Die for the Flame (5 page)

“You are either stupid or brave,” she said, “but either way, you’re reckless.” She pulled away, her eyes fixed on his, and then she was gone.

Later that day, Rokkman summoned Clarian. Standing behind his desk, overcome with fury, Rokkman confronted Clarian.

“Do you have any sense of what we are facing here? The Maggan are poised to strike, and there you go, right into their camp. And I’m told you had a run-in with an enemy warrior? How you escaped is beyond me.”

“You are too fearful of these night people, Rokkman. That’s half your problem.”

“You can’t speak to me that way! I’m a high priest in service to the Flame. You should be begging forgiveness. Apologizing. You’re wild, like the frontier. From this moment forward, you will be escorted everywhere you go. You are forbidden to go off alone, and you may not ride out on horseback without my permission. And you may not call me Rokkman. I am ‘Your Holiness’ to you.”

“You’re going through a lot of trouble just to have me join your army. Something is not right here. You’re not telling me everything, Rokkman. And I go where I please. I obey no one.”

Clarian spun on his feet and charged out of the office, leaving Rokkman in shock.

CHAPTER SIX

G
leaming eyes peered through the dark night. A partial moon drifted over a small Karran village. Mounted Maggan troops swept forward, enveloping the village. Dogs barked furiously, and lights appeared in windows.

The killing began. Men fell in the doorways of their homes, cut down by swarming soldiers. The cries of the dying and the terrified screams of women and children rang out.

Ferman, a massive man with a cruel mouth sat astride his horse in front of a cottage. He ordered his lieutenants, “Don’t kill the children. Load them into the wagons. We’ll take them with us.”

As he supervised the slaughter, he called to an aide, “Bring me one mother alive! Kill the rest!”

Two soldiers dragged a young mother before Ferman. She was thrown to the ground, shuddering in fear, blood on her torn gown. She looked up at Ferman as he pointed to her.

“We’ll take your children with us. If your people follow us, we’ll eat them. Tell your Flamekeeper.”

The woman shrieked in horror. Ferman reined in his horse harshly. “Burn the village,” he ordered.

Three wagons were loaded with crying children. Several older children resisted and were cut to pieces.

An officer rode up to Ferman. “What do we do with the children?” he asked.

“Take them into the forest. You know what to do.”

Clarian pushed his horse into a steady trot toward the Great Grasslands. He was in an angry mood. He was finished with the Citadel, with Rokkman and the Flamekeeper, and with the pending war. It was not his war, he fumed to himself, and it wasn’t his religion. Yes, it was his father’s religion and Aunt Helan’s, but he trusted more the shadow ancestors of the Kobani world as his mother had taught him. He couldn’t figure out what the Karran wanted with him. He was only one man. They treated him differently, yet they gave him no direction and no responsibility. For some reason, they weren’t forthcoming about what they wanted, and he was no longer waiting for them to tell him. He was going home where he belonged. The Maggan were not his enemy. And then there was the beautiful woman in the forest. She was hard to forget.

He heard them coming. Two Citadel soldiers raced toward him from back along the road. He stopped and waited. He knew they were coming for him. They pulled up, their horses blowing. One of the soldiers asked breathlessly, “Where are you going, Clarian?”

“Home.”

“There is something you need to see before you go home. We must hurry. Come with us.”

Clarian followed the men and then, dismounting from his horse at the pillaged Karran village, the embers from the burned cottages still smoldering, Clarian found Rokkman, Martan, and Lillan waiting. Soldiers searched for survivors. The dead were carried out to lie in a grim row on the ground.

“You provoked this, you young fool!” snapped Rokkman.

Clarian turned his head away, his face showing that he knew he had triggered the enemy attack.

“They took the children,” said Martan.

“We have to try to save them!” barked Rokkman.

“Maybe they haven’t reached the forest yet,” said Martan.

The lone survivor, the young mother, sat on a large stone in front of a burned-out cottage. She was frantic with grief.

“They took my baby. They took all the children. He said if you followed, he would eat them.” The mother sobbed as Lillan put her arm around her.

“Who was he?” asked Clarian. “The one who took the children.”

“Can you get my baby back?”

“What’s his name?”

“Ferman. He said his name was Ferman.”

Clarian, Rokkman, Martan, and Lillan, with some of their troops, galloped hard in pursuit of the Maggan wagons. As the afternoon waned, the Forest of Darkness loomed up ahead.

Martan shouted, “There! The wagons with the children!”

The Maggan saw the riders and frantically whipped the horses. It became clear that the wagons couldn’t outrun the charging Karran troops. The wagons dipped down out of sight behind a rolling hill.

Precious moments slid by. Clarian could not see the wagons. The horses labored up a slope. There in the distance, the Maggan soldiers were riding away, the wagons abandoned. For an instant, hope sprang in everyone’s heart until they drew closer to the wagons.

As they rode up to the wagons, they were shocked at the sight. Slaughtered children lay in the wagon beds and broken on the ground. The Maggan vanished down the road toward the forest.

Clarian stared in agony at the deaths. Rokkman stood amid the carnage, tears streaming. He stumbled up to Clarian.

“You will help us load the children into the wagons, and then you will help us bury them.”

The soldiers and Clarian gently placed the destroyed bodies of the children in the wagons, and then they headed back to the ruined village.

In a field near the village, Clarian helped dig graves for the dead. His heart was heavy with guilt. When all the dead were buried, Rokkman presided over the funeral service.

Clarian stood apart from the rest of the group. Rokkman approached, but Clarian appeared distant and wary.

“I need to speak to you,” said Rokkman.

“No, go away.”

“I can’t go away. This is how it begins.”

“I have seen death before. Many times in the Grassland wars against the Kobani.”

“I was a soldier once, too. Before I became a priest and chose to serve the Flame.”

“Your Flame does not protect you.”

“It’s your Flame, too. What? Do you have another religion?” asked Rokkman.

“The Kobani way.”

“I don’t think you believe in anything. You dream away by your river about what? A new spirited horse? A pretty village girl? No, not this time. Blood is on your hands now, my son. Fate will have its way.”

Clarian stared at the fresh graves, his face pale.

Rokkman stepped close. “You must do your duty. You see that now, don’t you?”

“Stop this constant harping. Can’t
you
make peace with the Maggan?”

Clarian strode heavily to his horse.

“Clarian,” called Rokkman.

“Leave me alone.”

The patrol rode slowly back to the Citadel. Clarian lagged behind with the rear guard. The day faded away, hot and dusty. Rokkman led, Lillan rode beside him, and Martan followed behind. Rokkman was in a solemn mood after the burials, his shoulders hunched under his violet cloak.

“He’s strange,” Lillan said.

“Perhaps he’s afraid,” answered Rokkman.

“No, I saw him kill two Maggan without hesitation. He has no fear.”

“I’m glad you found that out about him. I’ll be sure to tell the Flamekeeper.”

With that rebuke, Lillan let her horse drop back to where Martan slouched over his horse. Martan turned in his saddle and looked back over the troops. He called to Rokkman.

“Where’s Clarian?”

“He’s with the rear guard.”

“No, he’s not. Halt! Where’s Clarian? Who’s seen him?”

The patrol pulled up, bunching around Martan. A soldier spoke up.

“He turned off back there.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Rokkman was seething. “Martan!”

“He’s your problem!”

Clarian had slipped away from the troop, and he rode into a small village just off the road. Children played, dogs ran, women washed clothes, and smoke rose from the chimneys. People were in the fields nearby. Older children waved to Clarian. He nodded and urged his horse through the village.

A small boy and his mother returned from the fields with a basket of vegetables.

The boy asked if he could pet Clarian’s horse.

“You can rub her nose.”

The boy gave the horse some green toppings from the vegetables. The mother shielded her eyes and looked up at Clarian. She saw the scar on his face.

“You’re the one. The scar. You’re the Ferryman.”

She turned her head and called to the other villagers. “He’s here! It’s the Ferryman!”

Villagers gathered about a bewildered Clarian. They reached up and touched his boots.

Rokkman galloped up, his lips a thin line. Clarian didn’t understand the attention.

“What’s this about, Rokkman?” Clarian asked, exasperated.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“You want something of me?”

“Yes.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

C
larian stood before the Flamekeeper in the Chamber of Light.

“The Flame has chosen you, Clarian, to lead our army against the fierce Maggan. Why it chose you, I do not know. The Flame is pure intelligence that pours forth from the Immortal Ones. They surely know, but I do not. It matters not what you believe. Nor what I believe. It is written. It must be obeyed. I could not tell you until I was sure.”

Clarian was in a state of disbelief. “No. This cannot be. I am no one.”

The old Flamekeeper held Clarian’s gaze for a long while. “It is so.”

Clarian was less than confident and looked less than happy. He really didn’t want to be there and didn’t want the responsibility.

“You’re not sure. Not at all,” said Clarian.

“No, it’s true.”

“I have only led small bands of warriors in the Great Grasslands. I know nothing of armies.”

“I know. But the Flame is infinite intelligence, and it knows the path where it will lead you.”

The old Flamekeeper grasped the Sacred Crystal Sword in his hand. “Kneel, Clarian, the Ferryman, in the presence of the Flame,” he said.

Clarian knelt reluctantly on a violet carpet in front of the vessel containing the flickering white flame. Earlier, he had bathed and combed his hair, and now he wore the blue tunic of a Citadel soldier.

The Flamekeeper administered to Clarian his oath of allegiance to the Flame and to the Immortal Ones of the Crystal Mountains. Rokkman observed the proceedings from the shadows off to the side. The old Flamekeeper dipped a large, golden chalice into the flame, scooping up white and violet fire and pouring it over Clarian’s head so that it spilled down over him and seemed to penetrate and disappear into him. Nine times, the Flamekeeper dipped and poured the flames over Clarian, all the while murmuring secret and mysterious words.

The Flamekeeper placed his hand upon the ferryman’s head. “So, now, therefore, in the name of the Flame, this son of Orlan and Ranna, known to us as Clarian the Ferryman, chosen by the Immortal Ones of the Crystal Mountains to protect the Flame and the Karran people, is given the violet cloak as a symbol of his high office and as a symbol to the people that he stands forth as their protector, from this day forward.”

Holding a jeweled crystal sword in his right hand, he tapped Clarian on his left shoulder, his right, on top of his head, and then on his heart.

“Know that the Sacred Flame shall always be with you. It is a thought away, and it shall come when you call upon it. Now go, Clarian, for much work is to be done,” he intoned. The Flamekeeper placed a violet cloak over Clarian’s shoulders and patted him on the cheek.

Clarian lurched unsteadily to his feet, helped by Rokkman. The door of the Chamber of Light opened, and Clarian emerged into the outer office of the Flamekeeper. Waiting to greet him were others, including Lillan and Martan, and dozens of officers of the Citadel guard.

“May I introduce Clarian, Protector of the Flame, the Chosen One!” pronounced the Flamekeeper.

Everyone in the room bowed deeply to Clarian, and they all repeated, “Clarian, Protector of the Flame, the Chosen One.”

Clarian was so surprised, he did not know what to do. Immediately, everyone gathered around him, and those who had not met him asked questions. Rokkman patted him on the back, helping him with the answers,. Lillan stood back smiling broadly, and when he looked over at her, she gave him a big wink. He smiled back, his first smile in quite a while. In the back of his mind he was wondering how in the world he was going to achieve all that was needed in the coming crisis. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Lillan again. She held his glance, and then someone stepped in front of him.

Clarian stood by a long wooden table. Over it stretched a map of Karran and the lands surrounding it. Citadel officers crowded around the table, pointing and commenting. Next to Clarian stood Lillan, Rokkman, and Martan.

“What have our scouts to tell us about the Maggan plans?” asked Clarian.

Martan answered, “We believe, based on all our information, that the Maggan will attack at night on the next full moon or the one after. We’re not sure how prepared they are at this moment to march. We haven’t yet observed them bringing up supply wagons. We may have four weeks to eight weeks to prepare.”

“How many soldiers do they have compared to our army?” Clarian asked.

“We do not know that for sure, either. The Forest of Darkness is a vast area, and they could have soldiers anywhere under those trees. Our best guess is five thousand soldiers,” answered Lillan. “We have five hundred Citadel guards and, at best, a few thousand new soldiers with only a few weeks of training.”

Clarian tried to think how they could hold back the enemy with so few soldiers. There must be a way to offset their greater numbers. “What is their army made up of? Archers, spearmen?”

“The Maggan are mostly foot soldiers, armed with lances and short swords. They have a lesser number of archers and several small units of mounted soldiers who carry bows, long spears, and swords. Not so many mounted troops. Horses don’t thrive well under the trees without pasture,” explained Lillan.

“Then if we are mounted, we will have the advantage of mobility and speed. And we will have large numbers of mounted archers, which is new,” said Clarian.

A young officer with a black beard spoke up. “But if they outnumber us by so many, how can we defeat them?”

“If they attack before we can train a large army, we will be overrun,” said Clarian, “and the city will be lost. But if they give us time, we will have a chance.”

The officers leaned over the table studying the map, each considering the implications of defeat as they pondered how the Maggan would attack.

“Is it obvious that they will attack down this road that leads from the Forest of Darkness?” asked Clarian.

Lillan ran her finger down the map. “They are overconfident. The shortest route to our city is down the road from the Forest of Darkness directly to our doorstep. They could come at us from several other directions, but it’s a long way around, and they would be forced to leave the cover of the forest for many days before they could get here. They would be in the open and more exposed.”

“I think you’re right, Lillan,” agreed Rokkman. “They will come down this road, and we’ll have to be ready for them.”

“How will we stop them?” Lillan asked. “And if they overrun us, what would that mean?”

Martan answered, “I will tell you what it means. Several years ago they attacked the Doman people, who lived far to the north. Now there are no Doman people. All gone. Wiped out.”

Rokkman spoke. “We heard stories back in the Great War that they ate their captives. I never talked to anyone who actually witnessed it, but I can believe it.”

“We haven’t enough soldiers, Clarian,” Lillan said.

“I know. And I know if they overrun us, we will disappear forever like the Doman.
And
they will take the Flame. Let’s hope that the Maggan are in no hurry to attack. If we can gain time to train our soldiers, we can stop them.”

Everyone looked at Clarian hopefully.

“Send out this order,” Clarian announced. “We will call upon every boy and girl thirteen years or older, and every man and every woman who can fight. We will bring up every horse that is suitable for riding and put a mounted archer on its back. Let the Maggan fight on foot with swords and lances. We will engage them with arrows and lances from a distance, always moving fast. And we will not let them rest or sleep.”

Rokkman tapped his knuckles on the table. “You’re going to put children into the battles?”

“What will the Maggan do to the children if we are defeated?” Clarian asked. “We already know what they do to children. Let the children fight for their lives too. If they can draw back a bow string and loose an arrow at a Maggan, then they must. My father took me into battle against the Kobani when I was thirteen.”

The officers looked around at one another, shocked expressions on their faces. “We don’t have enough time to prepare our soldiers. It’s too little time,” Lillan said, a worried look on her face.

Clarian nodded. “You have allowed yourselves to fall asleep while a rival tribe of savages dreams of killing you and all your families and wiping out your civilization. It’s all the time we have. Send out messengers to every village in the land, to every farm, to bring in those who will fight with us. And bring in the horses and wagons and every weapon. Enlist every tradesman to begin making weapons and saddles, building wagons, and everything we will need to mount an army. Work day and night. Notify all the farmers east of here to leave their farms and come into the city. They are to bring all the belongings they can carry. They are in the path of the enemy, and that would not be a good place to be. When we know the enemy is marching, we will burn all the houses and barns and fields. We will leave nothing for them to use as shelter.

“This is all good, but not enough. Is there more to your plan, Clarian?” asked Rokkman.

“Yes. I will find Ferman and kill him.”

Grins slowly emerged on previously grim faces.

“I am a warrior from the frontier, the Great Grasslands. I know little about armies. I am a simple man. Why I am the one selected to be here, I don’t know. But I will do what is asked of me. And I ask the same from you. Now…let us begin.

Lillan leaned close and whispered in Clarian’s ear.

“In the name of the Flame!” exclaimed Clarian.

“In the name of the Flame!” chorused the officers.

It was night, and far in the depths of the Citadel, the Flamekeeper knelt before the Sacred Crystal. Ethereal clouds of white light floated upward from the crystal.

“Sacred White Light, Sacred Flame, have I chosen wisely? Is this boy, Clarian, the one to lead our people to victory over our enemies?”

The light changed and darkened, and within the flame the Flamekeeper saw Clarian on his horse, leading soldiers into battle. He wept.