City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) Read online

  Baydie was thumping his fist and laughing loudly. Clearly he had not heard about Morghiad’s plan and its inevitable impact on beer sales.

  “...And then she fell on her arse!” Baydie finished.

  Morghiad retained his usual expression. That stone face of his was simply unnecessary at times.

  Baydie looked up at the blond man approaching. “Ah, Silar. Good to see you! One of these days my stories will bring a smile out in our kahr’s face. One bloody day.”

  “Keep trying.” Silar grinned.

  “Wine? I’ve got some filthy stuff from Hirrah. Top notch.” Baydie wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

  “How could I refuse? A mug of your finest for me and four pints of ale for the others.” Silar leaned on the bar opposite Morghiad and gave him a long, hard stare before speaking. “How are you feeling after your big speech?”

  Morghiad held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down at his wine.”I didn’t forewarn you. I’m sorry.”

  Silar grunted, “How long had you been cooking this up for?”

  “Not long. A couple of days.” A band started up some lively music at the opposite end of the bar.

  Silar almost knocked over the drinks that Baydie was stacking up in front of him. “A couple of days?! Is that how you’re planning to govern your country? You just come up with an idea one minute and decide to execute it the next?” Perhaps Morghiad wasn’t planning to use him as strategically as he had assumed.

  “It felt right.” Morghiad took a sip of his wine.

  Silar emptied his coins onto the bar surface and pushed them in Baydie’s direction. He kept his voice low: “I’m concerned for you. Is there something else wrong?”

  “No.” Morghiad met his eyes.

  “Not that you’d tell me if there was.” Silar picked up his own wine and took a deep draught. It was good stuff. Baydie was a reliable source when it came to under-the-counter fine wines.

  Morghiad seemed to hesitate before opening his mouth. There was something on his mind. “You have parted ways with Lady Allain?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “That foul look on your face,” Morghiad said.

  Silar laughed a little before letting his smile fade. Did he really look that sullen? Blazes!

  Morghiad pressed on: “...And of course you wouldn’t be here otherwise. I imagine you would have savoured what time you could with her.”

  Damned man was trying to predict his actions. Silar was supposed to be the one extracting information. He had a small clue at least. Morghiad had deflected his question with one about Lady Allain. Some train of thought in the kahr’s mind had made the connection with the answer. What were the options? The Allain family could be making trouble. Perhaps Acher’s pressure over his lack of a female companion had become too burdensome. That could be it, though his father’s demands had never worried Morghiad before. Silar could try women as a general subject - that would be a good opening gambit. “Women can be a thorn in one’s side, can they not?”

  Morghiad set his mug down. “Stop trying to probe me. I know your methods.”

  Beetan chimed in at that moment, grabbing Silar’s shoulder: “Rahake’ll give you a good probing if you ask him nicely! Thanks for the ale, my lord.” The orange-haired man looked very pleased with himself. “And an excellent speech today, lord-captain.”

  Morghiad responded with a nod as Beetan took up the four beers and transported them back to his group, swaying a little as he went.

  “Morghiad. I think about a third of your army is going to be out of action in ten days’ time.”

  The kahr’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Then we had better be prepared.”

  “I will be one of those off-duty.” Silar added.

  The darker man returned to his drink. “I need that brain of yours, Silar. Make sure you’re not out for too long.”

  So Morghiad did have plans which involved him, after all! He knew it! His elation was short-lived, however; he was beginning to get a headache.

  Chapter 3

  Rain slicked the deep green stone of the city and further darkened the shaded spine-towers of the castle. It hammered down on the rooftops, cascading from the grooves in the tiling and trickling down the sides of the light wells. It pelted the glass of Morghiad’s window, bringing his attention to the gloom of the low-hanging clouds outside. He had been rather distracted lately; focusing on a particular task had been difficult and maintaining any sort of control over his emotions had been... challenging. The environment around him felt disrupted somehow, as if there were a break in the air or earth that he couldn’t see.

  He closed his eyes and tried to feel for all the distributaries bifurcating from the vast, central torrent of Blaze Energy. His senses found thousands of them and he knew that each stream represented a wielder, somewhere in the world. Some distributaries were small, barely percolating anything away from The Blazes. Most of the rest were middling in size. There were, however, three very large courses emanating from the main. Morghiad was confident he was powerful enough to handle each of the women that they represented. The one that gave him cause for concern was the fourth-largest. He had observed it during his time training as kanaala, noting the speed of its growth with each month that passed. It was a hard thing to admit, but he feared how much larger that stream might become.

  Cadra was safe from these women in any case, since Acher had long ago banned wielders from entering Calidell. Any that were born locally were destroyed before they could cause harm to their families, or more typically their lovers. The most dangerous were those that were not even aware of what they could do.

  As kanaala, Morghiad was part of a team that regularly swept Cadra, looking for wielders who may have slipped through previous searches. They were easily detectable within a few tens of yards to him, farther if they were especially powerful. He did not relish taking the children, however. There had been some difficult situations involving the younger ones.

  He had not sensed any in the city for months now. Perhaps the efforts of the last few-hundred years had paid off, and the blazed women were dying out. Morghiad ran his emerald eyes along the roughened bookshelf. There were a great deal of books on battles - not terribly exciting to read but quite important, nevertheless. He enjoyed the histories more: especially those that described the impossible decisions made by former kings and how, frequently, the outcome was down to luck or situation.

  His favourites by far were the stories and poems of legendary warriors. The kahr had amassed quite a collection over the years. Some were utter fiction, of course. But some, he believed, had a true root in history. A red, leather-bound tome with a dull shine drew his gaze. It was perhaps a thousand years old, the pages were flaking at the edges and the whole thing was considerably foxed.

  He sat down in his armchair and gently laid the book upon his lap. The title read, “Chronicles of the warrior, Artemi,” in heavily stylised lettering. The book was a classic, which Morghiad imagined most people had read during their childhoods. A great deal of it was poetry about the red-haired swordswoman and her exploits, and the tale had made the name popular amongst parents of lookalike offspring. That pretty, young servant girl was evidence of the tradition. He pushed the image of that flaming hair girl, as he had come to call her, from his mind again. It was becoming troublesome.

  Morghiad let out a heavy breath through his nose and focused on the words that lay on an open page.

  “...And taking up the blade from her thrice-made enemy,

  The lady cast Blaze upon the brown-haired head,

  Blue and white and blistering as ice,

  It curled, tapered and began the air to splice,

  The fires of Achellon had never wrought such heresy,

  Yet still her foe re-stood, and staggered, called and bled,

  ‘You shall not defeat me out of jealousy!’

  Still moving, Mirel caged up the fires and said:

  ‘Come here and die today, my Artemi,

&nb
sp; I bring to you your destiny...’”

  Morghiad had never quite been able to work out where jealousy came into it. He flicked through a few more pages, principally examining the pictures. Cadra was in one of them, looking a bit smaller and flatter. Grey defensive walls still prodded the clouds in an accusatory manner with their great height. He snapped the book shut, wincing as he remembered its age. His mind went back to the red-haired girl in blue. He wondered what she would look like in full battle garb, sitting astride a warhorse. No.

  The kahr stood up and placed the text back in its gap. He tried to think very hard about other things. A practice session was scheduled for the day and he ought to get ready for it, though there was a good chance the session would be unattended. He would just have to grit his teeth together and work through it, even if he was alone in that vast place.

  He examined his clothing: fitted black trousers, soft leather black boots that went to his calves and a loose, white shirt. It would do. He buckled his sword to his waist, added a short sword to the belt and placed a dagger each in the tops of his boots. Morghiad departed the cool airs of his bedroom and stepped into the frigid airs of the broad hallway beyond. He appreciated the slow whine of the door as it swung shut behind him. It was quite intentional, and would give him some warning if an assassin came for him in the night.

  The gallery which gave access to his rooms was broad, equally as high as the Malachite Hall and simply decorated. He remembered when he had arrived here as a young boy, thinking everything had been made for a giant. It was not customary, or safe, for Cadran kahrs to grow up in the castle and so he had spent his first years secreted away on a farm in western Calidell. Morghiad often wished that he could remember his time there.

  Silar had been right in his prediction. The practice hall looked to be about a third-emptier than it normally was. Morghiad watched in contemplative silence as the lieutenants gathered roll calls from the sergeants. Silar was there, too, looking somewhat worse-for-wear. He was probably ten days into abstinence now, and clearly had begun to feel the first pains. “How many present, Silar?” Morghiad asked.

  “Six hundred and fifty-five, my lord.” Silar barely squeezed the words out.

  “Very good. Now you must leave.”

  The lieutenant grimaced with disappointment. “I am still perfectly capable of swinging a sword -”

  “You are no use to me in that state. Go and I’ll see you in a few days.” Morghiad took the papers from Silar’s hand. “I’ll look after your men.”

  Silar nodded with a pout and withdrew to the rear of the hall. He sat on one of the tables for a moment, apparently examining the ceiling, and then staggered out of the room.

  Rahake, Beetan, Hunsar and Beodrin circled Morghiad to inform him of their counts before breaking away to their men. After a short wait, Tortrix, Pavon, Baculo, and Eupith handed their numbers to Morghiad too. Five-thousand, seven-hundred and forty-six men had made it in. Another seven-hundred and three made up Luna’s battalion, which was defending the city today. Only two were suspected of taking time off to recover from a hangover, which wasn’t too bad a start. Exactly a third suffering nalka, as Silar had predicted. That man did have a knack of divining useful information from complicated situations.

  Morghiad placed the rolls at the back of the platform for later filing and called his army to attention.

  “I am honoured that so many of you have chosen to devote yourselves fully to defending Calidell. As your absent colleagues will be currently aware, becoming a world-renowned army does not come easily. It will be a tough haul to become what we must, but every one of you knows that the payoff will be worth it. I intend to work you hard today. Be strong, this country depends upon your strength.” Morghiad always felt slightly ridiculous doing these speeches. He was never quite sure if he had been overdramatic.

  “We’ll begin with one-on-two duelling. I will lead Lord Forllan’s battalion.”

  Morghiad jumped down from the platform and strode purposefully to Silar’s men. He slid his sword from the scabbard and motioned to the two soldiers closest to him. They approached steadily and unsheathed their weapons as well. The rest of the battalion organised themselves into groups of three, taking it in turns to be the outnumbered fighter.

  “You will be our enemy.” Morghiad nodded to the taller man. He had a narrow face and beady eyes that would look shifty in most situations. The smaller man had something of a paunch but looked to be well-muscled in his arms, even so. To add to the roundedness of his appearance, he had also shaved his head. Morghiad threw his sword into his left hand as the smaller man took up position on his right.

  “Begin.”

  Narrow-face came forward at Morghiad with a diagonal cut. The kahr parried with ease but did not attack, leaving his new ally to do so. Bald head made a bold strike across the neck of his opponent’s blade. Narrow face easily re-directed it and began a bout of counter attacks, leaving Morghiad to interrupt them with a half feint and a series of down slices. The three men whirled about each other, swords whipping through the air. Morghiad was fast discovering that he would have to hold back and fight a greater battle with his frustration. At least he was beginning to work up a good sweat; that was something.

  Artemi watched the drips falling from the light well in her chamber as they made a dull ‘flup’ sound upon hitting the floor below. They looked rather pretty as they fell. She had never seen a real gemstone up close but she had been told that they glittered as rain would in the sun. She caught one before it hit the ground and examined it in her hand. The water was actually quite dirty, having fallen several leagues from the surface to the cellars below. Rain was probably the only thing that ever cleaned these wells. She shook the water from her hand and proceeded to ready herself for the next round of duty. Another day of scrubbing the sheets of ungrateful nobles! She could hardly wait.

  Artemi tightened the laces of her bodice and tied them off at the base of her spine. Just as she had entangled her fingers for the second time, Caala came bustling in.

  “Artemi, lass. I need you to cover for me. Don’t worry yourself about your usual duties today. Feodora has taken ill with another case of blazed nalka and I have to do her bloody shift. Will you see to the kahr’s bed linen for me?”

  Artemi unhooked her hands from the loops at her back. “I thought you told me to stay away from his sort?”

  Caala smiled and began to adjust Artemi’s lacing. “Morghiad’s a funny lad. Let us just say... I don’t think he’s a threat to you, though I daresay a pretty girl like you might turn him!” She punctuated her quip with a sharp tug on Artemi’s lacing. “In any case, he’ll be practicing killing people all day so you won’t see him.”

  Artemi raised her eyebrows. “Alright then. I’ll see to the ‘funny lad’ for you.”

  Caala chattered on: “Do you know where his rooms are? Just head to the guest apartments and turn left at that bloody big moth. You’ll enter an even bigger hallway with white marble floors. His room is on the left.”

  A thought occurred to Artemi: “Are the king’s rooms nearby?”

  “No. But watch out for him anyway.” Caala finished tying Artemi’s laces. Artemi turned to her friend. “I’ll be on the lookout for bearded monsters.” She hugged Caala and they parted company.

  The hallway outside Kahr Morghiad’s rooms was air-full and even beautiful, after a fashion. Artemi examined the marble floor as she walked its mirror surface. It appeared to have gemstones lodged inside it! They did indeed look like glinting droplets of water, and she deeply wished she could take a small section back to her rooms to admire. Sadly, there was work to do; a woman could not spend all day looking at floors. Just how many sheets did this man have, anyway? Was it really a job that would take up her entire day and preclude her from completing any other duties? She knocked once, and then pushed the dark wooden door open.

  His rooms were quite sparse, and in-keeping with the rest, very grey. Three ivory veils draped across the windows. Was she sup
posed to wash those as well? A wide bed dominated the room, its black wooden spears almost brushing the ceiling. Artemi could not resist stroking the wood. It was so dense, so cold to the touch and so highly polished that it felt almost as if it were made of stone. A grand fireplace stood opposite, apparently carved from a single piece of silvery-grey granite. She walked over and ran her fingers along its straight-cut angles. The stripes of quartz in it tugged at her fingertips while the rest felt gloriously smooth. Its height reached well above her head and she could easily have stood inside it as she could stand in her own room.

  A brown leather armchair sat to one side. Its arms looked curiously worn – an old piece of furniture in an otherwise immaculate room. Her eye was then captivated by the objects behind the chair. Books. Hundreds of them! They stood on broad shelves that ran the width of the chamber. She had never seen so many in a person’s room. Artemi stepped towards them, taking in their soft scents and teasing her own eyes with the view of their aged spines. All the texts she could see were bound in leather or hide, all good quality. Some looked as if they were older even than the Era of Floods. What a treat it would be to be allowed to touch them, to read the contents of their pages.

  She sighed and pulled her fingers through her hair. She did not want to lose her job over snooping before she had received her first pay.

  Artemi made her way back to the fine bed and looked over the pure, white sheets. They looked like soft clouds loosely held atop a floating shelf. It certainly appeared to be more comfortable than the cellar bedroll. She closed her eyes and listened. She could not hear a sound; perfect and uninterrupted silence. What wonderful tranquillity the nobles could enjoy! Artemi quashed the growing feelings of envy, or tried to, and began to strip the sheets.