The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  “Selieni’s gone somewhere. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?” Beodrin stepped up to the king’s chair.

  “Not today. She’s kept herselfvery much to herself lately. Maybe follow that constant stream of heat we’ve had all morning. What’s that in your hand?” Morghiad nodded at the book.

  Beodrin took a seat opposite in one of the heavy leather chairs, and handed over the blue volume. “I don’t understand a word of whatever it’s written in.”

  Upon reading the cover, the king’s brow furrowed. He opened it and turned the pages quickly. “Where did you find this?” His voice was marked with concern.

  Beodrin sighed. Silly daughters. “In Selieni’s bag. What has she been up to?”

  Morghiad’s eyes locked with the captain’s, and then dropped to the floor. With lightning speed, he leapt out of his seat and

  sprinted down the hall. Beodrin did his best to keep up, but the other man’s legs appeared to be charged with the Blazes themselves. It soon became evident that he was headed for the source of the wielding, and Beodrin followed its heat. As he ran down a second set of stairs, the wielding stopped.

  He continued to follow the direction he’d last sensed it originate from, until he could detect a solitary wielder, and quickly caught up with Morghiad in a small corridor. The king was standing tense and still at the opening to one of the bedrooms. Beodrin ran to the door to see what had transfixed the man, and barely believed what he saw.

  Sitting on the bed was his daughter, and in her arms was the shaking, crying form of Artemi. Selieni stroked the woman’s gold and

  red hair with genuine affection, and seemed to be rather emotional herself. What had gotten into them?

  Echoing his thoughts, Morghiad spoke. “What happened here?”

  Artemi turned her face to the men and swept the hair from her eyes. A wide smile spread across her face. “I... she dried this piece of kindling out.” She laughed with pure joy, and Selieni smiled with her.

  “What?” Beodrin moved into the room.

  Artemi slowly pulled her emotions under control. “I can wield again.”

  Morghiad lost no time in placing his hand at her face to check, and his eyes widened at what he felt. Withdrawing his touch quickly, he didn’t smile or stop to share in their joy. Instead he left the room and strode darkly

  from it, leaving Artemi and Selieni looking somewhat puzzled, but it wasn’t long before their smiles returned.

  Beodrin sat on the bed next to them. “Would you mind?” he asked politely.

  “Not at all.” Artemi offered him a hand.

  Powerful, living fire tore into his skin from hers as soon as he made contact with it. She had always felt like a burning hurricane to the touch in the last life, and now she was no different. “Bloody Achellon.” He looked to his daughter. “That ought to have been impossible. How did you do it, girl?”

  Selieni grinned with achievement. “It is like quenching, only... different.”

  “I thought you were going to pull my brain from my bloody skull!” Artemi laughed. Then her mood sobered. “Have I upset him?”

  Beodrin shook his head. “No. He was just worried about you for a moment. He’ll calm down soon enough,” which was a small lie. It was clearly the reaction of a man dealing with the resurgence of an old problem: most likely his addiction.

  Silar poked his head round the door. “What’s all this running about and-” he caught sight of Artemi’s dishevelled appearance. “Blazes girl, are you alright?”

  “She’s been fixed up with some new fire.” Beodrin announced jovially.

  The recently restored wielder nodded with a grin.

  “Excellent.” The general walked the rest of the way into the room. “Then you’re ready to return to duty.”

  Beodrin spluttered. “I think she should have some time to recover. If it’s anything like quenching-”

  “I’m alright. I can do it,” she insisted.

  Silar folded his arms with approval. “Good. Go and find your king as soon as possible.” The man was half-mad with his plans, and was going to wear the poor girl into the ground if he wasn’t careful.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Beodrin whispered as they left.

  The general’s easy smile dropped with surprising rapidity. “The sooner they jump into bed together, the less I have to worry about them fighting each other with their stupid, bloody powers!”

  The ornamental gardens in Siwend had a curiously bleak beauty about them, especially when filled with the low sun and heavy mists of

  the morning. The grasses were naturally yellow in the rocky highlands, and punctuated with small, purple flowers that danced in the breeze. Dressed in a full, sweeping coat of the darkest grey, the king stalked these blurred lands without clear purpose. He exhaled heavily, his own breath adding to the soft condensation in the air.

  His mind could not move past the same problem: Artemi was restored, and his desire for her was becoming a malevolent force. Using her power all those months ago had been heart-warming, nostalgic and beautiful as the woman herself. But when he’d sensed the full force of her storms revived the previous morning, it was a stronger sensation he’d felt. It had awoken the dark and unseen creature that had always prowled within him. It was one and

  the same with the blackened river of hate, only it was the river free of constraints; it was a thing of terror that could walk. He feared what it was capable of through him. Most of all, he feared what he would do to Artemi if it became hungry.

  When it had manifested for the first time, it had tried to drink what it needed from the nearest wielders it could find. But all had been weak, limp and ineffective. If anything, their inadequacy had only served to aggravate its craving. And now a pot brimming over with what he required, that fearful and searing fire, was walking not three feet behind him. Morghiad turned abruptly, causing her to blink in surprise. Perhaps if he just took a taste of it. Just a little to dull his hunger...

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, her

  dark brown eyes warm with contentment at her recent good fortune.

  He couldn’t steal it from her. He would have to ask for permission; that was the right thing to do. Artemi would surely grant it to him if he requested a brief foray into The Blazes she held, wouldn’t she? But what if the creature wanted more? No. He couldn’t use her to feed that... thing. He would not! Morghiad spun around and resumed his pacing at greater speed. He’d put the monster back in its box once before. He could do it again. Perhaps he ought to request that the army throw him back in a cell before they’d have to resort to trapping him as before. The faces of his men - the ones he’d very nearly killed to get to the women... it was a wonder they’d ever forgiven him.

  A cell could work, but when he re

  emerged Artemi would still be there, fire-full and impossibly alluring. That would not solve his problems. Sending her away was not an option, where she wouldn’t be safe or under his supervision. Besides, she was the glue that held Calidell’s army together. She made Calidell complete. What he needed was a way to keep Artemi and keep himselfin check. If he could share in her fires on a regular basis... Morghiad stopped and turned to her again.

  She smiled this time. “Yes, I’m still here.”

  He tried to think of something to say, but could not. A regular arrangement to make use of her? She’d laugh in his face if he asked for such a thing, and probably hit him for good measure. He clenched his jaw and moved away to resume his aimless walk once more. Artemi

  was not a woman to be used; her father had already warned him about that, and he repeatedly seemed to forget it. And here she was: used by him, used by the army, used by others to make their king more manageable and all in the name of easing conflict. Perhaps, if she understood that she was here for more than her utility, she would see. If she knew her true worth to him, perhaps then she could help him to deal with his problem, and they could find an answer together.

  He’d already considered r
e-igniting their relationship since her recovery, and the subsequent likelihood of his death. Perhaps it would happen as before, and Artemi would use whatever magic it was to save him. She had been slightly less insulting lately, though only slightly. Burn it all! So what if she killed him?

  Morghiad halted and turned again.

  “Are we playing a game?” Artemi raised her eyebrows slightly.

  He remembered her youth. Of course it would matter if he died; Artemi did not deserve to have fatal nalka added to her list of afflictions in this life. But he had to explain, and the same thoughts that had troubled him over twenty years ago began to return to his mind. He hesitated as he thought of a way to say the words he needed to say.

  Artemi sighed heavily, folded her arms and gazed at the gardens around.

  The breeze caught her strands of hair, glinting in the pale sun like old gold and burning like fire. The sight prompted him to find the words he needed to say, though uttering them was altogether more challenging.

  Her eyes came back to him. “Have you finally gone insane or do you stare at everyone like this?”

  “I am in love with you.”

  Artemi blinked, her dark eyes widening. Then she looked to the floor. It was as he’d feared; she did not care for him in this life. She took a long breath. “I have to leave.”

  That response... he had not expected. “No, you don’t. I would prefer it if you stayed,” he said softly. “Silar will understand if you request anoth-”

  “No. It’s not safe now. I have to go,” she uttered quietly. His words had instilled a curious fear in her. She spun and bolted to a sprint in the direction of the hotel buildings.

  Morghiad was quick to chase her through the mists, and his legs complained with

  the speed he demanded from them, but it was enough to close the distance and catch her by the arm. “Stop.”

  She did not struggle, choosing instead to argue with him. “You don’t understand. I’ll kill you if I stay! I felt the difference when you touched me...”

  “You won’t. If you care for me at all, I will be fine.”

  Artemi shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. You will die.” She wrenched her arm free, pushed him away and ran once more.

  Morghiad hesitated for a moment before chasing her again. Why was she afraid of that outcome in this life but not the other? He could not allow her to leave. He tore after her as fast as he could, shouting her name in the vain hope that she would listen. He followed

  her into the hotel and through richly carpeted corridors, up the broad and curving stairway until she stopped at a room. Silar’s. With a fearful backwards glance she met his eyes, and then walked through the door. He made his way to the chamber at a steady pace, feeling some considerable confusion. Had he so utterly misjudged the smiles she offered to Silar?

  Inside, he was stood at a desk, and deep furrows cut across his brow.

  “Tell him! You have to tell him what you saw,” Artemi said with desperation.

  Silar’s eyes settled on Morghiad as he strode into the room. He looked back at Artemi questioningly.

  She bit her lip. “IfI stay, there’s a chance he’ll be burned with fire that comes from me, correct?”

  Silar hesitated.

  Worry started to blossom in Morghiad’s mind. “Is this true, you’ve seen that?”

  He frowned and nodded. “It is only a chance though.”

  “And if I leave now, that chance goes to nothing? He’ll live?” she whispered.

  Silar took sharp inhalation of breath. “Yes. But that counts as desertion, Artemi. You should stay.”

  She shook her head, tendrils of fire hair following her movements in the light. “Better to be a deserter than to kill the king.” Artemi unhooked her green stripe from her bodice, placed it on the desk and turned to leave.

  A flash of anger crossed Silar’s eyes as they returned to Morghiad. “Aren’t you going

  to stop her?”

  He wanted to stop her, to lock her in the castle and keep her there. But if he died, she died. Morghiad closed his eyes as Artemi and her soft, floral scent breezed past. When he opened them again his friend’s expression had darkened even further. Silar would know that Morghiad had withheld something from him, and he was the sort of man who would not let the subject rest until he found out what it was. He took a deep breath. “Artemi’s abilities with Blaze exceed mine.”

  Silar’s anger dissolved into confusion, and he dropped back into his desk chair. “That’s why...” He made a noise ofdisgust. “I thought she was supposed to be the same as before?”

  “She is. But she found a way around it

  before. I thought maybe...” Morghiad sighed heavily, ashamed of his stupidity.

  Silar’s ire was quick to reassert itself. “You’ve known of this ever since we met her – and you never thought to tell me?”

  “It was not your concern.”

  Silar surged from his seat again and thumped the desk. “Anything that endangers either of you is my concern! What kind of mess did you intend to leave me to clean up if she’d killed you?” he shouted. “You’re a bloody idiot! Bloody Achellon! And the other kanaala, they all knew as well?”

  Morghiad compressed his lips. “I don’t know. They couldn’t even get a measure of her.” It was better to keep Passerid a secret, for now. Anyone who’d hurt her didn’t deserve a mention, though Morghiad could so easily

  have been one of those. At least her absence would keep her out of the way of the black river creature, and afford him a chance to lock it up once more. A thought occurred to the king. “I need to go.” He swept out of the room without waiting for a response from the irate general.

  When he reached her chamber, he found it devoid of the woman and her possessions. He spotted one of her reddishgold hairs on the pillow and picked it up. It buzzed softly between his fingers in a way that no other wielder’s seemed to, with that curious resonance that ought to have signified something else. Feeling anxiousness wash through his bitter disappointment, Morghiad headed for the stables. The yard still clung onto the last vestiges of the morning mists, but a

  recent movement through them had left a stream of yellow dust amidst swirls of grey vapour.

  He sprinted to Tyshar’s box, leapt straight onto the horse’s back and booted him into a canter. There was no time for the luxury of saddles or reins. Morghiad guided the animal with his knees as they bolted down the town’s main road and thence into the rocky, mountainous wilds. They sky had grown pink with the rising sun, and whorls of fog drifted into its warmth. A blood horse’s speed was unmatched by any other animal he had known, and soon the white tail of Artemi’s dun racer mare came into view. Hoof falls thundered into the raw silence, then echoing from the sides of the nearby peaks until it sounded as if a tremendous rock fall were headed their way.

  Artemi heard it, and turned her horse.

  “You have to let me go,” she said as he approached. Her voice sounded firm and strong, though her eyes told a different story.

  “And I shall.” He drew breath. “But at least allow me to ensure that you are safe. I can find somewhere for you-”

  “No. I must be out of this country and in obscurity.” Artemi looked to the floor.

  Anything could happen to her out there, and he wouldn’t know about it. He wouldn’t be able to help, for what little it was worth. “Then take a guard or two. Please.”

  She shook her head and raised her handsome, dark eyes to him. “No. They would become my responsibility, my charges. I will be safer on my own, and so will they.”

  Morghiad gripped Tyshar’s mane

  tightly. He had expected as much from her, and knew argument was pointless. “Then you must be careful. The world knows I would let Calidell burn for you. You must be wary, very wary. There is something else I must do before you go.” Morghiad pulled the silver throwing dagger from the top of his boot. “This was my father’s. I give it to you as I would offer you the fires of the sun and the cascades
of rain, if I had them -”

  Artemi’s eyes widened. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

  He continued regardless, “This is the objectI offer as I offer my heart, or let them burn together in the fires of Achellon for eternity. They are yours to do with as you wish.” Morghiad held out the dagger.

  She looked at it in silence for a

  moment. “I cannot,” she whispered.

  “No other woman but you shall have it, Artemi.” Morghiad felt his horse shift in response to his obvious emotion. “Whether you choose to take it or not, it is no longer mine.” Lifting his arm, he threw the dagger into the gnarled bark of a wizened raven-tree, took a moment to memorise her perfect features for the last time, and left.

  “You know, we used to have a woman like you with us before,” the general said,

  settling into a broad leather chair with his smoking pipe. “Best blazed swordswomanI ever saw. Or swordsman, for that matter.” He flicked his long, almost-white ponytail over his shoulder. “You thinking of joining?”

  Mirel bit her lip to prevent herself from cursing; that woman seemed to get everywhere! “Alas, I’m not here to fight.” She smiled broadly, taking up a mug of honeyed wine. “I’m looking for someone I’m told you knew very well. I only know him by his first name though: Hedinar.”

  The general’s eyes widened and he blew an especially extended puff of smoke. It was a moment before he spoke. “Kantari. His family name was Kantari. Not an old lover, are you?” he grinned mischievously.