A long pipe smoked in the man’s visible hand, and he continued to stare at her as a frown crept across his face. “Have we met?” he asked.
Artemi shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”
“Huh.” The man blew a sigh through his nose and opened the door more fully. “Come in then. You’re not the first one to come asking after him,” he said as he padded back to his grand leather chair. A ponytail of fine, blond hair shivered down his back as he moved.
With a start, Artemi noticed that his right hand was missing. Clearly he’d only recently returned from a rather nasty fight. Likely he was one of the soldiers. She walked in after him and seated herselfin a rather less comfortable, green desk chair. “You said him.
Was there only one man with that name?”
“Only one thatI knew.” The soldier blew another sigh. “His given name was Hedinar, he went east with the former Queen of Gialdin and a man named Koviere Dohsal,” he reeled off by rote. “Anything else you want to know?”
Artemi smiled broadly. She was on the right trail. “Do you know if Hedinar had any other family here in Sunidara?”
The ponytailed man looked as if he was about to take a suck on his pipe, but decided against it. “No. But there are army records. You may have a look through them if you promise not to cut any of my extremities off.”
She allowed her puzzlement to show on her face. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Last woman who came in here asking
about him did exactly that. My own fault for employing her, really.” This time he took a deep drag on his pipe.
Artemi recalled the traveller in the Hirrahan hills. “She was a fighter? What did she look like?”
“Swords like yours. Golden-haired, dark skin. Old, blue eyes.”
Artemi relaxed a touch. The deadly woman she’d crossed paths with had been dark-haired and tan-skinned. A different warrior. But then, how many other women were wandering the lands with Blaze-forged swords?
If this man’s attacker had been after the same information as Artemi, then she would know that Hedinar was dead and would therefore have no reason to leave Sunidara. It
might cause trouble for Artemi if they met, but meant Morghiad was safe in Calidell, and would likely keep his arms.
“I have no desire to maim you. ButI would like to see those records, if I may,” she said.
He inclined his head in acquiescence and stood. “Follow me.” He began to walk towards the door with the grace of an experienced sword hand - grace that had previously been absent. “If I may enquire,” he said as he stepped out to the corridor, “What is your interest in Kantari?”
“His son is the King of Calidell, and a personal friend.” She touched the dagger at her hip. “I’m trying to find him a family.”
Her guide spluttered at the information. “Hedinar’s son...” He attempted to re-light his
pipe as he walked. “Hed’s gone then. Well, well. That does explain a few things.” Silence followed them as they descended to the stony, yellow cellar. “You say you are a friend of King – ah – Morghiad, is it?”
Artemi cleared her throat. “Yes...” She considered how she was portraying her importance. Getting kidnapped again would not be fun. “He is a good man.”
The soldier halfturned his face to raise an eyebrow. “I think a girl like you would have admired his father. I suppose you are too young to have known him then?”
“Hedinar was killed when Gialdin fell, some twenty years before I was born.”
“Shame,” the man said with a sigh. He stopped to face her when they reached an especially dark room. “My name is Fendar
Collete. General Collete, if you like.”
This peculiar man was the army’s leader? “Artemi D’Avrohan.” She held out a hand, her left, so that he could take it. “Well met, general.”
He smiled with genuine warmth, his initial awkwardness having waned, and gripped her hand firmly. “Aye. The girls adored Hed, alright.” He grinned at his own appalling pun. “Given that Medea didn’t have a toadstool for a face, I’d warrant their son has a similar following.”
Artemi stifled a chuckle as she withdrew her hand; the bait in the man’s comment was obvious. “He is admired by a number of women at his court. What sort of a man was his father?”
“Well, he left us all without a leader
when he chose to marry that girl. Followed his heart before duty, I suppose you could say.”
That sounded familiar enough.
“... and he was known for his temper when things were not to his standard. But he was a good general, girl. Better thanI could hope to be.”
Interesting, Artemi pondered, that there was no mention of insanity. Perhaps that particular characteristic was unique to Morghiad. “You can’t be all that bad. You are still here and Hedinar is not.”
General Collete raised his eyebrows briefly. “Only just,” he whispered, and turned to rifle through one of the dust-covered cabinets.
At length, he pulled out a wrinkled and yellowed leather folder, stuffed full of papers.
“There’s a lot about his battles and boring career-related stuff here, but you’ll find his nominated relatives or friends at the back. Assuming he had any.” He handed the weighty object to Artemi. “Come and read it in my office.”
They stomped back into the yellow Sunidaran light and through the shaded passageways, until the familiar cloud of pipe smoke swirled through the lacquer door, enveloping them once more. Artemi seated herselfat the opposite side of his desk and opened the soft cover timidly. The top sheet was stamped with a large ‘DISCHARGED’ and, in hand-written script below, ‘wilful desertion.’ She wondered if something similar now marked her file back in Cadra. The next few sheets seemed to list battles, some of
which she’d heard, and some that had since faded into obscurity. Halfway through the pile, the language changed from the common tongue to something uniquely Sunidaran.
“Ah, yes,” Collete sang at her incomprehension, “Pre-Frontier Union, this. Allow me.” He turned the folder round to himselfand began translating bits and pieces from every few sheets. “General; promoted. Slew two eisiels... Wing Lieutenant; promoted. Honour in battle... Sub-Lieutenant; promoted. Saved the General Shoreli... Special Sergeant; promoted. Quenched dangerous wielder...”
Artemi attempted to prevent every muscle in her body from tensing.
He continued, “... Honour in battle... blah, blah... General Sergeant Kantari... Here we are: Admission in 2984 PD... He listed his
place ofbirth as Coria, 2941 PD, and his father’s name was Lerim Cazarin. No mother mentioned, butI suppose she wouldn’t be, given his... talents.”
“His
father wasn’t a Kantari?”
Collete grinned at her ignorance. “We do things a little differently here, girl. The son honours his mother by taking her name and the daughter takes her father’s.”
“I see.” This was going to make things tricky. “Is Coria far from here?”
Collete shook his head. “Thirty miles north.”
Artemi could barely contain her excitement. “May I take that sheet with me?”
“Take the whole damn file. No use to us anymore.” The general sat back in his chair to re-light his pipe.
She carefully replaced the papers in the folder and regarded it momentarily. It belonged to Morghiad, if anyone, but if she sent it on now he would know exactly where to find her.
Collete eyed her closely before speaking again. “You know, I’ll probably regret saying this, but we could use a girl like you here. I daresay you have other concerns in Calidell, but if you need money there’s a space or two in the City Guard.”
“I may take you up on that offer, General Collete. I shan’t be returning to Calidell.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, and puffed a small smoke ring. “Hmm. Well, when you get back there’ll be a place for you in the Sunidaran Army. We’ve good men here who’d make you a new family.”
<
br /> “Are you sure they won’t assume I’m as ill-mannered as your assailant?”
He regarded his stump for a moment. “You’re not the same as her,” he murmured. Then, “You’ll fit in. Don’t worry about that, girl.”
She nodded and offered him her hand in the Sunidaran fashion, before departing the offices with the folder beneath her arm.
The ride to Coria was fast and filled with an eagerness that Artemi had not experienced since regaining her power. She pushed Arrow hard along the dusty, orange roads and between the curious wind-worn boulders of ochre, and the racer mare responded happily to her new mood. It wasn’t long before the tall and pale buildings of Coria peeked above the horizon, their rounded
windows like bubbles in cement. The first five houses she visited knew nothing of Lerim Cazarin or his Kantari wife, but the sixth gave her what she was looking for.
A small woman with heavy eyebrows and short golden curls answered the door. “CanI help you?” Her ancient eyes studied Artemi’s blades and curious silk coat with suspicion.
“I’m looking for a man named Cazarin – Lerim Cazarin. You may also have known his wife - her family name was Kantari.”
The woman blinked for a moment before she drew her mouth tight. “Afraid they’re both long-dead, miss. Siria to her son and Lerim to a bar fight. Lerim re-married though. His wife’s at the big house at the end of the road, there.” The woman nodded toward
the northern end of the street, and then promptly slammed the door.
Artemi bit down hard on her disappointment. She shouldn’t have expected Morghiad’s grandfather to be alive, but for him to have been killed in a bar fight was quite the anticlimax. She turned toward the yellow-brick tower that had been indicated to her, and began walking slowly. It was not the end, she thought. Perhaps this woman would know of other children Lerim had, or even his brothers or sisters.
She knocked softly on the desiccated wood of the double doors, and this time a tall, dark-haired woman answered. There was something oddly familiar about her angular jaw, but Artemi couldn’t place it.
“Excuse me,” the wielder said in polite
tones, “I’m trying to locate the family of Lerim Cazarin. I was told his wife lives here.”
“I am she,” the woman said in a very Calidellian accent. She frowned. “I can see we share a common origin. Come in.”
The hallway was tiled in very unSunidaran colours: forest greens and river blues. Artemi smiled at the familiarity of it, and stepped into the wood-lined sitting room.
“My name is Nereia.” The woman smiled faintly as Artemi introduced herselfin turn, and then said, “What is it you want to know about my blazed husband?”
“Actually, it’s his son I’m interested in Hedinar Kantari. I know he is dead – butI wanted to know if he has any family still living.”
The creases inNereia’s brow deepened. “Hedinar.” She almost spat the
name. “Lerim’s bloody pride and joy. No sonI could give himwas ever as good as Hedinar.”
Artemi attempted to ease the tension, “You had a son with him?”
“Oh yes - strong, tall, handsome and clever! But Lerim couldn’t give two kefruits for him. He gave no thought to our boy when Hedinar died. Instead he took to his ale and his weeping and started fights. He had that knife coming to him, he did.” Nereia became silent as she busied herselfwith a pot of red bush tea.
So Hedinar had a half-brother, and Morghiad an uncle. The woman appeared too delicate for Artemi to enquire directly if the son was still alive. “You hail from Calidell?”
“Yes,” she said wistfully. “And I’ll return as soon as this inheritance business is sorted out. Lerim left everything to his favourite
son, and our marriage records were destroyed with Gialdin – that’s where we met, you understand.”
Artemi nodded, deciding to keep Morghiad’s existence a secret.
Nereia offered her a cup of the red bush tea and sighed heavily. “Here. It tastes just like home.”
Artemi took the cup with thanks and eased back into her chair. “I don’t suppose you know if Lerim had any other close kin, or even his first wife?”
Nereia huffed loudly. “Siria had a sister whom Lerim was, let us say, close to. But she was a wielder. Eisiel came for her one day. Maybe one that she made, who can say? And Lerim, he had no one else. Only his other son and me!” She narrowed her brown eyes at
Artemi. “Why are you so interested, anyway? You must be too young to have known Hed.”
Artemi took a calm sip of her tea while she thought up an excuse. “I know a friend of his... to whom Hedinar made a promise. I need to inform a blood relative if this promise is ever to be met.”
The older woman compressed her lips and looked tired. “This is going to be some sort of warrior code nonsense, isn’t it? Well, my son’s the only one who can help you – though he doesn’t know about Hedinar.”
“No?”
“He was very small when Gialdin fell, and Lerim refused to speak the name. Anyway, you wasted your trip out here. You’ll find Febain back in Calidell. Here, I’ll write you a note so he’ll know you speak the truth about
his long-lost brother.”
Artemi’s breath caught. Her muscles spasmed to such an extent that her cup trembled. “Febain, you say?” she croaked.
“Yes. You’ve probably heard our family name,” Nereia said merrily, “Reduvi. Bankers, our family. Always have been – and he’s one of the best.”
Impossible! Morghiad could not be related to that... man! How could Febain, of all men, be his uncle? But she could see the look of the banker in his mother, now that she studied Nereia more closely. And perhaps the two men did share something in their respective heights and builds. Artemi steadied her cup, set it down and accepted the note with grace. “Thank you, Nereia. You have been most helpful.”
“Anything for a fellow Calidellian. And if you see my son, do tell him to write to me once in a while.” Febain’s mother smiled sweetly, and Artemi stamped vigorously on her growing sense of guilt for the secrets she kept. The green and blue tiles very nearly assumed the oppression of Cadra’s castle as she walked through them once more. She was glad to leave the Cazarin household.
Artemi slid the note into the top of her coat and wearily mounted Arrow as she thought. She did not know which would be worse: to tell Morghiad his only surviving blood relative was a murderer and a rapist, or to allow him to torture and execute his uncle. Either way, she did not want to stay in this town tonight.
The note twisted, turned to brown and then bloomed as soft waves of flame consumed it. An abundance of heat and light was given out by the fire, but Silar could not feel any of it. The hardest winter anyone had seen for centuries had hit Calidell with savage frosts and biting snows. Roofs bowed with the weight of frozen water, and the walls glinted with ice indoors. He seated himselfin his arching leather chair and wrapped his thickest blue cloak about his shoulders.
He missed his friend’s conversation
no one had seen Morghiad in the weeks since he’d last consigned himselfto the castle cells. When first Artemi had left and they’d returned to Cadra, the king had marched to the centre of the citadel and locked himselfaway for several days. He’d then emerged, seen to several of his most pressing duties and subsequently returned to his own imprisonment. As the months had passed, it had looked as if his condition was improving, and he’d spent more time above ground than below it. But now, with the talons of winter clawing light from the sky, he had returned to his own darkness for an extended stay. It was a bleak time for Calidell indeed. Silar considered the contents of the note once more. He knew he’d chosen the correct path in dealing with it, but he still felt a considerable degree of guilt for his action. It
had arrived two days previously, addressed directly to him, and the spidery script instantly recognisable as Artemi’s hand. He’d torn into it greedily, and been immediately warmed by the greetings she had for him. Of course, he’d
made a mental note to have spies placed in Deva as soon as he’d read she was in Sunidara, but he was sensible enough not to go after her. And clearly she’d known that he was the one person who would not follow - the one person who would keep her location from Morghiad.
He sighed heavily, his breath misting as he considered the next part of the letter. Artemi had informed him of her discovery, that the king and Reduvi shared blood, and she had asked Silar to make the choice between reticence and honesty. A fine burden to place upon his
shoulders! But Silar had reflected, and had chosen reticence. The time for truth would come when Morghiad’s pain had eased, when Beodrin felt confident enough to rouse Selieni from her hiding place and when summer returned. Though, that was not likely to be the next summer.
Silar crossed his booted feet and huddled more deeply into his chair. He also felt guilt for his subsequent action, though it had been moderately well justified. Upon learning of Febain Reduvi’s parentage, Silar had ordered that the prisoner be sent to Garntahn’amo Rock in Kemen. It was an infamous place, locked in an island and said to extend for miles below ground. No one ever came out, not even the guards once they took up their station, or so it was reputed. But that was where the
banker would go, and where Morghiad could no longer reach him to exact his numerous tortures.
The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 75
