The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle
Page 68
She had time to drag herselfback onto the stage to face her final opponent, and the crowd stopped breathing to see if she would. But Artemi remained suspended there for a few moments, and then dropped limply to the churned ground. She didn’t move. Instead, great swirls of crimson bloomed through her clothing at her waist and her chest until they
shook hands at the middle.
Silar cursed loudly, but Morghiad was already fighting to reach her immobile body. Reduvi had picked her up after her last fall; that was not going to happen this time. Aglos and several of his helpers were already at her side when he got there, desperately trying to stem the flow of her blood. Morghiad knelt down to remove her mask and headscarf, noting the cool silkiness of her gold-red hair as it fell over his hands. “Artemi?”
Her eyes flickered a little in response, but no sound came from her except the quickening of her breaths.
“We’ll take care of her from here, sire,” Aglos said as he laid a stretcher out next to her, and his team set about lifting her onto it.
Morghiad nodded in silence. It was a
feeling of the deepest helplessness, watching on as they whisked her off to the medical tent without him. But he had to remain to do his expected duty - to award the stupid, smug and undeserving winner his gold.
The grey stone room was filled with shadows, formed by the dark light of two silver stand lamps. They moved along the wall like marching soldiers, each keeping perfect time
with the man in front. Artemi followed them round to a worn leather armchair at the side of the bed. One man was sitting in it, and another stood at his right side. Her eyes flicked to her sword on the side cabinet, still bearing the king’s black ribbon. An intricate, silver crown of vines lay next to the sword. “I’m sorry you favoured the wrong entrant.”
The seated man leaned forward, bringing his clean-cut face and black hair into the low light. ”No, I didn’t.” He nodded to something behind her.
Artemi tried to twist to see it, but her body refused to permit the action. There was something wrong with her left leg too, and the soreness of it all began to interrupt her thoughts. “What... ?”
“Your winnings,” Silar stated calmly,
leaning against the chair back. Why wasn’t he bubbling with fury at her? It was no wonder the man got on so well with her father.
He continued, “Number twenty-one conceded to your superior skill. ThoughI think when he saw you had breasts it persuaded him somewhat.”
Silar and his king shared a quiet chuckle between themselves. These were very odd men indeed.
“ButI didn’t win,” she protested. “Can I give it back to him?”
Morghiad gave her a look of puzzlement. “I think he would be insulted. Besides, Laurus Daienara already has his name emblazoned in gold on the stone of winners.”
Artemi gave a thin smile; she didn’t feel especially triumphant. Second place was nothing to be ashamed of, but she certainly didn’t deserve to be named a champion. “I should thank you for allowing me to participate.”
Silar folded his arms with only the slightest air of annoyance. “I’m surprised there’s anything left of you that’s not broken. Though at least that leg will keep you from running about like a crazed horse. And Aglos says you’re not to have any swift for another day, else you’ll fall into stasis.”
Artemi felt much better for the gentle admonishment; she hated it when people tried to mask their disapproval for no good reason. The king appeared to be studying her quietly, probably expecting her to say or do something she hadn’t considered. She scanned her mind
for possibilities. “Well, my current state is my own responsibility. I’d like to use my winnings to pay for the medical care I have received, and will no doubt need in the next few weeks.” It had taken long enough to extract the money she’d earned from helping her father at Corlands, and longer still to force it down the throats of the castle’s treasurers as payment for her ridiculous dresses.
The king shook his head. “Nonsense. You are my guest here and the crown has always covered all associated expenses related to The Spring Games. Oh, and I heard about the funds you blackmailed Epirrita into accepting. They’ll be back with you shortly; I’ve no desire for your money.”
Artemi very nearly picked up her sword to threaten him with it. He still couldn’t
get it into his stupid head that she didn’t want to be coddled! “Those gowns cost a fortune; I really must insist thatI pay my way,” she said in low tones.
“When you’re earning your way,” the king instructed.
She felt too weak to argue with him, and knew it only represented yet another debt she owed to the whole, blasted place.
“And you do wear those dresses very well, my girl,” Silar purred, before the two men fought off more of their own giggles. They were as bad as mischievous schoolboys together!
Artemi gloomily eyed the dark velvet coat that had been slung over the back of the chair. She halfthought of making comment on Morghiad’s obvious awareness of how well he wore it. The man had swaggered into the
Games with his striking looks, and the crowd had adored him without the slightest cynicism. A plot such as Veradlin’s had been easily hidden amongst such popularity, and that very popularity was capable of creating an ego of considerable size - an ego large enough to delude him into thinking that he had the right to decide the course of her life. An ego large enough to remind him he was handsome in his sodding, glossy blue velvet. Sindra had always said it was impossible to change a man, but perhaps Artemi had the opportunity of cutting that ego just a little. It would be for the good of the country, after all. “You should spend some of that money on your own clothing. Is that the only formal coat you have?”
Silar grinned at him. “Told you so.”
The king frowned slightly. He looked
almost hurt. “I like this one.”
Artemi tried to hide her surprise. It really was the only one he had? “It’s very nice.” She would not tell him he looked good in it. “But why don’t you get your bosom friend here to help you find one in a different colour?”
Silar smiled broadly at that, but then he was always very well-turned out. Morghiad was just lucky he looked the way he did in whatever he wore... or did not wear.
“Don’t give him ideas, Artemi. He’s my general, not a wardrobe attendant,” the king said.
She laughed at that, or tried. Her chest and abdomen didn’t feel like they wanted to laugh much.
“We should leave you to recover.” He stood, collected his crown and shrugged into
the dark velvet of the infamous coat. Silar gave her a courteous nod and, like quiet whispers on the breeze, they were gone. In an odd way she felt a sort of loss in their absence, as if there had been a curious energy between the three of them. It was not something she could fathom, and especially not when everything hurt so much!
Artemi closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift back into sleep. She saw visions of the tournament, the masked faces of her opponents, the terrifying sight of the distant ground as she’d dangled above it, the king staring at her expectantly from his seat in the stand and the swirling crowd through the spinning tower. The faces spun faster and faster, crowding in upon her until she had no space to move or breathe. In amongst them
were the men who’d held her captive, and the bandits she’d killed. Veradlin’s son was there too, leering at her and reaching out to pull at her clothing. “Go away!” she screamed at them all. “Leave me be or I’ll burn you to ashes!” Artemi reached out to The Blazes; she could feel their distant heat somewhere, but it was so very far away. Why couldn’t she set herself and everyone else alight with their beautiful, elegant flames? Why wouldn’t they come to her?
woodland floor like a layer of loose snow, flying up from the ground with each lift of Tyshar’s hooves. It was a beautiful day for an onerous task, but Morghiad was glad that it would be over very quickly.
“You don’t have to do it this way,”
Silar said in low tones.
Morghiad allowed himselfan extended sigh. “I know. But it’s what she asked for. And I should be the one to hold the sword, after all.”
They soon pulled the horses to a halt at a large clearing, known affectionately as Traitor’s Hold. Morghiad dismounted onto the soft, lush grass and pulled out his sword. It was almost as scarred and battered as he was from the battles it had faced, though some of the worst scrapes had been dealt by Artemi’s
curious Blaze sword. But it was still very sharp after almost thirty years. There was nothing quite like Master Rautamail’s finest work. He spun it in his hand. Still perfectly balanced. Morghiad went to stand by the trunk of the great oak tree at the far end of Traitor’s Hold. It was so gnarled and broad that it was said to be older than Cadra itself. How many men’s lives this tree must have witnessed! A small crowd had now formed in a semicircle around him. Two soldiers hauled the bound prisoner before him, dropped the man to the floor and then returned to the gathering. Morghiad began his proclamation. “For the crimes of kidnapping and injuring a Ward of the Army, for the crimes of deserting the Army of Calidell and breaking your oaths, I commit you, Lord Passerid Collibry of Forhamwell, to
the justice of Achellon’s fires. In any other situationI would have you labour with the other traitors for your transgressions, but Artemi has granted you mercy. And so you may die an easy death, and keep your honour. Have you any words to say to your audience?”
The unremarkable man kept his back straight as he spoke: “I protected her, and I sought to keep my oaths by protecting others from her. I never deserted Calidell’s army. I fought for it!”
“You caused her unimaginable pain by quenching her, Collibry. And she is anything but a danger to this country or its men. She saved your life and theirs enough times on the battlefields.”
Passerid merely growled in response.
Morghiad looked to the small gathering
of lieutenants and soldiers. Each of them agreed with him that this death was too good for Passerid, but he had to honour their queen’s wishes. “Turn about, men,” he ordered. As with tradition, the group faced the opposite direction and marched twenty yards to the other side of the clearing.
Once they had stopped, Morghiad placed the tip of his sword on Passerid’s shoulder. “As is your final right, you have the opportunity to say anything you wish to me now, and it will remain only with me until the hour of my death. Speak.”
“There is one questionI have for you, sire.”
He waited for it in silence.
“I could never understand, my lord, how a kanaala graded twelve could sleep with
a woman who was at least a thirteen, and survive it.” Passerid’s brown eyes squinted at him in genuine puzzlement.
Morghiad sighed deeply. How many others had noticed and thought not to mention it? “She... My life was always safe in her hands.”
“Trust? That’s it? I don’t believe that, my lord. Many men have died in a wielder’s embrace through blind trust. And do you really think she’ll grant you the same gift in this life, now that she can’t even feel that you are weaker than she? I fear you are a dead man with her, King Morghiad of Calidell.” The kneeling prisoner looked grim with his announcement, and went on to qualify it: “Though, I understand why you love her. I loved her too.” Passerid bowed his head to the ground and waited for the blade to come.
Morghiad obliged. He lifted his sword into the warm air and allowed it to fall with weighty keenness upon its target, cleaving Passerid’s brown-haired head from his body. The dead man had been right. Even with her power and her memories, he had no way of knowing if she could save him again - if she could tie their minds as before. And now, devoid of any sensation of Blaze Energy, she would surely kill him before she was even aware of it.
He closed his eyes to see her stream again. It was still a twelve, but was only halfa year away from becoming a thirteen. This was a pointless exercise, he realised. It wasn’t as if she even liked him enough to speak to him with civility, never mind share his bed. But the
thought of not tasting her power again... frightened him. Morghiad opened his eyes to the daylight once more and walked towards the backs of the soldiers. “It’s done.”
Silar spun round rapidly. “You took your time over that one. Did he decide to bash out an entire soliloquy?”
“It’s done now,” was all Morghiad could say as he remounted his horse. He gazed at the Passerid’s lifeless corpse. He would need some advice from his general very soon, advice on how to cope with loving a woman he could not have.
“I think we should go for the knights first,” Artemi whispered, adjusting the sleeve of her emerald silk dress. It was just as scandalous as the scarlet one had been, and just as exquisite. Morghiad still hadn’t found out who was responsible for choosing these showy garments for her, but they seemed to enjoy pushing the boundaries of appropriateness. Not that he minded particularly. She could have easily lost a gaming piece down the curves at her front, never to be recovered again. A pink line peered above the plunging neckline of the dress where she’d been cut during the trials, a cut that men seemed to very much enjoy examining when they thought she wasn’t looking.
He was one of those men. “We’ve named our own knight as the first piece. It won’t make much sense if we use it to take out his,” he whispered back.
Silar gave them both a wry smile, evidently feeling like he’d already won.
“Yes, but surely then he’ll be expecting us to do anything but that,” she said. Silar’s skill in predicting people’s actions had been a revelation to Artemi, and she’d been eager to find new ways of testing his limits. Unable to beat him at will-die, she’d recruited Morghiad to add an extra variable.
Morghiad leaned a little closer to be sure that Silar couldn’t hear. “He’ll know that’s your plan as soon as you move the treasurer to the keep. He doesn’t need any foresight for that. It’s best if you go into this with no plan at all.”
She gave him a frown with her perfect face, but then allowed her features to soften slowly. “Agreed. Though it is ultimately a stupid idea. I’ll leave this move to you then.”
Morghiad nodded, and leaned forward to push a conical marble piece two spaces across the board.
She seemed to find any excuse to insult him when it was out of earshot of anyone else.
The effect on Silar was obvious, and he screwed his face up in annoyance. “That approach won’t work for long.”
Artemi chuckled briefly, and then resumed a more stern expression as she waited for his next move.
The sound of falling water from the fountain filled the courtyard around them, mingling with the noises of chatter from others enjoying the sunshine. Morghiad loosened the neck of his shirt a little in the heat and stretched his most recently injured leg out. It still
complained from time-to-time, and still held him from sword practice with the army.
Silar continued to deliberate over his next move, so Morghiad took the opportunity to smile like an idiot at the woman next to him. It was an excuse to stare at her, of course - an excuse to moon over her handsome features and red-gold hair. She pulled her pale face into a grimace at him, which only made him grin more broadly. Then Artemi quickly looked away, her expression morphing into one of surprise. Following her line of sight, Morghiad realised the source of her amazement.
With quite impressive speed she leapt from her chair and ran, or rather limped and ran, to the group of people in the courtyard’s corner. Her family. Toryn caught her in a strong-armed embrace and a great smile across
his stony face. He squeezed her for a moment and then held her back to inspect her. It looked like he was commenting on the nature of her attire, or perhaps it was her health. Silar had already gone to join them, and he gave Caala, Sindra and Toryn hugs before snatching their son up as if the boy were his own. It was an emotional family reunion Morghiad had no part in, and he kept his place standing amongst the shadows.
“CanI help you?” he asked.
She nodded solemnly. “Will you come with me to somewhere, where we can speak privately?”
“Of course, Selieni.” He looked back at Artemi and her family, who were still chatting away excitedly. He simply could not interrupt them to make his leave-takings. If anything, he was glad for an excuse to avoid an inevitably uncomfortable meeting with Toryn. “Let’s go,” he said as he turned and walked to one of the many darkened exits. They strode down an especially gloomy and quiet corridor until they came across an apparently empty store room. Morghiad shut the creaking, heavy oak door behind them. “What troubles you?”