SWNOVELS Fireblade: Chapter 7
IT IS A VERY LONG NIGHT, but one I will remember forever as one of the most beautiful and breathtaking experiences of my life. Farhaz seems to know the way in every detail, following a steady line eastward between the dunes, silver and black under pale moonlight. The air is cool without a breath of wind and I can hear the sand grains shift with the tiny disturbances of night-creatures scattering out of the way at our approach.
Dawn lights a flat rocky plain of striated rocks dusted with blown sand. A great russet pinnacle lies ahead, the very tip of it glowing gold with the first rays of sunrise.
Farhaz raises his hand in a sign of respect. “That is Rahimar, our place of power.”
I stare at the shining peak in surprise. “I… didn’t expect it to be a rock-spire like Maratic.”
His brow creases in puzzlement. “How else would you find the point where earth and sky energy connect?”
“I hadn’t thought of it in those terms. I can see it makes sense now.”
I follow him across the stretch of flat rock to an arched entrance at the base of the spire. A long tunnel leads into the heart of the mountain. Farhaz lights a flaming torch and guides me into a vast cavern glittering with quartz crystals. A narrow ledge spirals upwards around the walls and I can see the dark hollows of more passageways leading off to places unknown.
For all the similarities with the power place of the Eldrin, there is one big difference.
This place seems deserted.
“Farhaz, are we the only people here?”
“At the moment, yes. Every one of the Nishan has been summoned to support the war effort on the western border. All, that is, except for Shan’domir’s personal guard who have some unfinished business in Khotann.”
“He mentioned something about three powerful crime lords becoming aware that he was pursuing them.”
“Indeed. Now that the Khalim is preoccupied with the war, he will have even less attention for maintaining the safety of the ordinary people.”
I think back to my experience of fighting for my life in a dark alleyway not so long ago.
“I get the impression the Khalim hasn’t paid much attention to that sort of thing for some time.”
“Well…” Farhaz looks around uneasily, even though there is no one else around. Seems that any criticism of their illustrious ruler is seriously off-limits for Annubian citizens.
“Don’t worry, Farhaz. As a foreigner, it was clear to me that Nishan adepts have had to fill a serious gap in leadership on citizen security. Seems like they have become responsible for upholding law and protection for the ordinary people. But, as a student here, I will be careful not to make critical remarks to that effect.”
“Thank you, Ariel.” Relief relaxes the severe lines of his face. “Shan’domir has appointed me as your trainer, so the sooner we can get started, the sooner I can get back to Khotann and help the rest of my team. Leave your weapons here.”
That does not sound like a particularly good way to start training as an assassin but I don’t argue and set my gear down by the wall. Farhaz leads the way through a side entrance and down a curving tunnel to a deeper level where an underground river flows beneath the rock spire. If this place is a training ground for new aspirants, then of course a water source is essential in the middle of a parched desert––but I don’t see what use it can be for me. I’m already a strong swimmer.
But Farhaz doesn’t stop. He steps into the water and follows its passage out of the cavern, into another tunnel. The water is surprisingly cold compared to the scorched rock and sand above and I’m glad it only comes up to my knees as we wade through the narrow passageway.
The next cavern is something I not only didn’t expect, but do not understand. The water has spread across a wide rock slab until it is only a few inches deep. Rippling blue and gold flames play across the whole surface of it, reflecting like a thousand diamonds on the crystals arching over us. Farhaz has already doused his torch and left it in one of the empty sconces by the entrance. The whole cavern shimmers with blue and gold light.
I don’t even have words to form a question, but Farhaz seems to read my astonishment well enough.
“This is where water and fire come together in the heart of the mountain. It will sharpen your mind and your reactions. Your first task is to learn to speak fluent Rapathian.” He draws a slender wand from his belt. “I will tell you which way to move to avoid being hit. First in Samarian, then in Rapathian.”
“But––”
“No questions. It is very simple. Move left.” He swings the stick and I twist out of range just in time. The second command is easy, as I already know the foreign words tell me the same thing, but Farhaz very soon assumes I have remembered the new language and uses it exclusively, adding fresh instructions by the minute.
And that stick hurts when I get it wrong! At the same time, I’m fascinated by how quickly I can learn in this way, a strange mix of avoiding another lash and an exhilaration at how sharp and clear my mind feels as I listen and interpret. And the extraordinary sense of half-floating across a sea of blue flames…
I dance back out of range for a moment, my arms stinging and burning from the beating.
“Does everyone learn like this?”
“If you were a scholar, I would have sat you down here in the water and the flames with a writing tablet. But your fight-reactions are so much a part of you, it was clear to me that this would be your route.” He changes pace and starts to use longer sentences.
It seems to go on for hours and I’m starting to tire, as well as becoming convinced my arms will be black and blue by tomorrow. He senses my energy lapse and turns away.
“Now we go outside.”
I was hoping he would say something about dinner, but it seems that not too many questions are permitted during training and I very much doubt if the subject of dinner is one of them.
Outside, the sun is past its zenith but still the rocks radiate the day’s heat like an oven. We walk away from the entrance and the language instruction switches to a conversation about food––and more importantly, drink. It doesn’t take long before I understand how this stage is meant to work. When I can ask for every conceivable kind of food and drink in perfect Rapathian, I might actually get some. Rather like a condensed version of what I would have to do if making a long journey through a part of Rapathia where no one speaks my own language.
By the time Farhaz decides I have earned my supper, the hunger pangs are more painful than the stick. Talking about food you can’t have does seem to have that effect.
Pickled dates and nuts wrapped in flatbread have never tasted so wonderful and I am not surprised when Farhaz insists I make my complements in Rapathian.
I feel so tired when I have finished that it is all I can do to wrap myself in the dusty blanket from the journey and curl up on the floor to sleep.
I AM DETERMINED NOT to lose count of the days I spend in Rahimar, haunted as always by the thought of Marin and the others back in Samaran desperately trying to protect our defeated people from the ruthless invaders already stripping the country of everything they can get their hands on. That fleeting glimpse in Shadow’s scrying mirror feels like a darker warning with each day that passes.
And I am missing Marin desperately. Every night I curl up on the rock floor of Rahimar, imagining that we are back together in our room at Blackthorn Manor with Lupine guarding the door. I can almost feel the brush of cool silken sheets against my skin, the warmth and hardness of Marin’s body pressed close to mine, the heat of his lips as he kisses me…
Thinking about a love you cannot be with is even more painful than talking about food you have to wait for.
Farhaz now refuses to speak Samarian in his training instruction, adding an extra level of pressure to learn on two levels as he switches from Rapathian to Annubian and back again. Fight-training is focused on working in tight spaces, often in the dark, while sessions in the water-that-burns are about speed, silence and accuracy.
I am starting to feel as if I am being trained for a lifetime of work as an assassin with skills for every eventuality, when all I really want is specific instructions on how to get close to the Usurper without being distracted by his words.
Then we move on to the next level of stealth, using techniques I would not have dreamed possible until I tried them. Basic instruction within the flames to increase my speed of learning, and then I’m tasked with stalking Farhaz and planting a spot of red dye on his neck. He always senses my approach and stalks me in return. This really is one of the more humiliating training experiences of my life. The dye doesn’t wash off and I am obliged to walk around bearing the marks of every one of my failures.
In this quiet, slow progress through the dark, my hearing gradually becomes sharp and clear, revealing all manner of subtle sounds I had not noticed before. As I pad silently through the tunnels in pursuit of Farhaz, something else is starting to invade my awareness. A strong sense of another presence here, a presence that goes beyond the rustle of occasional scorpions and lizards that scuttle away into dark cracks and fissures as I pass.
This feels bigger than the resident wildlife. A lot bigger. And more powerful in a way I can’t describe, except that it has a resonance with the feeling I get when I’m training in the pool of flames. The rustling, slithering sound of it is almost inaudible, no doubt why I failed to notice it until I learned to quieten my own presence to almost nothing.
I decide to abandon stalking Farhaz for a while and stalk this new sound instead. I collect my weapons and start to explore further into the labyrinth of tunnels running through the pinnacle, following a steady spiral up to the summit.
No answers to be found here. The topmost tunnel simply opens onto a precarious ledge far above the flat expanse of rocks that surrounds the spire. The great sweep of heat-rippling dunes stretches in every direction beyond the level rock plate below, beautiful and yet terrifying in its vast emptiness.
Maybe I should try following the tunnels downward instead, although I’m almost certain that anything lying below the level of the underground river will be flooded. I try one of the side tunnels out of the flame-cavern and sure enough, the branch that turns downward ends in a pool of water. I retrace my steps and take the other fork, eerily lit by gold reflections of the floating flames back in the cavern as they catch and dance on thousands of crystals set in the walls. The tunnel runs slightly uphill until daylight glows bright ahead of me and after a few moments I step outside into the searing heat of the sun.
There is something off in all this.
I strain my eyes against the glare, thinking back to the way Maratic has only one twisting path leading up to the main entrance, easily defended by a small number of the Eldrin garrison even when most of the Kingsguard have been summoned elsewhere. But this place has many tunnels and several side entrances like this one, left wide open and unguarded. Do the Nishan assume that the desert itself will act as the only defense they need? After the precision I have been learning in my training so far, it seems unlikely they would be so naïve.
I decide to stand here, wait, and listen.
I feel its presence resonate within the flame-learning that is now part of my very being, even before I hear the rustling, slithering sound grow louder. And then the thing is right there, coiling itself in huge circles surrounding me until I’m trapped within a whirlwind of glittering, flaming scales that blot out the vision of the desert.
The dragon rears its great sinuous body above my head with a long-drawn hiss that shivers the air like a million sand-grains rasping across the dunes in a desert storm.