Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  Milo had also been right about Caymus. Be'Var had been no less than completely amazed when he'd seen his former pupil again. The sword, the eyes, the actively burning mark on his hand...Caymus had somehow become the Knight of the Flame, the champion of the Conflagration, on his short journey.

  Caymus, who had been the one to call for this meeting of important people, had been reporting on the enemy strength, and on how some of the mercenaries were now just as infected by kreal as was the core army. He had also just been telling them what had transpired on the road back to Kepren, explaining not only why he looked so different and why so few of the prince's party had returned, but why the prince himself was flat on his back in a surgery bed and why he was without the Black Sword.

  Now, Be'Var was going to have to help to defend Caymus's actions from the forces of ignorance and ineptitude. Most of the same people were present, here in the war room, who had been here the last time a meeting had been called. The three dukes were there, of course, as was Keep-Marshal Tanner. Ambassador Brocke stood near the fireplace, though his daughter, Aiella, stood beside him this time. Milo leaned against one of the room's corners, with Rill and that other engineer, Daniel, next to him. Besides the Summitian scout, the only person who was missing this time was Garrin himself, who was still recovering from his ordeal. Be'Var estimated the prince could be on his feet again by the morning, though it would be weeks before he healed fully.

  Be'Var couldn't believe that Caymus was really having to justify himself to the flaming-ignorant dukes of Kepren. Never mind the fact that he'd saved Garrin's life after he'd been run through by a krealite assassin. Never mind that he'd run, non-stop, through the desert plains of Kepren, carrying the prince all the way on practically no sleep, in order to get him to a physician quickly. Never mind that, if he hadn't done so, Kepren would now be both without a ruler or even a clear line of succession. The three men actually seemed to think that Caymus might have done something detestable to the prince intentionally. More to the point, Korwinder was suggesting he might have stolen the sword!

  "You blustery old meat-sack!" Be'Var heard himself saying. "You'd never have even known it was the same sword if Caymus here hadn't just told you!"

  "I beg your pardon!" Korwinder shouted, his face turning beet-red. "I don't care who you are, Sir, you will not address me in such a way!"

  "I will address pig-headed stupidity any way I flaming-well please!" Be'Var shouted back. He was surprised. He was usually a bit more tactful than this.

  At that moment, the room exploded into noise, into voices all trying to shout over one another. Be'Var rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. He knew this was his fault, that there were better ways of dealing with stupid, useless people than shouting at them.

  When he looked around, he could see that almost everyone in the room was yelling at the three dukes, who were, in turn, yelling back at everyone else. The only exceptions were Brocke, Tanner, and Caymus. Brocke wore his usual placid expression, seeming as though he was above all the arguing. The Keep-Marshal seemed to be trying to figure out the other people in the room, like a good tactician.

  Caymus, however, didn't seem to be handling the noise as well. From across the room, Be'Var could see the orange of his eyes turning to red, as though a dangerous ferocity was building in him in response to the raised voices. Be'Var wanted to tell everyone to be quiet, to avoid whatever might be coming in the next few moments, but it was useless. Nobody would hear him. All he could do was watch.

  Be'Var wasn't sure if the sword on Caymus's back caught fire before or after the hand reached back and pulled it from its sling, but the roaring flames were so loud that they were only overshadowed by Caymus's own voice as he plunged the weapon, blade-first, into the stone floor. "I will have silence!"

  The room fell still. All eyes were on Caymus, or perhaps they were on his burning sword. Be'Var now understood, staring at Caymus's grip on that burning hilt, why the knight of the Conflagration needed to know how to not be burned by fire. He smiled, wondering why the thought of it gave him so much pleasure.

  The only sound in the room was the slight rumble of the flames as they licked their way up the blade toward Caymus's outstretched arm. Nobody dared speak a word in the face of this strange, new power.

  "Black Moon Army," Caymus said, his voice serene, yet loud enough to be heard across the chamber, "is, at best, twelve hours away." He looked to the dukes, and to the Keep-Marshal. "The men and the monsters that are coming are hard to kill, but they are not indestructible. I have instruction that I would give to the soldiers, instruction on how to kill a krealite. Tell your men that I will be giving this instruction in the engineers' marshaling yard in one hour."

  He looked at each face in turn. "One hour," he repeated.

  Then, he turned, pulled the weapon out from the floor, and as the flames of his sword snuffed themselves out, he walked out of the room.

  Nobody said anything for a moment or two, then Tanner cleared this throat. "Master Be'Var," he said, calling across the room. "How is Prince Garrin doing?"

  Be'Var, as glad as everyone else that the moment was over, exhaled a long breath. "He'll live," he said, "though he won't be up and about for awhile."

  Tanner nodded. "Well, then," he said, turning to the dukes, "the king is incapacitated, and so is the prince. That leaves the defense of this city to me, I believe." He raised his brow at them. "Is that under any contestation?"

  The three dukes didn't say anything.

  "Alright, then," Tanner said. He addressed the rest of the room. "We know now that the enemy strength is greater than it was a day ago, which means our defenses are more important than ever. I'm guessing everyone here has something to be doing?" He didn't wait for acknowledgments. "So, I guess you'd all better get to it." He turned back to the dukes. "I'll be having as many soldiers as I can spare meeting Caymus in the marshaling yard. I'd suggest getting as many men as you can to gather there, too."

  The room bustled with activity as people filed out the doors. Be'Var noticed that Duke Korwinder, however, was walking in his direction. He couldn't quite help sighing quietly to himself. He had absolutely no time for the man, but he knew he had to listen to what he might say, just in case something useful emerged from under that stupid mustache.

  The duke was talking before he'd even reached Be'Var, and he glowered as he spoke. "Do you really expect me to take the word of some religious zealot, who has self-confessedly just stolen our monarch's birthright?"

  Be'Var sighed. He'd really had enough of this fool. "Korwinder," he said, "we're all going to have to fight tomorrow, to fight for our lives. I don't expect you do to anything, but I suggest you shut your mouth and see to your men."

  Korwinder seemed about to start yelling again, but then he just sneered, turned away, and led the other two dukes out.

  After the three men were gone, Be'Var noticed that only he and Keep-Marshal Tanner remained in the war room. Tanner, his hands clenched behind his back, smiled at Be'Var as he approached. "You really had it in for Korwinder tonight, didn't you, old man?"

  "Bah," Be'Var said, "fool doesn't have enough sense to see his best hope standing right in front of him."

  Tanner raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't mind telling you, Be'Var, buried somewhere under the anger and the impudence, the man does have a valid point."

  "And that would be?"

  Tanner chuckled. "You're asking us to put our faith in a man, barely more than a boy, who just carried the near-dead body of our prince into the city and confessed to having taken his sword. Honestly, if it weren't for your support, I might have had him arrested by now, or at least held and questioned."

  Be'Var grimaced. "Well," he said, "maybe I owe the good duke an apology."

  "Ha!" Tanner slapped Be'Var on the shoulder. "I don't think I'd go quite that far." His smile faded as he turned to the open door. "I, too, have a few things to get to," he said, "not the least of which is to see whether I can actually spare any men to attend this t
raining Caymus has decided to enlighten us with."

  "Spare them," Be'Var said, seriously. "Whatever else you may think of Caymus right now, he's killed more krealites than anyone else in the city, probably in the world."

  Tanner nodded. "I'd better get to it, then." He offered Be'Var his hand. Be'Var shook it. "I'll see you soon, old man," he said, then he hurried out of the room.

  As the door swung closed behind the Keep-Marshal, Be'Var stood by himself in the cold room, considering the man's words. He was forced to admit that, to somebody who hadn't devoted their life to the Conflagration, somebody who didn't know the boy as well as he did, Caymus might be a rather frightening character.

  But he wasn't a boy anymore, was he? Be'Var hadn't really thought of him that way since he'd awakened from his long sleep, since the good-natured exuberance in his eyes had been replaced with resolve and a kind of longing sadness. Gone was the curious child who had been so interested in flames and conduits. Now, for the first time in thousands of years, there was a knight in this world.

  Frowning, Be'Var shook himself from his reverie and strode out of the room. He really didn't have time for all of this navel-gazing; there was so much work left to do, so much preparation to be made before the arrival of Black Moon.

  The old master found himself thinking about the people in the hospital he'd visited that afternoon as he flew down a stone, spiral staircase and burst through a heavy door to enter the cold night air. He wondered how many of the dozens of refugees there would actually survive the coming days, then decided he needed to think about something else for a while. He took a deep, invigorating breath, then stopped and looked to the North. The yard Caymus had spoken of, where Rill had practically lived for the last several weeks, was nearby. It might be useful to see what he had to show the men who arrived there in the next hour or so.

  Smiling and shaking his head at his own boyish exuberance, Be'Var made the decision to attend Caymus's demonstration, and so spun on his heel and marched north, toward the engineers' yard. As he walked, he opened a few, small connections between himself and the Conflagration, letting the warmth of the fire realm soak into his bones. He wondered if Caymus might have learned how to do that yet. He wondered, too, how ready his former pupil really was for the coming battle.

  For that matter, how ready were any of them? Rill had appeared in good spirits, at least. Be'Var hoped the captain of the engineers was making good use of Rill. The boy had a fascinating mind: less than useless for studying the Conflagration, but apparently quite adept and learning how to put things together, and then blow them apart.

  Flamehearth was on his mind, too. Located in the Grass District, the mission had been evacuated earlier that day. The boys and girls were now squeezed into the second floor of a paint warehouse. Other than the fumes, which had given a couple of the children headaches, he knew they were, for the most part, safe. He worried about the building itself, though, worried for Y'selle and, particularly, for Elia. Being the Keeper of the Mission meant holding the responsibility for keeping Flamehearth's every stone safe from harm. She wouldn't do well if the building was damaged in any way, much less if it were completely destroyed by krealites.

  As he came within sight of the yard, he noted a dozen or so men that seemed to be milling about. Some wore armor; others appeared to be civilians, as though news of the impending lesson had already spread past the army and into the city's populace. As Be'Var smiled, wondering if the yard would be large enough to hold the crowd that might eventually gather, a small movement caught his eye.

  He turned to see three figures standing near a still fountain, all concealed in shadows near the outer wall of the Keep. One of them was definitely Caymus, his big arms crossed in front of him, but he couldn't make out the other two. They stood at the edge of the fountain—a simple, marble affair—neither facing him nor turned away.

  Be'Var began walking toward them, curiosity taking hold of his thoughts.

  As he approached, he eventually recognized the second and third figures as Ambassador Brocke and the Summitian scout, the same one who had shared his vision of the invading army with the assembled leaders of Kepren a scant few days ago. When Be'Var was close enough to make out Caymus's glowing eyes, he noticed motion in the water of the fountain, and he realized what was happening. The ambassador and his man were reflecting, playing the memory for Caymus again.

  The image of the krealite rider, laughing at the useless actions of two crossbowmen, was playing in the still water when Be'Var got close enough to make out detail. He watched on, sadness in his heart, as the ashen-skinned man turned the krealite toward the two terrified soldiers and charged at them, directing the monster below him to break bones and tear flesh.

  Be'Var had learned, during his time in Kepren's army, that mercy was a luxury that most soldiers couldn't afford, but the cruelty that the Black Moon warriors showed, the absolute barbarity of their actions, was beyond his comprehension. He glanced at Caymus, who flicked his eyes in his direction long enough to acknowledge his presence, but otherwise gazed intently at the images of helpless, dying people.

  The scene faded away as the two men lifted their fingers from the water. Brocke, opening his eyes, noticed Be'Var standing there for the first time. "Master Be'Var," he said, affecting a small bow. "It is good to see you here."

  Be'Var smiled. "And you, Ambassador." He'd decided a long time ago that he liked Brocke's no-nonsense approach to things. The man was hard, incredibly prejudiced against anything that wasn't Summitian, and seemed to have some manner of addiction to whatever it was that he kept in that little box of his, but he was, at least, dependable and honest.

  Brocke smiled. "I am not here," he said, glancing at Caymus. "I am merely doing my daughter's bidding, and now I must see to my household." He bowed slightly, first to Caymus, then to Be'Var. "Good night to both of you," he said, "and good luck."

  As the two men walked into the darkness, Be'Var turned his eyes to Caymus. "Doing his daughter's bidding?"

  "I needed him to show me what the scout saw again," Caymus said, his voice still, emotionless. "I wanted to know if I could see anything differently with these new eyes of mine. I don't think he was going to, but Aiella insisted on my behalf."

  "She seems to have taken quite an interest in your welfare, lately," Be'Var remarked.

  "She has," Caymus replied, still betraying no emotion.

  "And did you?"

  Caymus finally pulled his gaze from the retreating forms of the two men, meeting Be'Var's eyes. "Did I?"

  Be'Var shook his head. "Did you see anything in the water than you didn't see before?"

  Caymus took a deep breath, his arms still folded. "There are only two of them in that memory that have been completely taken by the kreal. One of them was Mrowvain, the assassin that I killed. The other is the one that leads them."

  "Their general, then?" Be'Var asked.

  "No," said Caymus, arching his brow in thought. "No, more like a chieftain"

  "Really?" Be'Var said. "The difference being what?"

  Caymus unfolded his arms and looked into the still water again. "A general would just be a military commander," he said, absently. "These men are bonded together by the kreal, like they're all part of the same family, the same tribe. They're not here to win battles; their goal is to wipe out all the other tribes." He looked back at Be'Var. "Chieftain seems more appropriate."

  Be'Var folded his arms and gave Caymus a curious look. "How do you know all this, boy?"

  A sad smile crossed Caymus's face. "I'm not sure," he said. He reached over his shoulder and pulled the giant sword he carried there. Be'Var still couldn't believe the size of it; the thing was nearly as tall as the man wielding it. This time, at least, it didn't burst into flame.

  "The moment I touched it," Caymus said, looking over the weapon as he turned it in his hands, "I could remember things, things I'd never done. It's as though the sword is connecting me to the first knight, showing me the things he knew."

&nb
sp; Be'Var watched the blade turning, gleaming in the starlight. "Do you think it holds his memories?" he said. "The first knight?"

  Caymus shrugged. "Maybe? I'm not sure. I don't remember faces or the exact way things happened, but I..." He looked away, trying to find the words, "...I understand things, the way they happened. I can tell you the way the krealites organized themselves before, but I can't remember their leader's name or what he looked like."

  Be'Var nodded. "Is it just the krealites?" he asked. "Do you remember anything about other champions? Presumably they're out there somewhere. It would be nice to be able to find them, to have their help."

  Caymus shook his head. "Nothing specific," he said. Then, he turned the blade around and placed the tip on the ground. "Except Tamrin," he said. "The Circle of Tamrin."

  Be'Var glowered. "What's that?"

  "I don't know," Caymus admitted. "It has something to do with the air element, but that's all I've been able to remember." He gave Be'Var an amused look. "If 'remember' is the right word for it."

  Be'Var nodded, looking across the yard at the people who where slowly trickling in. He would have to spend some time looking up 'Tamrin'. More time spent in the libraries. Assuming, of course, that any libraries were left standing tomorrow night.

  "It's why they were able to find me," Caymus said.

  Be'Var glanced over, surprised at the hollowness of the sound. He discovered the face before him awash with regret. "What?" he said.

  "Mrowvain and the krealite chieftain," Caymus replied. "It's because they were so completely taken by the kreal, so engulfed in it, that they were able to pick out my location in the pass." He leaned on the sword's cross-guard with both hands and rested his head there. "Mrowvain probably had a good idea who I was even back when he was calling himself 'Callun'," he said. "I think he spent time traveling with us because he wasn't fully given over to the element yet, so he had to find other ways to be sure."