When they reached the doors to the Prayer Hall, Black Dog and ten other men were gathered there. After Sandun explained that Lord Vaina was trapped below, he gave them his orders. “I want two groups, one on the left, the other on the right. On my signal, I want each group to make as much noise as possible. Do whatever you can do to attract the monks’ attention. Set fires, anything to get them to chase you. I’ll deal with the men in the center, our soldiers will break through, and then we can rescue the arch-governor.”
“And what will be the signal?” Black Dog asked.
“A peal of thunder. Very loud, you won’t miss it.”
“Like from one of Valo Peli’s bombs?”
“No, from lightning!” Sandun held Baltung in front of his face. “I am the Fire Sword and Lord Vaina’s protector. We will take Flame Iris this night. Nothing will stop us!”
Number Eight took five men and headed back the way he had come. Black Dog took the rest in the other direction. They vanished into the night, leaving Sandun alone.
With the abbot and the prayer master dead, whoever was leading the monks’ defense would be in the center. Sandun didn’t have time to make a careful observation of the enemy; he simply headed toward the fighting, staying in shadows. The plaza where the guards had accosted them earlier in the day was filled with armed monks. Sandun quickly picked a man who was yelling orders and brought a mighty bolt of lightning down on him and all the others grouped around him. The lightning filled the entire plaza with a blinding glare, and the crack of thunder sounded like a giant tree had broken apart in a storm. It was a terrible sound—Sandun himself was shocked by the noise. Previously he had been protected by the dragon circle, but no longer.
Into the stunned silence, Number Eight’s voice came from the north side of the karst: “For Kunhalvar—the Red Crane strikes!” From the southern side, different voices joined his, calling out, “Kunhalvar! Kunhalvar!” A burning book flew up into the air and came down, leaving a fluttering trail of burning paper. This stirred the monks to anger—they guessed one of their holy books had been set on fire. The monks uttered curses and pointed in both directions, and the plaza began to empty out. Sandun remained motionless in a pool of shadow while monks waved their weapons, giving chase. After a minute, Sandun unleashed another blast, this time on a group of monks closer to the stairway.
After this second bolt, the survivors recognized that the lightning was not a random accident but aimed at them. Some shouted, “Eston have mercy!” Another, forgetting himself, cried, “The gods are against us!”
Sandun thought to himself, It’s true, the gods are against you.
In the torchlight, Frostel suddenly came into view, standing at the edge of the stairs, a dead monk sprawled at his feet, while others drew back in fear. Frostel yelled at them, “Temo Tio’s wrath is upon you! Run away before Lord Mairen’s glaive strikes off your heads!”
Sandun had almost no power left. He thought about staying where he was and gathering fresh akela, but that was out of the question. He was the champion of Ajh. She had not chosen him to live; Ajh had chosen him to act.
With that thought in mind, Sandun ran out into the plaza, nearly naked, with blood dripping down from his chest to his knees. He was such a bizarre sight that at first, the monks of Flame Iris couldn’t figure out who he was or what he was doing. He pulled up before the line of defenders and shouted at them, “The gods have spoken! Surrender now or be destroyed!” Raising his sword high in the air, he held it there for moment before he summoned one last bolt of lightning down around him. The noise was deafening, and even though he shut his eyes, his eyelids glowed, and it felt as though he had thrust his face into a fire.
Everyone looking at him was blinded; many monks collapsed onto the ground and began wailing like children. But one did not. An older monk with a narrow face and eyes that looked like they rarely opened stepped forward and addressed Frostel. “I know you, Blue Frostel, and as I am a guest at the Flame Iris Temple, I feel duty bound to challenge you. You and your followers have no business here. Eston’s power is far superior to your pathetic gods and your tricks of burning powder!”
The old monk held a long trident in one hand. Sandun knew the weapon; it was called a saber cat catcher in Serica. Frostel glanced at the man’s weapon and his clothing, which was somewhat different from that of the other monks of Flame Iris and nodded. “You are the master of Telihold Tanul, are you not?” he asked.
“The same. Swift Wind is my name. I regret that I must kill you now, but you have defiled this sacred place. I will pray for your soul to be swiftly released from hell’s torments after your body has been thrown to the fishes.”
“Long has there been enmity between Rulon Mors and the southern outpost of Telihold,” Frostel said tightly. “I accept your challenge. Let no man interfere with the bout between us!”
The monks of Flame Iris drew back, forming a large circle while keeping their distance from Sandun as well. Sandun said nothing; time was pressing, but the monks had to be defeated, and getting more of Lord Vaina’s men to the top of the stairs was critical. He was gratified to see that Frostel’s men were pushing up behind their leader. It was hard to see how this bout would help the monks defending the temple, so he stood, unmoving.
Also, part of him wanted to see two men fight it out. Sandun knew Frostel was one of the best warriors he had ever met; he was blindingly fast and aggressive and had trained with every weapon Sandun knew of. By contrast, Sandun’s only experience with the warriors of Telihold Tanul was more than half a year ago, when a group of them attacked Basil and himself and their two guides, Filpa and Zaval. After the fight, Frostel had been dismissive of the fighting techniques of the Telihold monks. Now, Sandun would see what their leader could do.
Sandun observed that Frostel had been injured while fighting his way up the stairs. Blood dripped down both arms, and his right shoe left a bloody mark on the flagstones.
The two men probed each other’s reactions, making quick thrusts as they circled about six feet away from each other. A sharp series of blows by Frostel was parried by Swift Wind, who tried to pull Frostel’s glaive by catching the blade between the tines of his trident and twisting. Swift Wind went on the attack, spinning around and jabbing at Frostel as he knocked and hammered at Frostel’s heavy glaive. These spinning back-and-forth attacks lasted for half a minute. Then Frostel let go of his glaive entirely and grabbed the other man’s trident, attempting to pull Swift Wind off balance. Swift Wind in turn dropped his weapon, and now the two men closed within a foot of each other, striking with their hands and knees in a flurry of attacks.
They pulled away briefly. Frostel was breathing hard, and the older monk pulled at his left shoulder, his face expressionless even as it became obvious that his left arm was hanging limply. Frostel closed again, shifting his position to get on one side or the other of Swift Wind. It was hard for Sandun to see, but judging from the way the two men fought, it seemed they both had short knives in their fists. At this stage of the fight, the older monk relied on his feet and agility to avoid Frostel’s attacks. At one moment, he was behind Frostel and struck at his head, and then the positions were reversed as Frostel ducked and twisted. After a flurry of blows and the sound of silk being torn to pieces, the fight ended in a murderous fury of strikes as Frostel grabbed the monk’s broken arm and stabbed him in the side four or five times. Swift Wind fell backward onto the ground, and a stream of blood fed a pool around the dying man’s body. At the monk’s feet, Frostel sank to one knee and dropped his knife, holding the back of his head.
“You won’t…outlive me…long.” Swift Wind spoke his final words as Frostel swayed unsteadily.
Frostel’s second-in-command, Kerko, didn’t waste time. He shouted, “Victory! Drive the monks off the mountain!” He and his men, followed by the rest of the Red Crane soldiers, charged into the monks, most of whom broke and ran. Sandun attacked the monks arou
nd him, cutting their weapons to pieces with his newly powered Piksie sword. The battle in the plaza soon ended with the Flame Iris monks running off into the night.
Number Eight appeared at Sandun’s side, out of breath and smelling of lopor. “Tell a squad of Red Crane soldiers to follow you. The way is clear to rescue Lord Vaina.” Sandun ran to the edge of the plaza and found an officer leading a group of Red Crane soldiers up the final flight of stairs.
“I am High Advisor Sandun, and I order you to bring your men and follow me. The arch-governor is in danger!”
The officer looked up at him, seeing what looked like a bloody madman, but he recognized the strange accent and the glowing sword. “Yes, Lord Sandun. Soldiers! Follow the Fire Sword!”
Turning back, Sandun stopped briefly beside Frostel, who was still on his knees. “Are you all right?”
Frostel looked toward Sandun; his eyes didn’t seem to focus. “I’m…a pain like I have never known is coursing through my limbs. I cannot stand. He hit me many times. Where is the governor? Why is Opmi Ako not with you?”
“They are trapped below. I have to rescue them.”
“Go, then. If I die, let it not be in vain.”
Sandun spoke to the officer at his side: “Where is the medical team? Are they coming?”
“They are coming, High Advisor, but they are last on the stairs. They will treat Blue Frostel when they get here. Let us make haste to find our king, I mean, the governor. Lead us to him.”
The Flame Iris monks, those that were still fighting, retreated to higher ground on the north and south ends of the karst. The Prayer Hall, occupied by only a few timorous monks, quickly fell to Sandun’s soldiers. At Sandun’s order, the soldiers collected some oil lamps and followed him down to the storeroom. The small doorway to the cavern below was still open, and two monks with sacks of food in their hands were clearly trying to escape the fighting by taking refuge inside the cavern. The monks were relieved of both their food and their lives.
Sandun said to the Red Crane officer, “Commander, this room must be held. Below us is a cavern, and the stairs going down from here are the only practical exit.”
“Very well. But why did my lord go down here?”
“The great treasure rests beneath us in secret tunnels.”
“I understand. I will send runners to bring more men here. Judging from your condition, you escaped using an impractical route? Are you not cold? Take my cloak.”
“Thank you,” Sandun said. He didn’t need the cloak, but he could tell from the reactions of the men around him that he looked terrible, so he put it over his shoulders. “You guess rightly, I did escape using another route; no man can follow my path.”
Sandun led the way down the wooden stairs in the huge cavern, holding his glowing Kelten orb in front of him. Behind him, the Red Crane soldiers proceeded cautiously as the stairs creaked and shook under their feet. At the cavern floor, Sandun threaded his way between the stacks of wrapped objects and furniture. With a sigh of relief, he found the body of Abbot Bright Peak close to the door. The dead man slumped beside a brass crank connected to a piece of metal sticking out of the wall a foot or so above the cavern floor. Sandun searched through the abbot’s clothing to find the key the abbot he had used to open the door an hour earlier. Taking it, he left the body and hurried over to the doorway. A pool of water had formed in front of the door, and rivulets were coming down the sides, but if he hadn’t been looking for it, he might not have noticed; other parts of the cavern walls were wet, gleaming as light from the lamps reflected off them at odd angles.
Sandun called out to the soldiers to hurry; his voice oddly distorted and echoing in the weird cavern. Number Eight came up to Sandun; after closely examining the door, he said, “This is a double-locked door, and if I’m not mistaken, there are two keys required to open it.”
“I have the other key.” Sandun unwrapped the cord around his waist and pulled the second key out.
“Very convenient for the abbot to drop dead on the other of the door as he was, what? Opening a pipe valve to flood the chamber beyond?” Number Eight had immediately leapt to the correct conclusion.
“The abbot opened it enough to make life very difficult for us on the inside. It’s too bad he didn’t die sooner,” Sandun replied grimly. He handed one key to Number Eight, and together the two men turned the keys and unlocked the door.
The doors did not move.
Sandun pushed against them, but they didn’t even quiver. “There is a great deal of water on the other side of these doors,” Sandun said loudly. “The arch-governor and Knights of Serica are on the other side. You men will need to push these doors open and keep them wedged. It’s a like a lock on a river. When the water levels have equalized, then all those inside can escape.”
The Red Crane soldiers pushed against the door with the butt ends of their spears. The weight of the water held the doors closed as though a bowhead whale had come to die behind them. Urged on by their commander and Sandun, the soldiers managed to force the doors apart, just a tiny gap at first. Water spurted out like blood from a severed artery. They wedged the small gap with their weapons and kept pushing. Some of the men tore off the coverings from the items in storage, looking for objects that could be helpful. Most of the stored items were useless: dried reeds for roofing, old papers tied together, coils of rough hemp rope. However, one canvas covered blocks of marble, roughly shaped. These stone blocks were carried up to the door. If they could only force the door wider, one of the marble blocks should serve as an effective jam. As they frantically strained at the door, more and more water came out, surging like a river flowing through a sluice gate. The floor of the cavern became slick and then the water in the cavern began to rise.
Without proper tools, ten or perhaps even twenty men could not have kept the door open, but thirty was enough. Lacking proper wedges or wooden mallets, they made up for their lack of tools with brawn and determination. As the men pushed the door inward, the water shot out, covering the men at the front from head to foot. The force of the surging water made it impossible to open the door further, but as the water left the passageway, Sandun knew air was coming in.
Sandun knew people were alive on the other side of the door, but in his mind, he could only count six spirits. Where were the others? Had the other five drowned? As he bent his head down and pushed on one of the poles, his spirit found more lives, farther away, most likely in the treasure corridor.
The rushing waters slackened; the large cavern had turned into a wading pool with water a foot deep. While the water levels inside and outside were equalizing, the Red Crane soldiers shouted and strained together, forcing one of the marble blocks into place. Then they put another marble carving, even wider than the first, on top. They had done it! The opening was now wide enough for a person clamber over and escape.
First out was Sume, looking like a bedraggled rat, her hair lank and black, nearly covering her face. She said, “By the Great Lord Mairen, we nearly froze to death in there. I thought I’d been cold before, but I was wrong.” Coming over to Sandun, she said, “I prayed to Temo Tio for succor, and he has answered my prayers.” One of the soldiers in the rear offered her his relatively dry cloak, which she accepted, shivering. Then she perched on a bale of reeds with her feet above the water.
Next out was Damar, then Lathe, Hikki, and Sir Ako. Lord Vaina came out last.
Sir Ako wrapped Sandun in a bear hug as he shouted, “You did it! I knew you would. You’ve never let us down!”
Sandun grinned. “You’re safe! The water didn’t fill the corridor.”
“Almost but not quite.” Sir Ako shook the water from out of his ears. “Thanks to the light from Lord Vaina’s orb, we could mark the water level as time passed. That was unpleasant, waiting as the water rose steadily higher. When I felt the shaking of the door as you started to open it, I knew we were saved.”
&nbs
p; “The others, they swam to the treasure corridor?” Sandun asked.
“Yes, Basil, Padan, Farrel, and Wiyat volunteered to go there. Lathe, Sume, and Hikki don’t know how to swim. Filpa could swim and went back and forth several times, so we knew water hadn’t filled the cave entirely…” Sir Ako shuddered before he continued, “Things were getting pretty hairy at the end. But now, by Sho’Ash, I feel reborn! I’ve never felt like this before. It’s good to be alive!”
Lord Vaina splashed his way over and saluted Sandun. Then, turning to his subordinate officer, he said, “Lieutenant Besnet, I am happy to see you and your men. What’s the report from above?”
“My lord, I regret to say both Commander Isun and Vice Commander Dril were mortally wounded as they fought their way up the stairs—arrows and stones thrown down from above struck them both, one after the other. Lord Frostel led the final push to the top with his men from the Rulon Mors.”
“Where is Blue Frostel?”
“There was a duel in the plaza between Lord Frostel and one of the monks. Lord Frostel was the victor, but he was injured, badly.” At this news, Sume stood up and then turned and ran up the stairs. The lieutenant continued, “We followed Lord Sandun to this cavern, but I expect that the fighting is still going on above us.”
“Number Eight and his agents helped as well,” Sandun added.
“Well, I must go and see that Flame Iris Temple is subdued.” Lord Vaina appeared to be fully in command of his emotions, as though he had never for a moment worried about dying in that chamber. “You and your men have my thanks, and will all be richly rewarded when we return to Tokolas. I will never forget this.”
All the soldiers went to their knees and murmured, “Thank you, my lord.”
“Sir Ako.” Lord Vaina turned to face the big knight and gave a Kelten salute. “Your knights performed heroically under great pressure. It may not be possible, under our customs, for me to join your order, but in my heart, I shall think of you as my brother. A happy day brought you to my city. You have my deepest thanks. When we return to Tokolas, with the Last Chancellor’s…with my treasure, as promised, Olitik and all the lands north of it, including Essebeg and Half Cliff Mountain, shall be the property of the Knights of Serica, forever.”
The Flame Iris Temple Page 27