Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  As Caymus sat there, trying to understand the significance of it all, Be'Var spoke up. "Does it say anything else interesting?"

  Gu'ruk shook his head. "No," he said, "not about the brothers Tebran. However, there is an appendix at the end, a catalog of the other elements that they fought during the war." He turned to the back pages. "This element that we face, I already know that it can pass through earth at times. That narrows the choices considerably." He looked up at them. "Do you know how it reacts to fire?"

  Be'Var nodded. "Very little. It's nearly impossible to burn those things when they show up."

  Caymus watched as Gu'ruk slid his finger down the page. The appendix was written in a language he didn't understand, but it had the look of a ledger: several columns, the first of which always contained a word, while the others sometimes contained a check, a single letter, or nothing at all. Gu'ruk looked up at them. "Kreal," he said.

  Be'Var squinted his eyes. "Kreal?"

  "That is the name of the element," replied Gu'ruk. "Or, at least," he continued, "the name that our elements gave to it, while the war raged on." He consulted the page again. "You will find that Kreal reacts to air in much the same way that everything else in our world does. Water, however, is an antagonist."

  "How do you mean, an antagonist?" Be'Var asked.

  Gu'ruk shrugged. "I do not know," he said. "That is all the appendix says on the matter." Gently, he closed the tome and put it on the table before them. "It may mean that the two explode when they touch or, perhaps, that they cannot touch at all. It may even simply mean that they make each other angry." He frowned. "I am sorry, Master Be'Var. I would tell you more, that I could."

  Be'Var nodded, appreciatively. "Thank you, Relic Keeper. You've been a big help to us."

  Gu'ruk beamed at him. "I am glad to be of service."

  Caymus, still sitting there, looked over the back of his hand again. He felt a surge of hope building in him. Finally, he was getting answers. Finally, he knew what he was meant to do. "Knight of the Flame," he said, just loud enough for the others to hear.

  As he spoke, Be'Var and Gu'ruk both turned to look at him. "Burn me," said Be'Var. "There'll be no shutting him up now."

  CHAPTER 10

  Caymus squirmed uncomfortably on the floor, his ears under assault by the total silence of the small chamber. He lay on his back on a thin mat, hands behind and supporting his head, clothes still on, staring at the ceiling of the sleeping area that the mitre had assigned him. He didn't like this room.

  Barely a few hours had passed since he, Be'Var, and Gu'ruk had returned from their discussions in the Vault, and by the time they had emerged from those deep tunnels, the evening had long since given over to night. Caymus had gone to his room, latched the stone door behind him, lit a single candle, and lain down on the mat to consult with his own thoughts for a while.

  He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, eyes scanning the ceiling, ears listening for the faintest hint of sound. He'd learned so much this day: about the ancient war, about the mark on his hand, about himself. He felt he should be happy, should be excited about the knowledge, but in that moment he just felt alone. He'd realized that, prior to arriving at Otvia, he hadn't actually slept completely by himself for a long time, not since he'd left his home to join the Conflagrationist's temple. For years, there had always been another body in the room, other people nearby. Even in the last week or so of travel, he'd known that others, people he cared about, were close at hand.

  He'd slept in this same small chamber the previous night and had felt the same discomfort, though he hadn't been able to explain why. He understood now, but the knowing wasn't helping him get to sleep. With a heavy sigh, he sat up and reached for a pack that contained some of his belongings and retrieved another candle from it. The candle was new, and since the one that he'd already lit wasn't yet half consumed, he felt a little guilty about using it, for wasting its light when his need wasn't really that great, but he also felt he couldn't stand the gloom anymore.

  Quietly, he placed the small cylinder of wax on the ground to his left, as far away from him as the one to his right. Then, he sat back, closed his eyes, and reached out to it. When he found it with his mind, he quickly opened a small conduit, as Be'Var had taught him, and, within moments, a timid flame was born upon the wick.

  Caymus smiled at his achievement. Opening conduits was getting easier. As he lay back, once again supporting his head on his arms, he idly wondered if he'd ever be as good as Be'Var.

  The extra light helped a little. He knew that the room had a small pool of stone oil in a shelf that ran along the walls, near the ceiling, but he felt he would be foolish to use it. As wasteful as lighting two candles felt, lighting an entire ring of stone oil, just to brighten his mood, would just make him feel even guiltier.

  He thought about the room itself, about its purpose. It was small, barely two of his arm-spans across, and mostly round in shape, with walls that arced out from the floor to the ceiling in smooth lines except for the oil shelf. Merkan had told him it was, in fact, a room where people were meant to sleep. He was glad that he had found it empty, glad that it appeared to be meant for guests, that it hadn't recently been made vacant as a result of the krealite attack.

  "Krealite." He said the word aloud, listening to the sound of it on his lips. Of all the information he'd gained in the Vault, he was surprised to find that it was that word that had given him the most comfort, that the creatures invading his world were of a specific element, and that the element had a name: kreal. It sounded right somehow, dark and sickly. He was relieved to have that knowledge. He'd grown tired of simply referring to the things as 'creatures'; something about putting a name to his enemy made them seem more real, more substantial, less like something out of a nightmare. He didn't know how to defeat a nightmare.

  Be'Var was worried about the 'antagonistic' effects that kreal was supposed to have on water. He'd apparently already had concerns that the drought that was affecting the grasslands around Kepren and the strange blizzard that had assaulted them only a few days ago might have had something to do with the introduction of this new element into the world. Caymus had seen flashes of desperation in the old man's eyes as he'd spoken of it. He was worried about the implications, worried that their enemy might be able to win this new war by simply affecting the weather. What if they could just stop the rain, forever? What could anybody do against such power?

  Caymus had asked more questions of Gu'ruk than the Relic Keeper had been able to provide answers for. They'd learned of the Earthwarden and the Knight of the Flame, but did the elements of water and air have champions, also? Gu'ruk had said that he didn't know, that the book in question was more concerned with the Earthwarden than anything else, but that it had referred to such champions in the plural. He'd admitted that he'd long suspected that water and air, sometimes referred to as the 'soft' elements, tended to place their power in many champions, rather than just one. "Though the lords of the elements we know chose to fight together," he'd said, "it doesn't mean they are the same. They did—and continue to do—things very differently from one another."

  Be'Var had asked if there had been anything in the book about Morogin being a shaper. Gu'ruk, however, hadn't known the term. When Be'Var had explained the differences between pulling and shaping, the Relic Keeper had mentioned that the Earthwarden's talents had been more suited to battle than anything else, that he, as a knight, had been charged with protection above all. He'd carried a huge battle-hammer in his life, which he'd left behind when he died. Gu'ruk said he alone, as the only Relic Keeper of Otvia, knew the location of the hammer today, but that if a new Earthwarden were to be chosen, he would be drawn to it. He hadn't known if the Conflagration's champion had carried a similar weapon.

  That idea had ignited Caymus's imagination. Might there be some weapon, or some other item, carried by an ancient warrior, that he would be drawn to? He hoped so. Even as he lay there, he experimentally reached out, feeling aroun
d him to see if he was 'drawn' anywhere.

  He wasn't.

  There had been one more thing that had grabbed his attention in that book. When Be'Var had been asking his questions about shaping, Caymus had turned back to the pages with the symbol and portrait of Morogin. He'd been fascinated and a little frightened at the expression on the man's face. Behind the weariness, behind the responsibility, there had been an undercurrent of naked aggression, and Caymus had wondered if he could ever find himself quite that attuned to the element of fire. His concern, however, wasn't about the portrait, but rather the symbol on the opposite page. As he thought about the sword and flame he'd seen there, he brought his own hand up in front of him. At first, he'd thought the two images exactly the same, but he'd later realized there was a very slight difference between them, and the difference had him concerned.

  As he lay there, considering, his mind still freely wandering about the small chamber, he began to feel a presence coming toward his door. Moments later, there was a timid knock.

  Caymus wasn't sure what time it was, only that it was late. He sat up. "Come in?" he said, quietly, just loud enough for someone on the other side to hear.

  The latch unhooked, the door swung open just a little, and Gwenna appeared in the doorway. "Are you still awake?" she said, whispering.

  Caymus smiled. It was good to see her. "Come in," he said, waving her toward him.

  She did so, closing the door gently behind her, keeping hold of the latch as it moved so that it wouldn't make noise clicking into place. When she was satisfied it wouldn't open again, she turned and sat down in front of him on the mat. "Milo told me you went down with Be'Var so some kind of storage room."

  "The Vault," Caymus nodded. "We did." Caymus was glad to have some company, especially hers. The night had been far too quiet for him. "It was quite a place. Books everywhere!"

  Gwenna sat cross-legged, her hands held gently in her lap. She brought her gaze up to his face, meeting his eyes and tilting her head ever so slightly. "Find out anything interesting?"

  Caymus laughed. "You could say that." He wondered where to start. "The creatures? The ones we seem to keep running into?"

  Gwenna nodded, her eyes narrowing.

  "Apparently, the element they're made of is called kreal."

  "Kreal..." Gwenna seemed to be testing out the word, much the same way Caymus had only moments before. "Does that mean we know what to call the creatures?"

  Caymus shrugged. "Be'Var just called them krealites. I suppose that's as good a word as any."

  "Krealites." Gwenna's eyes had become unfocused, looking at something Caymus couldn't see. Gwenna had pretty eyes. Absently, she shifted her gaze, her attention moving down Caymus's arm. She reached out and took his left hand in both of hers, bringing it in front of her. He marveled at how much smaller her hands were than his, how much slimmer each finger was, how much smoother her skin. Gently, she turned the hand over and began tracing the outline of the flame symbol. The touch made his heart flutter. "What about this?" she asked.

  Caymus had to concentrate to keep his voice steady. "There was a book," he said. "Gu'ruk said it was about a man called the Earthwarden. He was some kind of champion, a knight for the earth element in the old war Be'Var keeps talking about."

  She looked up at him again. "A night? What's night got to do with any of it?"

  He smiled. "Knight. With a 'k'. I don't know what it means, but it's what some of the elements call their champions. Knights are supposed to be warriors, protecting the elements themselves. You remember that symbol on the door to the Ritual Room? The one that Rill showed us?"

  She nodded. Her eyes seemed to be watching his lips, but darted occasionally to his eyes.

  "Well," he continued, "that symbol was the symbol of the Earthwarden."

  Gwenna looked down again at his hand, now stroking the back of it with her thumb. "What about yours?"

  Caymus took a deep breath. "He had a brother, another knight, but he was a knight for the Conflagration, the Knight of the Flame. Apparently, that symbol was his." He placed his right hand on his left wrist, close to her fingers. He wasn't sure if he should touch her or not. "Well," he said, "almost."

  Gwenna looked up again, her eyes questioning, searching. "Almost?"

  "Yes," he said, holding her gaze, then looking back to the symbol. He traced the sword symbol with his right hand. "On his symbol, this part is the same." He then traced the outline of the flame symbol behind it. "But in the book, this part was red."

  She was looking down, following his finger. Her voice was quiet, almost silent. He could barely make out her features in the candlelight. "Like the masters' marks then."

  "Yes," Caymus replied.

  "What do you think that means for you?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know."

  When she looked up again, her eyes were mischievous, her smile wide. As she spoke, she squeezed his hand. "What do you want it to mean?"

  "I don't..." he let the sentence trail off and leaned forward, his face inches from hers. She didn't move away. He could feel her breath on his lips. He leaned forward some more, tilting his head slightly, and closed his eyes. Their lips touched.

  In the next moment, Gwenna was standing, smoothing down her dress. "I'm sorry," she said, not looking at him and speaking quickly. "I don't...I don't want to make any trouble for you."

  Caymus was startled. He was just getting his breathing under control again. "Gwenna, it's no—"

  "I'm sorry," she said again. She moved quickly toward the door, grabbing the latch with both hands. "It's late and I need to sleep." As she lifted the latch and began opening the door, she paused. She turned her head toward him slightly, looking at the ground. "Goodnight, Caymus," she said, a sad, but gentle tone to her voice. "I'll see you in the morning."

  With a flurry of motion, she was gone, the latch of the door clicking into place behind her.

  Caymus sat there, stunned, confused, just staring at the door. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he felt certain it had been his fault. He'd thought she'd wanted him to kiss her, but maybe he'd been wrong.

  With a heavy sigh, he fell back on his mat. A moment ago, he'd been happy not to be by himself. Now, the room felt even lonelier than it had before she'd come. He reached out with his mind to extinguish the candles, but found that he couldn't concentrate, and ended up having to just blow them out.

  As he lay there, by himself, in the dark, he wondered what it was that had gone wrong. Gwenna seemed to like him, but then why had she run away? Should he have done something differently? Should he have gone after her? Absently, he wondered if he'd have had a better idea of what to do if he hadn't been cloistered with other men and boys for the last few years of his life.

  Another thought came, unbidden, to his mind, and he found himself fighting off a choking feeling in the back of his throat. Most young men had their fathers to ask about things like this. He'd never missed his as much as he was missing him now.

  Confused and alone, Caymus lay on his mat in the darkness, trying not to think about his father, about home, until he finally fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 11

  Be'Var frowned at the stones and dust around the group as the springs of the wagon's bench squeaked under him. They had finished crossing the Greatstone mountain range four days ago and had been traveling in a generally southeasterly direction, through the Tebrian Desert, ever since. By his reckoning, they should be about three days from the city of Kepren, and aught to have been passing into grassland by now. He didn't like the fact that they were still surrounded by nothing but sand, rocks, and the occasional shrub. It meant that the drought that the missionaries had spoken of was worse than he'd feared.

  Plus, there was Caymus, and his incessant questions. He and Rill were practicing their swordplay up ahead of the wagon, as usual, but Be'Var could tell from the glances he kept getting that more questions were about to spring forth from his lips. Be'Var suppressed a moan. He knew many masters who maintained great de
light and wonder at the curiosity of youth, but he knew better than that. The curiosity of youth be burned, it was no end of aggravation.

  "Here comes another round," he grumbled, under his breath.

  Y'selle looked over at him and managed a faint smile. "Be nice to him, Be'Var. He means well."

  Be'Var glowered. "He means to drive me mad."

  As Caymus and Rill neared, he turned, looking behind to see if Gwenna was about. She was not. Since they'd left Otvia, she'd been off with Milo more often than not, scurrying about somewhere or other, learning to use that new bow of hers. How the two of them could remain unseen in the middle of a flat desert, he had no idea. Bridget was still there, walking alone, behind and off the right of the wagon, and she gave a him a small smile. Before he could frown at her, which he knew she'd take the wrong way, he turned around again and gave the reigns a purposeless flick, hoping the action would somehow quell youthful curiosity.

  Something had happened between Caymus and Gwenna in Otvia. He wasn't sure what it was, though he had his suspicions. She'd been avoiding the boy as though he had some kind of contagion. Still, the upside was that Caymus had been focusing on his swordsmanship with greater determination, though Be'Var was less than thrilled to see that the Mael'vekian style Merkan had introduced him to was appearing more and more often in his forms. He had to admit, though, the style seemed to suit him. Be'Var was even considering fashioning a two-handed practice weapon for him, just to see how well he did with it. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He felt a bit sorry for Rill.

  The master had been puzzling over the information they had gained in the Vault ever since the night Gu'ruk had revealed it to them, mulling it over with every waking hour that wasn't otherwise occupied with the tasks of travel. He was glad to know a bit more about this element, this kreal. The more they knew about their enemy, the better their chances of survival, should they ever run into one of the krealites again.