Die for the Flame (26 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

N
eevan left the enclave without a farewell to Ferman. After the uproar at the banquet, she decided to return to Minteegan. Having inquired among her soldiers as to who would like to go home, she assembled a band of volunteers and rode out the following night as the red sun dropped below the western forest. It was cool in the high country, and she had enjoyed the city and the inhabitants, but she was eager to see her mother, who had been unwell since the attack by the Karran, and she missed her cavern home and the forest she loved.

On the way back they met a few traders who carried the news that the reconstruction of the underground city was well under way. The fields had been replanted, and horses and cattle purchased from the Drumaggan were being herded down the trail to replenish the losses the Maggan had suffered in the Karran raid. Even with this resupply, their livestock numbers were sadly low.

The previous few days of traveling had been unpleasant, for a rainstorm had moved in and drenched the riders. By the time Neevan and her band entered the upper reaches of the forest, everyone was tired and miserable, but the forest canopy gave good protection from the continuing downpour, and the road through the forest was less muddy, making travel easier. It was with some relief that they came upon forest clearings where horses and cattle grazed, and fields were planted with vegetables and grain. Farmers were working the fields, and the occasional rider was herding animals. It was late at night when they came into sight of the cavern mouth. The whole area was crowded with wagons carrying building supplies and food down into the city and people heading in from the fields to return to temporary homes near the entrance and some, who were fortunate enough to have newly built houses, going down into the cavern. After turning the horses over to the grooms at the compound located near the entrance to the cavern, Neevan dismissed her soldiers, and they all made their way to their homes. It was dawn, the end of the Maggan day.

Neevan’s mother was overjoyed to see her daughter. After a hot meal, Neevan presented her mother with the gifts she had purchased from the Drumaggan and told her all about her visit to the wealthy, cliff-dwelling people, leaving out the part about a possible future war with the Karran.

The next day she would inspect the progress the builders were making in reconstructing the city. She was also interested in plans for defensive walls to be erected to hold back the Karran should they attempt to attack Minteegan again in the future.

After helping her mother into her bed, she sat before the dying fire in the hearth, thinking about Ferman and his plans of conquest, torn between wanting to capture the Flame and wanting peace. Having lost so many friends and comrades in the war and seen so much dying and suffering, she wondered if she was up to another conflict with the Karran. And then there was that strange young man, Clarian, with the clear, blue eyes. A Karran, no less! She smiled to herself and wondered whether she would see him again.

Deep in the night Ferman sat with Zefran, the new Flamekeeper of the Maggan people, in Ferman’s Minteegan apartment, their cups full of wine. Several candles and a small fire in the hearth lighted the room. The stone floor was covered in rich carpets, and the walls were draped in colorful tapestries.

“You know, Ferman, as you’ve described this Clarian, he won’t be easily defeated.”

“We’ll overwhelm him with numbers and sheer force. He’ll have to fall back, and we’ll drive him back to the Citadel. He’ll make his stand there, to protect the Flame, and he’ll die there.”

Zefran, a younger man than Ferman, listened, his dark hair combed straight back, his heavy mustache drooping over thin lips. “Maybe, Ferman. Maybe. But he is no ordinary warrior.”

“I have a superb plan.”

“Wars are won or lost by someone’s mistakes.”

“What do you mean? He won’t be able to stop two armies at one time. And he won’t be able to ambush us this time. We will share in the joy of possessing the Sacred Flame! Can you imagine that, after all this time?”

“Force is one thing, but force sometimes has its short comings. Look at what happened to you, and you had the greater force of troops.”

“Ah!” Ferman drank deeply from his cup and wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand, his eyes flashing in anger at the thought of his humiliation.

“You almost caught the Karran sleeping, and if it wasn’t for Clarian, you would now hold the Flame.”

“True.”

“Why not put the Karran back to sleep while we prepare our armies?”

“They won’t fall for it this time.”

“Maybe they will, if it is done correctly.”

“What do you have in mind, Holy One?”

“Send a message of peace to the Karran. And with it send emissaries to open trade. Lull the Karran into thinking we have changed our warlike ways.”

“
Our
warlike ways? What about theirs?”

“Exactly.”

Ferman grinned and laughed, his ample belly shaking with mirth. “I am not going. I don’t know who I could send to the Karran. What an assignment! You would have to be with those people during daylight hours and get little sleep. Plus, I don’t know if we could trust the Karran to honor emissaries.”

Zefran pulled at his mustache, his yellow eyes gleaming and sly, as he turned over the possibilities in his mind. “I know who you could send.”

“Yes? Who?”

“This may surprise you.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“Neevan.”

Ferman sat dumbfounded for several moments and leaned back in his chair. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Zefran laughed. “I am. She has fought against Clarian. She has talked to him. She negotiated the current peace with him. She refused to give you up to him. She even spoke highly of him. She’s perfect.”

“I wonder if she would go?”

“Of course she would go. But you couldn’t tell her of our plans.”

“She already knows. She was there at the banquets and heard all the speeches, remember?”

“But you could lead her to believe that peace is possible with her help. She would be more convincing to the Karran if she believed that peace could be achieved. Remember, this Clarian is smart. He’d smell subterfuge. She can’t know about our plans.”

“Lead my own granddaughter…”

“Stop that way of thinking, Ferman. We’re after the Flame! That’s what is at stake here!”

“She’d never forgive me! Besides, I don’t know whether Clarian would fall for it.”

“Neevan is charming when she wants to be. And she’s beautiful. No man can turn his eyes away from her sheer loveliness. Clarian would be blinded by her, and what could be better for us?”

“Use her as a trap? By the Flame, Holy One, you’re devious.”

“She’ll never know. You’ll find an excuse to break the peace when we are ready to attack. In the meantime, she’ll charm the Karran and this Clarian, and that will give us time to prepare to erase them. Besides, she’ll be able to give us good information about what they are up to, their troop strength and training, all that. That’s better than scouts.”

“Holy One, you are a clever man. This has never been done before. An emissary to the hated Karran dogs…”

“Think of the sweet victory when we storm the Citadel and take the Flame. The dreams of our people, over the countless years, yearning for the Flame. Now, it is within our grasp. We have only to plan carefully.”

Ferman leaned close to Zefran, his face inches away. “Holy One, it is a good plan, although not one that I truly like. I find the Karran distasteful. But if we can put them to sleep with Neevan’s help, when we are ready, we will put them to sleep permanently and forever.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

T
he word had been relayed to the Flamekeeper that the Maggan wanted to talk. Rokkman was sent to the edge of the Forest of Darkness. He waited with a strong contingent of heavily armed Citadel guards at his back, as three Maggan soldiers broke out of the protection of the trees and rode toward them. In a brief exchange, one of the Maggan gave Rokkman a letter for the Flamekeeper. They abruptly turned their horses and galloped back into the dimness of the forest.

Clarian was summoned to the Flamekeeper’s office. He stalked into the room to find Rokkman and Martan seated, conferring with the Flamekeeper.

“Clarian, my son,” said the Flamekeeper, handing the letter to Clarian. “Here is the Maggan proposal. They wish to send an emissary to the Citadel and establish a friendly relationship with us. They even want to conduct trading. It’s all here in this letter.”

Clarian read the letter, his face expressionless. Finished, he laid the letter down on the table.

“What do you think, my son?”

“It could be a trick, Holy One.”

“Nonsense. This has never happened before. It could mean lasting peace between our peoples. No more fear of war.”

“If it was from anyone but Ferman, I would seriously consider it.”

Martan pointed to the letter. “They were mauled so badly by us that they have few options other than hiding in their forest.”

“I think that we must give this a chance,” said Rokkman. “It gives me hope that the wars might end.”

“They want the Flame, don’t forget that,” replied Clarian. “It’s not just about war. The wars are about them trying to wrest the Flame away from us. And don’t forget that they swallowed up the Doman people, and not so long ago.”

The Flamekeeper leaned back in his ornately carved chair and folded his hands. “The Doman people were not of our kind. I can’t see how this can hurt us.”

“They will gain information about us, about our strength, about how we operate. I say no to their offer. Instead, offer to trade at designated places, but don’t let an emissary into the Citadel.”

The Flamekeeper glanced at Rokkman and Martan.

“Rokkman?”

“I say yes.”

“Martan?”

“Yes.”

“I say yes, too,” said the Flamekeeper. “Well, Clarian?”

“What does the Oracle say?”

“I don’t need to ask the Oracle on something like this!” snapped the Flamekeeper. “I have listened to you, Clarian, but your opinion stands alone. I have decided we will let the Maggan send us an emissary.”

With a sour look on his face, Clarian retorted, “What about us sending in our emissary to Minteegan?”

“Who would go? Would you?” asked the Flamekeeper, a look of surprise on his face.

“Send Martan. He’s visited there before.”

They all laughed as Martan wagged an accusing finger at Clarian.

“It’s decided. Rokkman, draft a letter for my signature and have it delivered to the Maggan.” With that, the old priest rose from his chair and shuffled out of the room.

“Are you out of your mind?” yelled Neevan at Ferman. She had been summoned to his apartment just as she was preparing to ride out to watch the horses being trained.

“Listen to me, Neevan…”

“No! You listen! I’m not going among the Karran. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“No. It’s not. Just stop and think. You could be the one who brings peace between the Karran and the Maggan peoples.”

“You don’t want peace! You want war! You want to kill all Karran and take the Flame.”

“I’m open to peaceful negotiations.”

“You don’t fool me, Grandfather. I heard you before all the Drumaggan people. You spoke with great eloquence about the need to attack the Karran. This is some kind of cunning scheme of yours to further your plan to erase the Karran. I understand the war in order to retrieve the Flame, but I don’t understand sending me in among the enemy. They will kill me!”

“No, they won’t. Clarian will protect you.”

“Clarian?” Neevan paused, glaring at Ferman. They sat before a smoky fire in his living room. The sounds of the city being rebuilt seeped into the room. She rose from her chair and stepped to the window, glancing down into the murky, dark cavern where she could see workmen hurrying about and wagons carrying quarried stone to worksites. She turned her head back toward Ferman, her eyes glistening with suspicion. “It won’t work. The Karran won’t negotiate with me or anyone else.”

“Neevan. Neevan. This is not that difficult. And the Karran have already agreed. You are going to set up trade between our peoples, so the Karran become more accustomed to seeing us.”

“What trade? We don’t have anything to trade!”

“We have timber, which they need. And we need horses and cattle to replace what was stolen from us.”

“What else?” she asked, looking down her nose at him.

“It would be good to know what their army is doing. How big is it? Did they let the army dissolve after the war? That sort of thing.”

Neevan jabbed her finger at him. “If you were thinking peace, you wouldn’t care about their army.”

“No. No. They could attack us in the future. We need to be prepared to defend ourselves, that’s all.” He stroked his beard, his face showing concern.

“I think you are playing for time until you can launch a sudden attack in concert with our cousins, the Drumaggan, and you intend to use me as a cover,” she snapped.

“I pledge to you, Neevan, that I am open to peace with the Karran, dogs that they are. We have to give that a try, don’t you think? It’s true another war could happen, but I’m counting on you to open the dialogue between our two peoples.”

“I do not hate the Karran, but I do not like to be among them.”

“None of us want to be among them, but perhaps there may be things to learn from them,” he said, assuming an innocent expression as he licked his lips.

Neevan took a drink from a cup and looked into the fire that was now catching flame. “So, are they sending emissaries here?”

“No one has suggested that, and we don’t want that. I would resist that. Besides, they couldn’t find their way around down here in the dark,” he said, smiling coyly. “How is your mother?”

“I’m worried about her health. She’s not strong. You should go see her. She is your daughter, you know.”

“I will. I will. It’s just that I’ve been so busy rebuilding this city.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“T
hey’re coming!” The word spread through the Citadel and across the city like a raging wildfire. Soldiers and officials rushed to balconies to try to catch a glimpse of the Maggan emissary. Townspeople began to line the road that ran through the town leading up to the castle.

In his quarters in the Citadel, Clarian was working on fortification plans to strengthen the defenses of the city and did no more than glance up at the clerk who stuck his head in with the news. He did not think this was a good idea, but it was not his decision to make. He tried to concentrate on the drawings on a large sheet of paper before him, marking the various approaches to the Citadel from the outlying areas and noting weak points in defense.

Rokkman walked quickly into the room, a serious look on his face. “The road is lined with people trying to get a look at the emissary. Big crowds are gathering.”

“Only one emissary?”

“That’s my understanding.”

“What’s the housing arrangement?”

“The Flamekeeper has directed that an apartment be prepared here in the castle. It has no windows, so the night creature won’t be disturbed by too much daylight,” Rokkman said with a grin.

Clarian chuckled. “Well, Rokkman. I don’t know how we’re going to adjust to this night and day business. I guess most meetings will have to be held at dawn or at dusk to accommodate the emissary. Or we give up our sleep and hold talks at midnight.”

“The Flamekeeper has arranged a formal welcome in the great hall as soon as the emissary arrives, which will be within the hour. Preparations are under way now. I’ll see you down there. Bring Jolsani, so that he gets a good look at a Maggan,” Rokkman said.

Clarian nodded and pushed his paper aside. He would return to it later in the day. Taking down his violet cloak from a peg on the wall, he threw it over his shoulders and with a sigh walked out into the corridor, heading for the stairway. All he could think about was finishing the fortification plans, making his recommendations to Rokkman and Martan, and getting back to the Grasslands.

The great hall was situated on the ground floor of the Citadel’s castle. It was an extensive room built of gray stone whose walls rose up two levels above the main floor with a balcony on three sides. At the far end was a platform, on which was placed a large, ornately carved chair cushioned in violet velvet. Behind the chair, a large violet tapestry into which was woven a great white flame draped the wall. Torches lighting the room were placed in sconces on the walls.

The Flamekeeper entered the room wearing his violet robe and took his seat on the carved chair. To his right stood Rokkman, his secretary and chief deputy.

The hall filled up as officers and officials crowded in, all dressed in their best clothes. There were no chairs. They stood, waiting expectantly, leaving an aisle up the center of the hall leading to the Flamekeeper.

Arriving last, Clarian hurried to the front of the hall and stood off to one side. As the Flamekeeper perused the crowd, he noticed Clarian and motioned him forward, pointing to a place next to his chair on the left side. Clarian was not interested in this ceremony or in standing next to the Flamekeeper, but orders were orders. He noticed Jolsani standing against the wall with several officers and thought this would be quite an experience for him.

The murmur in the hall began to die down as a small party swept through the doorway and walked down the center aisle on a violet carpet that led to the Flamekeeper’s throne. Leading the party was Martan, wearing a scowl on his face, followed by six Citadel guards, three in front and three in the rear. In the middle of the procession was the emissary. Heads craned as everyone tried to get a look. The hall buzzed with energy and excitement.

The emissary’s thick blue-black hair fell straight to her shoulders, square cut. Across her forehead a pale-green headband encrusted with a red stone swept under the hair. From each ear dangled a glittering red stone set in gold and draped around her neck was a necklace of matching red and green faceted stones. Her pale-green undergarment fell to the floor. Over her shoulders was an open blood-red jacket that draped to her knees. A gold belt encircled her waist, and gold leather slippers covered her feet. In swept Neevan.

The crowd stood in awe of such stunning beauty. As the party approached the Flamekeeper, the soldiers stepped off to the side, and Martan stopped a few paces from the platform and bowed to the Flamekeeper.

“May I present, Holy One, Neevan, of the Maggan people, emissary to Karran.”

Clarian almost staggered in shock at the sight of Neevan. His mouth dropped open, and he knew it. He had to close it consciously. What was going on? His mind was spinning at the turn of events.

“Welcome, Neevan, emissary from the Maggan people. I hope your mission here with us will be a happy one and helpful to both our peoples. As you know, our two lands have been at odds a number of times, sometimes grievously. Perhaps, now, a new doorway to future peace can be opened that we can both step through to lasting harmony.”

Neevan bowed to the Flamekeeper. “Thank you, Flamekeeper of the Karran people. My Flamekeeper and Ferman, leader of our people, send their greetings and their wishes to build a new relationship with the Karran. I carry letters to you from them expressing their suggestions for your consideration regarding a number of issues and a desire to begin trade between our peoples. There are details that must be worked out, and I am here to help facilitate new understandings.”

The old Flamekeeper, his face beaming and showing his delight with the proceedings, clasped his hands together happily. “Tomorrow we shall have a banquet to celebrate your arrival, Neevan. I am sure you must be tired from your long journey.”

Neevan bowed again, and as she did, she spied Clarian standing next to the Flamekeeper. Her luminous eyes opened wide in surprise, and she bowed to Clarian with a smile on her face. Clarian bowed in return. This was the first time he had seen her in the light of day. She was quite tall and very slender. Her skin was pale as milk, her face long, with a strong jaw line and straight nose, full lips, and large, glowing green eyes.

“Clarian,” she said.

“Neevan.”

“We meet again, ferryman.”

“And each time more a surprise than before,” Clarian smiled, his white teeth flashing.

“But none like the first,” she smiled.

Rokkman interrupted, stepping forward. “Neevan has traveled a long way, and if I am correct, this is the middle of her night. Perhaps we should let her retire.”

The mass of officers and officials responded to Rokkman’s remarks with good-natured chuckles, and the tension in the room seemed to lessen.

The Flamekeeper stood up, signaling that the meeting was at an end. “Tomorrow, then, Neevan, we shall hold a banquet.”

“Tomorrow, Holy One,” she answered.

Rokkman motioned two female Citadel guards forward. They bowed to Neevan and then led her back down the aisle of the hall.

With her head back, tall and proud, Neevan walked slowly and gazed brazenly into the faces of those assembled, who all turned to stare at her open-mouthed and to follow her procession. She nodded and smiled to the officers on both sides of the aisle.

A few smiled back and inclined their heads toward her in recognition. Others gazed in wonder at the dark-haired Maggan woman with the luminous eyes.

Clarian watched Neevan’s march through the hall with interest until she disappeared past the great wooden doors and out into the courtyard. In his heart he was filled with a sense of caution, a lurking thought that the clever Ferman might be at work plotting some scheme. But what? What could one emissary possibly do to harm Karran? As he retraced his steps back to his office, he admitted there could be little harm having an emissary. Maybe the Flamekeeper was right. Perhaps it could stave off future clashes. In any event, he intended to continue his plans to fortify the Citadel and lay out plans to introduce the Karran army to the new archery techniques Jolsani had brought from the plains of the Kobani.

The banquet took place late at night on the day following Neevan’s arrival, in recognition of Neevan’s night schedule. The hall was lined with wooden tables stretching from wall to wall. The head table, covered in white cloth, sat on the raised platform at the far end, facing the rest of the hall. Fine padded chairs were arranged with a violet cushioned chair for the Flamekeeper in the center.

There had been arguments about the seating. The Flamekeeper wanted to seat Neevan next to him. Martan argued it was dangerous to place the Flamekeeper next to an enemy. Rokkman suggested placing Neevan next to Clarian, but Martan countered by pointing out that Clarian shouldn’t be exposed to her either. Clarian suggested seating her next to Rokkman because he was old. Rokkman glared back amid the laughter. That broke up the heated discussion, and they settled on Neevan sitting next to Rokkman on one side, with Martan on the other.

At a signal from the chief steward, the hall doors were thrown open, and the invited guests flooded in—the Citadel guards, the officers, officials, merchants, city leaders, scholars, priests, and high-ranking members of the Flamekeeper’s staff. Guests were ushered to their places by an army of stewards.

The Flamekeeper entered and took his seat at the center of the head table, followed by Rokkman, Clarian, Martan, and other commanders. Clarian looked around but did not see Neevan.

At that moment, a buzz started in the back of the hall and as heads turned, in glided Neevan. The hall hushed, and all rose to their feet.

As Neevan surmounted the platform and approached the head table, escorted by a steward, she noticed the seating arrangement. She stopped at her designated seat but did not take her chair. “Flamekeeper, I would sit next to Clarian.”

The old Flamekeeper, flustered, tried to figure out what to do. Alarm flashed across the face of Martan, and Rokkman looked annoyed.

Clarian smiled and stood, holding up his hand to get their attention. He turned to Martan and asked him to switch places. Martan, with a foolish look on his face, did as he was asked. Clarian waved Neevan to the chair next to him. On the other side of Neevan was Rokkman, who smiled graciously, and she returned his smile.

As Neevan seated herself next to him, Clarian could smell the faint fragrance of wildflowers. She was gorgeously dressed again, in a gold jacket over pale-blue pantaloons. Her hair was gathered in a golden net at the back of her head, and from her ears hung blue stones that sparkled and flashed. He did not look at her or say anything, pretending to be interested in the wine servers busily filling everyone’s silver cups. At some point he could feel her eyes on him, and he turned toward her. They looked at each other fully in the face. He studied her, as it appeared she was studying him.

She smiled, her white teeth showing through ruby-red lips, and he could not help smiling back. He felt awkward, not knowing what to say. He looked deep into her remarkable eyes, large and green, with a starburst in the center, and framed by long, black lashes. He noticed that her eyes had a slight slant at the outside corners. He felt his chest tighten, and he desperately tried to think of something to say, but the uniqueness of the moment—and of the situation and of her—was beyond words. She said nothing, but her unabashed interest in him showed through. He leaned closer to her.

“About that night in the forest,” he said, his voice low.

She threw her head back and laughed easily, her gaiety spilling out in warm, mirthful tones. Others at the table were startled at her reaction to Clarian’s remark, which they could not hear but wondered about. All eyes throughout the hall were upon Clarian and Neevan.

Her eyes flirted and flashed. “What about that night?”

“I was a bit forward for a first meeting.”

She giggled and, nearby, heads craned trying to pick up on the conversation.

“You were, indeed,” she replied, keeping her voice low, now aware that others were trying to listen in.

“I didn’t know what to say to a Maggan girl, especially under the circumstances.”

“Actually, I didn’t have a chance to say what was truly on my mind, before you had to depart so quickly.” She put her hand on his arm.

“Perhaps there will be another opportunity to complete our conversation now that you are here.”

“I look forward to it.” She held his eyes, her smile coy, and her white hand still on his arm. “And I owe you a knot on the head.”

He laughed. “Yes, I guess you do.”

The servers loading the tables with food interrupted their conversation. As platters were put on the table, Rokkman inquired about her journey. Even as the guests were served, the hum of talk wafting through the hall, everyone kept his eyes on Neevan. Discussions progressed but attention would invariably return to her. After all the food had been served, the Flamekeeper again introduced Neevan and welcomed her to the Citadel. A round of applause followed, and she gave a little bow and smiled at the crowd.