The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  “I think so.” Though it was likely floating in the air somewhere utterly impractical. Blazes, she hoped this city would turn out to be useful as well as impressively peculiar.

  Nearly eight years had passed since the reconstruction of the famous city of Gialdin, and in those years Silar had grown to be very content. His rooms looked out over the glowing white buildings and lush green trees; his network extended so deeply into Calidell’s society that not even he could have said where it ended; his king and queen were popular; his country so revered that no one had dared to invade it. His work had become very easy, and

  his army were at risk of growing bored. He was grateful they still remembered wars well enough to savour the recent period of peace, and that mile upon mile of border existed to occupy them. He remained an unwed man, but that matter no longer concerned him.

  Silar moved from his window to the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt. As was usually the case, it was the last clean one he had. Blazes, would he always have to demand that those linen girls not take so long with his clothes? They seemed to think it highly amusing that he would end up parading the castle barechested. Truth be told, he was tempted to do so out of spite. He left the front unlaced and grabbed his sword as he left his rooms, before marching down the brilliant white corridor. The walls glowed subtly against the dusky half-light

  outside, and they would continue to gleam softly in the night. It had become a reassuring source of illumination to him, a constant reminder that Artemi was close.

  As always, he looked forward to seeing her demonstrate her skill and inimitable moves during the army’s sword practice session. The years of seeing her perform had made it no less spectacular to him, or any more comprehendible. He stepped into the vast, domed room and inhaled the cool air deeply. Gialdin’s training hall was suspended high above the city and yet could be reached by bridges that took less time to cross than their length ought to have dictated. Time and space were arranged differently in this place, just as light was. It wasn’t long before the fiery golden tendrils of hair became apparent amongst the

  crowd below him. He trotted forward to meet her.

  She was dressed in a very form-fitting outfit of dark red and silver, seemingly cut to emphasise her small waist and excellent bosom. Deadly and alluring, all at once. “My lady, you look lovely today.” He gave her a small bow, knowing the mild irritation it would rouse in her. “Are you and Romarr going to put on a show for us again?”

  She grinned, but there was something hidden behind it. “As always. The challenge is good for me – assuming Selieni lets him out today, of course.”

  “She does have her thumb firmly pressed into his head.”

  Artemi laughed, but the smile quickly turned to a frown. “Does something in here

  feel... odd to you?”

  Silar stopped to take a long look at the men around him, listening carefully to the tone of their voices and the character of their movements. “No more than usual.”

  She compressed her full lips briefly. “Morghiad can sense it too, I’m sure.”

  Silar shook his head. There was nothing in the hall to alert his suspicions, and nothing in her tone that brought about worrying visions in his mind. “I will be wary in any case, my queen.” He watched her walk back through the crowd of soldiers to locate Romarr, appreciating the excellent curves she bore. His thoughts were not at all appropriate; they never were when he thought of her.

  It was only minutes before the grand Kusuru fight began, and many of the soldiers

  ceased their own drills to watch. No fight was ever the same between them, and no move seemed to be recognisably replicated. It was as if each step and jump they took was a carefully crafted response to the other fighter’s last cut, and every response would be unique. Morghiad came to stand by Silar as they watched. “Never gets old, does it?”

  Silar shook his head and spotted Beetan moving toward them. He had his characteristically cheeky grin across his face.

  He joined the line of onlookers and uttered a single word: “Would.”

  “Would what?”

  “I would. Go there. You know.” The orange-haired man winked at them both.

  Morghiad barely even reacted to the comment. He had become admirably tolerant

  of other men’s advances toward his wife, even of Baydie’s continued attempts at getting her to work behind his bar. Very little seemed to ruffle the king, these days.

  “Did Artemi mention to you that something has unsettled her?” Silar asked.

  Morghiad only frowned with a, “Hmm,” and continued to watch. His folded arms betrayed his true concern that something was amiss, but it seemed unlikely that he would speak of it. He flinched slightly when Artemi hit the floor with a thud, but she was rapidly on her feet again. Unusually, it looked as if Romarr had her on the defensive. It was so hard to tell with Kusuru fights. In one instance it would look as if there was a winner, and then something invisible to everyone else would happen and the apparent victor would declare

  defeat.

  Abruptly Artemi called her loss and was kneeling breathlessly on the floor, blood dripping from her shoulder. With worry lines all over his face, Morghiad ran forward to her with Silar close behind. Romarr was apologising profusely when they arrived at her side.

  She stood quickly, elegantly. “It’s nothing, Rom. Honestly, it’s a tiny cut!”

  The muscular Kusuru had a look of considerable confusion. “I could have had your head off! Blazes, that was close!”

  “It was my own mistake. I’m fine.”

  But Silar could see from both Artemi and Morghiad’s faces that something had upset her. She reached up to her shoulder to inspect the mess about her already-closed wound, and her frown deepened. She rubbed the fresh

  blood between her fingers. “Did I get you as well?”

  Romarr checked himself over and shook his head with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Simultaneously, Morghiad slid an arm around his wife and examined her bloodied fingers for himself. Confused looks were exchanged between the king and queen, but something about their reaction had set off a sequence of images in Silar’s mind.

  He saw flashes of light and towers of fire. He saw wolves guarding and panthers prowling and celebrations in the city. He saw one of the three people that both Morghiad and Artemi had so often refused to speak of. It was a man, as tall as he but with green eyes. Brilliant, leaf-green eyes. Realisation and understanding hit Silar then. Artemi hadn’t

  sensed something different in the room around her; she had sensed it in herself. “You, put that sword away now!” he ordered her. “And both of you, come with me.” He quickly remembered to utter their titles before their surprised faces became offended ones.

  Silar ushered them into an empty armoury room and shut the glossy white door against the din of the soldiers. Morghiad was clutching his wife tightly at the waist. Concern marked his face. “What have you seen?”

  He cleared his throat to give them the good news, and was sorely tempted to tease them with his new knowledge. He kept his face serious. “That blood is not entirely hers.”

  “We worked that much out!” Artemi huffed.

  The creases upon Morghiad’s forehead deepened. “Is this serious?”

  Silar leaned back against the wall as nonchalantly as he could, and struggled to maintain a straight face. “Very.”

  The king knew when Silar was extending conversation unnecessarily. “Well? What is it? What can we do to stop it?”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  Morghiad looked mortified then, and Artemi seemed more than a little upset. It was too much for Silar to bear, and his features slipped into a broad smile. “The blood is your son’s. You are with child, Artemi.”

  They blinked at him like simpletons for a moment, apparently not comprehending his very clear words.

  “It’s too... early,” the queen mumbled. “Another year...”

  “Well since neither one of you seems to
follow the same conventions as the rest of us that’s not entirely unexpected, is it?” Their shocked faces remained unchanged. “Bloody Achellon! I thought you’d be pleased. What are you worried about? You’ve got that blazed cave that all the wielders rave about.” Even Silar was excited for them, though he knew he ought to have been jealous.

  Morghiad turned his face to Artemi then, and a grin rapidly spread across it. Barely a second passed before she returned the smile, and Silar knew it was time for him to make his exit.

  It was an especially bright day in Gialdin, and the walls of the castle glittered like ripples in the ocean. How many years and lives had passed since she had last seen the sea? Her son wriggled inside her again, feeling like the soft nuzzling of a cat who wanted his owner’s attention. Artemi looked down at the swell in her stomach. It had become too obvious to hide now, and she felt as if every eye in the castle stared at it. In recent days, very few conversations seemed to involve the other party speaking to her face, but rather they spoke to the changing parts of her body. In fairness to them, she did look as if she had eaten an entire hare, or possibly a fattened lamb.

  “You are beautiful,” Morghiad said in somewhat exasperated tones.

  She glanced over to his seated form in the corner of the room, where he was reading a small book. In spite of the look of concentration on his face, she could tell that his mind was not occupied by the words he read. Oh, it was alright for him. His body was still perfect, still unchanged and still attracting the gaze of every handsome woman in Calidell. Whereas she looked like a bloated pigeon!

  Artemi sat on the edge of the bed in an effort to cool her mood. She desperately wanted to fight someone or do some wielding,

  but those things had been forbidden. How was a woman to find peace if she could not whack someone about the head with a sword?! Thank Achellon this would only last another seven days, else she would be driven insane!

  “Artemi,” he said in warning tones.

  Blazes! She didn’t need him telling her how to think! Her baby would be fine if she became a little enraged now and then. Surely such emotions were entirely natural, and she was free to feel them if she bloody-well wanted!

  Morghiad came to sit at her side, probably because there was no space to kneel at her front. “Look at me,” he instructed.

  She gave him a brief glance, which turned into a full stare. He was too pretty! And he had made her this way with his stupid, lovely eyes and his blasted, irresistible body. What choice had she ever had in the matter? It was utterly unfair! She started to cry uncontrollably.

  Morghiad wrapped his arms around her gently - not nearly so firmly as he used to. She was not made of glass! He spoke to her just as softly as he held her, “Why are you so upset? We have everything we want, do we not?”

  Artemi sobbed into his firm, muscled shoulder for a moment, and slowly came to realise the ridiculousness of her behaviour. “Hold me tighter than that. You idiot.”

  He obliged immediately, and rested his chin on her hair. Morghiad had demonstrated his appreciable and unerring devotion in the week since their discovery. He had not ventured more than three yards from her side in that time, in spite of the numerous pressing matters of business he’d been called to. In each case he had offered the messenger a simple response of, “No,” and proceeded to follow her to whatever less important duty she needed to attend to. But his behaviour had altered beyond that. He had become fiercely protective of her and the cub within her, snapping at soldiers he didn’t feel were alert enough or growling at wielders whose forms strayed too close. But Artemi was glad for his constant presence and kind words. Although she would never have admitted it to him, she was a little afraid.

  “The midwife will be here soon,” he whispered.

  Artemi grinned as she raised her eyes to his. “The one with all the best

  recommendations?” she imitated his voice as best she could.

  “The very same.”

  “Do we really need one? Thousands of couples have borne their children without one. And I’d wager I’ve cut more babies from their mothers than she ever has.”

  He flinched slightly. “I will be there. Besides, you could have seen a million women have children and it wouldn’t make a difference. This is your first... and mine. I want you cared for.” He had that dark look to his eyes. The look that said he would not be argued with.

  A knock sounded at the door and Morghiad stood with her, rearranging her hair where he’d fiddled with it. He went to answer the broad, white panels that led to the hallway

  beyond, but was interrupted by an ample woman’s unannounced entrance. Her hair was wild and dark, her face like an unhappy goat. She took one disapproving look around the room before her sparkling eyes settled upon Artemi’s stomach. “There she is,” the woman said with a frown. “And no one has attended to you until now? No one has seen to this girl’s diet?”

  Morghiad blinked at her, wide-eyed.

  The woman tssked at him and shook her head. “Sit down girl,” she instructed. Artemi sat down quickly.

  “And close that door!” she barked at Morghiad. The midwife turned back to her. “He is the father?”

  She nodded quietly.

  “Well, I can see you chose him for his

  looks rather than his intelligence.”

  The door clicked shut behind her and Morghiad folded his arms to feign annoyance. In contrast, his river of emotions reflected a peculiar mixture of offense, embarrassment and pride.

  “My name is Onsa. It is my duty to ensure the best for that creature inside you, and to see that you live through it, my girl.”

  Artemi nodded with comprehension and worry. Just what sorts of horrors was this behemoth of a woman going to put her through?

  Onsa pulled out a black leather bag from amongst her copious skirts and set it on the bed. “I need to examine you to see how you are progressing. But I can tell you now that this child will be large for you. I see far too

  many oversized, lumbering men choosing these dainty little wisp-like wives to bear their children.” She shot an accusatory glance at Morghiad before returning to rummage through her bag.

  Artemi attempted to calm the worry she felt in her husband, but wasn’t very successful. She tried words instead, “I am not a weak woman. And besides, I chose him to father my children.”

  Onsa only gave her a raised eyebrow, and Morghiad only felt mildly reassured.

  “You like to fight battles with swords, do you not?” the midwife said, brandishing some sort of marked string.

  The queen nodded slowly.

  “Well, this is a battle where you will love your enemy, but your enemy will only stop fighting you when it’s eighteen years old. Even then there is no guarantee. And the first battle is going to be getting that thing out of you.” What a very peculiar woman this Onsa was.

  “He. It’s a he.”

  The midwife shook her head. “Even

  Blazes alight, this woman was panicking her husband. “I will be fine,” she said calmly and directly to her king. Suddenly, she didn’t feel any fear at all.

  “That is not the right attitude, girl. And certainly not for him. He must be ready for all eventualities.”

  “She is right,” Morghiad agreed.

  Artemi shot her best glare at him. She had seen the future and she knew damn well that she and her son would live. Nine women

  had successfully given birth to kanaala sons in Gialdin’s cave over the last eight years, and each had lived to speak of it. All of this fear was a waste of valuable energy!

  “At last he speaks and it is sense.” Onsa smiled. “Now girl, frowning like that is not good for you or your child. You must undress so thatI can measure you.” She turned to the king. “You may leave us now.”

  Morghiad shook his head. “I will stay.”

  “Protective one, isn’t he?” Onsa said, raising a thick eyebrow questioningly.

  “I would prefer it if he was here.”

  “As you
wish,” she said, placing meaty fists on hips.

  Morghiad reprised his seat by the bed and set his sword against the armrest. She could feel his gaze upon her back as she started to remove her clothing. And she could feel his inexplicable pleasure at seeing her now-bloated form. It was more than a little embarrassing.

  “How many days are you?”

  “Seven and a half.”

  Onsa shook her head. “More like nine.” She pulled her measuring string around Artemi’s waist. “I took the liberty of extracting your original measurements from the tailors. They are much less likely to lie, in my experience.” She nodded as she read the measurement. “That is the size of a nine day old pregnancy, if ever I saw one.”

  Her son prodded her side, prompting a chuckle from Morghiad.

  “And just what, pray, is so funny about your wife’s situation?”

  His smile dropped quickly beneath

  Onsa’s glare. “Ah, the baby kicked. I think he disagrees with you.”

  Incredulity filled the midwife’s face. “And you could see that from all the way over there?” She shook her head dismissively.

  “Seven days?”

  Worry seeped further into Artemi, though she tried to fight it. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Hmm.” Onsa pressed a chubby finger to her mouth as she studied the queen’s bare, exposed and naked body. “Lie on your side for me, please.”

  Artemi lowered herself onto the bed as instructed, facing the handsome features of her king.