The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  “Sign here,” the officiator pointed to a space next to her fake name and she marked it with a simple cross.

  “Next!” he shouted.

  She moved with the queue, coming ever-closer to the front of the line. Her adrenaline peaked, and her anticipation brewed in the churning depths of her stomach. Finally, it was her turn.

  Artemi launched herself headlong into the timed maze, pushing aside the searing pain of her wound. She had seen the layout from above often enough to memorise it, and sprinted round a confusing number of oblique corners until she reached an opening two levels above the ground. From there she had to dive into a pool of water and swim below a surface layer of boards. As with all her previous experiences underwater, a strange sort of calm suffused her mind. It was as if her subconscious wanted to stay below the waterline forever, but she ignored it and kicked through.

  At the other end, she had to navigate a bluff-wall obstacle by throwing herselfhard against the ridged boards. Her nimble feet were just strong enough to propel her over it, and before long she was panting heavily in front of

  the thickly bearded time keeper. He frowned at her suspiciously. “That’s a very good time, lad. Impressive. Now show us if you’ve got the stuff to finish the trials.” He winked malevolently.

  There was no time to waste, and balance was next. Artemi barely had a moment to catch her breath before she had to swing, jump and land onto a narrow beam placed high above the ground. The bar wobbled and lurched on its bearings as she trotted along it, rapidly descending toward the ground for the last part of her assault. Then came the more dangerous parts of the trials: the spinning wheels and swinging fires, designed to disorientate and knock out contenders. Artemi skipped lightly over the first two wheels and ducked under a third, before throwing her

  weight sharply to the right to avoid a fireball.

  Her foot slipped from the beam and she slid toward the ground, only catching herself by her right hand. Another fireball came for her feet and she lifted them up sharply, sending a bolt of pain in all directions from her sword wound. She had to do better than this! Slowly, she hauled herselfback onto the beam to dodge the next few swinging bales of flame, and tiptoed along until she reached a tightrope. Another officiator gave her a pile of uneven weights to suspend from her hands, loaded some onto her back and pushed her straight onto the rope. It took a few moments for her to adjust, but soon she was running along the rope as if her weight had always been so oddly composed. By the end of it, her back ached and her legs wobbled oddly, but the time

  keeper nodded her through. She hadn’t scored an especially good time, but it was enough to qualify.

  Eager for the final test, Artemi launched herself onto the first of the duelling platforms. One of the army’s many sergeants was waiting for her there, looking rather bored. The masked woman withdrew her sword swiftly and made her first strike, which the sergeant parried quite weakly. It took only three more moves to defeat him, and she left him sitting open-mouthed as she moved onto the next platform. This one had much less area for her to move about in, and her next opponent was much larger.

  Artemi ducked and spun around the man, hoping to gain some sort of advantage from her smaller size and faster movements. It

  worked after a few wayward strikes, and soon she was pulling his feet from under him and holding her blade to his neck. Artemi hopped onto the final platform, only big enough to hold a single person. Beyond stretched a row of similar platforms at different levels, which she supposed she had to jump between, and at the end stood her final opponent. Tall and broadshouldered, the hitherto-unchallenged man moved from the shadows. Artemi’s heart dropped to the floor as she recognised the blond man: Lord Silar Forllan. How long before he realised her identity and threw her out of the competition altogether?

  Well, she wasn’t going to give him long enough to even think about whom she might be! Artemi charged at him with her sword brandished, but he had clearly anticipated her

  first move. He parried, swept his blade down and very nearly knocked hers from her hand. Blazes, but the man was fast! She regained some control and struck once more towards his left side, but he met each strike she made with ease. It was beginning to irk her that her body was not in peak condition, for she soon tired of bounding between the tiny platforms.

  Silar followed her movements closely in a rather impressive display of athleticism, and Artemi found herselftorn between gazing at his taut body and taking note of the position of his sword. Feeling fatigue settle upon her muscles like a hot blanket of lead, Artemi raised the hilt of her sword in defeat. She had fought well enough to qualify, and that was all that was required. General Forllan gave her a respectable nod and re-sheathed his weapon.

  “Not bad work, lad,” he said with a grin. “You ought to consider joining our army.”

  Artemi merely nodded in silence, glad that he hadn’t recognised her, and walked back to the officiators.

  “Good scores, Laurus,” the man at the desk said. “We’ll see you at the finals.”

  She grinned broadly behind her mask and offered a shallow bow, watching closely as the peculiar little man nearby raised his eyebrows at her. How could he even know who she was? She’d never seen him in her life!

  Artemi began the now-exhausting task of re-scaling the outer wall of the castle, hoping that no one would see her. She worked her way in, avoided numerous guards, hopped back to her rooms and clambered back through her open window. No one appeared to have missed her during the short outing, and she rapidly set about undressing to hide the evidence. Upon reaching the bottom layers, she noticed that her wound had opened ever-soslightly and had bled through the bandaging. It was nothing much to worry about, but she would have to be careful over the next few days if she was going to be well for the final competition. Artemi unpicked the grey ribbon from her blue-hilted sword and stashed the panther mask on top of the gargantuan wardrobe. Then, weary from the exertion, she fell into a deep sleep in her bed.

  “... still sleeping, girl? Come on, even wounded soldiers don’t need that much sleep!”

  Artemi raised her head from the pillow and turned it to face the source of her admonishment. Silar was there, arms folded

  and dark blue eyes intent on her. He’d changed since their fight, and his new trousers seemed to accentuate the well-turned shape of his thighs. Artemi tried not to stare at them for too long, a woman could get a bad reputation for that. “MayI have a moment to bathe?”

  “Yes, yes, alright! Just be a bit faster about it than you normally are. Blazes, the amount of time you spend in that washroom - I wonder if you’re not trying to make yourself dissolve like a bar of soap.” The general stamped out to guard the entrance to her chambers.

  She flopped out of bed and dragged herselfto the washroom. A servant had been kind enough to leave a cauldron of water heating above a small fire, and Artemi poured the contents into her bath. A cooling top-up of

  lukewarm water came from the giant tap at its head. She sank into the bubbles slowly, confident that there would be no sit-ups, chinups or press-ups in today’s bathing session.

  Morghiad ushered the last of the horses through the field gate, satisfied with his night’s work. The inn’s stable boy had accepted surprisingly little coin in agreeing to conspire against his customers, but then this was a very odd town in an odd place. Now all he had to do was capture the men he sought, and hope to employ the aid of their wielder. He checked his swords over for a final time, and then resheathed them at his back.

  He ran to the town periphery and up onto its sparkling rooftops. They glittered gently while he moved between them as fast as he could, and it was not long before he landed on the undulating roof of Rehmain’s tavern, and began peeking into the windows of its numerous boarders. When he saw the slumbering outline of Febain Reduvi through the barely closed shutters, the draw proved too much for Morghiad to resist. He slipped in quietly and pulled out his sword, the sword he intended to rip the banker’s intestines apart
with. The king lowered the blade to the man’s neck. How tempting it was to slice the rebel’s head from his pathetic body, how tempting to

  make him feel just that little bit closer to death. Abruptly Reduvi’s eyes popped open, and they filled with fear as they came to recognise the man standing above him.

  “Utter so much as a squeak and I’ll slit your throat just to watch you bleed,” Morghiad whispered calmly.

  The brown-haired man nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Good.” Morghiad fought off a second urge to kill him. “Sit up.”

  Reduvi slowly moved so that he was upright in his bed, and swung his legs to the floor.

  Morghiad nodded with approval and removed his blade from the man’s neck. As Reduvi frowned in confusion, the king brought his left hand back smoothly, closed his fingers

  and then thrust the newly formed fist squarely into the centre of the banker’s face. It felt. Unbelievably satisfying.

  When he’d finished revelling in the sensation of having wrought some small revenge upon his foe, Morghiad set about tying and gagging Reduvi. He left the bound man unconscious in his bedroom, and went for the next man. All twelve had been smoothly knocked-out, bound and silenced by the time he reached the wielder’s room. Sensing her ability through the walls, he’d opted to leave her and her kanaala till last. Morghiad listened at the door first, but heard only the sound of snoring. Perfect. He opened it slowly, but was met by the sight of an empty room. Realising he’d been tricked, he moved back to avoid whatever assault was coming his way. He did

  so just in time, for a barrage of blisteringly cold lightning shot straight for his head.

  Morghiad threw himselfto the ground to avoid the worst of it, and set about disrupting the Blaze-filled forms. They bent out of shape quickly, and fell to nothing beside him. Then the kanaala leapt out from the shadows and ran at him with his blade raised. Morghiad succeeded in blocking it, but only just. The rebel’s sword pushed past his own and slid deeply into the flesh of Morghiad’s leg. Morghiad whipped the blade away from his enemy by moving his impaled thigh, and retaliated with a cut of his own. The wounded rebel fell back with a scream. In moments, Morghiad was on his feet again. He tore the offending sword from his leg with little difficulty, and speedily rendered the enemy kanaala

  unconscious.

  Something else moved in the shadows: the petite, blonde wielder.

  “He won’t trouble you anymore,” Morghiad whispered, and she stepped out.

  She blinked at the sight of him. “What happened to your hair – ah, my lord?”

  That was an odd comment, but how he looked wasn’t important now. “I need your help. Are you strong enough to lift them all to the other side of the town?”

  The blonde woman nodded. “I’ve been dammed-up inside my head though.”

  Morghiad took her hand, breathing through the fiery sensation of her power, and searched her for the wielding obstruction. It revealed itselfto him like a lump of clay amidst the heat, only requiring a little melting. Tearing

  himself away from her power left him feeling empty, and hungry. It was a hunger only Artemi’s power could have sated, but he had to accept that would not happen now. Acher had gotten away with an easy death; Reduvi would not have that luxury. The wielder’s body began to glitter as she took hold of The Blazes.

  “We should move from here before the proprietors come to investigate,” Morghiad warned. It was a surprise no one had already; perhaps they were used to fights between their guests.

  The wielder nodded, and formed the first part of a lifting form.

  Morghiad kneeled to bind the kanaala up with a strip of sheeting, and then stood back in wonder as the small woman lifted him in the air with her power. They moved through the

  remainder of the inn, collecting the unconscious bodies of the rebels. As he passed, Morghiad caught sight of his own reflection in a cracked mirror. He blinked at it to make sure he was seeing correctly, and discovered his appearance had indeed changed. A bright streak of silver ran from his right temple, through his wild wisps of black hair. How had that happened – the Sky Bridge? He shook his head and moved on from the mystery.

  Morghiad took Reduvi for himselfand slung him over one shoulder; the banker was far from light, but too important to be out of sight. Reduvi’s limp body made a gratifying thud as it hit the tiles on the roof above. Morghiad quickly clambered through the window behind his prisoner, helping the wielder out with him, and waited as the rest of the

  prisoners floated out above them. Before long they were back with the horses, to which each unconscious man was firmly strapped. Two of the men had to be doubled-up on one of the larger, stronger beasts to make up the numbers. He placed Febain on the back of Tyshar and extracted his map from his tree-damp saddlery.

  “Aura?” he called.

  The petite woman came to stand by him, twirling her fingers in her short, blonde ringlets.

  Morghiad pointed to a city some days away. “This is the nearest Sky Bridge, but it leads to Torfens. We’ll have to travel from there to the next Bridge. I think it will take at least a week to get back to Cadra. Will you come with me?”

  Aura nodded, and then frowned.

  “What did you do to the other Bridge?”

  “Nothing, it fell from its own weakness and our combined weight. We’re two horses lighter this time, so it should be alright.”

  She shook her head, ringlets bobbing in the air. “No, as it fell. You did something. Everything turned black – The Blazes... turned to something cold. I thought the sun had icedover.”

  Morghiad stared at the map without seeing its detail. That river of anger; he’d let it go, allowed it to controlthe fires. It was something he felt... bad about doing. “I don’t know.” Everything was back to normal now, anyway. None of it would matter when he returned to Cadra. And Artemi.

  The enormous courtyard thronged with the business of dismantling the Spring Games’ structures, and soft wisps of fire smoke trailed across the warm air. In one corner, at a small table, Silar looked down at his cards with a sombre expression. It was not a look commonly seen on the man.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I ask far too many questions. Can you forgive me?” She felt very guilty indeed for probing so bluntly about his mother, though his evasiveness did only

  serve to make her more curious.

  A smile returned to his characteristically cheery face. “Of course, Artemi. Now, I’ll have that third card off you, if I may.” He tapped the top of it, and she grimaced. He’d chosen wielder fire.

  “Blasted man,” she muttered, and handed him the high-scoring weapon.

  Silar grinned broadly at his achievement. Still, it was only fair to let him win once in a while. Her dress of red satin was especially low-cut today, and she could always take advantage of it if she wanted to. He narrowed his eyes at her slightly, before saying, “Care to t-” He stopped short of finishing when he noticed her eyes had been drawn elsewhere. Artemi set her cards down absently and stood, straightening her rather scandalous dress.

  A string of horses paraded through the

  portcullis at the far end of the courtyard, and each one held a man Artemi recognised all too well. She moved slowly towards the train, dimly aware that Silar was following close behind. A large, black warhorse stamped into the courtyard, its long mane reaching halfway to the cobbles beneath. Febain wriggled limply atop the animal. Blazes alight, how she hated that man! The king walked by the horse’s side, talking rapidly to one of his lieutenants. Artemi noted that his leg had been heavily bandaged, and his hair was oddly marked. What sort of battles had the peculiar man been engaging in? His vivid eyes snapped onto her as she pondered the possibilities. King Morghiad dismissed his slowly growing retinue and handed his mount’s reins to the lieutenant, which Tyshar didn’t look terribly impressed

  with, before walking directly to his formerbetrothed.

  “Artemi,” he said as he arrived, hands clasped at his back.

 
She wasn’t really sure if she should curtsey, or pretend to remain angry at him. She opted for a simple nod of recognition and a plain-spoken, “Morghiad,” instead. Perhaps my lord would have been more appropriate, but he didn’t seem annoyed at her tone of address.

  The king assessed her for a long, uncomfortable time. His face remained utterly devoid of emotion. At length, he drew breath and asked, “Will you speak with me a moment?”

  Artemi looked around at Silar, who merely raised his eyebrows as if she’d been an

  idiot to consider his presence there. “Of course,” she replied.

  The king led her through a broad, curved green arch to a large chamber at the side of the courtyard. The insides of it were just as grey as the rest of the castle, though the floor was of wood rather than stone. He closed a heavy bronze door behind them and went to half sit, halflean against the edge of a solid oak table. Artemi took her place on a nearby chair, realising just how tightly fitted her attire was.

  “You look well,” he said.

  She nodded. “Thank you, thoughI fear the same cannot be said for you.” Artemi looked pointedly at his injured leg. He probably hadn’t even bothered cleaning it, assuming he’d noticed it was there through the cloak of his curious insanity.