The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  His speech was heavily accented, and many of the words he used were unfamiliar to Kagne. Often, the crowd chanted his words back to him. Some of the phrases Kagne understood were “The Mavana is coming,” and “Peace will cover the land,” and “The ibelan world lights the sky.” This went on for nearly an hour. Kagne looked around and saw that most of the people were young and apparently happy to be in the temple; however, older men outnumbered younger men. Given what he’d heard about the fighting going on at Kemeklos, he was not surprised. After the high priest stopped talking, earthenware ewers were passed around, and the people poured a small amount the ewers’ contents into their cups. The liquid was dark and smelled of herbs; Kagne knew several recipes for what was called root drink or vine water in Kelten, and he guessed that this was something similar. He tried it; there was a strong taste of sassafras as well as lemon and a bit of honey.

  After the service was over, Reija asked him to stay for dinner, and Kagne happily agreed. Most of the Red Swords went behind the main hall to a surprisingly large back garden that was nearly covered with stacks of goods, bags, boxes, and what seemed like a thousand tools and weapons tied up with red cords. After walking around with Reija, Kagne realized that the temple of the Mavana had about as much space as the Kelten embassy, but the land was jam packed. Around the perimeter were sleeping quarters with tiny windows and narrow doorways with sliding doors. There were two stories of sleeping rooms along the wings; along the rear wall, a precarious third level had been added. Even with only one person per room, everyone present could sleep here.

  Dinner was rice, beans, steamed buns, carrots, peas, potatoes, and boiled leafy greens, with several different sauces. It was decent food, not Kelten fare but normal for most temples of Eston. He steered Reija aside to a quiet part of the courtyard, beside the lumber and woodworking tools. More of the root water was served, and it had a pleasing effect on both their spirits. They laughed at a crow that was trying steal a steamed bun from a small boy. The child alternated from chasing the crow to chasing another small child while leaving his food behind on plate. The crow ended up with the bigger piece of the bun, and the boy went off to complain to his mother. As the sunlight retreated from the sky, Reija said they had to go to bed soon as most candles were reserved for illuminating the temple.

  Kagne took the opportunity to kiss her. Her eyes went wide for a moment, and she stiffened. Kagne persisted in his kisses, and Reija soon closed her eyes and kissed him back. Over time, their embraces became more passionate, and Kagne wondered where he could find a more private spot to make love to the girl. To his hot relief, Reija whispered to him that her room was in one of the small shacks on the east side of the yard, right beside the temple’s rear wall. They crept quietly, hand in hand, sneaking past the few people who were cleaning up the kitchen area in the night. Kagne couldn’t tell if anyone noticed them, and he really didn’t care.

  Inside her tiny room, her bed was small, and she was just like the girls back in Tokivanu, firm and lithe but soft in the right places. They made love with silent abandon and then fell into a deep sleep in each other’s arms.

  The next morning, he awoke with sore muscles from the narrow bed but otherwise very happy. They made love again before Reija rose and returned with fruit and yesterday’s rice, rolled up in fist-sized balls. While they ate, Kagne asked her about her life and how she’d ended up in Tokolas.

  She smiled shyly at him and then brushed her hair while she told him her life story. Born in a small town not far from Betesek. Her father had been a local official, but as the revolt spread throughout the land, her father was denounced by a former servant who had earlier been beaten for stealing from the household. The Kitran needed nothing more than an accusation of disloyalty in order to make an example and cause fear in the town. Her father had been executed, and everything the family owned was confiscated. She had hidden inside a neighbor’s stable while her mother was casually ridden down on the street outside their former house by a Kitran horseman. The warhorse, trained to step on fallen enemies, had crushed her mother’s lungs with its rear hoof. She died a few hours later. This Reija related without much emotion, as though she had walled off all her feelings about these events, as though they had happened to someone else.

  She spent six months in the village, living at one house after another, but the empire’s soldiers came back with a new leader for the village, a man who learned about her and wanted to make her his slave. And so she had to flee the town at night, leaving her village, never looking back, heading east.

  “I…I did things to survive. I worked, and I was beaten, so I went to a new place. I was in a house with other girls…then one day I heard Lomis preaching in the street. Now he’s the high priest in Tokolas; he led the service yesterday. I ran to him and joined the followers of the Mavana. They rescued me from…from that house. I went to Fuseboni, then Sasuvi. Then here, a year ago. They gave me a place to stay and a reason to go on living.”

  She smiled wanly and then turned away and looked at the thin cloth that covered her tiny window. “You should know, I met a young man here at the temple. We were close. But three months ago, he went north to defend Kemeklos and protect the Radiant Prince. It’s been two months since I heard from him. One person said his unit saw heavy fighting outside the city, and only a few men survived. Another person said my…friend went missing after the city was surrounded. The little rabbit charm he gave me vanished three weeks ago. I think it must be a sign, a sign that he is gone.”

  Kagne stroked her hair and held her in the small room as the sun peered over the top of the temple building.

  That day, Reija showed him around the Red Swords’ operations. The Red Swords owned at least five other buildings near the temple. In one building, women were weaving carpets using wooden frames nearly ten feet tall. Wool, both dyed and undyed, was rolled up in balls or in baskets hanging along the sides of the walls. The quality carpets were sold for money; the rougher carpets were sent north for the soldiers. In another warehouse, which stank of smoke and blood, butchers worked, making smoked meat and sausages. In a third building, a palatial residence now in disrepair, men and women were creating armor using old pots and pans, beaten flat, cut into smaller pieces, and then pierced with holes around the edges. These metal pieces were then sewed onto leather shirts or pants. He could tell this crude armor didn’t compare to the armor the Knights of Serica wore, but it was easily assembled.

  Kagne was impressed. Everyone he saw was busy, and the dedication was pronounced in their eyes and in their speech to each other: few of them wasted any words. By the afternoon’s service, he felt a curious sort of longing, a desire to belong, to subsume his life in this project that seemed much more important than anything he was doing. It was obvious they wanted him to join, though he didn’t know why as his skills seemed less useful than those of the carpet weavers, armor makers, or butchers.

  During the service, he listened to the sound of the words but not the meaning. He looked at the faces of the people in the temple hall; excited, some chanted the words back at the leader with fervor, their neck muscles straining. The desire to belong was strong. To be part of a group, to have a purpose in life beyond that of just eating and sleeping.

  That night with Reija was better than the previous night.

  On the following day, word spread throughout the city that Lord Vaina was going to send an army north to rescue the Radiant Prince. The Red Swords were ecstatic; they were all smiling, holding hands, and chanting, “The Mavana is coming!” Several of the priests came over and thanked Kagne for the decision.

  Kagne hid his confusion behind a relaxed smile and nodded, answering their praise with banalities. Listening to the priests talk, he gradually learned that the civil officials were opposed to the Red Swords and wanted nothing to do with Kemeklos, while the military was eager to march north. Lord Vaina could not decide while his advisors were split. The stalemate was seemingly broken
by the Keltens’ thirst for fighting, and so Sandun was credited with having tipped the balance in favor of the attack. Kagne had no idea if this was true; Sandun had taken Ashala’s death hard and hadn’t spoken much in the weeks before his shocking announcement of his forthcoming marriage.

  At noon, official notices were posted on the gates of the city and on the news boards found in the center of every market square. A copy of the notice was passed around the Red Swords’ temple, and Lomis, the high priest, immediately organized a procession of the faithful through the streets of Tokolas, banging on drums and blowing noisy, buzzing horns. Kagne was part of the parade, walking beside Reija as she danced. People, men mostly, came up to Reija and simply handed her money. Kagne could understand why: she was almost glowing with joy, her smile as bright as the sun.

  As he walked through the streets with the Red Swords, he considered the implications. If the operation went badly, the Keltens might well be blamed for the decision. Were the Keltens going north to Kemeklos? Was he going north with them? Suddenly the words of Orinok rang in his mind: “You must go north and seek the True Master.” He felt a sudden chill, and his guts seemed to twist inside him. He felt in his bones that he was going to war.

  Reija noticed his change of expression, and she came up close to him, asking what was wrong.

  “It’s nothing,” he replied. “I need something to drink.”

  “You should dance more. You are just walking!” she told him with a joyful laugh.

  He wondered about her words; perhaps what she said was true in a deeper sense. Powerful forces were at play in the world, and perhaps he had made his decision two days ago when he gave a piece of silver to a girl with red silk ribbons on her arms.

  Promising to see Reija again, Kagne left the Red Swords parade and headed back to the embassy. He arrived for dinner and found a somber company eating at the main table.

  “Are we part of Lord Vaina’s army? Are we going north to fight the Kitran?” Kagne asked blithely.

  “Yes, we are, Kagne,” said Sir Ako firmly. “The Knights of Serica will ride north to do battle with the Sogands. They have tried to kill us, and now it’s our turn to repay the favor.”

  Lord Vaina came by the embassy the next day like a whirlwind. He thanked the Keltens individually for agreeing to join the campaign to Kemeklos and informed them they would be under his personal command. Then he left, his swarm of runners, bodyguards, and advisors trailing behind him.

  Sir Ako gathered everyone in the dining room for a debate on their plan for war. The facts were uncontested, and the case for going north to fight the Kitran was obvious. The only partially dissenting note came from Padan, who made it known that he had no sympathy for the Radiant Prince as he was nothing more than the leader of a false religion. Instead, Padan was going north solely for revenge. After an hour of talk, in which Kagne said little, Sir Ako switched the question to supplies. As far as he was concerned, there were two things to worry about: horses and arrows.

  “We need to get good horses now, and we need to keep them out of the hands of the Kunhalvar cavalry.” Sir Ako spoke with years of life in the army behind his words. “This is Sir Sandun’s responsibility. I want quality horses moved from Lord Vaina’s stables to this building as soon as possible.”

  Sandun nodded. He said that could be done.

  “As for arrows, each man should have five hundred good arrows ready.”

  “At least five hundred,” chimed in Farrel.

  “A thousand would be best. Since we are following a river, storage and transport should not be a problem. As we know, the arrows the Serice provide for their soldiers are crap, so we will have to make our own or hire capable fletchers to make them for us.”

  Valo Peli offered the services of his clansmen for arrow making. “All but one of my kinsmen are staying here to defend my family and the women at the embassy. The youngest is my new bodyguard, and he will accompany me north.”

  Kagne raised an eyebrow at that statement. Ever since Wiyat and Lathe had been selected to return to Kelten, there had been talk that Lathe should join the Knights of Serica in some capacity. Lathe had begun accompanying them on their weekly trips to the temple, and last week he said he was willing to acknowledge Sho’Ash as his god.

  That Lathe’s hopes for Valo Peli’s daughter, Alina, had been dashed shortly after she recovered from the poison was common knowledge inside the embassy. Kagne felt sad for the young man. He liked him—everyone liked him—and now that Lathe used shortswords instead of sticks, he had become one of the best fighters in hand-to-hand combat. Still, there was no accounting for a woman’s taste in men, and for whatever reason, Alina had rejected Lathe quite firmly.

  Valo Peli’s opinion on the matter of his disciple leaving him was hard to know; Kagne found Valo Peli difficult to read. Kagne knew that Valo Peli didn’t think well of the priests of Eston nor the Kulkasen nor the Red Swords. He suspected the older man thought the religion of Sho’Ash was equally spurious but probably refrained from any criticism as he had sworn to assist Sandun and the Keltens.

  Now that Kagne knew what the other Keltens were doing for the next month—training and arrow making—he climbed a ladder to reach the roof of the embassy and sat in the shade of the chimney, looking east over the city that surrounded them. What should he do? He didn’t mind using the lousy arrows of the Kunhalvar army—better arrows wouldn’t make him a better archer. He was an average archer, and ordinary arrows were appropriate.

  He could spend the next four weeks training to become a better warrior, but he believed he was good enough already. He and the other Keltens would be traveling and fighting with thousands of other men, so his skills would hardly matter in the success or failure of the army. Since they were going north to save Kemeklos, he found he wanted to learn more about the Red Swords. That among their number was a beautiful woman whose shape and smell came into his mind frequently—yes, his attraction for Reija played a role in his decision, and there was no need to deny it.

  Kagne went down to the courtyard and put on some armor. After an hour of vigorous knife sparring with Lathe, he announced that he was off to see a girl. Damar took off his helmet and said the same.

  “Now we know where you have been the last few days,” Basil said to Kagne. There was some good-natured ribbing from the other men and then low whistles when he told them she was a member of the Red Swords. Padan frowned and muttered under his breath.

  Outside the embassy, Damar said, “Sho’Ash be with you, Kagne.”

  “And with you, Sir Damar. Will your warrior woman join us on the northern campaign?”

  “I aim to find out.”

  “Strange days for us all,” Kagne said.

  “Aye.” Damar turned and walked east. Kagne headed the opposite direction.

  For the next week, Kagne spent most of his time with the Red Swords. Reija went out nearly every day to different parts of the city collecting money and donations and sometimes gathering a new follower. At first, Kagne went with her, and he banged on a drum while she and the other girls danced through the crowds, her dark hair flying, her feet kicking up dust and bits of straw into the sweltering summer air.

  The city was alive with a heady mix of emotions. Excitement was in the air, in the water, even in the afternoon sky as thunderclouds appeared almost every day for an hour before sunset. The Red Swords were utterly convinced that the Mavana would appear and drive the Kitran away without so much as an arrow fired. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and, Kagne had to admit, it was much better to take the offensive than to wait for enemies to come to your walls.

  So many people gave goods to them that the area behind the temple became positively dangerous, a veritable maze of boxes fitted into precariously balanced stacks. Kagne spent two whole days trying to organize the donations that swept in, just like a strong tide carried long, tangled strings of kelp from Kelten’s ocean onto the
shore.

  Tolis took Kagne aside one morning and asked him if he knew someone in the Ministry of War. Kagne said he only knew the junior minister of Rituals.

  “That will have to do,” Tolis said, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “We need someone who can talk to them! The situation is beyond absurd. We are doing the same thing, we want the same thing, yet the officials are fighting us at every turn.”

  “Father Tolis, please tell me what your trouble is.”

  Briefly, Tolis explained that before the announced rescue of Kemeklos, the Red Swords had set up a supply system of boats and barges that traveled about a day upriver. Then the supplies were unloaded, and the boats would float downriver on the second day. They had a string of such stations and supply depots all the way up to the edge of the Kitran forces. From there, they had to smuggle goods into Kemeklos by secret paths and by bribes.

  “But now, the officials from the Ministry of War are taking all our boats, disrupting our supply network. Our goods are piling up here, as you know.” Tolis shook his fist at the towers of boxes. “We can’t get them to Kemeklos, yet our brothers need the supplies: food, medicine, weapons, and armor! To heap dung upon rice, the boats they have taken from us are just sitting idle; the army isn’t leaving for at least three weeks.”

  “I understand,” said Kagne. He felt confident this was a problem he could solve. “If you can spare a couple of hours, let’s go to the ministry and see if we can’t fix this.”

  “I’m needed in all eight directions, but this is the most pressing issue,” Tolis replied.

  On the way, the two men came up with a plan for registering the Red Swords’ boats and getting an accurate count of sizes and numbers. With this information, the ministry would be able to make plans without having to keep the watercraft under direct supervision.