The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  Artemi eyed the rosy-cheeked serving women and their attire closely, but kept her thoughts to herself.

  Before long, Baydie had returned with

  two foaming tankards of very dark ale. He slapped them down on the counter with visible pride, and leaned forward. “This is Wilrean strong-ale. Excellent taste, and very good for putting meat on the bones!” he winked at Artemi for emphasis.

  She only feigned a smile in response.

  “Ah, poor lass,” his forehead creased in concern, “No doubt every man here is either trying to bed you or fix you. Why don’t you come and work for me here with the other girls?”

  “No.” Silar answered for her as he set down a brass coin for the ale. “You can find someone else to sell your drinks.”

  Artemi grinned mischievously. “How well do you pay your barmaids?”

  “He can’t afford you,” Silar muttered

  as he tried to draw her away.

  Baydie pushed Silar’s coin back. “Drinks for this young lady are free. And my wages are always competitive – two gold a week if you keep the customers rolling in. But I’ll let you decide in good time.” His eyes glittered with excitement. “Now, how would you like to hear a story?”

  The barman’s tales were legendary, and usually involved someone receiving an amusing comeuppance as a result of their own foolishness. They could also go on for some hours. Artemi, clearly keen to rile Silar in whichever way she could, nodded eagerly.

  “Then I’ll begin,” he announced. “Once I had a young man attend this bar. Eager chap, with blue eyes and an innocent smile. He used to come down here with his friends, quaff an

  ale or five, and tell stories of the exotic places he’d been, or the beautiful women he’d romanced.” Baydie gave her a wink.

  Silar was beginning to better understand Morghiad’s point of view with each compliment the barman paid.

  “...One tale he told was of the Calben Cannibals – men that ate the flesh of other men. You see, our young man and his friend were shipwrecked on a Calbeni island, and the cannibals found them. ‘You must endure a trial by fruit if you don’t want us to eat you,’ they said to our intrepid traveller. ‘But first choose your fruit.’ And so he chose grapes, while his friend chose another fruit. ‘Very well, said the cannibals. Your trial is this: we will not eat you if you can shove one hundred of those into your bottom without laughing.’ But, as he reached

  around to insert the first grape, he started laughing. You see, his friend had chosen pineapples.”

  Silar struggled to hide a small grin of amusement, and was relieved that the story hadn’t lasted an age. But Artemi chuckled loudly.

  “Now, do you like that beer?”

  She smiled. “I love it.”

  “Speaking of things you love, my lady, any news from our king?”

  Her smile evaporated as quickly as her eyes widened, and her mouth began to work to form words.

  Silar rapidly found some of his own. “None yet. But he’ll be back soon.”

  “Aye. Can’t imagine him leaving a treasure like you unattended for long,” Baydie

  winked at her again.

  Silar saw his opportunity to extract Artemi from the bar and led her to a table full of lieutenants. They quickly budged along the benches to make space for her, and orangehaired Beetan patted the space next to him. “Still got that General of Calidell shadowing you, eh? Hitch yourselfhere, my girl.”

  Silar gave the man a withering look as his ward adopted her seat, and he took one of his own opposite. “How’s the wife, Beetan?”

  “Aye, she’s well enough, eyes like a lemur.” The lieutenant grinned at his own words, whatever their implication. It was very odd that he’d managed to sustain a marriage for as long as he had, given his incomprehensible nature. “Enough about me. You’re looking much better, Artemi. I hope

  you’ve been resting up and not picking too many fights.” He took a sip on his wine.

  Artemi visibly avoided eye contact with Silar. “I’m feeling quite recovered, thank you.”

  The most junior of them, Orwin, leaned forward on his elbows. “Did you really cover a thousand miles in six days?”

  She cracked a small laugh. “They held me near Emudera, and I worked through a number of horses. Not that impossible.”

  Not for a woman of legends. Few others could have dared to undertake such a journey in a healthy state, and succeed. “Emudera is more like twelve hundred miles from here,” Silar stated.

  Orwin merely blinked in apparent astonishment.

  Their conversation bounced between

  the approaching Games and the quality of Baydie’s maids, before reaching the inevitable subject of the king. “We picked up Passerid yesterday, strapped unconscious to the back of his horse,” Pavon said with his thin-lipped

  smile. “Morghiad had been kind enough to tie on his crown, and going by its condition he’d beaten Passerid several times over the head with it!”

  The table erupted in laughter, with the obvious exception of Artemi. Silar also stayed quiet, aware that Passerid had once been his responsibility and his friend.

  “He’s here? Passerid’s in this building?” Artemi asked softly.

  Pavon touched his white hair as his laughter faded “Ah sorry, my qu- ah, lady. But he must have taken some care of you – you are a Ward of Calidell and-”

  “He was better than the others,” Artemi cut in sombrely, “But he drained me of any wielding ability I might have. He quenched me.”

  Silence fell upon the men.

  She half smiled and looked down at her drink. “It’s alright. Being a wielder isn’t everything; I can still use a sword. And there’s no need to spread... my condition around the castle.” Her eyes flicked back up. “Sorry, I’ve killed the smiles here. Let’s change the subject.”

  “No, Artemi.” Rahake set down his drink. “We didn’t know he had done this. And it’s no small thing.”

  Beetan nodded. “He will be subject to army penalties, and he has broken a very important oath. ThoughI imagine Morghiad will want to grant you the final decision on his fate.”

  “Agh. It’s tantamount to...” Pavon didn’t finish, and supped on his ale instead.

  Rahake appraised the woman with his dark eyes. “I hope you can forgive us for not finding you in time. Though we tried our best, and the king sent the entire army out to search the country for you. It just wasn’t enough.”

  The other men waited anxiously for her response, which came after some hesitation. “I thought...” she took a breath. “The whole army?”

  “Of course,” Silar said matter-of-factly, “It is our duty. Some of us had to stay behind to protect the city, but nearly ten-thousand men went looking for you.”

  Her forehead creased as she tried to understand his words, and the lengths the king

  had gone to. “How canI ever hope to repay this?”

  “I’m sure Morghiad can think of a few ways,” Beetan chuckled into his pint. He drew his smile rapidly under control as Pavon elbowed him.

  Rahake sat back and folded his arms. “You owe us nothing at all.” He was about to justify his statement, probably with a mention of her death, but instead returned to his pint.

  The conversation dwindled after they’d variously discussed the new admissions of female soldiers and the rising price of wine, so Silar found himselfaccompanying Artemi back towards her quarters.

  She caught hold of his arm as they passed an especially bright lamp. “I want to see Passerid.”

  The man was far too dangerous to be allowed near her. One misplaced word about her previous lives could hurt her considerably. “I’m sorry, but you cannot.”

  “Please?”

  Silar regarded her pleading eyes. Perhaps he could have the prisoner gagged? “Alright, but you must make a promise.” Why did he always give in so easily to this woman?

  She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  “Promise you won’t try to kill him or fight anyone else
to get to him.”

  Artemi narrowed her eyes but nodded with grim acquiescence. “Fine.”

  Silar wasn’t entirely sure that he was doing the right thing by this, but a quick turn in the mists of his visions showed him nothing troublesome. They walked together down the

  blackened tunnels that led to the very heart of the castle, feeling the temperature drop amidst the rough-hewn stones. The cells lay right at the centre - black walls utterly devoid of light and fresh air. They were a horrible place to spend a minute in, and some prisoners could live for centuries down here.

  Silar left Artemi to wait with the guards at the entrance, and went to make the necessary arrangements. When he returned, she was laughing at some bawdy joke related to her by one of the guards. “Time to go?” She smiled happily.

  He nodded and held his hand out to guide her forward, placing his fingers at the small of her back once she’d approached. The ends of her fiery hair tickled his skin gently, though it felt soft as gossamer. How deeply he

  wished he could sweep her round to face him.

  “This way, my lord.” A uniformed, brass-skinned soldier gestured towards a cell room on the left of the angular corridor.

  Morghiad had been locked in a cell here at one time, shortly after Artemi’s death. He’d by then recovered from nalka, but began to suffer from an altogether more sinister affliction. Though it was now part of history, Morghiad had said it was something that had never truly left him. The whole, nasty occurrence had been such a dark time for the king and everyone else affected. Silar tried not to dwell on the matter; it was beyond his comprehension anyway, since the company of a woman alone could satisfy his needs. Then again, those needs hadn’t been properly satiated in a very long time.

  Passerid’s cell soon became apparent, its grey bars illuminated by the soft yellow light of oil lamps and its floor covered in straw. The kanaala had been bound with rope and his mouth stuffed with a rag; it was clear that he was treated with little respect by his keepers, each of whom heralded from the Calidellian Army.

  “You won’t allow him to speak?” Artemi asked Silar.

  Silar merely shook his head.

  She regarded her sweat-drenched, former captor closely, and took a deep breath before she spoke. “While I was held at your camp I thought of a thousand ways to kill you, to have my vengeance. But I was wrong to think in that way. While I must admit it gives me some satisfaction to see you tied up like a hogI cannot deny that, without your presence at Reduvi’s camp, I would be dead.”

  Silar’s eyes widened at her claim. Did she really believe that the man who had robbed her of part of her spirit had saved her? Perhaps these men had hurt her more than he’d realised. “We should go, Artemi,” he said softly.

  She ignored him and pressed on with her words, “I will ask the king to be lenient on my behalf, though I cannot vouch for whatever retribution the army seeks.”

  “Artemi!”

  She snapped her head round to Silar. “Oh shut up, Silar. You weren’t there.” Leaving him suitably dumbfounded, she turned back to the prisoner. “I make this offer regardless of your response to the next question. Tell me honestly: are you even remotely sorry that you

  quenched all wielding ability in me?”

  Passerid’s brown eyes blinked at her and, after a moment, he shook his head slowly.

  Artemi looked upset, but she kept her chin high. “I understand. But it was wrong – I was just... born that way. I never asked for it, blazes knows I never asked to be of so much interest to the king. It should be my responsibility to do the right thing with my life. Not yours.” She stood back. “Or his, for that matter,” she muttered. She half-turned her gaze to Silar. “Is there no way we can allow him to answer back?”

  “Not a chance,” he said firmly.

  “Then let’s leave. I have seen enough of this man’s face to last several millennia.”

  It was a relief to leave the deep oppression of the cells and enter the dark

  beneficence of the castle’s upper levels. Artemi strode with her back straight and her jaw clenched, clearly battling with some inner turmoil.

  “Are you glad you went to see him?” Silar asked.

  Her dark eyes snapped onto him rapidly. “Yes. And no. The pain of quenching it is... it was unbearable. I needed to remind myself of his weakness.”

  “It’s done now,” he reassured her, or tried. Her shoulders had sagged, and her head was bowed, and so Lord Forllan found himself with no alternative but to stop, put his arms around her and squeeze her tightly against him.

  The sky had grown purple over the empty grey lands with the lowering sun, and the wind channelled though it unhindered. No water had been evident for a day and a night, leaving the king and his horse desperately thirsty in the desert-like environment. Tyshar had long ago slowed to a walk in the heat, and the dark rocks crunched heavily under the monotonous rhythm of his great hooves. There had been no sign of Reduvi or his group along

  the route of the broken Sky Bridge, leading Morghiad to fear that they had been destroyed in his fight with the structure’s free energy. Such a death would have been far too good for Reduvi; he needed to be brought to account for his crimes. For stripping Calidell of her fire. But Morghiad and Tyshar would walk to oblivion to see that she was avenged.

  They strode into the night where the full moon clambered into the skies, illuminating the sterile landscape in all directions. In the sharp shadows cut from the relief, he spotted a hoof print. Then another, and another. His excitement grew as he traced them to a site of some considerable disturbance, and the bodies of two horses lay bloated on the ground. Morghiad left his mount’s side to inspect the area carefully. Numerous footprints marked the

  ground, and he ran his fingers through the grey sand. It buzzed gently with the faint remnants of Blaze Energy, meaning that Reduvi’s wielder had been here. He checked the horses’ greenpatched saddlery: neither was the banker’s animal. It meant he was three days behind, a distance easily closed if only he could find water. It also meant that they lived. Morghiad’s parched lips broke into a hard smile at his discovery, and he reclaimed Tyshar’s reins with renewed enthusiasm.

  Morning cleared the darkness from the Ash Canyons, and revealed the now-faint trail of the Sky Bridge once more. The survivor’s track had led between numerous long-empty lakes and watering holes, causing the horse to stamp in frustration. Morghiad was left with a choice: either he could continue to follow the

  trail to the possibility of water and his quarry, or he could head to the lush-looking valley visible five miles away. There was no question; he needed his horse in good condition, and he was only hours away from slipping into unconscious stasis.

  “The valley,” he calmly whispered to himself. Those five miles seemed to last for twenty, where Morghiad grew dizzier with each step. But soon the grey land turned patchy green, and the sweet smell of vegetation filled his nose, and then the glorious, musical sound of running water touched his ears. Tyshar heard it too, and tore himselffrom his master’s grip to gallop towards it. Morghiad half-stumbled, half-slid down the slope after his mount until he caught sight of the glittering brook through the short trees. The last few steps made his legs

  burn as though filled with acid, but they took him to the water. He flopped straight into it and drew heavily on its bitter-tasting liquid.

  Precious time was washing away with each sup on the stream’s resources, and Morghiad soon stood to examine his surroundings with greater lucidity. The valley was narrow-sided and sparsely filled with stunted trees, but no sign of human activity lay anywhere along it. A huge, black rock outcrop perched at one end with an overhang that was curiously reminiscent of di Certa’s paunch. Morghiad trotted upstream to his horse, which was still gulping noisily at the water. He opened one of the saddlebags and reached inside for the map. It had been Silar’s recommendation to bring it, and Morghiad found himself once again thankful for his friend’s incredible foresight.

  H
e opened it out on top of a flat rock and studied the Ash Canyons area closely. The recently destroyed Sky Bridge was not marked upon it, implying that its construction had been later than many of the others, though its youth had not been sufficient to save it from failing. Morghiad traced the line of three small rivers through the grey territory and one, he noted, was marked with a dark, rocky outcrop. It meant he was only a day’s ride from the nearby town of Rehmain, and thence a week to Hirrah’s capital where Reduvi would surely run for shelter. Morghiad had negotiated a truce with Calidell’s long-time enemy of Hirrah, but the relationship was flaky at best. They would certainly not react well to his unannounced arrival in their city, and it would reveal the truth of the Sky Bridges. Those had to remain secret until he had each one properly secured and guarded, and Reduvi had to be caught in time.

  He refolded the map, replaced it in the saddlebag and set about finding some edible plants. There was a patch of grass that looked good enough for Tyshar, numerous flowering bushes and some squat shrubs. None of it looked especially food-like, however. Then his eyes happened upon a crop of small, spineless cacti at the valley’s edge. He’d read that cacti could be cut open and the pulp eaten like fruit, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation of a meal. Morghiad charged up the slope, withdrawing his father’s dagger from its thigh holster as he ran. He stabbed the blade into the plant and cut diagonally across it, smiling as water foamed out from the gash. The pale green pulp inside tasted bitter, but it was