Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  Caymus got moving, thinking that he hadn't remembered to eat breakfast that morning and that a meal sounded good. After a moment, though, it was his turn to stop. "Master Be'Var," he said, "I was sparring with Merkan..." He grinned. "Actually, I was getting knocked to the ground by Merkan, when he casually mentioned he thinks I might be part mitre."

  Be'Var seemed to consider this. He stepped back and held one arm up to his chest to support the other, which scratched his chin, while he looked Caymus up and down. "Hmph," he said. "Yes, I suppose it's possible. Hadn't considered it before, but it would explain a couple of things." He took his finger from his chin and pointed it at Caymus. "You remember, during your trial, when the Lords of the Conflagration told you that you wouldn't be a master?"

  Caymus nodded. "Kind of hard to forget that."

  "Do you remember the reason they gave?"

  "Yes," Caymus said, "something about a taint to my soul. I didn't—" He stopped, his eyes widening. "You don't think—"

  "It's possible," said Be'Var again, in a more thoughtful voice. "Mitre are earth worshipers, without exception. It would make sense that the Lords would have a bit of a problem with you if you had a drop or two of dirt-lover in you." Then, Be'Var reached forward, put a hand on Caymus's shoulder, and looked him in the eye with a slight smile. "Let's find out what Gu'ruk has to say about it, shall we?"

  Caymus, not quite sure what to do next, considering the fact that his world was spinning around him, just nodded and allowed himself to be led onward.

  Several hours later, after a hearty meal of potatoes, carrots, and velox meat, Caymus found himself walking down a long, steep corridor in what he imagined could only be the very bowels of Otvia, following a path down which Gu'ruk had been leading both him and Be'Var for over an hour. Their first destination had been the Center, which had amazed Caymus even more than it had the first time he'd lain eyes on it. There wasn't anything special about the stone archways, domes, or vestibules of the Center, nor were the stone-crafted workshops, merchant areas, or gathering places that littered the edges of the great hall any more special than the other structures in city. It was the light that was so amazing. Somehow, the Otvians had channeled sunlight all the way from the surface of the mountain down to this huge chamber. The light wasn't particularly bright, would never darken one's skin on a hot day, but in the dark realm of the mitre, it seemed as though the sun itself had taken an interest and had wandered underground for a visit. A few small trees, dotting the ground here and there, testified as to just how much light actually made its way down.

  They had then taken some tunnels through several storerooms, and had even gone past a room that was pierced from floor to ceiling by a machine like the one on which Rill had been working all day, though Caymus didn't know if it was the same one. Sometime after passing that room, they had started down a single, long tunnel that spiraled at a steep angle, further and further downward.

  "Otvia is unique among the clans of mitre people," Gu'ruk was saying as he led them down the passage, a softly glowing torch in his hand. Caymus realized, for the first time, that the old mitre wore more clothing than his brethren. Long, dark sleeves and a tattered, blue gown were draped over his limbs. A blackish-red cape dropped down the length of his back from his neck. "We are the ones that keep the relics. We are the ones that learn from them and keep them safe." Caymus couldn't see Gu'ruk's face, but he heard a great sigh emanate from it. "We used to, at least. When I was young, we had several Relic Keepers among us, but now there is only me."

  The passage took the occasional sharp turn, left or right. There was something odd about the way Gu'ruk took those turns, something unusual about his stance, but Caymus couldn't put words to it. "Did something happen to the others?" he asked.

  Gu'ruk waved a hand at him. "No, no," he said, "nothing like that. The young ones simply have no interest in the relics anymore. They would rather build machines or play with swords, like Ventu and Merkan." He sighed again. "I fear I am becoming a relic myself."

  "Children!" said Be'Var, his tone both annoyed and a little playful. "They have no appreciation for the ways of their elders."

  Gu'ruk chuckled, his voice echoing through the passage. "It is the way of things to change," he said, "and the way of the young to change with them." He paused for a moment, though he didn't break his stride. "Though I fear that, when I am gone, there will nobody left to care for the relics, to know them and their histories. I have had to spend many hours of late, therefore, cataloging their uses."

  Caymus was starting to like Gu'ruk. He had a better grasp of the language of humans than most other mitre, and was able to speak more complicated sentences, which were easier to understand. The three of them had eaten together, and Caymus had asked many questions of him, which Be'Var had seemed to approve of.

  He had learned, for instance, that Gu'ruk knew exactly what the mark on the back of his hand was, but that he hadn't wanted to tell him at the time, saying instead that he wanted to show him, and that the showing would necessitate this trip into the dark underbelly of Otvia. He'd told them that the room he was taking them to was referred to as The Vault, though it didn't have the guards and locks that such a name generally signified. The Vault held many items, not the least of which were books and scrolls that kept a historical record of the mitre. Caymus had been genuinely interested in seeing the contents of such a room, which Gu'ruk had taken great delight in.

  There had also been the subject of Caymus's ancestry. When he had told Gu'ruk what Merkan had said earlier that day about his having mitre blood, the wrinkled face had burst into a wide grin. "Of course you do," he'd said. "I'm half blind, and I can see that much!"

  Caymus wasn't sure about what to make of the revelation. He had no idea how it could be, that part—even a small part—of his ancestry could be mitre. Considering how obvious his lineage seemed to the people of Otvia, he thought that the ratio must be fairly high: one eighth, at least, if not one quarter. Again and again, he had thought back to his childhood, trying to remember any detail that might shed some light on the mystery. Could his father have not been his real father, or his mother not his real mother? Neither of them seemed large enough to possibly carry such a heritage.

  One day, he would be home again; on that day, he hoped he would find some answers.

  Thinking of home, of his mother, alone in the house that his parents had once shared, made him sad. He wondered when, exactly, he would get a chance to see her again. Events seemed to be conspiring to keep him from home for as long as possible, and these events, he knew, were likely to continue on for quite some time as they dealt with this threat to their world.

  They had learned a great deal in the past week, not the least of which was the fact that the creatures they were fighting had some ability to pass through the element of earth, and that the ability seemed contingent on there being some strong place of worship nearby. He thought back to the moment when he had forked his and Milo's lance of fire in two, thought of the way that the insect creatures had managed to pass through the stone of the floor to safety. If they had been able to pass through the earthen floor, why hadn't they used the same ability to pass through the rest of the walls of Otvia, to capture and kill the mitre behind the door to the Center?

  Perhaps his friends were right, and the traveling through earth was less an ability they generally possessed, and more a mechanism by which they traveled between this world and wherever it was they came from, an action to be called on as a last resort. If that was true, the act must take them some considerable effort, else why not simply travel straight back into this world after any dangers to them passed?

  He was glad, either way, that they finally had a way to fight the creatures, should they encounter more of them. There was no doubt in his mind, of course, that it had been the density of the stone oil, the fact that only a small amount of it could sustain a flame for hours at a time, which had allowed them to create a lance of sufficient heat to drive the creatures back. Future uses
of the flame-lance would depend on having a similarly potent source of fuel. Merkan had said he would give them a few small barrels of the stuff to take with them, just in case the need arose again.

  He still could barely believe that he had split the flame lance the way he had, that he had so instinctively known what to do. Part of him was frustrated by the fact that he had no idea what he'd actually put in the flame's path in order to divide it so perfectly. He'd asked Be'Var about it, but the only thing the master had told him was, "That's what a shaper does: he shapes the flames."

  The explanation had been of little help. He had so much more to learn, and he wondered just how much time he would have to learn it.

  Rill, of course, had told him it was the most awesome thing he'd ever seen.

  He smiled at the memory of Rill staring at him, mouth hanging open, when the flames had died out. His friend had asked questions about it well into that evening. Caymus couldn't believe the way Rill's curiosity had so suddenly been ignited by the events of the last week. He was even asking really specific questions about the ways of heat and flames, something he'd ignored with a vengeance while a disciple at the Temple. Caymus wondered what the trigger had been, exactly. Had it been the near-death encounter with the creatures? The decision to leave the Temple? Or had something else entirely suddenly made his friend so curious about the world?

  He was awfully pleased that Rill was taking such interest though, and he marveled at the thought of him joining the Corps of Engineers at Kepren. The skill he'd demonstrated that afternoon proved he had the requisite talent. Caymus just hoped his friend was able to maintain his enthusiasm long enough to see that particular plan through to its end.

  "Nearly there," said Gu'ruk, breaking Caymus's concentration. They were coming to a point in the passage where the walls narrowed slightly, forcing the old mitre to turn sideways and duck to make his way through. As he did so, Caymus figured out what it was that was different about Gu'ruk's movements: the ancient mitre seemed to not want to actually touch his skin against the walls. Caymus wondered why that was as he and Be'Var followed after.

  On the other side, the passage continued for little more than a few yards before it abruptly came to a dead end. Caymus would have been a little concerned about this only two days ago, but now he knew of a few of Otvia's tricks, and so he simply waited.

  Gu'ruk made quite a show of clearing his throat as he passed the torch to his off-hand and reached out to touch the wall they had just come to. After a moment or two, he made a low, rumbling sound, deep in his throat. The noise echoed up the passage behind them, reverberating like the hollow cry of some dead thing when it finally returned to them. The effect sent shivers running up Caymus's spine. When the sound finally died away, however, the wall before them seemed to just melt away, revealing a room beyond.

  Caymus had to blink several times to get his eyes to adjust to the light in the room. Like the Center, this place was brightly lit, though when he looked about to find the source of the light, he could find none.

  "Behold the Vault!" Gu'ruk swung his arm wide and spoke in a sort of mocking grandeur. He turned to them for a moment with a proud smile before he turned back and stepped in.

  The Vault wasn't a particularly large room. Much smaller than the meeting hall where the creatures had roamed for so many days, it was about the size of the chamber where the stone oil was collected. The walls were covered in extruded shelves, most of which supported books and scrolls. Here and there, however, were pieces of armor, weapons, and bits of jewelry. Some of the artifacts seemed covered in dust and grime, though others gleamed in the bright light.

  In the middle of the room was a single table. It was square, with four chairs around it, one to each side. Four sets of parchment, inkpots, and quill pens sat in the middle. The table was sized for a mitre. Caymus thought he could probably stretch into it, but he didn't think Be'Var would find it terribly comfortable.

  "Have a seat," Gu'ruk said, indicating the table and chairs. "I must find the one we need."

  Caymus walked over and sat in one of the chairs, then scooted it forward. Be'Var grumbled and t'sked a little, but did the same thing. The master's eyes could barely see above the plane of the table, and Caymus had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

  Before Caymus could spend much time looking at the contents of the desk, Gu'ruk was back, two books in his arms. One of the books was thin, barely a few dozen pages long, and protected by a covering of stiff leather. The other was nearly a foot thick and was bound with sturdy-looking, wooden covers. "This one," said Gu'ruk, indicating the thinner tome, "is the one I wanted to show you. This one," he said, passing the other, thicker book to Be'Var, "is for you, Sir."

  Be'Var opened the book and flipped through it for a moment. "This looks like some sort of notebook."

  "Oh," said Gu'ruk. "Sorry, it is not for your eyes. It is for your, uh," he paused, waving his hand at the chair, "posterior?"

  Caymus couldn't help himself. A moment of laughter escaped him in a snort.

  Be'Var looked at each of them in turn, then gave a resigned sigh. He clambered off the chair, placed the book on the seat, them climbed up onto both. Now, his head and shoulders stood above the table. "All right," he said, "what's the other book?"

  Gu'ruk sat down too, and opened the tome. "This," he said, with a twinge of excitement, "contains the story of the Earthwarden."

  Caymus squinted his eyes, recalling something Rill had told him. "He's the one that the Ritual Room is for, isn't he?"

  Gu'ruk smiled. "You have it right," he said. He flipped a couple of pages, then dragged his finger down a paragraph as he paraphrased. "Back before the world was as it is now," he said, "there was a war among the elements. Many, many of those elements existed in our world at the time, fighting each other to live, to be a part of the world we inhabit."

  Caymus nodded. "Be'Var told me about this. He said the four elements we know—earth, air, fire, and water—banded together to defeat the rest."

  Gu'ruk looked up at them, his eyes widened slightly, obviously impressed. "You have the right of it," he said again. "The way the elements went about their war was a little bit different for each. I do not know how every one of them did it, but some chose champions. These champions were paragons of the elemental realms. Each contained the power of their element within his or her skin, representing it in all ways and fighting tirelessly to keep that element from being destroyed and vanishing from this world forever." Gu'ruk looked briefly at each of them in turn, satisfying himself that he had their attention. "These champions were given a title of honor and virtue, one which hasn't existed in our world since the war ended. They were called 'knights'."

  Be'Var spoke up. "The Earthwarden was one of these knights, I take it?"

  Gu'ruk nodded. He turned to another page. "There were two brothers, sons of a king. One was named Cra'veth, the other Morogin." He turned the book around and pushed it forward. "Cra'veth was the knight chosen by the lords of earth. He was called the Earthwarden. This," he tapped a finger on the page before them, "was his mark."

  Caymus looked down to see the same mark Rill had shown him on the door to the Ritual Room, the symbol of the sword and circle. There was also, on the opposite page, a portrait of a man with a thick jaw and close-cropped hair. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn't decide what it was. He put his finger to the portrait. "This is him?"

  "That is him," Gu'ruk replied. He then gave Caymus a long gaze. "His brother, Morogin, was chosen by your lords of fire. They called him, simply, 'Knight of the Flame'. This..." he turned the page, "...was his mark."

  Caymus felt sure his heart skipped a beat. On the page to the left was the sword and flame symbol. He brought his left hand up, holding it next to the page to check the resemblance. It was exactly the same. When his eyes drifted to the right, however, to the face portrayed on the next page, he felt pins and needles all over his skin. The face closely resembled the one on the previous set of pages, but it w
as thinner and had longer hair, cut to the shoulders.

  "Flames!" he said. "Be'Var, that's the face, the one I saw in the Conduit!" He stabbed a finger at the portrait. "That's him!"

  Be'Var nodded, then exhaled. "Well, that's one mystery less, I suppose. I'd been wondering who that was. Morogin, is it? So, they showed you the face of the Knight of the Flame." He looked up at Gu'ruk's intent eyes. "What happened to them, after the war?"

  Gu'ruk turned the book around again. "As I said, they were brothers, and sons to a king. When the war over, after they had won, they went back to their lives as princes. Morogin was older, and was destined to rule after his father. Cra'veth turned his attentions to ministering people in the ways of earth. He came to the mitre, who had dwelled above the ground back then, and taught them of the joys of his element. It was he who brought us underground and showed us how to call to the rocks and the stone and the soil." Gu'ruk frowned, still turning pages. "Cra'veth died at one hundred and three years of age, and fathered no children." He looked up at Caymus. "There is scant little information about Morogin in these pages, I fear, but I assume that his line continued."

  "Why is that?" Caymus asked.

  "The surname of Cra'veth and Morogin was Tebran."

  "Tebran?" said Caymus. "As in 'Tebria'?"

  Gu'ruk nodded. "I believe so."

  Caymus swallowed hard. If the information was true, and he had no reason to doubt it at this time, then the place they lived in was named after these men. Growing up in his fairly isolated little town, he didn't know much of the geography of the world, but he knew that the greater region he lived in, from the eastern plains of Kepren, to the seas of Shorevale, all the way north to the Saleri Forest where the Temple of the Conflagration sat, was often referred to as "The Tebrian League" or, more simply "Tebria".