The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  have you around a bit longer, Fevtari. The little ones like your lessons.” He stood, prompting Artemi to stand also. “Better get to it, soldier.”

  Artemi nodded and ran from the room. She could not believe it! Fiftyseven sovereigns! Who in the world had fifty-seven sovereigns to spare for a girl they barely knew! She ran back to where she had been entertaining Linfar with her foolery, but found him absent. Perhaps he had headed back to his rooms or business he had elsewhere. He was the first one she wanted to share the news with.

  She wandered out of the school

  buildings and into the bright haze of the sunshine, past the flashing blades of duelling cadets and the masters barking their commands without respite. Linfar was not in the Porters’ Lodge, or in the food hall. She checked the stables and the grounds around the well, and last of all she looked into the domed gallery. She saw no one there... except... her eyes had observed something.

  Artemi strode across the marble floor with silent feet, toward the store rooms where the weapons were kept. She could hear voices coming from within. Carefully, so that she was not seen, she peered around the edge of the door. Linfar was there, his knots and ponytail undone so that his golden hair spilled down his back. A woman’s hands ran up and down his sides. Artemi knew her as Heline. She stayed only a moment to be sure of what it was she was seeing, and then marched swiftly away.

  Fool, Artemi! She had been nothing but a pure fool! Of course a man would not think of her in that way! No man with a brain would! And to think she had trusted Toryn’s nonsense as if he were the wisest man in the world. Men did not love wielders, they loved people who would not kill them at the first instance of tenderness.

  Stupid, stupid girl for thinking anything else! She stumbled behind the main building where no one would see her, found a shaded corner and slid to the floor. Artemi did not want to cry over such a stupid thing, especially not when she had just received such a generous donation toward her education. But the tears came anyway. Blazes, as if she had not cried enough in the past few weeks!

  Once the emotion was out, it would be out, she reassured herself, and then she would be able to clench

  her teeth together and get on with her life. A moment of weakness was acceptable if there was no one to see

  A shadow darkened the ground around her. She had already been in a grim corner, but now it was black. The smell of the man standing over her was one she immediately recognised. Fresh soap and expensive leather. She met eyes with Morghiad, who loomed above.

  He frowned when he saw her face, and knelt to be at her level. It was almost polite of him. Artemi waited for the tirade of abuse and teasing, but as before, it was not forthcoming. Instead

  he removed a glove from his hand, reached toward her, and brushed a finger over her cheek. His frown lines deepened as he examined the tear he had collected from her. It was as if he had never seen one before, which was hardly a surprise. Artemi doubted that he had ever shed a tear over anything.

  “I have never seen you cry before,” he said.

  She thought of replying that his torments had made her cry into her pillow on many occasions, but decided that such information would be too valuable to him.

  He rubbed the liquid between his fingers briefly, then met eyes with her. “Is this because of your father?”

  It would have been an excellent excuse, but also a shameful lie. “No.”

  “Then why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Artemi stood, wiped her face with the back of her sleeves and straightened her clothing. He rose also, but she did not wait for him to walk with her. Instead she strode past and made for her next training session. She had a life to be getting on with.

  The best part of the day had passed, and yet he could still feel the fiery heat of her tears upon the surface of his fingers. Those tears had burned with the same ferocity as the inferno that raged inside her, and had sang a song to him that he did not understand. He ought not to have been surprised at how they felt, really, but he was taken aback by her mood. It had made him

  feel... it had made his stomach feel as if it had been filled with cement, and his blood ran cold in his veins. He felt ill with it.

  Morghiad had wandered the streets of Hestavos for a time, thinking on how to solve his internal disquiet. It bothered him more than he would have liked to admit, but eventually he came to the conclusion that one of their battles of wits would not be appropriate here. He also realised, with some horror, that a weak opponent was not an entertaining opponent. Artemi was most certainly not entertaining at the moment. She needed something else,

  something that made her smile. Linfar.

  It would have been wilfully ignorant of him to miss the affection that had sprung up between the two of them, doomed though such an affection seemed. Linfar was one of those men, however. The sort that would make a girl giggle idiotically by offering her nothing more than a wink. He had no social standing to speak of, but then, that was probably why he and Artemi had struck an accord. Such a man would be well-placed to restore her to a suitable condition for battle.

  Once back at the accommodation, Morghiad sought out

  Linfar’s room. It turned out to be empty, but he decided to wait outside it. It was late in the evening, and there would not be much left to occupy a cadet’s time with the lessons finished and the gates about to close. Morghiad waited... and he waited. After more than a couple of hours, he heard low voices echoing along the hallway. They were headed toward him.

  “... I don’t think she knows about it, either,” said one of the voices. The other chuckled in response, and it was enough to prompt Morghiad to take cover so that he could listen to their conversation.

  “I swear to you, Raffa, three at once! Heline doesn’t know anything about Kelia, and Ulena knows nothing about Heline.”

  “Ulena? You’re seeing her too?”

  “Oh, she’s spirited. Don’t dismiss her,” Linfar said with mirth in his voice, “and I think her friend likes me too: Artemi.”

  “That wielder? Are you mad?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll chuck her down the well before she tries anything.”

  Morghiad had heard enough. He departed in silence, shadows beginning to prowl about him. He was not afraid

  of them this time. He was far too angry for that.

  When the morning came, he performed all of his usual duties, and made his first stop at the Porters’ Lodge. The men there each inclined their heads with proper respect, which he appreciated. They seemed to be the few people who knew how to properly behave in this country. There was a note in his pigeon hole, written in Edilea’s hand. Damn. He already knew the contents he would find inside.

  I waited. I shall not wait again.

  Consider our association terminated.

  He had completely forgotten about her. Idiot! Morghiad sighed through gritted teeth, crushed the letter and cast it into one of the bins. He had other business to deal with today, more important matters. His next visit was to the school medic for an assessment. He was measured, prodded, poked and checked for injuries that might not have healed in the correct positions, or pinhfilled wounds that he might have picked up on the streets. Morghiad tried to explain that he did not engage in such fights, but the medic ignored him. It

  was announced that he had grown taller since his last assessment, which he already knew about, and that he was in top condition for a soldier. No news there.

  Morghiad dressed and left for his next appointment, which was with his horse. He checked the animal over carefully, rode him out and saw that he was properly exercised. After that, it was time for a little sword training in the main yard. Gilkore was marshalling the duels, which meant that there were few rules. It was just the sort of situation Morghiad despised and Artemi loved. He was pleased to see that she

  was there, and looking as if she had returned to her former, stone-built self. Her opponent was frantically trying to fend her off, whilst Artemi attacked with lazy, graceful swipes. It w
ould not be like that if she faced Morghiad, of course, but their battles had been strongly discouraged over the years. They tended to become very heated, very quickly.

  “Lord Calyrish,” Gilkore said, not looking away from the fight he was marshalling, “You’re on Holvinn today. Get to it.”

  Morghiad’s plans changed in an instant. Linfar was a fair swordsman,

  but not skilled enough to present much of a challenge. He would get his justice early. Morghiad smiled broadly, and went to find his opponent.

  They started out in a very standard manner, thrusting forward without too much aggression and parrying when required. Morghiad feigned disinterest, and even boredom at one stage, just to ensure that the battle was drawn out as long as he wished it to be. Linfar took the fight very seriously. His expression was determined, his brow was soon coated in sweat and his moves were driven at the expense of far too much energy.

  There was no sign that the women he dallied with had crossed his mind during the fight, and that only served to fuel Morghiad’s anger even more.

  It was time to intensify proceedings. He added more speed to his swipes and cuts first, keeping a check on their force and watching carefully for Linfar’s reaction. The blond fool blinked at the increase in pace, but was not yet on the defensive. Morghiad added more speed to his movements, and began to dance about his opponent. He dodged left, feinted right and kept his feet moving. Linfar’s response was rushed and miscalculated. He overextended, missed Morghiad’s blade and swept his weapon into the air. It would have been an easy mistake to take advantage of, but Morghiad bided his time.

  He permitted the mistake as if he had not noticed, and began to add greater strength to his strikes. His opponent started to fall back. One slash caused Linfar to stumble, a side-swipe loosened the blade in his hand, and an up-thrust prompted another mistake. His eyes widened in surprise. It was time to pounce. Morghiad hurled as much force as he could through his weapon for the final strike, and

  knocked Linfar’s blade spinning from his hand. Then, throwing his own sword down, Morghiad launched himself at the now-quaking man. Linfar tried desperately to defend himself with punches, some of which connected, but Morghiad was considerably faster and much stronger.

  ceased their fighting to look at something. Whatever it was had distracted her partner too, who was now staring over Artemi’s shoulder. She called a halt to their fight and turned to see what was going on. A crowd had formed around the spectacle, and some of them had even started cheering. They were all too tall for her to see beyond, burn them! Artemi pushed her way to the front, and in the midst of the clearing were two figures wrestling with each other. They kicked up sand and knocked blood from each other as they fought, but it was clear that one of

  them had the upper hand. His jet hair was woven into a thousand tiny braids, and his rapidly weakening opponent’s was... golden blond.

  She twisted round to look at Gilkore for some sign of his calling a halt to the fight, but the captain’s expression only spoke of amusement. He lifted his right hand, and popped his smoking cigar into his mouth. Blazes alight! Artemi turned back to the fight.

  Linfar was completely on the defensive now, but Morghiad gave no sign of ceasing his rain of punches. His fists were growing bloody, and Linfar was losing consciousness. The fight

  was already won! What was he doing?

  “Stop!” she called, but her voice was drowned amidst the noise of the onlookers. “Stop it!” Not for the first time, she tried to reach for The Blazes, but found them utterly resistant to her pleas. Linfar had lost all consciousness now, but Morghiad still had not lessened his attack. Artemi had never seen that expression on his face before, an expression which looked like something beyond fury.

  The shouts were beginning to die down as she ran toward the pair. Artemi lunged forward to arrest the fight, but her first attempt earned her a

  swift elbow to the ribs and a shove to the ground. Undeterred, she went for something more aggressive, this time throwing all her weight at Morghiad’s side to dislodge him. It worked, and he fell back into the sand. His eyes burned with pure hate, but she ignored it.

  “What have you done?!”

  He blinked, and something about his expression lessened in intensity.

  Artemi crawled over to Linfar, who face was broken and barely recognisable. One of the cadets had come to attend him.

  “Blazes, is he dead?” she whispered.

  “He’s still breathing, just,” the boy said.

  Morghiad had already left when she turned back to address him, and she doubted very much that he would receive any kind of punishment for his actions. Gilkore simply did not see the world in the same way as the other sword masters.

  She remained with Linfar as he was carried back to the medic’s office, and sat beside him while he was examined. Artemi still felt like a fool next to him; she certainly did not owe him her time, but she had the slightest feeling that she was somehow

  responsible for his current condition. There was no way that Morghiad could have known about Linfar and Heline, or even any reason why he might have been bothered about it. But Morghiad did enjoy causing Artemi upset, and attacking a man she had clearly liked was one way to go about it.

  Linfar awoke briefly, and mumbled several things that were unintelligible. Although his features had healed well and in their proper places, his mind did not appear to be functioning as it ought to have.

  “Is this normal?” Artemi asked.

  “He’ll be unable to care for

  himself for some time,” the medic sighed, taking a sip of his tea. “Some of his skull has been forced into his brain. I’ve seen it before, once or twice. Better to lose an arm or a leg.”

  Something snapped in Artemi then. It was enough. She gritted her teeth together and stood as if she had a rod of iron for a spine. Even though she could not wield alone, she felt as if the fires of the world burned inside her now.

  She paced out of the office, through the school and into the men’s accommodation. She did not care if anybody saw her enter, and seriously

  doubted that anyone would be able to stop her. Laiarala, a female cadet and wielder, had been caught visiting one of the men here once, and their relationship had become quite the scandal at Fate’s. Relationships at such a young age were not looked well upon in normal society, and severely punished if discovered within the school. No one had seen Laiarala or her kanaala since.

  But Artemi was not here for love, and hardly the first girl to cross the forbidden threshold. She knew exactly where to find her quarry’s room, and was quite pleased to find his

  door open and the man inside it when she arrived. He stood when she walked in.

  Already he had removed his coat and washed most of the blood from his hands. Some of it still stuck to his shirt sleeves though.

  “Linfar will not recover for months!” she began, “You have done some abhorrent things to me over the years, Morghiad, but this... this time you have gone too far!”

  He stared at her, expressionless and unreadable.

  “Don’t you feel anything? Don’t you – care about anyone except

  yourself? No one else deserves to be drawn into our battles. No one!”

  Morghiad kept eye contact, but made no move to speak. He was infuriating!

  “You disgust me!” Artemi had no more to say to him, and his refusal to communicate with her was only stoking her fires. She stalked out of his room and back the way she had come.

  “Tem – Artemi?” His voice was unusually quiet behind her, but steady. She hardly had the time to listen. No doubt he had manufactured an excuse he wished to twist her mind with, or find a way of making her feel as if it

  were all her fault. Burn the man! Burn him in the hottest fires of Achellon!

  He sat for some time, alone and in complete silence. His plans did not usually go so wrong, or at least, not like this. When he viewed his reflection in the mirror, he saw a man with black hair and hollow eyes, a ma
n who was always close to failure and still closer to becoming a monster. He had thought to apologise to Artemi, but that did not feel like the correct thing to do. True, he had not anticipated quite the reaction he had received from her, and yet he could easily anticipate her reaction to any of his utterances at that moment. “Sorry,” would have prompted an explosion from her.

  And Linfar... Artemi was right that he did not particularly care about Linfar’s condition, not after the way that man had cut through Artemi’s armour. His property! She was his to cut through when he wished! And Morghiad did not have much respect

  for anyone who promised their heart to multiple women at once, even if some of them were peasant commoners. It was dishonourable.

  Morghiad did feel guilt, however, at having beaten an opponent senseless when that opponent could not properly fight back. Linfar had been like a child with a wooden sword compared to him, and the thought galled him each time he considered it. He had to make amends.

  He finished bathing, sought out a fresh change of clothing and made his way to the medic’s office. “I want to help,” he said, looking at Linfar’s