Authors: William Gehler
“Yes, Holy One. White and moving, and as it reached higher toward the ceiling it had touches of pink and violet.”
“I knew it, I knew it!” exclaimed the Flamekeeper.
Ferman studied Neevan, his shrewd eyes penetrating. “What else did he tell you?”
“That was all.”
“Nothing more?”
“What else is there?” she answered.
“Don’t play coy with me! There’s something you’re not telling us!”
Neevan glared back at Ferman. “That’s what happened. He took me into their Sacred Chamber, he showed me the Flame, he told me of its powers, and then we left. That’s all.”
“There’s more, Neevan. I know it,” snapped Ferman.
“Well, the Flame reached out to me with its light.”
“What!” exclaimed the Flamekeeper.
Zefran lurched forward, bumping the table, his long, bearded face bright in the firelight. “I want to see the Flame, Ferman.”
Ferman gave a big belly laugh. “Sure. Me too. We’ll both ride to the Citadel and demand to be shown in.”
Zefran slapped the table with his gnarled hand. “I am serious! I want a letter to go to the Karran Flamekeeper requesting permission for me to go to the Citadel and meet with him and see the Flame.”
Still grinning, Ferman looked over at Neevan. “Talk to your friend Clarian. He should be able to get his Holiness in, with encouragement from you.”
Neevan stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have reports,” Ferman said with a smirk, “that you occasionally go riding with him, and he listens to you. Nothing more.” He leaned back in his chair, his look suggesting there might be more but that it would be better left unsaid.
“We talk, of course. But that doesn’t mean he listens to me.”
Tapping his finger on the table, Zefran said, “I intend to go to see the Flame, Ferman. I will draft a letter to their Flamekeeper with my request.” He turned his head to Neevan. “I want you to convince Clarian to support my request.”
“The Karran are different from us. Their Flamekeeper is the law. Clarian acts under orders from him. Not like here where Ferman and the army command.”
“It was not always that way in our land,” offered the Flamekeeper.
“Let’s not drag up that old argument again,” replied Ferman uncomfortably. “I will agree to send your letter with Neevan to their Flamekeeper. But make no mistake. We’re not talking about a permanent peace with these monsters. I have spent my whole life fighting them. And remember, the Flame is rightfully ours. I want it back!”
Neevan carried the request from Zefran back to the Citadel, riding hard down the dusty road from the Forest of Darkness, picking up the Citadel guard at Halfway and at last laboring up the hill to the castle. Not resting, but bathing and dressing in fresh clothes in her rooms, she hurried to the Flamekeeper’s apartment to deliver the letter. She was not shown in. The Flamekeeper’s assistant nodded, took the letter from her hand and closed the door in her face. Disappointed that she would not be able to discuss the request with the Flamekeeper, she returned to her apartment, climbed into bed, and fell into a deep sleep.
The Flamekeeper’s initial response was surprise, which quickly turned into shock. He sent for Neevan, who, roused from sleep, quickly dressed and followed the guard into the Flamekeeper’s presence.
Sitting behind his elaborately carved desk, the old man did not invite her to sit. She watched him with anticipation as he perused the letter again, his old hands shaking slightly. He looked up and stared at a large wall covering depicting the Flame, a white flame on a background of violet. Neevan’s eyes followed his, and she noticed strange symbols around the borders of the tapestry. She knew he was trying to grapple with the significance of this unusual request. The female Citadel guard stood by the door and coughed behind her hand.
“You know what is in this letter?” he asked.
“Yes, Holy One.”
“By allowing you into the presence of the Sacred Flame, it appears I have opened the door through which others now wish to enter.”
“Only our Flamekeeper. Your counterpart.”
“You have described what you saw and what I told you to your people?”
“I described what I saw and most of what you told me.”
“You left out the personal message?”
“I did. That was given to me by the Flame and was for me alone.”
The old man smiled. “You should have been a priest. You have the instinct for it.” His face resumed its sober expression, his eyes holding a faraway look. “I promise nothing, but I will consider it. I cannot say more at this time.” He gave a slight wave of his hand and closed his eyes. The guard stepped forward and, knowing the audience was over, Neevan quickly bowed and slipped out of the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
C
larian was homesick. He had not been home for months, and he was giving serious thought to retreating back to the frontier, his beloved Grasslands, and his ferry on the great river. He missed his mother and aunt and the peace of the far country. He realized that he would not be seeing Neevan if he left, and that gave him pause. That would be hard to bear, but nothing could come of a relationship with a Maggan anyway. True, his father and mother had overcome tribal differences, but Karran and Maggan? Not likely.
He had not seen Neevan for weeks, ever since her visit to the Flame and her departure for the forest. He wondered why. Well, he thought, he had been away for several weeks scouting in the north and she had gone back to the forest. He could not forget the expression on her face, her tears, as she exited the Flamekeeper’s quarters after having seen the Flame. He had not made a special attempt to see her, and she had sent no note suggesting a ride into the country. Thoughts of her invaded his work and distracted him and made him irritable.
It was after a return trip with Jolsani to train nearby villagers in the use of the short Kobani bow that he learned of the request by the Maggan Flamekeeper. He heard about it through word of mouth, and it was not until he sought out Rokkman that the rumor was confirmed. In the meantime, the news of the request had circulated throughout Karran, and people were outraged at the idea.
Rokkman was in his office behind his desk when Clarian entered and asked, “So, it’s true that the Maggan Flamekeeper wants to come and see the Flame?”
“It’s true,” Rokkman said evenly. “Surprisingly true.”
“When will it happen?”
“Oh, it’s not going to happen, Clarian. The Holy One has refused the request. The letter rejecting the request has already been sent back to their stinking lair,” Rokkman said with a sneer.
Clarian stood completely still. Only his eyes moved about the room as he tried to digest the turn of events.
Rokkman snorted. “You look surprised. What did you expect? It was enough that he let Neevan in. I fully expected something like this. They want to take advantage of us. What’s next? Send some of their priests here to move in with us? In a short while, we’d have lines of Maggan streaming out from the castle and down the hill, all wanting to get in to see the Flame!” He studied Clarian’s somber expression. “What? From your sullen face, I can see you don’t agree. Well, I totally agree with our Flamekeeper on this. They are not welcome here.”
Clarian turned without saying more and stalked out of the room. He turned over the events of the past months in his mind, trying to sort through them, to understand them, and as he did, he was more than ever certain that decisions made by emotion alone would not turn out as anticipated by the Flamekeeper or Rokkman. He was disappointed lately by Rokkman, who was taking a stubborn stance against trying to work with the enemy. Clarian feared another attack by the Maggan, but after developing a friendship with Neevan, he hoped that maybe there could be some lasting accommodation between two intractable enemies. There was little he could do. Neither the Flamekeeper nor Rokkman would listen to him. It was time to go home.
Neevan had sent a note asking him to meet her for an evening ride. It was dark, the sun only a faint orange memory along the western edge of the horizon. They walked their horses on a road leading to a village west of the Citadel. Neevan talked about her mother and their new apartment and the rebuilding of the Maggan city. At a break in the conversation, Clarian announced he would be leaving for the Grasslands and home.
Neevan looked thoughtful as she took in his remark. “Take me with you!”
At first Clarian did not answer, and then he chuckled.
“Oh, please! I’m not going to spy on you!” she said.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yes, you did. That was your first thought. A Maggan in the Great Grasslands! She’ll learn the road to the far lands and beyond. All the way to the Crystal Mountains.”
Clarian smiled sheepishly. “You’ve heard of the Crystal Mountains?”
Neevan maneuvered her horse around a hole in the road that a recent rain had caused. “Do you think we’re stupid? Of course we know about the Crystal Mountains and the Immortal Ones. That’s our belief.”
He was dumbfounded by the information. He had never considered that the two peoples held the same beliefs except for the desire to possess the Flame. Actually, he had never given any thought to what the Maggan believed in.
“I can see the Crystal Mountains from my house. I can look out the window, and there they are. I even rode up to the foothills of the Crystal Mountains and looked up at them.”
“Clarian, take me with you.”
He laughed and urged his horse into a gallop pulling away from her and hoping to change the subject. She responded by kicking her horse into a run to catch up. The two horses and riders charged down the dark country road side by side, the wind in their faces, the strong steeds beneath them enjoying stretching out. There was no one on the road. Farmhouse lights showed through windows glowing yellow, cows in the pasture grazing, some lying down. A partial moon crept up, casting a soft white light across the landscape. Eventually they pulled up and let the horses walk, snorting and huffing.
“I have to see the Crystal Mountains,” she said emphatically. “I have to. I mean it.”
“There are no trees out on the Grasslands for you to get under.”
“I don’t have to live in a forest, you know.”
“There is no cave for you to crawl into during the day.”
“Shut up!”
“You will be out in the blazing hot sun.”
“I’ll wear a hat.”
Clarian laughed. “I don’t know, Neevan. They won’t let you go even if I said I would take you along, which I won’t.” He drummed his heels on his horse and surged ahead of her.
She quickly responded, slapping the rump of her horse. “Clarian!”
When Ferman read the dispatch, he immediately called an emergency meeting of his top commanders. Sassanan, the Flamekeeper of the Drumaggan, was visiting Zefran, the Maggan Flamekeeper. Sulan, leader of the Drumaggan army, had brought a large contingency of troops for joint training exercises. Commanders and leaders of both cities crowded into the army headquarters in the deep subterranean recess of the cavern. Waving the servant who had been serving wine out of the room, Ferman motioned for them all to pull up chairs to a large table covered in a map. Ferman rubbed his hands together, smiling, his eyes darting about. “I have called all of you here because I think I see an opportunity.”
“Tell them about the Flame,” barked the Flamekeeper.
“I will. I will, Holy One. But first, I just received a letter from Neevan requesting permission to travel to the Great Grasslands with Clarian.”
Everyone straightened up in their chairs with shocked expressions on their faces.
“What’s going on, Ferman?” asked Naguran, who had taken Neevan’s command when she became an emissary.
Mutterings erupted as men scratched their heads and spoke to their companions. Ferman rose halfway out of his chair, his face glowing and expectant. “Wait! Wait! I’ll tell you what is happening. Neevan has made friends with Clarian. For those of you who are not familiar with Clarian, he is the commander of the Karran army. A very dangerous man and the most cunning of warriors.”
The Flamekeeper pointed at Ferman. “Tell them about the Flame, Ferman.”
“All right. The Karran allowed Neevan to see the Flame.” Ferman held up his hands, trying to quiet the sudden explosion of exclamations. “There’s more. Our beloved Flamekeeper here wrote a letter to their Flamekeeper asking if he could go to the Citadel and if he could be permitted to see the Flame. If Neevan, why not Zefran? Their Flamekeeper, the Karran dog that he is, sent back a letter of refusal.”
Anger boiled over in the room, with pounding on the table and yelling. The servant opened the door to see what was going on and was promptly told to get out. Ferman carefully let the anger work its way around the room, the spark of hatred seething and growing in the hearts of those present.
“Quiet. Quiet. Now listen. This insult should not go unanswered. The question is
when
. They would not let our Flamekeeper see the Flame—the Flame that is ours by heritage and by right.”
“Why Neevan?” asked Sulan.
“Because she’s smart,” Ferman grinned.
“Because she’s your granddaughter!” laughed Naguran. “And because she is beautiful.”
“And Zefran is not,” grinned Ferman.
Zefran’s face fell into a pitiful frown, and bitter anger seemed to seep from his amber eyes. He glared at Ferman.
Laughing broadly, his eyes sweeping the room, Ferman pointed to the map. “Just joking, Holy One. Now, give this some thought. Neevan will lead Clarian out onto the Grasslands, far from the Citadel. That’s a week’s ride, we believe. It’s a long way, and he will be out of the way. The biggest part of the Karran army has been disbanded and sent home to their farms and towns scattered all over the Karran lands. We openly trade with the foul Karran. Why…we’re almost friends.” Ferman paused for effect. “Karran now sleeps, my comrades.”
Naguran held up his hand to get Ferman’s attention. “We’re not ready at this time.”
“No, I agree. But the Karran are less so, and they are scattered, and Clarian will be at the far end of their lands, too far by the time he is notified of our attack, and too far to get back in time to save the Citadel and the Flame. But we must act boldly and swiftly. We can assemble our forces here in the forest with sufficient strength if we draw on all our resources and call up all our reserves. We are in the process of training new troops. We now have horses and wagons and adequate weapons. The question is whether the Drumaggan are willing to join us and can march soon.” He leaned back, his arms folded over his big stomach.
Sulan cocked his head at Sassanan, his eyebrows raised questioningly. Sassanan nodded back. Sulan rose from his chair, leaned over the map, and ran his finger across it. “Timing is everything, Ferman. How many troops could we bring to the fight and how soon? How quickly must we move and complete the capture of the Citadel before Clarian can react? We Drumaggan must come from far in the north, so we must allow for travel and supplies. Many unanswered questions.”
Zefran appealed to the gathered group. “Now is the time to take back the Flame! Your names will be written in the Holy Book…”
“Yes, yes, Holy One. Now let us consider the plan of attack, assuming you join us, Sulan, in a concerted and coordinated attack,” interrupted Ferman, holding up his hand to stop the priest from further outbursts. Turning his attention to the map, he drew in a deep breath as if he were about to speak.
Sulan cleared his throat and stood up. “If I may, Ferman.”
“Please, go ahead and give us your thinking.”
“I have interviewed your commanders regarding the last war,” said Sulan. “Because you marched so slowly, you gave the Karran time to pick the place of battle. To win, we need to pick the place of battle.”
Several Maggan commanders developed a sour look when they heard the criticism. One said, “What would you have us do, run our troops all night?”
“No,” replied Sulan. “Place your soldiers in wagons and haul them down the road, changing horses when needed, until the Karran forces prevent you from advancing farther, then dismount and fight on foot.”
“That’s a lot of wagons,” said Naguran with a laugh. “Still, it might work.”
Ferman stroked his beard in thought and then looked up. “The road through the forest is not very wide. It would take a long time to get both our armies through the trees. The enemy would spot us as we assembled at the edge of the forest. I like the idea of the wagons, though.”
“I propose not to send the Drumaggan army through your forest,” said Sulan, “but rather that we skirt the forest to the north here. In other words, we would travel out of our forest and then march across open country, not try to come in through the forest. We would sweep wide and then attack the Citadel out of the northeast. The country we are talking about is uninhabited and though there are no roads, there are trader trails that will do. If we move unseen from the north, and your army emerges from the forest on the east driving straight down the road, with our forces and timing carefully coordinated, we will converge on the Citadel with two armies from two directions in a pincer movement. We would be at the gates of the castle within days. Clarian will not get back from the Grasslands in time. We would be unstoppable.”
“They will have to surrender,” said Zefran. “There may not even be a big final battle.”
“There will be no surrender accepted,” snarled Ferman. “They must all die.”
“Let them surrender first. Then let them die,” snickered Sulan.
The men laughed and hopeful smiles broke out. Arms around shoulders and backslaps animated the room.
“What do you say, Sulan?” asked Ferman, his eyes shining, his heart beating fast.
“It’s time to take back the Flame from the usurpers,” answered Sulan, throwing caution away, his face resolute and determined. Sassanan, his face alight with excitement, nodded his support as Zefran draped his arm around Sassanan’s thin shoulders, grinning.
Sulan smiled broadly, “Well, then. Victory! In the name of the Flame!”
“In the name of the Flame!” shouted the men.
Zefran clapped his hands and nearly fell backward in his chair with delight. Ferman bellowed for wine and food. The commanders began asking Sulan questions about strategies and tactics, and he emerged as the strategist for both armies.