The Flame Iris Temple Page 8

“What happened to former Minister Ras?” Sandun inquired.

  “I offered him a position: junior minister in charge of supplies. I’m not sure he will accept it,” Valo Peli replied with a hint of amusement. “I know he was corrupt to a degree, but as we say, ‘The pot that stays by the well, breaks by the well.’ Ras knows everyone in Kunhalvar who sells war materials—that knowledge is valuable even if we have to pay extra for it.

  “But, Sandun, this humble scholar must apologize again.” Valo Peli became suddenly serious. “I thought you were dead, and that is why I accepted the position of war minister.”

  “Set your mind at ease, my friend,” Sandun said. “We are on the same side, more than before. Anything you deem best to help Lord Vaina, I approve.”

  Valo Peli looked at Sandun with a calculating expression. “There is a change in you. Something profound has shifted. Are you still working for the king of Kelten?”

  Sandun was almost unnerved by Valo Peli’s astute observation. “Your arrow flies true, War Minister. Your guess hits very near the mark. Speaking of archery, Basil tells me you have an archery range?”

  “The estate does,” Valo Peli said happily. “It runs along the south side of the house, a sandy track that leads into the garden, 160 paces. Even Basil didn’t hit the ringing bag with every arrow.”

  “And in my country, we have an expression—you are pulling my leg,” Sandun jested in return. “Basil would never miss at such a short distance.”

  “Perhaps he was humoring an old man, his host.” Valo Peli shrugged. “Come, drink your tea, and I will show you around the place. You can relate to me how it is that you have defied all reason and emerged, unharmed, from the war camp of Nilin Ulim.”

  “Good, I need your advice,” said Sandun.

  “Then you shall have it!” Suddenly Valo Peli started coughing; he pressed his hand to his chest, trying to regain control over his breathing.

  “I met Sir Ako and the other knights in Molimonik,” Sandun said with concern. “They told me somewhat of your brave efforts to effect my rescue.”

  Valo Peli waved his left hand dismissively. “I did nothing worthy of note. The smoke inside Kemeklos was too much for these old lungs.”

  “I will never forget,” Sandun told him.

  “Walking in the garden is beneficial,” Valo Peli said as they exited the study and entered a beautiful garden. “It is quite old, according to the grounds keeper. Much of it dates to the days of the Water Kingdom when this house was owned by a distant relation of the ruling family.”

  The garden was compact compared to Lord Vaina’s palace garden but pleasing to Sandun’s eye. There was a small pond, and from it an arm of water reached across the path. A small black-painted bridge crossed the stream. A few roses were still blooming, along with some other flowers Sandun didn’t recognize. Farther on, behind the garden, a long building stretched nearly the length of the property in the rear.

  “That is now my experiment room,” Valo Peli said as he pointed at the rear building. “I had the old pots and most of the decorative stones cleared out so I can mix different types of lopor. No one can complain if loud noises come from the minister of war’s building, can they?” He chuckled. They sat under a pair of birch trees while yellow leaves occasionally fluttered to the ground, and Sandun told Valo Peli the same story he had told Lord Vaina.

  Valo Peli’s expression showed many changes as Sandun told his story, but he didn’t interrupt or ask questions until the end.

  “What you say breaks my world into pieces,” Valo Peli said uneasily. “Pictures, stories, poems about dragons flying through the air, performing miracles—I grew up with them. They are all around. I myself told these stories to my own children. But you say they are real?”

  Sandun was surprised that even though he had used the word adesari, Valo Peli used the word dragon. Ajh had taken on several different guises in the weeks he had spent learning from her, but her true form was indeed that of a dragon. He had resolved to tell no one this because it was too disturbing. How had Valo Peli guessed?

  “I used the word adesari, and you use the word dragon,” Sandun said very carefully. “They are not the same, are they?”

  “To most people, no,” Valo Peli explained. “However, we scholars know that the word adesari comes from an ancient book, and in that book, it says that the adesari took the shapes of dragons when they spoke to the first kings. Later artists and poets lost all understanding of this. But then, why ask me? You know the truth.”

  Sandun didn’t reply, but he immediately recognized the meaning of the old story and that it was essentially correct.

  Valo Peli paused and looked at Sandun with a curious expression. “The implications of your story are profound. You say you have spoken to a god, which means either you are mad or I do not understand this world.”

  “I’m not mad. And as before, I’d like your advice.”

  “Of course, whatever you wish,” Valo Peli said. “The whole notion is absurd because who am I to advise you? You have spoken to one of the immortals. My learning is as nothing in comparison. Here then is my advice: do what the immortal tells you! There! Easy!”

  “Calm down, please,” Sandun said to him.

  “I am calm!” Valo Peli shouted, and then he started coughing again. “No. You’re right. I’m not calm. I need to sit by the pond and…and look at the fish.”

  Alina, Valo Peli’s daughter, had come out to the garden. She smiled shyly at Sandun.

  “Little bun, would you fetch us some tea?” Valo Peli took his daughter’s hand and then patted his chest.

  “Certainly, Father. And, welcome, Lord Sandun,” Alina said. “Your safe return is a pleasure to all of us.” She disappeared into another part of the house while Valo Peli and Sandun remained on the bench by the fishpond.

  “You want me to help Lord Vaina.” Valo Peli spoke with more control. “And you are following the immortal’s commands. So that means an immortal dragon wishes Lord Vaina to become the next king of Serica. The founder of a new kingdom.”

  Sandun nodded.

  “So you, and I, and General Erdis, and General Kun, and the Knights of Serica, and all the ministers and the Red Crane Army are going to push Jori Vaina onto the throne from which he will rule all of Serica.”

  “That’s right,” Sandun said.

  “Why not? Really. Why not?” Valo Peli spoke with increasing heat. “The mighty Kitran Empire is just going to fade back into the north, the different tribes each going their separate ways, parting in mutual hatred. And the Iron King, he will continue to sit idly in Naduva, eating his honey peaches. As for King Tuno, perchance he will fall off one of his boats and drown in the Mur. And Monovar, Aneonohad, Godalo—these provinces will simply surrender to Kunhalvar with a wave of our hand.” Turning to face Sandun, Valo Peli said cuttingly, “This all seems quite reasonable to me. So simple.”

  “It’s not simple at all, my friend,” Sandun said with quiet intensity. “Lord Vaina will only become king with the help and dedicated, unstinting efforts of thousands of people. Not just because Sandun of Kelten came along. One man does not play kingmaker. When we first met, you asked me to take you to Tokolas. Your intention back then was to help Lord Vaina become the king of Serica. My life is now dedicated to the same proposition. I have adopted your purpose.”

  Alina returned with a pot of tea, and the two men sipped the hot tea in silence for a bit. Before withdrawing, Alina asked Sandun, “Did you happen to pass through Sasuvi on your return journey?” Sasuvi was where Governor Vellen, the man she had apparently set her heart on, was based.

  “I’m afraid not. I returned from Kemeklos by way of Molimonik. Though I hope to visit Sasuvi someday.”

  “Perhaps the minister of war will go there,” she said. “To inspect the arms production in that important city.”

  Valo Peli, still considering Sandun’
s words, suddenly realized what his daughter meant. “Yes, yes. I must go, and soon. Governor Vellen has sent a detailed report and, naturally I’d like to see the smithies and craftsmen of Zelkat province for myself. There is always room for improvements.”

  Alina’s eyes sparkled, and she kissed her father’s cheek before she returned to the women’s wing of the main house.

  Valo Peli sat looking at his pond. The orange-and-black fish grazed the surface of the water, hoping for some tasty crumbs of food. While the two men sat in silence, Sandun observed his friend’s mind: it was like towers were building up, with catwalks reaching out to other towers at different levels. The process was quite beautiful.

  “You are right, of course,” Valo Peli finally said, breaking the long silence. “I must apologize again. You have upset my understanding of the world. But really, what has changed?” Turning to face Sandun, the man spoke without disguise. “I must be honest with you, Sandun, and this is a hard thing for me…I never expected my efforts to amount to much. I came to Tokolas to salvage a little of my reputation. But now, an immortal is on our side. If we fail, it will be our fault. We are supposed to triumph. This is a heavy responsibility.”

  Sandun told him quietly, “The future is not written in green-stone characters on tablets of gold, though the Kulkasen believe so. Destiny is an illusion. There are powerful forces working against us. I can fail. We can all fail. Only if Lord Vaina’s counselors and generals, soldiers, and workers combine their efforts will we have a good chance of success. But now, you must swear you will tell no one what I have told you.”

  Valo Peli looked at Sandun for a time, and then he nodded. “I swear it. Gladly. In fact, that is the sanest thing you have said all morning. As to failure, I know a great deal about it. One must work very hard to avoid wasting one’s life.”

  After midnight one week later, Sandun slipped quietly out of his bed. While Miri slept, he dressed in his gray nighttime clothes. He took three things: the dragon circle, the sword from Stead Half Cliff, and his free travel pass.

  After reappointing Sandun as his advisor, Lord Vaina had given him the highest travel authorization. The pass allowed Sandun to travel at any time, day or night, save only for the inner quarters of the palace, where Lord Vaina’s wives lived. In truth, Sandun could avoid the night watch with ease as few others were out on the streets after curfew, but with the pass, he could talk freely to the night patrols and learn of the places they feared to go.

  He left the embassy through the well-oiled main gate. The door warden saluted him without comment; this had become a familiar routine in the week since Sandun had returned to Tokolas. Outside, on the silent, tree-lined street, he waved at the spy who was watching the gate, one hundred feet away. If the spy responded, he couldn’t tell; the spy was concealed in deep shadow, hidden from normal sight.

  Sandun could see the spy’s spirit because of the man’s focus on the door to the Kelten embassy. When Sandun was growing up in Hepedion, a common belief was that you could tell when people were looking at you, even when they were at a distance. Now he knew the truth behind his hometown’s folk wisdom: attention by one spirit called to the other. Two spirits could reach out to one another in the second world even while their bodies remained far apart.

  Sandun waited for a minute near the gate, letting his mind settle. He breathed in the chill air and tasted on his lips coal smoke from the innumerable fires that were used to heat the houses, both great and small, in this vast city.

  Where should he go? Last night, he had been south in the shop district; the night before that, he had walked to Doctor Hofanta’s residence in the poor quarter of Tokolas. So many wandering souls in the slums, so many ghosts lost or locked that it seemed he could spend a year and not free them all.

  The previous night, one patrolman he spoke with said there were “strange doings” in the mansion district to the northeast, a place Sandun rarely visited. The old wealth of Tokolas lived there, or so he had been told. These were families of merchants, landowners, and even a few powerful criminal clans who had taken on a patina of respectability. Lord Vaina did not draw his support from the very wealthy, but neither had he forced them to give up their money to his government.

  “Too risky,” Lord Vaina had told Sandun a few days earlier. “Yes, we need money, but I remember what resulted in Sasuvi when the Red Prophet demanded heavy contributions to his new High Council of the Mavana. Within a week, half of the richest families had left for their country estates, leaving behind small chests of silver and houses stripped of everything valuable. Within a month, half the market stalls had closed, which caused a great many problems. Not long after, accusations were as thick as the mayflies in summer. Fully half the newly appointed officials were accused of accepting bribes, and I have no doubt many of the accusations were true. Even I was offered money although I had no authority over the tax agents. The people who live in those mansions will stop at nothing to preserve their riches. I’m not that desperate—not yet.”

  So far, the mansion dwellers had remained at arm’s length from Lord Vaina’s government. Because Lord Vaina had left them alone, the wealthy had not openly moved against him either. As a result of this standoff, Sandun had rarely met anyone who lived in the great mansions along Big Hill Street. Months earlier, he had visited the Lady Imre’s house at the edge of the mansion district. The beautiful Serica-glass vase he purchased from the fading old woman still held pride of place on his dresser.

  As Sandun stood in the darkness, the words from the night watch seemed to echo in his mind. He shrugged and headed east to see what he would find. Likely nothing, Sandun thought. The rich rarely died in distress: murder was rare, nor were they struck down by toppling walls in construction accidents.

  Two nights ago, he had freed the soul of just such a man, struck and buried by an unsound wall. The dead man’s spirit had clung tightly to the bricks of the old sewer, desperately hoping to be rescued so he could return to his wife and daughter. The bricklayer’s spirit, so unyielding in his determination to live, failed to accept his death and didn’t understand that his grieving widow had buried his body weeks ago. Coaxing the bricklayer’s spirit out had taken hours of patient work.

  Trapped by hope, Sandun realized midway through the process. Strange that hope, so useful in day-to-day life, could become an impediment. But then, hadn’t the Philosopher of Stargos written that all virtues became vices when pushed to an extreme?

  This night, as Sandun walked the shadowed streets heading north and east, he kept his mind focused on the geography of the second world as well as the physical world. Sandun found it slightly easier to walk in both worlds when it was dark. The connection between the two geographies was usually uncertain and sometimes confusing. It was much easier to walk in the real world under the sun and ignore the second world. Or else to sit motionless and explore the second world with his mind. Walking in both worlds at the same time was hard. It was simpler to travel to a location of interest, find a safe place to sit, and then explore the second world. But doing so left him feeling a bit lost, like waking up in a strange forest with no idea how you had reached that spot the previous day. Disorienting and curiously frustrating.

  The mansion district lived up to its name: large houses with elaborate roofs that could be seen in the starlight above the estate walls. Like the Kelten embassy or the ministers’ compounds near the palace, many of the houses were guarded. Most of the guards he passed were dozing at their posts; one pair of men played a game using carved pieces placed on a wooden board. They sat on three-legged stools beside a brazier, a small oil lamp hanging from the gateway provided light. Sandun stopped to watch the two men. They were intent on their game of strategy and oddly paid him no mind.

  A feeling of wrongness gradually tinged Sandun’s perception of the night. The looks on the men’s faces became more threatening, as though they were not playing a game simply to while away the time but were set
on a project of the utmost importance. The walls on both sides of the street seemed to lean inward, as though they had been poorly built and were about to fall, filling the road with shattered plaster and broken bricks.

  Now it seemed to Sandun that the two men wore masks with grotesquely exaggerated expressions: one of surprise, the other of maniacal laughter. The sense of wrongness deepened and intensified. Something was coming down the street, and the wind gusted ahead of it, causing the oil lamp to swing wildly over the heads of the motionless door guard, so intent on their game.

  Whatever was coming, Sandun didn’t want to face it here, in this road with the uncertain walls on either side of him. He retreated back to the Crane Road intersection he had passed a few minutes earlier. There he took a seat on a stone bench, beside the local water cistern, and gathered his strength.

  He closed his eyes and stepped easily into the second world. The water next to him was now a smooth globe of liquid, suspended above the ground by a tracery of green and black rods. He advanced forward a short distance, testing the ground, settling his mind, putting aside his doubts and fears of the unknown. He was the champion of Ajh. What spirit in the second world could possibly stand against him? The mysterious entity came closer, heedless of Sandun standing in its way.

  The creature could not be seen with normal sight, but in the second world it appeared quite rapidly, as though rising out of the ground, blazing with a terrible light, a negative flame with its outline tinged to violet and then with a core of red bleeding into a painful yellow. The only word for the creature was demon. It was not a lost soul or a twisted spirit like Ghost Wolf; no, this was an alien, unnatural being filled with malevolence.

  Sandun was shocked; he had never encountered anything of this kind before, and while Ajh had spoken of other spirits, she had not shown him this. The demon scuttled close to him; hunger dominated any fear it may have felt of Sandun’s power. It reached out an arm, which terminated in three claws of piercing violet. Sandun wondered what it was doing; almost too late, he woke the dragon circle just before its claws touched his arm. The dragon circle’s protective shield kept the demon at bay. He recognized the demon’s attack: it was trying to tear his soul and consume his life, just as Ghost Wolf had done the first time they met.