The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  promise you.” Mirel kissed the young woman on the forehead and turned.

  Something shook the fabric of the castle then. Something made with Blaze. She frowned in puzzlement. A soft breeze brushed at the skin of her face, and it grew stronger, into a wind. Its noise crescendoed and it howled through the rock tunnels with gale-like strength. Then, a voice charged into Mirel’s ears upon its mount of air. It was very familiar. It said, “GET OUT HERE AND FIGHT WITH ME, FUCKING BITCH!”

  Artemi stepped into the centre of the vast, basalt courtyard as her men fanned out to its numerous doorways. Blaze Energy coursed and burned and tumbled through her veins, making her drunk with its power. With this much inside her, she could level the entire city to rubble or bury it under the highest mountain or lift it to the heavens and send it to the sun. For the moment she concentrated on focussing her anger into a deadly point, a knife inside her mind - a knife that would cut through Mirel’s blackened heart. She made her body appear aflame with blue light, so that no one would be able to miss her presence there. Indeed, it was so bright that few would have been able to look directly at it.

  Faces began to appear at windows and bodies at doors. Artemi tried not to look too closely at any of them, or find if any had faces she recognised. If Morghiad was a free man, he would try to stop her himself. But he did not come. Artemi cast a few large fireballs and arcs of Blaze Energy straight to the ground to make sure the onlookers kept their distance. It wasn’t long before a narrow figure, glittering with blades, strode into the courtyard. A figure, curiously, with red hair.

  Mirel did not utter a word as she set herself alight with her own fires, and threw the first of her spin daggers directly at Artemi. The Fireblade dodged the flying blade smoothly, readying her shield of flame for the inevitable attack of Blaze lightning. Mirel was good, but some of her moves were terribly predictable. The lightning came with split-second timing. It

  crackled and dried the air about Artemi’s ears, making it smell acrid and bitter. But Artemi threw the screaming light straight back at its origin, and ran toward her opponent as she withdrew the cold gale sword.

  The two metal blades sparked and sang as they hit each other, and Artemi looked into those frozen, blue eyes before she leapt away. Ice-kill, they’d called the young Mirel, almost in jest. Ice because of the frosty, bleak angles of her face every time she completed her assassinations.

  Not waiting, Artemi filled her sword with fire and launched a burning side-swipe at her opponent. When blades met once more, Mirel’s weapon blasted a cold wind through Artemi’s hand, and the two assassins leapt sideways to follow the paths of their swords.

  The bends their bodies had to follow were extreme, far beyond anything an ordinary swordsman could have managed. Kusuru sword fighting was severely elegant, but also incredibly painful.

  Artemi’s hand thawed quickly, and in the time she had, she pulled out one of her hot spin daggers. It wavered oddly against her Blaze-filled skin, but she lost no time in launching it at Mirel. The dagger coursed straight through Mirel’s protective shield and into her side. The woman screamed in anger. Gialdin had done something to her weapons, Artemi realised. But she had no time to think what, as Mirel responded with a raging stream of the purest and hottest whitefire. It crashed into Artemi, and she was barely able to protect herselffrom it. The crunch of her back against

  the stone wall sent sickening spasms through her body, and she was forced to put more power into crushing Mirel’s fire weapon. The shaft of light winked out, and Artemi slid down to the floor, coughing up blood.

  Ice-kill came running toward her then, but Artemi was better-prepared this time. She hurled three huge fireballs at Mirel while she waited for her own body to heal, and then pulled out the second of her swords - the one from Gialdin. Heaving herself from the floor, Artemi ran to meet her enemy with a downslice and two blades full of white heat. Her first cut met her opponent’s parry, but the second sliced into the metal of Mirel’s gale sword. Icekill’s blue eyes widened as Artemi’s blade slashed right through the ancient metal, but Mirel did not hesitate for a moment. Fire

  started to rain down heavily in the courtyard, obscuring Artemi’s view of anything useful. It was a defensive tactic, Artemi knew. It meant she was winning.

  Reaching into the turbulent fires once more, she pulled them into forms of wind and ice and water. She built it up and fed it until an immense, wavering sphere of energy bubbled above her. Then she released it. It thumped once, powerfully across the courtyard and immediately doused the flames. But Mirel was gone.

  She grit her teeth, and then Artemi launched herself into one of the tunnels that still glittered with a trail of Blaze. The corridor was littered with the burned bodies of spectators, but Artemi could not tarry to help them. She ran as fast as her legs would take her, deeper

  into the warren of stone. She scaled narrow steps and sprinted down broad hallways, past images of rulers she’d once known. Then the Blaze trail grew cold. Artemi cursed, loudly, and was swiftly knocked off her feet.

  Mirel wrestled with her for her gale swords, but Artemi was filled with inferno. She took more of it in, everything she could bear until her skin hissed with its heat. She thought of the horrors this woman had undoubtedly subjected her lover to, the cruelty her past families had known. She remembered the times she had been a prisoner of, or was tortured by, Mirel. That woman had dared to rule her king and her city! The fury mounted inside her, it grew and coalesced and twisted and clawed for escape. Artemi screamed as she released all of it into Mirel. And she screamed harder still

  as she continued to burn the other woman, to crush her as she’d crushed her childish, ineffective traps. Artemi pressed all of her fury down upon the now-charred and terrified Mirel, and the world turned white.

  Artemi was alight. She was fire. And this woman would be nothing.

  When darkness returned, the remnants that had once comprised Mirel’s body had evaporated in a narrow waft of smoke.

  Artemi collapsed onto the floor, and after a moment, allowed the Blazes to die down in her body. She was exhausted. Her body ached oddly, as if it had been burned from the inside. Something about that whiteness – that feeling of death – she had known it before...

  But there was no time to waste. She had to find Morghiad. Find if he still lived. Her legs wobbled as she stood, and she had to walk with a hand against the wall for support. Everything seemed to be whirling before her eyes. Had she wielded too much Blaze?

  She stumbled back towards the courtyard, where men stood silhouetted against the light of the exit. Artemi struggled to see their faces properly, but she remained wary. She still didn’t know what these men thought of her. “She’s dead,” she said, swallowing the smoky air.

  The men regarded her in silence, not moving.

  “The Sunidarans,” Artemi croaked, “Don’t harm them – I need to find Morghiad. Where is he?”

  A shorter man with dark yellow curls barged his way to the front of her silent audience. Burrus. “Tem. Bloody blazes, it is you, Tem! You melted half of the castle with that fight! Are you...?”

  “She killed some of the ones watching. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her. I’m sorry – I killed her. I should have captured her, but -” Artemi hesitated. “Where’s Morghiad?”

  The shadowed men stayed silent, some exchanging glances between themselves.

  She cursed with exasperation and walked out to the courtyard. The men moved out of her way speedily - with fear, she realised.

  Artemi blinked as she re-emerged into the daylight. As the blurry shapes resolved into the features of the courtyard, she realised

  Burrus had been right. Much of the outer wall had been turned to glassy obsidian, and great channels had been carved into the yard’s surface. There was dust and rubble and smoke everywhere. She walked towards a row of covered bodies and knelt by the nearest. Artemi looked up at the Calidellian men for permission before she lifted the sheet, but they indicated nothing to
her. She recognised the face below it immediately. “I’m sorry, Burrus,” she whispered. “It’s Fhirin.” Blast Mirel! Damn her and her foetid heart. Artemi went on to check the other bodies, all of whom were Calidellian, though only one she vaguely recognised. At length she stood. “Where’s Morghiad?” she asked again, this time more forcefully. None of these men in green and black, she realised, were men she knew. Had

  Mirel replaced the whole army?

  The sound of someone running with long strides echoed around the courtyard, and Artemi moved toward it. Koviere. She smiled broadly as he ran to meet her, and wrapped her arms around his thick neck when he embraced her tightly.

  “Knew it was you when I heard all those bangs and crashes,” he grinned. “Always so bloody noisy. You dealt with our bitch queen then?”

  Artemi’s smile quickly faded as she nodded. “Where is he, Koviere? No one will speak of him.”

  Koviere’s face grew sad.

  No, it couldn’t be, Artemi thought. He wasn’t dead. Please, no...

  “No one’s seen him for a while,” the

  giant said softly. His mouth worked as he tried to pick the right words. “She had him stay in his chambers with her, but nobody was allowed in. And it was riddled with snares and Blaze things.”

  Artemi had already started walking towards the royal apartments.

  Koviere continued as he kept up with her, “... Temi, we haven’t seen him in several weeks...”

  At those words she broke into a run, and forced her weary body to sprint through the tunnels, round the twisting corners and up the bright green stairs. Then she saw them: the army’s lieutenants, its captain and several wielders. All bound into contorted positions, all starved to within an inch of their lives. Silar was not among them. Beodrin blinked in surprise as

  she knelt down to examine the forms that held him. “Artemi?” he breathed.

  She attempted to crush the forms with her own power, but the fires bounced off each other. “Koviere, she’s tied them up with a garsira. Do you know where she might have hidden it?”

  The large man looked puzzled. “What’s a gar-?”

  “An item that can be smashed, it anchors the forms. It might be glass or ceramic... it’s how she tied up a kanaala with Blaze.”

  Koviere’s square forehead creased as he thought. “Someone did mention her carrying a load of odd stuff into her rooms.”

  Artemi stood. “ThenI have to go there first.” She looked at the helpless men and

  women only briefly before she turned and resumed her run to Morghiad’s chambers. Breathy and suspending her hope, she arrived at the great, bronze panels. “Stay here untilI call you,” she instructed Koviere and the other guards.

  Artemi closed her eyes. Please be alive. She pushed the two doors open. Old, stale air touched her nostrils as she stepped in, and she struggled to keep her breaths coming steadily. She remembered one of her dearest fathers, Ne’alin - a man much like Toryn in both toughness and warmth. And she recalled how Mirel had discovered his connection to Artemi, and how she’d taken him. Mirel had tortured him and maimed him, her abuse so intense that he’d only survived a week of it. Another of her captives had been driven mad

  and killed himself after only six days with her. And Tallyn and Romarr had both suffered similar fates; it had taken them two subsequent lives to recover. Yet Morghiad had been in this woman’s possession for at least four weeks. What morsel of the man would be left for her? Artemi bit her lip as she moved forward to the bedroom.

  The windows had been obscured with some sort of darkening form, but that wasn’t Artemi’s most immediate problem. Even without touching the Blazes, she could see that the room was littered with yet more traps. She called out to him before attempting to step any farther. “Morghiad?”

  There was no response.

  “Morghiad, it’s me. She’s gone, my heart. Please, make some sort of noise if you

  can hear me.”

  The rooms remained entirely silent.

  “I’m going to try to remove some of these forms now. I’m coming to you.” She fought back her tears as she refilled herselfwith the fires. The Blazes now made her head ache, which was new. They had never hurt like that before. Still she pressed on, and found that everything in the room was anchored to something else. If Mirel had used gar-siras, why would she have stashed them in the same room as the forms?

  Artemi looked about her for some likely objects. There were four embossed tiles on the wall. She pulled them down and smashed each on the floor. It did nothing. She searched the room, or the safer parts of it, thoroughly, but could find no more objects that

  would shatter. As so often seemed to help, Artemi sat on the desk and thought. Her body was still shaking from the earlier fight, and the prospect of what lay beyond the silver bedroom door. It was too dark in here, she thought, and sent blasts of flame through the windows. They smashed loudly, causing Mirel’s fire snares to immediately disintegrate. So obvious - so like Mirel to hide things in plain sight. Artemi hurled herself into the silver door and into the bedroom beyond.

  It was a mess. Sheets and clothing lay strewn about the floor and over the bed. There was also a great deal of rubbish: half-eaten, rotting food and discarded letters. Pale and breathing, the king’s body lay atop the bed. Artemi half-fell onto the mattress as she tried to get to him, and crawled the rest of the way

  across the sheets. He had his hawk-marked back to her, and she paused before touching his skin to turn him. “Morghiad?” He was alive. Thank Achellon, he was alive.

  Artemi worried at his silence, and worried at the sight of his missing right hand. Taking care not to agitate him with sensations of her power, she pulled the bed sheet up to his shoulder and used his covered skin to pull him onto his back. His eyes gazed at the ceiling, emotionless and empty. Glazed. His face was far more handsome than she had remembered. “Morghiad?” she said again. “She’s dead. She’s gone.”

  When he gave no reaction, she laid her head on the pillow next to him and fought off her tears as she spoke. “I’m sorry for all the idiotic things I said to you. I didn’t understand

  – I didn’t know what you’d done for me, or why.” She stroked his hair gently, but was cautious to keep from his skin. “But you still managed to burn my heart. I grew to love you all over again.”

  The king moved then, slowly turning his face to look at her. His emerald eyes blinked.

  “My heart,” Artemi whispered. “I had thought to stay away from you – to keep you safe from – from her. But, now she knows of you, I’m needed here. If you’ll have me, I’ll stay as long as you need me.” For at least as long as it took to bring Cadra back to a state of normality. Hopefully longer.

  Morghiad moved his gaze down her body and stopped. She endeavoured to follow his line of sight, and found that he was looking at the dagger on her thigh. “Oh this?” Artemi

  pulled the knife he’d given her from its holster. “A rather good-looking, young man gave it to me.” She smiled. He was rather young for her, though that hardly mattered. “And I accepted it.” She placed the knife between them on the bed, and watched the king as he reached for it. He turned it over in his left hand, and then thrust it hard into her chest.

  The woman inhaled sharply, her eyes wide with surprise. Curious that they were dark. No longer summer-sky-blue. She

  looked like Artemi, but he knew she wasn’t. It was the acid woman. That woman was inside the shell. Inside the pretty container.

  He turned the knife in her chest and listened keenly at her struggled gasps.

  Acid woman in her pretty shell. So pretty. But he had learned something from her - how Blaze-forged objects lit with flame when they touched her. Not too much thinking needed to reverse it. He could quench her through the dagger. He did. And her eyes bulged while he did it. Best not to touch her directly. Acid pain happened when he tried that. Acid pain and river walker.

  When he’d finished cleansing her, he

  watched her
motionless body.

  Very beautiful. Like Artemi had been. He remembered her. His Artemi. His manhood had grown heavy, hot and hard from watching her.

  He pulled the dagger from her breast, and watched carefully as the wound healed. She remained unconscious.

  Perhaps the acid woman needed to be used as he had. Perhaps he should enjoy her pretty shell. Enjoy her fires. Heavy and hard.

  He hesitated before touching her.

  River walker was awake. It wanted to wield again. Wanted to touch fires. But it could not be allowed out. He had to be free now. Free of it and acid hurt woman. But she was too pretty. No. No more of the beautiful face distracting. No.