The spectacle before her was grim indeed; the vibrancy and liveliness of each man had been reduced to nothing more than inert soil. Their stories ended here, and their energy had returned to The Blazes that bore them. Silar and Cydia had grounded themselves too, but remained quiet behind her. Artemi set a flower at each marker stone and began to cry for the hundredth time that month. It was infuriating that her emotions would not be reined in, and she bit her lip in a feeble effort to curb further outpourings.
“The greatest tribute you can offer them is through your tears, girl,” Cydia said in a low
“They would be alive if it wasn’t for me.”
She felt the general place a hand on her shoulder. “And then they would have died for a lesser cause. We can all hope for a worthy life and a heroic death. These men had that.”
His words troubled her; these men had believed they’d fought for a good cause, but had she been worth the investment of eighteen years of their lives? “Better to die in service to the world than live to save the tears of our loved ones.” She would have to give something back to the world in order to repay this debt, but what?
The ancient forms of Blaze Energy began to leak blue light and hot sparks into the dry air of the Bridge. Short bolts of lightning arced over Morghiad’s head as he and Tyshar careered through the clouds like thunder. While the king sought his quarry, the millennia-old Sky Bridge fractured with the strain of containing their pursuit.
He kicked the horse on with teeth gritted, knowing that Reduvi was not far from his grasp. The entire structure shuddered violently towards the ground, and pulled
everything through the fog with alarming speed. The satisfying sound of screams erupted from the group ahead. Tyshar was quick to correct his footing as the bridge lurched to the right, and the panicked targets rapidly came into view.
Morghiad lifted his sword into the air, ready to cleave an arm from Reduvi’s body, when the Bridge took another twist to the left. Time and space contorted, and it momentarily moved them apart, and then rapidly hauled them together once more. Seeing the Blaze forms unravelling around him, Morghiad clasped at as much as he could until his mind burned with the heat of it. They continued hurtling towards the ground, and he bellowed with rage as the remaining structure tore Reduvi into obscurity.
Furious that his opportunity had been lost, Morghiad wrestled with the blue light in an effort to stem his descent. He felt his black river of hatred surge out, tearing control from his consciousness and rending apart the forms around him. Then the world itself became black.
He awoke groggily to the shrill call of a desert-wren, and attempted to focus on his grey surroundings. His second sword was still at his back; he withdrew it to be ready. With his eyes refusing to behave in the proper manner, he was forced instead to fumble along the cold, stony ground for his other blade. It was not close-by, but then his Blaze-burned eyes found a large, black shape on the ground some yards ahead. Tyshar.
Morghiad attempted to stand, faltered
and then stumbled forwards through searing dizziness. He fell to his knees by the great warhorse, and touched the animal’s body tentatively. Its side rose and fell with each dogged breath, but was clearly in a bad state. He knew that even blood horses could succumb to their injuries if their reserves were tested enough.
Morghiad lay at his mount’s back and waited for his eyes to heal, all the while listening out for Reduvi and his men. Slowly, the light from the skies above began to intensify, and the grey land resolved into angular rocks. At his best guess, he was somewhere in western Hirrah: the Ash Canyons. His face would not be a welcome one here.
He stood on the faceted surface to appraise Tyshar’s condition. The horse was
more lucid now, and pawed gently with two of his legs. The other two were quite clearly broken, and should have healed in the time they’d been there. Morghiad rapidly set about unhooking the saddle, and hauled out the bags from underneath the animal’s great weight. He prayed that the object he was looking for had survived undamaged.
Crouching low, he emptied the entire contents of the leather pockets onto the ground until something glassy rolled onto the stones. Morghiad dug under his limited provisions excitedly, before taking hold of the small bottle. It was still filled with its clear liquid. He allowed himselfto feel some elation at his find, and wedged Tyshar’s head onto his lap to pour the entire contents of the bottle into the horse’s mouth. He had no idea of the effects of swift on an animal, and there would be none left for him should he require it. Then again, that was the least of his problems. Abruptly, the horse suffered swift-shivers and the few surface scrapes on his skin began to close. It was working!
With some relief, Morghiad went to realign the broken legs to speed up the healing process, and in doing so, gained several broken ribs of his own from Tyshar’s angry hooves.
Rallying like a great monster from the ocean, the powerful warhorse roared to his feet. Morghiad was quick to catch and resaddle his stallion, and then assessed the lands around from horseback. It was entirely barren, with dark rocks scrambling to every horizon in every direction. He did not need to guess where the Sky Bridge had led, for a smoky
grey trail overhead showed its course.
Morghiad circled his landing site twice, and then galloped towards a glint in the ground. He leaned from the saddle and snatched the sword as they passed, glad to have the weapon he’d used to end Acher’s life. It wouldn’t be long before Reduvi knew of its just, metallic taste too. He clenched his jaw in determination as Tyshar powered westward across the hard ground, taking the king closer to his quarry and deeper into hostile lands.
Her hair crept along the breeze with its tendrils of old gold and fire, taunting him with their impossible light. Her pale skin diffused around full, red lips and her dark brown eyes spoke of the warmth in her soul. Artemi was too young and too thin, but her striking looks still won through.
“Eat more,” Silar ordered, “Please.”
She looked at the roasted rabbit with inexplicable disgust, before narrowing her deep eyes at him. “This is clearly a ruse so that you can look at my cards. And I’m full. So, no.”
“Then you must have a very poor hand.”
Artemi was clearly practised at proper responses, for she gave nothing away with her smile. “And you believe you have a very good one.”
The infernal woman was impossible to read when she wanted to be. Silar took up another card and examined it with quiet determination. Another bloody pickaxe. He smiled confidently at her at leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out arrogantly. It would have been so easy to cheat if he’d wanted to; just a little trip into his vision world to see what the best move would be...
Artemi leaned across to pick up a
second card from the pile, and revealed an eyeful of glorious cleavage from the deep Vneckline of her dark blue dress. Silar could not help but stare like a schoolboy. Worse, she caught the direction of his gaze and gave him the most lascivious smile he’d ever seen. Where had she learned that?!
Silar quickly regained his composure and sat forward to place his elbows on the creaking oak table. The blazed woman had stirred something in him alright.
Artemi waited for a moment, then drew her face straight and laid out her cards. A row of six maces. “As you can see, I have a very poor hand indeed. ButI do not believe it is so poor as yours.”
Silar drew his mouth tight. “You’re right.” He’d been had! He placed his paltry
collection of axe and shovel cards on the table. She had no right using her body to distract him and to read his reaction, it was just not fair! Fine, he thought, next time he’d cheat and see how she liked that.
“Shall we take a stroll through the castle, oh mistress of the cards?” he asked, collecting up the deck.
She nodded eagerly and sprang to her feet, her injury evidently having little effect. Silar had attempted to keep her from too many lively activities after their trip to the cemetery, when she’d
very nearly toppled over in agony. But she was difficult. And she became agitated at the strangest things. The day before, he’d pulled out an old dagger to cut up some fruit, and she’d knocked over her chair jumping out of it. But, as Koviere had so succinctly said,
telling her what to do was like trying to put a hurricane in a box.
He examined her closely as she toured the tiny, shaded stone courtyard in her lithe and graceful manner. Her curves had almost returned to their former splendour, but her back and arms remained quite obviously undernourished. How was it that, by growing up in such a sheltered world, she had become better at exploiting her assets than as a benaygosa? He sighed heavily and wrapped up some of the bread and cheese for their walk.
“Did the king order you to stuff me until I become so large thatI cannot leave?” Artemi regarded him with her arms folded.
Silar did not stop his food-gathering. “I think he would prefer to see you looking less like a dried-out prune.”
She laughed with true amusement. Artemi always had preferred banter to saccharine words of adoration. Her silkswathed form moved effortlessly from the paved square and past the group of guards that had gathered at the door. There had been no order to strengthen their numbers wherever she went in the castle, but there had been none to dismiss them, either. And so their numbers mysteriously swelled near each room she stopped at, as though she was already their queen.
“Has there been any word of him yet?” she asked.
“No.” Silar caught up to the red-haired woman swiftly. “But he will be alright. There is no need to worry.” He’d seen a vision of Morghiad chasing a shadowy figure into a
shadowy land with a thin cloud overhead, but much more than that was not apparent.
Artemi hissed, “I’m not worried.” And then more calmly she said, “But you can’t have an empty castle forever. Does he make a habit of running from his less exciting responsibilities?”
Silar was glad the guards hadn’t heard that, though they all knew something of the current division between their king and queen. “He’s never run from a single responsibility in all the years I’ve known him. He just prefers to do some of the more involved work himself.”
“Hmm,” was the only response from Artemi.
Silar saw an opportunity to get his wings out, or whatever it was that Beetan had been talking about. “You know he’s been
waiting years for you. Never even looked at another girl.”
She screwed up her features. “If that is true then he really is insane, or just odd. No man would forsake the company of beautiful women, hungry for his money and power, in favour of one he’d never met. Honestly, can you tell me you have said no to a handsome woman who tried to seduce you because you could not stop thinking of an imagined one?”
Silar attempted to hide his embarrassment. How did she know of Lady Djuran’s moves to seduce him? Did the whole castle know that Lord Forllan had sent her away unsatisfied? “Morghiad isn’t insane. Well, not most of the time. He has a temper but that is...” He re-thought his words. “He’s really very reasonable.”
“Reasonable men do not-” she bit her lip at the end of her sentence. “Well, how is it that my father does not like him then?”
They passed the peculiar moth statue with a more energetic pace as Silar tried to think of an appropriate answer. “Toryn does respect Morghiad, in a way. But he’s your father, and it’s only natural that he would be protective.”
“Then what horrors is he trying to protect me from that I might encounter in the king?”
Silar gripped tightly at his sword hilt. Skirting around her vanha-sielu memories was proving tricky. “I’ve never been entirely sure,” he half lied, “But your association with him has already put you at risk. Perhaps he is concerned about that.”
Artemi only grimaced in response.
They hadn’t been wrong in assuming she’d fall for him again, had they? No, every vision Silar had pointed towards it. It was almost clichéd in its predictability. They just needed a nudge before one of them got themselves killed or did something stupid that would tear the country in two. And that was all too likely given their respective characters.
The hard sunlight cut into the passageway’s end, and Artemi strode right into it with her hair springing alight. The filamentborne flames flowed behind her in a rush of gold and red colour, causing Silar to smile contentedly to himself like a brainless idiot.
“What are you grinning at now?” She went on to mutter something inaudible that he supposed he probably wouldn’t have wanted
to hear.
He had touched her hair many years ago during their fights or dances, and had been struck each time by the cold softness of its strands. Very odd. They stepped out into the enormous main courtyard near the castle gates, where preparations for The Spring Games eliminations had begun. The sound of hammering rang out between the heavy, basalt stones of the castle walls, and the acrid smell of tar filled the air. A grand structure of sap-rich pine had been constructed at the centre, complete with obstacles, battling platforms and safety nets. The final trials wouldn’t have such precautionary measures, of course, since the less-able combatants would be weeded out. Silar caught a glint in Artemi’s eager, young eyes.
“Don’t even consider it, girl. You’re in no shape for any of that.”
She very nearly drew her mouth into a pout, but turned it into a smile instead. Something about it made Silar feel anxious.
They wandered around the dark heart of Cadra for the rest of the afternoon, exploring hidden staircases, rooms and touring the great towers. Artemi seemed to have boundless energy in spite of her still-fragile appearance, and on several occasions Silar had to stop her from running up the stairs. Once the sun had set and they returned to her rooms, she had become more than a little frustrated. “I’ve told you, I’m fine now!”
Silar folded his arms. “You don’t look it. And there’s not a chance a wound that size would have already healed before you pretend
it has.”
Her eyes took on a fierce look. Artemi pulled her hair back over her shoulders and twisted it, not removing her gaze from him. Then she threw herself forward to the floor, where she commenced a round of press-ups.
“Stop that,” Silar ordered.
She ignored him, instead grunting as she fought against gravity.
The woman clearly had no concept of what was good for her; more drastic measures were needed. Silar strode over to her, took hold of the back of her gown and hauled her to her feet. Artemi reacted by tearing herself from his grasp and spinning to face him in fury. He pre-empted her weak grasp at his sword and took hold of both her arms, then pressed her back onto the wall. With such proximity he
could smell the faint perfume of her wisp-root soap, and he was sure he could hear her heart beat. It was an intoxicating combination. Her lips beckoned him, and he hesitated before releasing her. Whatever expression had manifested in her eyes, it was no longer anger at him.
Artemi drew herself straight and studied him closely. “You’re very quick.”
“And you would be too if you allowed yourselftime to recover.” He plonked himself into the chair at her bedside.
Artemi swanned over to one of the bed spears and took hold of it for support. Clearly most of her graceful movements were feigned. “I should like to fight you whenI am better.”
Silar allowed a broad grin to surface. “I’d like that very much. When you are a better challenge.”
She raised an eyebrow and sank onto the edge of the bed, turning her gaze to the enormous grey-marble fireplace. These had once been Morghiad’s rooms, but she would not remember that fact.
“If you still have coal burning at your feet, why don’t we head to the bar?” Silar asked.
Artemi smiled warmly. “AmI permitted to drink anything?”
“Two ales. No more.” That was probably a little generous given her size, but it had always been the amount upon which she’d become mellow. A placid you
ng warrior would be so much easier to deal with.
“Yes, father,” she teased.
The barroom felt warmed by the heat
of the day despite its location in the windowless bowels of the castle, and was filled with a mass of jostling, hot bodies. Silar guarded his ward through the throng, noting how each beerfuelled man that caught sight of her stared. Artemi seemed a little embarrassed by the attention she received, if anything, and bowed her head low. Attention was something she’d have to get used to. When they reached the bar, Baydie was waiting for them, his face split with an enormous smile.
“Well, if it isn’t the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. And I’ve laid eyes on a few – I can tell you! You must be Artemi.”
Silar could not prevent himself from grimacing at the burly publican’s comments, or pulling his mouth tight as Artemi blushed. Surely she liked banter, not this sort of blatant flattery!
“I think you must have me confused with another girl of the same name,” she giggled as he took her hand to kiss it.
“Nonsense,” Baydie chided. “Now, what canI get for you and our esteemed general here?”
Silar tried to look as protective as his youthful features would permit. “Just a beer each. Nothing too extravagant.”
The barman scratched at his dark stubble thoughtfully. “I know just what you need!” he exclaimed, and barrelled past his maids to a tap at the far end of the great counter.
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