In any other situation, Mirel would have considered the man who sat before her attractive enough and dangerous enough to recruit to her personal army, but he had other uses. She allowed herselfa girlish giggle at his words. “No, it is not that. I have need of his singular abilities.” She twisted her golden curls around one finger and thought of how he might taste. Other citizens of Deva had described Hedinar as a kanaala of unparalleled skill and invention.
General Collete nodded with his lips pursed. “I haven’t seen him nigh on seventy years, now. And he never bothered to write me a letter! Don’t even know if he’s still alive, though he had a knack for surviving some very tough situations. He was the general before me; perhaps you already knew that.”
Mirel had heard the name General
Kantari here and there, now she put the title and the name together. “He gave up his commission?”
“Hah!” Collete lowered his pipe. “He left us all in a dire situation, alright. And what for? A bloody woman!” The man narrowed his eyes at the floor for a moment.
She nodded slowly to herself. It had to have been that, or similar. Not that it was an issue for Mirel. Hedinar’s lover would easily be disposed-of and forgotten, should she still represent an obstacle. “Then he followed her somewhere? To her home town?”
He sighed. “Ah, it was so long ago. She was a foreigner. I remember that much. Eastern. Beautiful ebony hair. And the eyes...” He frowned in thought.
Mirel was becoming impatient. “Alright, general. What is it you want of me? Money, kisses, information...?”
General Collete smiled slowly. “Well... we do have this very tough battle coming up: outnumbered two-to-one. And my men could do with someone of your skill.”
“How do you know anything of my skill, general?” She kept her tone sweet, but if he’d known Artemi, then this was undoubtedly a trap.
“Saw you at the bar two nights ago,” he said, winking.
A pity she could not kill him for wasting her time. Just because she lived through an eternity of lives did not mean she had an eternity to throw away! Torture could be very productive, but once she’d finished, he’d be useless. No, this man had to be left coherent,
especially if he was a close friend of Artemi’s. “I will fight your battle for you.” It had been far too long since she’d had a proper fight. “But if I find your information of little use I shall seek recompense.”
“A Sunidaran always keeps his word, my girl.”
Girl. How that term amused her. He was probably near a hundredth of her age.
Two weeks later, she was marching alongside the curious burgundy-armoured fighters in the white salt desert of the south, adjusting the gold ribbons at her waist. Collete had been very wise in placing her with some rather junior members of his army, and her placid investigations into the Kantari lad had yielded little of use. These men seemed to have almost Calidellian levels of secrecy!
She sighed and raised her blue eyes to the surrounding scenery. The landscape around her had remained unchanged for many thousands of years. Pure, white plains were punctuated by blackened islands of volcanic rock. Each of these sprouted hands of chubby finger cacti and trails of runaway pebbles. Water was sparse here, unless you knew how to find it beneath the dead-looking red bush twigs. Mirel lowered the scarf that protected her mouth from drying out.
“Do you like the Hirrahans?” she asked the man next to her.
The short and hairy soldier looked at her inquisitively. “No less than any other dweller of this world. Doesn’t matter though, does it? The men in charge are the ones that start the wars. We just go and do their dicing
for them.”
She nodded in agreement: it was a game of chance and chopping, alright. Wars were pretty pointless affairs really, usually fought over something insignificant like a piece of land or money. But then, these Sunidarans were famously fond of their deserts. Being an assassin was a far more efficient way of dealing with such problems. One just needed to take out the key figures, and the world would be set to rights. In truth, she could have settled this whole matter for them with a quick trip to the Hirrahan’s stronghold, but Collete probably wouldn’t have believed it possible. Besides, the Sky Bridges were looking even more fragile these days. It probably wasn’t worth the risk.
It was two days before the battle took place amidst the bleak and salty plains of the
border, and the general had been right about the enemies’ numbers. Nearly twenty thousand red-uniformed soldiers spread across the lands like a blooming rose against a winter sky. Each man had his hair braided in the curious Hirrahan fashion, some with plaits that reached to their waists and turns of cord at their temples. Dealing with their volley of poisontipped arrows was easy for Mirel, and she swallowed every missile they released in a raging sheet of flame. Subsequent cascades of lightning and a storm of salted wind saw to levelling many of the foot soldiers. Sometimes these battles were facile affairs for Mirel, though lesser fighters had often questioned the morality of her methods. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born this way. It wasn’t her fault the Hirrahans had wanted a war. She had to do the necessary thing to achieve what needed be achieved. When it came to close combat she hacked, jabbed and parried with her gale swords, and moved with the severe elegance known only to a Kusuru. Her body twisted sharply with each turn and jump she made, forcing her opponents to chase her impossible speed. When she closed her eyes, she could see every threat and feel every weapon that came her way. They whispered their warnings on the breeze, and she met each one before their damage could be wrought.
When the Hirrahans were defeated with a resounding crush of curiously flaming hail, Mirel sheathed her sword and seated herself, cross-legged, on the pink ground. She waited there for some hours, watching as the respective armies collected their dead and
bowed their heads with sorrow. Collete found her as the sun was setting behind a lumpy outcrop, which forced the cactus shadows to reach through the stained salt. “I must thank you for your help, my girl. You were very good, very good indeed.”
Mirel nodded with justified acceptance of her praise. “That was my part of the bargain.”
“Ah yes. Kantari.” The general sighed and lowered himselfto the ground opposite her. His dark red armour had been cut in several places, and his pale hair was crusted with dried blood at the ends. “Well, the girl he took up with was a runaway. From Gialdin, as it was then. You see, her bodyguard came looking for her. Giant, he was. At least seven foot tall! And then there was a big argument
between the men...”
“...and they left?” she prompted.
“At length, yes. It seems she had some rather important duties to perform. You see, she was the Queen of Gialdin. Queen Medea.”
Mirel frowned in surprise. “A queen? Hedinar left to marry a queen?”
“Mmm.” Collete pulled out his twisted pipe and set about lighting it. “I don’t know if he ever married her, but he never came back here. And Gialdin is no longer Gialdin.”
“She is dead then.” Mirel couldn’t help but feel a little hope at that thought. After all, Hedinar had resigned his commission for her – that sort of dedication usually indicated an annoyance for her to overcome. “So you don’t know what happened to him?”
Collete blew a puff of smoke and
shook his head. “She had a daughter, I believe. Might have been his. King Acher saw to finishing the kid too, though. I’d tell you to ask him about Kantari, but even the old king’s gone now. Maybe try his patricidal son?”
The new King of Calidell was someone she’d heard whispers about - mostly that he was not Acher’s true heir, and that too many feared him to dare challenge his claim. “Do you remember the bodyguard’s name?”
The general took a deep drag on his pipe before speaking. “Now that is a difficult one. This was nearly seventy years ago!” He made a curious grunting noise. “Covesomething.”
Mirel scanned through her knowledge of eastern names to fi
nd a word that fitted their smooth vowels and soft consonants. “Koviere.” It meant ice-borne in Old Ignarinian, a language that had existed even before Gialdin.
Collete’s eyebrows shot up. “Blazes, girl! Koviere, that’s it! And if you wait just a moment I’ll see if I can muster up the surname for you.” He leaned back until he was prone upon the white rock, pipe smoking on the ground beside him. “Ko-viere.” He worked the name around in his mouth. “Doh-sal. That’s it. Koviere Dohsal. Giant. Blade master. Old man, even then. Can’t miss him.”
Mirel stood sharply. “My thanks, General Collete. If that is all you know?”
“Every word of it.”
“Good.” Briefly, Mirel considered removing his head, but instead she relieved him of his right arm, and dropped it upon the pile of Sunidaran dead men as she strode from the
battle site. She did not appreciate being made to wait for anything.
The silver dagger vibrated soundlessly in the bark for some moments after its former owner had dispensed with it. He had been a fool to leave it there, and it was a cruel choice Artemi was left with. She could accept his rather pointless proposal and take his most prized possession, or she could leave it exposed to the elements in heartless rejection. It was the object of a man who, she now
realised, had been rather selfless in his devotion to her. Whether he had foreseen that he would love her, or had simply willed himselfto feel that way through years of mad, self-convincing isolation was irrelevant. She had developed a strange fondness for his inexplicable ways, his arrogant kindness and silly hair. And that sort of fondness was dangerous for them both.
Artemi nudged Arrow forward and wrapped her fingers around the filigree handle of the dagger. A powerful yank was required to pull it from the tree. The names of his parents were evident on the bluish blade, but she did not understand the words either side of them. Artemi sighed heavily. “Fine, I accept,” she muttered, “though we both know it will never come to anything.”
Artemi flipped the dagger once and
caught its tip on the back of her hand. It had been Blaze-wrought, and its forms shivered within the metal just as they did in her peculiar sword.
Kantari.
His father’s name - a name that hailed from the western side of the continent. Perhaps Morghiad had no surviving family in Calidell, but surely there could be other Kantaris out there? A grandparent or cousin? She smiled. Technically she was part of their family now, and it made perfect sense to seek them out for her king. Sometimes long-lost relatives were lost for a reason, of course, but if she could find a nice one to look after him, that could go some way towards repaying her numerous debts. Family could help to heal a great many hurts.
Thoughts of her father, brother and
Sindra made her stomach twist. They would have each other, but she would miss them deeply through her exile - even Caala and her constant mumbling over Artemi’s state of dress. She hoped that her father would be able to come to understand her reasons for leaving. Some sort of letter would be necessary, and already several of the apologetic sentences had formed in her mind. Artemi thrust the symbol of her engagement into the top of a boot and reined Arrow back to face the grey mists of the border. Westward, she thought, is where I must go, and Artemi kicked her mount into a vicious, ground-eating gallop.
She crossed the Wilrean mountain territories with haste, and only slowed down when she reached the grassy lowlands beyond. Not wishing to steal as she had on her trek
across Calidell, Artemi sought to earn money to pay for food and a roof over her head. She picked fruit, harvested salad leaves and washed vegetables at numerous farms as she worked her way across the country. Fortnightly she wrote to her father to tell him that she was alive and missed him. Sometimes she apologised for leaving, or lamented that she posed a danger to Calidell’s peace. Frequently she thought of asking after the king, but she knew that leaving a return address would be a horrid mistake. The best she could do was in following news reports that came from her home country. They tended to reveal little that she trusted.
Several travelling mercenaries offered her the opportunities she required to practise with her oddly shaped sword, and soon Artemi was leaping through the air after each strike
bounced from their blades. She knew that she had grown into a deadly fighter, though her confidence gave her little excuse to sleep deeply. The weeks passed and the autumn gave way to winter as she entered the dry, open hills of Hirrah. The lands were sparsely populated and equally devoid of tree cover. On one night, when freezing hail beat down upon the broad grasslands, Artemi sought refuge beneath a prickly gorse bush and cuddled up against the hot back of her racer mare. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the ice beating the hard ground nearby, and the long huff of Arrow’s breathing. The noises reminded her of the night she’d spent sheltering in the cave with Morghiad and their horses - a night that now seemed tender and pleasant in her memory.
Artemi opened her eyes with a sigh, and noted a lone rider silhouetted on the rise of the hill in the darkness. The sounds of hoof beats were out of synchronisation with the rhythms of hail and breath that she had become accustomed to. She thought of standing to greet the traveller, perhaps to exchange news of the route ahead, but decided against it. Though she could not explain it, a peculiar sense of unease swept over her with each step that the approaching horse took. Artemi slithered to Arrow’s head and held the mare gently at the neck. Horses didn’t like to stay down for long, but the animal was well-trained enough to lie on her side when urged.
The rider slowed as she neared Artemi’s hiding place, and dismounted with unparalleled grace. At this proximity, it was
possible to see that the traveller was female, slight but heavily armed. Two elegantly curved swords crossed her back and a long, brown braid streamed down her back. The swords were identical to the one Morghiad had gifted her! However had this woman gotten hold of two of the things? The warrior dug into her saddlebags briefly, extracted something and then began to glitter with Blaze Energy. Artemi’s breath stuck in her throat as the heat washed over her. She hadn’t sensed the other woman’s ability at all, which meant that she too was a hidden wielder. Artemi had never met another woman like herself, and by all accounts she was unique. Who was this woman? Some sort of mismatched impersonator, or a disguised version of herself from the future? Impossible and unlikely, she
thought. Artemi remained low and continued to hold her lungs still. The brown-haired woman was clearly dangerous, and Artemi’s instincts kept her beneath her cover.
An opening to a Sky Bridge fanned out across the hillside, shedding its blue and purple light across the valley, and the wielder-warrior flowed through it with her horse. Just as elegantly, the archway eased shut behind them and the heat of The Blazes evaporated. The chill air crept through Artemi’s clothing as she considered her near meeting with the alternative version of herself. A more elegant version surely, but Artemi was disturbed to find that she was no longer unique in so many respects.
She waited for an hour to ensure that the other woman would not return, roused Arrow and set off towards the Hirrahan
Sunidaran border through the quickening hail. The rest of the journey took her a full month to complete, and one of those curious orangeyellow winters, for which Sunidara was renowned, had set in by the time she reached Deva. Asking questions about the Kantari name had led her to the headquarters of the Sunidaran Army rather than any seat of a noble home, and increasingly she feared that Morghiad’s family was limited to one man. Unlike Calidell, the army offices had their own administrative building outside of the king’s residence, and even that castle was rather miniscule in comparison to Cadra’s basalt heart. Artemi deposited Arrow in one of the visitors’ stables at the rear of the building, and commenced her ascent of the rickety wooden stairs. A curious nervousness washed
over her as she climbed them, as if her Calidellian nationality and curious attire might incite anger or disregard amongst her
hosts. The Hirrahans certainly hadn’t been very welcoming to her offers of labour.
She’d long-ago stowed away her army uniform, but had been forced to choose soft breeches and silk bodices as a replacement. The combination made her look like a noblewoman who wished to be a boy, but there was no hiding her accent. She fiddled nervously with the hilt of her silver dagger as she moved.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, she was confronted by a hallway lined with numerous doors that had been left ajar. Perhaps the officers were out at practice or off to war. She strode farther down the shaded
passageway until she reached a closed, darkred door. In gold lettering was some sort of symbol, just above eye level. It looked somewhat like the old Hirrahan symbol for one, but Artemi had paid little attention to her language studies as a girl. It could have meant cleaning supplies and she wouldn’t have been any the wiser. She knocked once upon the lacquered wood and waited.
There was a thump and some shuffling inside, followed by a curse. At length, a palehaired man thrust open the door and blinked at her in apparent surprise.
“Excuse me for disturbing you, my lord...” Better to use a reverent title in the absence of knowledge. “...I’m trying to track down members of the Kantari family. I hoped that one of your number might be able to help.”
The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 74