Suddenly, all the horsemen ahead of Martan stopped. Clarian urged his mount around the halted solders and rode toward the front. Martan was riding back toward him. They reined in their horses as they met.
“There are farm fields ahead and cattle and horses,” said Martan.
“See anyone?” asked Clarian.
“Not yet and no farmhouses either. Just fields. The road cuts through them and keeps going.”
“Let’s take a look.” Clarian and Martan rode ahead of the column past the scouts who were gathered up at the edge of a large, cleared field. Because the field was cleared of most trees, the sun shone down hot and bright. Finally, daylight, Clarian thought. He could see extensive fields spread out on both sides of the road. Some fields were planted with grain, others with vegetables, and the pastures were filled with grazing cattle and horses.
Clarian rode back and gave the orders to pull off the road and rest and water the horses and to cut staffs and prepare torches. He judged that the cavern was close, but how close was the question. The sun was beyond midday. If it took too long to get to the cavern city, he and his force would be engaging the enemy at night, and he wanted to avoid that. He preferred to hit Minteegan earlier in the day, preferably when the night people were sleeping.
He waved to Martan, and they assessed the situation. They agreed that attacking the Maggan late in the day and into the night was not to their advantage. Martan suggested they send scouts ahead to try to determine where the city was without being detected and move the column closer if possible. They would then camp out of sight and rest the men and horses until the next day and attack in the morning.
Two scouts were sent ahead riding horses with hooves muffled in sackcloth to search out the area ahead. The column followed slowly and cautiously. There was no talking in the ranks as they followed the road through fields where the forest had been cleared. Soon, other roads began to intersect with the main road, indicating more fields branching off in other directions. They encountered no farmers or riders, and Clarian considered that a good sign.
As dusk arrived, the two scouts returned. Clarian and Martan were anxious for their report. The cavern city was not far ahead. They had not seen anyone in the fields or on the road. The scouts had been able to get close to the cavern entrance or what they thought was the entrance—a wide road leading down into blackness beneath the cliff. From behind a clump of trees they did see a few men moving near the entrance but glimpsed no soldiers anywhere.
The scouts reported that there were stone buildings out in some of the fields and that they might either be storehouses or animal shelters or even farmhouses. It could be that not all Maggan lived underground. Martin decided to avoid those, and after orders were given, the scouts led the force down the road and into a forested area beyond some cultivated fields, deep enough to avoid contact with a wandering farmer or herdsman. There, the Karran soldiers rubbed down their horses, fed, watered and staked them out, followed by a quick, cold meal for themselves. Wrapped in their cloaks, they slept on the damp ground, uneasy and fearful in the pitch-black night.
Sometime before dawn, the soldiers roused themselves without being told. First, they saw to their horses, watering them and providing them a light feed, and checked harnesses and saddles. Next, they examined their weapons—stringing bows; arranging arrows in quivers; and checking lances, swords, and daggers. They gulped down some dried food from their saddlebags and drank their fill of water from a nearby stream.
The officers found Clarian and Martan beneath a great tree, waiting for them.
“From here on in, we are engaged with the enemy,” Clarian said to his officers, whom he could hardly see in the gloom of the forest, even though it was early dawn. “Prepare your troops. Prepare your weapons. Prepare to fight. Our first objective is to go down into the cavern and burn and destroy all we can. We will drive these nocturnal vermin out of their hole and up onto the surface. When we come out of the cavern, we will burn and trample the fields and drive off the cattle. We want the horses for ourselves. We’ll drive them in front of us back to Karran. Keep your teams together. Don’t let anyone get separated. We will be moving fast. Any questions?”
No one spoke. Heads turned from side to side, as if to query fellow officers, but they all seemed to understand their mission. “Let’s mount up. The Flame,” he whispered.
“The Flame,” they whispered back.
The Maggan army inched its way toward the forest, leaving the dead in its wake. There were no wagons and troops to carry them home. The sun had dropped behind the hills, and dusk was closing in. Lillan and Amran guessed that Ferman would push through the night and not stop to rest. This was the third night during which the burning barricades had blocked the advance of the Maggan army. As planned, the barricades held up the enemy army for hours, and the Karran archers downed countless soldiers. In the early morning hours, the fires had subsided enough for the Maggan to force their way through the hot embers and charred trees and resume their march down the road.
Throughout the day, from positions of cover, Karran archers kept up a continuous bombardment of arrows into the ranks of the exhausted enemy from the flanks. Mounted archers made sudden attacks at the head of the column, causing the Maggan to stop and regroup. The day proved long and costly for the Maggan, and they could not rest.
The fourth night was approaching, and the Karran had built a new barricade farther down the road that the Maggan would reach sometime in the early part of the night. Lillan rested her archers and horses behind some low-lying hills east of the road. They were exhausted from doing sorties all day. Except a few hours’ rest here and there, no Karran soldier had slept for several days. The heat of the day sapped their strength. With the coming of night, a breeze sprang up carrying the scent of fire and the stink of death. Horses were tethered on lines, and the soldiers, wrapped in cloaks, napped in the dry, brittle grass, too tired to go to the cook fires for food.
Lillan rode into the camp, her face crinkled with fatigue, eyes bloodshot. She found other officers seated on the ground near a line of stubby trees, a small fire burning. Several officers started to get up, and she waved them down. She dismounted, handed her horse’s reins off to a soldier, and joined the group on the ground. Someone passed her a container of water. She surveyed the tired group and then glanced up into the sky, judging the rapidly descending night. The moon had not yet risen.
There were dirt smudges on Lillan’s face and a tear in her tunic. She quickly assessed her officers’ degree of fatigue. She knew she had to keep them going for another day or two. “We haven’t beaten them yet, but victory is within reach. Clarian is in the forest marching on their city right now. He may already have reached it. We will keep harassing them here until they are completely exhausted, and the fight in them is extinguished. Just a little while longer. When will you torch the barricades?”
“In a few hours they will be approaching the barricades, and we will set them ablaze and bottle them up again,” answered an older officer.
“Be careful. They tend to get smarter after the first surprise. Get a few hours of sleep,” Lillan said. She stood up and walked a short distance away and lay down in tall grass behind a clump of scrub trees, wrapping up in her cloak, almost invisible in the darkness.
They rode through the farmlands at an easy gallop, following the road as it made slow curves through the fields. It was late morning. Riding through a clump of immense trees, the troops broke out into a vast, open park area, with manicured grass and flowers and shrubs. The morning was a welcome relief to the soldiers and lifted their spirits. A slow-moving, small green river appeared on the left, bending to run alongside the road in the same direction the soldiers were riding. The road widened and seemed to head directly toward a heavily forested ridge.
Clarian galloped up to the scouts and rode at the head of the column with Martan, trying to see ahead. As they approached the ridge, the
road angled downward, and so did the river. They crested a hill and reined in. The road and the river disappeared down into an immense mouth of darkness that seemed to slide under the ridge.
Martan looked at Clarian. “There’s the cavern of Minteegan.”
“I don’t see any guards,” said Clarian.
“No guards. They have no enemies. No one would dare come in here. Remember, they eat people. And they live in darkness,” said Martan.
“Martan, take two men and ride in there and scout it out a bit before we go charging in. Try not to attract attention to yourselves. Act like Maggan.”
“Why do I get all the good assignments?” joked Martan. He beckoned to two scouts sitting on their horses nearby, and the three rode along the road and down into the yawning darkness.
The wide road pitched steeply down into the cavern, with the river rushing forward on the left side. The road was well traveled and hard-packed. Martan and the two scouts walked their horses into the dark. Down and down went the road, and then it took a sharp bend and with that most of the light from the outside was lost. The river surged against rocks on their left, covering the noise of the horses’ hooves. The road leveled out and made another turn, and the cavern opened up into a vast space, hundreds of feet wide and hundreds of feet high. Built against the walls of the cavern were wooden buildings that rose up in apartments, one on top of another, some six or eight stories high. The main road divided, and wooden buildings and shops lined the avenues. Brazier fires were burning in metal stands along the streets and near many of the buildings. Light shone from many windows of the apartments. As Martan and the men gazed at this underground city, their eyes became adjusted to the dim light. Martan could now smell fires and food and humans. Some dogs barked far off in the back of the cavern. Now they could see a few Maggan walking on the streets. The underground city extended far back into the darkness, a few lights and braziers glowing in the distance. Martan wondered if they had enough troops for this invasion. He turned his horse around, and they walked out of the cavern, back to where Clarian and a thousand Karran warriors waited.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They thundered into the dark cavern sitting high on their horses and carrying blazing torches. There was no shouting. The initial column of scouts swept past the first buildings. Their mission was to keep on the lookout for Maggan soldiers and penetrate deeper into the cavern of Minteegan. Should soldiers or resistance or some surprising feature of the cavern appear, they were to alert Clarian and the main body of troops just behind them. They plunged down into the underground city in the massive cave.
Clarian hand-signaled his troops to split off into groups and take different sections of the city. With a large body of soldiers behind him, he galloped up to the first buildings and pointed. Soldiers shoved their torches under the eaves of buildings until the tinder-dry wood caught flame and then moved on to set another fire. In moments, the fires shot up the sides of the wooden structures, smoke belching out black and white, the homes and shops in the center burning furiously, and the apartments clinging to the cavern walls engulfed in great licking tongues of red-yellow flames.
Screams and shouts erupted. Heads poked out of windows. Clarian heard the first twang of arrows loosed at Maggan men as they ran out of the burning buildings with weapons in their hands. Men, women and children surged half-dressed out of the buildings into the streets. Bewilderment and shock registered on their faces as they tried to comprehend what was happening. Babies in their mothers’ arms were crying. Heavy smoke filled the cavern. Buildings glowed red-hot in the flames. People jumped out of the burning apartments in desperation, landing on the rocks below, their cries lost in the din of the conflagration. Structures collapsed, cracking and popping with heat, cascading down the side of the cavern and sliding into the streets.
A great cry of anguish from thousands of throats built up from inside the underground city, almost deafening. A man bolting out of the smoke wielding a lance rushed at Clarian. Clarian leaned down from his horse and chopped the lance in two with his sword, spurred his horse into the attacker, and delivered a slashing blow as the man fell. The streets were crowded with people screaming and running in panic.
Martan and his column pushed their way through the crowds. Occasionally, an arrow was loosed, a sword arched down, a lance was thrust, but resistance remained light. The fires were so intense that the cavern was illuminated as if it were noonday. Martan could see fires burning far back in the cavern where some of his troops had surged ahead. He motioned to the soldiers beside him, and swiveling around in his saddle, to those behind him, to follow. He urged his mount through the press of terrified Maggan toward the back of the cavern.
They broke out of the front of the city and kicked their horses into a lope, following the main road deeper into the cavern complex. The buildings stopped abruptly, and an underground lake appeared on their left. The road followed the lakeshore for a short distance. On the right were piles of gigantic boulders. Just ahead, they could make out a massive stone and timbered building that rose up several levels and on one side a great, open-air amphitheater with stone seats carved into the rock walls. Steps led up to great wooden doors, which were flung open. Karran soldiers were gathered at the base of the steps. Clarian rode up and dismounted. “What do we have here?” Clarian asked a soldier who was holding the reins of a dozen horses.
The soldier replied, “It’s their temple, I believe.”
“How much farther back does this cavern go?” inquired Clarian. He could see fires burning beyond the temple.
“Not far. It ends where you see the fires burning back there. We scouted back to the end of the cavern, setting fires and then returned here. Martan is inside,” said the soldier.
With several soldiers at his back, Clarian hurried up the steps and into the dark-gray building. It was dark, as would be expected in a Maggan building. He could hear shouting and clashing of swords echoing from somewhere in the building. He followed a wide corridor and was surprised when it opened to a great cathedral with rows upon rows of benches and a raised altar at the head of the room. Several small braziers placed around the room offered dim lighting. Behind the altar was a huge stone relief depicting a carved flame.
Shouting close by took Clarian out of the cathedral and down a corridor to a stairway landing. Karran soldiers were struggling with three unarmed Maggan in long violet robes. “We’re not leaving, you Karran dogs!” shouted one.
“Outside! It’s the last time I’ll tell you,” ordered a Karran soldier.
“What’s upstairs?” Clarian asked as he marched up to the struggling men.
“Their Flamekeeper. He’s locked himself in a room and won’t come out. Martan is trying to break the door down.”
“You cannot enter the sacred sanctuary!” yelled one of the priests.
Clarian ignored the prisoner and trotted up the stone staircase, several soldiers behind him. Once on the upper floor, he strode down a corridor, following the pounding that came from the far end of the building. He passed through an arched doorway into a large office area filled with desks and chairs and bookcases lining the wall. A door on the opposite side of the room was broken and hanging, and the pounding was coming from beyond. He stepped through the door and into an antechamber. There he found Martan and four scouts smashing a piece of iron into a wooden door, trying to break off the hinges. They had started a fire in the corner with broken furniture.
“Martan!” exclaimed Clarian.
Martan spun around and grinned. “Clarian!”
“Who is in there?”
“Their Flamekeeper. He won’t come out. And we’re not having much luck knocking down this door.”
“Burn it,” said Clarian. “We don’t have much time.”
The soldiers piled furniture and books against the door and set it ablaze. The dry wood caught, and soon the door was engulfed. The flames reached upward but not hi
gh enough to ignite the ceiling timbers.
After giving it sufficient time to burn, the soldiers smashed the iron into the door. After several blows, it broke inward. Martan barged in first, his sword drawn, followed by one of his scouts holding a burning piece of wood for light. Clarian followed.
It was a small room with an altar in the middle on a polished stone pedestal. A flame flickered on the altar. The altar was draped and enclosed on all sides with a sheer violet cloth. There was a chair before the altar. On the walls were draperies depicting white and violet flames. A small brazier provided light in one corner. Against the wall crouched a white-haired old man wearing a violet robe and hat. His catlike eyes were wide and terrified.
Martan approached the old man, brandishing his sword.
“Wait, Martan!” said Clarian, who crossed the room quickly to prevent harm to the old man. Clarian gazed into the old man’s eyes and looked over his vestments carefully. “Who are you?”
The shaking form answered, “I am the Flamekeeper. I am Nooradan.”
“He’s not a Flamekeeper,” exclaimed Martan.
Clarian looked around the room thoughtfully and then back at the old man. “Yes, I think he is their Flamekeeper. And this is their sanctuary.”
“You may not set foot in this sacred place, Karran!” the Flamekeeper croaked.
Martan stepped over to the altar and parted the curtain to look at the flame.
“No! No!” shouted the Flamekeeper, as he struggled upright, his back against the stone wall, waving Martan off.
“This flame is just an oil lamp, Clarian. There’s no sacred white flame here! There are no crystals!” exclaimed Martan.
The Flamekeeper shuffled over to guard the altar, and Martan backed away, looking puzzled. “Where’s the white flame, old man?”
“They don’t have a white flame, do you, Flamekeeper?” asked Clarian.
Die for the Flame Page 12