Morghiad grunted in agreement and collected his sword, before drawing it partially from its scabbard and examining the engravings at the top of the blade. Artemi might have had the skill to use it in her past lives, but she would need something better-suited to her height and hands while she learned. Having a woman’s sword made would be a difficult secret to keep, though that would be a conundrum for a time in the future. For now she could train with
a cadet’s wooden practice sword.
He slid the blade back into its casing and hooked it onto his belt. Caala was still hurrying around the fog of pure, white sheeting when he strode into his bathing room and thrust his face into a bowl of water. It could probably do with a wash.
After a minute or two, Caala presented herselfat the doorway and announced that she was ready to leave. Morghiad roughly scrubbed the water from his features with a towel, and proceeded from his rooms with the servant.
The pair wondered down the wide galleries, hallways and, eventually, tunnels of the castle without urgency, the taller man eating the ground with easy strides and the shorter woman swaying at her measured rate. Caala
maintained her silence until she reached the entrance to the cellar steps, where she rounded on him like a mother would do to an errant child. Her tone did not quite match the image, however. “Excuse me, my lord, but... I’d always thought you were a better man than this. Better than the rest of them.” Her shoulders remained stiff. “Artemi’s a good girl, my lord, but her looks can get her into trouble. She doesn’t deserve-”
Morghiad felt his eyebrows demand that they should rise about three inches up his forehead and immediately set about arresting them. “I am not here for that.” He compressed his lips a little. “Could we please continue?”
Caala harrumphed but said nothing more, turned and continued down the steps.
The chill of the underground caverns
worked deeper into his clothes with each yard he descended, and the tunnel seemed to become more enclosed. Some of the lamps had either been extinguished to save fuel or had been left to burn out altogether, which left the steps perilously dark in places. This would have to be fixed.
The gritty treads wound round another full circle before the light of the main cellars filtered in, and Morghiad was glad for his cloak as he observed his breath misting in the biting air.
The servants’ vaults were quiet presently, and the only noise was the low chatter of some distant inhabitants. That was odd - he was sure he had been told by one of the sergeants that they were a noisy place to visit. Two blue-clad, male servants squatted to
the side of the main chamber, eyeing him closely as he walked past. Royalty ought to be something of a rare occurrence down here.
Caala rolled ahead of the kahr, leading him through a curved arch in the sculpted mud walls. He found he had to stoop considerably to avoid hitting his head, as the chambers appeared to have been carved by a species of incredibly short people. Conditions inside the rooms curtailed his idle thoughts, however. Every fireplace sat empty or full of dust, many of the floors were damp, few candles illuminated the darkness and scant, tatty belongings lay in each tiny cell. At least the people in the poor quarter of the city had some privacy. There was none of that here.
He couldn’t help but feel as if his heart had sunk even deeper into the earth.
Morghiad kept his silence and his eyes to the ground as he followed the large woman, twisting through the rooms of sleeping maids. Finally, Caala slowed her pace and motioned for the kahr to wait. His tarrying place seemed to be someone else’s chamber, which made his feet itch. From the next chamber came the sound of Artemi’s voice and the rustling of skirts as Caala made some quiet explanations.
The serving woman moved aside, and Morghiad was permitted a view of the room beyond. Inexplicably, he had expected it to be different from the others, but it was the same: cramped, cold and bare. Artemi stood before a rumpled red blanket and curtseyed gracefully. The soft glow of the chamber’s two candles illuminated her features enough to demonstrate that she was attractive, or at least pretty enough to make him swallow hard.
He hoped neither of the women had noticed his reaction, and stepped forward, nodding to Caala as she made her departure. Morghiad moved to take a seat on the floor of the hollow, and beckoned for Artemi to join him when he saw that she was hovering uncomfortably.
“I was not aware that the servants lived like this,” Morghiad said, examining the compacted floor and the two battered books that lay upon it. A wilted rose lay just beyond.
“I’m sorry I could not provide you with a more impressive reception, my lord.”
Morghiad was unable to fathom if she was being humorous or simply lambasting his ignorance. He suppressed his confusion as much as possible. Such things hardly mattered.
“There is no need for this ‘my lord’ business. ‘Captain’ is the rank I work for, if you really must use a title. Ranking officers in the army call each other by their first names. Perhaps you will be a part of that one day.”
Her eyes widened a little. Of course, she would not yet know that she greatly outranked him in terms of experience and birth, many times over. It seemed utterly ridiculous to have a hero of legend call him ‘my lord,’ though he would have to be cautious that he did not treat her in a manner different from the others. Morghiad continued, “Why are all the fireplaces empty when it is so cold here?”
Artemi looked longingly at her own grating. “No one can afford to buy firewood, and even if they could, the chimneys were filled many years ago.”
Morghiad nodded and considered the problem. Firewood was cheap enough to obtain, but unblocking the chimneys would be more of a challenge. The flues from a network like this could extend for mile upon mile. He would have to consider a more inventive solution to this... inhuman situation. He rubbed at the stubble that had formed under his chin, and recalled that he had not shaved before coming to see her. “I have come here to ask that you commence your duties with me as soon as possible. You must come to my rooms tomorrow. I have an afternoon free.”
Artemi’s brows twitched and her eyeballs bulged from her head. She struggled to keep her speech to a whisper, “Do you want everyone here to think that we are lovers? Either keep your voice down or choose your
language more wisely. Captain.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “And as for visiting the cellars like this, it is something your men stopped doing very recently. I haven’t slept so well in months! Do you think this is a good example to set them?”
Her outburst had been restrained, but it made his muscles want to tense from discomfort. He had not considered any of this; he was always terrible at social situations with women. It just had not occurred to him at all. “It may serve you better if they think you are... if we...” He cleared his throat. “I’d rather they thought I was... with you.”
She folded her arms in frustration. “And how this reflects upon me - did you consider that? I suppose I don’t have the right to any self-respect after your... discovery.”
Morghiad kept his voice low. “I’m sorry, Artemi. I was concerned about your absence and marched down here without a second thought. There is no reason for my concern, I trust?”
Her face softened visibly, though she kept her arms folded. “I made a commitment to help clear through the laundry from Gialdin Day. It’s taken longer than expected. It was not a commitmentI could easily escape from. No one has... troubled me.”
“And what of Silar?” Morghiad felt a touch of guilt asking that question behind his friend’s back, but it had to be asked.
Artemi blinked in surprise, and it was possible her cheeks reddened slightly. It was hard to tell in the low light. “He approached me at the feast day. I spoke to him for a minute or
two. There was nothing more.”
“There must not be anything more. He is a good friend and otherwise intelligent, but he is an utter fool around women.” Especially pretty ones, he thought. If she tied her hair back it wou
ld be less noticeable and draw less attention, though now that he thought on it, it would probably only reveal more of her blasted, handsome face. Morghiad stayed as calm as he could, and pushed his internal conflict aside. “You will find other passions in your life. I am sure of that, Artemi.” He hoped that sounded reassuring; it was what he had promised himself, after all.
She gave him a weak smile and huddled against the wall.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “I fear what is to
come.” She was shivering.
“That is a feelingI know well. Here.” He unhooked his black cloak and put it around her shoulders. “You can give it back to me when the cellars have heating once more.”
“You think you can fix this?” Artemi pulled the thick fabric around her, savouring its warmth.
Morghiad immediately felt the cold air of the underground seep through the thin material of his summer coat. He ought to head back to his rooms before he regretted giving away items of his clothing. “I will do whatI can, my lady. It may take some time,” he warned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She gave him a nod and a sweet smile.
Morghiad rose, bowed and made his goodbyes. He was fairly sure he had
memorised the route through the cellars accurately. Perhaps Artemi would come and rescue him if he wasn’t in his chambers tomorrow, or perhaps not...
Artemi’s eyes flickered open in the dim sunlight that oozed from the ceiling well. She gazed down at the cloak that covered her shoulders. It was incredibly warm, and had clearly been made to fend off the winters of the highest Kemeni mountains. The kahr had shown appreciable kindness for a man carved
from the very masonry of the castle. She ran her fingers through the soft fur lining and over the rich, green embroidery at the edge. She could not quite establish what the outer fabric was; though it was light as silk, it appeared to be tough as chain mail. Artemi fought off the urge to remain wrapped in its warmth for the full day, and sat up on the bedroll. She folded the cloak inside her red blanket in the hope that it would be concealed from covetous eyes, and began to dress herself.
She wondered if her neighbours were gossiping about her, or if Caala suspected that she had gone against her word. Wielding was something she would have to lie about, but then... how was she supposed to explain their relationship? Friends might suffice, and a shared interest in reading could easily have
brought them together. Given the kahr’s manner and complete absence of interest in women, it was believable.
She was getting better at lacing her own bodice when Caala was not there; it was almost as tight as the other woman could tie it! One just needed to hold one’s breath for a little longer... She knotted the cords at the base of her spine, perhaps too many times, and ran a comb roughly through her hair.
Her walk through the cellars came with only halfthe chagrin she had imagined. A couple of the other linen girls gave her a sly wink, but most kept their eyes to themselves. He had not been in her chamber long enough for them to assume much had happened, she supposed. Perhaps the gossip would not be so troublesome as she had feared.
There was some time left to tackle the remains of Gialdin Day washing before her impending appointment, and she intended to do her best with it. Besides, she needed to bathe, and jumping into a spent washing barrel would be just the thing.
Artemi’s arms had turned pink from the sting of the soap, and though the skin would recover within a few seconds, it was irritating nonetheless. The darkening light wells in the linen room told her that the sun had passed its zenith at least an hour ago; it was time to attend to Kahr Morghiad.
She shook the fine silk underskirt, still soaking from the water, and placed it on the drying rack. Some very fine clothing had passed through her hands today. A part of her enjoyed handling the silks or gossamer dresses and imagining how it would be if she could wear them, and earlier she had shared her dreams with the other girls while they bathed in the soapy vat. Her hair was just about dry from that now.
Caala had given her stern looks all morning, though no words had passed between them. That had been difficult to bear, and the woman almost glared at her as she made her leave taking, which was more than a little uncalled-for.
Artemi stepped out of the steam-filled room, and the cave-like tunnels echoed with
her footsteps as she walked towards the captain’s chambers. The castle had taken on a much quieter nature of late, which was something she relished.
She stopped short of the giant moth sculpture in one of the larger corridors. It was truly a hideous thing, and its artist had even gone to the trouble of depicting the hairs on its back. The granite statue stood at least as tall as she did, and its wings were spread only partially so as to distinguish it from the beauty of a butterfly. Millennia of servants rushing past had seen the carving sustain a few chips here and there, but it still retained its imposing character.
Artemi moved on quickly, and soon she reached Morghiad’s door. She raised her hand to knock, only to have the door opened
before she could complete the action.
“You walk like a newly shod horse,” was the welcome from the kahr, “You ought to learn to walk like a Tegran tiger. It would serve you better.” He stood back from the entrance and waited as she proceeded past him.
Whatever was wrong with her walk? It was how she had always walked. How many different ways of putting one’s foot in front of the other could there be? She decided it would be wise to keep her silence rather than balk at his comment. He had allowed her to live, after all.
Morghiad pushed the door shut and seated himselfupon a plain wooden chair that he had positioned before the worn armchair. Artemi hoped he had moved it there with some subtlety, since he was not the sort of man to
have visitors.
He motioned for her to sit before him, and studied her for a moment. “There are a few things I must explain to you before we begin training. Some of these things you will have heard from hearsay, some you may have read about. Some of it will be true and some of it will be nonsense.”
Artemi nodded.
“What you wield is not a part of you. It does not come from you, but through you. It will, however, take a considerable amount of your energy in controlling it. You will require a great deal of discipline given the amount of Blaze you have the potential to wield. Until you are twenty you will not be able to do this yourself. You will need me to wield it for you. When we do use Blaze it must be kept within
the confines of this room, it must be a small amount and a partition must be set up. The partition will veil your wielding from the senses of any nearby kanaala. Blaze Energy is controlled by means of manipulating its shape, intensity, speed and vibration...”
Morghiad continued with his list of instructions for some time, but the lack of emotion or emphasis in his voice made it intensely difficult for Artemi to concentrate. She hoped that she had picked up the most important pieces of information from his preamble.
“...And that is why wielders can only bed kanaala and why women generally do not survive the birth of a kanaala,” Morghiad finished.
What had that been? She had missed
the last explanation completely, and found herself staring instead at a band tied around the upper of his arm. She hoped that a nod and smile would suffice for her response. If he were not such a lump of rock it would be so much easier! No wonder he had never taken a lover; the man appeared utterly incapable of sentiment. Perhaps that would be something she could teach him in return for his lessons. “Do you have any questions, Artemi?” She searched the insides of her mind, hoping that what she was about to pull out had not already been explained. His green eyes burned into her, and they appeared to have turned from their usual grass colour to moss in the low light. She could not recall him talking of Achellon - that would do. “And what do you think of Achellon? Do you think The Blazes
were really born from there?”
“Achellon may once ha
ve existed. Who can say if it still exists? As for Blaze Energy, I can sense elements of it in everything that surrounds us. It is an integral part of this world and you are a portal through which it will flow. If The Blazes came from Achellon then so did the rest of this earth.”
Artemi felt uncomfortable at the thought of being some sort of gateway. The name ‘wielder’ had implied a far more active role than he had described. Morghiad leaned forward and took her hand, instantly sending fire down her arm, through her body and down toward the ground. The sensation was so powerful that she could not prevent an involuntary intake of breath. How did Morghiad suppress it?
The sensation did not lessen with time either, but she found she could be carried with it, even enjoy it after a time. She closed her eyes, breathed slowly through the torrent and tried to understand it. When she opened her eyes again, Morghiad was studying her face closely. It was now dark outside. How long had she sat like a blazed kefruit for?
Morghiad spoke gently. “You tried to wield your own power through me. Were you aware that you were doing that?”
“I what? I... no. I was trying to work out where I ended and you began. And trying not to get burned like a feast day’s charred carcass at the same time.”
The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 12