Call Of The Flame (Book 1)
Read Call Of The Flame (Book 1) Online
Authors: James R. Sanford
CALL OF THE FLAME
James R. Sanford
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales
is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by
James R. Sanford
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written
permission from the author. This e-book has been published without Digital
Rights Management software installed, so that it may be read on personal
devices.
More
e-books by James R. Sanford:
Magesong
The Winter Beast (and other
tales)
To
Todd, for the times we burned.
CHAPTER 5: The Knights of the
Pyxidium
CHAPTER 7: The Way of the Flame
CHAPTER 13: Cinnamon upon a Pillow
CHAPTER 14: The Flesh of the
Innocent
CHAPTER 15: That Which Lies Beneath
Kyric awoke with a start. His campfire still burned low,
and he knew that he hadn't been asleep long. He had been having one of
those
dreams, but he couldn’t remember it. The forest stood silent, moonlight
filtering through the canopy of leaves. Had he heard something? Throwing a
handful of kindling onto the coals, he fanned the fire to life, but it wasn't
enough light to see past the nearest tree.
The highroad had been crowded that day, the wealthy families
in private carriages, a few covered wagons, most everyone else afoot, the
overland coaches not running at all in this last week before summer, and no
post horses available anywhere. They were all going south for the games, and
little comraderies formed with but a few friendly words — safety in numbers
with all the pickpockets and thieves coming out for the Games of Aeva. Kyric
had walked and talked a short way with some of his fellow travelers, but he had
nothing in common with them, not even the local boys his own age. Of course not
— how could he? He had wanted to join in their gossip and jests, but he didn‘t
know how. They would sooner or later see that he was strange and stop speaking
to him.
Kyric had camped alone, far from the road, and now he wished
he hadn't done so. Silence lurked expectantly in the shadows, and the slow
night breeze felt eerie, like the breath of some unseen creature.
It was only a fox or an owl, he said to himself, tossing a
few more sticks onto the fire. Then he saw that his bow was missing. The
canvas sleeve he carried it in lay crumpled on the ground next to his
knapsack. His quiver of arrows had been knocked over and spilled, but all his
other things were still in place.
He leapt to his feet, as if he could strike off into the darkness
and run the thief down, even as he realized the futility of it.
Then a voice, "Hello in the camp," and two men
dressed for hunting stepped into the circle of light. Neither of them carried
a lantern.
Kyric had seen them before. They were gentlemen who served
Senator Lekon. The tall fellow — Kyric couldn’t remember his name — carried a
blunderbuss at the ready. The thin-faced one, Joff they called him, said quietly,
“Don’t be alarmed, lad, we’re tracking a criminal. A madman. Perhaps you’ve
seen someone tonight?”
“Yes,” Kyric blurted out, “I mean no, but— “
A soft whirr, then a feathered shaft protruding from the
tall man’s chest. He looked at it stupidly as he sank to his knees.
Kyric froze in horror, vaguely aware that the arrow, fletched
with blue feathers, was one of his own, but Joff sprang aside instantly,
drawing a pistol from his sash, cocking and firing it with one fluid motion at
a man rushing in from the shadows, a man with a longsword gripped in two hands.
The swordsman’s head snapped to the side, as if he had been
hit, and he staggered for a step before regaining the flow of his attack. Then
Joff had his sabre out, impossibly fast. As they met, blades clashed, the two
men moving strangely, delicate steps as in a dance, then Joff lay on the
ground, a foot-long gash in his torso spewing blood and breath. He died within
moments.
Dragging the two bodies close to the fire, the swordsman
looked closely at their wounds. “So your blood was still red,” he muttered.
He glanced up at Kyric. “They were very good. I thought it likely that they
were men of the dragon’s blood.” He shook his head. “Their master may have
held dominion over them, but so many young ones join them willingly now.”
He rose and looked Kyric in the eye. With a touch of surprise,
Kyric realized that he was broad-shouldered and burly, with thick arms and legs
— a body that belied its shocking quickness.
“My deepest apology for using you to snare those two,” he
said, “but they were skilled enough that I couldn’t ambush them with only my sword.”
He spoke softly, the sort of thing a madman might do after committing a
horrible crime.
He fetched Kyric’s bow from behind a tree, tossing it to him
as he retrieved the tall man’s blunderbuss. He quickly checked the flint and
the pan.
“Heading to Aeva for the games?” he asked.
A criminal. A madman
. Kyric nodded, unable to
speak. Two men lay dead before him.
“The archery contest?”
He nodded again.
“Good for you. It’s almost a lost art these days.”
The tall one stared up at him, the eyes fixed with surprise.
A dark stain spread across the forest floor as Kyric watched, the stench of
blood and bile rising with it. Those who had never seen human slaughter were
supposed to be sickened by it, but Kyric felt nothing, just numbness.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. The swordsman was there
saying gently, “I am terribly sorry. This is something no one should have to
witness.”
Kyric stood frozen with terror. Witness. He was a witness
to murder and by all rights the criminal should kill him now so that none may tell
of his crime. But a madman might not think that way. Who knows what he
thought? A madman might even want to befriend him. “It’s alright,” he managed
to say.
The swordsman shook his head. “But it isn’t. Other hunters
search for me along the highroad, and that pistol shot will bring someone
around sooner not later. All of this will not look good for you. It is the
moment of the winter dragon. If you want to make it to the games you’ll have
to come with me.” He raised the blunderbuss for emphasis.
Kyric looked into his eyes. Even in the darkness they
seemed glazed and faraway.
The moment of the winter dragon
. Yes,
certainly the man was mad. Kyric would play along and look for a chance to
slip away. That seemed best.
“What do I call you?”
The madman smiled. “Aiyan. My name is Aiyan. Now quickly,
gather your things and douse the fire.”
When Kyric had done so, Aiyan asked him, “Do you see well in
the dark?”
“Well enough.”
“Then you take the lead. I’ll walk in your footsteps and
cover your tracks. Just keep going
that
way.” He pointed to the northwest.
“That will take us through the forest. We should come out
somewhere near Liora.”
The swordsman nodded. “Beyond Liora there’s a path that
runs along the coast all the way to the narrows.”
Kyric plunged ahead, moving quickly as he could, hoping the
madman would simply fall behind and be lost, but the undergrowth slowed him and
Aiyan shadowed him easily, matching his stride in a way that made Kyric think he
was actually walking in his footsteps.
“How do you do that in the dark?” he whispered over his
shoulder.
The answer came after a long silence. “Let’s say that it is
something you can practice. Many things are possible.”
They found a game trail dappled with moonlight and followed
it for a while, the chirping of crickets a rhythm for the calls of night birds
in the distance. When it turned away from their path they plunged into a
thicket, walking through huge spider webs that sent shivers down Kyric’s back.
After what seemed like hours, the moon at last set and Kyric could no longer
pick his way among the trees.
“We’ll rest now,” said Aiyan. “Sunrise will come soon
enough.”
While Kyric rummaged in his knapsack for biscuits, the swordsman
knelt down and was still, as if listening, or perhaps making a silent prayer.
At length he said to Kyric, “You haven’t asked me why I killed those men.”
Kyric said nothing.
“I heard what they said to you, but it isn’t true.”
Whatever the man wanted to talk about, Kyric would let him.
“Then I would like to know the truth, Aiyan.”
A low chuckle escaped the man’s throat. “You’re different.
Most people don’t want to know. And I do not blame them.”
The night had at last reached full dark, the insects and
creatures of the forest falling silent. Kyric could see nothing before him.
He was alone with the blackness and the madman’s voice.
“The Long Winter changed everything, of course,” said Aiyan.
“It made the world into a place where they could flourish — the Aessian
kingdoms fragmenting into dozens of squabbling city-states, government becoming
nothing more than a contest among the most ruthless of the power-seekers. And
he
went among them sowing the seed of his black blood.
“But they — to mock us he calls them his knights — they are
not immortal as
he
is. His first spawn are long dead and much of what
they did has been corrected by the order.”
He made a sound, a sigh of exasperation perhaps. “This is
not what I wanted to tell you.
“I killed those two because that is what we do, us and
them. Had they caught me unawares I would be the one lying dead. We are
warriors, and we are at war. So we kill and we die.
“Their society is a secret one, as is my order. It could
not be otherwise in this age of invention and reason, for they use reason as a
weapon, decrying us as lunatics should we openly warn any of their powers. Do you
know what those two young men were promised? The power to dominate another’s
will completely, to make anyone their willing slave — they gain this power when
they complete their apprenticeship and take the black blood.”
He paused, struck by a sudden pain, his breath coming fast
and shallow.
“So now I know. Not Senator Lekon, of course — no, they
seldom take on the lead role — it was the business partner, the one they call Morae.”
He had begun to labor at speaking, his voice tightening.
“Can you remember that name, boy? Take it to Esaiya if I
fall, for Morae has poisoned me. Shout it across the narrows and they will
hear. And tell them . . . I hid the rudders in the ruins of Karta. Can you do
that?”
This is a test, thought Kyric. A test to see if I believe
in the fantasy that his madness tells him is real. “I don’t know where Esaiya
is,” he said.
“The castle,” said Aiyan, his voice thick now. “Across the
narrows . . . the castle.”
The world soon sharpened into focus with the first grey
light of morning. Aiyan lay unconscious, and Kyric studied him as dawn broke
over the woodlands. His attire was bizarre, almost random. He had no hat, and
kept his hair back with a simple braid. Beneath a plain leather vest sporting
a dozen crudely-repaired rents, he wore a cheap peasant shirt, yet his breeches
were simply absurd: huge pantaloons, striped red and yellow, tucked into fine
napped forester boots. But what truly frightened Kyric was the man’s face. It
was smeared with the remains of powder and rouge — heavy makeup hastily wiped
away, leaving only black paint around the eyes, an insane clown beneath a human
mask.
His breathing didn‘t sound right. Was he really poisoned as
he had said? Kyric went to him and carefully pried the blunderbuss from his
grip, surprised at how cold his fingers felt. Then he saw the matted blood
just above the man’s temple. The ball Joff had fired had indeed grazed him.
Nothing mortal. But enough to knock anyone flat out. He had heard of the
inhuman strength of madmen.
Kyric wanted to pity him, but couldn’t. The night had been
a nightmare, and he had seen the man take two lives. He crept away, continuing
west toward Liora, the cries of morning birds covering the sound of his footfalls.
When he reached the town, he considered going on his way and
telling no one of what passed last night. They would find the man soon
enough. But a group of armed horsemen lead by Irren Parfas, the town
constable, came trotting down the lane and he hailed them. He told them of the
madman.
“Last night we received word from Senator Lekon that the
lunatic could be coming this way,” Parfas said.
“Can you tell me who he is,” asked Kyric, “and what he’s
done?”
“He’s a cousin to Senator Lekon. Been mad all his life.
They’ve always kept him locked-up, but he killed a servant and ran away.”
This was not the answer Kyric expected. How could an imprisoned
lunatic learn to swordfight like a master?
Parfas made him lead them back to where he had left the
madman. The forest looked different in the full daylight. It took an hour to
find the clearing again, but when at last they did, and Aiyan still lay there unconscious,
Kyric realized that he expected him to be gone.
“It was dark and we walked a long way,” Kyric told Constable
Parfas. “I don’t think I could find the place where the two bodies are.”
Parfas nodded grimly. “I understand, lad. No need for that.
I’ll send a few of the men to look.”
Parfas searched the madman’s clothing, feeling under his
vest and looking in his boots, saying, “He stole a valuable book as well.” But
all he found was a big silver locket. “Did you see it? Maybe he dropped it on
the way.”
Kyric shook his head. “I never saw anything like a book.”
The constable tried to open the locket, but it held fast.
He turned it over and found the other side embossed with the design of a sword
suspended in fire. He felt and pressed all over, and even tried to twist it apart,
but could find no way to open it.
They carried Aiyan to Liora and put him in the jail, a small
stone house with a room for a stove and three cells, two with cage doors for
the prisoners and one with a window and a solid oak door for the jailer.
Parfas took Kyric aside. “I can’t hold trial for a madman,
even one guilty of murder, so I’m going to ride to the Lekon estate and tell
the Senator that we have his mad cousin. I’ll be back tomorrow morning with
someone who can take custody of the man. Could you possibly stay here and keep
an eye on the prisoner until then? My regular jailer, along with half the town,
has already gone off to Aeva for the games. You look strong enough to handle
that fellow should he wake up. Tell you what — I’ll have my wife bring you
some roasted hens for dinner. I’m sure that Senator Lekon’s agent will offer
you some sort of reward.”