The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  smile so wide that it ached. She could feel him getting closer; his movements disturbed the air all around her. That trickle of adrenalin knotted up her stomach and made her muscles burn. She had to beat him! A corner loomed. Artemi shortened her steps to be ready for it, and took in Blaze to sense if there was anyone beyond it. There was. She thrust out a hand to block her bodyguard’s path, and attempted to arrest her speed in time. But it was too late. Kalad stepped out from beyond the wall, and Artemi found herself skidding along the smooth floor in an attempt to avoid a collision with her

  son. Morghiad caught her by the sleeve and hauled her away from the floor as they slid, but their combined weight and speed was not something either of them had anticipated. Cloaks swirled about their heads in a flurry of black and gold; they fell to the floor in an ungainly heap.

  Kalad simply stared at them with his brows raised. If he was amused, he did not show it; instead he folded his arms.

  Morghiad was rapid in regaining his feet, and he hauled a breathless Artemi up with him.

  “Kal,” she croaked between

  breaths. “We were just – ah. Oh, never mind.”

  “I see. Well, don’t let me ruin your fun. I’m off to see my brother make a fool of himself.” The kahr swept away from them.

  “Kal!”

  He ignored her, striding down the billowing corridor they’d only just charged along.

  The former queen turned to an inexpressive Morghiad. “Please wait here whilst I deal with my errant offspring.” She jogged with light feet to her youngest son, and stepped into his path. “Your brother needs your

  support, not comments like those. And I will not tolerate your sarcasm – not in front of him.”

  Kalad tilted his head. “Mother...”

  “No. That’s enough. Just behave.” Artemi was not going to give him an opportunity to reply this time. Instead she turned, stalked back to her bodyguard and led him away without further comment.

  “My lady?”

  “Yes?”

  Morghiad pursed his lips briefly. “You are hard on him, yet soft on the other.”

  She snapped her head round to face him, but found her ire draining just as rapidly. “He needs it. And he needs a firm hand because his father was not there.” Another deep breath calmed her further. “There. I have answered your question. You must allow me one. You never speak of your mother. Why?”

  “She lost her life when I was very young. I didn’t really know her.”

  Artemi’s heart dropped within her body. Why did the world insist upon repeating such horrific things over and again? Surely he had already faced enough cruelties? “I’m sorry. I truly am.” Thank the fires that he wouldn’t

  have the Jade’an blood and its panther in him this time. That was something to be glad for.

  He regarded her for a moment as they walked, his eyes narrowing, and then looked away. The rest of their journey to the practice hall was conducted in a rather sombre silence.

  “Here,” she said once they’d reached the hall, “Let me see the sword they’ve given you.”

  Morghiad withdrew it slowly and handed her the hilt. She turned the weapon over in her hand, taking care not to clutch at the blade. There was no mistaking Rautamail’s work; she

  had seen enough of it during her childhood in Cadra. And the blade they had given Morghiad was quite visibly more extravagant than most recruits received. It was balanced precisely, moulded to perfection and slick through the air. Clearly the people here still cared for him as their fondly remembered king. Her heart felt warmed as she handed it back. “That is a very good sword for you, Private Zennar. No doubt it feels quite different from the one you had before?”

  He gave the briefest of nods.

  She cast off her short-coat and

  threw it to the floor, then taking up one of the nearby practice swords. They were not remotely as finely made, though they would present less confusion for him than her Kusuru blades. “Very good. Now, show me how you’ve improved.” The guard he presented her with was an odd one, but when she attacked he was well-placed to parry it. His move was perfect; Morghiad perfect. “Most impressive. Let’s try something more advanced.” This time she swept around him with a series of fast attacks, each of which he met with timing and precision. He followed with a brave down-swipe of

  his own, though Artemi had to think quickly to deflect it. She allowed the fight to progress along its own path, and permitted him to make as many strikes as he dared. Before long they whirled about each other with blades flashing in the hard, winter light that crashed down upon them.

  It was beyond belief. In the few weeks he had been present at Gialdin, he had very nearly attained the skill of his former self. She found that she was compelled to jump and turn and twist with every bit of speed she could muster. Blazes, but he was always good to practise with! It would have

  been so much easier against him with gale swords but, then, where was the fun in that? Morghiad made a sudden and unexpected jab towards her left side, and Artemi had to back-flip in order to avoid becoming unbalanced. The air rushed past her ears and through her hair like a torrent of water, raging at her with its roar. It roused the fires in her. They felt her excitement; they wanted to escape. She prepared herself for his next attack, and this time met it with a weak deflection, followed by a slam of her shoulder into his.

  He very nearly lost his footing, and that gave Artemi time to make

  another stab and a push. This time he was sent reeling backwards. She could feel the fires burning at the limits of her skin, dancing fiercely to gain control of her movements. It resonated with her memories of her struggle with the creature inside her head. It sang with the same intensity as her anger. And the light; how she wanted to run with the light! Artemi forged ahead with her attacks, one after the other and again. She offered her opponent no quarter, now punctuating each of her strikes with a further push.

  His green eyes flickered with surprise at the rate of fighting and his

  realisation that he was being beaten back towards the wall, but he did not yield. Artemi knocked his sword from his hand with a carefully dealt diagonal swipe, then moving to place her blade against his neck. And that was when he made his mistake. Through desperation, his face changed: his jaw clenched and his sweat-lined brow furrowed. With startling rapidity he reached out with a hand, buried it in her hair and seized the fibres amongst his fingers. He pulled, hard.

  White hot fury poured into Artemi as abruptly as the pain. It hauled the flames from their place of

  keeping into her body. And those flames tore along her bones and rushed over her skin with all their power. How dare he fight her like she was a tavern whore?! How dare he leave her here?! Alone with his children?! How could he cause her to be a mournful, wretched nothing for twenty, long years?! The panther was awake now. She could feel its huge, dark form rising within her. Artemi ground her teeth together and thrust her knee sharply between his legs. Morghiad was instantaneously, and quite satisfyingly, floored.

  She watched him for a moment, curled in agony and red-faced like an

  overcooked prawn. The Blazes immediately died back down with her amusement, and her subsequent smile sent the panther back to its lair. Then came the guilt. Artemi knelt at his side. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” She touched his forehead, revelling in those echoes of wildfire that came from his ability. “This will take away your pain.” She constructed a form of anaesthetic she had seen her eldest son create, one of his ‘accidents’ while she had been training him, and placed it across Morghiad’s body. He sat up rapidly, his face awash with irritation, and made a grab for her

  blade.

  “Stop it,” Artemi said calmly.

  He tried to wrestle with her, but she had fought enough for one day. She pinned one of his arms and straddled his hips. “Stop,” she said quietly.

  His eyes had formed into fierce things that burned through her skull with defiance. But, at length, his breath
ing slowed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, releasing his arms and sitting back. “It’s been a while since I’ve fought a lumper like you. I became a little carried away. It won’t happen again, as long as you

  don’t pull my hair.”

  Morghiad raised himself up on elbows, his expression still guarded. “You seem quite capable of fighting just as dirtily as I do.”

  A laugh escaped from her then. “Yes... well, I’ve been in a few bar fights in my time.” She smiled at his smoothing features. “Are you alright?”

  He frowned, puzzled by something, and brought his left hand up for examination. A few strands of her hair were still caught between his fingers, which he studied with intensity. “Strange,” he whispered. He switched his eyes back to her. “May I...?” He

  made to reach for her hair, and she let him. Morghiad ran his fingers over the red-gold waves for a time, clearly confused by some thought they raised in his mind. And Artemi was quite content to allow it, especially as the thoughts he was awakening in her were so pleasurable. She reached to the top of her bodice to loosen the catch, but someone stepped into the Practice Hall.

  “Ahem,” he said. It was Beetan.

  Artemi removed herself from the young man’s hips as casually as she could, and swung her sword onto her shoulder as she walked. “Yes?”

  “I see you were just instructing

  him on where best to put his weapon. My apologies if I’ve interrupted you.”

  “None required, Beetan,” she said drily. She could hear the scrape of Morghiad retrieving his blade behind her. “What is it?”

  “Jarynd, Orwin and I have made arrangements for our replacements. Lyanixi, Sidav and Argyro shall be the new Lieutenants of Calidell.”

  She had suspected that they would select Sidav, though he was really still a little young. Then again, he was several decades older than Orwin had been when he’d taken up the mantle. And Morghiad had only a few

  more years on his current age when he was elected to captain. Artemi beamed. “Lyanixi will do well. And Argyro – I remember him from Gorena.” The very man who’d dragged her from the path of an incoming fireball and certain death. “Good. Once our general is back on his feet we’ll find ourselves a mission to complete. I daresay there are a few about.”

  “Rights to wrong, virgins to rescue... whole temples full of the blasted women to save. Looking forward to it, my lady.” He offered her a shallow bow and a wink before making a rapid departure.

  “I take it that you have no specific plan in mind, then?” Morghiad’s expression was bordering on disapproval.

  “Not at all, Master Zennar. Trouble is sure to find us.” Few things were reliable across all of Artemi’s lives but that. Trouble always, always had a habit of seeking her, chasing her, locating her and then harrying her until she had stabbed it firmly and decisively in the head. Right now, that trouble was stood in a sweat-ridden, sour-faced figure before her. Blazes, but how was she to be the Artemi she ought to be, whilst still allowing this man to be her

  weakness? He would not tame her this time; this time it would be different. “Master Zennar, you are in need of a wash. Come with me.”

  She strode purposefully to the changing rooms that clung to the side of the hall, and set her eyes on the sweep of taps before her. Each one was a lever to release water from above, and each had a bay of white stone around it. Artemi set about removing her bodice.

  “My lady...” Morghiad had ceased following and turned his back.

  “Don’t pretend to protect my modesty-” she said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling at it, “-if you are to be my bodyguard then you shall have to get used to seeing rather a lot of me, whether it pleases, embarrasses or... frightens you.” With any luck her naked form would not frighten him. It had better not frighten him. She did not check his expression to see how her words had been received, and instead proceeded into the nearest shower bay. The nervousness she felt upon unlacing her bodice surprised her. In truth, she had not disrobed before anyone else but female soldiers these last eighteen years. Blazes, but what would his young mind think of her?

  Artemi pushed the thought to one side and hauled the rest of her clothes off before stepping into the noisy rush of water that fell from the tap above. She was very aware that Morghiad had walked into the bay beside her, but she chose to stare at the wall before her. It was striated with gold and blue and silver and all the hidden colours of the palace. It was beautiful. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her former lover moving beneath the tumult, but she dared not look directly. For all of the bravado she had fuelled herself with that morning, she now found herself utterly drained

  of confidence. Stupid, idiotic girl, Artemi!

  There was nothing for it but to continue her ablutions as if he was not there, though she struggled not to hunch or hide her shame. She was finished before him in any case, and soon wielding to dry out the clothes she’d so rudimentarily rinsed. Artemi dressed quickly, and found him waiting for her, dripping and naked when she finally turned back to face him.

  “Would you mind...?” He held out his sopping clothing to her.

  Embarrassment had already thundered into her consciousness with

  its charge of red cheeks and stumbling movements. This feeling was unnecessary around him! Artemi took his clothing in silence and proceeded to heat it until all the water had raised from the folds in tall funnels of steam. She turned away while he dressed, now hopelessly aware that her plan had collapsed upon itself. She was no seductress; charming men over a pint of beer was one thing, but now that she was so much older she felt so much more foolish. Old enough to be his mother! Follocks!

  It was curious how the white walls of the palace turned blue at night, and how they seemed to give off illumination of their own. Morghiad had remained awake for hours through his first few nights in Gialdin, trying desperately to understand the mechanics of the peculiar light. Something that knows Blaze but is beyond it. He considered himself a

  very able kanaala, but this was outside the range of his skills. Certainly, the former queen was linked to it in a manner he had not yet deciphered; there was something he’d sensed upon touching her hair. What was it?

  He turned his head towards the door of her bed chamber. Her behaviour had been nothing short of confusing during the day, perhaps even childish. And the angry pout she had worn after the showers... it was almost as if she had expected him to kiss her, or worse, fondle her female... bits. It wasn’t that she was unpleasant to look at... but the unpleasantness of the

  thought... He’d helped himself to a few glances, purely out of curiosity, in order to work out quite what it was that swayed the mind of every sword hand in the palace. It was an alright sort of figure that she owned. Fine, if one was the sort of man who liked that smooth, perpetually perky and overly bouncy look that made one think of ripe kefruit. Morghiad was sure he preferred to see something altogether less overtly sexual in a woman. Selieni... yes, she seemed far more like a lady than his new mistress. Selieni and Jurala.

  He brought his eyes back to the

  ceiling. It too glowed a luminous blue above him. It was very nearly calming, as if its presence had been designed specifically to quell anxiety or, possibly, any propensity to rebellion. Not that rebellion would be the right thing to do at this stage. He was glad for his new role, since it lay so close to his objective, but already he had made mistakes. After all the years of training in patience, he ought not to have behaved as he had in the fight against her. That could not happen again. He sighed loudly, and rolled onto his other side. The couch he had been given to sleep on was yet another piece of

  furniture designed to discomfort and irritate.

  And why had she lied to him about Sergeant D’Avrohan? The man’s eyes betrayed that his years were at least a thousand fewer than hers. The Dedicated did not, should not have families, Morghiad had learned. And yet she claimed Toryn as her relation and had generated several offspring of her own. T
his Artemi was more of a weakness to the world than she realised. At that thought, the door to her chambers cracked open soundlessly. Morghiad reached for his sword by instinct, but it was only his

  red-haired ward.

  Her silk nightdress followed her movements unwillingly as she sat down at the end of his sleeping place. “I had a very odd dream,” she whispered.

  “Ah, my lady-”

  “There is a name,” she interrupted, “that I cannot place. And yet I know this name. I know it very well. It could help me solve a murder. My dreams tease me with this name... all the time. It’s torture, and sometimes it happens to those of us who’ve been around long enough. Perhaps you can help me solve this problem.”

  Morghiad leaned forward and

  rested his elbows upon his knees. “What can I do?”