“At once, Lord Vaina.”
“Put out the word to the Red Swords that the Radiant Prince has had a vision and is now speaking prophecy in an ancient tongue. However, the last thing he said before vision possessed him that he proclaimed me the hand of the Mavana.”
“He did indeed, my lord.”
Valo Peli went to give the orders.
Chapter Twelve
Into the Flames
Ako went down to the tunnel’s mouth. Taking an oil lamp left by one of the guards, he went in a short distance. Water was on the floor; as he watched, it crept closer to him. He sighed heavily and turned around. Going up to Lord Vaina, he said, “There is water in the tunnel, and it is rising. My men and I will have to go through the city to find Sandun.”
Lord Vaina looked at Ako and then at the smoke rising from the city like an immense pillar into the sky.
“I cannot order my men into a city of flames. Minister Renieth was a trusted advisor, and Sandun was my friend. And yet, what can be done? I have no doubt that the Kitran are looting the place even as it burns around them.”
“We Keltens must make the attempt. Duty and honor demand it,” Ako replied evenly. “For ought that is known, wide streets, free of flame, lead straight to the palace. And the Kitran may have abandoned the city due to the smoke and fumes. My men and I are enough; no one else need risk their lives.”
Valo Peli hurried back and said, “I will go as well. I owe the Lord Sandun more than one life can repay.”
Lord Vaina looked at Valo Peli steadily for ten heartbeats. Ako wondered what the governor was going to say. He knew what he would do; he would tell him no. But Lord Vaina finally nodded.
“I understand, War Leader. It’s a pity that you can’t fight fire with fire.” Lord Vaina paused, and then his eyes widened. “I have an idea. The penalty battalion is at the west gate; they may go where sane men would fear to tread. You may make almost any offer to induce them to follow you into Kemeklos. Especially loot.”
Valo Peli smiled a thin smile, and then he and Ako turned away and walked west. Miri came up behind them and spoke as they made their way to their camp. “You will need a good supply of water, and cloth to wrap your faces. I think it is unlikely that the whole city is on fire. Look, there are still people coming out of the south river gate.”
Ako agreed. “Find as many waterskins as possible; that would be a help. But know this: you are not coming with us into the city. Burning buildings and wild Kitran looters are problems for us men to deal with. Not ladies, and not the wife of my best friend.”
Miri lowered her eyes and quietly said, “I understand.”
“There is something else you can do,” Ako told Miri. “I want you to go back to Lord Vaina and ask to have last Red Sword official brought over to us. He must lead us into the palace, with my sword at his back if need be.”
At the Keltens’ campsite, Jay and Ven were sitting beside a small fire, eating the last of the fish. Frostel was on his knees, dunking his head into a bucket of water and then shaking his hair out, looking a bit like an overlarge dog. Sume was awake and going through her morning exercises: springing into the air, standing on her hands, throwing punches and kicks at imaginary foes. She had balance and agility the likes of which Ako had never seen in a woman.
At his command, they gathered around, and Ako laid out the situation with stark and bitter words.
“The only living member of the Red Swords’ holy council was granted a reprieve in exchange for guiding me to Sandun’s prison cell,” Ako concluded.
“What happened to the other members of the council?” Jay asked.
“Lord Vaina ordered their execution. Eight men are now lying headless at the shore of the river.”
“Didn’t Lord Sandun go into the city through a hidden tunnel?” Sume asked, as she stood on one leg with her hands over her head.
“He did, but the cowards flooded the tunnel behind them. That act, I think, sealed their fate. Lord Vaina was livid when he heard their admission.”
“What of the Radiant Prince?” Frostel asked, rubbing his face with a bit of cloth. “The Red Swords I talk with care little for the holy advisors, but the prince, he matters.”
“He yet lives, which is more than he deserves!” Ako found it difficult to calm his rage. They had won. They were so close to a complete victory. But now, honor and the bonds of friendship demanded he go into a city on fire: a vain effort that would likely result in his death. He would never see his love or his homeland again. Ako nearly threw his helmet on the ground in frustration, but instead he drew a couple of deep breaths and continued.
“None of you need to come with me into Kemeklos. It’s beyond dangerous. Inside, there are Kitran in unknown numbers, and even if we do make it through the Kitran, and the fire, and the deadly airs, what odds that Sandun is still alive?”
“We’ve been through worse,” Kagne said forcefully. “We beat the Issedonian raiders, didn’t we? We crossed the Tiralas, didn’t we? We destroyed Vasvar’s fleet. And less than a week ago, an army of Kitran cavalry broke upon our spears! We will find Sandun and bring him back. I’m with you.”
“I’m not leaving Sandun in there.” Basil jerked his thumb at the column of smoke. “I’m in.”
The other Keltens saluted Ako, just as they had been doing for years. Ako expected no less from his knights but still felt relief that he would not be going into Kemeklos alone.
Jay and Ven looked at each other.
“You stay and protect Miri. I’ll go,” said Ven.
“No. I’ve done enough in this life,” Jay said with a hint of resignation in his voice. “As the elder, I claim this right. If I don’t come out, you can carve a tombstone for me. Set it in the field of the fallen Rutal-lil in Sorabol.”
If Ven replied, Ako didn’t hear it.
Sume put arrows in her quiver and held her right arm out, thumb up. A faint smile creased her lips.
Damar said to her, “You don’t need to come with us, Sume. It’s like the commander said, beyond dangerous.”
“We shall see,” she replied. “In my clan, we have a saying. ‘When a man has escaped sudden death, it means the gods have a gilded destiny set for him.’ Also, we say, ‘Things always seem worse before you try!’”
Valo Peli strode up to them, wearing a gray shirt and pants wrapped with green silk cords around his arms and legs. His young bodyguard had a pack on his back and a staff in his hand. “Let us go and see who in the penalty battalion will join us on our excursion into hell,” Valo Peli said with smile.
As they walked to the west gate, Ako asked him, “What is the penalty battalion?”
“Many of the oarsmen on the battleships were criminals or prisoners of war, captured from Vasvar and Dombovar. When Lord Vaina ordered the oars taken off the boats, these oarsmen were given a chance to fight with us in the army. Nearly four hundred agreed. At Devek, they and other new recruits were assigned a spot to defend along the southern line. The battalion performed as well as could be expected, given their lack of training. At the very least, they didn’t run away.”
“And what will you offer them to join us?”
“They are criminals. I will offer them money.”
Ako thought Valo Peli seemed curiously happy. “You seem rather cheerful this morning.”
“I am,” Valo Peli replied with a smile. “I didn’t think I would ever have the chance to repay the debt I owe to Sandun. Also, you may recall, I was war leader at the battle of Devek.”
“You mean it was you, standing on that hill and giving orders?” Ako smiled briefly as he looked down at the older man hurrying along beside him.
“It was me, yes. My name will be written in the histories. I will be recorded as the first Serice general to defeat the Kitrans on a battlefield, ever! How is that? I can die happy, and every day since Devek has been another day for me
to add to my fame.”
“You’re just like Frostel here.” Ako looked back at Frostel, who was bringing up the rear, whistling a merry tune, and carrying his sharp glaive over his shoulder.
“That’s not true,” Valo Peli said in an aggrieved tone. “We are nothing alike. He is a Kulkasen, a spirit seeker, and I am a disciple of the Great Sage.”
“Yet for both of you, fame is what drives you, what spurs you on.”
“The fame he seeks is totally different. Only a foreigner could think they were at all related!” After a short pause Valo Peli continued more thoughtfully, “This one must admit, the night battle that Frostel organized just a few hours ago was well done. I can find no fault in either the plan or the execution. The results speak for themselves.”
“Thank you, War Leader!” Frostel boomed out. “Yes, I am a Kulkasen, and I have studied every battle my illustrious ancestor ever fought and read every manual of tactics that I could find. At the temple of the Rulon Mors, we seek mastery over all the arts of war!”
Valo Peli pulled thoughtfully on his beard.
Ako and Valo Peli found the penalty battalion already assembled. Word had somehow reached them that they were wanted for a special task. Ako looked over the men, many sitting in the dirt, a few standing in groups. Nearly all their weapons were Kitran; they had gleaned successfully from the battlefield of Devek. Like most of the Red Crane soldiers, they had no armor, and their clothing looked ragged. Most were scrawny, and many had black markings on their faces—tattoos. It was very rare to find men with tattoos in Kelten, and these were the first he could remember having seen in Serica.
Ako recognized one group of soldiers: the men from Essebeg. Gorgi stood with his arm wrapped around a long spear. Catching Ako’s eyes, Gorgi saluted with his free hand.
Valo Peli stood in front of the men and, using simple language, sketched out what he wanted and why in just a minute. After that, he made his plea.
“Loot—that is what I offer,” he said. “To convince you to follow us into the hell of burning flames: loot. Yours to keep. If the Lord Sandun, the Fire Sword, is found and brought back alive, you may keep eight parts out of every ten you carry out of the palace. If only his body is recovered, you may keep seven out of ten. If he is not found, then you keep five out of every ten. Let me tell you, the Red Swords fled the palace of Kemeklos with unseemly haste. There are less than a hundred chests down by the river’s edge, and many of those are filled with books and papers! Do you think they carried everything of value out?”
Mutters of “No” came from the men.
“Let me say it differently. Is there treasure still remaining in the palace of the Radiant Prince?”
A loud “Yes” was roared back at him.
“Find the Lord Sandun, and it’s yours for the taking!”
While some men looked at the pillar of smoke billowing up from the city and shook their heads, nearly two hundred took up their swords and followed Valo Peli out of the camp, heading to the south water gate.
Ako went up to Gorgi, who was talking to his men. They had long faces and were making no effort to follow the other men to Kemeklos.
“Not interested in looting the palace?” Ako said, his voice sounding hollow in his ears.
“My men and I have homes and families to go back to,” Gorgi said with a trace of wounded pride in his voice. “We’ve done our part: fought the Empire’s bloody cavalry to a standstill beside the river. It’s enough. Remember, I told you a week ago that those Red Swords were deranged! Imprisoning the governor’s ambassadors? Madness.” He spat on the ground. “When you bring your friend out, come back to Essebeg. We’ll drink more pine beer together. Come visit, any time. Good luck to you, Opmi.”
Ako nodded curtly and turned north, squarely facing the burning city. As he passed through the Serice mercenary camp, Ako remembered he had fought here just seven hours earlier. He was tired, but he tensed his muscles and forced his weariness down. The camp looked like a violent thunderstorm had passed through it, with tents flattened and wooden barricades knocked over and scattered. However, there were only broken weapons lying about, and the dead had been pulled away to a pile.
Threadbare people—men, women, and even a few children—were poking through the wreckage, looking for food. Some had found things to eat and were hunched over, eating furtively, looking around like hungry raccoons nibbling on crusts of bread. Ako suspected the people had come from inside Kemeklos; he didn’t doubt there had been starvation inside the city, not after a siege of more than two months.
As they came up to the south water gate, Ako saw men scrambling over the mound of debris that blocked the gate almost up to the arched roof. It was a narrow fit at the top, and grown men had to get on their hands and knees. That opening would be nearly impossible for men in steel armor such as himself. He found the leader of the penalty battalion and suggested that his men clear out a bigger path.
“It will make it easier to bring the treasures back out,” Ako said, speaking the plain truth.
The officer agreed, and soon the gang of two hundred looters was working with vigor to widen the passage, pulling aside wood beams and bricks and pushing chunks of rock down the pile.
Miri rode up on a wagon, with six water barrels in it. Somewhere, perhaps from one of doctor’s tents, she had found a heap of clean rags. The wagon driver had wrapped a cloth around his head and kept looking up at the sky as if pieces of the burning city were going to land on him at any moment. The men from the penalty battalion came up and soaked the rags and then put them over their faces. They ran out of rags near the end, but Ako figured the looters would have to resolve that problem on their own.
The Keltens were ready. The Red Sword councilman had said almost nothing since he was brought to them under guard. No doubt he was shocked by the execution of his fellows. Ako felt no pity for the man, as the Holy Council of the Radiant Prince had almost certainly killed Sandun by their actions or inaction. Ako thought ruefully that all of them were likely to meet Sandun and Sho’Ash face-to-face before the day was out.
“What’s your name?” Ako asked the councilman roughly.
“Kalarvo,” the man replied. “Kalarvo Sambek.”
“Guide us well and true, and you will live,” Ako told him.
“I will do what I can to rectify things, as the Mavana decrees.”
When Ako reached the top of the heap, he found it was barely possible to walk under the archway. No smoke was coming through the opening, which he took for a good sign. He turned and waved at the Lady Miri; Ven stood beside her with his sword drawn. Expecting trouble, thought Ako, and who could blame him?
Inside the wall, it was much hotter, and the haze from the mix of ash, dust, and smoke was thick. As he stood on the rubble, turbulent gusts of air blew into Ako’s face; some were cool and refreshing, others felt like a blast from a double-sized forge. Already, a few of the Red Crane looters were heading up the road into the city. Their commander told Ako that a few of his men had been in Kemeklos before, though none claimed any knowledge of the royal palace.
Ako wrapped his wet rag around his mouth and signaled his men to move. He pushed the councilman, Kalarvo, ahead of him. “Lead!”
Walking fast, Kalarvo led them up the road, staying in the center, while shielding his eyes from the ash drifting down from the colossal clouds above. This part of the city had relatively few fires, and the wind blowing from the southeast kept most of the embers away, though crazy gusts of wind sometimes came from the north.
Kalarvo guided them off the main road after several hundred yards. On either side of the narrow streets, a few people were on their rooftops, sweeping away smoking embers. Through the haze, nine armed men approached them: Red Sword soldiers, carrying sacks on their backs. Yet on their faces, it was as though death himself had spoken their names. When they saw Ako and the Keltens, they slowed down, and their leader c
ame up to Ako with his mouth open and bloodshot eyes.
“Where are you going?” The man spoke loudly, as if he had been deafened by the fire.
“To the palace!” Ako replied.
“Madness! The palace has fallen. The north wall fell in the night, and the enemy are all over the old city.” The Red Sword’s face was streaked with soot. “The Holy City has fallen. The Mavana didn’t come.” Ako noticed the Red Swords paid no attention to Kalarvo, perhaps because the councilman’s robes were covered in mud and his face was wrapped in a wet cloth.
“Many of your people made it out during the night,” Ako told him, offering the man some hope. “We scattered the mercenaries guarding the south gate. You can get out that way and fight another day.”
“We heard rumors of that. I…you have my thanks. Why are you going to the palace?”
“Because my friend is still in there,” Ako replied.
“Fighting has been going on for hours around and in the palace. Flaming barrels flying over the walls spread the flames. All ended? Over now? Word came that the herald had escaped. My men and I thought there’s no point in joining the diehards inside.”
“You can come with us,” Ako said.
“I don’t know who your friend is, but if the herald has gotten out of the city, mayhap our place is with him?”
Ako turned away and rewrapped his cloth mask around his face. He realized how skillfully Lord Vaina had played the events down by the tunnel’s mouth. In fact, it had worked out almost perfectly for Lord Vaina with the Radiant Prince under his control and almost all the Holy Council dead. With his powers of persuasion, Lord Vaina should be able to gain the allegiance of many of the Red Sword soldiers. The unexpected hitch was that Sandun and Renieth had been left behind in Kemeklos. Sandun isn’t lost yet, he told himself.
“How much farther?” Ako prodded Kalarvo with his armored finger.
“Up ahead is the first bridge. We have to cross two more before we reach the palace.”
The Fire Sword Page 45
