City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  Artemi idly wondered which of them was the best at kissing, or would hold her the tightest - which man had known the most women and which the fewest? Her eyes came to rest on the man at the head of the group and immediately recognised him as Lord-Lieutenant Silar Forllan. His blond hair hadn’t been cut in the time since she had seen him and had taken on a somewhat wild appearance. Some stubble was visible along his jaw. He was still a beautiful man, though. A shame she could not pursue him. Not that she had wanted him to pursue her, or make her into one of the army’s whores. No, it was just that with the choice removed from her, she felt increasingly aware of what she had been forbidden. He would probably be disgusted at the sight of her now, anyway.

  The blond lieutenant turned his head suddenly, looking directly up at her. In fright, Artemi darted sideways from the window and pressed her back against the wall. How could he have seen her? She would barely have been a speck from where he was standing... but his eyes had seemed to meet hers. Perhaps Morghiad had informed him that they would be there. It was possible, but Silar’s reaction had seemed more reflexive than that of a man checking on something he knew was there. The end of the far-scope, she realised, was glass. It must have caught the light from one of the street lamps. Blazes! She had to get out of there before he discovered she had been spying on him.

  She launched herself through the weighty door of the store room and sprinted back to the gate. She did not relish the thought of running the prisoners’ gauntlet again, but there was not much choice. They began their chorus of chanting and whooping at the sound of her. Artemi ignored it as best she could and locked the gate behind her. Head down and hood raised, she ran between them until she hit the opposite exit.

  The door opened easily, and she threw herself down the hallway and to the stairs. She waited a moment, listening for footsteps of anyone approaching. There was no sound. Artemi padded down the steps as quickly and as quietly as she could manage. She did not want to alert the guards at the bottom gate. The five floors seemed to stretch into eternity below her, steps never ending - until she turned what she hoped was the final switch in the staircase, and was met by the sound of men talking. One of the voices she recognised as the bluff guard, the other was Silar. There was nowhere she could go, certainly nowhere to hide. She pulled the hood as far over her head as it would go and dropped her head.

  The sound of keys jangling and the creak of metal hinges told Artemi the gate beyond was being opened. Her heart quickened and she half-forgot to breathe. She relaxed her shoulders as much as she could and began to place one foot in front of the other. She had just been to visit her brother. She was no one, just a visitor. Silar would have no cause to examine her closely. She continued her steady walk to the exit gate and clenched the far-scope tightly in one hand, feeling the air move with his approach. Two dully polished boots stepped into her field of view. They stopped there, directly in her path, and were clearly unwilling to budge. Artemi froze but stayed silent.

  “Show me your face, woman,” barked the hitherto charming Silar.

  She winced. This was going to be very awkward indeed. Slowly, she raised her eyes up his shins, to his thighs, past his sword belt; up to his chest, over his rigid mouth and finally to his big, deep, blue eyes. They widened on recognition of her face.

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed in a low voice.

  Artemi could not very well tell him the truth with the other guards nearby. “I was just here to visit... someone.”

  Silar’s eyes narrowed before examining her attire more closely. “Did Morghiad give you that?” He gestured at the far-scope.

  She really ought to have done a better job at hiding it beneath her cloak. “Yes,” she responded.

  “Hmm.” He frowned and studied her for a while longer. He seemed intent on making her feel as uncomfortable as possible. At last he spoke. “Come with me.” The lieutenant turned and walked back to the gate, proceeding through and back to the chill air of the city. There were no invites for Artemi to take his arm this time.

  They walked a little way into the crowds together before Silar engaged her in conversation once more. “He really ought not to leave you unattended.”

  “Well, yes. I might very well blow this whole bloody place to smithereens with a yawn, after all.” It fell from her mouth in jest, and only upon saying it did she realise that probably had been his concern. Why did she perform these pathetic attempts at wit around him?

  Silar gave her a confused look and then smiled to himself. “I understand he is teaching you swordsmanship.”

  “He’s doing what he can. I fear I am a difficult student.”

  “And is he taking good care of you, Artemi?”

  “Er... yes. I believe so. As good as a rogue... you know - can expect to be taken care of.” She folded her arms in front of her.

  Silar gave a faint smile, only vaguely reminiscent of the full ones she’d seen at the feast day. “Many people find Morghiad cold or distant. Sometimes they’re right. Though he has taken to some more risk-taking behaviour lately, including you. We may yet see a change in him. But my previous offer still stands: if there is anything I can do for you, you need only ask.”

  Artemi was glad for his outreach. She put her hand out to him, but he did not take it. “It’s simply a hand, I can’t do anything with it except the normal things that hands do.”

  He looked at it suspiciously.

  “It won’t harm you, I give you my word.”

  The blond man compressed his lips and took her hand in both of his. His face appeared to relax once he found he was still alive. He met her eyes. “There is always something dangerous about any part of any woman, believe me. Well, I should be off to organise the scrum that will make tonight’s guard.” He squeezed her hand gently. “No doubt I’ll bump into you again. Oh, and stay away from the king.” With that he turned and walked back to the perimeter of the city.

  Artemi stared after him for a little while. He had a more than acceptable bottom on him. She clenched her jaw. Teasing herself with these thoughts was not going to help her situation at all! She began to make her way back to her father’s house to return the cloak, which thankfully had not suffered too badly from the prisoner’s assault. Her mother had left few things behind, and her father would not appreciate the loss of any more. Artemi pulled the cloak tight around her, and thrust forward into the cold.

  The spindle towers of the castle whirred with the winds that blew through them. They were incredible constructions given that no Blaze Energy had been employed in strengthening them. There was usually a team of climbers re-pointing one of the towers at any time, but Morghiad could not see any from his vantage point in the central spire. He leaned farther out of the window to examine the roof of the castle below, noting where the chimneys poked their finger-like funnels through. They were a few-hundred feet below him, but still big enough to be discernable from the tops of the light wells. He turned back to Artemi, who stood calmly in her blue servant’s garb, managing to make it seem like a noblewoman’s. It had been odd seeing her in brown commoner clothes yesterday, though the dullest shades of brown somehow complemented her hair admirably. Like autumn leaves in ancient woodland.

  “Come here,” he requested.

  Artemi moved toward him quietly. She was making much less noise with her walking now. It was a good sign that she had adapted it naturally, but a touch more training would not go amiss. He guided her to the window and pointed out the chimneys. “We need to sense where the blockages are in order to clear them. It is best if we do that from here. We can then fix them from inside my chambers.” He hoped she had the intelligence to ask the most pertinent question.

  She looked out of the window. “It is not safe to wield from here though... and what about wielding through the entire network of flues? Will we partition the whole lot off?”

  Good girl. “Sensing with Blaze does not involve proper wielding. Remember how you could see the energy in everything, just when it was trapped inside
you?”

  She nodded. “So we’ll be able to feel where the chimney fill meets the air. But when we come to clear them from your room, how will you and I remember where the blockages are?”

  The kahr was beginning to wonder how much of her intelligence was governed by hidden memories. “That is something wielders and kanaala have a particular ability for. And yes, we will have to partition the chimneys as well. That is why I’ve sent the other kanaala out of the city. They wouldn’t feel it, but there’s always a chance they could see it.”

  He picked up her hand and threw himself into the flames that poured into his body. Acting as a conduit for her power was similar to clutching at rays of hot light: at first they strove to burn him in pure fire and were slippery to catch, but once he’d made that initial connection, The Blazes would actively seek him out and their heat turned into something far more benevolent. Currently Morghiad could absorb all of her power safely, but it would not be long before she outgrew him. Then, if he became greedy, it really would burn him to a cinder. For the moment he revelled in the beauty of it, imbibing more than he ever had before. “Can you feel the entire castle now?” he asked.

  Artemi looked drunk... or sick. “I can feel the whole city. And beyond.”

  He reached down inside all of the chimneys he could see from the spire. Their swirling mixture of hot and cold air was confusing, but still markedly different from the stone that lined them. He dove further into the flues, hitting a few fires along the way, until he reached something solid. Soon after, more blockages presented themselves. “Memorise each one,” he instructed.

  She looked distant and it was a while before she replied. “There’s so much...”

  “Stay focused. We need to find every obstruction.” As soon as the words passed his lips he felt her pulling at the power he held. It took some effort to fend her off. “Not that focused!” Clearly she thought paying attention meant using him as her personal wielding tool. She would have to learn what she was doing before her abilities surpassed his own.

  They found hundreds of fills in the flues, stretching down for several feet each. Whoever had done this had certainly gone at it with all swords brandished. The search had revealed that all the chimneys from the cellars terminated in the central portion of the roof, which would make re-discovering the obstructions much easier. It was time to fix them. With some regret, Morghiad released Artemi’s hand, causing her to blink as a measure of lucidity returned to her eyes. The kahr found his voice. “Could you see them all?”

  “Yes. I think it was concrete. And bones. Were there bones in there?”

  Morghiad nodded. She was learning quickly. “The person who ordered this didn’t like servants much.”

  That drew a sour look from her.

  “Let’s return to my rooms.” He opened the door and checked the stairway below. It was important they were not seen together, and though he had specifically planned for the route to be clear of guards, he could not account for other servants or wandering nobles.

  The spiral staircase was filled with cracked masonry and patched bits of dark stone, studded by polished brass ties. It wound down and down through weak lamplight, where even the arrow slits had been filled in. There was no one down there. He descended the steps with an assassin’s walk; Artemi’s skirts rustled above but she was otherwise quiet.

  Morghiad checked the hallways at each junction, keeping Artemi an excusable distance behind him, though she did not seem to appreciate his efforts at all. Her face appeared darker than ever. Fine if the court thought he was bedding a servant in private, not appropriate if they thought he was walking about with her in public. He supposed a commoner from the lower city would not understand such etiquettes. The kahr stopped at the penultimate junction before his rooms and signalled for her to wait. The corner was sharp, but no sound came from beyond. He walked through, motioning for the woman to follow. Just as he reached the end, he heard the sound of rustling clothing and Lady di Certa came around the corner immediately ahead. It was too late for him to turn back and stop Artemi; Aval was advancing on him with surprising speed. He had to leave the wielder to come up with her own plan of concealment.

  “My lord,” Aval curtseyed deeply. “I hope I find you in good spirits.”

  Morghiad laid his hand on his sword hilt. How to get rid of her quickly? “Very good. Thank you, my lady. Unfortunately I have some urgent business to attend to, and cannot stay to chat.” Morghiad glanced back in Artemi’s direction. She was on her hands and knees, pretending to scrub the floor.

  Aval came closer to him.Much too close. He could see every detail of her face, and smell every smell. “That is a shame,” she purred. “I was hoping we might retire to your rooms for some... reading.” Her bosom was almost touching him. “I hear you like to read, my lord.” The lady began toying with her hair seductively.

  He cleared his throat. “Apologies. I must decline your kind invitation. My duties cannot wait.” He gave her as neat a bow as her proximity would allow and walked around her, toward his rooms. She did not smell as well as Artemi, he remarked to himself as he walked on. Abruptly, the sound of Aval’s angry voice caught up with his ears, followed by a dull thud and Artemi crying out. Morghiad wheeled around, drew his sword and ran back to the women. Aval was nowhere to be seen, but Artemi was hunched over and holding her side.

  “What happened? Are you injured?”

  Artemi’s face was twisted with anger. “She kicked me! That bloody woman... ugh!”

  “Oh.” He re-sheathed his sword and assessed her. It was nothing serious.

  “Oh?” She gritted her teeth. “I see that assaulting a servant is perfectly acceptable, especially if it comes from a beautiful lady with enormous breasts!”

  Morghiad couldn’t stop it this time. A smile escaped. And then a laugh. He managed to temper it back to a smile, but Artemi looked stunned. All of the anger had drained from her face and she was staring agog. It was peculiar to see her almost unreadable. The kahr brought himself back under control. “I can’t very well avenge you. Let’s go.”

  The pair made it back to his chambers without further event, where Artemi remained entirely silent. Occasionally she looked up at him as if he had become a mad man, or perhaps as if he had sprouted horse’s ears. He would have given his best sword to know what she was thinking, but dared not ask. Once inside, Morghiad seated her on the armchair and took up the hard desk chair for himself.

  He delved once more into The Blazes with her, savouring its energy like the most perfect of sword moves. Lining the entirety of the servants’ chimney network with a partition was exhausting, but the reward soon came in blasting out the material blocking them. Artemi’s eyes came alight with the force of it, and Morghiad had to admit it was somewhat enjoyable. Blockage after blockage was vaporised, sending dust and fragments rattling through the flues. Once done, they slowly peeled back the partition and, at last, Morghiad released his hold on her. She collapsed back into the armchair. In truth he felt like doing the same.

  “I suppose you’ll want your cloak back now,” she breathed.

  “You’ll need something to burn first.” He straightened and crossed his legs at the shins.

  Her dark eyes locked onto him. “You’re not going to make me produce firewood out of the air, are you?”

  “No. I’ll use more traditional means to obtain that.”

  Artemi chose not to enquire further. She closed her eyes as if to sleep and folded her hands atop her lap. Her face assumed a sort of peace that could transcend time, and wars.

  The kahr rose from his chair and dragged it so that it was next to Artemi’s, rousing her from her temporary slumber. Then he went to his shelves and pulled out a flat, polished wooden box. The red-haired woman immediately recognised its contents and curled her legs beneath her so that she was at a better angle to face him. Morghiad laid the box out on the arm of her chair and began to arrange the will-die pieces in their starting positions. “Now,” he said, “Do not make this too
easy for me.”

  She gave him a fiendish grin and named her first piece: “I name The Kahr. It’s always a good one to sacrifice first.”

  Chapter 7

  The cold marble piece slid thickly across the soft grain of the wood beneath Artemi’s fingers, until it came to rest beside a darker stone. With an engineered flick of her wrist, she knocked over the king piece and took the throne. She decided not to wallow too long in her glory; there was the matter of maintaining one’s honour in victory. Over the last six days they’d completed ten rather involved games of will-die, and Artemi had won seven of them. Of course, Morghiad had not reacted in any way to his defeats, or his triumphs. But on this occasion he gave her a frown. It was small and transient, but most definitely there. Mentally she added it to her list of his expressions. The list was not long, since the only other entry was that smile he had unleashed a week previously.

  That reaction had knocked her estimation of him a great deal. Her re-evaluation was not due to his peculiar sense of humour which, incidentally, seemed to involve her being injured, but rather it was induced by the way his whole countenance had altered. The statue, for an instant, had become animated. Perhaps more disturbing, in its incongruity, it had been so striking and so warm that even Silar’s best smiles would have paled beside it. That, she did not like.

  “You are a challenge in many ways, Artemi,” said the green-eyed man. She was not entirely sure if she should have been flattered or offended by that. He swept the pieces into the board, folded their fine box and replaced it on the shelf. There was something about his stance that caught her attention, something different. The man was as straight-backed as ever, with the apparent relaxed ease of a confident man used to getting his way. Beneath that exterior were undercurrents of a swordsman’s tension: always alert, always listening closely to his environment. This time there was a new element to his movements that she could not quite pin down, and it did not feel... positive. Had she worn him down? Perhaps he was used to people letting him win. “I find you a worthy opponent, my captain,” she ventured. That much was true; no one else had ever made her work as hard to win as he had.