The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  They both waited until the captain was out of earshot, and when he was, Morghiad was the first to speak. “You will wear it to the Festival of Storms.”

  “I will not.”

  He rounded on her, looming. “My little pet will wear her collar so that everyone present can admire her and know that she is my property. And eventually she will come to know it too.” He smelled of something she couldn’t quite identify – a scent that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

  “Not a chance. I have already fulfilled my obligation.” Artemi unhooked the necklace and thrust it into a pocket as indelicately as she could manage. Her action prompted the slightest of flinches from Morghiad, which was quite satisfying to see.

  “Property, you invite me to

  threaten you again.”

  “Threaten all you like.”

  “There is no way out of this. And don’t think of taking it to the blacksmith. He’s already been warned of lawless cadets trying to melt down valuable jewellery.” Damn.

  “Another twenty sovereigns must go to the poor people of this city.”

  “Eighteen again. And that necklace must be worn for the whole evening.”

  Artemi very nearly hissed. Everyone present at the event would know that she could not possibly afford such a thing, and everyone would know who had stamped his mark of ownership upon her. It was for a charitable cause, she told herself. Her pride could take some damage for the good of others. She was the true winner here. “Those are the terms? The necklace must be worn for the evening, and you will give another eighteen Sunidaran sovereigns to the people of Hestavos, on top of what you have already promised?”

  “Yes.” Morghiad’s sneer was disappointingly evident, sprawling across his face like a giant spider. “You see, you’re just like a whore. All I have to do to force your hand is pay a little money out. I think it is quite a good arrangement for the two of us.”

  “Our battles are nothing compared to the sufferings of those who cannot afford to eat.” Artemi very nearly believed her own sentiment, and strode away from her patron with her chin high and her feet increasingly light. Her hair was still dripping from the somewhat stagnant water that Morghiad had been so kind to douse her with, but an escape from his presence was enough to cheer her. She made her way past the brawling youngsters in the yards, through the

  sand-dusted corridors and into her room. Once there, she could not resist the temptation to try on the necklace before the mirror, but the reflection that presented itself amongst the tarnished patches of silver was not remotely pleasing.

  The necklace was a fabulous spectacle of glitter and red-hot stones across her collar bones, but the woman who wore it was tired-eyed, knothaired and in worn clothing. It did look very much like she had stolen the item, or perhaps was a noblewoman who had fallen on very hard times. The necklace made a rapid journey toward her desk,

  and Artemi frowned at it for some time. There had to be a way out of this mess. There had to be an escape from their agreement. The necklace must be worn for the evening.

  Something did occur to her at that moment. It was a small possibility, but the more she considered it, the more pleasing its outcome appeared to her. Her shoulders lost their tension, her frown weakened and finally she smiled. There was a way out; it was very simple and it would certainly demonstrate to Morghiad who was in control.

  Kalad took another careful step. There were branches and twigs and noisy things everywhere. He had to stay quiet. Inch by inch, he moved his head forward so that he could peer around the trunk of the huge tree. Sokirin forests were vast things that seemed to breed equally vast plants. The trunk he stood at the base of must have reached half a mile in height. It

  was obscene!

  He leaned forward a touch more, and gained a glimpse of the hole amidst the tree’s roots. The heavy scent that came from it was just as he had expected. It made his nose wrinkle. Taking steadier, slow steps, he came to the front of the den. Already he could hear the noises of his quarry. Tiny yelps and squeaks came from within the burrow. Kalad’s eyes took some time to adjust to the darkness within it, but he could almost immediately tell that the mother was sleeping. Tiny bundles of fur scrambled around her.

  A few minutes passed before the cub he sought made itself visible to him. Kalad knew the markings immediately. He reached inside the den, scooped up the pup and brought him out to look at.

  You’re looking a great deal sprightlier than when I last saw you, Danner, he thought at the wolf cub. The animal’s eyes were barely even open, though he wriggled vigorously in Kalad’s hand. Too young to leave the den yet, eh? He placed the cub back with his mother, and carefully padded away before she awoke.

  It was quite unfair that wolves did not live for very long, and that their health would decline at the end of their short years. Danner had shuffled about on wide-set legs in the last summer before he had died, though still he had tried to follow Kalad as faithfully as if he had been a wolf in his prime. It was a good thing that he came back.

  When Kalad returned to the camp he had made, he pulled out the note that had remained crumpled in his coat pocket for some time. It was now weather-worn and battered, but still legible.

  ... for the value of knowledge of his whereabouts, you must pay a visit

  to Gialdin. No excuses, Kal.

  Silar might as well have been his father, but he still insisted upon meddling in everything! How was a man to escape? He just wanted to be left alone! Kalad ground his teeth together. He would go. Perhaps it would be good to see the old general, after all. And his brother and sister. He did miss them a little bit. Besides, Danner would be old enough to rejoin him by the time he returned to Sokiri. Alright, Silar. I’m coming home.

  Artemi regarded the gown she had bought for the Festival of Storms. It was less of a gown really, and more of an overly long, formal dress. It had been the best she could afford with the few coins she had managed to save by repeatedly repairing her own cadet clothing and going a few extra rounds of training with dents in her sword. Fewer trips to the blacksmith really did save a great deal of money, but it had led to some embarrassing defeats. Was this dress truly worth those mistimed parries and unbalanced attacks? And since when had she cared about wearing pretty dresses?

  It had been a strange thing when she had put it on. She had felt important somehow, as if people should listen to what she had to say. Artemi frequently had things to say, but rarely did she expect anyone to listen to her. It was always a wonder when they did.

  Artemi pulled the dress on over her head and buttoned it up at the side.

  It was pure black and made of rough silk – a simple thing really, but cut quite well for her shape. She adjusted her hair slightly, pulling the plaited section down and over her ear. She was ready... as ready as she would ever be to face Morghiad’s wrath and risk losing all that money.

  Artemi grinned broadly as she walked from her room, and she quickly fell into step behind another woman. The woman was Edilea: a minor noble and some would say quite beautiful, but then, so was her jewellery.

  The domed practice hall had not been decorated by anything spectacular, which Morghiad found rather disappointing. Instead, it held rather a large number of lamps and candles. Some burned green, others yellow, orange and blue. This was a festival for the adults of Fate’s.

  Those who appeared to be having the most fun were the sword

  tutors, staff and wielders who had been invited from the city. Morghiad had never sensed so many wielders in one place at a time, and the heat he felt from them was more than a little confusing.

  He forced out a laugh as one of his friends made another ludicrous joke about Master Rollow’s overhanging forehead, and glanced to the huge doors at the entrance to the hall. Artemi was not here yet.

  Another woman walked through. She was pretty enough, with darkbrown curls and bright blue eyes. Her silk dress hugged her body rather well,

  and spoke of some wealth, though not as much as Morghiad had. Ar
ound her neck was a necklace that shone red...

  “What is this?!” He sprang from his seat as red hot fury poured through his veins; his vision blurred and shook. How dare she? It was not hers to give away! He clenched his hands into tight fists, his knuckles growing white with the strain. His jaw hurt from the force of gritting his teeth so firmly together. Oh, he could kill Artemi for this! Slowly and painfully... maybe with some torture as well. What he would give for a loophole to make murder legal!

  Morghiad was about to seize the necklace from the girl’s throat, but his plan was arrested when she walked into the room. Instead, his legs froze and the rest of his body became immobile. He fought to move something, anything, but each of his limbs resisted. It felt as if a form made of solid air had wrapped about him, but he could see no evidence of The Blazes there. His mind was the problem. Artemi was... she... he did not permit himself to fully form the thoughts inside his head. The dress was good, however. He would grant her that. A good dress.

  The start of another musical

  number jolted his muscles back into life, and he was able to begin moving toward her. Her gaze passed right over him as if he did not exist, and she made immediately for the friend who wore the necklace. They started talking as Morghiad approached, and he could not help but notice the way the lamplight played upon Artemi’s skin. It looked impossibly soft, especially the section that peeked out of the deep and narrow V cut into the neckline.

  Her hair had been arranged in the style that Sunidaran women often adopted, with part of it twisted, pinned up at the back and the rest left to hang

  in curls. He was rather tempted to grab a handful of it as a prelude to the fight he was anticipating, though that would be very poorly looked upon by the staff attending. Blasted rules and propriety!

  He started scanning the immediate environment for doors that led to hidden rooms or quieter corridors, but none seemed easily accessible. He would have to rely on more diplomatic methods of thrusting her into the dirt. It was fortunate that his noble blood left him well-prepared for such challenges.

  Morghiad stepped into the circle of the two women and folded his arms.

  Their conversation broke, they turned in unison and stared at him impassively. The girl with the necklace smiled prettily at him after a moment, but Artemi’s features remained entirely straight. He could not read her at all. “You will dance with me,” he instructed. He was rather impressed at his ability to hide his anger from his tone.

  “No,” Artemi said.

  Morghiad was in no mood to argue, and she had no right to deny his request. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. “We dance.”

  Her resistance was, unexpectedly, rather minimal, but she would have been aware of the eyes watching them too, and therefore keen to avoid a fight. Her body felt very warm against him, and the silk of her dress was rather more taut than he had expected. He was still angry, however. “You failed to meet your end of the bargain. Your peasant brothers and sisters get nothing. You’ve deprived them of food. How does that make you feel?” He swung her to the side. It was a valid dance step, if performed more roughly than was standard.

  Artemi made sure to stamp on

  one of his feet when he pulled her towards him again. It hardly hurt. “I fulfilled the terms of our verbal contract.”

  “Which was to wear your collar this evening.”

  Artemi smiled. It was a thin, irritating smile. “You did not specify who should wear it, my lord, only that it should be worn.”

  Had he? He cannot have been that stupid, could he? Blast it. He probably had. Morghiad spun her rapidly. Unfortunately, she kept her balance and thudded back into him with some force. He held her more

  tightly to annoy her. “Very clever, Artemi, but you knew my intent. I’m not sure I feel like helping the needy anymore.”

  She blinked at him, and some real emotion began to show on her face.

  “You have displeased me, property.” But he was starting to feel better now that he had regained a position to argue from. Then again, how much money had he spent on that piece of jewellery? And now it was being worn by some woman he did not know. He pushed those thoughts aside. He had plenty of money with which to

  buy more tools. “You will learn your place. I think I will buy you from your father, and if you are fortunate, use you as a broodmare. One of several, of course.”

  She tripped over her next step, which was more than a little satisfying to observe. “Your wh-?”

  “Do you not want this honour?”

  Her wide eyes quickly narrowed. “Very amusing. Your jokes grow funnier to me with each demonstration of your stupidity.”

  He kept his mouth a straight, hard line. “I made no joke.”

  “Surely you would not want

  someone you described as ugly to produce your offspring?”

  He had not described her as ugly. The word he had used was ‘unusual’. “They would be lesser offspring, yes.”

  Artemi stamped on his feet a second time and arched an eyebrow. “Morghiad, I cannot imagine anything more disgusting than lying with you.”

  “Really? I’ve seen you looking at me as if I were a flank of beef hanging in a butcher’s window. You ought not to objectify me so.”

  She frowned. “A flank that had gone rancid and should not be up for

  sale, perhaps.”

  He pushed her away in a manner that could have been interpreted as a dance move, if a very clumsy one, and Artemi collided a couple behind her. She was forced to mutter her apologies, but not forced to return to him. She began to move away.

  “No.” His steps were fluid, unhurried but sufficient. Morghiad caught her arm and pulled her into the next stage of the dance. “You should be glad for my demands – grateful, even.” The next dance step demanded that he lift her so that the side of her cheek touched his. Morghiad had never

  trained in dancing with Artemi before, though she appeared to have a vague idea of what was necessary. Fire burst out from their point of contact. He ignored it. “Your children would have some very high-quality blood: my superior sword skills, my intelligence, my looks. You would be a fool not to want such things.” He set her down and continued, “You might die bearing them, but that is a small sacrifice to make.”

  “The same that your mother made?”

  “And yours.”

  “What a fine thing you offer me. Death and the displeasure of your frequent company. I decline.” Artemi released herself from his grip and stalked off toward the other side of the hall. There was no reason to go after her a second time, doing it once had led to more than enough energy being wastefully expended. He glanced back to the girl he did not recognise and the glowing, valuable trinket that sat heavily upon her neck. Artemi would realise her place and accept it. She would.

  The world was blue when Artemi opened her eyes. Her head hurt terribly, but she had the distinct feeling that the pain was her own doing. She moved her eyes to the side. Still a peculiar shade of azure blue. The colour surrounded her completely. She extended a hand out to move it, and found it strangely compliant to her will. The blue moved, and bright, white light charged into her face with all force.

  It did not go away in spite of her moans for it to desist. Damn the morning! Damn the sun! Damn the wine that she had drunk! She flopped out of bed and crouched on the floor, hoping that her balance would adjust. This was appalling! Was this how her father and his friends felt after their nights at the bar? Whatever possessed them to do it?

  Once the room had regained some form of steadiness, she stumbled to her desk. Something was happening today. There was something she had to do. Her mind searched blankness in

  vain. What had it been? She ran her eyes across the clutter upon her desk. None of it looked as if it needed to be dealt with urgently.

  Her gaze dropped to the black dress that had been cast to the floor. Dancing. She had danced with Morghiad. Light of Achellon, why had she done that? Oh, blazes! A sudden wave of
nausea took her, and she struggled to fight it off. She could recall how he had smelled, and the rage that had burned fiercely in his eyes.

  The sound of knocking at her door roused her from her hazy memories, though the loudness of it

  seemed more like thunder in the walls. Artemi wrapped a bed sheet about herself and went to meet her visitor.

  It was Edilea. She looked irritatingly jovial. “Hello, Tem.”

  Artemi mumbled a greeting. She was in no shape to pretend to feel good, and did not appreciate her name being shortened by someone she did not particularly like.

  “I... ah... thank you for this.” Edilea held out a shiny, glittering piece of jewellery. “I’m afraid I cannot keep it. It’s beautiful, but... too flashy for me.” She shrugged. “I enjoyed it for the night. You should have it back.”

  No! She did not want the damn thing back! “Did someone ask you to do this?”