Die for the Flame (19 page)

When
evening fell, it descended quickly because the Crystal Mountains rimmed the western horizon and blocked the evening light. Clarian guided his weary horse and lagging packhorse up into a city much bigger than his own Citadel. The streets were empty of people, and commerce paused, because it was dinnertime. Clarian stopped to ask for directions and was guided to a stable to board his horses and a nearby inn where he could spend the night. The next day, he would go to see the Flamekeeper of the Madasharan people and tell him of his people’s ordeal with the Maggan. He carried a sealed letter from his Flamekeeper for the Madasharan Flamekeeper. He hoped he would be well received, and he went to sleep thinking of his home on the banks of the river and the sweet smell of the Grasslands.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

N
eevan had been invited to a festive dinner at the home of one of the commanders of the Drumaggan Guard. The spacious house, built of quarried stone, rose up against the wall of one of the caverns that branched off from the main chamber. Torches illuminated the entrance, and inside the host, Commander Robhan, welcomed the guests, who were mainly military officers from the Maggan and Drumaggan armies. The rooms were lavishly furnished with fine wooden furniture, carpets, and wall coverings. The fireplace roared in the large dining room, which held a long table well set with dishware. As soon as she entered, Drumaggan officers seeking her attention surrounded Neevan. She had dressed not in her black Maggan uniform, but in the Drumaggan fashion, wearing a long garment of deep green that set off her green eyes. A gold necklace with a green stone encircled her neck and lay glittering upon her white skin, and gold bracelets jingled on her wrists. She had brushed her hair without the side braids and gathered it in a golden net on the back of her neck. She looked lovely and knew it.

There were other women officers from both armies at the dinner but none as beautiful as Neevan. A random thought crossed her mind: she wondered what Clarian would think of her if he saw her. She quickly dismissed the thought as silly and turned her smile to a handsome young officer who offered to get her a drink. In another room, musicians played soft melodies unlike any Neevan had heard growing up. Nevertheless, it was pleasing, as was almost everything associated with the Drumaggan city, known as Ukranan.

At dinner, Neevan was seated at the head table next to Commander Robhan with other senior officers, including Sulan, the senior commander of all Drumaggan troops. The conversations were light and happy, mostly about differences in the lifestyles of the two peoples, about the quality of horses and cattle and about crops. It was only at the end of the meal that the subject of the Karran finally arose.

Neevan overheard a young Maggan officer describe the Karran attacks, and as he did, the table became quiet while everyone listened. “…and they set fire to the long, dry grass as we were camped for the day, and in the smoke and confusion, they moved in close with archers and created havoc.”

“How did you counter the attack?” asked a Drumaggan officer.

“We couldn’t. They simultaneously drove off our horses and attacked our rear supply wagons. And then they seized the high ground on all sides and shot arrows down into us as we tried to regroup. We lost many soldiers.”

Another Drumaggan officer asked, “Wasn’t I told that the Karran actually attacked your city?”

“Yes, while we were engaged,” the young Maggan officer explained, “they sent a force in behind us into the forest and burned our homes.”

There were gasps and exclamations until Sulan, a big, rangy man with hooded eyes, interjected. “But the war did end, didn’t it? What happened?”

Naguran, an older senior Maggan officer with long, white hair, who until now had remained silent, spoke out. “Neevan negotiated with Clarian, their leader. And to be honest, he let us go.”

They all turned to Neevan with looks of amazement on their faces. “Neevan!” Many said her name, and she felt slightly embarrassed by all the attention.

“Tell us, Neevan,” said Robhan. “What was he like? A fierce warrior, I bet.”

“He had trouble seeing me in the dark,” she said. They all laughed at that, and it took a few moments for the room to quiet down and for the chuckles to diminish. The room of men looked to her for more details. Neevan smiled self-consciously and glanced at Robhan, who encouraged her. “He is a tall, fair-haired young Karran who has great self-confidence and is very resourceful. He seemed to be able to anticipate our every move before we made it, and he then countered with effective strategies. He is a horse soldier and learned to fight in the Grasslands frontier far to the west of their lands. He has been designated by his Flamekeeper as the ‘Chosen One.’”

Her statement caused quite a stir and a multitude of side conversations. It was several moments before Robhan called everyone to quiet down. “But Neevan, what was he like when you spoke with him? Did he threaten you?”

“Oh, no. He is…” she thought for a moment. “He is very mannerly and…he couldn’t understand why we attacked them.”

“The Karran attacked the Maggan!” someone shouted out from the other end of the table.

“No. That is not correct,” Neevan said loudly. “We attacked them to take back the Flame. We were overconfident because we thought they were unprepared. We assumed we would crush and destroy them easily. And the truth is they outfought us.”

That sparked a new round discussion, with everyone talking at once. Again, Robhan quieted everyone and asked, “What did Clarian ask for as part of the negotiation to end the war?”

“Ferman.”

Sulan guffawed coarsely, and the dinner crowd erupted again. Only after Robhan called for quiet did Neevan get a chance to explain.

“He wanted us to hand over Ferman to him before he would let us retreat back to the forest. Of course, Ferman had some objections to this.”

After the initial shock of the news, laughter broke out all up and down the table.

“We met in an open field in the rain in the middle of the night. Ferman and his senior officers were a short distance away, and he sent me forward alone to negotiate. Clarian came forward alone, also, with his advisors waiting some distance back. Of course, we couldn’t give him Ferman. In the end, one of his people gave him a message. It was then that he said we could go without conditions. Clarian and I shook hands, and he wished me well.”

“You shook hands!” exclaimed an officer next to Neevan.

“Yes, I did. I shook Clarian’s hand,” Neevan said, nodding, laughing at all the consternation on the faces of the other officers. “And he said, ‘May the Flame be with you, Neevan.’ Yes, he did. He used those very words.”

Robhan shook his head and smiled at Neevan as the conversations throughout the room boiled over. Sulan leaned back in his chair and did not join in, a cautious look in his eyes as he thought about this warrior named Clarian.

Wearing his violet cloak and clean clothes, Clarian was shown into an inner office of the Great Temple of the Sacred Flame. He marveled at its architecture that morning on his walk into a large city square paved in stone and ringed with large, multistory buildings made of limestone that glistened in the sunlight. It was a beautiful sight, very different from the Karran’s main city, which was built around the castle they called the Citadel. The temples differed as well. In Karran, the Citadel was a fortress commanding the highest ground in the countryside. Here, although the temple was a great building on high ground, it was not designed for defense. The office of the Madasharan Flamekeeper had windows that overlooked the plaza three stories below. It was filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of books, and on one wall, there was a large tapestry of white flame set on a background of vibrant violet. The floors were covered with red and violet carpets, and one wall held a fireplace not in use at the moment. There was a large meeting table with chairs and a desk near one of the windows. A door opened, and a smiling ancient man with a well-trimmed white beard, wearing a violet robe, came through holding out his hand to Clarian, who hastened to grasp it and bow before him.

“Clarian, my dear son.”

“Dear Flamekeeper.”

“I have read the letter you brought for me from
your
Flamekeeper. Come, let us sit down and talk.”

The old man led the way to chairs by a window. “We heard there was a war with the Maggan but had received little news until now. Our cousins, the Karran, are so far away, and we have so little contact with them.”

Clarian waited politely as the old man looked at him with wise, piercing gray eyes. “My brother, your Flamekeeper, has explained in his letter all that happened. Yet, you, Clarian, his commander of the Karran army, have made a long and difficult journey of many days to deliver his letter personally.”

“I have come, Holy One, to see Madasharan and to see you.”

“You could have sent a messenger. I am guessing there are reasons for your presence that are not in the letter.”

“That is true.”

The Flamekeeper called for food and drink to be brought in. An aide placed a small table by the window.

“How do you find our city, Clarian?”

“It is very beautiful. Like nothing I have ever seen. And so many people.”

“Yes, it is. A very old city going back to the beginning of memory when we first came to this land. That was before some of our people moved eastward. Your people, Clarian. The Karran, as they now call themselves.”

“Where did we come from?” Clarian asked.

“Ah, good question. We came by boat across the Southern Sea. We brought our horses and livestock with us and landed in the delta region of a great river. You know this place, do you not?”

“I have never been to the delta, but I know the Blue River that feeds it. I am a ferryman on the river as my father was before me.”

“Yes. Well, we were forced to leave our prior home because of constant warfare. We were surrounded by enemies stronger than we were. One of our holy men had a vision, and that was to cross the sea to a new land. Many of our people wouldn’t leave, and others were fearful of the sea. Nevertheless, a great number with families, horses, and livestock sailed in a fleet of boats out into the sea. For days, they sailed out of sight of land. A storm arose, and boats were lost to the great waves.”

The old man looked out the window and down on the people walking below, messengers hurrying, a few soldiers patrolling, a violet cloak here and there. “Those who survived landed in the delta, which was swampy, and they had to make their way out with some hardship. They could see the Crystal Mountains from there, and they traveled across desert and rough country toward the mountains. After a long and arduous journey, they came to the foothills of the Crystal Mountains and came to this valley. It is said they camped here on this very spot where this building stands.”

They ate in silence, thinking about these events and gazing out the window at the passersby. After they had eaten, the Flamekeeper took Clarian on a tour of the temple and into a quiet garden within the walls, with a fountain and flowers and trimmed shade trees.

“You haven’t finished the story of our people, Holy One,” Clarian said.

“After our people settled this place, the holy man, the same one who had the vision to cross the sea, had another vision that told him to go up into the Crystal Mountains. He went high into the mountains, and men with horses went with him until it became too steep for the horses, and then they climbed farther. As they got higher up into the snowfields and high mountain valleys, the holy man told his helpers that he would go on alone. So, they camped and waited for him, and he went on. He was gone many days, and the men who had camped and waited for him feared he was dead. It was very cold at night at that elevation, even though it was summer. They were about to leave, having given up on him, when they heard a small bell ringing. The kind of bell one finds on a goat in the fields. Down came the holy one, and when he reached them, they noticed that he wore a violet robe, and he carried on his back a silver container in a big basket. And in the container was the Sacred Crystal from which emanates the Sacred Flame, given into his keeping by the Immortal Ones, who had called him to their airy sanctuary far up in the towering peaks of the Crystal Mountains. While he was there, they taught him many things and gave him the name Flamekeeper. He was the first Flamekeeper. His name was Amagaran.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Clarian with a smile as he clapped his hands together happily. “I never heard this story!” He grew thoughtful. “But we also have a Sacred Crystal that gives forth the Sacred Flame. How did that come to pass?”

“Yes. Well, now Amagaran traveled back up into the mountains a number of times. I don’t know how many, and he brought back more crystals and great secrets given him by the Immortal Ones. And, I might add, stories of a city of immeasurable beauty perched in a valley in the high reaches of the Crystal Mountains—a secret and sacred place to which few are invited.”

“A city high in the mountains!”

“Oh, a few have climbed quite high into the great mountains seeking the hidden abode, but none ever found it. The Crystal City.” The old Flamekeeper patted Clarian on the shoulder. “So, now would you like to know the rest of the story?”

“I would.”

“Many years later, when Amagaran had passed into the land of dreams, two young priests vied for the position of Flamekeeper. There should only have been one selected, but the elders selected both men to share the title jointly and with it, the duties of our religion.”

Clarian and the Flamekeeper found a pleasant stone bench under some fragrant blossoming trees. The old man leaned back, making himself comfortable. Though the sun was warm, the air was cool, and he pulled his robe closer about him.

“At first all went well, but then arguments occurred between the Flamekeepers, and then elders took sides, and eventually the city was divided, with some people favoring one Flamekeeper and others favoring the other. It became bitter. Violence took place in the streets. Assistants to the Flamekeepers engaged in fights in the temple. Imagine that.”