“Opmi Ako! My brother in arms!” Blue Frostel boomed out when he caught sight of the knight. “Have you come to spar with us? Some of these striplings think they are good, and I tell them, ‘Measure yourself first against the opmi from Kelten, and then you can boast!’” Blue Frostel sounded like his usual self, but Ako could see that the warrior had yet to regain all his previous weight.
Drawing Blue Frostel aside, Sir Ako said, “I need your help, my friend, and this is in a serious matter. We need a private place to talk, very private.”
Blue Frostel narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips. Thinking quickly, he said to his followers, “The opmi has come on a special day of his faith and is compelled to speak to me about his foreign religion. I don’t want any of you younger men to pay heed to his strange beliefs. This is for the master’s ears only.”
Frostel’s twelve disciples bowed with respect and left the courtyard, slinging their winter coats over their shoulders as they departed.
Sir Ako explained the situation while Frostel looked increasingly concerned. When Ako finished, Frostel slapped his hands together in a single clap.
“There is no time to waste. A green corded belt is all we have to go on. That is a thin strip of silk with which to find the war master’s daughter. Let us make haste to the south-central market.”
“Bide a while; I asked Sir Lathe to meet us here.”
“Young Lathe is a fine warrior, but is there some particular reason why you asked him to assist us in this matter? I doubt there are more kidnappers than we two can handle.”
Ako explained Lathe’s relationship with Alina.
“Ahh, I know all about passion that is not shared. It’s a common problem at the Rulon Mors Temple—the men and women who grow up together rarely form happy marriages, despite their parents’ wishes.” The way Frostel said this told Sir Ako that he spoke from personal experience. “If these kidnappers have so much as harmed a hair on the girl’s head, I have no doubt Lathe will kill every one of them. Do you care?”
Sir Ako shook his head.
“Neither do I,” continued Blue Frostel. “Followers of Hesmoro mean nothing to me. Although we are all called Kulkasen, there are several gods for whom I have no liking. Even the followers of Eston are more worthy of respect than the worshipers of Hesmoro.”
As he spoke, Sir Lathe appeared in the courtyard, breathing hard. When he heard the story from Sir Ako, his face took on a wild expression like that of a man about to burst. Then he took several deep breaths and folded his hands over his heart, just like Valo Peli when he was contemplating a difficult conundrum.
“Master Frostel, Lord Commander, may I offer a suggestion?” Lathe spoke with quick, clipped words. The two older men nodded. “I know Alina’s maid, and I can guess who was her guard today. Teacher Boethy…” Lathe took a deep breath and rephrased. “War Minister Boethy does not choose untrustworthy staff, so I’m confident neither was involved in this kidnapping. My former master would not have come to you if he could have handled this on his own. Thus, my conclusion: the identity of the men holding Alina can be found here, in this temple.”
Addressing Frostel, Lathe fired a series of questions; Ako soon learned that all the priests lived in the same building and sometimes substituted for each other in performing the daily rituals. They were colleagues although they worshipped different gods.
“Do you trust the priest who keeps the shrine of Temo Tio?” Lathe asked.
“He is a good man, a former soldier, although he drinks more than he should. His name is Loganin,” Frostel replied.
“Through him, then, we must obtain words with the priest of Hesmoro. We are looking for a new gang of strangers to Tokolas.” Lathe said with confidence.
“Why do you say that?” Ako asked him.
“No local gang would dare to kidnap a minister’s daughter. And not just a minister but the commander at the Battle of Devek? Anyone involved in such a crime…well, their lives would be worth less than a broken pot. Their own parents would sell them out! No, I think the people who did this are strangers. And further, I guess they are from Sasuvi.”
The two older men stared at him questioningly. Lathe continued with his theory.
“News has doubtless spread from Governor Vellen’s staff that he has agreed to marry the daughter of the war minister. My former master is not unknown in Sasuvi; he was, after all, a graduate of their finest school before he went to Daka. It is customary for a painting of the bride to be sent to the future…husband.” Lathe nearly spat out the word before he swallowed hard and continued, “So, I guess a gang of kidnappers in Sasuvi heard about the plans, obtained a copy of Alina’s portrait, and came here, thinking there was a good chance of abducting the girl and making a fortune.”
Lathe continued, “They needed some time in Tokolas to figure out where Boethy was living, so I guess this gang arrived here a week ago. Because of the risk involved, I wager some of the kidnappers came to this very temple to pray for success. The priest of Hesmoro would see them, hear their unusual accent, and talk to them. I bet he knows. Yes, I’d bet a silver cat that he knows who they are! All we need is to get him to talk.” Lathe’s face was covered with a sheen of sweat. Ako was impressed; Lathe’s theory sounded plausible.
“Not so fast, Opmi Lathe,” Frostel replied. “I see several holes. First, the Rowan Horse Temple is not the only place with a shrine to Hesmoro; the Seven Stars off the east market is another, and I know there are other temples with shrines to the god of thieves. Second, the priest of Hesmoro won’t tell us anything. He is well aware that nearly half the people who come to pray to his god are criminals. Even if he suspects something is afoot, he won’t talk.” Frostel ended on an uncertain note, as if he questioned the priest’s honor even as he spoke up for it.
“Well, you are right Master Frostel, there are other temples. But the Rowan Horse is the largest and best known in the city. As to the priest of Hesmoro, perhaps he wouldn’t betray gang leaders of Tokolas, but what about strangers from Zelkat province? For the right price, he will talk.” Turning to Sir Ako, Lathe asked, “How much money do we have to work with?”
“Valo Peli said he could raise as much as one thousand cats for Alina’s safe return,” Ako replied.
“A thousand cats? By the Sho’Ash spear! It’s no wonder I wasn’t worthy…” Lathe shook his head. “We don’t need more than two cats for meat and drink. I’ll pretend to be a late arrival of the gang, new in town and looking for my mates. Since I was born near Sasuvi, I can put on a convincing accent. The priest will tell me where to find them, and that will be that.”
“You don’t look much like a low-life criminal, Sir Lathe,” Ako reminded him.
Lathe looked down at his fine clothing and his tunic bearing the insignia of the Knights of Serica—a stylized burning tower. “True enough, and I gave my old clothes away when I joined the Knights of Serica, as you commanded. But rags are cheap to buy, and dirt is still free. Give me an hour, and you won’t recognize me.”
Lathe departed in a rush.
Blue Frostel looked thoughtfully into the distance and then sighed. “I fear young Lathe is barking at the wrong tree. There are many men, former soldiers of the army of Kunhalvar, who have not been paid. I hear their prayers before Temo Tio. Prayers for justice, prayers for punishment of the rebliths in the war ministry who have cheated them out of their rightful rewards. There was much anger toward the old war minister, and a good deal of it has been redirected toward Minister Boethy.”
Frostel continued, “You Keltens see only the best of Serica, which is as it should be. But away from the palace and the fine men Lord Vaina works with, there is greed, even avarice on the part of officials in the government who take a twisted pleasure in frustrating the lives of common soldiers. To be sure, many men only join the army because they can find no other work. Not every soldier is a hero. Plenty are drunkards, gamblers, or cr
iminals who engage in a bit of robbery every month before the next payday arrives. It’s not like much is expected of them; the profession of arms in Serica has been held in contempt for hundreds of years.”
“You think soldiers are involved?” Ako replied.
“Let me say that I would not be surprised,” said Frostel. “Well, the two of us will talk to Loganin. He knows more than us. I happen to have a fine bottle of quality liquor ready at hand, a gift from a wealthy student.”
Frostel undid the leather straps on his trunk and pulled out a painted bottle with a smile. “Yes, priest Loganin will like this. The old campaigner also loves hearing war stories. Just don’t ask him about the battle at Fort Nozik, or he will bend your ear for hours.”
Loganin came in response to Frostel’s invitation, and it was obvious to Ako that he was a former soldier by the way he carried himself. The priest bowed respectfully to Sir Ako, and the three men drank together while Ako recounted some of his deeds at the Battle of Devek. It made for a stirring tale. Frostel then described the burial of the dead soldiers after the battle and steered the conversation to the true topic.
“Sir Ako here brings word from the Ministry of War of unscrupulous men who are taking advantage of war widows and newly orphaned children. You can guess their methods: seduction, robbery, even kidnapping. Most of these ruffians pray to Hesmoro for success, but some may pray before Temo Tio.”
With a pugnacious expression, Loganin stroked his graying beard and growled under his breath.
“There was a notable kidnapping earlier today,” continued Frostel. “The daughter of a general whom Opmi Ako and I both respect. We need your help to find out who committed the act. As a favor to me, could you ask the priest of Hesmoro who he thinks might have done such a deed?”
Loganin finished his cup of liquor and then raised his right hand as though holding a long-vanished mace. “Humph. One of the generals of Tokolas? Outrageous! I’ll go straight over. That old swindler will tell me what he knows. Just give me half a cat for some salted fish and wine, and I’m sure his tongue will wag.”
Frostel placed a somewhat tarnished and misshapen silver cat on the table in front of the old priest. “As General Erdis says, ‘Victory goes to those with speed.’ This is a matter of import. If you obtain useful information, my gratitude will be made real. My new school will need a man like you to show the students the proper way to worship Temo Tio.”
The old soldier stood and replied, “Temo Tio rewards those who serve him faithfully. I’ll be back long before the curfew.”
After Loganin left, Sir Ako handed a shiny new silver cat to Frostel, saying, “What’s this about a new school?”
“Lord Sandun convinced me that I should set up a new branch of the Rulon Mors here in Tokolas. I had to agree; he was very persuasive.”
Ako looked at Frostel, and happy surprise momentarily overtook his concern for Valo Peli’s daughter. “That’s good news! You are staying here in Tokolas after all. And setting up a school here to train warriors? I like this plan of yours. Few men can become Knights of Serica, and Sho’Ash knows Lord Vaina needs more skilled fighters.”
“Ha!” Frostel exclaimed. “Give me ten years and my students will be the equal of your knights. You Keltens are mighty in war, but we Serice were once masters of warfare, and we will be again.”
“Competition is good,” Ako replied. “There are at least five knightly orders in the Archipelago, perhaps more that I have not heard of. Tokolas is big enough for the two of us for many years to come. I can tell you that Valo Peli offered the thousand cats to you if you recovered his daughter. That should buy a decent building for your new school.”
Frostel looked serious. “I will not take the war minister’s money to find his daughter. I do this because he led us to victory over the Kitran Empire. However, if he later wishes to help me build my school, I would welcome a donation, but a thousand cats? We will see.”
The two men left the temple complex to find food. They ate in silence at a nearby restaurant that sold roast duck. Ako was thinking about what he should do in case there was no news from this priest of Hesmoro. Aware that Lathe would seek them out, he suspected the beggar who came up to their table asking for a few coins. Sure enough, it was Sir Lathe, almost unrecognizable under a layer of dust and dirty rags.
Frostel said loudly, “Away with you, beggar! Let two of your betters eat their meal in peace. We have nothing for you!” He gave a knowing wink to Ako as Lathe slunk away in mock dejection.
Frostel said quietly, “He is well disguised; no one will suspect his true identity. We should work to preserve his cover by meeting secretly.”
Ako nodded. As they ate dinner, the sun set, and the owner lit a few oil lamps while the streets darkened.
Returning to the Rowan Horse Temple, Frostel and Ako were joined by Lathe. The three men discussed alternative theories about the kidnapping. Lathe was disappointed the priest of the god of war did not think much of his theory. Ako fretted that he had not gone to meet with Valo Peli as he’d promised, but Lathe told him not to worry. “The war minister will not waste time. He is sure to have some of his clansmen out seeking information, but as they are from the Tea Hills, they have but a small likelihood of finding clues. We are his best hope, and if he has not sent word, he has nothing new for us.”
A few minutes later, a girl was shown in by the door warden. “She says her name is Lena, and she claims to have an urgent message for Blue Frostel.”
Blue Frostel looked at the young woman skeptically. “What is your message?”
She came close and whispered something in Frostel’s ear. He turned and spoke to the door warden. “It’s all right, she is a friend of a friend.”
The door warden left them alone. Lena then took out a piece of paper from within her sleeve and handed it to Frostel. “It’s from War Minister Boethy,” Frostel said as he read it. “He wants to know what’s going on since no one met him at market.”
“Who are you?” Lathe asked the girl. “I thought I knew everyone who worked for Minister Boethy.”
“I’m a new maid with the Boethy household staff. The war minister was hiring, and I applied for the job. I…I met a Kelten opmi two months ago. He saved my life. He said his name was Sandun.”
“Ah. Sandun mentioned you. He will be pleased to know you are working for our friend. I guess everyone comes to Tokolas,” Sir Ako told her.
Frostel took a pen and wrote a quick reply on a new piece of paper. “Take this back to the war minister. Tell him we are…hopeful.”
Lena bowed and made her way out.
“So that’s the girl Sandun escorted to Jupelos. It’s a small world, isn’t it?” Sir Ako said.
“I’m not surprised she came here,” Lathe replied. “I hear a hundred new people show up at the gates of Tokolas every single day. Thanks to the constant flow of new people, this may be the largest city in all of Serica.”
Thirty minutes later, Loganin returned. His face was flushed from drink, and he was not happy. Ignoring Lathe, he sat down heavily on a chair and recounted what he had learned.
“He didn’t know much. Yes, he had heard of one or two gangs that are engaged in criminal activities, but not kidnapping. He swore the gangsters frequented the Seven Stars Temple and not his shrine. I pressed him, and he gave me a name. A gang leader named Squinty Pejak.” The priest sighed and tapped on the table with his right hand. “Poverty will drive almost any man to villainy. I knew Squinty; he served in the Kitran Imperial Army, and then he switched sides and joined the Red Swords. But I haven’t heard his name for a long time. I had hoped that he had changed his ways.
“The priest who takes care of the shrine of Lord Mairen at the Seven Stars is known to me. Brinolf by name. An old acquaintance but getting on in years; neither of us often walks the length of Tokolas, it’s too crowded. I’ll write you a note of introduction. I can only p
ray Brinolf can offer you more help than I.”
Borrowing a piece of paper and a quill pen from Frostel, Loganin scratched some lines and placed the paper on the table in front of the three warriors. “If I hear anything new, I’ll let you know. However, the Seven Stars is where you should strike next.”
Two hours of fast walking by the three men ensued. When they reached the Seven Stars Temple, it was nearly the curfew hour and the temple doors were shut fast. Banging on the door only caused the watchmen to yell out that the temple was closed, and all the priests were asleep. The watchman continued: “Is the district on fire? No! Is the army of King Tuno outside our walls? No again! Come back tomorrow, the gods will listen to you then.”
But Blue Frostel was not a man to be denied by a mere watchman, despite the lateness of the hour. “I am Arna Frostel of the Rulon Mors Temple. I have an urgent message for Brinolf, priest of Lord Mairen, and I will be not be delayed or denied. The tenth bell has not sounded. You will open this gate, or I will make such a clamor that the whole neighborhood will come out to see why you are hindering me.”
“You wouldn’t dare. The city watch will throw you in jail.”
“Try me!” shouted Frostel, and he slapped the gates with both hands, making a loud booming noise.
“All right! All right! By the gods, you followers of Lord Mairen are annoying.”
Ako whispered to Lathe, “Hide somewhere nearby, unless you think you can sneak in without anyone spotting you.” Lathe put his thumb and index finger together, a Serice gesture that meant he understood, and then he disappeared into the shadows.
Inside the Seven Stars, only one building was illuminated. Several priests emerged in response to the commotion at the gate.
“I’m awake,” said one old man. “It’s not like I sleep any longer. I can barely keep awake in the day, and at night I can hardly sleep an hour before I must relieve myself.” Coming closer, he stared searchingly at the two big warriors. “Blue Frostel? I know you’ve been staying at the Rowan Horse these last three months. I am Brinolf, custodian of the shrine of Lord Mairen. What is so urgent that you must see me now, at this hour?”
The Flame Iris Temple Page 16