Die for the Flame (12 page)

Throughout the day, from positions of cover, Karran archers kept up a continuous bombardment of arrows into the ranks of the exhausted enemy from the flanks. Mounted archers made sudden attacks at the head of the column, causing the Maggan to stop and regroup. The day proved long and costly for the Maggan, and they could not rest.

The fourth night was approaching, and the Karran had built a new barricade farther down the road that the Maggan would reach sometime in the early part of the night. Lillan rested her archers and horses behind some low-lying hills east of the road. They were exhausted from doing sorties all day. Except a few hours’ rest here and there, no Karran soldier had slept for several days. The heat of the day sapped their strength. With the coming of night, a breeze sprang up carrying the scent of fire and the stink of death. Horses were tethered on lines, and the soldiers, wrapped in cloaks, napped in the dry, brittle grass, too tired to go to the cook fires for food.

Lillan rode into the camp, her face crinkled with fatigue, eyes bloodshot. She found other officers seated on the ground near a line of stubby trees, a small fire burning. Several officers started to get up, and she waved them down. She dismounted, handed her horse’s reins off to a soldier, and joined the group on the ground. Someone passed her a container of water. She surveyed the tired group and then glanced up into the sky, judging the rapidly descending night. The moon had not yet risen.

There were dirt smudges on Lillan’s face and a tear in her tunic. She quickly assessed her officers’ degree of fatigue. She knew she had to keep them going for another day or two. “We haven’t beaten them yet, but victory is within reach. Clarian is in the forest marching on their city right now. He may already have reached it. We will keep harassing them here until they are completely exhausted, and the fight in them is extinguished. Just a little while longer. When will you torch the barricades?”

“In a few hours they will be approaching the barricades, and we will set them ablaze and bottle them up again,” answered an older officer.

“Be careful. They tend to get smarter after the first surprise. Get a few hours of sleep,” Lillan said. She stood up and walked a short distance away and lay down in tall grass behind a clump of scrub trees, wrapping up in her cloak, almost invisible in the darkness.

They rode through the farmlands at an easy gallop, following the road as it made slow curves through the fields. It was late morning. Riding through a clump of immense trees, the troops broke out into a vast, open park area, with manicured grass and flowers and shrubs. The morning was a welcome relief to the soldiers and lifted their spirits. A slow-moving, small green river appeared on the left, bending to run alongside the road in the same direction the soldiers were riding. The road widened and seemed to head directly toward a heavily forested ridge.

Clarian galloped up to the scouts and rode at the head of the column with Martan, trying to see ahead. As they approached the ridge, the road angled downward, and so did the river. They crested a hill and reined in. The road and the river disappeared down into an immense mouth of darkness that seemed to slide under the ridge.

Martan looked at Clarian. “There’s the cavern of Minteegan.”

“I don’t see any guards,” said Clarian.

“No guards. They have no enemies. No one would dare come in here. Remember, they eat people. And they live in darkness,” said Martan.

“Martan, take two men and ride in there and scout it out a bit before we go charging in. Try not to attract attention to yourselves. Act like Maggan.”

“Why do I get all the good assignments?” joked Martan. He beckoned to two scouts sitting on their horses nearby, and the three rode along the road and down into the yawning darkness.

The wide road pitched steeply down into the cavern, with the river rushing forward on the left side. The road was well traveled and hard-packed. Martan and the two scouts walked their horses into the dark. Down and down went the road, and then it took a sharp bend and with that most of the light from the outside was lost. The river surged against rocks on their left, covering the noise of the horses’ hooves. The road leveled out and made another turn, and the cavern opened up into a vast space, hundreds of feet wide and hundreds of feet high. Built against the walls of the cavern were wooden buildings that rose up in apartments, one on top of another, some six or eight stories high. The main road divided, and wooden buildings and shops lined the avenues. Brazier fires were burning in metal stands along the streets and near many of the buildings. Light shone from many windows of the apartments. As Martan and the men gazed at this underground city, their eyes became adjusted to the dim light. Martan could now smell fires and food and humans. Some dogs barked far off in the back of the cavern. Now they could see a few Maggan walking on the streets. The underground city extended far back into the darkness, a few lights and braziers glowing in the distance. Martan wondered if they had enough troops for this invasion. He turned his horse around, and they walked out of the cavern, back to where Clarian and a thousand Karran warriors waited.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
hey thundered into the dark cavern sitting high on their horses and carrying blazing torches. There was no shouting. The initial column of scouts swept past the first buildings. Their mission was to keep on the lookout for Maggan soldiers and penetrate deeper into the cavern of Minteegan. Should soldiers or resistance or some surprising feature of the cavern appear, they were to alert Clarian and the main body of troops just behind them. They plunged down into the underground city in the massive cave.

Clarian hand-signaled his troops to split off into groups and take different sections of the city. With a large body of soldiers behind him, he galloped up to the first buildings and pointed. Soldiers shoved their torches under the eaves of buildings until the tinder-dry wood caught flame and then moved on to set another fire. In moments, the fires shot up the sides of the wooden structures, smoke belching out black and white, the homes and shops in the center burning furiously, and the apartments clinging to the cavern walls engulfed in great licking tongues of red-yellow flames.

Screams and shouts erupted. Heads poked out of windows. Clarian heard the first twang of arrows loosed at Maggan men as they ran out of the burning buildings with weapons in their hands. Men, women and children surged half-dressed out of the buildings into the streets. Bewilderment and shock registered on their faces as they tried to comprehend what was happening. Babies in their mothers’ arms were crying. Heavy smoke filled the cavern. Buildings glowed red-hot in the flames. People jumped out of the burning apartments in desperation, landing on the rocks below, their cries lost in the din of the conflagration. Structures collapsed, cracking and popping with heat, cascading down the side of the cavern and sliding into the streets.

A great cry of anguish from thousands of throats built up from inside the underground city, almost deafening. A man bolting out of the smoke wielding a lance rushed at Clarian. Clarian leaned down from his horse and chopped the lance in two with his sword, spurred his horse into the attacker, and delivered a slashing blow as the man fell. The streets were crowded with people screaming and running in panic.

Martan and his column pushed their way through the crowds. Occasionally, an arrow was loosed, a sword arched down, a lance was thrust, but resistance remained light. The fires were so intense that the cavern was illuminated as if it were noonday. Martan could see fires burning far back in the cavern where some of his troops had surged ahead. He motioned to the soldiers beside him, and swiveling around in his saddle, to those behind him, to follow. He urged his mount through the press of terrified Maggan toward the back of the cavern.

They broke out of the front of the city and kicked their horses into a lope, following the main road deeper into the cavern complex. The buildings stopped abruptly, and an underground lake appeared on their left. The road followed the lakeshore for a short distance. On the right were piles of gigantic boulders. Just ahead, they could make out a massive stone and timbered building that rose up several levels and on one side a great, open-air amphitheater with stone seats carved into the rock walls. Steps led up to great wooden doors, which were flung open. Karran soldiers were gathered at the base of the steps. Clarian rode up and dismounted. “What do we have here?” Clarian asked a soldier who was holding the reins of a dozen horses.

The soldier replied, “It’s their temple, I believe.”

“How much farther back does this cavern go?” inquired Clarian. He could see fires burning beyond the temple.

“Not far. It ends where you see the fires burning back there. We scouted back to the end of the cavern, setting fires and then returned here. Martan is inside,” said the soldier.

With several soldiers at his back, Clarian hurried up the steps and into the dark-gray building. It was dark, as would be expected in a Maggan building. He could hear shouting and clashing of swords echoing from somewhere in the building. He followed a wide corridor and was surprised when it opened to a great cathedral with rows upon rows of benches and a raised altar at the head of the room. Several small braziers placed around the room offered dim lighting. Behind the altar was a huge stone relief depicting a carved flame.

Shouting close by took Clarian out of the cathedral and down a corridor to a stairway landing. Karran soldiers were struggling with three unarmed Maggan in long violet robes. “We’re not leaving, you Karran dogs!” shouted one.

“Outside! It’s the last time I’ll tell you,” ordered a Karran soldier.

“What’s upstairs?” Clarian asked as he marched up to the struggling men.

“Their Flamekeeper. He’s locked himself in a room and won’t come out. Martan is trying to break the door down.”

“You cannot enter the sacred sanctuary!” yelled one of the priests.

Clarian ignored the prisoner and trotted up the stone staircase, several soldiers behind him. Once on the upper floor, he strode down a corridor, following the pounding that came from the far end of the building. He passed through an arched doorway into a large office area filled with desks and chairs and bookcases lining the wall. A door on the opposite side of the room was broken and hanging, and the pounding was coming from beyond. He stepped through the door and into an antechamber. There he found Martan and four scouts smashing a piece of iron into a wooden door, trying to break off the hinges. They had started a fire in the corner with broken furniture.

“Martan!” exclaimed Clarian.

Martan spun around and grinned. “Clarian!”

“Who is in there?”

“Their Flamekeeper. He won’t come out. And we’re not having much luck knocking down this door.”

“Burn it,” said Clarian. “We don’t have much time.”

The soldiers piled furniture and books against the door and set it ablaze. The dry wood caught, and soon the door was engulfed. The flames reached upward but not high enough to ignite the ceiling timbers.

After giving it sufficient time to burn, the soldiers smashed the iron into the door. After several blows, it broke inward. Martan barged in first, his sword drawn, followed by one of his scouts holding a burning piece of wood for light. Clarian followed.

It was a small room with an altar in the middle on a polished stone pedestal. A flame flickered on the altar. The altar was draped and enclosed on all sides with a sheer violet cloth. There was a chair before the altar. On the walls were draperies depicting white and violet flames. A small brazier provided light in one corner. Against the wall crouched a white-haired old man wearing a violet robe and hat. His catlike eyes were wide and terrified.

Martan approached the old man, brandishing his sword.

“Wait, Martan!” said Clarian, who crossed the room quickly to prevent harm to the old man. Clarian gazed into the old man’s eyes and looked over his vestments carefully. “Who are you?”

The shaking form answered, “I am the Flamekeeper. I am Nooradan.”

“He’s not a Flamekeeper,” exclaimed Martan.

Clarian looked around the room thoughtfully and then back at the old man. “Yes, I think he is their Flamekeeper. And this is their sanctuary.”

“You may not set foot in this sacred place, Karran!” the Flamekeeper croaked.

Martan stepped over to the altar and parted the curtain to look at the flame.

“No! No!” shouted the Flamekeeper, as he struggled upright, his back against the stone wall, waving Martan off.

“This flame is just an oil lamp, Clarian. There’s no sacred white flame here! There are no crystals!” exclaimed Martan.

The Flamekeeper shuffled over to guard the altar, and Martan backed away, looking puzzled. “Where’s the white flame, old man?”

“They don’t have a white flame, do you, Flamekeeper?” asked Clarian.

“When we retrieve the Flame from you Karran monsters who stole it from us, we will restore it to this holy place.”

“Shut up!” shouted Martan. “The flame has always been ours, you cave-dwelling rodent!”

The Flamekeeper’s face sagged in defeat. He pointed a thin, crooked finger first at Martan and then at Clarian. “Ferman will soon cut all you Karran down and restore the Flame to us. I don’t know how you got here, but you will not survive this evil act.”

“The evil act was to break the peace and attack us, Flamekeeper,” said Clarian. “Did you instigate the attack on the Karran with your lies?”

The Flamekeeper licked his lips but said nothing, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Clarian turned and walked to the door. “Bring him.”

“I’ll not leave, you Karran dogs!”

“Fine. Leave him,” said Clarian. As they exited the room, Clarian turned to Martan. “Burn the building!”

“What about their Flamekeeper?”

“He can stay if he wishes.”

Astride their horses at the foot of the temple steps, Martan and Clarian watched as the fires leaped from the windows of the temple. Great crashes thundered within as the floor beams, consumed in flames, weakened and collapsed. Someone screamed in agony from inside. Heavy smoke poured out of the building. A few priests who had been hiding now raced out of the building and down the steps, some with their violet robes smoking.

The road that ran past the temple was choked with frightened and cowed Maggan; men, women, and children crowded the road, staggering out of the burning part of the city that lay at the back of the cavern. Flames towered high, lighting the underground city in harsh, yellow, dancing light. The refugees surged down the road past Clarian and Martan toward the front of the cavern. Wails of terror and grief rose up and echoed off the walls of the cavern. The heat in the cave was intense.

Karran soldiers appeared riding their horses, herding the population along. There was no fighting. It was a strange sight, the multitude of Maggan, with their long, dark hair; white skin; and large, gleaming eyes, struggling down the road. The smell of the burning buildings was sharp, and the smoke collecting on the roof of the cavern now hung down low, stinging the eyes.

It took hours to drive the Maggan out of the cavern and up onto the surface. What greeted Clarian and Martan on the surface as they brought up the rear guard with the last of the people was a staggering sight. The adjacent fields and open areas were blanketed in every direction with Maggan, sitting or lying prostrate on the ground, huddled in small groups, families clustered, children crying, bewildered, exhausted. There was wailing around prone figures on the ground, those who had succumbed to the stress or died of wounds or burns. The afternoon sun was hot and bright and blazed down hard on the refugees. The cavern belched black and gray smoke out of its mouth, and the air had the sharp smell of fire and of burning things and burning flesh.

The Karran soldiers gathered near the entrance to the cavern, feeding and watering their horses. A few stood attentive, facing outward toward the frightened multitude, their bows fitted with ready arrows, alert to any resistance. The faces of the soldiers were grit-streaked and drawn with fatigue. There was no resistance from the beaten populace. The battle was over. Off to one side, Clarian stood with his officers. Before him was a gray-haired older Maggan man, his face and beard blackened with dirt and sweat, his clothes torn and caked with soot.

“Are you a leader here?” asked Clarian.

“I am on the council of elders,” he answered. He didn’t appear fearful, but his hands twitched slightly as he looked apprehensively at Clarian.

Clarian pointed his finger at the man. “Ferman and his army attacked us. He broke the peace. Now we have to fight to keep you Maggan from destroying our homeland. So we have brought the fight to you. Do you understand?”

“No Karran has ever come into the forest before,” answered the man, his voice quivering. “Are you going to kill us?”

“I say yes,” answered Martan. “We should kill them all. Why leave any alive? We’ll just have to fight them again.”

Clarian didn’t answer but looked out over the thousands of Maggan scattered before him. He hadn’t expected so much devastation and misery. But then he thought of his own family at risk from the treachery of the Maggan.

“We heard you Karran eat children,” the man asked tentatively.

The officers laughed and looked at one another with mirth in their eyes. Clarian smiled. “We heard you Maggan eat children. Is that true?”

“No, I was a soldier in the last war, and I never saw such a thing.”

“But you killed your prisoners, didn’t you?” asked Clarian.

The man didn’t answer. A bleak look dropped down over his face. He looked back at the cavern that was still billowing out great clouds of smoke.

A young officer with a bandage around his head spoke out. “We should kill them, Clarian.”

Other officers nodded.

“When Ferman’s army left the Forest of Darkness and crossed over into Karran land, they killed every Karran farmer and herder they caught, Clarian,” said Martan. “Let’s end it all now.” He drew his sword, his face twisted in hate.

A small girl child, face black with soot, clothes torn, stumbled up to Clarian, crying, and grabbed his trousers. Clarian picked the child up.

“What are you doing with that Maggan?” growled Martan.

Clarian, his face strained, his eyes tired, glanced from face to face. He knew they had hardened their hearts to the Maggan. “Do not kill those who do not raise a weapon against us.” He turned his face to the Maggan child. “You and your people will live today. But let this be a warning to you. Do not make us come back.”

Clarian walked with the sobbing child and handed her over to a young woman, who shrank from Clarian.

Clarian ordered his army to burn the granaries that dotted the fields nearby—to burn all the fields that could be set on fire, gather up the herds of cattle and horses and driving the animals before them, and trample all the vegetable fields.

The sun was setting as the work was at last completed, and the army began the ride back down the road through the forest to the land of Karran. The soldiers separated the horses from the cattle and drove the cattle off into the forest, for they would never be able to keep up with the forced march of the soldiers. The hundreds of horses were strung out in a very long column, the scouts and a large troop leading and the rest of the army bringing up the rear. Martan sent a strong guard to watch the rear, but no enemy force appeared. As they rode away, he looked back at the misery and devastation.