Free Die for the Flame by William Gehler Page B

Lillan.
    Rokkman glared at her.
    “It is your task to prevent that from happening, Clarian!” snapped the Flamekeeper.
    Everyone looked uncomfortable at the tone of that remark. Rokkman silently motioned the officers out of the room. Rokkman closed the door behind them and leaned against it, looking at Clarian and the Flamekeeper. Clarian had a wary look about him.
    The Flamekeeper stared at him with great intensity, his eyes sharp with fear. “You are the Chosen One. Foretold by the Oracle. Selected by the Flame and the Immortal Ones. You accepted the violet cloak of office. Do your duty! Stop the evil Maggan!”
    His face haggard from lack of sleep, his shoulders slumped from the immense responsibility of saving all of Karran and its people and the Flame, Clarian picked up his cloak from the back of a chair and with a quick look at the Flamekeeper walked heavily to the door.
    “You must find a way to save Karran!” called the Flamekeeper, as Clarian swept out the door, held open by Rokkman.
    Clarian stopped and reappeared in the doorway. “Both sides signed in blood, did they not? Peace forever. And you believed them.”
    “I don’t like your tone,” said Rokkman.
    “Enemies have no need for truth,” Clarian shot back.
    The Flamekeeper pointed at Clarian. “Enough. You accepted the violet cloak. Do your duty. Stop the evil Maggan. I demand a plan now.”
    Clarian exited the room, and Rokkman asked, “Clarian? Where are you going?” as he rushed after the young man.
    Out in the corridor, Rokkman grabbed Clarian’s sleeve. “You can’t walk out on the Flamekeeper. He must be obeyed.”
    “I’m weary of all this whining.” Clarian pushed past Rokkman and hurried down the dim corridor.
    “Clarian! Clarian!”
     
    Clarian knew that it was beyond the current strength of his army to counter the danger the Maggan presented. But he resented the gruff manner in which the Flamekeeper had spoken to him. How did the officers feel about him? Did they have their doubts as well? A shot of anger passed through him. He hurried down the darkened corridor to the officers’ quarters. He needed some sleep. Perhaps in the morning, a new idea would come to him as it often did, just as he was lifting his head from his cot. Often he would pose a question to the Kobani spirits as he went to sleep, and in the morning the answer would flash through his mind. Well, he needed some answers now—and fast. He didn’t think he had more than a few days, perhaps a month, at most, before the Maggan would begin their march to claim the Flame. He wasn’t going to let them capture it; of that he was certain.
    He turned a corner and headed down the darkened corridor to the officers’ quarters. He was suddenly grabbed by his tunic and pulled into a shadowed recess in the stone wall by unseen hands. He was startled, and just as he began to struggle, he felt the press of a smaller body against his and smelled the perfumed hair of a woman. In the dark he couldn’t see who it was, although he had a good idea. Lillan! His back against the cold stones, a soft hand caressed his neck and an arm went round his waist. He felt her breath on his cheek, sweet and warm. He let his arms enfold her. He was so very tired.
    She kissed him on the lips, a soft yet searching kiss, unhurried, her lips probing ever deeper. He gave himself over to her, to her firm passion. They stood for a long moment in the dark, holding each other. She kissed him again and stroked his hair. And then she was gone.
     
    The next several days were jammed with frantic training from dawn to dark, followed by night call outs and maneuvers. After the sharp words from the Flamekeeper, Clarian pushed everyone hard. Soldier formations, each engaged in tactics and weapons practice, blanketed the green fields around the Citadel. The frail Flamekeeper came out onto the training fields to see for himself, helped by one of his junior priests. Clarian avoided encountering him, riding out to