“He’s sobering up,” his father said.
“This is not a good thing,” Silar said through gritted teeth. “It’s alright for you. You don’t have to see all this...” He saw things burning again. Everything he knew and loved was on fire. Charred bodies lay scattered over the ground and feral dogs with singed fur gnawed on their carcasses. There was nothing else left to eat but the dead. That was such a small possibility, he reassured himself. He could not see how such an outcome could be reached. He could not see it. He could not!
Abruptly the image broke with a flash of pain, and Silar found himself staring at the ceiling. His chair was still beneath him, but now the back of it lay upon the ground. Seffe’s face moved into his line of sight. “Sorry, brother. You needed that.”
“No fighting at the bloody dinner table!” Their father’s tone told Silar what he needed to know. He had been hit.
“He needs it,” Seffe said sternly. “Si, what’s happened to the smug bastard that was Lord-General of Calidell? Where is he? Blazes, you smell like a vagrant just as much as you look like one.”
“He’s been replaced by a smugger bastard.”
His younger brother took him by the lapels of his shirt and hauled him from the floor, except that it was less of a haul, more of a gentle tug. Seffe was now considerably stronger and Silar much lighter by comparison. “You’re a stupid, blond-haired idiot, but it’s worse to see you like this than what you were before. You ought to go and find your redhead queen and cheer yourself up with all your stupid lackeying or whatever you do around her. Maybe you should find your mad ex-king friend as well. At least it’ll give you something to do.”
“They’re just children.”
“Then they’ll keep you even busier. Do you know where they are?”
Hestavos – the school. Silar could almost reach out and touch the yellow walls of it in his mind’s eye. “Yes.”
“Good. Tomorrow you are going to clean yourself, find some clothes that don’t hang off you and you are
going to set off to visit them.”
“If anyone at court finds out, they won’t be particularly pleased. I’ve already done enough harm there.”
“Well, with your special ability, you’ll be able to stay out of trouble.”
Silar emitted a long, slow sigh. He did miss them both very deeply, but they weren’t currently the ‘they’ he adored. It was a ridiculous idea. Stupid, really. “Alright, but just a visit.”
“Good.” Seffe grinned and patted his brother on the back. “And you can start retraining with your sword – you still have a sword, don’t you?” Silar nodded, and Seffe
continued, “You can start training with me tonight. Father won’t be very pleased if you get yourself beaten up by bandits along the way.”
“I’m not strong enough to work through the basic forms once, never mind do every bloody move in a single night.”
“And this is one of Calidell’s best swordsmen standing before me? It’ll come back faster than you think.”
All Silar could see of the approaching evening was pain and humiliation. Seffe would revel in this
far too much. Blazes, but he needed a drink!
It was not long before he found himself repeatedly beaten to the floor by sword blows too powerful for him to repel. Seffe was very fast indeed, and Silar began to wonder how it was he had ever been faster. Time and again he went through the most basic forms of sword fighting. He remembered far more than he expected to, but his muscles simply did not want to respond to his demands.
There were moves he felt he ought to have been able to complete, but each time he tried his body failed him. His previous form began to feel unattainable, and he did not like that
sensation at all. Was this how it felt for Artemi each time she regained her memories in a life that had not been spent fighting? How did she bear the frustration of it?
Her face flashed up in his mind’s eye, and she began telling him of her many woes in reclaiming skills from lost lives. He pushed her aside, or tried to. She was still murmuring something in a corner of his head when he returned his focus to his task.
At last, with the morning light beginning to peer into the grass-covered clearing they had found for their exercises, Silar threw down his sword
and sprawled on his back. He could not get enough air into his lungs, or enough blood to his fingers. He had already vomited twice, and did not require any more evidence of his lack of fitness.
“Do you want a drink now?” His charming little brother smiled.
“No. No bloody ale,” Silar wheezed. The thought made him feel horribly ill, but he did not doubt that he would be tempted to return to it in the future.
“I’ll leave you to recover. Consider this my gift to you for speaking well of Demeta.” The sound of Seffe’s departing footsteps was
eventually masked by the noise of the waterfalls and rustling leaves.
Silar closed his eyes and drank in the smells of the fresh air. He could detect the scents of honeythistle, spear flower and the last roses of the season. He could hear the first of the birds commencing their morning songs, and the click of the crickets taking over the day shift from the night’s cicadas. The place was green, alive and fertile. His impression of Sunidara was of hot sands, dead air and equally arid women. He still was not sure if he wanted to take the risk of travelling there, though he now had the wrath of
an angry brother to fear if he did not.
He raised his shoulders from the ground and slumped forward, so that his arms rested on his knees and he could stare at the grass below. He could simply travel to a nearby town and install himself at the tavern there for a while. It wasn’t as if he needed any money to do so. No one would have to know that he had not been to Sunidara. Was that too dishonest?
His conscience answered him in a quiet, meek voice. But it was annoyingly right. He should travel to Sunidara. It would be a short mission to check upon the children; to make
sure that they were safe. He owed them that much.
It smelled of old leather and cheese and... feet. Renward tried not to inhale another breath of the boot air, and peered as carefully as he could into the foot section. It took a while to position it so that the light reached the bottom, but with a bit of angling, he was able to see the sole innards. Nothing moved in there this time. No fire ants.
With some relief, he pulled on the first boot, checked the second and pulled that on too. Of course, he had been a little over-cautious in making sure they were safe to wear; Artemi could never have made it to his room and she was far from clever enough to employ someone else to do it. There was some time left before he would have to present himself at the first
lesson of the day, and he felt he ought to at least check if Artemi was still alive. He also had some business to complete, namely burning off the rest of her stupid hair. How irritating that Captain Gilkore had interrupted him yesterday!
Renward was soon standing at the edge of the wasteland, staring into the pale, yellow emptiness. There was no one to be seen. Four wooden stakes stood isolated in a hollow between the dunes, and four frayed pieces of rope waved softly in the wind from their tops. Burn her. He turned around to make his way back to the school, but
was surprised to see a rather tall man in his path. The man’s hair was too short to be a normal Sunidaran – unless he was one of their most experienced soldiers, which was unlikely - and his eyes were a very odd shade of blue. He smiled broadly. “It looks like someone shrank you.” Even more peculiar, his accent sounded very foreign indeed. It was all soft sounds, bitten-off endings and ‘r’s.
“I’m not that small.” Renward was the tallest of anyone his age, an achievement he was rather proud of.
The man chuckled and folded his arms. He did appear to be more or
less the same shape as Fate’s sword masters, though he was perhaps a bit skinnier. “No, no, of course you’re not. Ha ha, that voice! It’s almost comical.” He rapidly drew his face straig
ht. “Now, I need to speak with you and Artemi. I know you can find her. It’s a very important matter. Do you understand?”
Renward studied the man for a moment. He really had no idea if he could be trusted; there were all sorts of stories through the school about men who would steal cadets in the night. Then again, this was the daytime... “I don’t know where she is, and she
won’t listen to me anyway.”
The man cocked his head to one side, and his eyes lost their focus for a moment. It was as if he were looking right through Renward rather than at him. Then he blinked. “That is interesting.”
Renward looked around himself. “What is?”
The man smiled. “My name is Silar. If you mention that name to anyone else but Artemi, you can expect a day spent locked in the groundskeeper’s woodshed. I know you don’t want to revisit that again.”
How did he know about that?
No one knew about that! Only his brothers and his father... and his father wouldn’t have told anyone, would he? It was not possible. “Are you a spy?”
Silar pursed his lips. “If I had asked you a hundred-thousand questions, one of the answers would have been about the woodshed. I simply know these things.”
“Why do you want to talk to us?”
“Because there is something very important that you need to know.”
“Why does she need to know anything? She’s just a peasant.” He made sure to spit out the last word for
extra emphasis.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Is she, now? She seems to make you quite angry for someone of such little significance.”
“I am not angry.” He folded his arms to prove his point.
“Well then, you should go calmly and find her for me.”
Renward frowned. “I don’t know where she is. She was supposed to be here... but isn’t.”
“If you turn around and go looking for her in the next minute, you’ll find her.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“She won’t come back with me. Not just to meet a strange man, anyway.”
A smile touched Silar’s features. “Tell her I know the man in white. She’ll come.”
Renward could still feel the suspicion running through his blood and prodding at his spine. This was far too strange. “I don’t believe you. There’s no way you could put me back in any woodshed. My father would never allow it after last time.”
“Yes he would. He’s still angry about it. And before you ask, no, I will
not help play a trick on Artemi, and yes, you can win Fate’s Fighter Trophy if you work hard enough.”
What? This man was a mindreader? Renward felt cold in spite of the desert heat. “I’ll get her,” he found himself saying, and soon he was running back toward the school gates. He considered what Silar had said, and decided to walk toward the stabling courtyard. He had no particular reason to check for Artemi there, but if the strange man could tell what he was going to do, then it wouldn’t matter what path Renward took. He stepped into the open area, but found it entirely
devoid of people. Even the horses were asleep or dozing deep inside the shade of their boxes.
Perhaps Silar had not been telling the truth. Renward remembered the woodshed too well, and all the horrible memories of his time inside it. No one had believed him about the monsters that hid in the dark when he was left alone. No one else was ever there to see them. And so they left him in there with the creatures they did not believe in. Perhaps this Silar saw them too. Perhaps he understood.
Renward crept around the side of one of the stables and peered into
the next yard. That was empty, too. It wasn’t terribly surprising, really, as it was still very early. But where was Artemi and her stupid hair? He bit his lip and leaned against one of the stable doors.
The woodshed had been a very important moment in his life. It had led to his eventual dispatch to Fate’s School of Warriors, and to a feeling he could never be as perfect as his older brothers. He had failed his father that day, and he had failed himself. If you cannot learn to behave, you’ll stay in the woodshed tonight. I’ll come back for you tomorrow, his father had said.
I can behave, I promise! Don’t put me in there alone!
You are being a coward! I will not have a thief AND a coward for a son! You will learn.
Renward had heard the sound of the bolt sliding across the ramshackle door, and then the crunch of his father’s footsteps as they grew more distant. His backside was still sore from the caning it had received, though he felt that such a punishment was unwarranted for his crime of stealing a single slice of ham from the kitchens.
He had crouched in amongst a pile of wood shavings and had rested
his head against a bag of horse feed while he watched his surroundings. Nothing had happened at first. The moving sun had cast its rays in all different directions and shades of orange before it had set, bringing to life the flecks of dust that circulated in the air. The smells had been of warm timber and fresh rain, comforting. And then the shed had been shuttered in a sudden and abrupt darkness. The forest, which had been full of the sounds of birds announcing the end of the day, fell to complete silence.
The only noise was of his own, rapid breathing, and so Renward held
his breath. It was then that the first of the shadows moved. Its steps were inaudible, but it smelled of the sickly sweet rancour that came from death. It prowled the edges of the hut ever-soslowly, threatening to come closer with each, soundless stride.
Renward had shut his eyes tightly, but this had only ensured that the noises started. He could try to describe them as creaks, whispers and snapping bones, or perhaps a sealed vessel full of boiling liquid from which only the smallest pockets of air could escape. He stole a peek from between his crumpled eyelids. Those noises had their own shadows: braver, larger shadows that ventured nearer. He clamped his hands against his ears. They would go away if he could not see or hear them. They would go!
But the noises did not quieten, and each time he opened his eyes the monsters loomed closer. Their smell was overpowering; they were going to take him and torture him forever! He needed to breathe, to escape, to get fresh air into his bursting lungs! He couldn’t hold it any longer.
Renward dared to take another breath, and one of the creatures ceased prowling. Its red, burning eyes settled
upon him, it opened its black, fanged mouth and another creature crawled out from within it.
The thing that emerged was vast – so big that its sides pressed at the walls of the woodshed, and its height began to push at the roof. Its arms were great, long claws of steel and its fur dripped with a dark liquid he could not identify. Whatever it was, it was mutated beyond recognition. It had no way of seeing, no facial features that were recognisable. A great, guttural voice came from somewhere within it: Morgh-i-ad.
No. No. No. NO! He screamed
and balled up his fists against his head, a torrent of rage and fear bursting up from the deepest recesses of his soul. NO! His body shook, his head had wanted to explode. He wanted those things away from him; he did not want to be taken! Please!
The ground had started to wobble at that moment, and the wobble had grown to a tremor, and that had flourished to a violent quake. Renward had been thrown from his bed of wood shavings to an earthy pit, filled with wet and decaying leaves. He curled up as tightly as he possibly could, covering his head with his arms and burying his
face into his knees. The noises dissipated, and the smell left him. Renward opened his eyes.
He was not alone. Silhouetted on a rise above him was his father. It was daytime again, and the morning sun shone through the icy mist in the most benevolent and beautiful manner. He had run to his father and thrown his arms around the man’s legs from relief.
“Did I pass the test, father?” It was a test. It had to have been a test!
“Open your eyes, son, and look at what you have done.”
Renward had inhaled sharply when he had glimpsed the scene. The
shed was obliterated. Where it had stood was now a blackened crater, and all around lay charred pieces of wood, twisted fibres and trees burned clean of their leaves.
“It wasn’t me.”
“Don’t lie!”
The groundskeeper, Evigan, was stood over the crater with his arms folded and head shaking in disbelief.
His father had pushed Renward away then, and had said in hard tones, “Ren, I cannot deal with you anymore. You’re going to Sunidara.”
And here he was. A swift boot
to the abdomen winded him, and he found himself sprawled upon the ground.
“Hello Morghiad. Your little plan for me failed yesterday.”
“I’ve been looking for you, peasant.” He brushed himself off carefully, and stood to face her.
Artemi’s hair was still, quite gratifyingly, singed at the ends. “I am not in the mood to play another game. What I saw yesterday would have you quaking in your anty boots!”
He pulled a smirk at her. “Was it your own face?”
She play-punched him. “No. I
The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 155
