The Burning Tower

by Colin Glassey

  “How are the men?” Sandun asked.

  “Gloval has a bad wound to his left calf. It seemed minor at the time, but by the end of the climb we had to carry him up the stairs. Perhaps the arrow was poisoned? Valo Peli sent for a doctor when we reached the top, but there is a war going on. Also, Kagne acts like he took a blow to the head, but he seems uninjured. Perhaps he got too close to one of the explosions.”

  “Reports are that we destroyed twelve boats. Fourteen great boats were counted sailing down the river. One is unaccounted for. The Lord of Kunhalvar is very impressed.”

  Sir Ako smiled. “Is that why you are sitting here? Have you been promoted?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve agreed that we will stay here for another year, and I’ve been invited to act as an advisor to Lord Vaina.”

  Sir Ako considered this for a bit and then nodded. “Makes sense to me. There is a war going on. I don’t like our chances of getting home right now, even if we wanted to leave. And, to tell you true, burning those great ships down with Valo Peli’s fire arrows was the most fun I’ve had in years.” He laughed a deep, booming laugh and smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. “Watching those flaming arrows arc down and then blow up into great gouts of fire…may Sho’Ash blind me, but what a sight that was! The fifteen of us destroyed twelve great ships? That deserves a song, even if I have to write it myself.”

  The knight grabbed a bowl of tea and drained it. “Let me tell you something, Sandun. In war, usually victory or defeat is the result of a few men, the ones who stood their ground in the middle of the line or the ones who first panicked and ran. After the battle, it’s usually impossible to say who those few men were. But we, we stood on top of a tower and rained fire and destruction down on the biggest damn ships in the world, and every man knew it was us—those bastards on the tower—who were doing the deeds. We won this battle, and we have lived to tell the tale.”

  He paused and then said, “For a warrior, it doesn’t get any better than this. We are going to be famous in Kelten and in Serica as well.”

  Lord Vaina returned from an inner chamber with his face clean and his hair wet. He shook Sir Ako’s hand, saying, “Armor for all your men. Opmi of Serica!”

  Sir Ako saluted Lord Vaina, and then he and Sandun returned to the embassy to find everyone but Valo Peli asleep. Sandun congratulated Valo Peli on his amazing fire arrows, as did Sir Ako, who took off his armor and then headed upstairs.

  “The Lord of Kunhalvar was very pleased, and he asked me to be one of his advisers. I have agreed that my men and I will stay here for another year to help him,” said Sandun.

  Valo Peli was not enthusiastic. “Don’t you see? Lord Vaina is using you. You aren’t from Serica. This isn’t your fight. Why are you risking your lives for the Lord of Kunhalvar?”

  Sandun had all manner of arguments. Since he had agreed to stay for a year, he felt compelled to defend the decision he had made just two hours earlier.

  “Firstly, Kelten cannot trade with a nation in a civil war. For better or worse, we have picked a side, and we have to live with that choice.”

  Valo Peli was dismissive. “Trade? Trade is irrelevant. It is unworthy of a refined man.”

  “We don’t think so. Kelten has gained much wealth and some measure of power through trade. We came here to reestablish trade relations. I freely admit that we all hope to be very wealthy men when we return home. Trade is good. That farseer glass, that was an invention out of one Melnehlan city that we traded for and improved. The nations of the Archipelago are constantly trading, at least when they aren’t fighting with each other.”

  Sandun felt strangely energized; by rights he ought to have been dead on his feet, but since drinking the delicious tea, he’d felt his mind racing like a horse on the grass of the Hippodrome. “Serica used to trade. Serice stone-glass is worth a fortune in Kelten. The king himself has a beautiful white-and-blue Serice vase in his study. There are items like it for sale in the markets here. They were traded in the past. Why not again?”

  Valo Peli sighed and put his fingers together. “You do not understand, and it would take days to explain. In short, those were gifts—inspirational, civilizing gifts. That those items ended up being bought and sold for money…well, it wasn’t the intention of the Gold Kingdom. But I ask you as an educated man, did you agree to stay and help the Lord of Kunhalvar just for money?”

  Sandun choose to deflect the question and responded instead with a question of his own. “Why are you so concerned? I’m now on Lord Vaina’s council, and you are my advisor. I have no doubt that Lord Vaina wants your advice as much as he wants mine. You came here to help the Lord of Kunhalvar. Why aren’t you happy?”

  “Because as an advisor to a foreigner, I won’t be remembered in the historical records. I came here for redemption, but I can’t have it if I’m only working through someone else!”

  “Speaking as a Master of the Kelten Archives, why do you care? Few in my country care what is written and stored in the Archives. Sho’Ash knows what I, and you, and everyone else has done. When you and I are dead, Sho’Ash will judge all of us according to our deeds. Why are you so concerned about what one man writes in a history that perhaps no one will ever read?”

  “Because, Sandun, there is no Sho’Ash, or Eston, or Sky Eagle, and no Heavenly King.” Valo Peli said this quietly but with a certainty that was, ironically, almost religious in its intensity. “There is nothing but the judgment of history. When I die, all I will leave behind are my children and my deeds as written in the annals.”

  Sandun suddenly felt pity for the older man. Clearly there were many aspects of Serice ways of thinking that he did not and perhaps never would understand. But he had met nonbelievers before. Not everyone followed Sho’Ash in Kelten, and a few people believed in no god at all.

  “Valo Peli, my friend, you aren’t dead yet. There is still plenty of time for you to improve in the opinion of future historians. If you don’t blow yourself up mixing more of your lopor, you will become Lord Vaina’s chief advisor. But you can’t expect redemption to happen overnight. Have patience. And even though you don’t believe in Sho’Ash, he sees you. He knows what you have done. You struck a righteous blow last night, one that will never be forgotten.”

  Sandun awoke as the door to his room was thrown open and Ashala came in like a hurricane. She was in such a state of excitement and worry that she just hugged him and then started crying.

  Eventually Sandun pieced together her story. She and the other women in the embassy woke before dawn and heard stories about the brave men who were shooting flaming arrows at the Vasvar fleet from the top of the lighthouse and that the lighthouse had been destroyed. She and Lady Tuomi had walked to three different field hospitals inside Tokolas, but no one knew anything, and so they had returned to find all the men asleep and mostly uninjured.

  After he reassured her that he was all right, Sandun and Ashala went down to find that the house was wide awake and several very pretty young women had appeared with plates of food. Rumors were spreading about what the Keltens had done last night, and their miraculous reappearance had caused all sorts of curious people to come by and see for themselves. Sandun ordered the doors closed and had one of the servants stand guard. The girls stayed.

  Reliable reports from beyond their wall told of the retreat of the Vasvar fleet. This was deemed a suitable occasion for pouring out some stiff drinks. However, there had been a great many deaths and injuries, not to mention an entire section of the city that had been captured and then recaptured. Thus, the people of Tokolas didn’t fill the streets in celebration.

  Inside the Kelten embassy, it was otherwise. The men of the expedition ate and drank and recounted their deeds of the previous night. Gloval, pale and unable to walk, was sitting by the fireplace, attended by a woman from one of the hospitals that the Lady Tuomi had visited.

  Basil sat besi
de Olef, holding the baby, with his dog contentedly at his feet. The right side of his face was singed and swollen from close proximity to the fire arrows, but he seemed almost happy.

  After an hour, Sandun thought this was a good time to break the news. “My friends,” he said, “the Lord of Kunhalvar is most grateful for your heroic actions last night. As promised, you will all be made knights of Serica as soon as preparations are completed.”

  “Including suits of armor,” interjected Sir Ako. “But you are all going to have to learn the rules of knighthood, and the ceremony will be done right and proper, including the vigil the night before. When we return to Kelten, no one will be able to look askance at your claims.”

  Sandun continued, “As you can imagine, this will take some time. Now, Lord Vaina has asked me to serve on his council of war, and I have agreed to stay and help him for one year, after which time he has promised to send us back to Kelten with a rich caravan of goods and an escort for the journey. I am asking you to stay here for an additional year before we return home. After all, we spent a year getting here. Would you return after just a month or two?”

  Padan, with his left arm around one of the new girls and his right hand holding a glass, said, “Ah, but will we be staying here in Tokolas or going off to fight this lot that just attacked the city?”

  “The Vasvar army has been properly whipped, and I doubt they will show their faces here again for some time to come. No, the Lord Vaina thinks the Sogands will attack next. He believes that we may be very useful in training his soldiers to fight the Sogands. To speak plainly, the Serice are afraid of the Sogands and we…we are not.”

  News of a possible Sogand attack shifted the mood inside the room. This was not some squabble between rival princes in a foreign land; this was a threat they all understood.

  “As knights of Serica, it would be a matter of honor to oppose the Sogands.” Sir Ako said this firmly, and the other men murmured agreement. They’d been taught that the Sogands were the common enemy of all civilized men.

  “Just so long as we aren’t a part of Lord Vaina’s army,” said Damar.

  “No, the knights of Serica will be like the knights of Saint Pellar,” Sir Ako said firmly. “I will be the lord commander, in charge of military decisions. Master Sandun will be the high templar, in charge of diplomatic decisions.”

  “And what if you two don’t agree—what then?” asked Farrel.

  “Then the decision goes to a vote by all the knights, and majority rules.”

  This was greeted with shouts and cheers and toasts to the good health of Sir Ako and all the future knights of Serica.

  While they were drinking, Sandun asked Sir Ako, “How much do you know about the knights of Saint Pellar? Because I know very little.”

  “Strange to say, but I know quite a bit. I was recruited by them after I won the tournament eight, no, nine years ago. An elderly gentleman from Akia came up to me during the king’s banquet and asked me if I would consider joining their order. I didn’t know much about them, just the stories we all hear in the temple. So I asked around: my father, other knights, and the queen. Queen Joaris, her younger brother had joined, so she knew what it was like from an outsider’s perspective. As you can see, I chose not to join, but in later years I often wondered at that decision: travel to distant lands, live a life of adventure, be part of the most ancient knightly order. But here I am, in far Serica, and about to set up my own order of knights. I daresay rather more adventure than I would have seen if I had joined the Saint Pellars.” Sir Ako drained his cup and placed it on the table with a solid thump. “I’ll write up the rules of the order, a rough draft, and then you can see what you think.”

  “I noticed that you put yourself in charge.”

  “Yes, I did. You aren’t the leader that I am. The men respect you, and you have knowledge and some measure of common sense, but you aren’t the leader these men will follow into battle. I am.”

  Sandun felt deflated. Sir Ako’s words were like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, but he knew in his heart what the knight said was true, at least for now.

  “We are friends, yes. Brothers in arms?”

  “Yes, my friend. Always and forever,” Sir Ako said warmly.

  Three weeks later, the preparations for the investiture ceremony were complete. A dozen blacksmiths had labored to create replicas of Sir Ako’s armor, sized to fit each man. Sandun’s armor was hung on a wooden stand in his room. Ashala and he had spent some hours learning how to put it on; it had become something of a game.

  Basil complained about the way the shoulder piece interfered with the drawing of his great bow, and Sir Ako agreed that the shoulder pieces were not good copies of his pauldrons.

  “The knights I know who specialize in the use of the war bow all wear only a helm and cuirass of metal,” Sir Ako admitted. “I expect you and perhaps all the others will do the same in battle. But for ceremony and parades, the full suit is required.”

  There had been an afternoon of good-natured debate about the design of the symbol that all of them would wear. “A knightly order has only one coat of arms,” Sir Ako stated with authority. All sorts of animals and weapons were proposed. The decision came down to a vote between a lion, standing while holding a great bow in its upraised paw, and a burning tower. Sandun liked the lion better than the tower, but the majority voted for the burning tower, which was Sir Ako’s favored design.

  All the men were going to go through the initiation ceremony and become the founding members of the “Knights of Serica.” Sandun had asked Basil about it, but Basil was unconcerned. Kagne too was joining. He had recovered from whatever afflicted him on the tower, though he was somewhat withdrawn from the group. He had requested a map of the northern lands of Serica, which Sandun was able to provide.

  The night before the vigil, Sandun and the others were all supposed to get extra sleep. However, Sandun could not quiet his mind. He lay in bed for several hours, thinking about the decision to form a new knightly order and his decision to join it and so pass the leadership of the expedition to Sir Ako. He worried about what would happen when—or if—they returned to Kelten. Would the king take offense at his decisions? Had he betrayed the king’s trust by agreeing to serve Lord Vaina for a year?

  He rose from his bed, leaving Ashala sleeping, and he went to the library. He wrote what he called “An Apologia” to explain what they were doing and why. After several hours, he felt he had gotten it all off his chest and was now ready to retire. He returned to his chambers, but just as he was closing the door, he heard a noise.

  The sound was that of a grunt followed by a soft thud. Sandun was suddenly wide awake, and a cold thrill filled his body. He pushed open his door very slightly. He then heard the main door to the street creaking open. Given the late hour, there was just one plausible explanation: they were under attack.

  He grabbed his new helm and his Piksie sword and yelled out into the atrium below: “Who goes there?” And then in Kelten he shouted, “Awake! Danger threatens!”

  A group of masked men burst through the main door, armed with daggers and shortswords. There were cries of “Death to the traitor!” and “Kill everyone!”

  Ashala, naked, pulled Sandun back into their room. She ran over to the armor stand and lifted off the gleaming metal cuirass. “Please, my lord, put this on. It will only take a moment.”

  Sandun agreed and stood there in mounting anxiety while Ashala buckled the straps behind his back.

  “It’s done,” she said.

  “You stay inside,” he ordered, “and don’t open the door until it is safe.” Sandun opened the door again and went out with his sword in hand.

  The attackers were easy enough to recognize with their masks and their weapons. It seemed several of the house staff who slept on the ground floor were already injured. There were shrieks and yells. A masked man came running up the s
tairs and threw himself at Sandun with a wild fury. Sandun tried to parry the attack, but the man dived low and tried to knock Sandun off his feet.

  This was not an unexpected move; indeed, it was one Sir Ako had trained all the men on. Sandun just retreated back down the hallway, and his attacker ended up down on his hand and knees. Sandun leapt forward and kicked the man in the face. Then he retreated again as he heard a noise behind him. It was Padan, in his nightclothes and carrying a sword and shield. Their eyes met, and Padan turned and headed back the way he’d come, banging on the doors and shouting, “Kelten rises!”

  The man wearing the mask got to his feet and came toward Sandun more cautiously, but then Basil’s door flew open, and the attacker turned to face the new threat. Sandun leaped to attack and chopped deeply into the man’s back. He cried out in agony and collapsed onto the floor. Basil was carrying a shortsword and dagger. From inside his room, the wailing of his new son was suddenly muffled.

  “Get your bow; I’ll go ahead,” Sandun said to him. Basil looked around and then went back into his room. Sandun advanced to meet another attacker coming up the stairs. This man also attempted to grapple with Sandun; he sprang, and Sandun swung his sword, which bit deep into the man’s left arm. But the man’s other hand held a dagger. It plunged toward Sandun’s chest, but the metal cuirass held firm, and all that the blow produced was a terrible grating noise. The man’s surprise was short lived as Sandun’s next blow came right at his face, and he went down in spray of dark blood.

  The next man up the stairs got hit by an arrow right in his eye—from Basil, who had strung his bow and was now behind Sandun. The next attacker on the stairs had a dagger thrown into his neck; this came from Kagne, who was crouching low on the far side of the stairs. With the stairs held, Basil began picking off attackers who were below in the courtyard.

  Hearing the sounds of Sir Ako’s curses and yells from the ground floor, Sandun advanced down the stairs. One of the two cooks, a middle-aged woman, was slumped in a pool of blood near the doorway to the kitchen. With Kagne beside him, Sandun entered the dining room only to find Gloval’s body near several overturned chairs.