The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  Feeling the need to stretch her legs, Miri followed Diasu up the streets to the nunnery. Diasu had accompanied Miri’s mother on a visit to see her grandmother two years past, so she knew the way. Miri was also mindful of the impression it would give if she rode up in the carriage to the nunnery gate; this was a time for humility. She carried a modest-looking package of silver bars in one hand, a donation to the nunnery from the family. Diasu carried the small green-stone statue of Ekon, carefully wrapped in yellow paper, and a folded parasol over her shoulder, unneeded as the afternoon had turned overcast and a low fog hung over the hills to the north.

  Ten minutes’ walk brought the two women to the gates of the nunnery. The gate warden, an old bent-backed man with several missing teeth, bowed to them.

  “You must be the young Kirdar lady, come to see the abbess?”

  “I am. Please tell the abbess that her former granddaughter has come to pay her respects.”

  “Wait, please. The abbess is a most holy woman who is often deep in meditation in the afternoon.”

  The warden was in charge of the outer lock during the day; the mechanism was solid, made of iron, and painted red. He pushed the bent metal opener into the lock while it scraped and grated. With the outer lock removed, the warden held the nunnery door open while he told the two women they could wait in the antechamber.

  The white-walled chamber was very simple, with a painting of Ekon sitting in a forest glade on one side and a finely written page of text in the old script hanging on the opposite side. Miri took the wrapped gift from Diasu’s hands and sat there patiently, listening. There were hardly any sounds: a sparrow chirping, a fly buzzing. Peaceful, but she felt a growing unease. If the Kitran Nakovit had ordered an attack on a rebel town, would not Marsolil be a logical target? It was a crossroads and, as her father liked to say, a counterattack is often the best offense. She forced herself to remain motionless, though she wanted to walk around the nunnery.

  Finally, her grandmother came to the doorway. Her bald head was partly covered with a stiff green silk hat indicating her rank. To Miri, her nana looked older, more stooped, her wrinkled face sagging, her lips pale. Miri realized the abbess was not wearing any face paint; she was just like a common woman.

  Miri and Diasu stood while the abbess took Diasu’s chair.

  “My former son’s eldest daughter has come from Birumaz to see me. You have grown, child. You have turned into a beautiful young woman but are not yet married. I try not to let the doings in the outside world enter my thoughts, but I pray for my son.” She briefly held her hands together in front of her face and then put them back on her lap.

  “Abbess, I brought the nunnery a donation of silver from the family, and a gift for you. You are daily in our thoughts. You are…missed.” Miri handed over the package of silver and then the wrapped statue. The old woman set the money aside but took the statue out from the paper and held it up in the afternoon light, looking carefully at the face of Ekon.

  “I accept the silver on behalf of the nunnery with gratitude,” the abbess said. “Please convey my blessings to all my former children. This statue of Ekon carries with it worthy thoughts and feelings, so I will bring it to my chambers and pray to it every day. But now, where are you staying?”

  “Grandmother, a room has been rented in the inn down the street, not far from the official’s building.”

  “That is good. This nunnery has long followed the strict rule: only women who have taken the vows and their novitiates are allowed to stay here. You aren’t thinking of becoming a novice, are you?”

  Miri shook her head.

  “That is well, though we have several young novices here now. I try to discourage them from taking vows. It is better to live and see life’s suffering firsthand before seeking to purify the soul. But each person must choose their own path. Shall the blind lead the blind?” The abbess shut her eyes and put her index finger on her forehead, a gesture Miri had never seen before.

  “You came a long way to see me, and you saw trees and rocks on your journey. This reminds you that the world is bigger than your imagination. The size of the world reminds us of Ekon’s infinite mercy. That we see the same things wherever we go—forests, hills, lakes, and clouds—this offers proof that the world is an illusion. A distraction from the true path.”

  The old woman’s voice faded away, and she did not open her eyes. The room again became silent. Miri thought, She is very frail. A return to Birumaz might not be wise. Miri’s stomach rumbled, and she was suddenly aware that she was hungry.

  Her grandmother woke up and said, “The body has needs. As I did not know precisely when you would arrive, it is best that you go and eat in the town. Tomorrow, after noon, return, and Sister Clear Skies will talk to us about The Book of Air. After that, we will have a special meal prepared by the novices. It is good to see you, my child.” The abbess smiled and, for a moment, Miri was looking up at her grandmother from a decade past, when the world was untroubled.

  She bowed to the abbess and said they would return the next day.

  Outside, the fog had descended from the hills, and the air had turned chilly. The red-colored sacred arch with its row of spikes along the top beam assumed an ominous look as the two women walked down the path and under the archway.

  “We are spending the night?” Diasu said.

  “We are. House Kirdar does not turn and run at rumors in fog. Though I wish I had brought my cloak with me. My dress must be dried carefully before it is packed away.”

  “Yes, mistress,” Diasu replied.

  Back at the inn, they had to eat in the common room. The innkeeper was distracted, and his staff were constantly coming in and out of the building. Other townsfolk came in the room and stayed, discussing grave matters with each other in hushed voices. The runner boy was allowed to eat beside them as the other tables were covered with bundles of arrows and pieces of armor. After what Miri thought was a very poorly cooked meal, a group of soldiers came in to discuss news with the townsfolk. To Miri’s surprise, she recognized one of the soldiers when he took off his helmet. He had accompanied Jay and Ven on a recent recruitment drive less than a year ago. Miri squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to remember his name, and then it came to her: Sorst.

  She stood up and looked at him; he glanced her way and immediately knew her. He lost no time in striding over to the table, his tall frame blocking the light from the oil lamp hanging in the center of the room. “Lady Kirdar?” he said, his voice rough. “What brings you to this place? If I may ask.”

  She noticed he hadn’t shaved, and he smelled like wet horse.

  “Sorst? Of the Rutal-lil?”

  He nodded. “The same. I don’t suppose you have a company of House Kirdar guards coming along behind you as an escort?”

  “No. Just my servants. I’m visiting my grandmother. I arrived this afternoon.”

  “Your grandmother? Here?”

  “She is the abbess of the Nunnery of Eternal Benevolence.”

  “I see. The reputation of that nunnery for its impeccable virtue is well justified,” Sorst said. “I know nothing about the women inside it. Speaking of your family, you wouldn’t know where Jay and Ven are? Please forgive the question if the answer is hidden.”

  “I can tell you,” Miri replied. “The Scythe is operating near Gial. I believe they are with it.”

  Sorst scratched at his cheek. “That fits with what I have heard, so it must be true. Would that they were closer.”

  Miri gestured to an empty seat near the table. “Sit down, Sorst, and tell me what is going on.”

  He looked at her curiously for a few seconds and then did as she bade and took a seat.

  “Since your grandmother has renounced the world, you are the only member of House Kirdar in this town.”

  Miri felt her throat tighten, and she put some effort into making her voice steady. “And wha
t of the official in residence?”

  “He is local born, and as the day’s events have proven, a spineless fool. He urges surrender. The innkeeper now is the unofficial voice of the resistance. But if the official in charge will not order the people to fight, the garrison will not stay to be rounded up by the Kitran.”

  Surrender? Miri was shocked. There was no surrender. The campaign to free the lands around Birumaz from the Kitran didn’t give up towns that had been liberated. Not without a fight to the bitter end.

  “The stories of a Kitran division coming to attack Marsolil are not just rumors, then? How far away are they?”

  Sorst shrugged. “Who can say? It’s not an army, it’s a raid. Only a few reports are what I consider reliable. Perhaps they are just scouting. Perhaps they are going south to reinforce Gial. Perhaps they are just well-armed bandits and not Kitran cavalry at all. But they are close. I guess there are four hundred of them, and they are less than a day’s ride away.”

  Two more soldiers came over and stood by Sorst while he talked. He introduced her as Lady Miri of House Kirdar, the cousin of Jay and Ven Kirdar. The soldiers nodded and touched their hands to their heads, almost as though they were saluting her.

  Miri understood their reaction. House Kirdar had ruled in Birumaz for hundreds of years. Even though she was a woman, when no men of the house were present, the assumption was she would lead. She was of House Kirdar. Miri had been taught this fact from an early age by her family, and it had been reinforced in the way other people in the city of Birumaz reacted to her when she stepped out of her house. Now, she expected it of herself. Ever since the spirit fish had told her she would marry a great man, she had imagined her future role. A general’s wife? A princess in Sorabol? An outstanding man will necessarily marry an equally worthy woman, Miri had told herself at night before she slept. Consequently, she held herself very straight—like a spear, as her father had told her.

  “I say there is to be no talk of surrender. The Scythe freed this town from the Kitran and their lackeys. We are not giving it back.” Miri uttered the words, which came so easily to her lips, while she looked around at the soldiers. They nodded in agreement, implicitly accepting her authority.

  “What of the town official?” said Sorst.

  “How many of the soldiers will support a military assumption of control?” Miri responded. What she’d just said was dangerous, though perhaps not for her. Usurpation of civilian authority—she had heard it discussed when her father was removed from his post.

  Sorst looked at her steadily and said, “Forty, at least.”

  “More,” said one of the other soldiers. “None of us want to give up without a fight.”

  “Then go and gather men now, and do not let the coward spread his fear. I will come with you when you are ready to confront the town official. My grandmother, a former matriarch of House Kirdar, is the abbess of the nunnery here. If the Kitran retake this place, will they spare her? Marsolil must be held.” Or evacuated, she thought, but she pushed that idea aside.

  The soldiers followed Sorst out of the inn, all but one who stayed by the door with his sword drawn.

  Miri turned to her runner, who had correctly stayed silent. “Runner boy, what is your name?”

  “Ineba, my lady.”

  “Good. Now, Ineba, I want you to run as fast as you have ever run. Find the Scythe. I will write a note, and you will find the Scythe and give my message to Jay Kirdar or the commander. This town will be attacked. If the Scythe can come to its aid, that will mean a glorious victory; if not, they can avenge the dead. Should you succeed, you will be rewarded. Generously rewarded. Promoted into the house. Perhaps even Diasu will smile at you.”

  Ineba hurriedly slipped off his chair and went to his knees. “I…yes. I will run like the wind. As you command, my lady.”

  “Diasu, fetch me paper and a pen.” Her maid went off without looking at the runner boy, but he turned and watched her go past and then looked at Miri. There was a light in his eyes. I thought as much. Miri tried not to smile. She fished out her small money purse, which was on a cord around her neck and tangled in her inner robes. From within the purse she withdrew three small disks of silver and put them on the table in front of her. “Use this for buying food or ferry crossings on your mission. You can run at night?”

  “Yes, my lady. Runners run day or night.”

  “Good. Don’t get lost. When you get close to Gial, you will have to ask everyone you meet where the Scythe is camped.” Miri paused and then asked more gently, “You know how to get to Gial?”

  “I think so, my lady. It’s south of here.”

  “About 150 tik due south. How fast can you do that?”

  “I’ve never run that far in a day before, but I know I can do it. Some runners can go much faster and farther.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Miri. “The king’s runners. They train for ten years or more. You are not in their company, yet.”

  Diasu returned, and Miri swiftly wrote a brief plea for aid, using Sorst’s estimates for the numbers of the enemy. She stamped the note with her seal and folded it using a special fold so it could only be opened by tearing a bit of the paper. Handing it to Ineba, she said, “Go now, with Ekon’s blessings. Do not fail us.”

  Ineba took the letter and the money and hid them both in his wallet, which was tied around his waist. At the door, he turned to look at the two young women. Diasu raised her hand for a moment and then set it in her lap.

  “You could have at least smiled at the runner boy,” Miri said to Diasu after he had gone.

  “Mistress, he is just a peasant.”

  “Don’t put on airs, Diasu. Your family runs a rice stall in the east market, and your grandfather still works a farm south of Birumaz. The runner boy is decent looking. If he grows taller, with some new clothes and some polish from working inside the house, you may be the one wishing he would smile at you.”

  Diasu sniffed. “I suppose more unlikely things have happened.”

  “Now, help me change. If I’m going to help a military usurpation, I need to look elegant.”

  Half an hour later, Sorst returned with about twenty soldiers and introduced Miri to his men. Miri said the same thing she had said before, in a carefully controlled voice. The soldiers seemed to agree with her words. It was decided: there would be no delay, no hesitation. Sorst led them out of the inn, and Miri walked with them near the end of the line of warriors, leaving Diasu behind.

  Miri had thought through the implications of what she was doing, and the risk was real. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was giving her support to this mutiny. Perhaps it was from years of listening to the stories of Jay and Ven. Perhaps it was the example of her own father. She knew the war against the Kitran was serious and represented a terrible risk to House Kirdar if it went awry. The worst case had King Olvin leading the royal army against Birumaz.

  So far, though, the revolt had been a success. The Kitran response had been weak, anemic even, and the king, sitting in his palace in Sorobal, had made no moves against House Kirdar’s secret army. There was even talk of a national revolt against the Kitran, emboldened by the success of Birumaz. This was the time for decisive acts, Miri thought. This was a time for heroes to make a stand. And if it all went keels up, as her father liked to say…well, there was always another life. As the priests of Ekon kept repeating: you suffered in life, you died, and then you were reborn. A cycle of ages until true understanding.

  The gate of the official’s residence was shut, so the warriors forced it open with iron bars. Inside, the guards surrendered readily at Sorst’s barked command, and then he and his men entered the living quarters. His soldiers crowded into the main hall, their swords drawn.

  “Official Mohke, you are hereby relieved of your authority over Marsolil,” Sorst thundered. “Yield your badge of office without complaint. No one will be harmed if you obey
without delay.”

  The town official, an older man with graying hair and a long beard, came out from an inner room and faced them alone. His hat was askew, and he looked furtively from side to side. “By what…by whose authority do you relieve me?”

  “By the authority of Lady Miri of House Kirdar.”

  Miri stepped forward. “I am Miri of House Kirdar. My grandmother is the abbess of the Nunnery of Eternal Benevolence. Marsolil will not be conceded to the Kitran. It was freed by the army of House Kirdar, and it shall be defended at any cost.”

  Town Official Mohke looked at her in confusion and said, “Do you bring orders from Birumaz? Why was I not informed when you arrived?”

  Miri was not daunted by his question. “This man, Sorst of the Rutal-lil, says you counseled surrender of this town. Do you deny this? I tell you, Marsolil must not fall back into the hands of the Kitran.”

  Realizing she had no orders, Mohke offered a brief spark of resistance. “I was appointed by the governor of the province. You have no authority. Aren’t you the daughter of a disgraced member of the house? What gives you the right to order me, in the name of House Kirdar? Regardless, a thousand Kitran cavalry are coming to attack this town. We have no choice but to surrender; we are outnumbered twenty to one. I will not see my town destroyed just because a girl of House Kirdar has heroic delusions.”

  Sorst pointed his mailed hand at the official. “You admit your cowardice! You were appointed to govern this town, not hand it over to the Kitran at the rumor of their arrival! Arrest this man and confine him under constant guard to one of the servant houses. I hereby declare martial law to be in effect. Marsolil is now under military command.”

  Two of Sorst’s companions seized hold of the official; ignoring his protests, they ripped his medallion of office from his neck and took him out back.

  “Is there a scribe here?” Sorst said loudly. A young scribe appeared, looking pale but with pen and paper in hand. “Record what has happened. But first, find the chief of the civil staff and inform him this office is closed for at least a week. Tomorrow, the people will need to be told what has been done. In the meantime, we must make ready the defenses.”