Call Of The Flame (Book 1)

by James R. Sanford

  Jazul looked insulted. “Not without me,” he said, throwing out his broad chest. “A child has been taken. Be he prince or beggar, I will not let that stand.”

  “What we are going to do,” Aiyan said softly, “will be terrible.”

  Jazul stood like a great figure of stone. “Before I was a showman, I fought in the pits of Javian. I know what to do with bad men.”

  They each fell to their tasks, Jazul helping Aiyan with the weapons. When Aiyan offered him the blunderbuss, Jazul said, “I’d rather have a heavy blade,” so Aiyan fetched him Sedlik’s shortsword.

  “Where is your father?” Aiyan asked Jela when they sat down to eat.

  “He went to oversee a delivery at the warehouse. Then he has a meeting at a coffeehouse. He won’t be back till afternoon.”

  Having no time to prepare anything, Jela had simply laid out bread, cheese, fruit, and leftover potato pie. Aiyan ate quickly, taking huge bites and choking them down with little thought of chewing. Kyric could do little more than nibble, thinking that he may soon be lying in agony with a bullet in his gut.

  When he was done, Aiyan stood, his fists upon the table. “Time to go.”

  Kyric excused himself and ran to the privy, thinking that he would throw up. He stood bent over for a time, but nothing happened. When he came back out, only Jela was there.

  “They’re waiting for you outside,” she said. “Are you sure about this?”

  “No,” he said, “I’m not. I’m scared out of my wits. But after what Jazul said, how could I stay behind?”

  “Aiyan wouldn’t think worse of you if you did.” She went to him and took his hand. “Nor would I.”

  “Thanks.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “But from the moment I first met those two kids they spoke to me like they knew me, and I felt like I knew them. . . . “

  He lost what he was trying to say. He shook his head, trying to force a smile, but he feared he only grimaced.

  She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Go then. Hero.”

  They returned to Pitbull’s and found Teodor behind the house, sitting at a weathered table beneath a canvas awning, his leg tightly wrapped from the knee to the hip and propped up on an old box. Before him lay an herb garden embroidered with winding stone paths. Beyond that, the river.

  “He’s still inside,” said Teodor.

  “How long?” Aiyan asked.

  “Maybe half an hour.”

  They waited, watching river traffic creep along the shore. No one said anything. Jazul drew Sedlik’s shortsword, cutting the air a few times. Kyric sat and examined each of the arrows he had left. Aiyan went to a tree behind the garden and cut a forked limb for Teodor to use as a crutch.

  When Pitbull finally came out of the house his face was grim. He tossed the bag of toys onto the table, and a few wooden figures spilled out — a firebird, a unicorn, a dragon, a knight in plate armor. He looked at Aiyan and shook his head.

  “There’s no bond with the toys?” Aiyan said. “Perhaps his hair brush would be better.”

  “No,” said Pitbull, “his touch and his spirit are strong upon these figures. A concealing essence has been woven over the boy, a hot black smoke that obscures the scent and burns my fourth eye. I can’t penetrate it.”

  Aiyan stared at Pitbull in disbelief. “The princess . . . I — Pitbull, I have sworn by the secret fire.”

  “I have tried, Aiyan. I’m sorry, but I cannot find him.”

  CHAPTER 14: The Flesh of the Innocent

  Aiyan looked at Pitbull with smoldering eyes. “Then try again.”

  “I will, I will, but I need to rest first.”

  Teodor picked up the figure of a dragon, turning it over in his hand. “Can you approach it from another angle? Is there something you lack — a special regent for instance?”

  Pitbull let out a heavy sigh. “No. There’s nothing for it. I just need to be alone for a while.” He gathered the figurines and went back inside his house.

  Jazul’s face darkened. “Have we nothing more than sorcery to guide us?” When no one answered he looked at each in turn. “I suppose all of you are witch-warriors of some sort.”

  Aiyan said, “Something like that.” Teodor only smiled.

  “Do you know who took Prince Eren? Was it the tall man at the dance, the one that Jela pointed out to me — what was his name?”

  “Kleon Morae. Yes, it was him.”

  “The one who did the kidnapping itself,” said Teodor, “was no man at all. According to Kyric they are called Wirmen.”

  “Yes, Kyric,” said Aiyan, “I don’t know this one. Please educate us, young scholar.”

  “There’s little to it, only a few dozen lines, but the interpretation is this: For Derndra to create his third and greatest grimoire, he had to write it in an ink of what alchemists call essential mercury or golden mercury, also known as the blood of the Aerth. This magical ink incinerated even the most enchanted parchment, so Derndra divined that the only material which could be imbued with enough power to hold this ink was human skin — skin from the youngest and most innocent.

  “Now the War of Mages had already begun, and the people of Aessia had started to suspect that Derndra was not the sage-king he pretended to be. He saw an opportunity to vilify Graifalmia and her allies, convince everyone that they needed his protection, and get the virgin skin he needed. So he created the Wirmen in the deep pits below his palace. He bred them to scent the flesh of children, and made them silent, and gave them the power of sleep. He also trained them to drop a clover leaf, the symbol of Graifalmia’s alliance, in the bed of each taken child. When children began to disappear in the night, many folk believed that Graifalmia’s cohorts had stolen them.

  “You know,” Kyric said with a hollow chuckle, “I always thought that was a parable.”

  “All I want to know,” said Jazul, “is if they can be killed with a blade.”

  The sun climbed to zenith, pouring the heat of high summer over the city, and they all sat under the awning watching the blurry, rippling air rise from the walls, the flagstones, and the cobbled street. Teodor kept shifting in his chair, moving his injured leg from one position to another, never finding a comfortable way to sit. At noontime Pitbull’s wife came out and introduced herself. Aiyan dropped to one knee and hugged her gently. “So good to see you again, Estia.”

  She was frail compared to Pitbull, yet all smiles and bursting with light. She served them cold tea, and her twelve-year-old daughter followed with a plateful of dolmas.

  After they had eaten some, Rellen approached them saying, “I had to unhitch the donkey and turn him out. Can’t just leave him standing in his harness all day.”

  “Of course,” said Aiyan. “Sorry. I kept thinking we would go any minute.”

  Aiyan became more and more restless as the afternoon wore on, unable to sit down or stand still. Through all that had happened in the days since Kyric met him, he had never seen Aiyan lose his inner stillness, even when he was angry.

  “Aiyan,” said Teodor. “Maybe we should look for another way.”

  “No. He will do it. He was born a finder. While he was still a student his master told me that Pitbull had already surpassed his own skill in finding. There is no greater finder than Pitbull.” He turned and went into the house. When he returned a few minutes later he looked sick. “Perhaps the third time will be the charm.”

  The day turned sultry as a bank of clouds far out to sea rose into thunderheads. Jazul found a bench that had fallen into shade and laid down there, a rhythmic snore soon rising above the buzz of insects. Aiyan sat at last, and Kyric caught his eye.

  “Can I ask you something? How is it that you can move so quickly? I understand that training plays a part, but is there a weird to it, like the way you can sprint through a crowd and not run into anyone?”

  “Training is a large part, the rest concerns the warrior essence,” said Aiyan.

  Teodor leaned forward. “We do not so much move quickly, as we slow the wor
ld down a little.” He smiled like Sister Golla did when she asked a tricky logic question.

  “How is that possible? You cannot slow the whole world.”

  “You can slow your little part of it,” said Aiyan.

  “Everyone,” said Teodor, “has experienced the mutability of time. Hence will folk say ‘Time flies when you’re having fun.’”

  Kyric frowned. In the few times he had fun, time slowed for him. Like so many feelings shared among people, his ran backward.

  “That’s simply a difference in perception,” he said. “Time can seem slow to me and fast to you, and still the clock will strike the same hour.”

  Teodor was suddenly serious. “You think of perception as passive, a helpless sense. Perception can also be a function of will. In other words, you can decide how you will perceive the sensations of the world, particularly the spirit world.

  “On the mundane plane, time is a series of moments all strung together. In the realm of power, each moment is whole, complete.”

  “Eternal,” said Aiyan.

  “How can one moment last forever?”

  “It does not,” Teodor said. “Eternity has nothing to do with time.”

  “To put it simply,” said Aiyan, “for one whose spirit has been refined to its warrior essence, it is possible to narrow your focus to encompass only the moment. And each moment so seen is truly eternal.”

  Kyric looked at both of them. “You two are even weirder than the rune sisters.”

  Teodor laughed long and loud at that, and even Aiyan broke a brief smile.

  Kyric said, “Let me ask you something else. What is the long game for the Knights of the Dragon’s Blood? Clearly they intend to take control of the government of Aeva, but to what end? If this Master Cauldin has had over two hundred years to accumulate wealth and political power, why here, why now?”

  “Master Cauldin has no need of money or influence except as tools,” said Teodor. “There is only one end. He seeks only, and always, what our order seeks as well: To rejoin the two halves of the Pyxidium.”

  “And if either of you are successful, what will that mean?”

  Aiyan answered him. “No one really knows.”

  “What Cauldin seeks is supremacy in the realm of power,” Teodor said. “He would be master of firebird and dragon, the Unknowable Forces and the Designing Powers. The mundane world means nothing to him. He believes that the Pyxidium restored would gather all the Essas and allow him to hold them in his eye.”

  “Is it still in the castle on Esaiya?”

  Teodor nodded. “No one has touched it since Master Sorrin.”

  “You must have some thoughts of what it would mean if the Knights of the Flaming Blade defeat Cauldin and restore the Pyxidium?”

  Aiyan glanced sharply at Teodor. Kyric had crossed into a subject not for outsiders.

  Teodor smiled thinly. “We believe that certain events would occur.”

  They both fell silent, their thoughts turning inward. After a moment Kyric said to Teodor, “You must maintain a strong garrison on Esaiya in case he returns with his minions to take it by force.”

  Aiyan grunted. “Excepting masters and candidates, there are rarely more than a dozen knights there at any given time. Esaiya is a home to us, but we cannot answer our calling from behind fortress walls.”

  “Then why — “

  “Why does he not attack?” said Teodor. “There is a reef surrounding the island. A reef is a living being, and this one bears the essence of the Unknowable Forces. It has influence over sea and sky, and no one unworthy of standing upon Esaiya can pass that barrier. No one. But even dragons and firebirds are not immortal, and there is nothing made that cannot be unmade.” He looked to Aiyan. “Tell him.”

  Aiyan was silent for nearly a minute. “I had been invested in the order for only a few days,” he said at last. “I was still on Esaiya, and we received word from Sir Haflor that Cauldin was living near a leper colony outside the city of Albatas.

  “Grexen was grandmaster in that day, and he choose Master Rethan, Sir Bortolamae, and myself to go with him, and we went quick as possible, loading this little ketch we had and sailing straight there across the open sea.

  “We found Haflor in Albatas. He didn’t know the situation because he had only been venturing close enough to make sure Cauldin was still there. You see, because we are atoned with the Pyxidium, we can feel his presence from some distance.”

  “Fortunately for the order,” said Teodor

  “Would the masters of Esaiya know if he were here in Aeva?” said Kyric.

  “I think Master Zahaias would know,” said Aiyan.

  “We would certainly know,” said Teodor.

  “So,” said Aiyan, “the lepers were salt miners of a sort, but the local traders told us they hadn’t shipped any salt at the end of the month as they always had. That made Grandmaster Grexen wary. We approached the colony quietly along a wooded defile, thinking that Cauldin would have several of his knights with him, perhaps even a lieutenant, and that they would be on the lookout or patrolling outside the colony. So we were surprised to discover nothing more than a couple of lepers watching the road from a nearby hill.

  “We slipped past them and circled around the village, finding a place above the mine where we could hide and observe. The whole colony, maybe five hundred people, were all out and working, working vigorously, as if they suffered no weakness from their leprosy. Not mining salt, but unearthing a ruin. They had uncovered a monolith with writing on it, and were in the process of digging out a nearby wall with the same strange language inscribed on tiles.

  “We didn’t see Master Cauldin, or anyone at all except the lepers. But we knew he was there. Each time a new tile was cleared on the wall one of them immediately took a rubbing with charcoal and parchment, and ran it to a stone building beyond the edge of the village.

  “Master Rethan had a badly pock-marked face from a childhood disease, and had lost a finger on his left hand in a swordfight. Properly covered, he could pass for a leper in dim light — that’s why Grexen brought him along. After the sun set and all the lepers returned to their homes, Grexen covered him with a peasant robe and led him down to the village. The rest of us followed at a discrete distance.

  “Grexen planned to tell the lepers that he had heard about the colony, and that he was there looking for a place his cousin could live. None of them had lesions on their faces. They told him that his cousin must be taken to the Mistress, a healer who had cured them all. When Grexen tried to ask questions about her, he discovered that half the colony had surrounded them, and were pushing in, intent upon carrying them to the Mistress.

  “It was either draw swords and cut their way out, or go along with it, so Grexen allowed the lepers to lead them. Dusk had fallen, so we followed closely as we could. The lepers took them to the stone building, which turned out to be part of the ruins, ancient but mostly intact.

  “The Mistress had felt their coming and was waiting for them with a pistol in each hand. Yes, she was of the blood, one of Cauldin’s lieutenants — a woman with the warrior essence is not unheard of, but they must have been shocked to find one at Cauldin’s right hand.

  “They drew swords and she fired, missing Grexen, but wounding Rethan badly. Outside, we heard the shots. We pushed our way through the lepers, showing them the fire of our swords, but they thought us to be enemies of their mistress and tried to lay hands on us. We struck them and burned them with the flats of our blades, for we saw them as innocent. But there were many, and a fervor rose among them. We had to kill a few.

  “We’ll never be sure of what happened inside, but as we neared the structure they all fell to their knees with the grief that comes with the death of their master. She had given all of them the black blood. We think Rethan killed her while Grexen fought with Master Cauldin.”

  Kyric stopped him. “Why was it her? Why did Cauldin not give them his own blood?”

  “Those who drink his blood are not simp
ly made his willing servants; they are thrust into the realm of power. They gain more than the black blood. They quickly develop abilities that we spend long years learning. Those who are not prepared, who do not have the spirit and insight of the warrior essence, go insane in a short time. Thus he must have the lieutenants and knights of his so-called order, and they rule the devotions of the uninitiated.

  “He appeared in the archway that was the entrance to the place. He was dressed as a gentleman farmer, an eye patch concealing the shard of the Pyxidium. His sword, still black with the blood of Aumgraudmal, exuded a freezing mist, a cold mockery of our flaming blades. A deep cut crowned his forehead, one that would have killed any man instantly, and black blood ran down his face. He limped from a wound to his knee. Still, I think he would have tried to kill the three of us, but the lepers were quick to recover from their grief, and it turned to anger and outrage.

  “The lepers, eager to get to him, came between us, and he retreated into the building. The lepers ignored us now, but we couldn’t get through them. We circled to look for another entrance, finding it in time to see Cauldin riding away, laden with map cases.

  “Grandmaster Grexen was dead, and Master Rethan died that night. The next day Bortolamae found a supply of blank parchment and we took rubbings of the same writings that Cauldin had traced. The monolith was carved in ancient Keltassian on one side, and an unknown cuneiform on the other. The wall held only the cuneiform writing.

  “Bortolamae tried to tell the lepers what had happened to them, but they were unsure and melancholy. He convinced a few of them to help us finish digging out the wall. Only one more row of tiles lay below ground, and after we had taken rubbings of them, Bortolamae destroyed them with a hammer.

  “The lepers told us that Cauldin and his woman had arrived two months before, camping in the ruins at first. Each day the Mistress would make friendly talk with one of the men, and invite him to come to her that night. Her charms were so great that no man would refuse. After she had seduced him, and he lay in the aftermath of ecstasy, she would give him the black blood, and he would take it willingly. It wasn’t long before the lesions and numbness began to recede in those men, and their vitality returned. When this became known, the lepers told us, they all wanted her blood. She no longer had need for subterfuge.