City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  She drew close once she had guessed at his intentions, placed her hands atop his and opened her mind to him and the sensation of fire from his skin. Taking Blaze Energy through her, he began to form it into shapes she had not seen before. She now understood the relative tenderness with which he approached the task. It became evident every time she, Jarynd and Passerid crossed paths, whereupon Blaze would be duly ripped from her like the skin from a dead carcass.

  Beodrin had been kind, though, and Morghiad had said he had good reason to show compassion. He lifted her hands from the post, revealing the healed timber beneath. It was quite a marvellous piece of work. They maintained their contact for a few moments longer, both unwilling to relinquish the tumultuous fires of The Blazes.

  Silar paced around the entrance of the tailor’s shop, thinking of how inappropriate it would look to accompany an unmarried servant into such an establishment. Still, he had his orders and so did the tailors. Morghiad had sworn them to secrecy over this... singular... uniform creation or threatened to cancel their army contract. But Artemi was fast becoming the worst-kept secret in Cadra. He glanced at the window and noted some good-looking silks. He could probably do with a new coat or two.

  A tap on the shoulder caught him unawares. He turned to its owner. She smiled at him broadly, hair glowing red in the winter sunlight. Her lips looked very soft and warm in spite of the cold, he thought. “You walk like an experienced assassin, my lady.”

  “No longer a herd of wildebeest? I’m disappointed.”

  He gave her a roll of his eyes and opened the shop door for her, praying that nobody would be watching. At least she’d had the good sense to change into her city clothing.

  The inside of the shop was an eye-watering melange of colours, all piled together in luxurious heaps or draped from wall hooks. It really didn’t look like the sort of place one would find uniforms, but this was where they were designed and fitted. A pretty, golden-haired woman came forward to serve them, but when she noticed Artemi’s attire, she recognised their purpose. “This way, miss,” she said with an appreciable level of respect. The shopkeeper waved at a bench for Silar to take a seat. He did so, and picked up one of the books on a side table for distraction. Evidently male partners were dragged in here often. Ironically, the book in his hand was an abridged version of Chronicles of the Female Warrior. He chuckled to himself quietly.

  Just when he had reached an interesting part about her leading a revolt against a tyrannical ruler who had fallen in love with her, she stepped out from the changing rooms. His eyes had not nearly expected what they came to rest upon. For some curious reason the tailor had chosen to put her into an ivory gown scattered with hundreds, possibly thousands of mirrored shards. It clung to every perfect curve of her body. Her red hair cascaded down one shoulder in perfect waves of flame. She looked like a queen, or possibly how he had imagined a goddess. Or both. Silar stood up quickly and shut his gaping mouth. “..Um,” was all he could get out. He looked questioningly at the shopkeeper.

  The tailor smiled a little. “Well, we took her measurements and found they perfectly matched this dress. It was made some time ago but we’ve never found the right girl for it. Until now.”

  Artemi looked somewhat displeased at the other woman’s comment. “It’s very lovely. But you can’t polish a- ... I mean, to put a commoner like me into a dress like this. It’s a little absurd, don’t you think?”

  Silar took another appreciative look at the dress on her. He knew exactly what the shopkeeper was doing. She had probably sized him up, pun excluded, the minute he had walked in with his fine lady friend. He sighed in exasperation. “Alright then. How much is it?”

  Artemi’s face paled.

  The blonde tailor went to fetch a piece of paper and wrote a few numerals on it. She handed it to Silar. His throat caught when he read it.

  Artemi pulled it from under his nose, scrunched the paper in her fist and locked eyes with him. “No. This is ridiculous. Where am I ever going to wear such a thing? Will I parade around the wash rooms in it? Or take it to... outdoors with me? I don’t even have anywhere to keep it! I forbid you from completing such a transaction.”

  Silar chewed his lip for a moment. “You will wear it to dinner with me.” Then to the shopkeeper, “Let’s settle a price and payment, madam.” They went to the well-worn counter to begin their haggling, where he could feel Artemi’s eyes burning furiously into his back. She did not know what it was to be a man, he thought, when women could rule you just by looking a certain way. It did not matter if he could not have her; he could still admire her.

  Artemi stepped out of the shop in complete silence. She actually looked angry with him for buying her a present. “I buy things like this for women all the time, Artemi,” he lied.

  “Oh?” Her shoulders relaxed a touch.

  He tucked the folded dress beneath his arm. “Well, I like to see them smile. And there is not much beauty in Cadra, so one might as well highlight the few stars in it.” He put on a good grin.

  Perhaps it was working on her. She blushed very slightly and gave him a, “Hmm.”

  “Will you dine with me tonight? I know an excellent chef in the castle...”

  She gave him a pained expression. “I don’t know if this is a good idea...”

  “I’m hardly going to try to sleep with you, am I?”

  She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.

  “Then it is set. Come to my rooms an hour after sunset. I’ll keep your dress there.” He waited for her to acknowledge his request and then bid his goodbyes. He wanted to catch the end of Morghiad’s explanations to the army and possibly save him from a stabbing, if necessary.

  The men were shaken. Some had even dropped their swords and slumped on the ground. Rahake looked around him for some of the more lucid ones. Even they had looks of deep internal reflection. No one could believe it: Artemi was real. And she was here, about to start fighting alongside them. A free wielder. Worse, Morghiad seemed to think she was one of the deadly Kusuru Assassins from the horror stories. The captain had made an excellent argument for her case and Rahake agreed with much of it. They would indeed be better off with her on their side and they would be wise to take care of her in this life, but the idea of a woman fighter becoming one of their brother fighters, or perhaps sister in this case, was difficult to accept. He rubbed at his temple with a large, scarred finger.

  Morghiad still stood at the front of the hall in silence. He could not have known what reaction he would receive. But he had chosen to tell them the truth of the matter. That, at least, was worthy of some respect. “Lord-Captain Morghiad,” Rahake shouted out. “You have honoured us with your honesty. A lesser man would not have chosen such a perilous path. But it is exactly that. How shall we know we can trust her?” He sensed the men nodding in agreement around him.

  The tall man did not pause before answering, “Because I would trust her with my life. She has sworn an oath to protect this country and she will swear the oaths of the army, just as you have. If you still have fears, then know that I and the other kanaala will work to ensure that her power is correctly used.”

  Rahake was satisfied with the response. “And you truly intend to allow wielders to return to the city?”

  The kahr nodded. “I will no longer pursue a strategy of executing or imprisoning them unjustly. Of course, we would continue to deal with any... untoward wielding. Passerid, Jarynd and Beodrin have agreed with me on this.”

  To Rahake’s right, Beodrin shifted a little. He wondered if this had anything to do with the kanaala’s young daughter. Abilities with Blaze could be passed down, after all.

  “And you think she can remain a secret from the king?” came a shout from one of the younger sergeants.

  “Each of you has proven yourself capable of keeping such a secret, you have all demonstrated unsurpassed dedication. I must trust you all with this as I trust you with the care of the city and of the country. I must also trust you with her life. She ca
nnot know of her past until she is ready.” Morghiad stood firm.

  The hall fell once more into silence. Then one man shouted, “With respect, are you doing her, lord-captain?” Quite a few titters erupted, loudest among Beetan’s men. Now, there was a surprise.

  The captain waited for the giggles to die down and answered with a simple, “No.”

  Rahake wondered if the kahr was ever going to please his father by taking a woman to his bed, since he appeared to be doing everything he could to annoy the king. Crown and sword had traditionally had a degree of separation in Cadra, and many believed that the king had made Morghiad captain in order to unify the two. But the kahr had made his position clear enough: he was a soldier before he was the king’s son.

  The young captain spoke again, “All those who are in agreement with this plan, stand to the right of the hall; all those who disagree, on the left.”

  There was some chatter and general milling around, but at length, the entire right side of the hall was filled with men and Rahake was among them. The left side held roughly two-hundred men. One of them shouted out, “You took my daughter.” Another said, “And my sister. I believed I was doing the right thing in letting her go. And now you say she should have lived. If this is right then someone should pay for her death.” A third man said, “Why should this one woman be allowed to live when ours were not?”

  The captain allowed a look of sadness to filter onto his face, which was a peculiar thing to see. “That is something I have wrestled with for some time. I greatly regret what has gone before, but now we have a chance to change things. Today we can stop it. My father is the one who ordered all wielders killed, and we were complicit in it. I will not be complicit in this any longer. Give her a chance to prove her worth.” The men tarried for ten minutes or so.

  “Is this the decision you wish to stand by?” Morghiad pressed.

  Several of them moved to the opposite side. Then another twenty joined. At last, in silence, all men walked to the right side of the hall. Morghiad relaxed visibly and jumped down from the platform. “She’ll swear in tomorrow with the other new recruits,” the captain said as he strode down the empty side of the hall. “Dismissed, men!”

  Chapter 8

  Dark, twisted torrents of black liquid seeped beneath a thin veil in the lowest layers of his mind. Morghiad thought of it as all the anger, the fury, the fear and the horrors he had seen in his life. All of it flowed there, well-contained for the moment, but there was just so much of it. And sometimes it was like trying to control forty foot waves in a tempest with nothing more than a stick.

  He cleared his mind by focusing on the feminine-shaped items in front of him. A warm black short-coat sat atop a black bodice, slashed with a single green stripe. There was also a small shirt, black breeches, a sword belt and some long, leather boots. The clothing followed the style of the army but had been designed to imitate the outfits the warrior was depicted in or described as wearing. And they had to meet the particular needs of a woman’s body, which Morghiad tried not to think of too much. They all looked so small to his eyes - was there really that little of her?

  He leaned back against the grey stone of the changing room screen and lifted her sword. She had taken to it with frightening speed as soon as she had picked it up. He was glad, of course. It would be much healthier for them both if she spent more time training with the other men, now that she was good enough to be sworn in. It also meant she would be better able to defend herself in his absence, and he could spend less time worrying about her.

  Abruptly he felt the air move about him. She was standing in the changing room doorway, hair pulled into a braid which decorated one shoulder. The kahr lowered the sword to the bench and invited her in. “This is your uniform, Artemi. You will have some spare items made shortly, but see how these work for you first. I’ll keep them in my rooms since you do not appear to have much in the way of... private storage space. And you are not to wear it anywhere but this hall and in battle.”

  She nodded quietly, but remained staring at the clothing.

  “Well, are you going to put it on?”

  Artemi looked nervously at the changing rooms. They were quite open, he realised, but when there were only men in there that was hardly an issue.

  “There’s no one here but me. If anyone else turns up early I’ll kick them out. Will that suffice?” They had a full thirty minutes before the first lot would start pouring in.

  “Alright,” she said quietly. She seemed very subdued today.

  Morghiad went to stand at the doorway, back turned to her, and folded his arms. He could hear the rustling of fabric behind him in the near distance. It was a cold day today, he thought, bracingly cold. He could just about see the sky at the top of the enormous windows. By the look of the dark grey clouds, there would be a thin layer of snow on the castle roof soon. It had become colder a little earlier than usual this year, which was curious. He felt a hand at his shoulder, and the rest of her walked to his front before he could turn.

  “What do you think?” she asked with a smile.

  His mind seemed to empty of all conversation. He tried to open his mouth, or move, but could not. She looked exactly as she had in the illustration, with every inch of material clinging to her body flawlessly. Artemi turned on the spot slowly, affording him a look at her back. The breeches were scandalous from the rear. He hoped his men wouldn’t be too distracted by that particular view. She completed her rotation as Morghiad cleared his throat. “Good,” he said. “No, wait a minute.” He set about readjusting two of the buckles on her bodice. “These need to be flat against the fabric, or they’ll make excellent hooks for swords.”

  She gave him a funny look. Perhaps that had been a little inappropriate. Her sword belt was crossed over in the wrong direction, too. He undid the clasp and re-wound it around her, pulling it tight at her hips.

  “As you are right handed, this must be crossed over at your right side. Otherwise you’ll hit the belt every time you try to re-sheathe.”

  If a man was to die, then dying with her as his final sight would surely have been the most agreeable of deaths. He was probably staring at her again. He needed to stop doing that, certainly in public. At least he hadn’t fallen in love with her like some overgrown puppy, which would have been the end of his reputation. It was quite acceptable to find her beautiful, however. A dedicated fighter was still allowed to appreciate exquisiteness when it occurred in the world.

  Morghiad led her to the front of the hall while he thought on his problem. “Do you know what you are to do today?”

  “Swear to follow the orders of my superiors, fight for my country, defend my sword-brothers and generally do everything you tell me to,” she said with an air of affected boredom.

  The kahr grunted. “Speak to your superiors like that and you’ll be in line for a punishment. I’ve let you run too free with your mouth, Artemi. Here you must show respect. These men have made quite a concession in accepting you.”

  She frowned and dropped her head. “I know, captain.”

  Morghiad changed the subject. “While we wait, why don’t we see how you move now you’re more suitably attired?”

  They both drew their swords and began a steady duel. Artemi’s moves were smooth and precise, almost always correct responses to his own. She was unexpectedly strong at times, but still too tentative to really commit to beating him. Out of her dress, the woman was much better at evading his most extended lunges. “Work faster!” he instructed. Immediately she responded, which made the fight far more interesting for him.

  It was not long before they had drawn a small audience of soldiers, and when Artemi almost shouldered into one of them, he decided to end the engagement. He hoped they were impressed with her ability; she was certainly better than the average new recruit. She could probably give some of the sergeants a run for their money if she really pushed herself, and that was after just a few weeks of training. How long before she bested him? Another month? He pulle
d her to stand beside him and waited while the rest of the men filtered in. They certainly weren’t holding back from staring at her. Artemi appeared to be studying the floor closely, unsure of where to look. Four new recruits were accompanied to the front by the sergeants who had been training them. They were young men, but all would have picked up the sword aged seven or eight, and some may even have attended a battle or two as runners.

  With the room filled, the captain jumped onto the stage and bade silence. He always felt slightly embarrassed at this part of his role. “Today we have five new soldiers who will join in the fight for Calidell. Come.” He motioned for them all to join him, and the five hopped up with the fluid movements of athletes to stand in a line next to him. “Kneel.” Artemi and the four men dropped to their knees, holding their swords out behind them. The grey hall took on a deathly silence. The red-haired woman was closest so he started with her. “Name?”

  “Artemi D’Avrohan,” she announced.

  He took both her hands in his, feeling the echoes of Blaze wash through his fingers. “Artemi D’Avrohan, you must abide by the rules of this army. Do you accept?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you swear to fight on behalf of the people of Calidell?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Do you swear to recognise all men in this army as your brothers, and swear to defend each of them should they require it?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Do you swear to obey the orders of your commanding officers, to question only when you have good cause, and never to defy?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Do you swear to keep all secrets of the army within the army, and not to speak of them, even to your kin?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Do you understand that breaking any of these oaths will result in punishment, dismissal, imprisonment or even execution?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are a soldier of Calidell. Find your place with Beodrin’s men.” He released her hands and watched as she rose. She kept her eyes firmly fixed to the floor as she stepped down toward the stocky lieutenant. Morghiad could have put her with Silar, but the man had grown far too attached to her already. Jealousy had a tendency to create problems, and having Passerid in the same battalion would not have been beneficial to anyone. With Beodrin as her commanding officer, the other men would be appeased and she would be kept safe at the same time.