The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  Morghiad’s face did not alter in the slightest. “You have not done anything wrong.”

  Could he read her mind when they

  were doing this?

  He continued, “But you are very... closed-off. You must not fear me or your abilities. In your current state of mind I cannot guide your power. You must trust me, relax and give in to the storm blowing through your veins.”

  “Give in to it? Are you mad? It feels like it’s about to incinerate me... and you!” And the rest of the city.

  “You are safe here. Trust me.”

  Surely he was an idiot. An idiot kanaala. Artemi took a deep breath and began relaxing each of her muscles from the neck down, even though nothing had ever struck such fear in her before. The torrent of fire in her body felt as if it were building to a great inferno that wanted to rip her limbs from her torso and

  throw them out of the window like bits of burning paper. She gripped Morghiad’s hand tightly and allowed the flames to consume her.

  Just as she thought she was about to combust into a billion tiny pieces, she felt him do something. He had a sort of hold over her that she could not quite explain. It was a feeling of being simultaneously held in place and let loose across a vast desert, or a mountain... or perhaps the oceans.

  Artemi opened her eyes. She could sense the world’s movements for miles around, or at least, that is how it felt. Servants hopped about everywhere within the massive warren of the castle, jumping here and lolloping there. Thousands of other people milled more slowly about amongst the complex, cold stone of the city. Beyond, she could sense the grass waving in the breeze across the soft earth, and farther still was the hard wooden rasp of the Cadran forests.

  She could feel the same energy flowing through her, vibrating in the room around her. It really was in everything. It was beautiful. And it was making her feel oddly appreciative of Morghiad’s touch. She immediately shoved that feeling to the very corners of her mind. She was not about to allow herselfto be aroused by a stone, not to mention the other ones in the walls!

  Morghiad shifted his gaze to the perimeter of the room and let out a trickle of waves of energy. They wobbled in an odd way and twisted into peculiar shapes when they hit the walls, floor and ceiling. He continued doing this until the entire room sparkled with hints of

  Blaze Energy. Finally, he released his hold on her power and her hand.

  Artemi felt the bottom of the world drop from beneath her as he let go, and her lungs struggled to expand for breath. Morghiad relaxed back into the thin backrest of the chair.

  Was he also looking dazed? The man was impossible to decipher; she had probably imagined it.

  The evidence of the partition he had created was slowly fading from her view. “Will other kanaala be able to see that?” Artemi asked.

  He shook his head. “You and I can see it when The Blazes are inside us. They will not unless they bring a wielder in here or unless they know what to look for.” He crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. “Forgive me if I

  took rather more thanI should from you. I’ve never experienced anything quite like your power before. There’s more of it, obviously, but it feels different. I cannot explain how, even to myself.” He glanced at the floor in thought.

  “Thank you.”

  Morghiad looked up. “Whatever for?”

  “For that... sensation. I can die happy now thatI have known it.” She smiled as warmly as she could.

  He looked blankly at her, evidently not understanding what a smile meant and most likely not sensing any of the amiability she was pushing his way. It was no different from trying to interact with a block of ice! Artemi let a small sigh pass her lips and settled herself deeper into the armchair. There really was little point in her trying. But the wielding - that had

  felt incredible.

  Morghiad’s eventual response was not what she had expected. “I’m going to teach you how to use a sword for self-defence. If you are to excel you must gain better control of your emotions.”

  Artemi’s jaw dropped. “Me? Control my emotions? At leastI have them. It’s you that needs to get some bloody emotions!” For shame that she was speaking like Caala. “At least people can communicate with me!” First he had insulted her walking and now he dared to... infuriating!

  A frown briefly touched his forehead if Artemi had blinked she would have missed it – and Morghiad began to speak in measured tones. “It is better not to feel if one is to learn true discipline. You must be able to control

  everything in your mind. Do you think it would be safe for you to wield enough power to burn a city without any grasp on your anger? It is the same for wielding a sword.”

  “But others will think you are made of stone, that you don’t care about them or any of their feelings,” she protested.

  “My responsibilities demand thatI be made of stone, Artemi. And now so do yours.”

  She did not want to turn into a lump of rock like him. She could not be so cold! Surely it was not the right path? And she had enough reason in her not to allow anger skew important judgements like killing innocent people. She had never been that... impassioned. “Surely it is worse to kill others and feel nothing?”

  “Even the most disciplined of us feel something at the death of another. It is the

  emotion that precedes the killing which is important.” He still sounded utterly calm and measured, which only fuelled Artemi’s fire more.

  “I would not burn thousands of people because I was emotional,” she retorted.

  Morghiad gazed at her levelly. “You have a father, true? What if someone injured or killed your father? How rational would you be in that situation?”

  “Do not bring him into this!” she snapped. Oh, he had caught her in his little trap. Blasted man! She calmed herself once more. “I’d punish only those responsible.”

  The kahr continued in the same tone, “And do you believe you could protect yourself adequately if you were overly emotional?”

  Artemi stayed silent this time. He was

  intentionally winding her up, she was sure of it. She began to wonder if, beneath that mask of stone, the man actually felt just as much as she did. Perhaps he was simply better at hiding it. He was probably enjoying a world of selfsatisfied smugness at this very moment. She stared intently at the fireplace and tried not to give him any more reasons to be pleased with himself.

  Morghiad uncrossed his legs and stretched out. “You have learned the first lesson: self awareness. The earlier you catch yourself spiralling out of control, the easier it will be to regain control.”

  Artemi almost scowled back at him. Almost. Instead, she put on her best acting face and nodded politely. Bloody kahrs and their bloody superiority! It would be nice to chew on some rocks. “Morghiad?”

  “Yes?”

  She put on her most innocent voice. “AmI still allowed to laugh at jokes?”

  “Yes.” Morghiad’s face remained entirely straight. If anything, his eyes seemed to burn even deeper into her head. No. There was nothing going on in there, she decided. No humour whatsoever. Waste of a good man.

  He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “Our session is complete for today. I shall see you again tomorrow.”

  Artemi rose from the armchair, offered a meagre curtsey and exited the room. It was not that she wanted to be rude to him, and he was aiding her. It was just that he needed to learn she couldn’t be pushed about like one of his soldiers. Time to return to that warm

  Artemi strode away from Morghiad before he shut the door behind her. It was an attractive walk she had, but far too noisy and attention-seeking to be sensible. He leaned against the solid wood of the doorframe, and tried to sort through the whirling mess that now cluttered his mind. A small chortle at her final comment was permitted, once he was sure she was out of earshot.

  For all his instruction on emotional

  control, he had barely been able to keep his sentiments in check during their meeting. It had been a
lmost impossible not to laugh at her words, delivered with such a straight and childlike face. Her arguments had not been too tricky to counter, but he had almost raised his voice at her.

  He was sure his responses had been correct in content at least, but the woman seemed to have a peculiar way of riling him almost as much as his father did. No, equally as much. Morghiad would have to learn to better contain his annoyance if he was going to spend time training her. No doubt she would offer him plenty of opportunities to practise.

  He went to sit in the armchair she had occupied. It still held some of the warmth of her presence, and more importantly, the faint buzz

  of her power. He would have to be watchful of that in places where she wielded. It seemed to leave an imprint - something Ilena’s abilities had not been sufficient to do.

  He hoped that no one had felt The Blazes enter him, especially given that he had been so greedy with it, but it had felt like nothing else on this earth. Kanaala could become addicted to using power like that, some history books had said, and now he understood why. And there had been a point when the Blazes had almost pulled him towards her, had invited him to inspect her skin and hair closely, to examine the arc of her back and curve of her breasts. He had not expected that at all. Ilena had never mentioned anything about that, but then he had been much younger. Perhaps she had not thought it appropriate.

  Morghiad spotted something glistening on the floor by the chair. He reached down to pick it up and held it before the firelight. It was one of her dark gold-red hairs, and it still buzzed with the power of the woman from whom it had come. He wrapped it around one of his fingers, and considered the ancient nature of its pedigree. How many other kanaala through history had enjoyed her power? Doubtless some of them had abused it. He must be careful not to do the same.

  Morghiad wondered if the Artemi who knew what she was, the Artemi he hoped one day to meet, trusted kanaala. A wielder who had lived as long as she had would almost certainly have known cruel ones in the past, and that thought did not sit well with him. If he could meet those men now, they would soon

  learn what he thought of them.

  There was also the business of introducing her to the faces of kanaala he knew in the city. He would have to do it in a way that would not reveal her to them, but doing so when her looks had an unfortunate habit of drawing attention would be troublesome. He would have to hide her, and still permit her a good opportunity to view those men.

  Three of the other kanaala enjoyed their duties far too much, and they often appeared to relish exterminating wielder children. It was perverse, given that two of their mothers had been wielders too. Morghiad was not sure how he could re-join the sweeps now that he had befriended his quarry, though duty would surely demand it.

  There were two more kanaala in Cadra whom he liked better, but only one of them might be amenable to protecting Artemi’s secret. Of course, all five of them were in the Cadran army, and if he wanted Artemi in battle, he would have to find a way around that particular issue.

  He uncurled the hair from his fingers and hid it in a drawer beneath his clothing. It would be useful for establishing how long her close-kept possessions retained a memory of her Blaze Energy. Morghiad opened his shirt and then the window, and waited for the cool autumn breeze to touch his chest. He looked down at the window sill, where his arms ought to be half inside the partition of Blaze he had created. It was something that could not be sensed unless he made a point of looking for it, but it was a creation that Ilena would have been proud of. He hoped so, anyway.

  Looking after Artemi would not bring Ilena back, but he knew that it was the right course. Part of him wished that he could keep Artemi closer than the cellars until she was properly able to defend herself. The cellars... Now, how to deal with that chimney problem?

  Beodrin rounded the corner on another glittering wall of swords, and was glad to find that he was close to completing his inspection of the weapon rooms. He was also about to

  become a father, for the second time. He had barely been able to contain his excitement all day. Lord-Captain Morghiad had been generous enough to give him time off from his duties, but he had decided to work today. Marynia was due late in the evening, and he knew that if he had fidgeted around the house all day, he would only have made her more anxious. And so instead he had inspected swords, cleaned daggers, polished boots and completed a huge pile of time-consuming tasks that were normally reserved for cadets.

  Now the sun had descended to its dark chamber of hiding, and it was time to return to his wife in the city. He loved his wife deeply, though what she had seen in a short, plain and unremarkable soldier he had never been able to fathom. She was far too pretty for him and far

  too tolerant of his missions to far-off countries missions that she joined him on.

  It was customary for a wife to travel with her soldier-husband so that their bond would not be broken, but Marynia had come even on the smallest of assignments. She had given him a wonderful son nine years earlier, and the boy was already proving himself intelligent enough to be something better than a warrior. With luck, he would not follow in his father’s footsteps, and Beodrin hoped the same would be true of this new child.

  He signed off the weapons itinerary, nodded to the guards and began his journey to the exit of the castle. And it was a journey - the damned tunnels would take minutes to navigate before he reached the open air beyond. He hummed a tavern tune quietly to himself, and

  thought of the food that waited for him at home. He thought about the size of his wife’s belly and how it had grown from nothing in the last fortnight. Nine years to know; two weeks to grow; an eternity to blow, went the old rhyme. He chuckled to himself, interrupting his own music. A black shape whipped past the corner of his eye.

  Instinctively, Beodrin drew his sword and moved quietly toward the shadows. He could smell that something was very wrong. The shape darted across the hall in front of him. It was too swift to be an ordinary man.

  “Guards!” he shouted.

  The shadow immediately jumped out, daggers spinning about in the air and flashing in the low light. Beodrin managed to swipe across the figure in front of him, and made some

  contact, but it was not enough. The shape continued its assault on him, pinned him to the floor and spoke in a broken voice that sounded like metal rasping on slate, “Where is the Kusuru whore?”

  Horror spread through Beodrin’s veins and bones as he realised what his assailant was: an eisiel! With sudden clarity, he understood that his chances of surviving this encounter would be very slim indeed. Worse, Marynia would not be able to birth the child without him there. It would be the end of their family - the end of everything!

  The eisiel’s teeth dripped with someone else’s blood, and the droplets fell upon Beodrin’s face. He growled, dragged his short sword from his belt and shoved it hard into the side of the eisiel.

  The thing screamed in pain, reeling back into the corridor wall behind.

  Beodrin was not about to slow down yet. He grabbed one of the pinh-soaked daggers that the eisiel had thrown, and pitched it into the creature’s ribs. It cried out again, and its twisted face contorted even further in agony.

  The assassin would rally soon - it was already pulling his short sword out from its trunk. Beodrin had to move fast to find his sword. He turned to where he thought it had fallen, but found it absent. His eyes darted to the right and sought out any sign of the missing weapon.

  His blade glinted fully twenty yards from them. It was too far for him to make it before the eisiel would begin another attack, but he had no choice. He ran to the sword, and felt something cold slam into his back before he reached it. Beodrin did not stop. He flew at the sword, caught it and turned, striking his blade straight down. The metal met the soft flesh of the eisiel’s face, and split it fully into two halves. A terrible scream rose from the thing, and the stone walls of the hallway shook.

  Beodrin fell to his knees. He had survived, though he fear
ed what had happened to his back, mostly because it did not hurt. That usually meant it was bad. He had to get to Marynia - she needed him!

  Running footfalls approached, and he desperately hoped that they belonged to guards who knew enough to remove pinh blades. He dared not move enough to turn and see them, for fear of sending the poison deeper into his body.

  Two young, recently recruited guards flopped down beside him, and the youngest, sporting a small amount of chin fluff, spoke first, “You’ve got a dagger in your back, lieutenant.”

  “I’m very well-aware of that, soldier. Now will you pull the bloody thing out for me?”

  The older one exclaimed, “Blazes alight! You’ve gone and killed an eisiel! Only Lord-Lieutenant Forllan has done that before. He’s an ugly sod, isn’t he?”

  Beodrin laughed. “I don’t think Silar would appreciate you talking of him in that manner. But seriously you-” His speech was cut short as the dagger was yanked from his spine. It hurt now. A lot. “You need to alert everyone and check the surrounding halls. It looks like this one took a bite out of someone before he got to me.”

  The older recruit looked at Beodrin’s back with suspicion. “I’ll get some water to wash that out,” he said, and trotted back down the corridor.

  The chin-fluff guard simply stared at Beodrin, bloody dagger in hand.