Die for the Flame (7 page)

Out in the corridor, Rokkman grabbed Clarian’s sleeve. “You can’t walk out on the Flamekeeper. He must be obeyed.”

“I’m weary of all this whining.” Clarian pushed past Rokkman and hurried down the dim corridor.

“Clarian! Clarian!”

Clarian knew that it was beyond the current strength of his army to counter the danger the Maggan presented. But he resented the gruff manner in which the Flamekeeper had spoken to him. How did the officers feel about him? Did they have their doubts as well? A shot of anger passed through him. He hurried down the darkened corridor to the officers’ quarters. He needed some sleep. Perhaps in the morning, a new idea would come to him as it often did, just as he was lifting his head from his cot. Often he would pose a question to the Kobani spirits as he went to sleep, and in the morning the answer would flash through his mind. Well, he needed some answers now—and fast. He didn’t think he had more than a few days, perhaps a month, at most, before the Maggan would begin their march to claim the Flame. He wasn’t going to let them capture it; of that he was certain.

He turned a corner and headed down the darkened corridor to the officers’ quarters. He was suddenly grabbed by his tunic and pulled into a shadowed recess in the stone wall by unseen hands. He was startled, and just as he began to struggle, he felt the press of a smaller body against his and smelled the perfumed hair of a woman. In the dark he couldn’t see who it was, although he had a good idea. Lillan! His back against the cold stones, a soft hand caressed his neck and an arm went round his waist. He felt her breath on his cheek, sweet and warm. He let his arms enfold her. He was so very tired.

She kissed him on the lips, a soft yet searching kiss, unhurried, her lips probing ever deeper. He gave himself over to her, to her firm passion. They stood for a long moment in the dark, holding each other. She kissed him again and stroked his hair. And then she was gone.

The next several days were jammed with frantic training from dawn to dark, followed by night call outs and maneuvers. After the sharp words from the Flamekeeper, Clarian pushed everyone hard. Soldier formations, each engaged in tactics and weapons practice, blanketed the green fields around the Citadel. The frail Flamekeeper came out onto the training fields to see for himself, helped by one of his junior priests. Clarian avoided encountering him, riding out to the farthest fields when he appeared.

Ever mindful of the days slipping away, Clarian moved from one troop to another, assessing their readiness, and making suggestions, his violet cloak flaring out behind him. There were times when he was harsh in his criticism, and the officers dropped their eyes and rushed to do better. Even Lillan received several sharp remarks.

Many Karran from the countryside had grown up with horses and were easily converted to mounted archers, but others were town dwellers who had to learn to ride as well as how to draw back a bow while riding a galloping horse, and there was many a fall out of the saddle. Exhausted soldiers collapsed in their tents at day’s end, worn out from the endless drills and the ever-watchful eye of young Clarian, only to be called out in the dead of night for a training exercise.

Clarian
rode into the city frequently to oversee the making of weapons by the craftsmen. Entering the workshops, he reached for finished bows, pulling on the bowstrings, testing them and feeling their balance. It was the same with the sword and lance makers in the outdoor forges. He was met everywhere by serious faces and even saw fear in the eyes of older residents who had been to war with the Maggan in past times and knew of their cunning and cruelty.

At the end of each day, he met with his commanders in the Citadel or out under a great tent to discuss troop readiness, weapons, supplies, and morale. They were eager to report progress, but he knew the troops were far from battle-ready. He was pleased with the condition of the horse herds being driven in; they were strong animals of good stock, fat and fleet.

Scouts had been slithering into the forest each day to spy on the Maggan and determine their readiness, and based on the information they brought back, Martan reported that the Maggan were still gathering under the great trees of the forest but showed no sign of marching. He said there were few wagons or horses in sight. That was good news to Clarian, who knew that when the supply wagons were brought up, the Maggan would march.

On this evening, Clarian held a conference with his officers under a white tent pitched on a broad, green field in the lee of the towering gray walls of the Citadel. The sun had slid below the hills to the west, streaking the few clouds with orange and red. The wind was light and carried the smell of horses, whose whinnying could be heard across the valley. He was satisfied with the officers’ reports, although he was anxious to hear that the troops were making greater progress. The archers, many no more than children and others who were women, showed eagerness but did not have the stamina of seasoned warriors. Many of them would be on foot during battle.

Clarian decided to move the troops by wagon to the battle sites, where they would take a position to unleash their arrows, always keeping a distance from the enemy, and retreating to cover or back to the wagons after the assault for a quick exit. He explained this plan to his officers.

A short, dark officer spoke up. “The young ones will be vulnerable to a swift attack, even if the Maggan are on foot,” she said.

Clarian nodded. “If you are a commander of archers who are transported by wagon, formation training is the key. In your training, bring them up to the target, shoot, and then have them retreat upon command by wagon to a safer place. Reform the lines. Move in formation to another position. Add these maneuvers to your drills.”

“What if the Maggan charge us?”

“If they break ranks to pursue you, retreat, shooting arrows into them all the while, and once they are drawn out from the main body, we will attack them with mounted archers and cut them off.”

The air was warm under the tent, and Clarian could hear officers taking deep breaths and sighing, their boots scuffling on the grass as they digested his orders. “It is up to you officers to have contingency plans for every move. The survival of your soldiers is in your hands. But remember, an arrow shot from the bow of a thirteen-year-old is just as deadly as one shot by you or me. And remember that the Maggan have archers too. So, shooting from cover is important. The enemy will try to carry the fight at night. We must be prepared to repel them even at night. But we will make their day unpleasant, and we will not let them rest. I am just a frontier warrior. I have never seen large armies. But I know how to bleed an enemy. If you will follow me, I will turn the Maggan tide, and I will kill Ferman.”

Martan stared hard at Clarian. “I have just received a report that the enemy is massing in the forest. More than I expected.”

“Then we will just have to kill more of them than we planned.”

Grins creased the faces of the officers.

The officers dispersed, most of them trudging away toward the lines of white tents. Some headed back to the Citadel.

Clarian sat on a large stone and let a tired sigh escape. The light wind flapped his violet cloak, which looked black in the falling darkness, around his shoulders. The fields of white tents gleamed in the pale light. The campfires burned down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that one officer was still present. It was Lillan. She approached him, a horse blanket under her arm. Even in the deepening gloom of evening, Clarian could see how beautiful she was and how proud, her chestnut hair swept to one side, her blue cloak streaming out in the breeze, her lips smiling.

“Lillan!” he said, surprise in his voice. She didn’t answer him. Instead, she threw down the horse blanket on the thick grass in the lee of the stone, reached up for Clarian’s hand, and pulled him down with her onto the blanket and pressed against him, her mouth seeking his. Clarian could smell the rich horse odor on the blanket and her fragrance and the brush of her hair and the taste of her lips. The wind whipped the pungent grasses around them as crystal stars burst out of an ebony sky.

Clarian pushed her away. “No. Lillan. Go back to your troops. Go.”

“I want to stay here tonight with you.”

“Others may see us.”

“I don’t care.”

“Go back to your troops. Go now.”

She angrily grabbed the blanket and ran into the darkness.

CHAPTER NINE

T
he full moon came, and the Maggan did not sortie out of the Forest of Darkness. It was believed that the Maggan liked to march in the full of the moon, but so far they remained within the giant trees’ canopy.

The ensuing days were filled with frantic preparations and training, and the army began to show good discipline, and the maneuvers became crisper. The mounted archers under Lillan’s guidance progressed better than Clarian had expected, and he was pleased. She looked hurt from time to time, but he knew she would get over it. She tried to approach him about that night but he told her they must postpone their personal relationship until the war was over. He also knew that once warriors were engaged in the chaos of deadly combat, their true courage would manifest. Romance must wait. He was cautiously pleased with the foot archers who were transported by wagon. Their accuracy improved daily, and their morale was high, but he worried that in the heat of battle they might retreat in an orderly fashion to their wagons or that they would panic when charged by the enemy and be overrun. Here might be the weakness he feared. He decided he would step in the next day to lead the training personally.

Rokkman hurried up the flights of stone stairs to the Flamekeeper’s quarters. He was anxious, not so much because he needed to see the Flamekeeper but because there was so much to do to prepare the Karran for war. Supplies of food and clothing and weapons were pouring in from the countryside, but they were not coming in fast enough. The production of weapons was going well, but who knew how many arrows and lances would be needed in the end?
And horses,
he thought,
there are never enough trained horses. And then the impossible task of turning awkward farmers and townsfolk into soldiers and some of them children, no less! And some gray-haired! Grandfathers! The herders and Grasslanders are easy to train, and they are horse people, but the others!
May the Flame help us!

As he stomped up the stairs, his legs not as strong as he remembered them being, he reflected on his own life, first coming as a youngster from a town not far from the Citadel to an autumn festival and seeing the Citadel soldiers for the first time and hearing the Flamekeeper speak and bless the crowds of celebrants.

He had been a serious student and came to the attention of his teachers in his little school, who recommended him to the Citadel for further study. In time, he became a secretary to one of the Flamekeeper’s assistants. At the same time, he was sent for training as a Citadel guard, at which he had excelled.

When the Great War began, he became an officer and led Karran soldiers into battle many times against the Maggan. At the conclusion of the war, the Flamekeeper chose Rokkman as an advisor and priest and in time elevated him to the violet cloak.

Now the gray-haired, gray-bearded Rokkman, secretary to the Flamekeeper and sometime advisor to the Citadel guards and to Clarian, feeling his many years, entered the offices of the Flamekeeper.

“I want your honest assessment of our situation, Rokkman. No pleasing words. No adornment,” said the Flamekeeper, seated in his heavy dark wooden chair behind his great desk, wrapped in his violet robe. Lit with candles and brightened by early morning rays through several windows, the room still felt dim, the air heavy. A new fire in the hearth tried to take hold on the freshly chopped kindling. The Flamekeeper looked grim, his long white hair and beard bright against his aged gray face. Rokkman did not know how old the Flamekeeper was, but he had been there long before Rokkman was born.

“The training goes well, Holy One. And the—”

“I told you I want to know exactly what our situation is. ‘The training goes well’ tells me nothing.”

Rokkman looked away for a moment and then shrugged. “We are not yet ready. If the Maggan attack soon, we are lost. If they wait another month, Clarian may be able to complete enough training of the army and put his defensive plan into action and stop them.”

“What confidence do you have in Clarian?”

“He knows how to fight. His new ideas are our only hope. He is young, but he is unafraid of the Maggan. His years of fighting the fierce Kobani tribesmen have made him bold. But if you are asking me if we can hold out against the Maggan, I do not know.”

The Flamekeeper pulled at his beard, his eyes harsh and searching. He slammed his fist down on his desk. “I fear for our people, Rokkman. And for the Flame. I expect more leadership from you. You must push Clarian to greater efforts.”

“If you hadn’t disbanded the army, Holy One, we wouldn’t be in this crisis.”

“How dare you speak to me in this manner!”

“It’s true, and you know it. You believed the Maggan promise. ‘Disband both armies and there will be peace forever.’ Remember that? Well, where is the peace now?”

“The Maggan Flamekeeper promised in blood that there would no more war. And so did Ferman, their leader.”

“They lied. I told you at the time that the peace would not be upheld, and so did Clarian’s father and so did others. You wouldn’t listen. Now we face the end of our people and the theft of the Flame. You have yourself to blame, Holy One!”

“Get out!” shouted the Flamekeeper, tears filling his eyes as he waved his thin arms at Rokkman.

Clarian called a war conference with all his officers in a large hall a few days before the full moon. It was filled with chairs and benches that faced a great map fixed to the stone wall. Many officers had to stand in the back. “Our scouts tell us they are massing in the forest. The time is near when they will attack. They have brought up horses and supply wagons. I think they will come down this road, as we anticipated.” He pointed to the map. “And I think that their plan will be to march down the main road through the rocky ridge country and drive down the plain straight to the Citadel. They plan to lay siege to the Citadel. They are overly confident and arrogant. I am sure their scouts have told them we are not ready. So they expect light resistance, and they plan to march leisurely down the main road and overwhelm us at the Citadel.”

The room was silent except for the shuffling of boots and some heavy sighs. Clarian faced them, standing in front of the room. “Our plan is not to let them get that far. It will take them at least two or three nights of marching to reach this area of the rocky ridges. On the morning of the day they pass into it, we will meet them with full force. We will strike them in the ridge country where they can’t maneuver about. Daylight is our friend and their enemy. They will be tired and want to camp during the daylight and get out of the sun and into their tents to sleep. We won’t let them sleep.”

Clarian looked intently into the eyes of his officers. Rokkman stood off to one side. Lillan stood to his right, while Martan and the new commanders, Amran and Tobran, were seated near the front to his left.

“The land is very dry, and the grasses are parched. We will set fire to the grasses and their tents and wagons and see how they like hot weather.”

The tension was relieved for a moment, and the officers laughed.

“From the top of the ridges, our archers will be shooting down into their ranks at close range,” Clarian added. “The enemy will be bunched up coming through the ridges and won’t be able to maneuver. They will have their supply wagons following at the rear of the column. Our mounted soldiers will attack their wagons in the rear and burn them.”

“Ha!” barked some of the officers, pleased with this tactic.

Clarian moved up to the map and pointed out the vast, dark area that represented the Forest of Darkness. “We are told that the main city of the Maggan, Minteegan, is a two or three days’ ride deep into the forest. As we have all heard, their city is built within an underground cavern. The Maggan have burrowed down to live in the dark like rodents.”

The room reverberated with laughter, and Clarian smiled.

“Martan!” said Clarian.

“Yes, Clarian.”

“You and I will take a thousand mounted soldiers and archers and on the morning we stop the Maggan advance and burn their supply train, we will ride in behind them and enter the Forest of Darkness. We will make a dash for Minteegan. We are to attack Minteegan. Go down into the cavern city. I am told their homes are built from wood. It makes sense. They live in a forest. We will burn everything that can be burned. Drive the inhabitants out of their underground lair up into the light.”

Rokkman sputtered, “You can’t be serious! Attack the Maggan in the forest! We never have gone into that evil forest. Besides, we need every soldier here! They outnumber us.” There was a note of anxiety in his voice as murmurs buzzed through the room, and Clarian could feel the cold creep of fear enter the room.

“The only thing that will turn them away from us is their own city burning.”

“You surprise us, Clarian,” Lillan said, an amazed expression on her face.

“You will never get out alive!” protested Rokkman. “As soon as Ferman hears we’re attacking his city, he’ll send soldiers in, and you and Martan will be trapped.”

A burly bearded officer spoke. “We can’t go into the forest! We’ve never gone into the forest! We don’t go into the forest! Even in the Great War, we didn’t go into the Forest of Darkness.”

“You will now,” said Clarian.

“What if our soldiers refuse?” asked the burly officer.

No one spoke for a moment. All eyes were on Clarian. All were thinking about their own fear of the Maggan and the forest and its dark recesses of unknown terror. Clarian knew he couldn’t show any hesitation or doubt. “No one has to go into the forest who doesn’t want to. But when the Maggan are eating your children, I don’t want any complaints.”

Someone snickered, and then chuckles broke out.

Clarian raised his hand. “When Ferman hears of our attack, he will at once send all his mounted soldiers back to deal with it. I am counting on it. It would take too long for his foot soldiers to march back there in time to help Minteegan, but he will stop his march on us. I believe he will turn his whole army around and head for the forest. By the time they hear about us, Martan and I will be scrambling back. We will lay an ambush for their mounted soldiers in the forest and destroy them. At that point, Ferman will no longer have mounted soldiers. He and his army will be on foot in our land, out in the open and exposed to the hot sunlight, moving very slowly, trying to go home. We won’t let them sleep or rest or eat,” stated Clarian. “We will, however, let them die.”

That drew some muffled laughter from the room.

“Can this really work? There are so many things that can go wrong!” exclaimed Rokkman.

Clarian nodded. “When I rode with my father against the Kobani, the tribesmen would often circle around us and attack our homes or villages in the rear, and then we would stop our advance and hurry back to protect our families and farms. On our way back, they would ambush us. The Kobani are horse people. We will fight this war as a horse people, too. Luck follows the swift.” He paused and looked into the eyes of his officers. “The Flamekeeper ordered me to lead, and I will do so with all my strength and cunning. I fight to honor my father, who fought in the Great War.”

The next day, in a small copse of trees at the edge of a training field north of the castle and seated on their horses, Lillan and Clarian talked quietly about the day’s work. Clarian confided that the coming confrontation with the Maggan had him deeply worried.

“The army is for the most part untested, and many are terribly young, and many are partially trained girls and women,” he said.

“The training is going well. They all get better every day.”

“They might break and run. They have never seen an enemy. Not to mention these night creatures who live in the ground.”

“You have to worry, I know, but the army knows what’s at stake.”

“If they run, it will turn into a panic, and then the people of the Citadel will panic, and there will be a massive number of Karran fleeing to the outer borders of our land to be hunted down one by one.”

“No Karran soldier in our history has ever panicked, Clarian. They will stand and fight. I’m sure of it.”

“You have never seen the blood and the dying or had someone step up close to you and try to drive a lance through you, all while you are looking into his eyes, his face pulled into a scream of rage.”

“Thank you for that image. No, I haven’t.”

“You will be very vulnerable out there in the midst of the fighting.”

“I know.”

“I…I will worry, Lillan.”

“You had better worry.” She reached out and touched his arm.

He laughed and urged his horse back toward the Citadel.

The full moon jutted up into a star-filled sky. Across the fields, white tents shone in the cold light and lanterns blinked out as the army rested. Horses nearby cropped grass, stood hip-shot, or lay down to await the night. One dog’s bark answered another.

Off by themselves in the gloom of the Forest of Darkness, Ferman and his old Flamekeeper, Nooradan, sat on a log.

Ferman spoke first. “What you’ve asked is highly dangerous—to break the peace with the Karran. I have prepared and gathered our army, yet I have doubts as to the wisdom of this venture.”

“I am your Flamekeeper and have been for all your life. I will tell you now as I have said before, that I have recurring visions of standing before the Sacred Crystal. The crystal releases a great white flame that enfolds me. It holds me like a mother holds a child. It calls to me. We must take it back from the Karran. That is what the vision means.”

“You’re sure about this vision? Many will die, Holy One!”

“The Flame guides us, my son. Have no doubt. And when we have the Flame again, I will take you before it, and I will anoint you in its holy, sacred fire.”

Ferman bent forward to grasp and kiss the Flamekeeper’s hand.