Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  Further south fifty men to either side trained with spears, graduating from dummies to sparring with blunted tips, then came men and women training with axes and swords. Beautiful to a man of arms who’d learned a lesson: When next the Silone set foot on Kaludor they wouldn’t be a raging band of warriors, they’d stand as a disciplined army ready to fight and die by every other’s side.

  Inslok hailed them as they approached and slipped from the saddle of his horse with a grace Pikarn envied. Someone that damned tall should move stiff, clumsy, something godsdamnit.

  Rikis said, “How much have you brought us?”

  Wagons continued to roll over the horizon. “Enough for a dozen ships dependent on design. You can expect more trees every month.”

  Pikarn ran his hand down a rough-cut plank, noting the odd marks from whatever blade had done the cutting. No axes and pull-knives here. “I ain’t no shipwright, but these are damned fine hunks of timber.”

  The Edan nodded. “Have you formulated a plan for retaking your island?”

  “You in a hurry to get rid of us? We got a thousand years.” Pikarn caught Rikis’ smirk. “Just pointin’ it out.”

  Rikis spoke to Inslok, ignoring him. “Somehow we need a toehold on the island. The watch would’ve been perfect, might be we can make do on another small island.”

  “Ain’t no tellin’ how long that’ll take, but the boy is right on that.”

  Inslok stared northwest, as if he could see so far. “Our people continue research into Celestial Gates, but the scholarship is limited. The Forgettings and the Age of Warlords destroyed so much of what once we knew.”

  “I ain’t givin’ you no more than five hundred years to find them answers.”

  Inslok’s head turned with the speed and solemnity of a dozing owl. “This is funny because you will be dead come five hundred years. You amuse me, I like you.”

  Pikarn snorted. “That ain’t why I thought it funny, but close enough.”

  Rikis shook his head. “The little gate in the Chanting Caverns, the one which started this all… Any chance of experimenting with it to learn how to close the one in Istinjoln?’

  “Perhaps, but we don’t know enough as yet. I will keep this in mind.”

  “If anyone can find their godsdamned way back through that there rotten hole in the world. I might, but it’d take me a while to find the cussin’ shrine.”

  Inslok put foot to stirrup and slung himself into the saddle. “All things in time. I’ll speak to you people again, soon.” His horse wheeled and slipped into a trot heading east without a hint of his directing the animal with hands nor knees.

  Swolis said, “Godsdamn, that Edan gives me the willies.”

  Pikarn cocked his head and ground jerky. “Here I figured he stole your tongue.” He swallowed his pork and sucked gristle from his teeth. “There is an island, small bastard northwest of the Watch, maybe keep ten folks there for stretches. See what they see. Ain’t got no name.”

  Swolis said, “There’re small coastal islands up and down Kaludor, if’n all you want is a place to watch the enemy.”

  Rikis grimaced. “I want more. A base to strike and study from.”

  Pikarn smiled. “I got your base boy, you’ve been thinkin’ of the wrong islands. Longboats up the Harumin River all the way to the Sunset Canyon.”

  “What the hells are you talking about?”

  “Rocky plateaus where the river is so wide and slow it’s a lake.”

  Rikis snagged jerky and bit. “I heard of ‘em, what then?”

  “We Godsdamned take Istinjoln. That there’s the base we need.”

  Rikis laughed. “You’ve gone mad.”

  “No, no I ain’t, boy.”

  Swolis said, “Care to explain this dream of yers?”

  “There’s a lot of thinkin’ and plannin’ before I make a horse’s ass of m’self sayin’ it aloud… but we’ll do it. Just you watch, boy. Just you watch.” He poked Rikis in the chest. Twice.

  Rikis said, “Fair enough. You go ahead and shine your genius on all of us when you got it figured.” He sucked his teeth. “You realize I’m past my thirtieth year and head of the Clan Choerkin in these parts, don’t you? So, just when the hells I am no longer ‘boy’?”

  “When you got a proper name, like Ratsmasher.” But his mind wandered to the germination of a plan crazier than the Dancing Bastards, and he figured it might just be the kind of crazy needed to win this war. There’d be plenty of time to find a nickname full of hot pepper and vinegar for the man.

  People named the valley north of the Roemhien Pass Saeggenhium, Old Silone for “Summer Home”. Appropriate, seeing as the weather felt like living in the belly of a forge to Ivin’s northern blood. Ten days since the battle at the Gediswon, and Rinold and Puxele brought the news of Solineus’ disappearance, or his death, depending on who you asked.

  They burned the dead the day after, Eredin earning the only pyre to carry a single soul to the Road. Ivin awoke every morning needing to remind himself his gregarious reflection was dead.

  Lelishen had yet to arrive with the Helelindin, but so far the Teks only crossed the Gediswon to the Bollybone Trail before turning to flee north. The Silone people spread in peace through Saegginhium’s winding lowlands with the blessing of the Kingdomers, but permission to strike into the Roemhien itself was slow to arrive. In another ten days he’d meet with Morik and negotiate passage. Most folks didn’t care, yet, with rivers full of trout and wilds running with game.

  Ivin walked beside Nameless, the Tek captain’s horse Solineus gifted him, letting the animal graze as he surveyed the region from a high ridge. To the south high mountains rose, snow capped despite the simmering heat he felt in these lowlands. Odd that the snow gave comfort, some small reminder of Kaludor, maybe.

  Nameless snorted and stomped a steel-shod hoof as a rider approached, a reminder of the animal’s training for battle. He rubbed the stallion’s powerful neck and considered he might need a better name. Ironshoe? No ring to it. Ratsmasher. Might work so long as the Wolverine never finds out. Warhorse, generic as Nameless… Warlord? Or, he’d just let the horse earn its own name as the Touched might suggest.

  Danwek reined in his horse, still getting used to riding with only his left hand. The healing of the priests worked wonders, but regrowing limbs lay beyond their abilities.

  “The Lady Tedeu and others are wantin’ to see you at the Bickering Tent.”

  Ivin groaned. “What the hells now?”

  “I don’t know, Rikis, Kistenu, and plenty of the clan heads are there. Might be all of ‘em.”

  Ivin swung into the saddle. Paininmyass. No, too long of a name, and it might apply best to the saddle.

  The Bickering Tent sat smack in the middle of the largest flat of the valley. Disputes already arose between folks as they settled the land, and this great canopy became the home to the Lords’ Court to settle those disputes. When Ivin arrived, its space stood filled with clanblood and the holy.

  The Lords of the Seven Clans: Rikis Choerkin, Kistenu Broldun, Tedeu Ravinrin, Eomar Tuvrikt, Xezu Bulubar (as Heshiu abdicated her position) and Gevern Emudar in Solineus’ absence. More than a dozen ranking priests lined the eastern wall, headed by Sedut, but by her side stood Meliu.

  Everyone stared, and he caught Meliu’s gaze. She shrugged and smiled, and if he read her lips right, she said “just got here”.

  Tedeu stood. “The Lords of the Seven Clans spent the morning in deliberation, along with High Priest Sedut. There is a great deal to discuss with many with you.” Ivin sidestepped and waited. “Demons and wars have decimated the Silone Clans, but we find ourselves now in a position of peace in a new land. The souls of a great many clanblood walked the Starry Road on this journey, and if there is anything we’ve learned, it is that the Clans must unite to survive.”

  A cheer arose, and Sedut said, “Both the Clans and the Church.”

  More cheers before Tedeu continued. “The heads of the clans propose several m
arriages to bring us closer and bring us more children for the coming years.”

  Ivin glanced to Meliu and swallowed a rock as his heart beat.

  “The Choerkin and Broldun have been blood enemies for longer than my memory, and in the name of peace, we name Saemar Choerkin and Kistenu Broldun betrothed.” Saemar? Hells, some cousin Ivin never recalled meeting. A surprising match that proved the clanblood flowed thin.

  Polus guffawed but his sister glared him into a mute.

  A young man stepped forward with a blank stare and his considered words bespoke that he at least knew before the announcement.. “It is with honor that I join our clans.”

  Kistenu stood, an attractive woman, but Ivin didn’t envy his cousin. “The alliance of Choerkin and Broldun will strengthen the clans.”

  Tedeu nodded to them both. “Roplin Choerkin announced his proposal to the Priestess Inisfer of Lidin this morning in council, to join Church and Clan.”

  Ivin laughed inside, And to avoid marrying a Broldun. But if Roplin joined Choerkin and Church… Shits. He stared at Meliu, his heart thundering; he should’ve proposed, godsdamnit. He could see in her eyes she would’ve taken him as her husband.

  “Tudwan Ravinrin is hereby betrothed to Alu Mikjehemlut, joining the two great clans, Emudar and Ravinrin.”

  Daksin’s knees damned near buckled as he stood beside his elder brother, and he trembled to hold back anger or tears or both. Alu was a wide-eyed statue, refusing to meet the astonished stare of her future husband.

  “Ivin Choerkin, with you we have twice the business.”

  Polus called out, “Marry him off to two women! Serve the bastard right.”

  Ivin might’ve laughed if not for the terror seizing his heart.

  “Step forward Ivin of the Clan Choerkin.” The woman’s formality and singling him out to step forward caught him off guard.

  “Due to your strength and quick mind during our journey to Saeggenhium, the Council of Lords has with unanimous consent chosen to honor you as the First Warlord of the Seven Clans!”

  The heads of the Clans rose in unison and the tent erupted in cheers and shouts of “Choerkin” and “Ivin”.

  His first thought was Shit! and his second that he couldn’t name his horse Warlord now. He spun a circle, staring at the faces shouting his name; even young Kinesee jumped up and down.

  Polus strode his way and kneeled, handing him the glass sword Eredin wielded. “A weapon befittin’ a warlord.”

  Ivin cleared his throat and his eyes trained on the Lady Ravinrin as he took the sword. “I… I am honored.” He blinked, knowing he should say something. “This sword hung for five centuries in the Great Hall of Choerkin Fost, known only as the glass sword. From today forward it will be named Eredin’s Glass.”

  Clanblood cheered and shouted Eredin’s name.

  Tedeu raised her hands to silence the crowd. “This is well, may Eredin’s Glass serve you well.” Her pause killed the joy of honoring his cousin, as he knew nothing good came next. “It was with great contemplation that we debated an appropriate bride.” Ivin caught Roplin’s eye, but his brother ducked his head. “Ivin Choerkin will marry Kinesee Mikjehemlut when she comes of age two years hence, joining the two great clans Emudar and Choerkin.”

  Ivin’s face fell, he stared, and from the crowd he heard the young girl, who moments before bounced in celebration, shriek: “No! No!” He glanced her way, but all he saw was Maro giving chase through the tent’s main flap.

  “Lady Tedeu, the girl doesn’t want me… And I love—”

  “The decision is final, honoring the will of her departed father to see her safe. Will you see her safe, Ivin Choerkin? Will you honor the wishes of her father and your friend?”

  He looked to Meliu with tears dripping down her cheeks. He loved her; he wanted her to mother his children. What he wanted no longer mattered. He knew it. Meliu knew it. It was Eliles all over again, only he was the one stepping from the ship this time. He turned to Tedeu: “As you say, to honor her father.”

  65

  Silent Tears Dried

  Gaining the love of a people is to build a fortress of every man, but so too does Freedom a fortress build. Conquering peoples who have known freedom aligns each fortress against you. Special care must be taken with a free people, or the fortresses of flesh and bone will tear down the fortresses of stone and steel.

  –Codex of Sol

  “The truth is, she and I aren’t betrothed yet.”

  Meliu rolled over, covered in furs, and eyeballed Ivin. “You know this is a one-time kind of thing, right?”

  “I’m fine with that for today.”

  Meliu curled into him. She wanted to cry, but not for herself: For Kinesee. She knew how horrible it was to fight the memory of another woman, now this young girl needed to fight a history of two loves. “She’s a sweet young lady, I like her.”

  “She’s a child.”

  “You won’t marry until she’s fifteen.”

  “Still a child.”

  She rolled and punched his shoulder. “The difference in our ages isn’t so different from you and her.”

  “By the numbers… you know what I mean. Maybe I just appreciate older women.” He went in for the kiss and found her palm.

  “Are you calling me old, Choerkin?”

  He licked her hand. “I’m not going to win this fight, am I?”

  “About time you learned.”

  Ivin rolled onto his side and rubbed his eyes. “I should’ve proposed to you.”

  Meliu saw herself in white silks and flowers braided in her hair, a fantasy. “I would’ve said no.”

  “The hells you would have.”

  She shook her head. “I would’ve wanted to say yes…” Tomarok slipped into her mind, Ulrikt, his Face. “No, there’s too much going on. The Church needs rebuilt in the hearts of the people. And you are the Warlord.”

  “Oh Twelve Hells, don’t remind me.” He spun to sit with his feet on the floor. “Another horror dropped on my shoulders. We should run away to the mountains, live in a cabin among the Kingdomers.”

  She grabbed his arm. “We’ve been foolin’ ourselves the whole time, it was fun—”

  “I love you.”

  “I know, and you know I love you. Some things were never meant to be.” She sat up and kneaded his shoulders. “You know why they chose you.”

  He eased into her grip. “To keep me from you.”

  She growled. “For a mighty warlord you’re thick as a Dancing Bastard. Someone wants her dead.”

  “They wanted her safe, they should’ve tracked her father down.”

  No lie there; Solineus made Sedut nervous after their run in, and that spoke volumes. “Far as we know, he’s dead.”

  He turned with a horseshitting smile. “If that bastard is alive, I’m bettin’ he disappeared so they wouldn’t make him warlord.”

  She giggled, all the funnier because it wouldn’t surprise her if it was true. “You are the most powerful man in the Silone Clans, and you will guard her from harm. Whoever’s after her knows it.”

  “The Nesfereum.”

  Meliu’s jaw dropped; she’d forgotten to confront Sedut on this. “Where’d you hear that name?”

  “Solineus… through Sedut, something to do with a Lord Priest Efvereut.”

  “Who died three-and-a-half centuries ago.” Son of a bitch, it pieces together.

  Ivin ran a finger between her bare breasts and she slapped his hand away. His grimace pained her, but she was too angered to care.

  He sighed. “I ruined the mood didn’t I.”

  “I think your fiancé did that.” She grabbed her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes you did.” This time his finger traced her cheek where tears fell earlier. “Nesfereum isn’t a who, it’s a cult within the Church.”

  She was back to pissed off. “The Heretics of Rin? Why the shittin’ hells didn’t someone tell me?” It was the only thing that made sense. She scooted acros
s the bed, tromped naked to her holy habit, and slipped into its wool, then ran a comb through her hair.

  “It’d be more fun to come back to bed.”

  Meliu planted her feet; tempting, but she needed to ease her curiosity before indulging. She spun, finger pointed. “You’ve earned one more last time, but first Sedut and I need to chat.”

  He chuckled, a little too pleased with himself, as she stormed from the tent. A cool mist hung in the midmorning air, a respite from the heat of these last several weeks, but she still dripped with sweat by the time she reached the High Priest’s tent.

  Sedut turned, caught her gaze, and cocked her head. “You should be thanking me.”

  Meliu’s mouth hung open, confused. “What the hells are you talking about? I’m…” She glanced around at several adherents tending to their studies. “We need to speak alone.”

  “You heard the priestess, leave us.” Postulants and priests scattered like a flock of startled birds then coalesced in a single line to march through the exit. “Of what did you wish to speak?”

  Meliu strode close and whispered, “Nesfereum?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh! Yes. Hmmm. Where to start?”

  “How about where they’re trying to kill Kinesee.”

  “It is the rumor.”

  “Who the hells are they?”

  Flustered, Sedut shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Then how the shittin’ hells do you know they’re behind it?”

  “Because I told her so.” The boy’s voice came from behind, and Meliu straightened with a freeze in her spine.

  She didn’t bother to turn, to look into the child’s beautiful blue eyes. “You knew he was alive all along.”

  “No, I swear.”

  She studied Sedut’s face and decided the woman wasn’t lying. “Allow me to guess: He pulled you from the river? Saved your life?”

  “I possess a knack for finding my priestess’ in trouble.” Ulrikt strode into view, his body and voice no longer the child. “Sedut doesn’t lie. I told her of the Nesfereum through another.”