City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) Read online

  Silar was finding it harder to breathe. Had the vents been shut?

  “If it is population that concerns you then perhaps breeding ought not to be such a high priority,” Morghiad stated matter-of-factly. “As for the Gialdin Day arrangements, I trust you will want extra men on the main gates and at the palace doors?”

  Acher pressed his lips together and sighed: “Fine, fine. Which battalion will be on duty?”

  “Beodrin’s. I will join him and-”

  “You will not. You will be at those celebrations meeting the people you need to meet. And bring Lord Forllan, too. He is a good influence.”

  Silar gave a weak smile. He felt a thin veil of guilt settle over him, woven by the part he had played in Morghiad’s women trouble. Had Acher always spoken to his son in this way? Silar had not been party to many of their discussions, and Morghiad had been almost entirely raised by army captains, historians and strategists - so how much time father and son had spent together was a mystery.

  Morghiad nodded with disinterest at his father’s instruction and went on to list the provisions required by the army in order to see the feast day made safe. His father nodded absently, occasionally questioning the number of arrowheads or the amount of pinh poison required.

  Tall, orange-haired Beetan turned up halfway through, reeking of yesterday’s wine. Nothing was made of his less-than-salubrious entrance, however, and the meeting pressed on at its lethargic pace. A rough schedule was mapped out and handed between the men, detailing what to do if there should be intruders. This lasted for three, possibly four, long hours until King Acher caught himself and doubled over in pain.

  “Damn nalka - such a bloody inconvenience,” he coughed, “Still, a new lover should lessen the effect, eh lads?” The king took another deep breath, “Meeting dismissed.”

  Silar caught up with Morghiad in the grey hallway outside. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to be late. All that... it was my fault, I’m sorry, Morghiad.” He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Don’t be late to anything again,” the kahr uttered. “If I am to stay captain, I’ll need your help.”

  Silar looked at the floor. “You’re right. You do need my help. You need someone to see that your father doesn’t marry you off to some lizard.” Morghiad nodded and Silar was sure he had seen a smile in his eyes. “In all seriousness, I will do everything I can to assist you, my friend.”

  The two men paced towards the practice hall. It was equally as large as the Malachite Hall, perhaps even bigger, requiring six entrances. Nine-thousand men could stand in there at one time with just enough room to swing a sword, meaning that it could take two hours to fill.

  The practice courtyard was more pleasant, in Silar’s opinion, but then he enjoyed the daylight - apparently unlike everyone else in this blasted place. The hall was of the usual basalt stone, rough to the touch and fairly dark. The curved roof, gently sloping floor and walls had been specifically designed to channel sound from the front to the back. Morghiad barely had to raise his voice to be heard there; it was quite a marvel in acoustic engineering.

  One wall held a row of tall windows, arched and criss-crossed with leading. Collapsible tables lined the opposite wall, and these most often held practice weapons such as wooden swords or blunted daggers. At the nearest end there was a wide, square opening that led to the changing rooms and showers. The facilities could only accommodate two-hundred men at a time, so most soldiers would return to their own rooms to bathe.

  Morghiad caught Silar by the arm as they came to the giant wooden doors. The other lieutenants filtered in past them. “Silar, I need your advice. I want to make a... considerable change to the way things are done here.”

  “What manner?”

  “No more pinh on our blades, arrows or any weapon for that matter.” Morghiad had a determined set to his face.

  The lieutenant felt the cold fingers of unease creep along his spine. He wasn’t sure if his advice was going to have much of an effect. “Do you want to see your entire army annihilated? Why in blazes have you got this bullock-brained idea in your head?”

  “Some of the greatest battles in history were won by legions that did not use it. Lobesia was one of those.”

  Silar winced. His great grandparents had fought in that battle.

  Morghiad continued, “If we all become better fighters we won’t need it. Poison causes unnecessary suffering. I think it is dishonourable. Worse, I think it reeks of a last resort made by a weak army.”

  He had a point, but Cadra’s army had suffered its many problems for a long time. Morghiad’s hopes might have had merit, but the chances of them coming to reality… “These are all very noble reasons, Morghiad. But you have to look at it from the point of view of those men. How are you going to get them to believe that this is in their best interest?”

  “They will see what is right.” Morghiad’s grass-green eyes glinted.

  Silar grunted and then said, “I’ve heard... Some of the men.... they aren’t sure of you yet. Win them over first. Then maybe you can try something like this.”

  Morghiad’s hand dropped from Silar’s arm. He looked thoughtful, or as thoughtful as he ever did. “Very well.” The captain stood back and folded his arms. “I’ll work on that first.”

  Silar’s mouth almost fell to the floor out of astonishment. That stubborn, stone-faced kahr had listened to him? Something odd was going on with the man.

  The kahr walked onward through the doors, bold strides consuming the floor beneath. His cloak flowed softly behind him with its fibres that invariably caught the light and devoured it. Silar strolled in behind to move through the lines and take his position at the head of his battalion. He observed how every man watched Morghiad carefully, either through fight-readiness or suspicion. The kahr’s walk across the vast hall took some time to complete before he stepped up to the raised platform at the front, stood firmly and began speaking.

  “The city of Cadra is suffering from a sickness and this army has played a major part in it.”

  That was how he intended to win them over? By telling them they were the source of all evil? Silar felt as if he’d drunk a cup of pinh.

  The kahr went on: “The old captain was a fool. He preached discipline but practised none of it. He has allowed you to lose hope in your own abilities, he allowed you to lose direction. He allowed you to lose discipline.”

  Never mind a cup, Silar thought, a whole, blazed barrel of pinh was in his stomach! The room had taken on a deathly silence. Silar gripped his sword hilt, ready to move if someone went for Morghiad’s throat.

  “I do not want you to lose hope,” Morghiad continued, “I do not want you to lose your lives. This country needs each of you to survive every battle you face. It needs you to conquer every opponent. It needs you to return to your wives and families with enough strength left to fight a dozen more battles.”

  Silar loosened his grip a little.

  “At our last battle we suffered losses of over three-hundred men. Forty-seven men lost limbs. Each life was valuable. Each man was someone’s father, son, brother, husband or friend. The work you do in guarding Cadra and Calidell is vital. It is the single most important role anyone can play in the lives of strangers and family alike: that of protector. Calidell’s people depend upon each of you for their freedom. Most are unable to defend themselves. Do not presume that each of your lives rest easily on my conscience. I do not want to lose another man in battle again.”

  Silar took in a breath, examining the faces of the men around him. All were concentrating hard on their captain. Perhaps Morghiad had a better plan than he had anticipated.

  “You were all chosen for your ability. You have the potential to be an excellent army, perhaps a legendary army. But there must be more discipline. Calidell needs you to be strong. There must be no drinking the night before duty. There must be no drinking before a practice session. Any man found to be flouting this rule will be discharged. There must be no more casual love.
If you do intend to take a lover, then you must do so with the intention of keeping them.”

  There were a few stifled chuckles across the hall.

  “Any man taking more than ten days in a year from duty in order to recover from nalka will be discharged. If you follow these rules - if you do the right thing - in recognition of your devotion to the sword I will make you a promise. I will give you my word-” He paused. “I give you my word that I will only take you to battles that you deem, by vote, to be worthy and honourable, regardless of what my father demands.”

  Silar’s hand fell from the hilt of his sword. However did he propose to keep such a promise? Morghiad had made a direct challenge on his father’s power. The repercussions of this could be very nasty - and turning a weapon of war into a sort of democracy? How could that work? On the other hand, if the army were loyal to Morghiad... that wouldn’t matter, he would be safe. If he had them...

  The hall broke into noisy chatter for a few moments. Silar detected a new tone to their voices, but he could not quite identify it.

  Morghiad remained motionless on the platform. “Will you follow me?”

  There was a moment of silence before several of the officers shouted, “Aye!” Then more joined, and more until the sound grew and crescendoed into an enormous roar. He had done it. That’s it, Silar thought to himself, everything’s about to change.

  Half-a-day later, Silar found himself trudging along the perimeter of the castle gardens. The paths consisted of a light grey gravel that crunched noisily beneath his boots but did little else of interest. He clasped his hands tightly at his back and thought while wispy ferns brushed at his walking legs. This was nothing like the lush, green gardens of his home, full of wildlife and sunlight. He missed them terribly. He could return to them if he really wished, and had almost done so three years ago. But something had held him here, his friendship perhaps - something to do with Morghiad.

  Silar had a feeling he had seen a glimpse of it today, though it did not make much sense to him. It was too much of a cliché to believe that Morghiad would become some sort of legendary king. Acher had already been a successful king by many measures, and historians of the future may have even called him great one day. He had added more land to Calidell’s borders in the last three centuries than any previous king had done in an entire reign. He had performed the impossible in razing the white walls of Gialdin. He had overseen the exile of dangerous wielders and saved the lives of hundreds, possibly thousands of men. What could Morghiad do to top that?

  Perhaps he would open up this blasted castle to some sunlight and paint it a colour other than grey! Silar kicked at the gravel path in frustration. He realised he had come to stop before a small rose bush, clinging to the last of its white blooms.

  The kahr really ought to have told his lieutenants what he was planning to say in that... controversial speech. Silar hated being left out of such matters, hated it utterly. But then, Morghiad had stopped to listen to his advice. Silar did have a role to play in this; he just did not know what it could be. Had his captain been cooking up plans involving him? Plans he might disagree with if he knew their nature? Silar would have to interrogate his friend, there was no avoiding that. A good spymaster has to do some of the dirty work too. You must never rely solely on your network. Another gem from his mother’s teachings.

  Silar picked the best-looking bloom from the bush and seated himself upon one of the granite benches. He turned it in his hands, examining the array of white petals. Morghiad’s decree would have to be followed, especially by Silar. His relationship with Lady Allain would have to be terminated. The loss of the lady did not sadden him particularly, but a future without the regular company of a woman in his bed felt bleak.

  Should he finish it tonight or enjoy one last, delightful evening with her? Trouble was, if every man in the army dropped their squeeze this evening, there would be no one fighting in two week’s time. Morghiad had advised each lieutenant to ask their men to stagger their leave-taking so as to avoid this problem, but the men had been so excited at his promise that it seemed probable many would demonstrate their devotion to Cadra as soon as they could. Silar could not help but find himself similarly swept along by the current of enthusiasm.

  The rose felt soft in his hands, like the skin of a woman. One more night with her; that would be it. Then he would be married to his sword like a proper warrior. Silar smiled at his last thought and stood to leave the gardens. They seemed to smell much sweeter than they had when he had arrived. The colours of the cherry blossom appeared more vivid, the grass more vibrant and the sunlight brighter. He marched to one of the exits and made his way toward the guest quarters.

  The guest rooms were generously proportioned and not much smaller than his own. Their walls were decorated with monochrome weavings, most of which had some form of geometric pattern, though a precious few depicted plants and animals. So little in the way of living things.

  A four-spear bed sat in the centre of Lady Allain’s chamber, swathed in black sheets like a soldier that hid in the night. There were three arched windows that looked onto the opposite end of the gardens from Silar’s own, and white veils swept across each of those. A bathing room was situated to the right of the main door, containing a sizeable marble bath, a sink of similar grey and a rather stately throne of convenience. Silar sat in the leather armchair by the glossy, black onyx fireplace. He swung a leg over one of the arms and rested his head against the wing. The fireplace was empty, as the last vestiges of summer had maintained enough warmth in the chambers to preclude the need for a fire. Silar prodded at the grate idly with a poker while he waited. Lady Allain would return soon.

  He glanced down at the white rose in his lap. It was so perfect. He could not find a single fault in it. Even the thorns on the stem appeared idealised as if taken from a painting. Perfection taken into consideration, it would be a small token to please the lady. Likely she would not appreciate such a temporary object when he told her of his decision.

  He rather thought love-making was like a rose: sweet, pleasurable and perfect in the main, the pain of the thorns only becoming apparent once the admirer released it. Whichever creator had thought to design lovers to be punished upon separation had a cruel sense of humour. Though it was likely there was no creator, and that all the people who had been able to love freely or without fear of penalty had died-off, not spending long enough together to breed. He rubbed at the stubble on his top lip. It was beginning to itch.

  The door swept open soundlessly to admit Lady Allain to the room; a close-fitting skirt whisked with each step. Silar noted how well the pale green, shot silk complemented her dark skin. She did not look surprised at his presence in her chambers, but then he had developed a habit of turning up uninvited. “My Lady Allain, you look very fine this evening.” And she did. Her features were perhaps a touch bold to be feminine but she held them well; her chin was high and her eyes piercing.

  Lady Allain allowed a smile to blossom upon her face. “It is good that you have come to visit me. I have some important business to discuss with you.” She lowered herself delicately onto the rug at his feet.

  “Oh?” Silar brushed the rose along her jaw. He hoped to blazes she wasn’t going to talk to him about marriage.

  “I wanted to speak to you about marriage.”

  Follocks. This was not good. He struggled to hide his discomfort. “I see.”

  “You don’t want this. I know. I didn’t walk into this arrangement ignorant of your intentions.”

  “Then why-?”

  “I need your help. I’ll be a hundred next year and my parents are becoming anxious over my future. If they see me married to a good name like yours they will be happy. Otherwise they’ll... find someone. I have no desire to own you; you would be free to take any lover you wished. Of course, I’d expect you to extend the same courtesy to me.” Her dark features had taken a downward path from their usual positions, appearing to lament the loss of the strength that held them. />
  Silar hated seeing a woman like her upset, since he always felt as if it were somehow his fault. Usually it was. “And what if one of us wanted to marry elsewhere? Do you think such a pretence would be easy to keep from your parents? The gossip here is unmatched, I believe.”

  “You? Marry for love? Hah! I’d like to meet a woman that could tame you. But you are right about gossip. Not all gossip is true, though. Not all of it should be heeded. Will you at least consider it?”

  Silar was perfectly capable of marrying for love! But to marry now, well, this had muddied his plans considerably. “I will think on it, my lady. However, there is something else. I cannot visit you again after this evening. I have made a promise to my captain and I intend to honour it.”

  She hesitated, the lines in her face deepening. “Your captain? You will not lie with me because that child told you not to? Why?” Her voice had risen considerably in pitch.

  “I need to devote more time to my duties. It’s the right course.”

  Lady Allain shot to her feet, hair snapping across her shoulders and skirt steadfastly starched. “Is that the best you can come up with to get out of a marriage?! Or do you have such a callous disregard for my welfare, thinking you can drop me whenever it pleases you? You shall have your wish. LEAVE!”

  Silar stood slowly. “But tonigh -”

  “GO!” Lady Allain gesticulated wildly with a hand. Her eyes appeared ready to leave her head.

  Silar slunk out of the room, still holding his perfect, white rose. He had expected her to be angry about an enforced nalka; anyone would be angry about that. He had not expected quite such an explosion from her. Surely she couldn’t have thought it a lie?

  There was nothing more he could do now. The beautiful Lady Allain was lost to him. He let out a long sigh, tucked the rose into his belt and tried to think of things that would remove the issue from his conscience. The grey hallways consumed his mood once more, and their darknesses sucked all warmth from him. A flash of pale blue caught the corner of his eye. A servant? Perhaps one had proceeded down that corridor before him. Though, now he thought on it, he had not seen anybody cross the path in front of him. Odd.