Although Lord Vaina spoke in what seemed a normal tone of voice, his words echoed throughout the great plaza: “Soldiers of Kunhalvar! People of Tokolas! We are under attack. In a day or two, the fleet from Vasvar—commanded by General Two-Swords Tuno—will be here with an army of ten thousand. Why is this? By heaven, what has been the cause of this bloody breach of the peace between our two lands? For years, we have had peace with Vasvar. Indeed, more than peace; we have fought together, side by side against the Kitran. In years past, their ruler was a good man, King Borsos. Many called him the Gold King, or the Thrice Blessed.
“But now, he is dead. Most foully murdered by his former servant, Bloody Two-Swords Tuno. And now, General Tuno has sailed up the Great River with his fleet, and he demands—yes, he demands—that we submit to him and his rule. I do not wish to submit to this murderous traitor, but I asked my advisors.”
Lord Vaina turned to General Erdis.
“General Erdis, you know Two-Swords Tuno. Do you think we should submit to him?”
General Erdis strode forward; his voice was angry. “Never! I would sooner cut off my right arm than submit to General Tuno!”
Lord Vaina continued: “I asked my chief minister: Would it be best for the city and people to submit to Two-Swords Tuno?” Lord Vaina lifted his hands out toward Minister Udek, as though asking for alms.
Minster Udek, dressed in his formal robes of office, stepped forward and gravely shook his head. “General Tuno has violated the duty of loyalty. He has behaved improperly. He is a savage, not a man fit to rule over Serica. We would be dishonored to surrender the city of Tokolas to such a man.”
Lord Vaina now addressed the soldiers standing in ranks before him. “I ask you, representatives of our great army of Tokolas and Kunhalvar, should we submit to Two-Swords Tuno? Should we abase ourselves before the army of Vasvar? Should we let the spirits of our slain brothers go unavenged to avoid further bloodshed?”
Cries of “No” and “Never” rang out from the men. They stamped their feet, and the noise was like thunder.
“Very well. All are agreed. We will not submit. We will fight to defend our land and our city. We will fight to defend our honor. I tell you, heaven sees all and understands the hearts of all men. Heaven rewards virtue and punishes evil. Further, we have allies. The Red Swords to the north have begun a campaign to once again liberate the old capital of Kemeklos. Once established, the Radiant Prince will send help to us; he has not forgotten our aid in years past. And doughty warriors of far Kelten—though few in number, they too have seen the justness of our cause, and they will fight to defend Tokolas. Can you men of Tokolas do less? Can you sit idle while others defend your homes and family? Are you not warriors of Serica?”
This time, the yelling and shouting from the soldiers was louder than before. The noise lasted for several minutes before Lord Vaina quieted the men again.
“Together, we will beat the Vasvar fleet. My generals have devised brilliant stratagems certain to result in victory. Follow your orders. When the drums of retreat sound, obey with speed. When the horns of attack blow, press forward with courage. United, we will achieve a glorious victory.”
At a command, two of the burly palace guards each carried out two large poles of iron, crudely shaped like Serice swords though made of dark, hammered metal. They held the mock swords at an angle, crossing each other about six feet above the stage. Sandun stepped forward and drew his Piksie sword; his heart was pounding as he tried to copy Sir Ako’s style of walk. He lifted his sword over his head and with two hands, he brought it down on the mock swords held in front of him. Theatrically, he pretended great effort in cutting through the iron. Two guardsmen strained to keep the heavy iron bars steady. The tension built, and then he really did use his strength, and his sword sheared through both bars at the same time. The ends fell to the stage with heavy thuds.
A roar of surprise and excitement rose from the crowd. Sandun looked down at the sea of faces, and he held his sword high in the air. Suddenly he was surrounded by a sea of sparks and colored smoke that swirled around him and rose into the sky. He had been warned earlier in the day by Scribe Renieth that this would happen, but he was still quite surprised at the effect. Sir Ako’s armor protected him from most of the sparks, but some came close to his face, so he closed his eyes to mere slits and held his breath. The noise around him was deafening, a nearly continuous series of sharp cracks, like hammers striking and breaking stones. He had no idea what it looked like, but it thankfully came to a stop before he had to breathe.
When the sparks and smoke died away, he found pandemonium in the plaza below him. It seemed like everyone was yelling and pointing up into the air. Lord Vaina waved at him, and so Sandun turned and walked back and down off the stage. It was then that he noticed the two krasuth, standing together and holding their hands up as if they were pushing against the sky. The tall one briefly caught Sandun’s eye and nodded to him, nothing more.
Sir Ako and Kagne and the other scouts were laughing and shouting. They slapped Sandun on his back with big smiles on their faces. Apparently, the effect had been quite dramatic even from the back of the stage.
“Good job, Sir Sandun,” said Sir Ako. “I doubt I could have done better myself.”
“How did they do that?” shouted Kagne. “By the seven stars, that was a grand sight!”
Several minutes later, Lord Vaina came down from the stand and walked over to Sandun. First he shook Sandun’s hand, and then he hugged him. “Thank you. I think the soldiers found that inspirational. I trust you are not burned?”
“I’m fine, Lord Vaina. The sparks all seemed to go past me and up into the sky.”
Lord Vaina went to the two krasuth and gave a slight bow to them. They bowed back in return. “Thank you. That was most impressive.”
The tall man replied, “We serve, as we serve.”
“Your powers will be needed in the coming battle,” said Lord Vaina.
“We will endeavor to protect you, Lord of Kunhalvar.”
“Good. I count on you.”
On the way back to the embassy, Valo Peli joined them. He was unusually jolly, happier than Sandun had ever seen him.
“I guess that the sparks and smoke were your doing, Valo Peli?”
“Not entirely, but yes, I had something to do with them. I must say, I have never seen anything like that before. That was…fun. Yes, honest pleasure. And no one was blown up, either. You seem to have come out intact. It would have been even better at night.” He paused. “You know, they are calling you the ‘Fire Sword.’ I heard it repeated all around me as the crowd was breaking up. It did look rather like the sword was producing a great column of fire and smoke. A remarkable vision. Assuming we beat off the Vasvar fleet, people in Tokolas will be talking about this for a few months, at the very least.”
Two days later, shortly after the third bell rang out, the Vasvar fleet appeared, black shapes against the gray water of the mighty Mur. Oars beating the waters, sails hoisted, the huge fleet came up the river toward the city.
All the Keltens woke from their short sleep and joined the throngs of people who were hurrying to the upper city walls to see. At the closest tower, guards recognized the Keltens and allowed them to climb up to the top.
Standing there with the wind blowing through his hair, Sandun looked and listened. He heard the faint calls of the river birds as they circled overhead, uncaring about the drama occurring far below. Clouds were building up in the east, but no rain was expected. Rain would be bad, but the wind was blowing out of the empty blue western sky.
Basil and Sir Ako passed their farseer glasses around. When Sandun looked through the farseer, he seemed to leap from the tower and fly like one of the white river birds. He could see the great boats of the Vasvar fleet, dim through the river haze but looming up, vast hulks dwarfing the other ships around them.
After an hour
of watching, both with the farseers and without, a commotion below drew his attention away from the river and back to the tower he stood on.
First, two palace guards climbed up the ladder, and then Lord Vaina appeared, hardly winded, as though he climbed up ladders every day.
“Good view here?” Lord Vaina asked.
“We can see all twenty-seven of the enemy’s big ships. See for yourself,” said Sandun.
Farrel, who had one of the farseers, handed it to Sandun, who offered it to Lord Vaina.
The Lord of Kunhalvar looked at the tube skeptically, but he tried it out. He exclaimed, “This is better than a cat with an eel! It puts the crap tube we have been using for the last year in the shade!” Like a small boy with a new toy, he spent the next quarter of an hour examining the enemy fleet, and then his city, and then the surrounding lands.
Finally, a polite cough from a junior minister who had followed his lord up the ladder brought him back to the world.
“Time is pressing. More towers to visit. But how long have you had this marvel?”
Sandun explained, “This is the latest design from Kelten, Lord Vaina.”
“But it is so much better than the one we have.” Turning to the minister, he said, “Where is my looking glass?”
The minister searched in his satchel and drew out a long box. From within the box, he produced an old-fashioned farseer. Sandun had to fight back the urge to laugh; behind him he heard snorts of derision from the others. Kagne actually did start laughing, but a sharp jab to his side from Basil brought him up short.
“You have seen one of these before? I find that strange, because this came all the way from Budin, far to the east, and it was very expensive.”
“May I examine your glass, Lord Vaina?”
“Take it.”
Sandun looked at the tube. It was exactly what he thought: one of the oldest designs. He remembered seeing such a thing when he was still living with his family in Hepedion.
“This is an invention from Melnehlan, about fifteen years old. The early models were, as you aptly put it—crap. But artisans all over the Archipelago swiftly made improvements. Every year, it seemed a new design would sweep the old versions away. The farseers we brought across the Tiralas were nearly the latest models. The older models have become something of a joke.”
“I see,” said Lord Vaina. “Like when a man brings a reed boat and docks it next to one of the latest wooden sailing ships. That man can expect to be laughed at.”
Sandun thought it best to say nothing.
“Trade with Kelten suddenly assumes an even greater importance. Your glowing orbs were very impressive, but this looking glass is astonishing. I’d like to buy this from you. Ussi, how much gold do we have left in the treasury?”
The young scribe said, “I can’t tell you this instant, my lord, but I can say it is rapidly dwindling.”
Lord Vaina looked hard at the young man and then laughed loudly. All the guards on the tower smiled at the exchange.
“Well, other than gold, what would you accept for this glass?”
Sandun replied, “Actually, it’s not mine. It’s Basil’s. I’ll ask him.”
Sandun turned to Basil.
“Let me guess, he wants the farseer,” Basil said. “Again. Why is it that no one wants your farseer, Sir Ako?”
“Yours is better. Mine was a hand-me-down from my older brother. It’s years out of date,” Sir Ako replied.
Basil said, “There is a fleet down there full of men who want to kill us, my woman is about to give birth to my child, and you are asking me to name a price to a lord of Serica for the farseer that you gave me in place of my own. I can’t do it. Negotiating is your job, not mine.”
Sandun turned to Sir Ako. “I don’t have any good ideas, do you?”
“There is something I want, yes. I want armor for my men. Since they are to be knighted, assuming we live through this battle, I want them all with suits of armor. All. A man needs a suit of armor to be a knight. That seems like a fair trade to me.”
Sandun made Sir Ako’s offer to Lord Vaina, who agreed immediately.
“Yes. Excellent. After the battle, we can borrow Opmi Ako’s armor and make copies. Add that task to my list of things to be done after the Vasvar fleet is defeated.”
“Yes, my lord,” replied the Scribe Ussi. “The list grows longer by the hour.”
“Time to go.” Lord Vaina went to Basil and shook his hand. “Thank you,” he said in Kelten. Basil shook Lord Vaina’s hand gravely and then saluted him.
As Lord Vaina was going down the ladder, he said to Sandun, “You will come when I call you? Yes? Be ready!”
“Yes, Lord Vaina. We will come.”
After the lord left, Basil said to Sir Ako, “How much for your farseer? I keep losing mine to people far more important than I.”
“Take it, Sir Basil. You had a generous heart when you could have asked for your weight in gold. We are blood brothers, yes? We have debts to each other that money cannot weigh.”
As they walked down the street back to the embassy, Sandun remarked, “I find it amazing that an old farseer should have traveled nearly all the way around the world. It likely was made in Melnehlan and then traveled east, thousands of miles, from Maspan, across the sea to the Island of Ice maybe, and then across the great sea to Budin, and finally to Serica. Why, if we were to take it back to Melnehlan, it would have done something no man has ever done—gone completely around the world!”
“Sandun, no one is taking that old piece of junk back across the Tiralas to Kelten and then sailing it back to Melnehlan!” Basil shook his head in mock dismay.
The rest of the day dragged interminably. The Keltens kept to their embassy, sharpening weapons, refeathering arrows, praying. Sir Ako spent more than an hour in his room with Lady Tuomi. No one said anything when he came back down by himself.
Olef’s time was nearly upon her. A midwife had been summoned, and a large room upstairs was now closed to the polluting influence of men. Basil sat silently, oiling his great bow so that it gleamed darkly in the dim light of the common room.
Kagne paced around, rather like a caged saber cat. He had been practicing with a shorter Serice bow, but he was still the worst shot of the group. Several times in the afternoon, he went out to the wall and then returned with the latest news.
The attack was proceeding largely as expected. The Vasvar ballistas had smashed the water gate rapidly. Small boats had sailed in through a rain of missiles thrown down from above, and soon the gate area was seized. The Tokolas soldiers had retreated, in good order, away from the invasion. Towers were defended, but not to the last man. By midafternoon, the Vasvar army had taken much of the port city at the river’s side. Above the river, the gates of the inner wall that surrounded the main city of Tokolas had been shut fast.
The Vasvar commander, General Tuno, established two additional camps. One was on the north side of the river, perhaps to hold supplies, though it was impossible to see clearly with all the smoke in the air. The other camp was established upriver, a mile or more east of the Tokolas walls. That was unexpected but not without wisdom, for even the clumsiest spy would have learned that half the army of Kunhalvar was on its eastern border, fighting the Iron King’s army. The eastern army was two weeks away by normal marching, though given enough boats, it could sail back to Tokolas in a week.
As the evening drew its hazy curtain across the sky, the Keltens moved restlessly around the courtyard. They were waiting, waiting for the summons from the palace. Around midnight, Kagne went to the wall and rapidly returned.
“The fires have mostly been put out. Everyone is on high alert, but nothing is happening other than more soldiers landing on the docks and the sounds of hammering on wood.” Kagne was clearly excited, but the others were tense and irritable.
Sir Ako said, “The enemy com
mander is cautious. He fears a sudden assault when his troops are still unsettled and unfamiliar with the new land. If I were Lord Vaina, I would attack shortly before the coming dawn. But the command of thousands has not been my study. Perhaps my father would counsel waiting for a day or a week so to lull the enemy into a stupor. Right now, the enemy will strike at every shadow.”
In the early hours of the morning, no word had come, and the men were all dozing in the dark room. Sandun was woken from a fitful dream by the sound of a woman crying out in pain upstairs. Sandun knew the sound; it was one he’d heard often echoing in the small, crowded town of Tebispoli.
“First born usually come with the dawn. May the light of Sho’Ash guide them all their days.” Padan said this while looking up at the ceiling.
After a few minutes, the cries ended, and suddenly they heard the faint wails of a baby.
Lady Tuomi came down the stairs, looking unusually disheveled, and said to them, “It’s a boy. Sir Basil has a new son. Olef is well enough. You can go see them.” All the men stood up. “Just Basil!” she said.
Basil, with a big grin on his face, bounded up the stairs.
Sir Ako came over to the Lady Tuomi and held her; she rested her head on his chest for a minute, and then she straightened up. “This has been a day to remember. I think I’ll lie down for a bit.” Then she said something in her own language. “That’s an old expression from my country. ‘When the baby’s born, the midwife sleeps, and the mother gives her milk.’” She smiled weakly and let Sir Ako lead her back to her room.
Basil came back down, and the men all slapped him on his back and congratulated him. “I named the boy Niksol Kol Vono. Kol for Tokolas.”
Ashala came down half an hour later, carrying the newborn all wrapped up in clean cloth, and showed him around. She seemed remarkably happy, as though it was her child she was presenting.
The Burning Tower Page 32