The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  This was yet another occasion when they could use those lost memories of Artemi’s, and Morghiad sighed to himself. It had only been eight days since he had seen her, and already he ached for her company.

  The ride to the castle was slow and tedious by comparison, with Tyshar appearing to delight at having visible ground beneath his feet once more. Morghiad dismounted at the stable block, and arranged to meet Selieni and Silar later on. He needed to spend some time

  planning his next moves before any more action was taken, and time was perilously short.

  He swept up the dark grey stairs and paced down the corridors toward his rooms. Just enough sunlight touched the stone from the light wells to negate the need for lamp flame, but it darkened his mood even so. He had ensured that the very gloomiest tunnels in the castle were whitewashed in an attempt to make the atmosphere a little less tomb-like, though perhaps it was time for a greater overhaul. The army could do with a refreshed identity too maybe a new uniform would bolster them and reaffirm their link to the new Calidell. Then again, equipping over ten thousand men in one go would be a huge expense, requiring some considerable justification. At times, Morghiad felt lost as king. He’d never wanted such a

  ridiculous responsibility in the first instance.

  A willowy woman with short, dark brown curls drew up before him.

  “Kahriss Eryth. I hope you are well.” He mustered a thin smile.

  The woman simpered and pulled a strand of hair from her cheek. “Sire.” She followed the word with a curtsey, but did not move from his path.

  Overly forward, ambitious and divisive royalty was the last thing he needed! He sought a good excuse to avoid her, but failed. “I have ah... paperwork to organise.” He truly was terrible in dealing with women, even Artemi. No, especially Artemi.

  The kahriss stalked the corridor towards him, olive skin bright and eyes dark. Perhaps she was pretty, in that Hirrahan sort of way. “My lord, I have more pressing business for you than paperwork.”

  He felt himselfbacking toward the wall. “Oh, I don’t believe that can be true,” he said in a low voice. How was a man supposed to escape from another country’s kahriss? If he said the wrong thing, it could very well start a protracted and unnecessary war.

  Eryth moved forward again, pinning him against the inflexible stone wall. “I can show you it’s true,” she whispered.

  Morghiad felt panic rise as the woman pressed her chest against him. He couldn’t very well threaten her to stay away with a dagger. Why did women have to behave in this way? “I really have t-” He paused as she began fiddling with his belt fixings. That was enough. If the two countries fell out, so be it. He took hold of

  her arms and pushed her away firmly. “I am not interested.”

  “What’s wrong with you!” she stormed at him as he left. “Don’t you have anything down there?”

  Morghiad re-fastened his belt and strode away, ignoring her. Eryth could spread all the rumours she liked about him - he knew very well the contents of his breeches!

  He marched darkly to the green marble stairs that marked the approach to his quarters. Guards nodded to him as he ascended, forcing himto calm his mood only slightly. The men’s attitudes to him had improved in the short time since his return to the practice hall sessions, and he felt similarly re-integrated with them. In truth, he lamented that he had not noticed his relationship with them deteriorating to begin

  But now he began to feel hope again; he could do good things, achieve them with his men and his future wife. No, he was not as lost as he had feared. He just needed to find a way of neatly annihilating the traitors. A multipronged and carefully coordinated attack was needed; something to brush the main conspirators away in the night. Morghiad stepped up to the bronze doors, and caught sight of a puzzled look on one of the soldier’s faces. “What is it?”

  The man looked to his cohort for support. “Sire, we didn’t want to let her in, but she said she’d had your permission - that you’d arranged to meet her in there. I told Ichneu here that you couldn’t possibly have, but she was adamant. And we didn’t want to, you

  know, manhandle her in case...” he inclined his head awkwardly.

  The other guard nodded in agreement.

  “Who is this woman?” the king asked, not daring to hope.

  “It is the Lady di Certa, my lord.”

  Morghiad gritted his teeth as his heart sank. Clearly he was not going to be allowed any sort of reprieve or time to think today. “I’ll be back shortly,” he warned. He released a little of his anger by throwing open the heavy doors with as much force as he could muster, and strode through. Aval was not evident in the main reception room, so he stamped into his offices. There was no sign of her there. Wincing, he moved toward the bedroom, but found it empty.

  The sound of rushing water, an entire

  waterfall of it, drifted through from his bathing room. Morghiad suddenly felt very apprehensive indeed, which was ridiculous. He was a grown man and these were his rooms. Even if she was one of those scheming to overthrow him, she would make a rather ineffectual plotter. He paced confidently into the shower room, but had not sufficiently steeled himselffor the view he was presented with.

  Aval stood, back arched provocatively, soaping herselfunder his shower. She spotted him immediately through the cascades, and invited him to join her.

  In response, Morghiad wheeled around and marched back to the doors, understanding completely Silar’s comment about stirring. Her naked form was not in the least bit impressive

  or arousing, though he thought that perhaps it ought have been to any other man.

  He stopped briefly to speak to the guards. “Give her a moment to dress herselfthen get her out of there. And throw her in the cells for a day on a charge of trespassing. No, two days.” It was as good an opportunity as any to imprison the second of the traitors, and wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion. Morghiad stalked back down the corridors and toward the library. He needed Artemi back in the castle soon, if not just to act as a barrier to these insane women. That was assuming she’d want to deepen her relationship with him. Even when her memories returned, he could not guarantee that she would love him again. But surely even her presence as an amicable acquaintance would give him more pleasure

  and reassurance than her current absence?

  He felt his emotions were beginning to spin out of control as they had so many years before. The minute these rebels were dealt with, he would have to return to Corlands and request her presence at court. Toryn could chop as many parts off him as he liked; Morghiad had waited long enough for his queen.

  The full and bright, white moon shimmered gently in the high window of

  Gadlond’s offices. He scratched the yielding overhang at his belt and set down his ink pen. That evening’s meal had been a wonderful feast of rare meats and honeyed cakes. No doubt he would soon be dining on the very finest cuisine that the country had to offer, when he took his place as rightful ruler of Calidell. A Gialdinian kahr had no proper claim to be his king, and Bracon Veradlin’s claim to the throne was very weak indeed. Though Lord Veradlin had a knack for planning, that’s all he was: a glorified scheduler. Gadlond stood and paced the carpeted room with a slow sway to his movements. His granddaughter was giving him yet another headache with her shameless behaviour. The latest news was that she had thrown herself at the usurper kahr and gotten locked-away in the bowels of the castle. What

  she saw in the thoroughly incompetent and frankly tedious lad, he still could not fathom. Still, her affection could work in the di Certa’s favour, if she learned how to stay out of trouble.

  A noise from outside the window interrupted his thoughts. He climbed onto the second level of his book shelves and walked to the circular aperture at the end. Gazing through the dusty glass, he caught sight of three mounted soldiers in black and green. What were those serpents doing here again? Running footsteps approached his door, and it flung open with a breathless house-guard. “My lord! The C
alidellian army – they’re here. They say you’re to be arrested!”

  Terror flooded into Lord di Certa’s ample frame. How could they know? “Get me

  out of here then!”

  The footman shook his head. “There’s near a hundred of them out there! They’re in the house!” And with that, he ran from the offices.

  Di Certa looked around the office for objects to aid him, and found only a strip of curtain. He glanced out of the window again; the ground below was clear. This was his chance! The glass panel was stiff in its fixings, but with some effort he slid it quietly open on its hinges. Gadlond threw the long stretch of fabric through the opening, and attached its end to a convenient hook. Hauling his body onto the ledge, he thrust his feet into the night and pushed himselfthrough. Something caught something was obstructing his path. He pushed harder, flailing his legs in an effort to be free of

  his prison. With horror, he realised his expanded waistline had caused him to become stuck in the window frame. Why had his blasted wife offered that extra portion of seed rolls?

  Lord di Certa thrashed about and squirmed violently. The frame began to creak under the strain. This was it, just one more push! The olive-stained, wood mullion above him snapped, and he slid backwards with surprising speed. Clutching at the torn curtain, his hands found no purchase on its tattered seams, and Gadlond fell heavily to the gravelled path below.

  Laughter filled the air around him. It was a voice he recognised. Though bruised and with vision that would not remain steady, he turned his head to the owner of the sound.

  Moonlight bathed a dark-haired man of over six foot, sitting astride a warhorse; that fearful black horse!

  “Gadlond!” Morghiad smiled broadly.

  Gadlond had preferred the early days of the child’s rule, when he had never bothered to muster false sentiment and smiles had been rare.

  “Good ofyou to join us in so valiant a fashion. Would you care to travel back with my men? Only, I fear I have to arrest you for plotting to oust me from my throne.” The boy’s smile had slipped with the last words.

  Gadlond scowled. His body was fully recovered from the drop, and his strength was not inconsiderable. Slowly, he stood and withdrew his hundred-year-old blade. “I am not going to be a prisoner to a pretender of a

  king!” He ran at the former kahr and made to cut his horse’s girths.

  But the usurper produced a sword from nowhere, and blocked his strike well enough to flip di Certa’s weapon into the darkness of the night. Gadlond was not ready to give up, however. He assailed his opponent with his hands outstretched and ready to throttle. But something hard connected with his ribs, causing him to fall to the damp earth.

  “You will stand trial along with your co-conspirators in Cadra over the next few weeks.” Morghiad replaced his left foot in the stirrup. “All those found guilty will be put to hard labour; building schools and homes for the communities from which they stole. I think that is fair, don’t you?”

  Gadlond’s blood boiled. A nobleman

  should only ever be executed or kept in the best cells, not humiliated like this! It was unthinkable. “You denigrate your own class by sentencing high blood in this manner! You were never fit to rule, boy! You can only destroy this country with your unbelievable stupidity!”

  The child king only responded by turning his mount around and walking into the shadows of the trees, leaving several of his guards to tie Gadlond up. He would have his revenge for this! Gadlond fumed as his new keepers pushed him onto the back of a cart. That lad would learn of true humiliation!

  The King of Calidell sat deeply in the flowing tangle of the jet marble throne, his sword propped by his black-booted shins and his grey coat half open. He lifted his chin from his hand, and surveyed the ragged scene before him. One-hundred-and-fifty men and women stood with their clothing ripped and heads bowed. It had taken five arduous days of processing to level the charges and evidence against each one. Some were guiltier than others, and he had attempted to be fair in sentencing the impressionable idiots. The

  malevolent schemers had received some particularly harsh judgements from Morghiad, though he tried not to dwell on how their rule might have been better than his. No, most were far too greedy and slippery to have considered the best interests of Calidellians.

  Lord Bracon Veradlin stood at the front of the group, his black hair shaved close to his scalp and his deep-set eyes peering around at the vast hall full of soldiers. He could expect the harshest punishment: cleaning and maintaining Cadra’s extensive sewer system for the next few centuries. A flowing mane of chestnut locks behind him signified Aval’s bowed head. Her involvement had been disappointingly small, meaning that her sentence was also quite minimal.

  It had made his stomach turn several

  times when he had read her plans to have him tied up and forced to father her children, but the statement had simply provided amusement for the prosecutor. And then there was Myrte. During the final stages of scuppering the traitors’ plans, she had proven herselfan invaluable aid. Silar had been less inclined to grant her any sort of reprieve, and so they had compromised on twenty years’ labour. If she behaved herself, she would be set free. If not, she could endure another hundred years of the same. Policing each of these criminals would be costly, but it would ensure that Calidell remained safe. Morghiad stood from his seat of power. “Get out of my sight,” he uttered to all of them.

  Two soldiers each took the chained convicts by their arms, and led them through

  the great stone doors and into the darkened hallways beyond. Morghiad felt exhaustion settle upon his shoulders. The clean-up had been a success, but the coup’s very existence was his failure.

  Silar approached him sombrely. “We still haven’t caught up with Reduvi. And I have a very bad feeling about it.”

  Morghiad had dearly wanted to make that man suffer, but somehow the banker had escaped ahead of his capture. “Is this a feeling? Or is it a prediction?”

  He grimaced. “My mind is filled with shadows at the moment, but I think his is one of them. And I believe he will hurt Calidell deeply, or try, in the weeks to come.”

  No doubt a man robbed of his wealth would try such a thing. “Anything more specific, Silar?”

  “Something about extinguishing a flame. I don’t know. I’m sorry I have not been much use to you.”

  Morghiad felt like punching some sense back into the man. “You’re one of the few people I can trust, whether or not you can see into the bloody future!” He really had to curb such language. “Well, there are signal towers all the way along our northern borders. Perhaps he means to douse them all?”

  Silar appeared thoughtful. “No. I need to consider it more carefully.”

  Morghiad nodded. “Good. Now that the worst of this has been dealt with, I’m going to see if Artemi wants to join us here.”

  “But... Ithought... it’s too soon, surely?” Silar said, blinking his eyes.

  “We all have need of her here.”

  Silar nodded with resignation, and then grinned. “I knew you’d give in.”

  Morghiad raised an eyebrow. “Of course you knew. I had better be ready to depart before the sun rises again.”

  “Good luck. I don’t need visions to tell me that you’ll need it.”

  Morghiad felt a frown coming on, but suppressed it as he strode from the Malachite Hall. Upon reaching his chambers he bathed, shaved and dressed himselfin something more formal. It was the darkest blue, floor-length velvet coat designed for riding - an identical copy of one he had been given many years ago. He fastened two swords to his back, gathered several daggers, a short bow and his saddle bags. Corlands was only a day’s ride away, but one could never be sure of what to expect on the journey. Several of the guards eyed his extravagant garb quizzically as he flowed past, but he wasn’t about to stop and explain it to them. His anticipation had reached a level that precluded idle conversation.

  Tyshar sensed and mirrored his mood almos
t as soon as the king stepped inside the animal’s stable. The horse stamped at the ground and raised his muzzle excitedly.

  Together they cantered into the orangelit city, throwing up sprays of dirt and hay, and then they were out in the wild grasslands and free woods of his kingdom. The ride to Corlands was pleasant in the first flush of spring growth. Leaves had already pushed through on many of the grey-brown branches that arced overhead, and small yellow flowers decorated

  the woodland floor in a sea of golden shells. Morghiad was careful to stick to paths covered in dried leaves and springy moss; he could not risk leading anyone to his most prized part of Calidell. The first light of a second morning filled the skies by the time the grand woodenframe building of Corlands came into view. It felt like a thousand years had passed since he had first visited to assess the estate’s suitability for its new occupant.

  Morghiad endeavoured to tidy himself a little, and most likely failed. He had long given up on attempts to maintain any sort of control over his hair, but his stubble was not too marked just yet. Artemi had always told him she preferred a little roughness on a man’s jaw, and he was happy to oblige in that respect.

  He bit down on his nerves and nudged

  Tyshar into a gentle canter down the slope. Morghiad had timed his arrival to avoid any unwanted attention from the resident soldiers, and kept close to what little cover was available. There was no need for an audience. He dismounted several tens of yards from the house and walked the rest of the way, pausing briefly as a pale-haired boy ran across his path and into the main doors. A light mist, silence and dark windows enveloped the building once more.