Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  He considered the bowl in his hands, then leaned over to whisper to Gwenna. "Snake?"

  She leaned back to him with a grin. "It's good," she said. "Try it."

  He'd hoped she was going to tell him the Milo had been kidding. As he sat there, adjusting his world-view to include the idea of eating things that slither, he glanced up and saw Be'Var looking at him. The old man raised his eyebrows in a silent question, then reached up and tapped the back of his neck.

  Caymus nodded, indicating that yes, he was still feeling the sensation. Be'Var scowled, then went back to spooning his own bowl of stew into his mouth.

  "Welcome back, Caymus," Y'selle said. The matron was stirring their fire with a metal rod, letting the wood breathe. Her expression was the complete opposite to Be'Var's. He wore concern on his face; she wore contentment. "Our new friend was just telling us about how he came to be here."

  Caymus turned his attention to Callun, who was sitting directly across the campfire from him. The man's dark, sunken eyes were on him again. Trying not to be unfriendly, Caymus forced a look of interest. "Really?" he said. "Where are you from, Callun?"

  Callun seemed as though he stared a bit too long before he answered, but when he finally did, his expression brightened and he looked about, speaking to them all in turn. "I set out, many months ago, from Golentah.” He turned to look at the faces around him. “Perhaps you've heard of it?” The man's voice was as slick as his hair, and did nothing to aid Caymus's trust of him.

  Caymus turned his eyes to Be’Var, who was, in turn, looking at Milo. Both of them where shaking their heads.

  “I'm unsurprised,” said Callun. “My home is far, far to the South, and I traveled a long time to get here.” A distant smile came to his face and he turned his eyes skyward. "You've stars here I've never seen before. They're quite fascinating."

  Caymus considered the words themselves. The stranger's voice did carry a slight accent that he was unfamiliar with. Some words that should be pronounced separately ran together and others seemed to have extra vowels. “I'm” became “Iyam”, and “a long” became “along”. He seemed to cut some words off before they were completely out of his mouth. The town Caymus had grown up in was highly regarded for its shipwrights, if not for the actual yards themselves, so people from many far-off places often arrived there in search of expertise. Caymus had never heard any of them speak the way this man did. He seemed to have an awfully good grasp of the language, though, for someone so far away. Could it be that their people shared a native tongue?

  “Is your home far beyond Mael’vek, then?” he asked, bringing a spoonful of stew to his mouth. He remembered what it was he was eating as he brought the spoon away. After a moment’s considered chewing, however, he decided he quite liked snake meat.

  For a moment, the man seemed confused at the question, and Caymus thought he noticed a split-second's worth of fear, but then the moment was over, and Callun's face was smiling a broad smile at them all. “Mael’vek,” he said. “I have heard of the place, but I didn't pass through on my way here.” He shrugged. “I'm afraid I don't know the answer to your question.”

  Caymus frowned. By all accounts, the nation of Mael’vek was a vast empire. Its lands bordered the entire southern edge of Tebria and, as far as he knew, extended from the western shore all the way to the end of the world. Could this Callun be lying? Misinformed? Or could there really be a place where one might sneak past the Mael’vekians on his way north.

  “So, Callun,” said Y’selle, “what brings you so far north, so far from your home?”

  The smile appeared again. “I'm exploring. I seek to find out more about the places far away from us. My people are not travelers, and we do not know much of the lands beyond our own, so I decided to travel and find out what's here.” He looked around at the darkness around them. “I was doing quite well, and had thought to continue to the North, but I'm afraid I underestimated your desert, which is why you found me here.”

  “Do you think you’ll continue north after this?” she asked.

  “It seems I'm not prepared to make this particular crossing,” he replied. “I should probably rest somewhere nearby for a while before I set out and try again.”

  “Well,” said Y’selle, “you’re welcome to travel with us to Kepren. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need there, and I can even offer you a bed at Flamehearth for a few days, assuming there’s space when we get there.”

  Callun tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “What is this Flamehearth?” He said it with equal parts curiosity and excitement.

  Bridget answered first, her face beaming. “Flamehearth is the Conflagrationists’ mission in Kepren. We have a small school and a hospital there. Many people come from all over to learn about the Conflagration. There are always a few extra beds around.” Caymus was surprised to see Bridget so enthusiastic, especially considering how quiet she'd been the last few days. He wondered if he was getting a glimpse into her personality that he hadn’t seen before, one which only appeared when she talked about the mission.

  Upon hearing a scraping sound, Caymus looked down to find the source, and was surprised to discover that he had nearly finished his stew. Between the attention he'd been giving to Callun’s odd way of speaking and the annoyance of the enduring prickling on his neck, he hadn’t noticed how fast he'd been eating. With a small sigh, meant only for himself, he rubbed his neck again.

  “You keep a hospital?” asked Callun, a look of concern on his face. “Are there many sick at this Flamehearth?”

  “It’s not quite like that,” said Y’selle. “We have a couple of people at the mission who have knowledge of treating injuries and illness, so people who get themselves sick or hurt, and who have nowhere else to turn, often end up in one of the beds.” She looked away for a moment, then said, “Occasionally, we do have people who seem to be sick for no good reason—the drought, especially, has seen to that lately—but there is no danger that you’ll catch anything from anybody.” She looked back to Callun with her gentlest face. “There would be nothing to worry about.”

  Callun smiled back at her. “That is good to know. I think I will be happy to stay at this Flamehearth for a time.” He gave her a small nod. “Thank you.”

  A thought occurred to Caymus. “Matron Y’selle, what kinds of things do you teach at the school?”

  She turned to him and frowned, slightly. “Just short lessons about the Conflagration—things you learned at your first year at the Temple—and some reading and writing for the children.”

  Bridget chimed in. “I teach most of the reading. At the moment we have about half-a-dozen children. They love the classes."

  Caymus gave a half-hearted smile. “That’s too bad.”

  They both frowned at him.

  “No, no,” he said, realizing what he'd said, “I mean it’s good that you’re teaching them reading and writing, but I'm supposed to be finding someone to teach me this shaping Aspect, and...I had been hoping..." He trailed off.

  He got a couple of sympathetic smiles, but Y’selle and Bridget just shook their heads at him. Gwenna gave him a smack on the arm, then scooted closer, leaning against him. He shrugged sheepishly and cast his eyes downward. “Sorry.” He rubbed his neck.

  When he looked up again, Callun was staring at him, and Caymus was finally able to put words to the thing he didn't trust about the man: his eyes didn’t seem right. They seemed dead, as though there was no mind, no soul behind them. Those eyes made him nervous, as though death itself was peering into him from across the fire.

  The dead eyes moved down the length of him, then passed him and fell onto the wooden sword lying next to him on the ground. Callun motioned to it with his chin. “You know how to use that?”

  Caymus tried to look friendly when he answered, but he didn’t think he succeeded. He put his bowl down as he spoke. "Only a little. I just started learning,” he said. “I think I’m getting better.”

  “I don't know about that,” said
Rill, raising his eyebrows at him. “Do you have any idea how many times you rapped me on the knuckles today?”

  Caymus put his fingers to his chin and looked up in mock-thoughtfulness. “I'd say," he replied, "about as many times as you didn’t bring your shield up.” He looked back to Rill. “Is that about right?”

  Be'Var, at least, seemed to think that was funny.

  Rill shook his head and pointed a finger. “I’m going to get you tomorrow, you just wait.”

  Caymus picked up the wooden sword, pretending to examine the blade. “I and my sword eagerly await both you and your swollen knuckles.”

  That got a chuckle out of everybody. Rill gave him a sour look, then couldn't hold back his grin any longer. With a shake of his head, he went back to eating his stew.

  Caymus put the sword down. He could feel Callun's eyes on him; he tried not to look at the man as he talked to Be’Var. “Really, Master Be’Var, what am I going to do about learning to shape, once we get to Kepren?”

  Be’Var seemed to think about this for a few moments while he chewed. “I’ve got a few ideas about that,” he said, “but I don’t want to get into them right now. Suffice it to say there are a handful of old acquaintances I want to talk to, but I don’t know if any of them will actually be able to assist.” He put his own bowl down and wiped his chin with the back of his hand while he looked up at Caymus from under his eyebrows. “You just worry about your drills for now. Let me worry about what we do once we hit Kepren.”

  Caymus accepted this with a single nod. He hoped that Be’Var would be able to find the help they needed—the help he needed—once they reached the city. The moment in Otvia when he’d split the flame-lance in two was the first time he’d done anything that he’d really thought of as shaping a flame, and that had been done more as a reflex than as anything intentional. He wondered how long it would take before he could control it better, how much there actually was to learn.

  He wondered why there was no red in the flame on the back of his hand.

  "Speaking of your drills," Be'Var said, standing up, "I think it's time you and Rill traded up." He walked the few steps over to the wagon, reached in, and withdrew a long bundle. As he walked back to the fire, he unwrapped gray cloth to reveal two longswords, their blades gleaming in the orange firelight. "Wood for steel," he said, and handed them each a sword, hilt-first.

  Rill stood up at once, and accepted his with a huge grin. Gwenna lifted herself from Caymus's side so that he could do that same. Caymus rose slowly, patting the dust from his legs. He was surprised, and more than a little bewildered. "Are you sure?" he said. The idea of having a real sword filled him with excitement and anticipation, but also with apprehension. He didn't reach for the hilt yet. "I mean, we've only been learning for a couple of weeks now."

  Be'Var nodded. "Sure enough," he said, his face serious, but not stern. "You need to start using the real thing sooner or later, if only to get a feel for the balance, which wood can never get right." He proffered the sword to Caymus again. This time, Caymus reached out and took it. "They're from Merkan," he said. "Apparently, he has a small collection of the things."

  The weapons dispensed, Be'Var folded his arms in front of him and gave them each a long look. "They're not sharpened yet," he said, when he was sure he had both boys' attentions. "When the knuckle-rapping stops, I'll put an edge to them. Agreed?"

  Rill nodded vigorously, a serious look on his face. "Agreed," said Caymus.

  As the three of them sat down, Gwenna leaned against him once more. Caymus was glad she seemed to be talking to him again. As he soaked in the feeling of the pressure of her on his arm, he examined the sword he'd just been given. It was simple enough, with a leather-and-wire-wrapped grip and a small, iron sphere for the pommel. Rill could probably hold it in two hands for extra leverage, but Caymus could only fit a single set of fingers around the grip. The cross-guard was angled at a traditional ninety degrees from the hilt, with no decoration or embellishment. The blade was simple, the two edges running straight and parallel until they came together at a point at the very end.

  It looked a lot like Be'Var's sword. Caymus wondered, absently, if it might be some kind of standard issue for soldiers of Kepren, and how a Mael'vekian soldier like Merkan might have come across it, if it were. He decided he'd never ask that particular question.

  Gwenna made a small grunt, which got the group's collective attention, as she stirred from Caymus's arm, slid down, and lay on the ground beside him, reaching back into the darkness to pull a blanket over herself.

  “I think,” said Y’selle, “she has the right idea.”

  “Indeed,” said Be’Var, standing up. “We lost a lot of daylight today. We’ll have to start early to make it up.”

  Everybody wandered off to find mats and blankets so as to turn in for the night. Caymus still felt the prickling of danger on the back of his neck, still listened to the darkness, hoped to find an explanation for the 'buzzing' sensation.

  Twice more, Caymus noticed the stranger watching him with those soulless eyes. Once, he caught him looking at the sword.

  That night, Caymus had dreams about being trapped in some sort of tar, unable to claw or burn his way out.

  CHAPTER 12

  Caymus could scarcely believe the size of Kepren. He stared in wonderment at the thick, wooden doors as he passed through them, at the portcullis raised over their heads, and at the several guards in chain mail and faded green livery standing about the entrance to the city. He had expected Kepren to be a big place, but the true immensity of it threatened to overwhelm his senses.

  They had first glimpsed Kepren the previous evening, just before the sun had gone down, two days after they had encountered Callun and decided to bring him with them. Caymus had been practicing drills with Rill—thuds and clacks had been replaced with the ring of steel against steel—when Gwenna had pointed out the shapes out on the horizon. Even at that distance, only able to make out the silhouette of the place, Caymus had been amazed at the hulking mass before him, which stretched to cover what must have been miles and miles.

  There had been some talk of continuing on in the dark, of trying to reach the city that same day, but Y’selle hadn't been sure if the gates would still be open to them if they arrived late, so they had decided instead to travel only another hour, and then to complete the rest of the journey in the light of the morning.

  The early trek had passed slowly, and the sun was now just past its zenith. Caymus had been surprised at how dry the air felt considering that the area around the city was mostly grassland, which he would normally have expected to lend some cooling moisture to the landscape. There wasn't even a single cloud in the sky. He was finally beginning to understand the extent of the drought that Bridget and Gwenna had told him of.

  The buildings around him were mostly stone, though some wooden structures stood amongst them. The majority of them were only a single story high and there were none with more than two floors.

  The structures seemed simple to him, and yet there was something unusual about them. As he passed by one facade, the purpose of which he couldn’t guess, he noticed that the light gray blocks in the walls didn’t appear to have any mortar between them. There didn’t even seem to be an order or pattern to the way the stones were arranged, as the separations between them ran every which way. Still, those separations were so small that he had to look twice to be sure they were there. Whomever had built these places, they had cut the rocks so perfectly that he imagined they fit together better than his sword in its scabbard.

  The buildings looked new, or rather, not one of them looked to be old. The surfaces were clean, untarnished by stain or moss. Perhaps they were just kept in good condition by their occupants. He remarked on it to Gwenna.

  “This is the Grass District,” she said, waving her arm to indicate the structures around her. “Most of the buildings are only a handful of decades old.”

  “Grass District?” he said.

  Gwenna no
dded. “This whole section of the city was only built about a hundred years ago, when the Laivusians came from the South, looking for a place to stay.”

  "Who are the Laivusians?"

  "Laivus is a city—was a city—about halfway between Kepren and Mael'vek. It used to be independent, but during one of the big battles, Mael'vek invaded it and set a huge fire. A lot of Laivusians died, but most of those who didn't fled north to Kepren."

  Caymus frowned. He'd remembered hearing of the city that used to separate Kepren and Mael'vek, but he hadn't known what it was called before. He stared at the mass of people in the street. There were a lot of them about, some walking or riding horses, some shouting to each other, some just hurrying in pursuit of some unknown errand. The noise was such that he had to raise his voice to be heard. “So the rest of the city is older than this?”

  She pointed in a generally easterly direction. “That way is the Reed District,” she moved her arm slightly, pointing northeast, “and over there is the Guard District, where the castle is.” She lowered her arm and kept looking ahead as she continued. “The Guard District is the oldest part of the city. It’s where the king lives. The Reed District was given to the people of Shorevale after one of the wars with Mael’vek, and then they built the Grass District after Laivus fell.”

  Caymus frowned. He was beginning to realize there was a lot about Kepren he didn’t know. He knew that Shorevale lay to the West, at the sea's edge, and had heard stories about the ferocity of their navy, but he hadn’t known that they were part of Kepren. He considered asking more about Shorevale and what war she was talking about, but, considering the din, he decided on a simpler question. “Why is it called the Grass District?”

  She turned to him and smiled. “I’m not really sure,” she said, “but I'd guess it's got something to do with the fact that this was all just grassland before the Laivusians showed up.”

  Caymus nodded. That made enough sense for him. “So, Laivusians are in the Grass District, Shorevalians are in the Reed District, and there’s the Guard District, which is what Kepren used to be before the other two came along. It sounds like it’s really three cities, not just one.”