Call Of The Flame (Book 1)

by James R. Sanford

  “Esaiya . . . ” She searched for the memory. “Do you mean Castle Island? I thought that was an order of monks.”

  “We circulate that story so we are left alone. We are warriors as much as any knight of old.”

  “So why are you here telling me all this?”

  “I have already said, Princess. I am here to protect you from them if you so wish it. You have stood close to Morae. What did you feel?”

  Aerlyn’s gaze turned dark. “I felt that I stood at the edge of a snake pit. And I don’t — “ her voice caught and she had to swallow, “I don’t like the way he looks at my son.” She clutched her fan tightly with both hands. “I want to trust you, Sir Aiyan. I — “

  The lady in waiting that Kyric had seen with Eren and Kaelyn had stopped in front of them. She looked around with growing anxiety.

  “Where are my children?” Aerlyn asked.

  The lady began to panic. “They said they were coming directly here to stand with you.”

  Kyric looked across the floor. He couldn’t see the children, but he noticed that Morae was waving Vaust over to him.

  “Calm yourself,” said Aerlyn, “they’re probably hiding from you.” She gathered a handful of servants and sent them searching the length of the floor. A few minutes later they came back empty-handed.

  Aerlyn turned back to the lady in waiting. “Where did you last see them?”

  “We were looking at the birds.”

  They all walked over to the birdcages together. Peering under the platform where the cages sat, Aiyan said, “There’s a tear in the tent — they must have slipped out here.”

  Morae watched from across the floor. He whispered into Vaust’s ear imperatively, and Vaust strode quickly to the entrance, breaking into a trot as he went out.

  Aiyan saw it. To the princess he said, “Don’t worry. I will find them.” To Kyric he said, “Come with me,” and he ran from the tent in Vaust’s wake, running fast as a sprinter in his clumsy dress shoes. Kyric couldn’t run in them. As soon as he was outside, he kicked them off and went in pursuit of Aiyan.

  Aiyan wove through the crowd at full speed, never so much as brushing against anyone, adjusting his course to avoid obstacles before he could even see them. Kyric tried to keep up but soon collided with a juggler, going down in a rain of wooden pins. He was back up in an instant, but Aiyan was already lost to him.

  Wait. He didn’t have to chase Aiyan. He knew where the kids had gone. Hauling the juggler to his feet with an apology he asked, “Do you know where the pygmy elephant is kept?”

  “Somewhere behind the big top,” the juggler answered shortly, brushing himself off. He pointed in the direction.

  Kyric moved through the crowd as quickly as he could, coming to the front of the darkened circus tent. He circled around to the back side to find what was once an open marketplace covered by a latticework roof. Along with rows of wooden crates lay rows of animal cages near the back flaps of the tent, all in the glow of a dozen paper lamps suspended beneath the lattice. The smell of hay and manure lay thickly over the place. He walked past bears, lions — one must be Jazul’s Bruli — a chimpanzee, a pygmy rhino, and he turned the corner to find Eren and Kaelyn in front of an elephant standing five feet high.

  He grinned with a little triumph saying, “Hi kids. I thought I would find you here.”

  Eren frowned. “You’re not supposed to call us kids.”

  Kaelyn jumped up and down. “Come look at the pygmy elephant, Kyric.”

  He walked over and squatted beside her.

  “It’s not a baby,” she said. “He’s full grown.”

  “They live in the far south of Terrula,” Eren said, “where it’s always warm. What happened to your shoes?”

  Kyric’s grin widened. “They weren’t very comfortable.”

  “My feet are tired,” Kaelyn said. “May I take my shoes off too?”

  Kyric stood up. “How about if I carry you back to the party where you can sit down?”

  She beamed at him. “Okay.”

  Suddenly Vaust stepped around the corner. “There you are. Well, it seems we have found them.”

  He sounded casual enough, but Kyric saw the sign of the feral lie, the lie that bullies told so that they could get close enough to hurt you.

  “You can take the little girl, and I will accompany the prince,” he said, taking two more steps.

  Kyric stepped away from the children and crossed his arms over his sash, letting his fingertips slide underneath, close to the pocket pistols.

  Vaust took one more step. Kyric reached for a pistol at the same time Vaust reached for his sword, but before Kyric could cock it, Vaust leaped forward and lunged. Kyric backpedaled, but too slowly, then Vaust’s foot flew out from under him as he slipped on a bit of manure. Kyric cocked his pistol and aimed directly at Vaust’s head. Anger came bubbling up like thick black tar.

  Vaust had recovered his balance at once and they now stood only a few feet apart. Kyric could see a thought passing behind Vaust’s eyes — he was wondering if his sword arm was quicker than Kyric’s trigger finger. Then suddenly Aiyan was standing next to Vaust with the point of his sword against his neck.

  “Drop your sword or I will kill you this instant,” Aiyan said softly.

  Vaust did as he was told. Aiyan seemed on the verge of rage, and in the midst of decision. He pressed the tip of his sword a bit harder, and a trickle of blood ran down Vaust’s neck. It was red blood.

  “So many young ones join them willingly now,” Aiyan whispered to himself. He had said that the night they met.

  “You can walk away,” Aiyan said, still whispering, “and know that if it weren’t for those children standing there watching, you would already be dead.” He took his sword away from Vaust’s neck. “But you may not want to return to the party. You’ve gotten blood on your collar.”

  Vaust began walking away backward, looking at Aiyan. He paused for a moment and looked hard, as if seeing something he hadn’t seen before. For a moment Kyric thought Aiyan would change his mind and go at him with the sword. Instead he called to Vaust, “If I were you, I would go and pray for redemption while I still could. While my will was still my own.”

  Vaust gave off a short bark of a laugh as he turned the corner and was gone.

  “We must return quickly,” Aiyan said. “He’ll run straight to Morae — and Morae could have followed us out for that matter.” He sheathed his sword quickly. “What’s more, Vaust saw me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was able sense my inner nature you might say.”

  Aiyan took the pistol from Kyric and asked him to carry Kaelyn. He held it against his leg, still fully cocked, and grasped Eren by the hand. He led them through the cages and back around the circus tent and into the fair. Aiyan watched for danger in every parting of the crowd and looked backward every few steps.

  Princess Aerlyn stood outside the entryway waiting for them. She tried not to show any relief as she took her son’s hand from Aiyan, but to Kyric it was plain.

  Eren looked up at his mother. “Sir Aiyan almost got into a swordfight with the man who won the gold arrow.”

  “Is that so?” Aerlyn said, looking at Aiyan.

  “There would never have been a fight,” Aiyan said evenly. “Vaust tried to claim the honor of returning the children to you when it was really Kyric who found them. I simply told him that it was not to be.”

  Aerlyn said nothing then, but held her head up and looked so deeply into Aiyan that Kyric feared she would see all of his inner spirit laid open. The eye is a window and seeing passes each way. Her spirit bloomed like flowers in her eyes as she looked, and Aiyan breathed deeply of that fragrance.

  “My knight errant,” she smiled. “I believe custom states that I must reward you with a token of my esteem. Shall I give you a ribbon to tie at the point of your lance?”

  Aiyan smiled as well, but instead of counter-play he bowed and answered her seriously. “I ask only this: One
dance.”

  Her smile faded away, to be replaced by a look of curiosity. She gave him a nod and curtseyed to him. “Then let us dance.”

  She took his arm and he led her inside and to the dance floor. She called to the orchestra leader, “Can you play Sparkling Wine?”

  Everyone stopped at the abrupt moment of silence. Aiyan took the hand of the princess and the orchestra struck the opening chords of Sparkling Wine. Aiyan clearly recognized the song, breaking into a wide smile. She said something to him, and Kyric imagined her words. Do you like this song too? He answered. Oh yes, it’s one of my favorites. She: I’ve always loved dancing to this song.

  Aerlyn danced effortlessly, with every nuance perfectly timed, and Aiyan matched her with his natural grace, leading her in a delicate spinning step, making great circles across the dance floor. They looked only at each other, giving them a stillness as they swept past Kyric with another turn.

  Kyric scanned the room for Morae and Vaust, but he saw neither. Jela noticed him and broke away from a group of athletes, coming over with his shoes in her hand.

  “Look at them,” she said, nodding toward Aiyan and Aerlyn. “They’re wonderful together.”

  The music reached an interlude where only the violins played, and one by one the other couples began to drift to the side, stopping to watch, until none but Aiyan and Aerlyn were left dancing. They seemed to barely touch the floor, carried along by their own secret wind.

  Still watching them, Jela said to Kyric, “You may have the next dance with me, if you would like that.”

  Kyric grimaced. “I don’t know how.”

  “You’ve never danced in your whole life?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  At last came the finishing crescendo, and the princess and the knight walked hand in hand from the dance floor to the applause of guests and servants alike. They were flushed with excitement and laughing.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve danced like that,” Aerlyn said.

  Aiyan took in a breath. “I have never danced like that.”

  All at once a dozen lords and ladies pressed in on them, wanting to compliment Princess Aerlyn and interrogate Aiyan. He excused himself and made his way to Jela.

  “You need to leave here at once,” he said to her.

  She frowned. “Why? They’re not even here any longer.”

  He was instantly exasperated with her. “I don’t have time for explanations, Jela, but trust me with this, you need to go right away. Go to the other side of the city. Take the lion wrestler to the dance at New Market Square. That way at least you will have not told a complete lie to your father.”

  Without another word she stomped away to find Jazul.

  “Why couldn’t she stay and go home with you and me?” Kyric asked.

  Aiyan gave him a grim look. “Because when we leave here they will try to kill us.”

  CHAPTER 11: Handfuls of Straw

  It didn’t take long for Jela to talk Jazul into leaving with her. Jazul had apparently hired a carriage for the evening, and he seemed ready to set out for a full night of celebration. Aiyan peeked out and watched them go, the stiffness in his shoulders loosening visibly after they had gone the length of the street and turned the corner.

  After seeing him dance with the princess, half the aristocrats wanted to corral Aiyan and find out who he was and how he knew the princess. He had to keep on the move to avoid conversation until at last Aerlyn sequestered herself at a table behind a barrier of flowers and called him over to sit with her.

  Kyric busied himself with sampling the marvelous chilled delicacies, and with watching the couples who danced, trying to memorize some of the steps without going through the clumsy motions. All this time Aiyan and Aerlyn spoke in low tones, declining food and drink, often smiling, sometimes animated, leaning closer.

  Kyric continued to watch for the return of Vaust or Morae, but they never came back. At length, Senator Lekon bulled his way to Aerlyn’s table and forced Aiyan to shake hands with him, engaging him for a minute or two. Shortly after Lekon walked away he scribbled a note to an aid, who left at once. Aiyan excused himself and sought out Kyric.

  “I just now thought of something they might try,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “My eyes are so full of stardust that I’m not thinking clearly.”

  Kyric tried not to smile. “So you’re taken with her. What of it? It’s nice.”

  Aiyan cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s possible that Morae tipped Lekon as to my identity and he has now sent for the household cavalry to arrest me as soon as we walk out.”

  “What about Morae and Vaust?”

  “I think they’re already out there waiting for us, but we should go now anyway. I’ve done more here than I dared to dream.”

  When Kyric gave him a knowing look Aiyan returned it and asked him, “Can you ride a horse?”

  “If I have to.”

  “Good. We’re going riding with Aerlyn tomorrow.”

  Kyric couldn’t contain himself. “So it’s first names now?”

  Mumbling something unintelligible, Aiyan led him to the waiters’ entrance near the orchestra platform and peered out. “We’ll go quickly,” he said. “Past the stores tent to those crates stacked against the fence, then over and into the crowd. Keep your head down and keep up with me.”

  “Just don’t run like you did before.”

  Aiyan shook his head. “No need for the gait of the wind this time.”

  “Is that another weird that one may learn?”

  “Yes,” he said absentmindedly as he carefully scanned the fenced area. “It’s not as hard as it looks.”

  With a nod from Aiyan, they crossed to the fence in a quick trot and over into a dark space behind a row of empty booths. “We didn’t get shot coming out,” said Aiyan. “So far so good.”

  A commoner’s procession, a line of men and women dressed in outrageous imitations of finery, some approaching clownish proportions, was moving past the booths. A handful of musicians led the way, and most everyone in the line sang along with them.

  Aiyan took Kyric’s sleeve and led him around the booths and into the procession. “We don’t look so out of place in this line,” he said. “Let’s see where it goes.”

  The line snaked down the avenues of the fair, past fire dancers, jugglers, and booths with bright awnings serving fried sweet-cakes and candied apples and all manner of finger food. Jovial fellows hawked bottled wine from the backs of donkey carts. Folks with children gathered along the path when they saw the procession coming, and the parading ladies threw hard candy and paper dolls to them, while the imitation lords flung handfuls of wooden coins into the air. Even the adults scrambled to catch these, and when Kyric managed to grab one he found it was merely inscribed with the words ‘good luck’ on one side. He tucked it into his sash, hoping that it was so.

  The tall torches along the way cast flickering patterns into the moon shadows. The line moved along hesitantly, passing a small bonfire where pairs of sweethearts stood across from each other and the girls tossed wreaths to their boyfriends through the flames. Kyric had seen this in the country villages at midsummer — he who dropped his sweetheart’s wreath faced an unhappy season.

  “I have that feeling on the back of my neck,” Aiyan said, looking back and all around, peering through gaps in the crowd. “I don’t see either of them,” he said, “but I can’t imagine Morae simply letting us go. Let’s take a run and see if that draws anyone out.”

  They broke from the procession and into the open, dashing across a darkened green where boys lashed straw men to old wagon wheels, setting them aflame and rolling them through the night with short poles. The straw men crackled and the flames purred as the burning wheels rolled by, and Aiyan cut towards a large tent where two women were selling straw dolls at a brisk pace. With midnight quickly approaching, everyone would soon be tearing straw men to pieces. Beyond, in the shadow of a lonely elm, lay some wagons waiting to be loaded with e
mpty barrels.

  Aiyan stopped there, drawing his little pistol and crouching behind the barrels. He cocked the weapon. Kyric drew one of his own, the metal strangely cool in the warmth of the night. His hand shook a bit. A week ago he had been walking to the Games of Aeva. How had it come to this?

  Aiyan raised his pistol, ready for anyone coming around the tent, and waited. And waited. At length an old man appeared and headed to the tree to relieve himself.

  “If we’re being followed, it’s by someone very good,” Aiyan said softly. “Probably Morae himself. If he wanted to kill me I think he would have taken his shot when we were in that line. But it’s hard to know.”

  They were near the center of the fairgrounds, and there seemed to be a slow migration of folk towards a huge bonfire there. Aiyan and Kyric drifted that way with a loose-knit group, Aiyan watching behind them, almost walking backward. A low platform stood near the great fire, and hundreds pressed together there to hear a bearded poet in academic robes who stood in front of a green curtain and shouted his words, gesturing wildly.

  Aiyan pushed into the crowd. Everyone was leaning toward the stage in anticipation.

  “— as darkness bleeds from my heart,” the poet bellowed, “and my eyes are washed clear, Brother Sun comes ever near.” On the end of a slender pole, a large yellow ball rose above the curtain.

  “Don’t stand so tall,” Aiyan said to Kyric as they picked their way to the other side of the audience.

  The poet shouted even louder. “Strong in life is he. Death itself will flee.” Through a slit in the curtain an enormous man of straw was thrust, dressed all in black. This brought a sharp cry from the audience. It took both hands for the poet to hold it up. The crowd raised their arms chanting, “Carry out death! Carry out death!”

  The poet stood there, expecting midnight to come at any moment. He temporized. “Tonight is Solstice Eve, the night we carry out death. And when we feed the fire with the body of death we cast out our bad luck, and Brother Sun smiles upon our fields — “

  At that moment a distant bell began to strike the midnight hour, and audience cried out as the poet cut short his improvisation and threw the straw man into crowd. They fell upon it like a pack of jackals, tearing into it with their bare hands as firecrackers began to pop all around them and across the fairgrounds.