The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  Happy with his now scrambling soldiers, Morghiad returned to her side. “Tallyn and Medea have been taken to the high tower already. We should join them there.”

  Was she to be ushered about as her children were? Artemi suppressed her irritation and smiled with a genteel sort of acceptance, and soon they were pacing down another broad corridor of snow-like whiteness. The walls were too far apart and the ceiling so high it was barely visible. There wasn’t much point to the corridor’s size; it was just what had

  resulted from her construction efforts. But, as they marched down it, she felt something change in the air. It made her stomach turn made her want to vomit. “It’s here,” she croaked.

  Morghiad tried to drag her back the way they’d come, but it was too late. Eight eisiels slithered around the corner ahead of them. Eight. Artemi withdrew both gale swords and gritted her teeth, leaning forward and ready to do battle.

  “Get out of here, now!” she heard her husband shout at her.

  “If you die, then so do I. I’m not going anywhere.” She was good to fight. Still fast. Still strong.

  Anger and distress and annoyance flashed through her husband’s river of emotion;

  he emitted a string of curses. They both knew that even he could not face this many eisiels alone. The oily skinned creatures advanced rapidly, silently towards them.

  Artemi ran headlong toward the creatures, launching two well-aimed spin daggers that struck the neck of the nearest monster. But soon she was moving and slashing her blades as fast as she was able, beheading two eisiels in quick succession. She moved onto the third, and her breath caught as one of their knives pierced Morghiad’s side. He knocked it back quickly, however, and slit its throat with graceful precision. Artemi slid past her opponent, finishing it just as it tore a rip in her breeches.

  Her fourth eisiel was an altogether tougher creature, and looked to have been a

  Sunidaran. How could eight blazed eisiels team up against her? Was this Mirel’s doing already, or just a group that had gathered together through the ages? She chopped its head off after an exhausting game of dodging its pinhcovered knives. And then there were two creatures left. Morghiad was well-occupied with one of them, but the other was creeping around at his back.

  She ran straight for it, but it turned and reacted much faster than she had anticipated. Artemi met its movements with equal speed and slashed her gale swords simultaneously through its throat. The eisiel fell to the ground with a satisfying flumph. She breathed with relief as her husband finished the last one. And then she felt the pain in her shoulder. One of the eisiel’s blades had caught her. The wound

  oozed black poison.

  Oh...

  Morghiad’s eyes filled with fear as she felt her knees weaken. He caught her and sank to the floor with her. He was shouting something, she realised. Shouting for help. But Artemi was growing dizzy. What about Kalad? He wasn’t even strong enough to kick yet, not strong enough to fight the poison. Kalad, forgive me. She felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, and then she fell into unconsciousness.

  The air was dark when she opened her eyes again, but she could sense Morghiad’s fiery touch on her arm. He was smiling warmly at her when her gaze found his face, and she smiled back. His torso was shirtless and bare, save for a wound dressing on his left side. It still stung. Artemi snapped her gaze to her own body, noting how her stomach still felt slightly rounded. Still there... As if to answer he fears, she felt her baby move while she looked. “He’s alive,” she said, almost in shock.

  “It appears so,” Morghiad said softly.

  Her shoulder had been cleaned and bandaged some time before she’d awoken. It still burned more fiercely than her husband’s wound. “What will the effect of this be on him?”

  Morghiad shook his head. “I don’t know, my heart.” He ran a hand over her hair and sat at her side.

  Onsa rose from her seat in the corner of the room. “In my time I’ve seen three women poisoned with pinh while they were with child. None of their babies survived. You

  should count yourselfvery lucky, my girl.”

  Guilt began to consume her then. She could never have left Morghiad alone to fight that many eisiels, but this had been her error. Millennia of cuts and wounds had made her too blasé about receiving them. If she had been more careful... What if Kalad was born as some sort of malformed, poison-ridden child? Or if it affected his mind? Artemi tried her best to fight back her tears, but they came in floods when her husband embraced her.

  “Your body needs to recover,” Onsa said, ignoring her mood, “It now has to heal and must provide your son with the energy he needs to grow. You are not to leave that bed until it is time for him to be born.”

  Artemi sobbed a, “Yes,” and cried a little more after the midwife had left.

  “This isn’t your fault,” Morghiad whispered to her. “He will be fine, I know it.”

  “ButI never saw his face. In the dream I had all those years ago, you never showed me his face. I tried to look...”

  He studied her briefly, and stayed calm. His mind was always so calm now. “And yet you said I was grinning as broadly as a man who’d won all the gold in Sennefhal.”

  “Yes, but...” But he was the sort of man who would love his children and be proud without condition. What if she could not do that?

  “But nothing. You’re his mother, and he survived because he’s as bloody Tegran cattle-hide tough as you are. And whatever happens, I will be here.”

  How had she ever come to rely on

  someone so inextricably? Artemi had never depended upon anyone so much or so deeply before now. He’d better damn-well be there. For the sake of her and her children, she needed him to keep to his word.

  Heavy snowfall had submerged the capital city of Gialdin in a soft blanket of white, and the populace huddled within their homes to sit through the weather. And so Morghiad found himselfwalking a quiet palace that night, striding past the orange light of stand lamps or

  the blue glow of Blaze flames. There were few soldiers about, most of them having taken posts around the city’s walls to avoid the snows. Kalad squirmed about in his hands, going through that restless phase that all his children seemed to do at a similar age. Morghiad had come to accept that year-old infants simply did not want their parents to sleep, and so he walked the empty halls as he had done so many times before.

  He was surprised, therefore, when a small figure of a man stepped lightly out of the darkness. A long, thin tail of pale hair hung down his left side and the hilts of two swords were just visible above his shoulders.

  “Dorlunh!” Morghiad smiled and rapidly strode towards the former archivist. “Blazes, it’s good to see you! Have you come

  back here to stay? You’d be more than welcome...” He trailed off as he noticed the hard look in the Kusuru’s eye, and the way he stared at Kalad.

  “That is your son?” Dorlunh asked.

  Morghiad nodded slowly. “Youngest. His name is Kalad.”

  “Artemi’s son?”

  Something about the other man’s tone unnerved Morghiad considerably. “Of course.”

  Dorlunh’s face became drawn with that information. He folded his arms and looked to the floor. “I must speak with you tomorrow. As soon as you’re able. Meet me at the southern gate. And you must be alone. No children, no soldiers and definitely no wife.”

  Morghiad shifted Kalad in his arms. “What is this about?”

  “I cannot tell you here. Please do as I ask, my lord. If you care for your family at all, you will want to hear what I have to say.” His words did not sound like a threat in the slightest, more of a sad pronouncement. And Dorlunh had proven himselftrustworthy besides.

  “I will be there in the morning.”

  The small Kusuru nodded. “He has her eyes,” he said, and disappeared back into the shadows.

  Morghiad looked at his young son. The child did indeed have his wife’s dark eyes, the only one not to be cursed with Jade’an
green. But he also had a wavy crop of hair as black as his father’s. Kalad grinned at him, clearly enjoying a joke that Morghiad did not understand. But it was enough to make him

  smile back and ruffle the boy’s hair. “Come on, trouble. Back to bed with you.”

  Artemi was sound asleep and curled up in a mass of bed sheets when he returned. He quite wanted to take some of those sheets for himself, but knew it would have awoken her. So instead he lay bare and exposed to the air, wondering what Dorlunh’s pressing business was. Sleep took him before he could think of any reasonable explanation, however, and he welcomed it.

  She was lying across him when he opened his eyes, a stack of sheets over both their bodies.

  “You were cold,” she mumbled into his chest.

  “Because you stole all the sheets.”

  “Hmm, nice sheets,” she said.

  He growled at her playfully, and started tickling her everywhere he could reach. Artemi writhed and squealed at him to stop, but he really didn’t think she deserved that. He threw the covers off and wrestled with her until they both fell off the edge of the bed. Her hair spread about her head on the floor like glowing rays of a setting sun. Blazes, but he was powerless when she looked like that: the very essence of beauty and radiance lying beneath him. He kissed her soft, fiery lips and ran his fingers down the side of her breast, to her waist and to her hip, before moving towards the heat between her legs. And then Kalad started wailing from the next room.

  They both froze for a moment, perhaps hoping that he would stop and fall back asleep. But he didn’t.

  “My turn,” Artemi said. She rose from the floor with her usual light-footed grace, and threw a dressing robe about her shoulders. He watched her disappear into the next room while he studied her emotions. There was always a certain degree of wariness in her flame whenever she approached Kalad, as if the child might do something unexpected.

  Morghiad stepped into a pair of trousers and joined his wife. “There is nothing wrong with him. How many times do I have to say it? He’s perfectly normal and happy.”

  She frowned as she readied their bath. “I know. It’s... nothing.”

  “It would be unfair to treat him differently.”

  Artemi’s smiles returned then, and she laughed softly. “All of our children are

  different.”

  Well, that much was true - a son who survived poison before he was born, a daughter conceived in Achellon, and another son who spoke to him in his dreams. “Yes, but please. Stop. Worrying.” He just wanted his wife to be content and happy and glad that things were well. Morghiad stepped towards them to clutch them both in a tight embrace. It caused Kalad to squeak with happiness, and Artemi nuzzled at his shoulder. Letting go of them was difficult, but his other duties had already begun to surface in his conscience. “You, I will see this evening.” He tickled his son under the chin. “And you,” he addressed his wife, cradling her cheek. “I will see you at midday.” He kissed her grinning face, knowing well that she understood his intentions, before leaving to

  wash and dress.

  He’d decided to keep Dorlunh’s reappearance a secret, especially since the diminutive man had asked Morghiad to come alone. Artemi would surely have demanded to join him if she’d known her old friend was here. He ceased moving once he had pulled on his boots. Had it really been over twenty-three years since Mirel’s arrival? And twenty-two years married to Artemi? Time had run away with him.

  He flung on his riding coat, a thick cloak and swords before pacing out of the chambers they shared. The stables were quite a distance from their sky-bound rooms, but that hardly mattered here. Within only a fewhundred steps he was facing Tyshar’s black velvet muzzle and preparing his bridle. The

  queen’s horse, Arrow III, kicked at the stable door nearby, clearly expecting to join them on this outing. “Not for you today, I’m afraid,” he said to the racer.

  He led the great blood horse from its stabling and vaulted onto his back, and soon they were trotting through the snowy streets of Gialdin. The warhorse’s excitement was barely contained, and Morghiad continuously reined the animal as he noted the people they passed.

  The recent wealth and peace of the country had made many of them overfed, but they seemed content enough. All bowed or curtseyed to him while he rode, which he still found rather embarrassing. Of course, it was not nearly so tricky for him as it was for Artemi, whom they appeared to revere as a living goddess. Blazes, but he thought the same, anyway! He kicked Tyshar forward to a loping canter once the streets opened out, watching the pointed eaves of the white houses streak past. The city was certainly as beautiful as it was impossible, even with its sparkling mantle of snow that ought to have unbalanced it. Flurries of the white stuff were kicked up by his mount’s hooves as they charged towards the gate at the south of the city. Its webbed arch loomed above the houses in front of it, a thing that could only have been constructed by a vast spider. Morghiad often wondered what had been going through his wife’s mind when she had built certain parts of Gialdin, but it usually defied any sort of reason. Dorlunh was not at the gate when he arrived there, but one of the soldiers handed him a note. “Letter from a Mr Bookleaf, sire.”

  Morghiad cracked it open without dismounting and scanned it quickly. The Kusuru wanted to meet him in the forests. “I will find you,” it said. What was this man up to? Morghiad thanked the guard and kicked his horse forward again.

  Even at this time of year, the forests were thick and green with growth, probably linked to some strange effect of the gateway. Ferns draped and trees leaned heavily over the pale road, their branches laden with melting ice. He could sense that a panther was close, though he could not have explained how or why. Perhaps his children would develop the same talent, for whatever good it would do them.

  When he was confident that no one was watching, Morghiad led his warhorse from the road and into the thick growth. It soon became too overgrown for him to proceed on horseback, and so he dismounted to walk in front of his animal. A moving shadow ahead alerted him to Dorlunh’s presence, and he ceased walking.

  The pale-haired Kusuru stepped out from among the bushes and dusted himself off. It really was quite odd to see him separated from his books.

  “My lord, thank you for coming.”

  Morghiad smiled faintly. “Anything for an old friend, and an older friend of Artemi’s.”

  Dorlunh did not look pleased to hear such sentiments, and instead bade Morghiad sit down.

  They leaned against the trunks of two slender trees and remained in silence for some

  time. The former librarian clearly wanted to say something, but was finding it difficult to put into words.

  “Ohjust spit it out, for blaze’s sake!”

  “My lord... ah, you have two sons, do you not?”

  He nodded.

  Dorlunh shifted uncomfortably. “I have spent all the years of my lives studying texts, prophecies... that sort of thing. I have read so many of the damn things I could probably map the next few centuries out for you right here. But there is one particular prophecyI have always concerned myselfwith. It is the end of this world and the end of time. Everything we know will be destroyed. That is what the Kusuru Assassins were supposed to guard against. We all have our ways of achieving that

  goal - Artemi with her battles, Mirel is convinced her eisiels are the way, Romarr thinks love is the answer, Khasha solves riddles, Vestuna polices the most remote lands, Tallyn hunts the most elusive enemies and I find the truth in books. And the truthI have seen over and over again is that a male of your line will bring about the end.”

  Morghiad blinked. “What?” Was this more rubbish? Another spouting like that of The Crux’s people? But Dorlunh was no idiot, hardly a man easily cowed by hearsay.

  “A Jade’an of Gialdin, a son of the white palace, green eyes... it is explained in a number of ways. Generations of your family have destroyed themselves over it. But it always points to the same answer.”

&nb
sp; The horror that poured into Morghiad’s mind was suffocating, but he was brutally efficient in burying it out of Artemi’s sight. Green eyes... “You think it’s Tallyn?” Light of Achellon, how could it possibly be Tallyn? He was a good son with a kind heart. He couldn’t possibly do such a thing!

  “No,” Dorlunh sighed deeply, “It will be you.”

  The world spun. The skies grew heavy and the air close. He half spluttered his answer. “Me?”

  “You cooled the Blazes. You survived it. There can be no other explanation. And there is something else.”

  Oh, blazes! He could not do that to all those people, to his own family! But that creature in his head... that horrible, dark thing that prowled his mind. He feared what it was

  capable of. If Artemi was not there to quell it... Morghiad wanted desperately to vomit, but he kept control. “What else?”

  “It is all precipitated by one, very important event. One of your sons will die at your hands.”

  Morghiad fought to keep the contents of his stomach down, and his anger in check. It was nonsense! How could he do that to his own children? To Artemi? “I would never... not them. You must be mistaken.”

  “I did think so. After all, who could believe you and she were even capable of having babies? And with her so adamant for so long that she would not take a lover. But, as soon as I return, I find you have produced several.”