Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  Nothing happened. He was doing something wrong, but what? He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; he'd never been in love before. There had been Gwenna, of course, but he had to admit that he'd never really loved her, that the attraction between them had started at the surface and never developed much deeper than friendship.

  He'd seen how Tavrin was with her in the last few days. When Gwenna and Tavrin looked at each other, he could see the feeling—the love, he had to admit—between them. There was something special about those looks, something intense, and yet completely trusting.

  That, he thought, might be the thing. They left themselves vulnerable to one another.

  Caymus tried to imagine the feeling, the sensation, of making himself completely vulnerable, totally defenseless, to another person. He felt his throat tighten, his back arch slightly, as a wave of emotion hit him. As it happened, he felt a slight tremor in the path of the energy. It flickered as a candle flame in a small gust of wind.

  He intensified his effort. He tried to let his imagination conjure up a love he'd never felt, a look that could make him tremble. He dug deep into the core of himself as he let his own defenses, the barriers to his heart, crumble away, and allowed himself, for the first time he could ever remember, to be completely open.

  Without intent or forethought, and as a complete surprise, the figure of a woman appeared in Caymus's thoughts. The image was indistinct, though he could make out dark hair, dark eyes, and a flowing blue dress. In that moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.

  The rush of the power into his body was sudden, intense, excruciating. Caymus felt himself gasp aloud for air. He'd briefly sensed the stream of the power as it had lifted from the tree and traveled through the earth toward him, but he'd not expected it to be so fierce as it entered his body.

  "Good." Kavuu's voice was stronger now, more insistent. "Hold it, Caymus. Do not let it go!"

  Caymus felt himself nod slowly as he tried to do as he was told. His sense of the power was tangled with a sudden burst of raw emotion that he was trying to get under control. Though he wasn't crying, he could feel wetness on his cheeks. His breathing was fast and deep, as though in a panic.

  "Hold it, Caymus," said Kavuu again, "You must hold it!"

  The power coursing through his body was almost more than he could bear. He could feel it coming up out of the ground, into his legs, then flooding through his torso and searing through his arms as though he were sitting in the mouth of an erupting volcano. In an attempt to get his bearings, he opened his eyes.

  The view that greeted him was shocking. For a moment, he thought it was still daytime, the light around him was so bright. It took him only a moment, however, to realize that the day had passed and the night had come. He was the source of the light. A sheen of yellow and orange stood between his eyes from the vista before him.

  He was on fire.

  "Close your eyes!" Kavuu shouted, now standing a few feet to Caymus's left.

  Caymus quickly slammed his eyes shut, trying not to think of what he'd just seen. Had he imagined it? Could he actually be burning?

  "Don't let go, Conflagrationist!" Kavuu was shouting in Caymus's ear now. "You listen to me now. You must hold on to the flame, accept it as part of you, love it as you would your heart's desire, or you will not survive this day!"

  Caymus struggled to keep fear and panic out of his thoughts, fought to keep his emotions in check. He understood what the chieftain was trying to tell him. He had called the fire to him by accepting it into himself. The only way to prevent it from killing him was to make that acceptance complete, unconditional.

  He let the power into himself, let it burn its way through his body. He could feel the flames underneath his flesh as intensely as he could feel them licking at his skin. The Lords of the Conflagration had tested him in a similar fashion; this was less painful, yet somehow much more frightening. Still, he didn't fight it, didn't flinch from the sensation. He relaxed and let the energy become a part of him.

  "Good," Kavuu said, his voice now a great deal calmer. "Now," he continued, the sound barely more than a whisper, "let it go."

  Caymus didn't quite know what Kavuu had meant by that, but he made an attempt, regardless. With slow, gentle countenance, he attempted to disengage himself from the flames. He wasn't so much letting the power go as he was decreasing his own desire for it and allowing it to leave of its own accord.

  The result came sooner than he'd expected. With quiet serenity, the flow of energy, the very power of the desert, shifted away from his body and reverted back to the tree behind him.

  He felt his entire body sag with relief. He opened his eyes. The sky was still dark, but there was no longer any glowing flame consuming him. He smiled with the thought of what had just happened, then noticed Kavuu, standing just to his left, his big arms folded across his huge chest, a wide grin on his face.

  Without even thinking about the consequences, Caymus jumped up and gave the man an enormous hug, laughing joyously all the while. If Kavuu was surprised by the sudden outburst, he didn't show it. He slapped Caymus on the back a few times, then held him out at arms length.

  "You did well," he said, his eyes glowing with pride.

  "That was it, then?" Caymus said, excited, but not quite able to keep the reverence out of his voice. "That was the Unburning?"

  "It was," Kavuu said, disengaging. "You controlled yourself well. Most spend more than a single day on the Watchman's brow." He looked down at the village below. "Some never succeed in calling the flames. Some call it, but are unable to keep it from consuming them." He looked back at Caymus and clapped him on the shoulder. "You did both. I understand what your Master Be'Var sees in you."

  Caymus thought about Be'Var, thought about how he would enjoy telling the old man about this. "I hope he gets to meet you, someday."

  "That would be good," Kavuu said, grinning. "Come," he said, grabbing Caymus's shoulder and spinning him around, "we must return."

  The trip back down the slope of the Watchman didn't seem to Caymus to take as long as had the trip up. His mind was dancing, was so consumed by what he had just learned that, before he knew it, the minutes had flown by and he was back among the huts of the village.

  He was among Terrek's people, also. Every dark face he saw split into a wide grin when it saw him passing. Every one of them then covered his or her eyes with one hand, then reached out to touch his arm or slap his shoulder. Before the two men had arrived at a central area of the village, where stone blocks and benches sat arrayed in circles, they must have met a good three dozen people, each of whom repeated the same gesture.

  "Kavuu," Caymus said, after two teenage boys had made deliberate efforts to touch him, "I don't understand why they cover their eyes."

  "It is our custom," Kavuu said, leaning over and speaking softly, "I believe your people shake hands when they meet, yes? For a man to cover his eyes when he meets you means that you are trusted, that he feels he can take his gaze from you while you stand a sword's length away."

  Caymus nodded. He liked the idea. "I thought I saw Tavrin touch his chest too," he said. "Why don't they do that?"

  Kavuu laughed aloud. "To touch one's heart means that we are of one people, one heart, that we share the same blood." He arched an eyebrow at Caymus. "Everyone saw the spectacle of your Unburning this night, and so they all know that you are trusted among us, but you are a very long way from being one of us."

  When they reached the gathering place, a couple of dozen people were there. Mostly, they were young men and women, though a few children played around the edges. A few of the oil-filled bowls shed light here and there, but there was no central fire pit. What, indeed, was there to burn around here?

  He smiled when he saw Gwenna and Tavrin approach him, walking hand in hand. Tavrin's smile wasn't as wide or as toothy as those of the other Falaar Caymus had encountered, but he seemed genuinely happy to see him. Caymus reflected the smile, and when Tavrin reached up and cov
ered his eyes, he did the same.

  He was about to do the same with Gwenna, but she instead threw her arms around him in a tight hug. "I knew you'd do it," she whispered in his ear. Caymus gave her a quick squeeze too, before she pulled back to hold Tavrin's hand again. "He wasn't sure you'd be able to on the first night," she said, grinning and tilting her head at Tavrin, "but I told him, 'Oh, you don't know Caymus!'"

  "I am glad to be mistaken," Tavrin said, glancing at Gwenna before taking Caymus's hand in a firm shake.

  Caymus realized that he was feeling a real sense of belonging, of kinship, for the first time since he'd come back to this world. Beyond what he'd just accomplished at the top of the cliff face, he felt surrounded by friends who cared about him, and whom he cared about.

  "Thanks," he said, "both of you." He shook his head in wonder and looked up at the Watchman. "I suppose it must have been quite a sight."

  "You lit the whole village!" Gwenna said. "Somebody could have seen you miles away!" She dropped her voice a little and looked around, secretively. "You don't want to tell me how you did that, do you?"

  They all laughed, including her, at the joke, and she stepped back, closer to Tavrin, who put his arm around her. Caymus had never seen her look so happy. It was only then that he noticed that she was dressed completely as one of the Falaar, that she even had a barak stick in her belt. They hadn't been there long enough for her to have come to need these clothes; she was making a conscious effort to blend in.

  Caymus, realizing the significance of it, was both happy for his friend and sad for himself. Gwenna wasn't planning on returning to Kepren with them.

  "Nice trick." Caymus turned to see Milo and Elon walking up behind him. He was about to thank him when he noticed the worried, haggard look on Milo's face. Seeing Milo in anything less than the most carefree of spirits could only mean trouble.

  "Milo?" Gwenna spoke before Caymus could say anything, concern etched into her face, "are you alright?"

  "It did not work, did it?" Kavuu said, "this speaking you have been doing."

  Milo looked at each of them in turn. "No, it worked fine," he exhaled, sharing a look with Elon. Elon, a small boy of perhaps fifteen years, was shrinking away from the conversation as though he didn't want to be noticed. Milo looked to Caymus, "But I'm afraid we have to go," he said. "Now."

  "Nonsense!" said Kavuu, spreading out his arms. "This man has taken the Unburning upon himself this night. There must be some celebration for it."

  Milo shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "but there's no time. We have to go tonight."

  "What is it, Milo?" Caymus said.

  Milo looked over his shoulder. "I finished speaking the place nearly an hour ago," he said, then he turned back to the group. "Only moments after I whispered Terrek to my friends, the message came through." He looked directly at Caymus, and the corner of his lip turned up in an apologetic smile.

  "Black Moon is on the move," he said. "They're about to cross the Greatstones."

  CHAPTER 16

  "You're sure you know what you're doing?"

  Rill gave his fellow engineer a withering look, then set back to the task at hand. Daniel had asked him that very question at least half a dozen times in the last hour, and it was getting a bit grating. It was probably his least favorite question, anyway. "Could you let a bit more light in here?" he replied, finally.

  Daniel sighed, stepped over to the Gearhouse's single, small window, and opened the shutters wide. Sunlight streamed in, revealing the various piles of mechanical debris that were strewn about a building that was basically a large shack.

  Barrels stood in disorganized rows around the walls of the Gearhouse. Some of the barrels were filled with screws and bolts of various design; some contained more chemically-oriented materials, like iron filings or graysilt; and still others were empty, tossed gracelessly into a huge pile in one corner. Also arrayed around the edges of the building were groupings of springs, of small piles of wood or sawdust, of various hand tools, rods, and dowels. There was even a giant gear sitting on top of one plain-looking crate; Rill had wondered, on another day, whether it might be the building's namesake.

  In the center of the Gearhouse, covered with various small boxes, glass containers, grinding stones, and several types of tools, stood a long workbench that stretched the entire length of the room. The bench was crafted of sections of granite, hardwood, and even glass, the idea being that not all chemicals reacted well with a standard wooden table, and so options were required in the experimentation area.

  Rill was using one of the glass jars, stirring the liquid contents inside it with a thin, wooden rod. He'd had some concerns, initially, that the rod might not agree very well with the process he was trying to sustain. In the end, though, he hadn't been able to come up with any better solutions.

  "How's that?" said Daniel.

  "It'll do," said Rill.

  "You sure?" said Daniel. "I mean I could knock a couple of holes in the wall if that would make it any easier."

  Rill rolled his eyes and smiled. He knew that the young man, who'd gotten him accepted into the Corps of Royal Engineers two months ago, and who'd since become a fast friend and helpful co-conspirator, wasn't actually in any way upset about his little project. Rather, he was just a little bit concerned about the possible consequences, should it not go well. "It's fine, Daniel," Rill said. "Thank you."

  "Sure." Daniel stepped back to the workbench and leaned on it with his elbows, watching Rill as he stirred. "No smoke yet," he said. "That's got to be a good sign, right?"

  Rill shook his head. "Not sure," he said. "I think I mixed it too quickly last time." He revisited the problem in his head again as he mixed the jar's components. "I also think we tried to make too much at once, like the ingredients have to mix slowly for it to work."

  Rill wasn't at all sure about any of it. What he did know was that yesterday, the last time he'd tried combining these particular ingredients, the entire batch had suddenly burned away and black smoke had billowed out of the jar, filling the Gearhouse with darkness and soot. The fact that nobody important had caught wind of that particular result had been a small miracle—one which didn't seem likely to happen again—so the idea of the same smoke not making a repeat appearance today was foremost in both of their minds.

  "Well," Daniel said, offering a slight shrug and a sigh, "don't mix it too slowly." He looked in the direction of the yard. "They're going to call drills any minute now."

  Rill kept his thoughts about drills to himself. Since having been accepted into the Royal Engineers, he and the older boy had spent a good deal of time together. Daniel's recommendation was also the reason that he, a neophyte engineer, had been allowed access to this building and all its materials. The Gearhouse had once been used for the completion of large and secret royal projects, but these days it was mostly used for storage. Some private experimentation was still allowed, however, if the captain could be convinced that the experimenter wasn't likely to actually blow up or set fire to anything. Yes, Daniel could be a bit of a worry-wort about punctuality and following the rules, but with all the help he'd volunteered in the last few weeks, Rill was quite happy to let a bit of worrying go.

  Even though the two were both royal engineers, learning from the same lieutenants, their styles were very different. Daniel was more concerned with procedures and doing things properly. He wore his uniform nearly constantly, taking it off only to have it washed. Rill rarely walked around in more than his blue trousers and an undershirt. At the moment, he wasn't even wearing his boots, having left them by the door.

  Rill pulled the rod out of the jar and examined the consistency of the black goop that clung to its surface. With some frustration, he noted the various flecks of graysilt still present in the mixture. He sighed again. He'd need to add some more of the new substance if he wanted the stuff to burn properly.

  "Another couple ounces of the white stuff?" he said.

  As Daniel reached out for another jar and m
easured out a small amount of the white, pasty material, Rill considered all the effort he'd put into this project already, hoping that it wouldn't all turn out to have been wasted time.

  He'd had the idea on the very first day he'd joined the Royal Engineers. Daniel had been walking him around the courtyard that the corps used for a lot of the day-to-day work, showing him the workings of a half-dozen or so catapults they'd had lined up against the outer wall. Rill had been particularly curious about the barrels of graysilt that were housed in a locked shed nearby. Daniel had told him that there were times, especially during a siege at night, when adding some graysilt into the cup of a catapult and lighting it at the moment the machine launched its projectile created the impression of a weapon that launched balls of flame instead of boulders, a sight which could be highly demoralizing to an enemy.

  Rill had asked why they didn't just cover the balls themselves with the quick-burning powder, or something very like it, and hurl actual fireballs at their target. Daniel had told him that the graysilt burned too fast, and that it would be impossible to stick it to the projectiles anyway.

  A couple of weeks later, when he'd been receiving his formal training in the uses of graysilt as a demolition tool—generally, it was used in the quarrying process for splitting large stones into smaller ones—Rill had realized a connection between what the engineers were teaching him and the lectures he'd attended at the Temple of the Conflagration for so many years.

  In that moment, Rill had understood that he held in a unique position within the Royal Engineers, having been instructed, at least partially, as a priest of fire before being subsequently trained as an engineer. He recognized the constituents of graysilt: coal, sulfur, and saltpeter. All three were earth elements that contained large amounts of fire within. What he needed to do was both reduce the speed at which the concoction burned and also find some way of coating it over the surface of a boulder. Both requirements would mean finding a way to add the water element to the mixture.