Call Of The Flame (Book 1) (8 page)

He reached out to shake Kyric’s hand.  “You are a good
archer, Kyric Ospraeus.  I will see you on the platform.”  Vaust held the
handshake for a moment, as if he could learn more of Kyric with the touch.  In
turn, Kyric looked him in the eye, and though he had never seen Vaust before
this day, he suddenly remembered him.  No doubt he had seen him in a dream.

Kyric had heard during the qualifying that a prize for
second place would be given this year — a silver arrow.  So he would be on the
platform with Vaust.  Perhaps all was not lost.  Maybe he would get the
invitation to the royal reception as well.

Apparently that ceremony would be held at once.  While a
gang of workmen hauled the platform onto one end of the field, the crowd
spilled out of the far side of the stands for a closer look.  The judges
ushered the two of them to the platform before they could be surrounded.

“My arrows —,” Kyric began.

“They will be collected for you,” a judge assured him.

A master of ceremonies announced them to the crowd with
booming voice.  Two young women set laurels on their heads, and two more hung
ribbons with small ornamental arrows, gold and silver, around their necks. 
Kyric’s arrow seemed to be solid silver and weighed close to a pound, and he
figured that if he pawned it he would have food and lodging for a month.  Along
with the gold arrow Vaust received a piece of paper with an elaborate seal.

As they stepped down from the platform, Kyric saw Pitbull
passing nearby and was about to call out to him when Jela came out of the crowd
and threw her arms out in a great hug.

“You were so good,” she cried.  “You were wonderful.  You
almost won.”

While Jela carried on, Pitbull circled behind Vaust,
stopping and taking a hard look at him over his spectacles.  Vaust stiffened
and looked behind, but Pitbull had already slipped away into a throng of
spectators.

Jela turned to Vaust.  “You were good too.”

Vaust bowed.  “Stefin Vaust.”

“Of Drendusia.  I heard.  I’m Jela.”

“I am charmed to meet such a lovely lady.”

Jela blushed.  She said to Kyric, “He’s a gentleman as
well.”

“Are the two of you related?” said Vaust.

Jela giggled.  “No.  He’s my uncle’s friend.”

“How very fortunate for him.”

Jela giggled again, then noticed the paper in Vaust’s hand. 
“You didn’t get an invitation to the reception,” she said to Kyric.

He shook his head.  “The nobility are not interested in
those who come second.”

“That’s not fair,” she said.  “You have a prize arrow as
well.  And you were so looking forward to meeting Princess Aerlyn.”

“You may have mine,” Vaust said, “so long as you bring Jela
as your guest.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Jela said.  “But won’t they be
expecting you?”

“Oh I will be there,” Vaust said.  “My employer is very
close to Senator Lekon.  I don’t need a pass to get in.”

“Who is your employer?” Jela asked.

“Kleon Morae,” Vaust said, pointing to Lekon’s private box
atop the pavilion.

Kyric looked up, and there stood Morae next to the Senator,
looking down at them, still wearing the same red hat with the black plume.

With sudden inspiration Kyric said to Vaust, “I’ve heard
he’s a generous man, good to work for.  Do you not love him?”  And he waited
for the lie.

This time Vaust laughed aloud.  “No I do not.  He’s an
unforgiving tyrant.  But he has much to offer in the way of advancement.  I
believe he’s soon to be Archon Morae.”

He spoke the truth.  Kyric was sure of that.

“In that case,” Kyric said to him, “I accept with
gratitude.”

Vaust began to hand him the invitation then paused. 
“Remember,” he said, nodding towards Jela.

Kyric took the paper and Jela covered her mouth with both
hands.  “I’m going to the royal reception,” she screamed.  “I have to go tell
everyone.  Wait,” she said, having a sobering thought.  “I don’t have anything
to wear.”

“You do not have to dress like royalty,” Vaust told her. 
“I’m sure that you will be most lovely in what you have.”  He bowed again and kissed
her hand.  “Until tomorrow night then.”

Before he walked away he gave one last nod to Kyric.  “Be
seeing you.”

“He certainly has the warrior essence to him,” said Pitbull,
wiping the foam from the stubble above his lip.  “I got close enough to the
bastard to see that.  But I can’t tell if his blood runs black.”

Aiyan took a sip of his sherry.  “Seems likely, if he has
the essence.  But Morae could still be teaching him, not quite ready for the
ceremony with Cauldin — ‘kissing his hand’ I believe they call it.  You were
face to face with him, Kyric.  What do you think?”

“He has no love for Morae.  I can tell you that.”  Recalling
the dream of blood drinking, his wine suddenly tasted too sweet, and he set his
glass down on the table.

Aiyan had wisely chosen a corner table at The Peacock’s Tale
before it began to fill.  Kyric could then sit with his back to the room and
avoid all the back patting and shouts of “nice shooting,” and the ones who just
wanted to chat with him for a while and tell him all about themselves.  He
couldn’t imagine the attention he would have got had he won the gold arrow.

When he had finally found the judge who had collected the
arrows, the man had only half of them.  The rest had been taken as souvenirs,
the magic arrow among them. 
Might as well tell them now
.

“Pitbull, I lost your enchanted arrow.”

Pitbull answered him with a wide grin.  “It doesn’t matter
to me.  It belonged to Aiyan.”  He tried to conceal his laughter by burying his
face in a gigantic tankard.

Aiyan visibly struggled with some kind of secret mirth. 
“You see — “ he began to say, but then Pitbull laughed into his beer and Aiyan
broke into a chuckle he couldn’t speak through.

“What?” said Kyric.

“The thing is,” Aiyan managed to say.  Pitbull threw his
head back with spasms of hard laughter and Aiyan had to pause again.  “There
was nothing at all magical about that arrow.  It was a good arrow; I bought it
from the best fletcher in town, but it wasn’t enchanted.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea of how to make a magic
arrow,” said Pitbull, wiping tears from his cheeks.  “I don’t know anyone who
does.”  His giggles started up again.  “The symbols I painted on the shaft
don’t mean anything — I just made them up.”

“But it worked,” Kyric said to Aiyan.

“It opened you to the possibility of a spiritual link
between the archer and the arrow.  This is the key to the essence of the
warrior.  The way the Unknowable Forces enter your dreams tells me that this
has been coming for some time.  You just needed a little push.”

Suddenly serious, Pitbull made a mournful sound.  “Communion
with the Unknowable Forces at your age, and with as little as you know, must be
both terrible and sublime.”

The food came and they dined on shellfish, spiced greens, and
cold tomato soup.  The waiter recognized Kyric and he had to stop and pull out
the silver arrow so the waiter could see it up close.

When they had finished, Pitbull said, “There’s something
I’ve been meaning to tell you, Aiyan.  Ever since the games started I’ve been
hearing stories about creatures in the sewers that come out at night.  They’re
the size of a large dog, and they crawl around on walls like lizards.  As many
as three have been spotted together.  Here’s the strange part — they’ve been
seen trying to open shutters and windows on folk’s houses.  You hear all sorts
of things when the games are on, so I didn’t think much of it until a constable
I know brings me a strip of hairless hide.  Seems that a doctor caught one
climbing in his daughter’s bedroom window and shot it.  It got away, and there
was no blood, but he apparently blew a piece of its skin off.”

“Did he say what the creature looked like?”

“Only that it had hands.  Anyway, in layman’s terms this
hide is naturally magical, like a firebird’s tooth or a dragon’s scale.”

Aiyan leaned forward.  “A creation of Derndra?”

“That was my thought,” Pitbull said.  “No one really knows
how much of Derndra’s Palace lies intact beneath the new city.”

Kyric blinked twice.  “You think these creatures have been
down there for a thousand years?”

“Why not?” Pitbull said, picking at his teeth with a
fingernail.  “Firebirds and dragons live many thousands of years.”

Kyric thought for a moment.  Something about this rang
familiar.  “This reminds me of a passage in the Edda of Derndra, but I can’t
remember it.”

“I thought you knew them all,” Aiyan said.

“I can recite them, but it’s hard to pull a line out of the
middle of a given book.  I just need to sift through my memory.  I’ll think of
it eventually.”

Aiyan said to Pitbull, “So these creatures have only been
spotted in the last few days?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Curious.  Let’s say for argument that the enemy has been digging
around and came across these things.  What would it take to control them?”

Pitbull held up one finger.  “Control is iffy with any
magical creature and it’s very complicated.  If they have a magician skilled at
touching minds he could send them out on simple errands.”

“Such as looking for a missing book?”

Pitbull drummed the table for a moment.  “Not likely.  They
would have to show the creatures which house to look in.  But if a magician had
one of Derndra’s original grimoires, then yes, it could be done.

“Of course the kind of devices Derndra built leads to all
sorts of possibilities.  No one has mentioned seeing any kind of collar around
their necks, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find one.  The creatures would then
be linked to a controlling device, something like a ring or an amulet.  Some of
the ancient artifacts were so powerful that they would cast their magic in
anyone’s hands.”

“If they had a magician,” Aiyan said, “wouldn’t they have
found me and the book by now?”

“Many of us aren’t finders.  If there was another finder in
town I would know it.”

“How’s that?” Kyric asked.

“We would have found each other.”

“It may not have anything to do with us,” Aiyan said. 
“Except that I don’t believe in coincidence.”

The taper in the middle of the table had burned low, and
Kyric let his finger play with the tiny flame.  “What are you going to do about
Stefin Vaust?”

“I’m not sure,” Aiyan said.  “See what happens at the royal
soiree tomorrow night.  To be honest, I keep expecting one the masters of
Esaiya to appear.”

Pitbull shrugged.  “The barrier around that little island
sometimes works both ways.”

“Still, being so close to home, I thought that Grandmaster
Alessi would have sensed them.”  He patted the pocket pistol beneath his vest. 
“I should have sneaked up to their box today and shot him in the head myself.”

“You know you can’t take them unawares.”

Aiyan nodded.

“Then go to the narrows and signal the masters,” said
Pitbull.

“I would have to find a horse and ride all night in order to
make it to the reception.  I’ll do that if I have to, but we’ll go to the
reception first.”

Pitbull placed one hand in the other.  “I tell you this,
Aiyan.  I feel something connected to this little party — a significant
vibration.”

Kyric made a leap of thought.  “What is the moment?”

They both gave him a sharp look, Pitbull breaking into a
grin.  “It is the moment of the dance.”

“Then we must step lightly,” Aiyan said.

Kyric looked from one to the other.  “I take it that we’re
not talking about ballroom dancing?”

“What’s happening now between Aiyan and Morae,” Pitbull
said, “that is the dance.”

They sat quietly and listened to the rise and fall of the
dinnertime hubbub.  Pitbull drained the last of his beer.  “Well, I’m off.  The
wife and children are probably home by now.”

“My love to Estia,” said Aiyan.

Kyric was surprised that he was married.  He couldn’t help
but ask, “Your wife, is she . . . “

“A little woman?” said Pitbull
with a wry smile.  “Yes she is.  But the kids are all full size.”

Aiyan tried taking the back ways to Sedlik’s house.  The
streets lay jammed with more people each night, and even the quiet narrow lanes
had their share of traffic.  After turning a corner Aiyan pulled Kyric into a
dark doorway.  “The crowded streets certainly make it easy to follow someone
without being seen,” he whispered.

Kyric held still in the dark.  “Are we being followed?”

“If we are, we’re in much more trouble than I thought. 
Still we must take every precaution.  For the sake of our friends.”

He watched for a time, then, still watching, he said to
Kyric, “You can still walk away from this.”  When Kyric didn’t say anything he
said, “I have my invitation.  And I think you would be safe on your own now.”

Kyric looked at the people drifting past, their paper lamps
bobbing like bright flowers in a flowing stream.  “I don’t have anything else
to do.”

Aiyan turned to him.  “You have plenty to do, such as making
a life for yourself.  With your education you could easily get work as a
tutor.  Young as you are, I think you have the temperament to be a teacher. 
And then there’s making friends and meeting girls.”

“What was it you told me earlier — you don’t get over it in
a few days?”

Aiyan nodded.  “So you wish to pay them back.  Don’t worry. 
Stay with me and you’ll get your shot at them.  But you’ve heard the
expression, ‘
Be careful what you wish for
?’  It doesn’t say nearly
enough.  If you wish to do violence to these men, you may get that, but if you
do there will be so much more.”

Kyric thought about it as they walked on.  He
was
angry.  He
did
want to pay them back.  And more.  This felt strange. 
His mother had raised him to never fight back, and the rune sisters always
preached non-violence.

When they arrived at Sedlik’s house, Jela was in her sewing
room facing four evening dresses hanging on wooden racks.  And when Aiyan told
her that he was going in her place she wailed so loudly that Sedlik came down
to see what was the matter, instantly angry at the mention that Stefin Vaust
could be a Knight of the Dragon’s Blood.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Jela said to Aiyan.  “What
if I promise to have nothing to do with him?  I just want to meet Princess
Aerlyn same as you.”

“No!” Sedlik shouted.  “You will not go.  If I have to lock
you in your room for two days you will not go near them.  You know what they
are.”  His pointed stare at Aiyan was clearly an accusation.

“Listen to me, my sweet,” Aiyan said gently.  “While this
appears to be a simple party, we will in fact be playing a deadly game.  And
your presence there would make it even more dangerous for Kyric and me.  You
wouldn’t want to see either of us hurt would you?”

She shook her head, a slow tear leaking from the corner of
one eye.

“Besides, I need my name on the pass.”

Jela wiped her eye.  “It’s being held at the fairground, not
the residence.  Someone like you could easily find a way to get in.”

Aiyan smiled.  “Perhaps I could, but this is better.  For
all of us.”

She tried a different tack.  “Kyric could stay here and I
could go with you.  That way you would be there to keep an eye on me.”

They all shook their heads at her.

She glared at Kyric.  “I don’t why you’re involved in this
anyway. 
Why are you even here
?”

He had no answer for her.

“You, you . . . men!” she said with more than a little
contempt.  She gathered her dresses into a great wad and stamped up the stairs
to her bed chamber.

Later, as Kyric lay in the
guest bed listening to the endless revels out in the streets, he realized that
she had called him a man.  Aiyan had done so as well at the games.  All his
life it had been boy, or kid, or son, or lad.  He smiled.  Jela liked him.  He
was sure of it.

She still seemed a little miffed the next morning, answering
politely only when spoken to, but she smiled at them all, humming a lively tune
as she packed her lunch for the last day of the games.  Kyric spending the day
with she and her friends was apparently out of the question now.  When she left
the house she carried an extra bag and one of her formal evening dresses.

“I’m going to Sercey’s after the closing of the games,” she
told Sedlik.  “There’s a dance at New Market Square tonight.  Don’t wait up.”

“Even more impertinent than her mother,” Sedlik said to the
closed door after she had gone.

Aiyan and Kyric returned to the tailor’s shop at noon for
the fitting.  A small adjustment, a few stitches, and it was done.  They stood
in front of the tailor’s glass, looking like a pair of barons in a painting,
Aiyan in the white and silver of Sedlik’s finest doublet, Kyric wearing
charcoal with pleated sleeves of sky blue, a match for his hair and eyes. 
Fashion required both of them to wedge themselves into uncomfortable shoes with
large buckles.

They strolled past the Games Pavilion on the way back, Aiyan
stalking through the crowd like a hunting beast.  Looking for Morae, Kyric
imagined, ready to cut him down should he come upon him unguarded.  But Senator
Lekon’s box lay empty that day.  At least Kyric was able to watch a few
footraces.

Later, after they had returned to Sedlik’s house, they sat
at the kitchen table.  The sun had passed zenith, and the windows lay in shadow
now, the thick stones of the kitchen wall a fortress against the afternoon
heat.  They spoke of small matters for a while, then Kyric asked Aiyan, “How
did you come to be a Knight of the Flaming Blade?”

“That’s not so long a story,” Aiyan said, darkly amused. 
“My parents were actors in a traveling troupe, and I grew up in the towns along
the highroad thinking that I would be the same, even going onstage at times
when they needed a child in a scene.”

“I see,” Kyric said.  “That’s how you know about makeup and
Captain Bombasto, and why you can speak like a bumpkin or an aristocrat.”