Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  Ivin nodded and plowed forward, folks splitting the way for him to pass. And when they didn’t he bulled straight into them until they gave way. He huffed to the top of a bluff and turned back to the Parapet Straits. Blazes and smoke.

  A tug at his waist.

  He spun in a fury, but eased when he gazed down, into the blue eyes of a young boy. “What’s the matter with the miss?”

  The hells if he could tell the truth, even if he knew it. “She collapsed as we sailed in, no wound I could see.”

  A troubled frown drooped his lips. “I know a lady, she stitched up my sis, saved her life and leg from the gangrene when folks figured her good as dead.”

  “My thanks, boy, but I don’t think it’s that kind of injury.”

  He grimaced and stood on his tiptoes, whispering. “She’s a priestess. Prayer saved my sis, but she don’t want folks knowin’.”

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Dekun.”

  Ivin straightened with hope; risky, but better than letting whatever happened to go untreated. “Take me to her.” The child turned and ran. “Walk!”

  He slowed and Ivin caught him by the time they turned north into another crowd of people. Dekun slipped through spaces between folks that’d challenge Ivin on a normal day, let alone while carrying Meliu on his shoulder, but he managed not to lose him.

  Dekun stopped, waving him forward to catch up, and led him to a tent. The boy threw the flap open and Ivin slipped inside.

  It was dark, lit by a single lantern. “There’s no one here.”

  Dekun stepped inside. “There’s a bed here, lay her down.” He twisted the wick on the lantern as Ivin placed her on the bed.

  The boy sprinted through the flap and Ivin inhaled deep. Nothing to do. Several lanterns hung dark on tent poles, and by the time he’d set them ablaze a figure strolled into the room, speeding bedside.

  “Meliu.” A woman’s voice.

  “You know her?”

  “Better than I know you, Ivin Choerkin.” A pale hand threw back her hood; long black hair bound in a pony tail.

  When she turned, Ivin’s hand went to his sword, and the Ar-Bdein steel sang from its sheath. “Sedut!”

  She stared without a flinch. “If I let you kill me, she’s dead. Or worse.”

  Let me kill her. Memories of her power brought a lump of coal to his throat. “You saved my life.”

  “And you tried to take mine. Would you claim us even?”

  Ivin exhaled through his nose and sheathed his sword. “No. But neither are our balances so easy to reconcile.”

  “May I try to heal her?”

  “You’re a killer, not a healer.” He grimaced. A stupid answer for a stupid question.

  “Are you a warrior or lover, or can you be both?”

  Flustered, he waved his hand in front of his face. “Do what you can.”

  “I will.” The High Priestess passed her hands over Meliu’s face and chest while intoning a prayer. “The Dark has claimed her.”

  “She was defending the ship we were on.”

  “How long ago?”

  Hells, time was a blur. “A dozen wicks, give or take. Half candle at most.”

  A glow emanated from her fingertips, and a white fog billowed. Meliu’s breath inhaled the cloud, and she screamed. Coughed. A hand lashed out. Then she fell silent.

  Ivin’s fingers twitched to draw his sword and strike this priestess. “What the hells are you doing?”

  “Saving her life. I hope.” She turned, the set of her eyes sincere as her words. “This will take time, and it won’t be pleasant.”

  “But she’ll be fine?”

  “She will live. Her mind? Dark is fearsome, she… I will do my best. But you have more important places to be.”

  “Forges! If the Tek storm the beach, we’ll need you.”

  “If they do, should I stay here to save her, or come to fight.”

  Ivin hesitated. “You godsdamned do both.”

  “If they make land, I will be there.”

  Ivin tromped from the tent, his mind whirling, but always returning to images of Kotin dying on the table, and when he forced that memory aside, he watched his mother burn on the holy pyre. He screamed until his throat was sore. Lumbered forward uncertain what the hells he was doing.

  Wandering lost in a maze of people, he stopped to spin a circle, dazed, and someone careened into him from the side, driving him to a knee. He shook his head, eyes focusing on the man who’d run into him.

  The man’s voice penetrated the haze of his erratic mind. “Ivin?”

  “Solineus? What the hells—”

  “No time!” He bolted at a dead sprint, disappearing in a flicker.

  Ivin stood and shook his head, breaking his malaise, his thoughts congealing. “The beach. No, high ground.” He trotted, craning his neck over folks while remaining close to the bluff’s edge. He figured he’d spot a face he knew soon enough, but it was a voice which caught his ear.

  “You bastards line up! Shields to the fore and archers rearward!” Ivin breathed easier and ran, wondering if the Wolverine carried enough jerky for a meal.

  It didn’t take long to track the braying commander down. “Commander Pikarn!”

  The man’s broad shoulders turned, and he took two steps toward Ivin with a squinting eye. “Ratsmasher? That you under that black hair?”

  Ivin laughed at the bull of a man as Pikarn rushed him, lifting him from his feet in a bearhug not so unlike Kotin’s. “You’re breaking my ribs.”

  Pikarn guffawed and dropped him. “Godsdamn, boy, good ta see yer hide in one piece. We’ll need every hand when those bastards reach shore.”

  “I don’t think they’re comin’.”

  “How d’ya figer?”

  “This is the Blooded Plain.”

  The Wolverine reached into his pack and offered jerky. “Yer putting your faith in a foreign treaty?”

  Ivin bit and ripped, the spiced pork gentle on his teeth after the ship’s hard tack. “No. I know nothing, and have faith in less, but my gut says they hit us on the Strait because it doesn’t risk war with the Edan.”

  Pikarn stuffed jerky in his mouth even as he chewed. “You’ll excuse me if I plan for somethin’ more bloody.”

  It took two candles of shouting and pushing men around before the Wolverine had every armed man and woman claiming Choerkin ties lined in tiers for battle, then they waited into the night standing beside a rushing fire.

  And waited.

  Solineus found them before a single Tek boat touched shore. “What word?”

  Pikarn guffawed. “Mikjehemlut! Yer back. It’s like a godsdamned party up here.”

  Ivin clasped the man’s arm. “How’d you find us?”

  “Rumors, the return of the Hero of Istinjoln, it didn’t take long. When did you get back? I surprised Rikis with the news.”

  Ivin bowed his shaking head. “Just got back. I’d… you won’t believe this. Meliu is hurt, and of all people I find to help… Sedut. She’s with her now.”

  Solineus’ eyes struck a keen stare by the bonfire’s light. “What the hells you talking about? I just chased that witch out of a wagon, right after I bumped into you… she had Kinesee.”

  “Kinesee? What? You’re sure it was Sedut? I left her a flicker before you knocked me down.”

  “Godsdamn, yes, it was her! Where is she?”

  “Saving Meliu.”

  “Take me to her.” Solineus took deep breaths. “I won’t kill her until after she tends to Meliu.”

  The Wolverine said, “I think you boys are losing your minds… Silone blood stokes them fires out yonder.” He shook his head and turned his back on them.

  “And if Sedut means to kill Meliu for helping us?”

  “I’ll take you, but keep your head. Sedut is dangerous as a Forge Viper.”

  Pikarn raised his arms in surrender while staring out to sea. “You boys get the hells out of her, before I gotta kick yer asses.”


  They didn’t run, but they walked fast, and in a fist of wicks Ivin found the tent. He pointed. “I go in first.”

  He strode to the flap, nervous as hells, and threw the flap open. “Sedut.”

  The lanterns burned, but no one was inside. Solineus shoved past him, hands wrapping the hilts of the Twins. “Damn it! You should never have trusted the witch.”

  Ivin took three strides and flopped into a chair. His palms rubbed his eyes until they watered. “No. She won’t hurt Meliu, but Meliu… If she…”

  Solineus’ voice eased. “You think she’s dead?”

  Ivin shook his head. “Or worse.”

  47

  Wings in Fire

  Bungling, trundling, deeper and darker,

  farther into the cannibalistic larder.

  You, the befallen and the felled,

  sweet doe and noble buck,

  gaze into still waters,

  witness your bloodied fangs.

  –Tomes of the Touched

  “Still no word from them star folk?” Artus sniffed a cup of his latest batch of whiskey. Eliles had to admit his skills improved, or she grew used to the flavor. This evening everyone was at The Salty Frog to enjoy a drink or two with a hot dinner.

  “Not even a whistle.” She stopped by Star Watch every day, visiting the library and climbing into the stars, but no one came forward.

  Jinbin said, “Plenty of holies were hanged or fed to sharks, I can’t blame them for the jitters.”

  Seden clapped his head. “A tower of Fire might make ‘em wonder as well.”

  He laughed. “And that.”

  Artus sipped his broth. “Can’t say they done us any harm, outside of my pride and a flowery bath. Let ‘em be, I guess. They’ll come out in time. A bit like Seden comin’ around to my whiskey.”

  The woman snorted. “That stuff’ll rot the tongue right out of your mouth.”

  Eliles sighed and saluted Artus with her cup before taking a sip. “It’s got potential.”

  “If I had better godsdamned oak to toast me up a barrel, it’d be more than potential.”

  The door to the tavern opened and Temeru stood straight and proud in the robes of the High Oracle. Trouble was, they must’ve belonged to Meris, the hems covered neither the wrists nor ankles. She strode into the room with everyone staring. “Blessings of the pantheon on you good people.”

  No one said a word until Eliles stood. “Welcome! I’d like you all to meet Temeru, the new high Oracle of Star Watch.”

  Folks mumbled their greetings, not a one comfortable with the new arrival. Artus coughed and drug a chair to their table. “We’ve whiskey and broth, if you’re hungry.”

  Temeru smiled, the tension fading a nudge. “I’d be delighted.” She took a seat, her smile sincere. “I thank you for the hospitality.” She dipped her spoon and sipped as every eye in the room stared. “Quite good! I’ve always been fond of fish.”

  Seden said, “You and your people are welcome here, but a little warning would be good if you bring more than a few mouths.”

  “I would like that, but the Fire makes my people worry.”

  Eliles lifted her cup and brought the burn to her lips without a drink. “The Fire is safe. Stable.”

  Temeru set her spoon in her soup, her eyes narrowing. “Fire you brought with the Sliver of Star.”

  “I did, yes.”

  “From the Prophecy of the Twelfth Star. Meris muttered of Ulrikt and the Sliver before she… before her demise.”

  “Meris was at Istinjoln when High Priestess Sedut brought what they believed was the Sliver—”

  “This is the second time someone has mentioned Meris in Istinjoln. This must be a mistake, an imposter. She never left Star Watch.”

  Eliles shook her head. “She broke bones before the Eve of Snows. No mistake.”

  Temeru drank from her cup. “Tell me, do you believe in the fables of the Lord Priest’s Face?”

  Artus grinned “What, Lord Priest’s don’t have a face?”

  Jinbin said, “A mimic, a shapeshifter. Older adherents torment every barefoot postulant with the tales, keeps the naughty kids in line.”

  Temeru said, “What if the Face is real? We all saw Meris here, every day, without fail, but Meliu said she was in Istinjoln and now you say so.”

  Eliles’ eyes and other features would change, but it was specific to one person and subtle. Could prayer achieve such a thing? “I’ve never believed the stories, no. A transformation so perfect you couldn’t tell your master from the Face?”

  “If true, anyone of you could be the Face of Ulrikt.”

  Eliles laughed, but the back of her neck tingled. “What game are you playing? You want to scare us, turn us against each other? For all we know, you’re the Face. It’s a children’s story.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Meris went to Istinjoln, which meant we prayed with a stranger every day until the real woman returned. She broke bones and read them, and not a one of us suspected.”

  “What proof but your word?”

  “None, but I wanted you aware, in case you’ve noticed anything.”

  Would anybody look at each other same again? “I suppose we should thank you.”

  “You should, but I suspect you won’t.” She spooned her bowl and sipped.

  “This spook story doesn’t explain your worry over the Fire.”

  She stirred her soup as she spoke. “There is something in the fire.”

  Eliles squinted. “Elementals, the Edan call them te-xe. They’re small, harmless.”

  “I’ve heard of these in my studies. No, something else. Something huge. We studied your Fire for days… this thing passes so fast it’s hard to see. We thought it a mirage at first, an anomaly in the flames. It isn’t, it is something alive. I swear it.”

  Kork said, “I thought I saw something a couple times, high in the fire… counted it as my imagination.”

  “Who else has seen something?” Eliles frowned as half the folks in the room raised a hand.

  Temeru lifted her bowl and drank her soup. “I’ve said what I came to say. If we learn anything, we will let you know.”

  She stood and moved to the door and Eliles shadowed her, stopping her after they walked outside. “Temeru. How did Meliu escape Istinjoln? What was she studying in the library?”

  “Lord Priest Ulrikt sent her to Choerkin Fost with Jinbin the afternoon of the Eve of Snows. The rest… I’m sorry, I don’t trust you. Maybe one day.”

  Eliles stared at the woman’s shoulders as she strode toward the city gate. Trust. She stepped through the Frog’s swinging doors and eased into her seat, eyes pinned on Jinbin.

  He stared back, spoon in his mouth. “What?”

  “Lord Priest Ulrikt sent you to the Fost?” Her voice rose higher than she liked.

  “High Priest Woxlin, not Ulrikt.”

  How many times his name swirled around events as they led to the Eve of Snows was like a slap in the face. “That bastard was tied to Ulrikt’s hip… and you don’t think to mention it? The son of a bitch was Dareun’s confessor!”

  He dropped his spoon in his soup. “Why would I? When I knew you’d act just like this.”

  Artus stood. “Whoa, now. Ease up.”

  “I’m acting like this because you lied to me. Why the hells was Meliu sent from Istinjoln? Why was she here?”

  “I never knew she was here! A damned oracle comes in and spouts fairy tales of the Lord Priest’s Face and monsters in the Fire, and you forget who your friends are?”

  “You lied to me!”

  A curt laugh. “Ho! And you’ve told us everything. Horseshit.”

  Eliles’ face burned red. “The only thing I didn’t tell you was that Artus found a book on winemaking.”

  “Wine? No shit?”

  Artus’ eyes flew wide. “Don’t listen to the girl, she’s raving.”

  Eliles screamed, “Nobody cares about the wine!”

  Jinbin smirked. “You lied again.”

&nb
sp; Eliles spun in a fury and slammed her way out the tavern. “Januel, forgive my vile words. Shittin’ hells!” She kicked a rock and stalked into the city.

  Footsteps came from behind. “I’m sorry.”

  She tromped the winding street toward Star Watch, though it was the last place in the world she wanted to see. “What was Meliu doing here?”

  He reached her side. “I don’t know. She had a scroll to deliver to the Fost. All the scroll said was, ‘Meliu, Flee Kaludor’.”

  She stopped cold and turned on him. “And you both left Istinjoln before the Eve of Snows?”

  “Candles before… whatever happened in Istinjoln.”

  “And you kept it a secret.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t fight my way out like people assumed, I rode out with two kegs of ale. It was a better story.”

  “Ale?” A flash in the Fire behind his head, as if a tremendous blade clipped the wall in a sweeping arc. She grabbed his shoulders, spinning him. “Did you see that?”

  He stumbled and caught himself. “See what?” Another sweep cut the tower clean in half, so fast a person could miss it during a blink. “Godsdamn, whatever it is moves fast.”

  They turned circles staring into the Fire. Nothing.

  “Demon of some sort? A huge te’xe?

  “Hells if I know. But I’d feel better in the Frog. In the Frog’s basement.”

  He took a step, but she grabbed his shoulder. “You don’t know what Meliu would’ve been searching for in the library?”

  “No, I swear.”

  “Don’t lie again.” She cut off his protest. “Or neglect a detail.”

  “On Januel’s Heart, I swear.”

  “Good.”

  Long strides carried them back to The Frog, their eyes scanning the flames surrounding them, but whatever had passed overhead remained hidden. The thought kept coming to her: Tiny te-xe are attracted to small fires, what moth would come to a flame which rises into the clouds?

  48

  Southern Winds

  A general will learn lessons and never forget them, but if you can discover what they’ve already learned, the lesson may become bait, and the lesson you teach them next will be their last.