Voices of Blaze Read online

  “I need your help, Kal.”

  Chapter 4

  “I don’t need guards inside my bedroom. Have you forgotten I bested both of you?!”

  Orwin folded his arms and looked across to Koviere. They shared a glance that only seemed to communicate that they thought she was being stupid, and then Orwin said, “You really ought to call Tal Hunter back. You need him watching this door. And the windows. I know he can be… abrasive at times, but he really is the best person for this. And he knows Mirel – knows her tricks.”

  “He knows I am the queen! Blazes, he must be the only person in this damned city that listens to my orders! Get out, both of you!”

  Orwin’s brow darkened and he remained with his feet locked to the pearlescent floor. Evidently, Koviere was to be similarly steadfast in his decision to be an irritating block of stubbornness. Beyond the limits of her chambers, the situation was not much better. Jarynd, Beetan and Korali loitered at the door for most hours of the day, and had done so with little relief in the month since Mirel had escaped. Almost all of that squad had made it their business to become the queen’s personal guard, which might not have been burdensome if she hadn’t already been obliged to accept another personal guard large enough to populate a whole village. It was ridiculous!

  What sort of queen was she if she could not rule those closest to her? But of course she knew the answer. These soldiers were more afraid of her parents than they would ever be of her, and they protected her out a duty to their old, beloved leaders. Well, perhaps some of them liked her a little bit, but that squad was her mother’s pet dog before it was hers. If there was one thing Medea had realised during her short reign, it was that warriors with political ideas of their own could be dangerous things. It was all well and good while they were loyal to her, but if they ever decided she was to be deposed, what could she do to stop them?

  For the moment, she had decided to occupy them with the business of finding Mirel, though anyone with a brain would know that search would be a fruitless one. And the business of just how she had escaped… Medea ground her teeth together, and went to gaze out of her window. The white city glowed gloriously beneath the spring sunshine, and was interrupted only by the colourful clothing that glittered upon the backs of the citizens that streamed through it. The river still flowed powerfully across the main square, filled with the recent rainwaters from the last of the winter storms, and then it coursed away to the eastern area of the city.

  Medea did not want to look at that part of it; it made her stomach twist into a thousand knots every time she did, but her eyes travelled there before she could prevent them from doing so. She cursed as soon as she did, however. The rot had spread since that morning, and already a new ring of houses bore the brown stain of the canker.

  “The people say it is a sign of something more to come,” Medea said softly. And when the city finally dissolved, who would call her queen and kneel before her then?

  “Good leaders are born in hard times; the great leaders are born in the hardest,” Koviere responded. Even in his quietest voice, the furniture seemed to vibrate from the lowest tones of it.

  Medea knew enough to understand she was not great; not like her mother and father had been, even if she could find some ways to improve upon her brother’s indecisiveness. Though she hated to speak ill of him, he had been too kind in many respects. Even during his busiest hours, when he should have been deciding on the future of his people’s education or similar matters, he would make time to listen to her complain about the difficulties of patrolling the borders. Of course, she now knew that those difficulties were trivialities in comparison to the troubles of ruling. There’s no one who could guard this country better, he would say to her as he squeezed her shoulders. I need you, he would say with a glint in his green eyes and a flash of a smile. Now she needed him.

  How typical of fate, the Blazes and all of the follocking Law-keepers to hand her a throne at this time, of all times! She would forever be known as the queen who presided over the decline of one of the richest and most beautiful countries in the world, and increasingly, she felt there were fewer things she could do to prevent it.

  “Koviere, I would like you to send for my secretary.”

  “My queen, I’m here to guard you, not act as y-”

  “Just do it.”

  It was likely that he pulled a face behind Medea’s back, but she did not turn to acknowledge it. Such complaints were unusual for Koviere though. Was she really so poor a queen that even the most loyal of her subordinates would think it acceptable to speak to her in such a way? Perhaps she needed to be firmer. “Wait,” she said, turning as he paused in front of the doors. “Understand this, Koviere Dohsal-”

  He tilted his head as if to listen to a fly that buzzed by his ear.

  “-If you address me in that familiar manner again, I will see you thrown into the cells beneath this city.” Medea raised her chin and narrowed her eyes for the full effect. It was a pose her mother had employed often. “I am not to be spoken to as a child any more. I am your queen, and you will do as I command.”

  He hesitated as if to say something, but evidently thought better of it. With a bow deep enough to make his ponytail flop over his shoulder and toward the floor, he turned and did as bidden.

  “We just want to protect you – ah, my queen,” Orwin said after the doors clicked shut, “Koviere is one of the few men here skilled enough to keep you from most deaths. He could slow Mirel by enough seconds to allow you to run free.”

  “I shall not run. I shall never run.” Running would have been a pointless endeavour, anyway. She knew enough from her mother’s tales to recognise that Mirel had the determination to chase her quarry for eternity, if she thought it both necessary and amusing.

  Orwin made some sort of grunting noise, but thankfully did not question her thinking any further.

  Medea’s secretary, a broad woman wearing a dress that had been in fashion some fifty years earlier, soon swayed into the chambers. She had enough forethought to bring seals, wax, ink and parchment with her, but such considerations were part of her nature, and precisely why Medea had chosen her for the post in the first place.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Hana. If you would seat yourself at my desk and begin writing?”

  Lady Hana Frelle took up her seat with such speed and efficiency that she could have been forgiven for the extent to which she made the furniture creak and groan. Within moments, her ink-stained fingers hovered above an unfurled parchment, a charged quill nestled between them.

  Medea took a deep breath, adjusted the green and black scarf she wore about her neck, and instructed, “Begin writing: I, Medea Elitheya Cibale of House Jade’an, Queen of Calidell and of Gialdin, Defender of the Crystal Throne and Guardian of the Gate of Light, do hereby name my heir.”

  “Wait – what are you doing?!” Orwin exclaimed.

  Medea gave him a look that could wither oaks. “Nothing that concerns you. Be quiet, or be dismissed.” She continued, “On the event of my death, the crown shall pass to Sahlkendar of House Forllan. If he should die before me, the duty of ruling-”

  “Sahlke?” Orwin blurted, “You’re going to give it to Sahlke? Have you lost your mind? And what about Kalad?”

  “Kalad does not want it, and Sahlke will do brilliantly. His family have worked with ours for many years. They are still well-regarded here, and Silar has been gone long enough for people to grow nostalgic about him. The other brothers are not made for it, but Sahlke’s temperament is perfect.”

  “My queen,” Koviere said in his best attempt at a whisper, “Not wanting it is exactly what made your mother and father such excellent rulers. Those who want nothing more but power… they are the dangerous ones-”

  “Not wanting to rule is exactly what has led to such short reigns in Calidell. None of our house have sat upon that throne for a full century. Not even my grandmother managed it. Calidell needs stability. Sahlke will be stable. My country must come befo
re my House.” Medea pulled at the lace on the sleeves of her dress as she finished speaking. She had not always been a fashionable woman, and especially not when she had sported swords and ridden with the patrols around the country. In those days, she had been keener to emulate the clothing that her mother wore. But now she was queen, and a queen had to establish her own identity. Besides, the silks that arrived on Calbeni ships were so very luxuriant, it would have been a terrible waste not to enjoy them.

  Orwin frowned. “Sahlke has been married for years and produced no children. I don’t think he wants to. And you know who will succeed him if he does not perform…”

  “Sahlke is just the sort of man to have the foresight to make plans for that situation. Silar-”

  “I don’t mean Silar - Seffe!”

  “Seffe is… I’m sure Sahlke will be able to make that decision when the time comes.” Medea paused as her mind processed the thought more carefully. “Hana, we will complete this document when I have some peace in my chambers. I need to take some air.”

  Hana nodded politely. Medea had not noticed it before, but the lady’s hand was shaking as she held the quill above the parchment and she was blinking unusually rapidly.

  Medea decided to add, “Please keep this information under your petticoats. There’s no need for anyone else but we and the named parties to know of this business.” With that, she departed her chambers and made her way toward the city. Her ridiculous retinue followed of course, and that only slowed her progress through the streets. How she missed the days when she could ride her horse through them, unaccompanied by anyone but her brother! Those had been golden days indeed.

  Inevitably, they headed westward and to the site of the decay, where a large group of citizens still held their vigil at the edge of the advancing disease. The Watchers, as they now called themselves, had been there for the best part of a month, as if staring at the rot might somehow slow its progress. Medea had seen no evidence that their efforts did much at all, though she admired their dedication. They stood and sat along the border of the white stone that remained healthy, and they variously hummed and sang their prayers to Achellon. Beyond that border of stone lay a brown sea of mush – once homes, walls and a gate to their beautiful city. It even smelled sickly-sweet and cloying as dead bodies might do.

  Some of the Watchers turned to her when she arrived. All still bowed their heads with reverence, but none stared or gawped in awe this time. Unfortunately, they had discovered that she was not powerful enough to put this right, and perhaps suspected that she was weak in other ways.

  “If you please, my queen,” one of the Watchers said, bowing a head that had not been washed in some time, “Have you heard anything from your blessed mother? Will she be returning to aid us?”

  Mother?! Of course, because her mother was a blazed goddess who could fix everything! Medea placed her hands behind her back so that she could clench them into fists in secrecy. “She attends those who are in greater peril than we are. She will return when their troubles are resolved. Be assured, we will find a way to curtail this… ailment soon enough. I have been studying the fungus night and day.” And that was no lie. Medea had bottles of the stuff locked in the caves beneath the palace, and she had been fanatical about guarding the contagion while she made her experiments. One could not risk any more structures for the sake of research.

  As she tiptoed around the damage, she gazed across the parts of the city that had already been lost. It was an area large enough to fit a Spring Games course inside of, and already the pulp had been patterned by the footprints of feral cats and dogs. Medea had recognised early on that the decay here mirrored the decay she had observed in the Sky Bridges. And she had seen it again in the broken True Spears collected from Mirel’s attack upon the city some years ago. The same force was behind all three instances of rot, and whatever it was had some sort of link to Mirel.

  It could not be Mirel, or she would have endeavoured to free herself earlier. It could not be powerful enough to free The Daisain, as he was still safely locked up in the dungeons beneath the palace. What was it?

  “I recall, my lady, that we often had mouldy cheese in the Fire Isles, and once we’d cut the green parts off, the rest was still quite edible.”

  Medea did not need to look in his direction to verify the owner of the voice. Its accent and tone might as well have been branded into her consciousness, and she had heard it so very often in her dreams that she sometimes wondered if its owner snuck into her chambers at night. Such behaviours were not beyond him. “Thank you, I do not need your advice in such matters.”

  “Your matters concern me. Most especially your more intimate matters. Tell me, my lady, do you still wear the red lace beneath-”

  “I thought I had banished you.” Medea rounded on The Hunter, and her chain of thought was fragmented into its constituent links as soon as she laid eyes upon him. Burn him for being so pretty with his stupid, exotic features and ridiculous hair that fell about his eyes like spun sugar! Burn him in the hottest blazes that ever razed the lands and the skies!

  No. She caught herself before her thoughts descended any further. She was not her mother, and there was no need to curse a man just for being himself. But Tallyn Hunter had already taken on an expression of indifference. He shrugged and spoke before she could. “I have adhered to the terms of your instruction. Now, as for the cheese, or rather the lace – do you still-”

  “That is none of your business.” She could feel the eyes of every member of her guard upon her now, and her cheeks were colouring. Really, it was most unprofessional of her men to allow him to approach her. “If you have a solution to our problem, or knowledge about Mirel that can help us, then I shall hear it. Otherwise, you may excuse yourself from my presence.”

  His bearing shifted slightly, and few but Medea would have noticed how his fingers traced over the hilt of one of his daggers. “Mirel will want her vengeance, and she will take it in the bloodiest way. Best for you to leave the city.”

  “Never.”

  “I may have to find other ways of persuading you.”

  Medea fought hard to put those fantasies clear out of her mind. Well clear! “My country has need of me here. If you have nothing of more use…?”

  He grunted loudly and folded his arms, muttering something about stubborn blood, but finally said, “Can’t you make a knife to cut the cheese? You made a very sweet knife for your father. Seems to me there should be one for yourself. Or someone else, if you choose.” A broad smile blossomed across his face.

  A knife to cut the… of course! Why had she not thought of that? Medea wheeled around and headed directly for the palace. She could not create anything like the white sword without her mother there, inevitably, but she could still make a rudimentary cutting implement.

  Cheese! Ha!

  When Artemi opened her eyes, it was still dark, but no longer enough to be blinding. She had been deposited in a room, and she could see that she lay upon a hammock that had been suspended from the vaulted ceiling. The sling swung with a soft squeak of leather and old rope as she flopped out of it and onto the boards below. If this was another prison, it was surely more pleasant than the last one.

  “Ah, she awakes!” A man’s voice said in the clicky language.

  Artemi looked to it, and saw that it belonged to a winged creature, long-armed and snarl-faced like the one she had seen invading the city. “What you plan to do with me?” she asked him.

  “Foreigner, eh? Learkin said you fought hard when he rescued you.” The man-thing approached her on spindly legs and with wing folds that dragged on the floor behind him. “Well, perhaps that explains why you are so clean and feeble. Tell me, were you taken from the nest as a pup?”

  “No – I - clean?” She had spent the last few months locked in cells and a dungeon. How could anyone possibly think she was clean? She re-appraised the room again. It was certainly not messy or filthy. Was everything upside-down in this world?

  He nodded e
agerly. “As unsullied as the snows in the Rankled Mountains. Pure, unblemished, immaculate. It is a rare thing to see these days.”

  Artemi looked down at her clothing. It had not been changed, and still stank strongly enough to wrinkle the noses of the Law-keepers as they dreamed in The Crux. “And how I can become… unclean in this place?”

  “How can I become unclean?” he corrected. “You really are from another world, aren’t you?”

  She nodded resignedly.

  “Well, you must take the Water of Illumination. You don’t know what that is, do you? It has many names, but we call it taqqa in this city. It is a wondrous thing, conferring strength, deep sight, quick thought and the ability to control the vision of others. You will wonder what you ever did without it when you try it.”

  Artemi recalled how the light had dipped to utter nothingness when the creatures had attacked the city. The lamps had not been extinguished – her sight had! “If it is wonderful, then why you call it unclean?”

  He made an odd sniffing noise. “Mottles the skin; ages the wings. Small prices.”

  “I don’t have any wings.”

  The man grinned broadly at her. “No, not yet. Too young a pup for that.”

  “You think I’m like you?”

  He frowned and tilted his head. “And evidently you seem to think you are a pintrata. Spent too long with them, I think. Have a look in the mirror if you don’t believe me.” He nodded toward a pane of silvered glass that had been fixed to the wall.

  She plumped herself before the glass, but truly had not prepared herself for what she was about to see in it. A wide-eyed, snarl-faced creature gazed back at her. Its nostrils were caverns and its brows heavy enough to require sturdy bone to hold them up against gravity. Wild tufts of red hair sprouted from its head like weeds in a garden gone to wilderness. She was… hideous!