City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  Thick, chestnut curls of hair framed her face and flowed down the centre of her back. Her features were dark, punctuated by full, red lips while her gown of gold silk had been made specifically to highlight her impossible waist.

  The kahr maintained his stony posture for a moment and then nodded, his face displaying neither pleasure nor disdain. He took her hand and led her to stand opposite his father. The king boomed, “My son will dance with the Lady di Certa!” He motioned to the band to begin, where soft notes rose from their instruments and both men were obligated to draw their partners close.

  Artemi’s eyes remained entirely on Morghiad and Lady di Certa as they stepped about the floor. For all the man looked like a pile of immovable rocks, he could move gracefully as a river. The music flowed between slow waves and fast attacks. With each quickening of pace the pair would come close, Morghiad pulling her waist against his hips. When the strings slowed she would glide around him in a rather predatory manner, sometimes arching her back while she leaned from his hand. The lady matched his steps well, though she did not quite have the same discipline as he. The dance was hypnotic and curiously passionate in its apparent modesty. Artemi privately wished that she could do the same, though the idea seemed utterly ridiculous.

  When the music came to a close both couples bowed and the crowd around began a rapturous applause. Lady di Certa appeared to be breathing quite heavily following her exertion. Morghiad, as usual, was utterly unreadable. The band struck up again and most people in the hall resumed their chatter. A few of the bolder nobles began to dance themselves, which only served to obscure Artemi’s view of the royals. She looked back down at the table. Her cloth had made a small pool of water where she had held it aloft for so long. She wiped it up, hoping that no one else had noticed, but a blue-clad woman immediately slapped a tray down and almost crushed Artemi’s hands in the process. It was time to move onto the next table, which appeared to be even grubbier than the first. She got stuck into its surface with renewed vigour.

  “Follocking apples! Why would I want a bloody apple?” came from the nearby crowd. A waiter carrying a tray of fruit stood aghast. Before him, an orange-haired guard swayed and gesticulated.

  “Where’s the booze, man?” He leaned towards the servant. “Too much fruit gives me the fear! I demand to have some wine. There must be some here...” The guard staggered over to a table covered in glasses of tanno wine. He knocked a few over as he reached for his desired vessel. Artemi swallowed, realising his coat bore the four green slashes of a lieutenant. Was this behaviour really acceptable for an officer of Calidell? The lieutenant downed his glass with gusto and then eyed the servants lining the tables. His eyes came to rest on Artemi.

  A slow sneer worked its way across his ruddy face. He stumbled towards her and wavered upon unsteady feet. “Well, hello there. Did it burn when you rose from the fires of Achellon?” He belched horrifically. And then winked.

  Artemi withdrew towards the wall, unsure of how she should respond.

  He continued to slur, “My name is Beetan. You’re the sweetest thing I’ve seen all week. Not that I’m allowed to have you.”

  Artemi stiffened – surely he couldn’t know?

  The orange-haired man went on, “The captain says we’re not allowed casual women anymore. Not that there’s anything casual about you. Arf!”

  Artemi smiled weakly and curtseyed. He did not know. “Thank you, Lord Beetan. You are too kind but I’m afraid I must continue with my... less-than-casual duties here.”

  The man swayed for a bit and then leaned towards her, hands hitting the table in front of him. “Oh you do, do you?”

  Just then, another black-coated guard caught his arm. “I think we’ve had enough, don’t you? Let’s leave the poor girl alone, eh?” It was Lord Forllan. Artemi actually felt relief at the sight of him.

  Beetan screwed his face up, took a final, appreciative leer at Artemi and then wandered off into the cloud of guests. The blond lieutenant gave a small bow and gripped the hilt of his sword. “Good to see you again, Artemi. I hope my friend has not offended you. He can be a little... coarse, but he is well-meaning once you get to know him.” The lord displayed one of his winning smiles. It made Artemi’s stomach feel light, but Olivin grabbed her arm at that moment.

  She pulled it away instinctively, sharply even, and his mood did not improve with her reaction. “Stop idling, girl, and get back to work. You’ve been standing here like a bowl of melon soup for nigh on five minutes! Don’t think I haven’t noticed!”

  Lord Forllan coughed softly. “Actually, I was just engaging the young lady in conversation. I see these tables are well-attended. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed her from you for a short while?”

  Olivin’s round face reddened considerably. “Of course not, my lord. Forgive me for not observing you there.” He bowed profusely and backed away from Artemi as if she were a heavily armed foe, and promptly resumed his frantic orders.

  “Will you step out from behind there for a moment? I should like to speak with you, if I may.” Lord Forllan’s eyes seemed to burn into her.

  Artemi was anxious. She knew that he was not kanaala, but she also knew that whatever conversation they were about to have could not end well. He was terribly pretty, though. Devastatingly so.

  “I’ll meet you at the end, there.” She gestured to the last table.

  Lord Forllan inclined his head and began to walk, level with her, to the other side of the room. There were numerous obstacles to navigate on both sides: he encountered large clumps of somewhat inebriated guests while she had to dodge wild servants and blazing hot trays. At last they met at the far wall.

  “You moved round those people with much grace, my lady. I am most impressed with your agility.” He bent his left elbow so that it stuck out sideways from his trunk, still holding his hand behind his back. “Will you take my arm, Artemi?”

  Did he want her to cut it off? “I’m not sure I follow...”

  His brow furrowed a little. Then he nodded to a couple standing a few yards from them.

  “Oh,” she said with some embarrassment. Artemi placed her right hand in the crook of his arm and they began to walk along the back of the hall.

  He examined her as they meandered through the gaps in the crowd. “You have never been in the Malachite Hall before?”

  She realised she must have been gawping wide-eyed at the surroundings. It was incredible, so vast and so... weighty. Artemi met his stare. “No. I have not. My father’s rooms are, of course, closely appointed in terms of grandeur but I’m afraid the decor is not nearly so... green.”

  Lord Forllan laughed. “Nor so poorly lit, either, I’d wager.” He brought them both to a standstill next to a grey mirror lined with a striped, bright green stone.

  Artemi felt encouraged. “This place is rather like a cave, don’t you think?”

  His eyes were very blue. “I fear great beasts will rise from its bowels, some days.”

  “Did I not just meet one, Lord Forllan?”

  He smiled again. It was a fine smile. “My name is Silar. I call you by your first name so it is only fair that you should do the same to me.”

  “As you wish, Silar.” When she uttered his name, the strings started up again, this time playing a much livelier tune. A great harp plucked in time to the theme and three men now stood on the dais, dressed in grey satin coats. One of the men was considerably larger than the other two in terms of width, and Artemi could just make out that he sported a neatly trimmed, dark beard. The other two were also dark-haired but close-shaven. Each man grinned at the other before the largest opened his mouth to sing.

  The quality of the sound that came from him was unlike anything Artemi had heard before. It was like velvet: smooth and rich, deep and soft. He hit each note with perfection for one verse and then gestured to his companions. The smallest one reprised the song, the power of his voice taking her by surprise. Then the tallest one sang a verse, and his voice was equally beauti
ful, though with quite a different tone. The three sustained a rising note together with winks and grins at their audience, and the band filled with an echo of their previous chorus.

  At this point Artemi remembered to breathe. How could anyone do that with their voice? And was the larger one chewing tree sap while he sang? The singers commenced the second verse, teasing each other with their skill. The bearded man drew admiring glances from his colleagues as he sustained a range of notes on a single breath – a breath that seemed to last for an eternity to Artemi – and the assembled guests went wild with applause at it that only died when the singers began the final verse. At the end they took the last notes in unison, fighting to see who could sustain for the longest at the highest volume. The hall erupted in cheers and clapping once they had finished. Artemi joined the applause with enthusiasm, but the singers commenced their next piece as if they had not heard it. The new song was just as lively and fine, so much so that their audience clapped along to the music, if rather badly.

  Silar watched Artemi as she closed her eyes and drank in the music. She was truly something to behold. And clever, too. He wanted very badly to touch that hair of hers. Her eyes flicked open and looked to him. Those were very deep and dark eyes, but filled with fire. A man could light his pipe in them.

  “I see that you like The Three Cathenas? They are very talented. There used to be four but one left to join the Cadran army and become a lieutenant. Apparently he’s very good-looking.” Silar raised his eyebrows and grinned at her.

  Her cheeks dimpled again with her smile. “They are a wonder to listen to. Tell me, can you sing as well as you charm women?”

  “Alas, my charming and singing days are over. I am speaking to you purely as a man would speak to a woman who was forced, on a daily basis, to wash his linen.”

  “Are you suggesting that I do my work under duress?”

  “Is there any other reason you’d wish to remove my clothing?” Silar felt very bad about letting that one escape. That was very naughty of him, indeed. Artemi was blushing furiously, and she rapidly looked to the floor. From here he could smell the Cadran soap upon her clothing, and he inhaled it as subtly as he could.

  “Forgive me, Artemi. I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

  She flicked her eyes back to him and then looked out at the room.

  He continued, “Something puzzles me. Can you tell me what it is that the laundresses flavour their soap with? I’ve never been able to work it out.”

  “Purple wisp-root,” she said without hesitation, “It grows only on the plains surrounding this city; nowhere else in the world. Or so I’ve read.” A servant that read books? There was more to this woman than her cheekbones.

  “I see. Thank you for enlightening me.”

  Artemi’s gaze was following a couple that stood close to the king. Silar recognised Morghiad as one of them, but the lady was clinging to his arm. The kahr would not be enjoying this sort of event at all. “You find him attractive?” Silar ventured, not really wanting to know her reply.

  “No. He doesn’t seem to have any humour in him at all. I was looking at the woman.” Artemi smoothed down her skirt unconsciously.

  Silar briefly enjoyed his victory and reappraised Morghiad’s latest admirer. “I don’t know her very well. What is it that fascinates you about her?”

  “Is she not the most stunning woman you’ve ever seen? She is... perfect.”

  “No. She is not,” he responded, “Remove the paint from her face and the pretty gown from her body and she’s as ordinary as the rest of them.”

  Artemi shook her head in disagreement. The red head didn’t seem to be aware of her own looks, which deepened Silar’s appreciation for her all the more.

  “Artemi,” he began, “would you see me again? I’m not out to seduce you. Well, not yet. I mean... it wouldn’t have to be... like that. It would be nice if we could talk again. Like this.” Silar tried to quash his nervousness, though he was not sure if he had succeeded.

  The smile left her face as if harried out by a monster, and her eyes lost focus. “I can’t, please forgive me.”

  “Have I been too forward? I realise you’re still very young. I’m sorry about the clothes comment, I can’t help myself somet-”

  She cut in, “No, it’s not that.”

  “You already have a young man. Of course you do. I should have guessed as much.” Silar failed to hide his disappointment.

  Her expression was pained. “No. There’s no lover. I just can’t meet with you like that. I fear I have done too much already. I must go.” She released his arm and walked quickly back through the crowds.

  Silar followed her, calling for her to wait before he caught her arm. “Has someone hurt you? Let me help you.” He would be very angry if someone had laid so much as a finger on her!

  “No. I am fine. I do not need your help. Thank you all the same.”

  He watched her stride purposefully to the other side of the hall. The woman was a puzzle to him. Most were, of course, but she was a completely different flavour and several times as infuriating. Perhaps a chat to the ‘humourless’ kahr would help him work out what was wrong with his technique this evening. Bouncing an unknown off a known could sometimes produce an answer.

  Perhaps she just found him ugly. That was perfectly possible, though he was confident he could usually charm a woman into not running away from him. Silar approached Morghiad and Lady di Certa, who was gazing up at the kahr like a lost child. Morghiad, on the other hand, seemed transfixed on a stone in the ceiling and interested in little else.

  The lady was as Silar had expected at close range. She could easily be described as pretty since her lips were good and her waist was a nice size. Her breasts weren’t too bad. Unfortunately, much of her looks appeared to have been drawn on.

  “My lord.” Silar bowed a little.

  The kahr’s green eyes snapped onto him. “Silar, I hope you are enjoying yourself.” Morghiad somehow managed to convey his displeasure through his monotone voice and expressionless face. He was the only man Silar knew capable of the feat.

  He smiled in response: “And who is this beautiful lady accompanying you tonight?” Silar bowed to kiss di Certa’s free hand.

  “My name is Aval,” she purred, “I understand you are Lord Forllan. Is it true that you once fought an eisiel?” Eisiels were horrible creatures, soulless men sent to assassinate their targets and then kill themselves. They had no care for pain, honour or how their goal was achieved. It was sometimes said that they were the ordinary men who had slept with a wielder, had not quite died but had lost their minds as a result.

  Silar grimaced. “I fear many reports of that incident are somewhat... exaggerated. He was mostly dead already; I just finished him off.”

  Aval looked thoughtful.

  Morghiad broke the silence. “It was already confused - lost, perhaps. But though it might have provided a more considerable challenge for any other swordsman, it was very quickly dispatched by our lieutenant here.”

  Surely Morghiad was not trying to play that sort of game? He was not going to get away with displacing the lady’s attentions that easily. Silar cleared his throat and brought the subject onto something else. Was Aval staring at his thighs? “Morghiad, I need to discuss a matter of security with you. Would you mind terribly if I drew you away for a short while?”

  Morghiad looked to Aval for approval. The man really was pathetic around women for all his captaincy and sword-wielding and serious faces. Silar would have to give him some instruction on the matter.

  Aval released her prize with reluctance and melted into the crowd behind, and Silar could almost smell the relief on his friend.

  The kahr eyed Silar for a moment. “What is it? I can tell from the grin you’re trying so desperately to hide that it’s not security.”

  “There’s this woman-” Silar began

  Morghiad rolled his eyes, though nothing else on his face moved.

  “Don’t look at me like that
. She’s different.”

  “Really? They’ve all been different. Silar, it’s only been three weeks since you did away with the last one! I can’t afford to have you lose your position in the army. I need you to keep your promise, of all people.” Morghiad actually looked a little angry, if that was possible.

  “And I shall. This woman - it’s not the same... Every other woman appears ugly in my eyes now. I didn’t even know what true beauty was until her arrival. More than that - she’s witty and intelligent and we have a real accord.” Silar felt weak. “I want to be with her. I could... well, marry her.”

  “Are you sure you’re not getting carried away?” The kahr’s face appeared to have softened a touch.

  “I think I’m in love with her.” The words fell out of Silar’s mouth before he could stop them.

  Morghiad remained quiet for a moment, examining his friend’s eyes closely. “I see. And you need my permission?”

  “No. I need your advice.”

  “I’m hardly the most knowledgeable in this area.” He looked about at the swarms of noblewomen.

  Silar followed his gaze, were there more here than usual? “You’re better at understanding people than I am. She is warm toward me but... she is afraid of something. She won’t tell me what it is.”

  “Perhaps she is afraid of becoming involved with a well-known womaniser?” Morghiad almost showed a smirk. Almost.

  Silar pulled the sort of face he hoped would sufficiently convey his displeasure and innocence. He wasn’t sure if it had worked. “No. She had this look of fear in her eyes. And sadness. I asked to see her again and she couldn’t get away fast enough, saying she’d gone too far already and needed to get back to cleaning tables or something. What does that mean?”

  “She is a servant?”

  “She looks like a queen among these pale imitations of women. You and I both met her a few weeks ago. Auburn hair. Her name-” Before the lieutenant could finish, Morghiad had grabbed his arm and was dragging him out of the hall. Silar knew to stay quiet - when his friend behaved like this there was usually good reason for keeping one’s tones hushed.