and she asked him what he had seen. If he was surprised by her newfound interest, he concealed it well. The men were happy to have been active; they were boisterous and loud. Basil had shot two birds out on the water, which his dog fetched for him, and these were presented to Lord Vaina’s chef.

  Dinner was a raucous affair as Lord Vaina recounted one of his stories from when he was studying to become a monk at the Yellow Dragon Monastery. It was a very crude story involving an elderly monk who was incontinent during an important visit by a senior abbot. Miri didn’t understand the humor, but she saw that Eun was laughing without covering her mouth and keeping her husband’s wineglass filled, so she tried to smile and urged Sandun to drink.

  That night, she did use one of the methods of seduction she had been taught, and Sandun enjoyed her body in the very narrow bed. Afterward, she asked him if he would like to know something of her life in Shila.

  Sandun said yes, and for a time he listened as she described the day she had gone to visit the tombs of her ancestors in the hills above Birumaz. She had been around six years old, just a child, distractible. A pretty butterfly fluttered nearby, its wings gold and blue; she followed it, chased it down the slope away from the tombs and the dull adults. At the bottom there was a stream and a pond, and there were many fish. At first, the fish had been frightened, but she dropped a few grains of rice—which she was clutching in her hands—into the water, and gradually she had coaxed the shy creatures to the surface. They swallowed the rice grains with big gulps that left bubbles on the surface of the water.

  After all the rice was eaten and the fish had stopped coming to surface, she walked back up the steep slope only to find everyone was gone. Although there was food and wine set out beside the tombs, she didn’t dare touch any; it was spirit food meant for the ghosts of the dead. She waited there for a long time, wondering if anyone would come back and fetch her or if she had been left behind deliberately. Eventually an old manservant had appeared, coming slowly up the hill to collect her and bring her home.

  Miri stopped her story as she realized Sandun had fallen asleep. She knew it wasn’t a very good story, but it was a tale she had not spoken of since the day it happened. She continued the story in her mind while Sandun’s warm body lay next to hers. When she had mentioned feeding the fish in the stream, the old manservant had told her the fish held the souls of the ancestors’ guards. What she didn’t tell the old man—what she didn’t tell anyone—was that she heard the fish speaking to her, whispering words as they came to the surface. She never forgot the words they seemed to say to her: “Miri Kirdar…you will marry…a great man.”

  Lying in the narrow bed, on a tremendous warship, four thousand tik from home, she told herself that fish don’t speak words of prophecy to little girls, that she was married, and all her dreams had come to this. A Kelten, a man who had crossed the Tirala Mountains, an advisor to Lord Vaina. This was her husband; this was who she had married. From now on, she needed new dreams. Assuming he lived. Assuming any of them lived.

  After lunch, the battleship swung past the trail lined with the thousand horses running alongside the fleet. Again, Sandun and Ven left the boat and rode to the head of the herd, where they found the other Keltens keeping in front of the dust cloud. The land seemed unchanged: farms in all directions, fields either thick with grain or cut down by the harvesters.

  “End of summer, harvest season. The best time to move an army at the fastest speed,” Sir Ako said to Sandun as they rode side by side. “The danger of campaigning at such a time comes from early rains, which can bring a sudden end to the war before anything of note is achieved. Also, the fields must be harvested, else the people will starve, so summoning all men to fight before the harvest is finished is a grave risk.”

  “Do you think most of the soldiers in this Red Crane Army are farmers?” Sandun asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. The soldiers seem mostly townsfolk and consequently are not imposing warriors.”

  It was commonly believed in Kelten and the Archipelago that farmers made the best soldiers; townsmen were thought to be good for little more than guarding city walls.

  “Ample supplies of food are the best remedy for popular discontent,” Sandun said thoughtfully. “Keeping the farmers in the fields makes some sense.”

  “Aye, but what about fielding the best possible army?” Sir Ako said. “Granaries filled to the rafters won’t defend your land from Sogands.” After a short pause, he veered off on a new tack. “Sandun, I’d like to have more men like Lathe join the Knights of Serica. We are too few to make much of a difference. We make a good show, but my plans require us to have more men.”

  “Lots of men do want to join. At least two hundred over the last couple of months asked if they could join the Opmi of Serica. You turned them down.”

  “I know, I know, but all who join must follow the teachings of Sho’Ash,” Sir Ako said emphatically. “The Knights of Serica are not going to be just a band of warriors. We have a moral code that must be followed! Only men who accept the truth of Sho’Ash can become knights. Whatever the old priest did in Tokolas to keep the faith, it wasn’t enough. And his son is making converts too slowly. They both believe, but they seem oddly content to be ignored, to be treated as curiosities instead of preaching the truth. I’ll tell you what we need: we need someone like Saint Pellar to preach the word and bring new converts to the temple by the thousands. I can’t take on that job. I don’t think any of us can: not you, not Padan, not Basil, clearly not Kagne. I don’t know how it can be done.”

  “I doubt Lord Vaina would be happy to see Saint Pellar appear in Tokolas, bringing the words of truth to the multitude,” Sandun mused. “We both know how the emperor and his court treated Saint Pellar when she arrived with her book of truth more than a thousand years ago. Why, if Lord Vaina accepted Sho’Ash, half his officials would quit the province, and the rest would seek her death and that of her followers.”

  Sandun continued, “At the moment we are harmless because we are few and pose no threat to anyone but the Sogands. If we did not stay quiet, if someone like Saint Pellar were preaching on the streets of Tokolas, gaining converts daily, she would be torn to pieces by the priest of Eston or the followers of the Mavana, or both.” Sandun lowered his voice and spoke for Sir Ako’s ears alone. “Lord Vaina is our best ally, but we must grow slowly, under the table. It would be wonderful to have the Knights of Serica grow as rapidly as the Knights of Saint Pellar did, and it would be easier for us to grow if we did not make following Sho’Ash a necessary part of our order.”

  Sir Ako frowned at those words, but Sandun quickly forestalled his objection. “But we must, we must. It is who we are, and we could not be knights in any sense of the word if we abandoned Sho’Ash. He led us across the Tirala Mountains, and we cannot abandon our faith in him now that we have reached this land. These are very early days. My new wife is a follower of Eston or Ekon, and yours has not taken the vows either.”

  “She will,” said Sir Ako. “She said so before we left.”

  “Well and good. We need to win converts through our example. If those who know us will join us, it is all we can hope for at present. When or if Lord Vaina becomes king of Serica, then trad
e across the Tiralas will grow, and priests will come. I doubt not that the Holy Synod will send missionaries as soon as they learn our route is possible.”

  Sir Ako slowly nodded. “I think you may have the right of it. This may not be our task. Others will come, with more wisdom and with the authority of the temple behind them. And who am I to wish for Saint Pellar to come? She would cast me out of her sight for my manifold sins. Yet there are so many things I wish to accomplish, and time is pressing.”

  “First things must be dealt with first. We must defeat the Sogand army before all else.”

  “Perhaps I have let visions of the far future distract me from the danger that lies just up the river,” Sir Ako said philosophically. “Few men go into battle without detailed plans for the coming years all laid out. Even knights comfort themselves with dreams of the future, as though the battle were only a tournament. Even I.”

  On the sixth day out from Tokolas, Lord Vaina’s flagship arrived at the first significant city on the river. This was Jupelos, the northern border of Lord Vaina’s territory, the bleeding edge of Kunhalvar. The officials in the town came down to the quayside to greet Lord Vaina. Most wore helmets and carried swords. Ever since Nilin’s army had laid siege to Kemeklos, his raiders had made forays south to Jupelos. Kunhalvar’s border was the scene of many skirmishes: farms had been burned, families butchered. The leaders of Jupelos were very happy to see the army arrive, and the relief on their haggard faces was like that of a man who’d stumbled out of a dry valley being offered a glass of clean water.

  The commander of the advance guard of the Kunhalvar army was there, bowing to Lord Vaina. He and his men had arrived in town just an hour before the flagship; the rest of the Red Crane Army would march into camps throughout the day and the next as well.

  One after another, the battleships anchored by the shore, and the cavalrymen disembarked. From this point onward, they would ride, scouting ahead of the army, screening the foot soldiers from sudden attacks. The battleships would be used for carrying supplies and moving the sick, and as platforms for Valo Peli’s deadly ballistas.