Die for the Flame (18 page)

Neevan thought of Clarian from time to time. She hadn’t forgotten that night in the forest, nor the touch of his warm, strong hand as they shook hands at the end of the war. She knew she should hate him as an enemy, but she didn’t really hate any Karran. And she knew she shouldn’t be thinking of him at all, much less thinking of his strange, blue eyes and thick, brown hair. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

As spring approached, Ferman announced that he would travel to the Drumaggan stronghold to visit and meet face-to-face with Sassanan, their Flamekeeper. A large traveling group made up of Ferman, key officers, city officials, and the Maggan’s new Flamekeeper, Zefran, prepared to journey to the land of the Drumaggan. Neevan was excited to be invited and longed to see again the city of the Drumaggan, which she had told everyone was spectacular.

The long wagon train with many outriders left on a dark night and began the trek to the northeast, first through the forest and then into the wilderness lands earlier traveled by Neevan and her cohort. Ferman was in a good humor, joking and telling stories, before they all retired to tents and shelters during the daylight hours.

Neevan often rode with the Drumaggan escort, and she enjoyed their pleasant manner. She learned from them that they had long ago conquered all the neighboring areas and held a secure realm without any threat from other peoples in adjacent lands. They did not allow traders to travel far into their land and never to their city but nevertheless conducted trading at the boundaries of their land. For the most part, they were self-sufficient and depended on the vast forest lands for sustenance, clearing farm land and pasture where needed and remaining safe and secure in their city caverns within a great mountain.

The wagon train went slower than the group would have traveled by horseback. After a week, the trail, which was now becoming a traveled road, entered a great forest under giant trees not unlike the trees of the Maggan. There was a heavy smell of foliage and decaying moss. There was no canopy to this forest, and these trees let in more light than the Forest of Darkness. Still, it was dim light and easy on the eyes of the travelers. The road was not wide, and wagons followed single file, snaking along for several days. The higher elevation brought colder days, causing everyone to wrap up and provoking some grumbling on the part of the soldiers.

At last they came upon cultivated fields and open pasture lands and a short distance away, they saw the rising cliffs of the Drumaggan—great, gray faces of rock towering at great heights above the forest floor. Within an hour a delegation of riders appeared to welcome Ferman and his people, and there was great shouting and joy. The riders escorted the Maggan, and more riders came to join in. It was well after midnight when the caravan arrived at the base of the cliffs and began a steep pull up a narrow road hewn out of rock across the face of the cliff. After several thousand paces, the road turned into the mouth of a gigantic cavern and leveled out. Standing all along the sides of the cavern were great crowds of Drumaggan people cheering and waving to their cousins, the Maggan.

Neevan was again amazed, as she had been on her first visit to the cavern. Inside the cave rose multilevel apartment buildings built from stone. The cavern was much bigger than that of her city, with narrow streets crisscrossing at floor level and wide stairways to homes built up against the walls. She and her soldiers were led farther into the dark recess, which widened and seemed to branch out into many chambers going off into the darkness. Lanterns hung at intervals along the streets to provide enough illumination to see in the dim light.

People leaned out of windows or stood on balconies waving and calling out friendly greetings and invitations to the Maggan, who were gratified and overcome with joy at the gracious welcome. Behind Neevan, Ferman stood in his horse-drawn wagon, waving his arms and smiling with delight at the attention. Eventually the procession stopped before a large, impressive building with wide steps that led up to a stone platform and great wooden doors. Standing there was Sassanan, the Drumaggan Flamekeeper.

Ferman stepped down from his wagon and walked up the steps, showing great dignity, followed by the Maggan Flamekeeper, into the open arms of Sassanan. He was then embraced by the Drumaggan army commander, Sulan. They turned and waved, to the roaring approval of the people. Neevan couldn’t hear what they were saying over the loud voices, but they soon gave final waves to the crowd and entered the building arm in arm.

Neevan was billeted in the female officers’ quarters located far back in a secondary chamber. The headquarters for the army was located there, along with a stable for a small number of horses. The majority of horses were kept down in the pastureland at the foot of the cliffs. There was no river here as there was in the caverns of the Maggan, but springs and seepage formed pools that were sufficient to meet the populace’s needs. The air inside was fresh, and Neevan was told that a chamber emerged on top of the cliffs that created a draft to pull air from the cavern entrance and out the top.

The shops were a source of entertainment to Neevan. The women of Drumaggan wore gold jewelry and jewelry with colored stones, something Maggan women did not wear except for earrings. Also, Drumaggan people wore heavier jackets made in different colors because of the elevation. The Maggan almost always wore black. Neevan purchased several gold bracelets and sets of earrings and some jackets and other clothes. She bought several gifts for her mother, including a blanket with a mountain motif woven into it.

The Drumaggan were a wealthy people, Neevan observed. They had extensive lands, including the vast forest that all the nocturnal people valued, but also lands that stretched a great distance beyond their forest. Orchards and vineyards and vegetable gardens dotted the valley floor. The Drumaggan had overwhelmed neighboring tribes and cultures, thereby extending their borders as a barrier against invasion. But it was generally accepted that no tribe warred against the Drumaggan because they were feared. They had not engaged in a war in many years, but their population was expanding. They were searching for another cavern in which to establish another city.

The Drumaggan themselves seldom ventured beyond their own lands, content to remain separate from the day dwellers. Over the many years, the Maggan and the Drumaggan had remained in contact through the occasional adventuresome traveler, but they had not had serious relations in anyone’s living memory. So this visit by Ferman and his leaders to Sassanan’s sanctuary was an extraordinary event. Much news was shared not only between Ferman and Sassanan but also among all the Maggan and their hosts.

After several weeks and many discussions among the leaders of both peoples, the two Flamekeepers called a high-level meeting of the leaders of the Maggan and Drumaggan people. The meeting was held in the Sacred Temple of the Flame. The temple was a large, gray stone structure several stories high within a cluster of smaller temple buildings set back from the entrance to the cavern in almost total darkness. A few lanterns burned along the main street of the city, which led up to the temple. It was after midnight as the attendees gathered in a great hall lit by candle sconces on the walls. Large wooden tables had been set up for the most important officials and benches in the back. The room filled with conversation as nearly five hundred guests found their way to their seats. Ferman, Sulan, Sassanan, and Zefran sat at the head table. Neevan sat at an adjoining table with lower-ranking Maggan and Drumaggan commanders.

Sassanan, a small white-haired patriarch, rose and tapped the table with his baton. “We Drumaggan welcome our cousins, the Maggan, to our land. All have heard of the vicious attack by the Karran upon their home. We, the people of the night, have long known that those who dwell in the daylight cannot be trusted and would erase us from the land if they could. Now faced with this unexpected aggression by the Karran under their new leader, the vicious Clarian, we must consider the safety of all our peoples. We all know the legend of the Flame. Long ago beyond memory, the Karran fought our people and captured the Flame and drove us into the forests. They keep the Flame for themselves, and we have over these countless eons of time been without the Sacred Flame of our ancestors. It is time this injustice is corrected. I ask my brother, Zefran, Flamekeeper of our Maggan brothers, to speak to you now.”

Sassanan sat down and Zefran, his silver hair and beard trimmed neatly, rose from his chair to address the group. He pulled himself up tall and puffed out his chest. “Only a few months ago our Flamekeeper was burned to death in our sacred temple by the Karran.”

The crowd began to mutter.

Shock registered on the faces of the Drumaggan, and within the Maggan renewed anger flared. “The sacred temple was torched and utterly destroyed. I barely escaped with my life. The elders appointed me the new Flamekeeper to carry on our religion and sacred teachings. But I tell you, my brothers and sisters, without the Flame in our possession, we are like night without the stars. You may ask, ‘What need to have we of the Flame that we should fight for it, even die for it?’ It is because the Flame speaks to the Flamekeeper and guides the lives of the people. It is our protection against evil like the Karran. We
must
regain the Flame!”

He sat down to thunderous applause, calls for the Flame, and pounding on the table by the soldiers. Ferman, wrapped in a blue Drumaggan cloak, sat regally at the head table next to Sassanan, whose long, gray hair fell upon his shoulders, his gray beard luxuriant upon his chest. He nodded his approval to the roar of the crowd.

Sassanan again rose to his feet and raised his hand for quiet. He was an old man held in great regard by all. “The safety and the future of our peoples are at stake. And the Flame is at the heart of it all. No daylighter shall hold the Flame—not the Flame that is ours by right and by all that is sacred. Let this be our covenant!”

The hall erupted into shouts for revenge and for victory against the Karran, for recapturing the Flame. The chanting began: “The Flame! The Flame! The Flame!”

Sassanan embraced Ferman, the Flamekeepers embraced, and soldiers and officials hugged and slapped one another on the back, and cheering rang through the hall so loud it could be heard outside by curious passersby.

Throughout the celebration, Neevan was subdued and not the least convinced that what was to follow would be wise. She now had a sense of Clarian, of his ability to strategize and fight to overcome a superior enemy. And she had a sense of him as a man, one to whom she was attracted, if it was possible for a Maggan to be attracted to a Karran. She knew that the Karran had attacked her home in the forest only as a means to stop the Maggan invasion of their land, not as it was being portrayed in the speeches she had heard that day. Also, the Karran were no longer afraid of the Maggan, as they had been for many years.

Ferman, grinning and expansive, approached his captains at the adjoining table, his wine cup full and his face flushed with excitement and drink. He raised his cup and toasted his commanders, who had fought valiantly against the Karran aggression. He laughed and patted the officers’ shoulders. “We will defeat the Karran this time for all time,” he said, his eyes sweeping the festive crowd. “What do you say to that, Neevan?”

Neevan gave Ferman a cool look. “I think you led us to a defeat twice over. And now you intend to lead all of the night people into desperate battle with the Karran, who no longer fear us. Clarian is no fool. I think what you do is dangerous.”

Ferman looked as if he had been slapped. The few at Neevan’s table who heard the exchange had shocked expressions on their faces. Ferman growled, “Don’t be so fainthearted. The Karran will not be able to stand against our combined greater numbers and armies. I will kill Clarian. And I will erase the Karran people.” He turned away to join others already celebrating the decision to go to war. As he walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder at Neevan, but she had already left her seat and was striding out of the banquet hall.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

C
larian waved back to his mother and aunt from the ferry as it splashed through the current to the far side of the river. Leaving them—and the ferry—in the care of his friend, Rostan, Clarian led his mare and a packhorse off the ferry and onto the sandy shore of Madasharan. He carried his bow and quiver over his shoulder, a sword at his side and two lances in a leather scabbard attached to his saddle. It was early morning, with the sun just rising pink in the east over the Great Grasslands. But now, he was on the opposite shore of the swift river, in the land of Madasharan, a people said to be cousins to the Karran, who lived across the dry desert land at the foothills of the Crystal Mountains. He had many times ferried traders, farmers, and herdsmen and their animals across the river and had heard stories of the Madasharan and had met Madasharan traders. Now he was on a quest to find the Madasharan people and establish communication with them. He had no plan, but in the back of his mind was the fear that the Maggan would again return to attack the Karran people, and they would need allies or assistance when that day came.

He followed the road that led due west. The land stretched out before him covered with scrub trees of dark green and meadows of dry yellow grasses. There were no settlements he could see, nor did he expect any for many miles. A warm wind picked up, carrying with it the smells of the desert. The climbing sun lit the semiarid land with a golden glow, and he could see little flowers, red, pink, blue, and yellow, growing beside the road. He thought it was a fine day to be riding, and the horses responded with a brisk gait. Late in the afternoon, he spotted a herdsman off in a grassy meadow tending to a small herd of red-and-white spotted cattle. He waved and received a wave back. A dog barked, and then he saw a wagon on the other side of the cattle and heard a child’s voice calling.

As the day waned, he kept his eyes on the towering Crystal Mountains before him at the end of the road, their blue snowfields reflecting the sun’s rays. The great plain stretched flat ahead of him for a great distance. He wasn’t sure how many days it would be before he encountered Madasharan settlements.

The day passed and he saw no travelers, nor any other sign of herders. As the sun dropped behind the mountains, the darkness descended quickly. He came across a small brook that crossed the road. He turned and traveled away from the road following the brook to a clump of trees where he camped without fire. He hobbled the horses and wrapped up in a blanket for the night. He chose to be cautious in this strange land until he knew it better. He kept his weapons close by his side and awakened several times during the night as the wind picked up and the trees rattled. There was no moon, but the sky was packed with stars from horizon to horizon.

Dawn roused Clarian, and after watering and feeding the horses, he set out down the road. He ate a piece of his mother’s meal cake while he rode. The night had been chilly, but the morning brought a warm breeze smelling of grass and strange plants. He tied his violet cloak to the back of his saddle and eased the horses into a lope.

On the fourth day he came to a salt plain. The grasses and shrubs ended at its edge, and before him lay salt flats without a living plant, whose extent he could not clearly make out. The road meandered into the flat and barren waste.
How far is it across the salt plain?
he wondered.

He camped and rested the horses in an area that had seen travelers before. A small spring provided water in a quiet pool surrounded by reeds and rushes. He hobbled the horses to graze in the spare grass and built a fire, for the night air was quite cool. It wasn’t long before he heard the tinkling of a bell heading his way. He stood and loosened the bow on his shoulder, peering out into the dim light of the evening. By the time darkness fell, a goat herder with a flock of goats came into view from the north preceded by two dogs. They came to the spring and did not seem surprised to find Clarian there by his fire. The goats clustered around the spring, pushing one another out of the way to get to the water.

Clarian waited by the fire, and the man, after watching his herd and directing his dogs, finally turned and made his way to where Clarian waited. He was a young man with shaggy hair wearing a goatskin coat, a backpack and a bow and quiver over his shoulder. He carried a walking stick, and he signaled his dogs with a bone whistle. He smiled as he approached Clarian’s fire. Clarian waved him over but waited for the herder to speak.

“Greetings, traveler,” the man said, with an accent that Clarian had heard before from traders out of this region.

“Welcome to my fire, friend,” said Clarian.

The man glanced again to assure himself the dogs were keeping his flock together at the spring, and with a sigh he dropped his gear and sat down heavily on the grass next to the fire. The herdsman was sinewy and tall and dark-haired but had no beard. His bow was made of fine wood, and Clarian could see a long shiny knife in his belt. By the look of him, he was a man of independence and strength. Clarian lifted a small metal pot off the fire and poured a hot drink into two metal cups. He handed the herdsman the cup and sat back on his blanket while they both carefully sipped the steaming drink.

“I am traveling to the city of the Madasharan people. I am Clarian of the Karran. I assume the road I need to follow lies across that salt flat.”

“It does. You must cross it at night because the day is blazing hot, and there is no water.”

“How long to cross the desert?”

“One long night. If you start off in late afternoon and hurry through the night without resting, you will reach the other side—and water—before midmorning.”

Clarian thought this over and then asked, “And how much farther to the city?”

“Two days’ climb into the higher country and another day through the farmland. Are you a trader?”

“No. I am a ferryman by trade and sometimes a soldier. I go there to tell the Madasharan of the threat of the Maggan people. We recently fought a war with them.”

“I have heard of the war. I have heard of you, Clarian. My name is Selanan. Did your people win the war?”

“Yes. But someday I believe the Maggan will attack again, for they seek to take the Flame from us and perhaps to erase us, as they did the Doman people.”

Selanan gave this thought. “I have heard the Maggan are a strange people who live by night down in the earth and eat their enemies.”

“They live by night, but I don’t know if they eat their enemies. They certainly like to kill them. Are you a Madasharan?”

“I am. There are no other people here on this side of the Crystal Mountains.”

Clarian thought about this, and then asked, “Do the Madasharan have enemies like the Maggan?”

“I don’t think so. I have never heard of any. The Crystal Mountains cannot be crossed, so the western flank of our country is protected. My people live in the north. To the south is more desert, the river delta, and then the sea. And of course, you, the Karran, are across the river.”

Clarian put more wood on the fire and broke open a loaf of bread that he divided between the herdsman and himself. “You carry a fine bow. Is there a reason for this, Selanan?”

“There are wild creatures. Sometimes there are outlaws. They generally travel the roads. One must be alert. I take my goats in search of good grass and do not follow the roads.”

Selanan told Clarian about his village, which was about a two-day ride directly northeast but many more if following the goatherd on foot. He said his village was made up of a dozen stone houses located in a valley with a spring and surrounded by grasslands. Each herdsman had his own herd, but once a year they drove a combined herd to the city for sale along with hides. They did not follow the road across the salt flat but circumvented the desert by way of a northern route that had water and good grazing. When Clarian asked whether he was married, Selanan grinned and said no but that he hoped to find a bride soon in a village farther to the north. They parted the next morning, with Selanan driving his animals to the south as the dogs barked, and the piercing whistle called.

Clarian rested his horses and himself during the day, sitting in the shade under a scrub tree, waiting for the night crossing. While the sun was still hot but dropping down into the west, Clarian mounted, leading his packhorse with full water skins, and headed onto the salt flats. The salt pan was glaringly bright, and the heat off the ground was uncomfortable as the horses trotted into a barren world. Ruttu snorted and shook her head in protest at the strange land before them. Within a few hours, the sky turned red-violet above the Crystal Mountains, and the temperature began its descent. Evening stars appeared, and a light wind came out of the north carrying the scent of salt. The horses moved along with vigor as if to indicate that they, too, wanted to cross this desert quickly. Clarian stopped several times to water the horses from the skins he was packing, but following Selanan’s advice, he did not linger long.

He saw no living creatures that night. He was careful not to doze, and when the night grew cold he rode without his cloak or jacket to stay awake. Dawn came up behind him, and as the sun rose, it lit the far side of the salt flats, and he could faintly make out a line of green and beyond that the green uplands that formed the base of the Crystal Mountains. The coolness of the night evaporated, and the heat rushed in on a hot wind, but the sun was behind him as he pressed on. His water was all gone. He pushed the horses hard. Even when he could make out the line of green scrub plainly before him, it seemed to take forever to cross the last stretch of the desert. Salt crusted around his eyes, and his throat felt parched.

The horses smelled water and quickened their gait. They left the salt flats and crossed into the scrub and after a short distance came upon the promised waterhole. It was a pond surrounded with willows, and the water was clear and sweet.

Clarian saw to the horses first and then stripped off his clothes and plunged in to wash away the dust of his travel. He led the horses away from the waterhole, following the stream that came from the spring for a good distance into some trees, where there was a grassy area for grazing. He removed the saddle from his horse and the pack from the packhorse, hobbled them, rubbed them down, and let them graze. He was far enough away from the waterhole that his horses would not alert another rider’s horse and give him away if outlaws rode by. Not that Clarian thought that he would be unable to handle outlaws, but
Why take any chances?
he thought.

The day, though hot, passed by pleasantly, and Clarian dozed on his blanket under a tree, while the horses grazed contentedly. After a cold supper, Clarian rolled up in his blanket and slept with one ear alert. He thought he heard horses down by the waterhole during the night, but the sounds were faint. At dawn he mounted and turned west, picking up the road to Madasharan. He noticed that there were new hoofprints around the waterhole. He checked his bow and other weapons and then set out on the road, watchful of strangers. The road began to climb and to meander, and by the end of the day Clarian passed from an arid area into green foothills with trees and open pasturelands. Farmhouses appeared with cattle and horses in the fields. He passed a farmer on a wagon pulled by two strong horses and waved. The farmer nodded in a friendly manner.

At dusk he came to a crossroads where the track he had been following now split off in three directions. He was tired, and so were his horses. He selected the path that appeared to be the most well traveled, and after a short distance he spied a farmer’s house and barn near the road. Smoke rose from the chimney, so he made a detour to the house and asked whether he might rest for the night in the barn. He was welcomed, and after he tended to his horses, he rolled himself up wearily in his blanket and slept without supper. He awoke just as dawn was painting the eastern sky lavender, and he saddled his horse, loaded the pack on the packhorse, and rode out before the farmer was up, heading down the road toward the great city of the Madasharan people. The farmer had told him the night before that he was on the main road that would soon lead into a great valley, and there he would find the city.

In the afternoon he came to a small village that straddled the road. Shops of various kinds lined the road on both sides, and wagons and horses were tethered in front on what was a busy day.

Clarian found a livery and requested a rub-down and grain for his horses. He decided to rest that day and perhaps stay the night and start off early the next morning for the city. He found a tavern with a room and was soon out in back of the tavern bathing in a large tub, scrubbing the dust and grime from his body. Dinner was lively in the packed tavern, and he ate quietly in the corner at a small table, enjoying the conversations that floated about. His fellow patrons talked of crops and cattle and horses and the weather. Wishing to remain anonymous, he did not wear his violet cloak, although he did not know whether these people had heard of him. Many in the tavern were farmers and traders, either going to or coming from the city.

The robust woman who served him the heaping platter of hot food asked him where he came from, and he told her he was from the Grasslands of Karran. She did not seem at all surprised. She told him that the city of the Madasharan was one long day’s ride away. He retired to his small room early and slept hard, but sometime in the night, visions of Lillan and Neevan drifted into his thoughts, in a confusing world in which all three of them were galloping together across the Grasslands with enemies in pursuit.

By sunup, Clarian was making good time down the wide road through a beautiful green valley that opened up on either side, filled with farms and villages covering a great expanse. Far ahead, on high ground above the valley, gleamed the city of the Madasharan, in the yellow morning sun. Framing the city to the west stood the snow-laden Crystal Mountains towering against the clear, blue sky. He was no longer alone on the road. As the day progressed, the road filled in both directions with riders and wagons. Occasionally, everyone had to make way for a small herd of horses or cattle being driven along the road by herdsmen and dogs. A soft breeze rippled the crops of the fertile fields that stretched in every direction. Streams lined with trees meandered across the countryside, crossed by wooden bridges, and children fished from their banks.