she spoke to him, his yellow eyes wide and clouded. She hoped the Hirrahans were suffering far worse than these men, good men, were. Artemi looked up from her latest patient. Aglos, the head medic soldier, was muttering something to her about getting more water. “I’ll go and get some from the brook at the bottom of the hill,” she said.
He glowered. “Fine. But don’t get too close to the action. ThoughI imagine most of it will be done by now.”
She grabbed a bucket and ran from the tent. Glacier was tethered up to a nearby tree, probably asleep, but was rapidly untied. Artemi vaulted onto the mare’s back, which had the immediate effect of waking the horse up. Glacier raised her snout, snorted once and galloped into the darkness toward the brook,
toward the battle.
The horse was lightning fast, and within a matter of seconds they had reached the sound of running water. Artemi slipped out of the saddle with the bucket and picked her way carefully over the rocky ground. When her toes hit water she knelt to scoop some up, but a fizzing in the air around her drew her attention away. There was a large group of men fighting several-hundred yards ahead, though how those Hirrahans had made it this close was a mystery. The fizzing intensified.
Then she understood.
It was Blaze Energy, being used to scout for targets beyond the wielder’s natural sensing range. With horror, she realised that there were no kanaala in the group, or even nearby. In a matter of moments the lot of them
would be burned to grey silt! She dropped the bucket and leapt into Glacier’s saddle, pulling her sword from her back. Artemi heeled the mare over the brook and up the opposite slope.
Once she was within shouting distance she started yelling as loud as she could, “MOVE! WIELDER STRIKE!” None of the men looked around. They were too caught-up in their fighting to notice her. She jumped off the horse and ran the rest of the way. Perhaps an extra blade could tip the balance for them. Artemi headed for a tall, Hirrahan warrior with his back to her. Too busy thrashing one of her brothers, he hadn’t heard her coming. She dove forward and swept her sword across his neck with all her might. His head fell to the ground with a strange torpidity, and she was
left with a strong desire to vomit.
The Calidellian man beyond offered her a weary nod of thanks. Almost as soon as he had, however, a Hirrahan soldier to her left bore down on her, and she parried with a quick up-slash. She jabbed her sword into his side as he fell back, while her compatriot finished him off. Artemi placed her foot against the body to remove her blade, but felt something hit her other leg. Sword reclaimed, she looked down and saw a pinh-coated short sword sticking out of her right thigh. Its sweaty owner grinned at her menacingly. “Little girls shouldn’t fight.”
The air fizzed intensely against her skin. They had to get out of there, they had to run! Artemi swung the sword round as fast as she could. It caught the grizzled man by surprise and knocked him to the ground. The Calidellian man she had aided was too exhausted and bloody to help her further. Without hesitation, she beheaded their foe herself.
Her kills had tipped the balance, and the last of the Hirrahans fell to the earth. “We have to move, now! There will be a storm of fire right here in a matter of seconds!”
The men in green and black lost no time in departing the scene. She made to run with them, but instead fell to the ground as her right leg collapsed. Artemi rolled onto her back and pulled at the short sword. It would not budge. She took a deep breath and heaved on it as much as she dared. Slowly, and with searing pain, it came free. Black liquid oozed from the wound; the limb did not look useful at all. Blazes!
A pair of arms grabbed hold of her and lifted her into the air. The man she had helped threw her onto his shoulder and ran to her now skittish horse. He had come back! He flung Artemi across the saddle, leapt onto Glacier’s back and kicked the mare into a gallop. A vast fireball exploded into the earth behind them, launching burning shards of rock across their bodies. They galloped back toward the medics’ tent in justified alarm, though Artemi had to writhe and yell for the soldier to stop and pick up water on the way. At least she could complete one of her duties, though her leg was beginning to hurt rather more than she wanted to admit.
Morghiad drew the second of his swords, dismounted and cut his way through to the wielder ahead of him. The moon illuminated her thin face clearly. He pulled another redcoated soldier down to the ground and cut his head from its neck. It had been a bloody battle, far bloodier than he had expected. They had to yield soon. He reached forward and took hold of the brunette’s neck. Her eyes grew wide as soon as she sensed what he was, and that he surpassed her considerably in ability. The woman was tired, but he drew every reserve
she had left into himself. She fought back only feebly.
His experience with Artemi had taught him much about controlling the more headstrong wielders, and it was not long before he felt something snap - the tie that linked her to the Blazes. The woman would never wield again. If he delved further he could have killed her, but she was harmless now. He released her neck and she fell to the ground in a heap. Morghiad left her there and clambered back on Tyshar.
The end of the battle came soon enough, since the loss of the brown-haired wielder had been enough to finally dishearten the Hirrahans. A trumpet sounded, and all the men in red laid down their swords. Some were crying. It had been horrific, certainly the
bitterest fight he had experienced yet, and he feared hearing the number of losses his army had sustained. He sheathed both swords and cantered into the centre of the enemy camp. Beetan fell in behind him. The orange-haired man was revelling in the glory of his kills. Out of the corner of one eye, Morghiad caught him picking up a brown piece of fabric. “All your baize are belong to us!” Beetan laughed to himself. Whatever did that even mean? The kahr heeled Tyshar on and soon reached the Hirrahan leader’s tent.
A blonde woman in a silk gown stood at the torch-lit entrance. A small gold crown sat atop her head. Morghiad had thought the Hirrahans brave, but he had not expected them to send their queen to take a province. She was quite pretty, though she had nothing on
Artemi’s beauty. He dismounted and made a bow to his defeated enemy. She eyed him longer than would usually be acceptable, and then gave a curtsey before ushering he and Beetan into her tent.
“Your men fought well today, my lady.”
She assessed him from top to bottom. “Men fight hard if they have a queen to protect. Tell me, Lord-Captain Morghiad, are you married yet?”
Was this really to be their topic of discussion? “No, I fear I am wed to the sword and my army. ButI believe we should press on with business.”
“Why, it can be business if you wish. How would you like one of my daughters to... ameliorate the disruption that has gone on today?” She smiled sweetly.
Morghiad felt anger well up inside him. He very nearly exploded with it. Instead he seethed. “Do you think, lady, that the offer of your daughter will make amends for the lives of the men lost today? If you do then you underestimate me most gravely.” He heard Beetan growl behind him.
“Then tell me what you desire, LordCaptain Sete’an, and I shall endeavour to meet your requests.” She sat on a cushioned chair and pulled out a parchment.
“You are in no position to accept or deny requests. You must be gone from here by midday tomorrow. You will release any of my men you hold captive. I will have four battalions accompany you to the border. You are not to stop for supplies and you must not return here again. In addition, if you wish for peace in your
own country then I suggest you cease all border raids. And you must lift your blockades and embargoes. Those are my terms.” He turned and walked out. There had probably never been such a short post-battle reconciliation, but Morghiad had to leave before he tore her head from her shoulders.
He mounted Tyshar and rode him back down the hill. There were a few bodies in green and black lying upon the ground. Thankfully, far more wore red.
At
the bottom of the hill, Jarynd trotted into his path. His narrow face conveyed concern. “Lord-Captain,” he breathed, “Artemi. She’s been injured.”
Morghiad felt his fatigue then. He could not afford to lose her for this! He kicked Tyshar hard and galloped the animal at full
Aglos dabbed tentatively at her thigh.
“Blazes, man! Get in there and clean it properly! I thought you were the most experienced at this.” Artemi clenched her teeth against the pain she was anticipating. But it did not come. Aglos hesitated over her leg, looking nervous. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” She grabbed the cloth, soaked it in water and doused the wound. Artemi then took the longest sarkha
within reach and jammed it deeply into her thigh. It sent lightning bolts of pain shooting up her body, but it was more bearable than she had expected. Holding the base of the sarkha with one hand, she pressed down on the tube at the top. She could feel water filling the injury from the bottom, and after a moment it started pouring out the top, coloured black. Artemi pressed down harder to ensure she got it as clean as she could. Satisfied with her work, she pulled out the sarkha and threw it to one side. She would have sighed with relief, but Morghiad entered the bay in a cloud of gloom. Muddied, wet and bloody; his coat had been slashed in several places across the arms, revealing shallow cuts to his skin. The kahr’s green eyes still glittered brightly but his face was dark. He looked... ireful. And Artemi had
no doubt as to whom he was angry with. She swallowed in anticipation of the tirade she was about to endure.
He started off quietly. “You disobeyed my orders.”
Her stomach felt as if it might sink through the bench and into the floor. “I had to. I promised to protect them.”
“And you would be in better shape to do that if you had followed my instructions!” he growled.
“I couldn’t watch them die. I swore to defend my brothers!”
The man who had carried her to safety spoke up, “I believe she did save us, lordcaptain. Nine of our men would have fallen under that fireball.”
Morghiad gritted his teeth. “She broke
an oath playing hero. I cannot have soldiers breaking their oaths.”
Artemi felt lost. “I’d have had to break an oath no matter what.”
His brow softened a touch, but only a touch. “You will not get any special treatment from me, Artemi D’Avrohan. We will decide on a punishment over the days to come.” He stepped closer to inspect the wound. “Why has this not been properly dealt with yet?”
Aglos wrung his hands. “Well, you see, my lord-captain, it would not be proper for me to remove a woman’s -” he cleared his throat, “she- ah...” he became quite pink.
Morghiad appraised the curtains that had been erected for her privacy, and shook his head. “Alright, I’ll do it.” He whipped a dagger out from his waist. Aglos and the other
man’s eyes bulged and they both backed out of the bay in haste. Without hesitation or embarrassment, the kahr tore through her breeches with the blade, revealing the skin around the stab-wound. Wavy grey striations grew from it, giving the odd impression of a star.
“Poison’s in your blood now,” he said, sounding grim. “It won’t heal like that. I have to remove some of the tissue from the sides of the injury if it is to close at all.” His gaze burned into her. “Bite on this.” He handed her the dagger, hilt first. It still dripped with her poisoned blood. “And it will help you deal with the pain if you watch what I do.”
Every one of her muscles had tensed, which would hardly help. She bit down on the dagger handle as bitterly as she could, and
leaned back upon her hands. This time Morghiad drew a knife and gave it a rudimentary rinse in a nearby bucket. He placed his hand firmly on the inner of her thigh to hold it steady. His touch sent an unexpectedly pleasurable burst of fire up her leg, almost making her forget the pain. Odd.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
He started cutting a full half-inch from the edges of the wound. The first half of it was agony, but when he embarked on the second she began to feel dizzy. She dug her teeth deeper into the hilt of the dagger and tried to see through the grey. It was no good, her head felt hot and the room was spinning. Artemi passed out.
He caught her round the shoulders before her head hit the bench, and lowered her gently onto the hard pillow. Morghiad removed his dagger from her mouth. It had gained a few shallow teeth marks. The kahr smiled to himself and resumed his operation. She should have blacked-out sooner, but the woman was tougher than Tegran cattle hide. When he had finished, the muscle and skin knitted together almost instantaneously. There were a few gaps that had to be sewn back together, though
Morghiad’s hand was not the best at it. He completed the stitches to an acceptable standard, ripped away the obstructive clothing that remained and turned a bandage around her leg. She had been a very foolish woman indeed. Perhaps heroes were born headstrong and defiant.
She was lucky, very lucky, not to have been killed, since there was a lot less of her to fill with poison than a typical soldier. He assessed his handiwork. Artemi had a very fine pair of legs, not that he had seen many women’s to compare them to. But they gave his eyes pleasure nonetheless. The kahr removed his cloak and covered her with it, it was a cold night.
He left the bay and was greeted by a small crowd of men, no doubt with serious
business for him to attend to. “Well?” Morghiad folded his arms.
“Is she alright?” asked Jarynd.
The kahr suppressed a frown. “She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest.”
The men’s stern expressions seemed to relax considerably.
“Do we have a count for the losses yet?” Morghiad asked.
Aglos stepped forward. “Five died in here tonight; there are two more whomI fear will not make it to the morning.”
Then Eupith muscled in, “Latest count on the field is fifty-two. I’d add twenty to that at a guess.”
“You’re saying fewer than eighty of our men died today?” It had been far bloodier than that, surely?
“It was a rout, lord-captain. Their strength is in bowmen. Once we’d passed through the arrow storm they were on the back foot,” said Eupith.
Of course, eighty men dead still meant he had presided over the loss of eighty lives. He could not rejoice in that, but it was severalhundred fewer than he had anticipated. Pulling that arrow shield along with the army had reaped immeasurable benefits, though it had been tiring work. The aches of the day were beginning to seep into his bones, yet he still had some energy left. “I’ll come and help you clear the bodies.”
“Not necessary, captain. It is almost done. You should get some rest.” Eupith said with a stern set to his jaw.
Aglos chimed in, “The Lady Artemi
could probably do with someone watching her. Since my lord... ah. Well, since...” He cleared his throat.
“Since what?” Morghiad couldn’t help but allow frustration colour his voice.
“Er...
well...” the medic stumbled.
Jarynd finished: “What he is trying to say is - given your special relationship with her, why don’t you-”
“What relationship?” the kahr demanded, unfolding his arms.
The men fell silent.
He was too tired to argue with them and their ridiculous ideas. “Fine,” was all he said before he turned back to the bay.
He drew a chair alongside Artemi’s bench and unstrapped the swords from his back as he thought. The men liked to make
rumours when there were none. Now, Silar and Artemi: there was something worth gossiping about. He pulled off his coat and shirt; both would need replacing when he returned. He would give them a wash in a river tomorrow, if there was time.
A nick on his arm was giving him trouble, and he’d have to see to it if he wanted any sleep. True, he had gained much experience with cleaning up field wounds as a cadet, but it was incredibly tedious work. Morghiad pi
cked up a sarkha and seated himselfto begin the washing. The gash was an easy one to tidy up, and minimal stitching was required. The other, smaller cuts closed almost as soon as he bathed them. To his left, Artemi’s breaths came slowly and quietly. She looked very serene in the low lamp light. Morghiad
reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face, sensing the delicate simmer of her power though it. If anything, she had become prettier over the last six months.
He relaxed back into his chair, folded his arms and drifted into a guardian sleep. It meant he was still sensitive to sounds, easily awoken and his muscles would be quick to react. It was something he had yet to teach Artemi, but it was hardly appropriate to stay overnight in her bedroom or have her stay in his. She was still a little young to learn it, in any case. He looked into the Blazes and searched for Artemi’s stream inside it. She was already the second-strongest of all of them. Thankfully, the other kanaala had not made the association yet, but that could not last forever.
Morghiad allowed the energy to drift
from his mind. Guardian sleep did not prevent strange dreams from invading the blackness, however, and he saw the eyes of the wielder he had pacified -saw the spirit drain from them. In a way it was worse than watching a soldier die. He could have done that to Artemi if he had really wanted to. Any kanaala of any ability could do that to her if she could not defend herself, if she had no one to protect her. In another dream he was haunted by Ilena’s panicked face, the last he saw of her before she was executed. He twitched. Something had awoken him. It was dark in the medical tent, but he could see that Artemi was still sleeping soundly under his cloak. He pulled the closest sword out of its sheath in silence. Something was moving around outside, something that wanted to stay quiet. The men would have no
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