The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  With no further role to play, Miri thought about returning to the inn, but she was not tired at all. So she followed Sorst as he went to the city walls and talked to the soldiers. From the top of Marsolil’s west gate, which by oil lamp light seemed to be a rather crude structure made of rough-cut logs, her gaze was drawn to flashing lights in the trees. The clouds of the evening had vanished, driven down the river valley by wind from the hills above the town. Speedily she realized the lights came from a host of fireflies, flickering on and off, like cold sparks from an oddly silent forge.

  Miri had seen fireflies before, in the marshlands near the river, southwest of Birumaz, but never in such numbers as this. When she had first seen them, her mother told her that the fireflies were spirits, waiting to be born as humans. But here there were so many. People were reborn as people, unless they committed some terrible crime. All these fireflies—how long would they have to wait to become human? Thousands of years? To be born and then die, over and over again, just flashing in the night. The thought made her melancholy, and the silence was eerie, as though she were looking at something very far away, like stars, soundlessly wheeling in their circular progress above the world.

  Sorst came up beside her as she stood staring out at the ever-changing lights.

  “They have been putting on a show like this ever since we arrived here,” he said quietly. “Townsfolk say it will soon come to an end, quite suddenly. You are lucky to see it.” He paused and then said, “Though we may all pay a high price for the vision.”

  “Why do the creatures flash for a few weeks and then stop?” Miri asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sorst admitted easily. “The Rutal-lil do not study such things. I can say this to you: the fireflies warn us not at all. A dozen men, a hundred, could be approaching across the fields and through those trees, and I could not tell. See that patch over there? Is it dark there because soldiers are hidden and scaring away the fireflies? Or is it simply that the fireflies are not there for reasons of their own? They are useless creatures.”

  Miri could smell Sorst; he reeked of horse. She thought he was very different from Jay and Ven, who never showed up at Birumaz with a hair out of place and were always dressed in fine silks and freshly bathed. She found his odor off putting, but his scent lingered in her nose when he had left to inspect the guards at the river gate.

  Eventually the flickering lights calmed her down, and she realized she was tired after all. With extra caution, knowing she could easily stumble and break her neck in the darkness, Miri made her way down the uneven stairs and along the dark street, back to the inn at the center of town. Inside her room she found Diasu already asleep on the small bed. When Miri got under the covers, Diasu made as if to get out and sleep on the floor, but Miri told her to stay and held her for warmth.

  Miri woke to the sound of the wooden alarm being struck. Their room was at the north end of the inn, with shuttered windows on three walls. Still wearing her light silk robe, she got up from the bed and lifted the latch to the east window, which looked out over the central square.

  Sorst stood on a set of boxes in front of the official’s residence. A soldier banged on the town alarm with a wooden mallet. At least fifty soldiers were standing in front of the residence. They were armed and armored, wearing the Birumaz colors and carrying the distinctive Birumaz spear with its crescent blade on one side. Townspeople were coming into the square from all directions.

  Diasu appeared with hot water, so Miri took off her clothes and washed her body while the window stayed slightly open. She was combing her long black hair when Sorst began speaking. There was nothing unexpected in what he said except his statement that Town Official Mohke was unwell and the official’s residence would remain closed for several days. Miri would have accused the man of being a traitorous coward who wanted to invite the Kitran into Marsolil to do what they willed, as the truth of that charge would eventually be revealed. But perhaps Official Mohke had a change of heart or really had fallen ill in the night? No, she guessed that was a lie.

  Men and women lied about different things, Miri thought to herself. Men lied to preserve their honor or the reputation of other men, while women lied about who they liked. If a woman said she liked a man, seven times out of eight she had no such feelings but was trying to see what sort of reaction her statement provoked.

  Sorst concluded his speech by telling the people that help was on the way and that “the runner of Lady Kirdar has been sent to summon the Scythe to aid us.” Ending on that hopeful note brought out a few cheers. There was no outcry to see Official Mohke. Miri wondered: How did Sorst know she had sent off her runner? But then, the runner boy had to leave via the south gate; no doubt one of the soldiers there had talked about it.

  As she looked at Sorst, standing up in front of the men, giving orders, she wondered at her own feelings. She felt an attraction, but it was absurd at every level, as the Rutal-lil never married, or almost never. And she had, she reminded herself, a future husband. When her father was recalled from the north, an event that seemed more likely every month, her wedding would go ahead as planned. There was no chance she would ever have relations with a Rutal-lil. She was not a courtesan nor one of the witch women who sought out heroes and slept with them, sharing their mystic energy.

  Miri chastised herself for her impure thoughts. Just yesterday she was thinking of following her nana’s footsteps and shaving her head to devote her time to prayer and meditation. And now she was thinking of, what? Being held by a man?

  “Are we going to see the abbess this afternoon as she asked?” Diasu’s question broke upon Miri’s reverie like blast of chilly air.

  “I don’t see why not. It would be rude not to. What can we do to help defend the city?”

  “We could make bandages, help cook rice, mend torn cloaks. Isn’t that what women do when towns are besieged?”

  “We could sing inspirational songs, like in the stories about the Great Revolt.” Miri smiled. Diasu was very practical, a true shopkeeper’s daughter. “No, I have to see my grandmother, but you can stay and help. Ekon knows I myself have little desire to listen for hours about The Book of Air. It’s one of the easiest texts to understand.”

  “Thank you, mistress. I’ll walk with you to the nunnery and then return to town. The innkeeper’s wife may use an extra pair of hands. I should think the door warden of Eternal Benevolence can escort you back after dinner.”

  After lunch, Miri, dressed in a very simple pale-yellow silk robe and walked up the streets to the nunnery again. As they approached the sacred gate, Diasu said, “Mistress, perhaps you should ask the abbess about staying in the nunnery, despite her words against such an act. It may be safer there, if the town is attacked.”

  “If it comes to that, you must come with me. I will not hide here while you are risking your life in the town.”

  “Mistress, you are of House Kirdar,” Diasu said as though that explained everything.

  “You will do as I say. If the abbess invites me to stay, and if I accept, you will stay with me.”

  The afternoon proved as dull as Miri had expected. Sister Clear Skies was an old woman from the countryside, and her accent was thick and hard to follow. As to what Miri could comprehend, it was banal, obvious upon a moment’s reflection. Miri had heard it many times before. During the afternoon, her grandmother made no mention of events going on in the town. It was as though the nunnery were in its own world, only sharing the sunlight and air with the world of illusion outside the walls.

  Despite her best efforts, the world of illusion was very much on Miri’s mind all afternoon. With luck, the runner boy would have found the Scythe by now. Would they come? Not if they were fighting, and not if they didn’t think the Kitran threat to Marsolil was real. How did she know the threat was real? She had acted on impulse, not evidence. Maybe Sorst and his warriors were jumping at ghosts? The two old women that she listened to seem
ed to be unafraid, calm. Miri tried to still her mind, silence her thoughts, contemplate the true words of Ekon. But she could not. After three hours, she wanted to jump up and run around.

  “Abbess, Sister Clear Skies, I thank you for your words and teaching today.” Miri said this with as calm and even a voice as she could. “Although you offered dinner yesterday, I find I must leave this place of serenity and return to the outside world.”

  Her grandmother looked disappointed. “The food the novices have prepared is simple fare: bean curd, flavored rice, vegetables in a lightly spiced soup. You are welcome to join us, but I have no doubt there are eggs and meat to be found in the town.”

  “Abbess…Grandmother, the town may come under attack this night or tomorrow.”

  “I have heard this, child. It is of no concern to any of us here. We harm no one, and we do not go beyond these walls. We will pray that Ekon’s mercy will fill all hearts with peace and nondesire.”

  Thanking them again, very politely, she bowed her way out of the nunnery.

  Standing outside the gate, Miri took in a few deep breaths. She thought of her father’s words just before he left for the north. That day, she had brought him the monthly news sheet printed by House Kirdar. It contained brief notes about recent events in Shila and reports from merchants who had arrived from Serica or Budin. There was a single sentence report of a monastery that had been burned down by Kitran soldiers for harboring seditious criminals. Her father had told her, “Many monks of Ekon say they are not interested in war, but war is interested in them just the same.”

  Was the Nunnery of Eternal Benevolence safe? If the Kitran soldiers attacked Marsolil, if they captured the city, would they leave the nunnery alone? Could she hide here? Should she?

  Miri looked around her. The nunnery was built at the highest part of the town, a steep hill behind it blocking the view to the north. She could see the flags of Birumaz flying defiantly from each of the gate towers. No one was entering or leaving the town. To the east, was that a cloud of dust? Was it Kitran cavalry approaching? A thrill of fear caused her heart to start beating like the town alarm. Without waiting for the old nunnery gate guard to escort her back to the inn, she went down the hill, walking faster than would be considered appropriate for a lady.

  As she neared the town square, the alarm did start beating; it wasn’t just her heart. On the walls at each of the gates, drums beat out signals in response. People came out of their houses, men and women and children talking in excited or frightened voices. Miri had to force herself to maintain a dignified pace, but she found her mouth was dry, and her scalp suddenly itched as though lice eggs had hatched; she shuddered at the thought. Now that the Kitran raiders were at the gates, now that it was too late to leave, she felt scared. I must not show it. The women of House Kirdar are equal to any circumstance, good or bad.

  At the inn, she found Diasu, looking very much like a shopgirl with her sleeves rolled up and her hair wrapped in a piece of cloth; even her face was smudged with rice flour. Obviously, she had been cooking all afternoon.

  “Mistress! What’s going on? Why aren’t you at the nunnery?” Diasu wiped her face with a rag and unrolled her sleeves.

  Miri explained that she couldn’t stay and told her she had seen a cloud of dust to the east, just before the alarm was sounded.

  Diasu said, “The men won’t tell us anything. They just rush in, grab food, and leave. Maybe you could find out what is happening?”

  Miri accepted a cup of hot tea, which tasted more like barley water but was welcome nonetheless. While she could hole up in her room like a mouse, there was another role she could play: the princess inspiring the troops. Like Princess Juksora, in the final days of the Great Revolt, walking the walls of Birumaz, indifferent to the flying arrows. Yes, she could do that, but first she would have to change.

  Upstairs, she found her finest dress at the bottom of her trunk. She didn’t know why it had been packed. Perhaps in case one of the princes from House Tols happened by? She took it out and admired the colors and the gold-embroidered clouds floating amid purple irises. She had no princess headdress to wear, but then, she wasn’t a princess, just a middle-ranked daughter of House Kirdar. She put the dress on and did up her hair by herself, in a simple style since Diasu was not available to help. Miri looked at her fingernails with a sigh. They hardly had any orange color to them; she hadn’t dyed them earlier, out of respect for her grandmother. Well, there was no fixing that now.

  Downstairs, Diasu was visibly impressed. “Wait, wait! I must come with you. You can’t walk alone dressed like that. People will think you are an actress or a courtesan from Sorabol.” Diasu ran upstairs and came back down wearing a more dignified outer robe and carrying her parasol. With Diasu just a little behind, Miri went out and walked to the commander’s tent, which had been set up in front of the official’s residence.

  Miri knew that she was noticed as she walked across the town square. It’s like they have never seen a highborn woman before. Several men bowed to her; most women looked down or away. Behind her, she heard people saying she was the lady of House Kirdar; a few people said she was very beautiful. Miri knew she wasn’t considered the premier beauty in Birumaz, nor was beauty the most important quality a woman of House Kirdar possessed—that would be bone rank. Regardless, she walked as though she were dancing, holding her face expressionless as she had been taught.

  The men guarding the tent saluted her as she halted before them.

  “I’d like to speak to the commander,” she told them.

  To her disappointment, Sorst was not present. Instead, she was introduced to a Captain Ronant, an older veteran no taller than herself, missing his left ear and with an old scar on his chin only partly covered by a grizzled beard.

  “Lady Kirdar, I gather we have you to thank for the irregular and unauthorized removal of the Official in Residence, Mohke.”

  His tone was not exactly respectful, but Miri kept her chin up and simply said, “Yes.”

  “As you correctly surmised, he was a coward. Like we say in the south, he would have sold us all to Budin pirates for a bag of rice. We may burn in hell for this later, but Vice Commander Sorst made the correct decision.” The captain picked up a document from the table in front of him and set it down again. “The report of the event now says I approved of Mohke’s removal an hour before sunset.”

  Miri understood what Captain Ronant had done, and she gave him a brief smile.

  “As you doubtless noticed, I was out of the town yesterday, gathering information along the east road. Luckily for my men and me, we were talking to a farmer in his hut when the Kitran cavalry rode past.”

  “How did you get back into Marsolil?” Miri said with real surprise.

  “Two of my rangers were local boys; they knew a path. We sneaked in around noon today. Four hundred and fifty cavalry are not enough to completely surround this town.”

  “The Kitran have been here since noon?”

  “Exactly. They formed a loose ring around the city and have been drawing closer without drawing attention. Quite skillfully done.” The captain picked up his helmet, saying, “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?”

  “What can I do?” Miri replied.

  The captain stopped short and looked at her intently; then he nodded. “I was just going to inspect the troops. Perhaps you would—ah—accompany me?”

  Miri nodded, and so she and Diasu and one of the commander’s guards walked over to the east gate. As they left the central square, Captain Ronant talked to her in a less formal manner. “Your father, he was in command of the navy yard?”

  “He was.”

  “Never met the man, but news travels through the officer ranks. What happened to him…very funny given what has gone down over the last two years.”

  “It was a grave injustice.”

  “We all agree. You know, t
he navy has always been more focused on the pirates out of Budin. They don’t see…well, most of them don’t see what’s happening on land. What the Kitran have become: weak. And concealing their weakness with increasing viciousness. This attack on the town…mark my words, the Kitran are out for blood. They aim to send a message written in fire.”

  Sorst was at the east gate; Miri’s heart beat faster when she saw him. However, she allowed herself only a small smile when he looked at her. She made it a point to greet each of the men at the gate, several of whom had been with Sorst the previous night when the town official had been removed.

  One young man, about her age, was looking a bit scared. She asked him his name and where he was from and told him he looked very handsome in his armor. This was a lie, but she told it well. He visibly grew under her attention, holding himself straighter, gripping his spear with more determination.

  At the south gate, Miri saw that few of the men had armor, and most didn’t look like soldiers at all. Talking to the men, she found that they were local farmers and townsmen. She deliberately mentioned that her grandmother, now abbess at the nunnery, was from the area and that Marsolil’s liberation was important news in Birumaz. This was an exaggeration, but a harmless one.

  “Aye, Marsolil has been loyal to Birumaz for centuries. We are more loyal than all the other towns around here,” one farmer stated while he twirled a man-sized mattock around with an ease born of decades of use. He was showing off for her, as so many men did. Miri kept her face expressionless, like a mask, although she thought it was humorous.

  As they walked to the east gate, Miri asked Captain Ronant how many regular soldiers he had.

  “Fifty-two,” he said with some strain in his voice. “Used to have twice that number till a week past, when I sent fifty men to the village up by the lake. Bandit trouble.”