Die for the Flame (20 page)

“What was the initial disagreement about?” Clarian asked.

“Oh, several things actually, but the biggest contention was who had control of the Flame room and access to the Flame. It became a battle over physical control of the Sacred Flame. Neither Flamekeeper wanted the other to be able to contact the Oracle of the Flame and to hear the words of the Immortal Ones through the Oracle.”

“We only have one Flamekeeper in Karran,” said Clarian.

“And I am the only one here. Well, to finish the story, one night someone murdered one of the Flamekeepers. The other Flamekeeper immediately stepped in and announced he was the true Flamekeeper. At first no one knew what to do. The murdered Flamekeeper was a good and kindly man, well loved by all. The city was in shock. The remaining Flamekeeper had a strong following but was not genuinely loved and respected. Rumors started that this Flamekeeper was behind the murder. As you know, even now, murder is almost unknown to our people.”

The Flamekeeper waited while several officials wearing violet cloaks walked through the garden, nodding to the Flamekeeper as they went by. The sun was drifting into the afternoon and a puff of breeze swayed the trees in the garden. Clarian noticed the many flowers planted everywhere and how they filled the air with sweet aromas. Small birds hopped from limb to limb in nearby trees and called to one another.

“The elders rose up and called a meeting, and a great argument ensued among the two factions. Threats were made. In the end, the elders split into two camps—one camp, which saw itself as belonging to the murdered Flamekeeper, on one side, and the remaining Flamekeeper and the others on the other. Pitched battles took place in the streets, and there was a concerted effort by both sides to grab control of the temple because that was where the Flame was.”

Clarian wanted to ask why they couldn’t negotiate with each other in a civil manner, but he politely waited for the old man to continue.

“A commander of the temple guards, a soldier, stormed the temple and took control of this building,” the Flamekeeper said, gesturing toward the walls about them. “Many were killed. He was a close friend of the murdered Flamekeeper, and he had no love for the remaining one. So, with the backing of many of the elders, he drove the remaining Flamekeeper out of the temple, out of the city, and out of the land—without the Flame, of course. And with the departing Flamekeeper went a multitude of our people. They left in a great caravan, traveling northeast, skirting the mountains and then east into the forest lands beyond. Their Flamekeeper’s name was Maggan.”

That afternoon, after talking with the Flamekeeper in the temple garden, Clarian went down to the inn where he was staying to pick up his things and to get his horses. At the Flamekeeper’s insistence, he rode up the hill to the temple plaza and then around to the back of the temple to the soldiers’ stable. He asked the groom to wash and rub down his horses, and then he entered the soldiers’ barracks on the first floor of a building next to the temple. He was shown a place to sleep in the officers’ quarters and where he could store his gear. He drew some glances as he moved down the corridors wearing his violet cloak over his blue soldier’s tunic, and he decided to leave his cloak in his room to avoid the curious looks. The Flamekeeper invited him to dinner in the temple with other temple officials, senior officers of the Madasharan army, and city elders.

The dinner was a lively affair with long tables of guests being served a lavish meal. The Madasharan people were a happy people, as Clarian could see. He sat at the right hand of the Flamekeeper next to the commander of the Madasharan army, Rogeman. He learned that the Madasharan had not had a war in living memory and had a small army, which occasionally went out on patrol in the frontier regions to quell bandits. They had no enemies. The Crystal Mountains were impassable, so no enemy could approach from the west and from much of the north as well. To the south was desert land that gradually transformed into the great delta, which was the land of swamps and marshes, and beyond that, the sea. To the east lay the arid lands that ran all the way to the river where Clarian lived and across the river began the Great Grasslands that belonged to the Karran, and south in the adjacent plains roamed the Kobani people. Rogeman explained that while his army was small, it was a well-trained unit of horse warriors and that Madasharan was a people and a land that loved its horses.

Other soldiers at the table questioned Clarian about his strategies for fighting and his weapons of choice. They were impressed with his explanations on the use of the bow by a mounted soldier. They used the bow in this way, but they were more oriented to using long lances on horseback.

As everyone finished dinner, the Flamekeeper called for attention and formally introduced Clarian to the dinner guests. “As reported to me by my brother, the Flamekeeper of the Karran, the Oracle of the sacred Flame called upon this young man, our guest, Clarian, to lead the Karran against the invading Maggan, who sought to capture the Flame for themselves. The Flamekeeper has signified that Clarian is the ‘Chosen One.’”

All eyes were on Clarian, and, although he had led thousands of soldiers in the recent war, he now felt uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed by the praise. He could feel his face getting warm.

“Clarian has traveled great distances and many days to visit us and tell us of this wicked attack by the Maggan upon the good people of Karran, our cousins. I will now ask Clarian to speak.”

Clarian rose from his chair, gazing at the friendly faces about him. He took a deep breath and began his story. He left out the visit by Rokkman to the ferry to find him. Instead, he started recounting the night when he had scouted the Maggan camp in the Forest of Darkness. He explained his own experience as a horse warrior from the time he was a boy fighting out of necessity against the Kobani tribesmen and what he had learned from his father, a commander in the Great War with the Maggan. He explained how he applied what he believed was the best way to prepare to fight the Maggan and how he had transformed the Karran army into an army of archers and mounted archers. Lastly, he described his setting the grasses on fire to halt the Maggan advance, the attack into the heartland of the Maggan, and the burning of their city. Rogeman raised a finger to get Clarian’s attention. “How did it all end, Clarian?”

“I met with one of their commanders, and we agreed to stop fighting. The Flamekeeper said to let the Maggan go back to the forest. They marched out, and we marched home.”

“Did you sign a peace treaty?” a temple official asked.

“No. I chose not to. They had broken the peace treaty signed in blood at the end of the Great War. Their word is worth little.”

Clarian waited while the guests commented to one another, and the hum of conversation filled the room. The Flamekeeper cleared his throat, and all the murmuring died down. “You won the war, and the Maggan retreated, badly beaten. What do you see as the future? Obviously, you have come a long way to tell us about these disturbing events, and you have a purpose in mind.”

Clarian knew this was a critical moment for him and for his people. His words now might make all the difference to the survival of his land. He drew himself up to his full height.

“I will tell you what I know to be true. I know that the Madasharan people and Karran people are brothers. We share the same blood, the same language, the same Flame. The Karran people came from the Madasharan people, migrating east to a far land. I tell you that the Maggan will attack again, and they are more populous than the Karran. I have heard that there are more Maggan who live farther to the northeast beyond the Forest of Darkness. When they come again, it will be like a plague. They leave nothing in their wake. They erased the Doman people to the north. If the Karran are erased, the Maggan will be at your doorstep. You may ask, ‘Why do the Maggan come?’ I will tell you, for they have told me. They come for the Flame. They do not have the Flame. They yearn for the Flame. They have waited and yearned for the Flame for a thousand years or more. The Karran and the Madasharan people have the Flame. The Maggan want it and mean to have it. I only ask that you consider what I have said.” With that, Clarian sat down.

For a few moments there was silence as his words sank in. Then voices erupted throughout the room. Some stood up to be better heard as they called out to Clarian to clarify his remarks. What did he think might happen? How many soldiers did the Maggan have? When would they come, if at all? The Flamekeeper sat silently and still, letting the emotions and the questions burst forth from concerned soldiers, temple officials, and elders of the city. It would have to play out, but he knew that Clarian had ignited a firestorm and not a little fear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T
he war council was called in the great temple of the Drumaggan, in a large hall with long wooden tables to seat the senior officers and officials of both the Maggan and the Drumaggan people. At the head table sat the Flamekeepers, Sassanan and Zefran, the city elders, and Sulan and Ferman.

Sulan stood and called the meeting to order. “We have conferred at length regarding the invasion of the Karran into the sacred lands of our brothers, the Maggan. We have searched our hearts regarding the theft of our sacred Flame so long ago by these same people. It cannot be allowed to stand. The time has come to restore security to our lands and to restore the Flame to its rightful place in our temples.”

Thunderous applause and pounding on the tables accompanied shouts of “In the name of the Flame!”

Sulan held up his arms to regain control of the room. “We will begin the planning and preparations that will send our armies in the near future into Karran and erase the Karran dogs for all time and capture the Flame.”

The applause was long and sustained. Officers in the room slapped one another on the back. Smiles were everywhere. Neevan stood and waited. At first no one noticed her, and then someone called out, “Neevan wants to speak!” The crowd quieted in pleasant expectation. Ferman looked around uncertainly. Sulan nodded to Neevan to proceed.

Neevan faced the tables of officials. “I have fought the Karran, and I know they can be defeated.”

Ferman grinned and nodded, and there was more pounding on the tables and applause and shouts of encouragement.

Neevan continued. “But we will also have to defeat Clarian, their warrior commander. He is called by his people ‘the Chosen One.’ It is said by the Karran Flamekeeper that the Flame chose Clarian. Think about that.”

There were cries from the audience. “No! No!”

She raised her voice. “The senior officers of the Maggan army seated here can tell you, as I tell you, that he is brilliant and formidable. He strikes without warning. He lays ambush after ambush. He has no fear of us. I have met and spoken with Clarian face-to-face and have looked into his strange eyes. And I ask you, Ferman, and you, my Flamekeeper, why have we not attempted to negotiate with Clarian? Why have we not…”

Shouts broke out from the floor. An angry Ferman yelled at Neevan to sit down. Sulan turned angrily to Ferman and bent down and said something unpleasant in his ear, to which Ferman snapped back at him. The Maggan Flamekeeper tried to get Neevan’s attention over the noise in the room, waving his hand toward her aggressively, but she spun on her heel without another word and walked out of the hall amid loud remarks and accusations of cowardice. The Drumaggan Flamekeeper jerked on Sulan’s sleeve, his eyes blazing with fury. Sulan crowded close to Ferman’s face, his face twisted and red with anger. “Remove her from your army, Ferman!”

“Why do you tolerate that woman?” snarled Sassanan. Ferman didn’t reply for a moment, his eyes scanning the room full of arguing and shouting soldiers and officials. One Drumaggan commander had jumped up on a table, waving his arms as he roared at his colleagues in indignation at Neevan’s remarks. “She’s a coward!”

“She’s my granddaughter,” Ferman said.

Clarian reached home at the ferry after several weeks in the city of the Madasharan, followed by the long ride back across the arid plains to the river. He arrived at the banks of the river in late afternoon on the western shore. He pulled on the rope that rang the bell announcing travelers to the ferryman and in a short time saw his friend Rostan, waving and jogging down the roadway to the ferry dock followed by two tail-wagging dogs. Rostan, who had been helping while Clarian was absent on his journey, yelled something that Clarian couldn’t hear over the roar of the hurrying river and released the line that secured the ferry craft, pulling on the cable to swing the craft out into the current.

Clarian also pitched in and pulled on the cable from his side, and it was not long before the ferry beached in front of Clarian, and he loaded his horses and stepped aboard. Together, each tugging, they pulled the ferry back across the river over the turquoise-colored waters that rushed under the boat. By the time the ferry made the crossing, Clarian’s mother and his aunt were on the dock waiting for him.

It was a happy reunion as they all walked up the road to the house. When Clarian reached the high ground, he gazed out to the east across his beloved Grasslands, the shoulder-high grass of silver-green, swaying in the constant breeze, blue highlights glistening in the glancing, late-afternoon sunlight. The air smelled rich with the verdant growth, and small birds sang and flitted from place to place on the tops of the grasses.

In the days that followed, Clarian fell back into his work, ferrying travelers across the river. There were travelers than before the war. He worked in the fields, cutting hay for the horses and his cow. After a week at home, he composed a long letter to the Flamekeeper and sent it off with a trader who he knew would deliver it to the Citadel guards in a nearby town, who in turn would see that it reached the Flamekeeper.

He also wrote another letter to Rokkman describing his conversations with the Madasharan. Nevertheless, Clarian felt restless, as if he was leaving something undone, though he could not tell what.

One night in front of the fire, long after dinner and after his aunt had gone to bed, Ranna joined him. As he glanced at Ranna, an idea began to form. Although he had told his mother and aunt of the war, he had left out much. Now, he decided he would tell Ranna the whole story and why he had gone to Madasharan and his fears of another attack by the Maggan. They spoke in Kobani. She let him tell the story, only occasionally interrupting with a question. It was late into the night when he finished. The fire had burned down to yellow-red embers. The dogs sprawled by the door on the old rug, one of them softly snoring. “You must go to the Kobani and tell them this story,” Ranna said.

“We have been enemies for many generations,” he said.

“Yes. It is so. But there is no enemy like the Maggan. If the Maggan defeat the Karran, and the Karran escape to the Grasslands with their Flame, the Maggan will follow. And once they come into the Grasslands, they will come into contact with the Kobani. They do not tolerate people different from themselves. They may decide to wipe out the Kobani. The Kobani need to know this.”

“The Kobani may not let me ride into their lands. They may try to kill me before I can speak to them.”

They sat in the darkness before the dying fire, thinking about the fierce Kobani. “I will go with you, Clarian. They will not attack you if I am with you. Besides, you speak their language like one of them.”

“Will a wagon be able to get to their main village?”

“Wagon? You think I’m too old to ride a horse?” she asked.

Clarian laughed, and Ranna smiled. She rose from her chair, leaned down and kissed Clarian on his forehead, and went to her room. He sat there for a long while thinking about the perilous journey ahead of him and his mother and whether it would be prudent to attempt the long journey to convince the Kobani of the danger posed by the treacherous Maggan. After a while, his head drooped, and he awoke with a start. He pushed up out of the chair and quietly slipped down the hallway to his room to lie down on his bed for a few hours’ sleep before dawn. His thoughts were fragmented and worrisome as he drifted off.