Voices of Blaze

by H. O. Charles

  “Ah… yes, of course. Well, if everyone else… Irfam it is then. Just for an old friend.”

  Morghiad nodded in approval. “I’m honoured. And good to see you again, Valizia. All quiet at home now, I trust?”

  She arched a dark eyebrow. “Peaceful as a lake, thank you for asking. A shame you do not have your wife with you-”

  “She could not make it. Have you met my son, Kalad? He is to lead the negotiations on behalf of Calidell.” Morghiad gestured for his youngest to join them, and he did so with an expression as stern as Morghiad had ever worn.

  There was a moment where the other royals assessed him or nodded with grim-faced politeness, before Valizia returned her attentions to Morghiad. Odd, he thought, that she had always managed to wear her hair in a manner that made it appear as if she never brushed it. “You are aware there are rumours about what you have done to your wife. Some whisperers say you have murdered her.”

  “Murdered?” He could not help but blink in disbelief.

  Valizia’s thin mouth became tight. “My kanaala tell me her stream dried up some months ago - something that only happens when a wielder dies. And yet you have not informed us of her death here, and we are all cognizant of your… banishment from Calidell some years ago.”

  “Artemi is not dead.” Morghiad growled back. The creatures rattled away inside him. Throttle her! they rasped. Make her silent! And worse, his hands itched to do just that. He was losing control. “Calidell and I are friends. My wife is… all I can tell you is that she will return soon.”

  Irfamsis toyed with one of his moustaches as he said, “And yet Calidell has sent us this… young man.” He looked Kalad up and down. “Why is the brother of Calidell’s queen here instead of the woman herself?”

  “There is much for her to do in Calidell,” Kalad responded in a voice as cold as the Fordan mists.

  “Indeed. Your family are not known for your long reigns, are they?” Irfam’s reply was directed at Morghiad rather than Kalad. They were already trying to marginalise him, make him fight to be heard. Morghiad could only hope that the skill he had once seen in his son would be enough to carry him, and Calidell, securely through this. Irfam continued, “And this boy – this is the one who ran away, yes? This is not the son who loved you. Tell me, young Kalad, what is your relationship with your father these days? I cannot think what it would take to come to terms with an attempt on your life from the man.”

  Fury exploded in Morghiad’s body, setting alight his bones and blood with a heat that was fierce enough to raze his chill. Kill him! The monsters roared. Kill them all! Morghiad’s hand began to reach for his sword, but Kalad caught it discreetly by the wrist.

  “We are close enough to be cordial, but distant enough to be rational.” Kalad spoke with a voice so composed that an earthquake could not have unsettled it.

  His tone was instantaneous in its effect, and the creatures of Morghiad’s mind retreated back into their abyss. The royal creatures also appeared to pause for thought in that moment; Kalad had impressed them. By smoke, perhaps he could do this!

  “But you, Morghiad,” Irfam continued as if he could not see that he tiptoed so close to his own death, “Perhaps Hirrah is the only country that will have you now.”

  Queen Dorinna’s velvet voice answered for him, “The young Lord Calyrish is a friend of Sunidara, and we are proud of that relationship, just as we are proud that Sunidaran blood runs through the veins of the Jade’ans. Be careful, Irfamsis, or you shall make yourself an island before the talks have even begun.” That was a foolish thing to say; the talks had already begun, in an unofficial sense.

  “Is it his friendship you like, Dorin, or his pretty eyes?” Parfal asked with a smirk, but she did not permit the woman to answer. “Morghiad, don’t you have some words to say in honour of your old adversary?”

  Alas, he did. I lived and you died. Roll in that, Xarrelsar! He suppressed a chuckle. Blazes, but he was thinking more like Artemi than ever! Morghiad summoned some sensible words to say aloud, but hesitated. “Is our host not joining us?”

  “Queen Irannya is attending to other matters,” High Priestess Parfal said, smoothing down the white silk of her dress. Morghiad had not noticed until now, but it displayed far more of her figure than the one she had worn yesterday. “She has more royal bodies to find beds for than there has ever been need in the history of this castle. Though at least she can be thankful that Calidell came with such a small retinue.” She smiled warmly, perhaps too warmly, at Kalad. “My niece has instructed me to be her ears on this occasion.”

  Petty, Morghiad thought. Very petty. Irannya had many reasons to despise him, but more reasons to keep the Calyrish family happy. The Hirrahan queen might have been the most likely to have offered Ulena fabulous sums of money to kill him, and she was arrogant enough to think that such a strategy would work. But to upset one of the wealthiest families in her country – a family that had funded several of her wars - making enemies of them could have unseated her in a moment.

  “Very well.” Morghiad cleared his throat, and began, “I come here not to make amends, or to pretend that he and I might have been friends. We were enemies because of the borders we had been raised to accept were real, and that the land was ours and no one else’s. We took our men to war out of our belief in borders, and our acceptance of death. We fought because of the things we feared losing, and the things we hoped to gain. Fight to save what you love, never to destroy what you hate, I was told many years ago. At the Twenty-Third Battle of Cadra, Xarrelsar died a warrior, a lead-”

  “You’ve said enough,” Valizia interrupted, “You were doing brilliantly until the warrior part. Everyone here knows he was an idiot, a poor leader and his men paid the price for it. Quidarh knows it, Kemen knows it and so does every other man and woman of intelligence, except for his blazed queen. Save your words and play your part when you do your merry dance in front of her, but know that you need dance for that queen alone.”

  He sighed quietly. Perhaps he did still have friends, or more accurately, one remotely honourable person who pretended to be a friend. At least this public shaming was over. For the hundredth time he was reminded of his standing. He had so little power to wield. “Thank you, Valizia.”

  She nodded in acceptance.

  “We all have preparations to make in advance of tomorrow’s talks,” Parfal said, displaying no obvious reaction to the words that had been used to describe her nephew and niece-in-law. “I know I must consult with several of my advisors again, and I’ve no doubt that you will too. At least, those of you who have advisors.” The priestess inclined her head and clicked her fingers. “Tomorrow,” she said, before departing with her entourage of blue-cloaked and scale-armoured guards. Morghiad suspected that every one of them was kanaala. How useful a resource like that would have been for Calidell! Quidarh was almost certainly dripping with wielders and kanaala, and Morghiad recalled hearing of a breeding programme there to produce more. If true, a gateway like the one at Gialdin would have made a great prize to them.

  Morghiad regarded Kalad, and knew that similar thoughts would have passed through their minds. Parfal wanted a Jade’an for a husband out of these talks, and would likely give up a great deal to get him.

  “Lord Calyrish,” Queen Dorinna said, approaching once the others had left, “Would you care to walk with me in the gardens a while? I would like to know more of your time in my country.” Her pale eyes glittered at him beneath their full lashes, and her delicate fingers were clasped before her. Blazes, but those ravenwood curls of hers did catch the light of Xarrelsar’s brazier very well.

  Queen of the Night and Shadow, whispered the monsters in his head.

  “Alas, I have work to do,” Morghiad said, shoving the monsters back into their den. “Perhaps another time.”

  “This evening then?” Dorinna persisted.

  “Ah, I’m afraid I cannot. Another time.” Morghiad bowed politely to her and departed the memorial with his son.
/>   “It’s not your time in her country that she’s interested in talking about,” Kalad said softly as they walked away.

  “Don’t, Kal.”

  But Kalad did. “She’s very, very pretty.”

  “I love your mother. She is prettier.”

  “Admirable,” Kalad said with a snort. “Which one do you think sent the assassin?”

  Morghiad shook his head. “I don’t know. Could have been any of them. Trust no one. You did well today.”

  “I barely said three words, though evidently I’m better at holding my temper.”

  “The words were perfectly pitched, Kal. That’s what matters.” He paused and turned to his son. “My weakness has always been my family. It is the one thing that they can use to provoke me beyond reason, and they know it well. You have proven today that you cannot be exploited in the same way, but they will be looking for other ways to rile you. If such vulnerabilities exist, you must not let them see it.” Kalad had his mother’s adventurous spirit for certain, but was also capable of being cool-headed. Distant enough to be rational, as he had put it. Morghiad might once have thought that aspect of his nature was something he had handed down, but this went beyond any of Morghiad’s attempts at dispassion. No, Morghiad had long ago given up believing he was capable of making decisions untainted by emotion.

  Kalad shrugged. “Silar said something similar to me once. Why isn’t he here? He could have had this mess fixed and the documents signed in an hour!”

  “I agree; he could. I wish I knew where he was.”

  “Did you have fun with all your old friends?” Qeneris asked when they returned.

  “More than I could bear,” Morghiad replied. “This is going to be trickier than I had first feared. Times have changed; friendships have changed.”

  Yarrin Calyrish grunted in agreement. “It must be hard knowing they have witnessed your time as a king, and that they now witness you in your new position.”

  We are more powerful than kings, the voices sang in his head. It was almost musical. “As long as I have enough influence to prevent them all from running home tomorrow – that has to be enough. There will have to be marriages.”

  Qeneris and Kalad looked between each other, but they had to have known that would be inevitable. Once, Morghiad might have told his son only to marry for love as he had done, but now there was too much to be gained from alliances. Perhaps Morghiad was nothing better than a hypocrite for it, but this was to save lives. And if Kalad was willing, did it matter all that much?

  “As long as she’s not got the face of an eisiel,” Qeneris said, “And tell your royal friends I like redheads. After Edilea was so cruelly stolen from me, it is only fair that I should have one of my own with hair born from fire.”

  Morghiad chuckled. “You may have to do some persuasion yourself in that regard. Perhaps you can find one you like the look of before the talks start tomorrow, brother.”

  “Good plan.” He nodded rapidly. “Come, Kalad, let’s see what’s worth bargaining our lives away for.”

  “Ah, I… cannot,” Kalad said. “I need to… work… on this.” The discomfort in his voice was obvious.

  Qeneris’ mouth turned down at the corners in disapproval. “Suit yourself. See you all at dinner!” And with that, he trotted into the red hallway, silver symbols clicking and flashing in amongst his lidir.

  Morghiad’s father and step mother departed soon after that, and Kalad returned to their chambers with the Calyrish guard accompanying him. Morghiad had decided to visit the palace library before he was forced to think any further about peace treaties. It was not research he wished to do, but relief he desired to find. Not even Hirrah could rid itself of books about Artemi Fireblade without erasing half of its own history.

  He soon happened upon a text that described the Dirusian attack on Asterid. It had happened over a thousand years ago, at a time when Artemi had chosen to aid the Asterin queen in her battles. Fire consumed the scarlet castle, the book said, and took with it a hundred-thousand Dirusian soldiers, never to be seen again. Morghiad’s mind drifted for a while, and he recalled the first time he saw Artemi’s blade of fire. How bright the light from it had been, and how terrified the citizens of Cadra were! He was reminded of the castle they had found in the caves, and the long-lost sword within it. For a single person to have enough power to move all of that…

  Our power. Our fire.

  It was hard to believe he had regularly enjoyed every ounce of that power coursing through his veins until very recently. He did miss it.

  Morghiad reached inside his pocket to touch the Blaze bundle again. It was a necessary thing to have, even if it risked feeding his monsters and their addiction. Besides, Morghiad was better at dealing with that now, and Artemi would not be long gone. She would not.

  “Lord Calyrish. If I may be so bold?” A familiar voice said from above him. Morghiad had not even heard its owner approach.

  “Oh, it’s you again,” he said when he saw the Kusuru, “Should have known you’d be here. What do you want?”

  Dorlunh kept his hands firmly clasped at his back. “It seems that some of these leaders are quick to offer you kind words and friendship, but do you know what they say in private?”

  “I was a king for long enough, Dorlunh. I know politics.”

  “No. You knew war. Everyone was so scared of you they crept and listened and obeyed. That is not the case here and now. You have no Artemi and you have no army. Your daughter is but a newborn babe of queens. Let me help.”

  Morghiad exhaled heavily. Perhaps… perhaps this man could be useful after all.

  The cavelet was dirty again, but Artemi could not be bothered to clean it. Her clothing lay strewn about the floor and there were piles of empty taqqa boxes in every corner. Her head swirled as she rolled out of her hammock, but then, she could not remember the last time she had taken the Water of Illumination. Where was the light when one needed the blasted thing?

  Artemi crawled to the door on her knuckles, partially aware that her wings were dragging along the floor behind her. Well, what would a few more holes matter? She punched the door open and stood upright so that she could properly beckon a servant. “Fetch some more taqqa… whatever-your-name-is. I shall take it on the roof. Now.”

  “But Commander, there’s none-”

  “Then find some. Beat someone up for it if you have to!” Artemi waved the pup away and staggered up the stairs. She had to find a way back to her family. To Morghiad, and to… to… what was her name again? Midora? Mindeya? And the boy? Artemi shook her head. Their names didn’t matter anymore, just that she had to get back to them.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened onto the cone-shaped roof of her home, and from there she could imbibe the sights and smells of her city. It had once been Ravendasor’s house, of course, but he was long gone. Everyone died eventually.

  Artemi knew the memories of her old life were failing her, but the ones she had forged in this world had remained fresh these last thousand years. She still recalled the first time she had bedded Rav, and the guilt she had felt after it had happened. But he had been good to her, and his wings had been the shelter from the world that she had needed. As good a mraki as any woman could have hoped for.

  She collapsed onto her back and gazed up at the fog that swirled in the heights of the cavern. She should have grown some babies up there with Rav. He had wanted that much, and the injra he had found had been a sweet thing – more than capable of the task, but Artemi had told him no. She could not even remember why now.

  “Ho!” There was the sound of air moving beneath great wings, and of claws landing upon the stone rooftop. “Commander,” Jakdor said.

  “What is it?”

  “I challenge you. Your rule is piss on my feet. You are despised worse than pintrata shit, and the city starve because you make them eat nothing but rotten meat.”

  “Fine. As you will.” Artemi clambered to her feet. She could not help being stronger, better and
undefeatable. It was their own fault for having such a stupid system. Artemi took a deep breath and readied herself for the punches, but instead Jakdor withdrew a long, shiny blade. It was a… what was the name for it? A sard?

  He threw it at her to catch, and withdrew one for himself. As Artemi turned it over in her hand, she realised she could not remember what to do with it. “I don’t underst- how am I to…?” She looked from the blade to the winged creature. “Who are you?”

  “I am who you need me to be,” he said, and Artemi began to weep.

  She awoke, shaking and cold and with her heart thumping hard against her ribs. Blazes! How much of that had been real? Her eyes immediately locked onto the possessions that lay piled up in the corner. There weren’t very many of them, and she could recall where each had been acquired. Only here a few months at most.

  Artemi’s shoulders relaxed. Her family would still be alive, and with any luck, Morghiad would not have forgotten her yet. She pulled the blankets more tightly across her mottled limbs and settled her head back into the hollow of the hammock so that she could rock herself to sleep. She had to return to the Darkworld somehow, but how? Not even taqqa had provided her with an answer, which reminded her, she was hungry for it again. She would have to make another visit to Rav.

  Her need was greater even than the comfort of her bed, and so she slid out of it to dress herself. Blazes, a thousand years in that dream! Even if she found a way back to The Crux and the Darkworld beyond, she could not expect the Law-keepers to allow her to pass unhindered. Worse still, their brief battle had revealed just how weak her powers were in comparison to theirs. It ought not to have been that way, not since she had combined Brindon’s energy with her own. How had he managed to put the three crones into manacles and kill the others?

  Blazes, it could be another ten-thousand years before she was permitted to return to the Darkworld! Would Morghiad remember her after all that time? Kalad and Medea would be long-dead by then, forgotten even by the oldest of histories. Artemi scrubbed the thought from her mind immediately, though the memory of it still twisted in her gut like a poison dagger.