That wasn’t possible! How could he have control over Law-keepers? No... She
knew he had done a terrible thing to achieve this. “You harvested one of them.”
A grin the colour of red wine and fermenting tanno fruit cracked his face. “Three, actually.”
Artemi suddenly felt afraid. This man could do anything he wanted - to her and to the other worlds. To Morghiad.
The men rose from their seats in nearunison, stares burning into him with their
golden, flame-filled eyes. Their bodies, he realised, were clothed only in grey light. One man moved ahead of the others, his feet sprouting flames with each step. His dark hair was longer than a Sunidaran’s, but left loose around his shoulders. His arms were thin and untrained. “Well, I haven’t seen one of you in a very long time.” He circled the king, examining his weapons and comparatively lacklustre clothing. “Tor, it’s like the light drains away into him! Dark man from a dark world.”
Tor joined his friend for the inspection. “Fireless,” he murmured. The taller and blonder-haired man stopped at Morghiad’s swords. His eyes seemed to widen at the sight of them. “Look at these pretty, pretty things!”
The first man placed an arm in front of Tor. “Not for you. The oldies haven’t forgotten the rules.”
Curious. There was clearly no way Morghiad could blend into this place, or in with these people. “What rules are those?”
One of his spectators raised an eyebrow. “No weapons are permitted here no blades or arrows or axes or whatever you lot use to start fights. If one of us is caught carrying one, we are extinguished.”
Morghiad took that to mean a fairly final ending to whatever these people called life. But no sharp edges - was this world occupied by children? “No fighting then?”
“We find more civilised ways of settling our problems here.” A man with plaits of whiteblond hair leaned in to scrutinise Morghiad’s eyes. “Tell me, panther man, is it really true that Darkworld men deliver their own babes?”
One of his friends puffed through some sizeable moustaches. “Damn right they do. Saw it in a gorinne pool once. Very peculiar people.”
“It is necessary,” Morghiad added. Here men did not aid their wives? How barbaric! “And it is an honour.”
The men exchanged looks of confusion before the thin-armed man spoke again, “What brings you to The Crux – sorry, Achellon-” He smirked at his friends, “-Darkworlder?”
“I am looking for someone. Her name is Artemi.”
“Farhan Artemi?”
“She’s back?” the blond man asked, eyes wide.
What sort of games were these men playing with him? “What is Farhan and what
do you mean by back?”
“Allow me to enlighten the fireless,” Tor said. “Farhan Artemi was dispatched to The Darkworld some time ago to teach her a lesson...”
Wait. Artemi was one of them? A fireeyed, glowing creature of Achellon? Blazes, why hadn’t he worked that out sooner?
“... And she is so-titled because she is the pure flame – untainted by mating, and she shall give rise to the next Farhan or Farhis. She is our virgin kahriss, if you like.”
Morghiad very nearly burst out laughing, but hid his any sign of his mirth quite admirably. These men would probably not appreciate hearing about his marriage to her, or the child that had resulted. “What lesson was she supposed to learn while she was... away?”
Tor folded his arms. “Obedience. To behave. To learn the futility of war, the importance of action and duty in life, and how to accept death.”
“Artemi misbehaved?” There was little surprise there. Clearly that was one lesson she refused to learn.
“Farhan Artemi,” the blond one corrected.
Tor nodded sagely. “She refused to do her duty. Not that Farhis Brindon has much to be desired in a mate, but breeding rules are as they are. They have to be followed.”
Morghiad rubbed at his rather stubbly chin. “And she has been returned here to marry this man?”
“That is very probable,” the blond man
The new husband now topped Morghiad’s list of most disliked men, gods and men. “Why Farhis Brindon?”
“He is born of The Crux, just as her father was. The oldies - the Law-keepers conjured him by sacrificing one of their number. And Farhan Artemi’s firstborn will go on to mate with another Farhid that the Law-keepers make. And so it will continue.”
Morghiad was even more confused. “What do they hope to gain from this?”
Tor nodded at his dark-haired friend. “Mihael?”
Mihael twisted his mouth. “To save all worlds. To save The Crux. Someone in her line will rescue us from darkness when it comes, or so it is said. Firstborn of the firstborn of the firstborn and so on. And their mate must be
made in the same manner as Brindon. Pure fires and all that.”
“Sounds like utter nonsense to me,” Morghiad murmured. His comment was met by flat stares. Artemi’s foretellings he would believe; his son’s appearance in his dream was understandable; Silar’s visions were entirely logical, but this sort of arbitrary rubbish could only come from people who did not even trust themselves with a knife!
“What is it you want with our Farhan, Darkworlder?” Mihael asked, eyes narrowing to pinpricks of light.
“She is my friend, and I think she is in danger.”
The blond man smirked a little, and Morghiad began to wonder if these people could read minds. “Pretty girl like her, drawing
a knight into our world to rescue her. That does make for a-” He cut off as another grey-lit man stepped into the bleak room. Come to think of it, what had these men been doing in here? The place was utterly empty.
“The Law-keepers...” the new arrival began, only stopping briefly to stare at Morghiad’s dark form, “...The Law-keepers are gone. I can’t locate them.” Worried looks broke out among them, but no one seemed eager to speak.
Morghiad was growing impatient. “If these people are so important to you, aren’t you going to try and find them?” He was met by more silence. “Well, aren’t you going to do anything?”
Another moment of inaction was the response he received. “Blazes!” He marched
towards the door. “I’m going to find Farhan Artemi. If she is in trouble, and your Lawkeepers are missing, then it ought to be very likely the two are linked. Anyone who wants to join me is more than welcome.”
“I will not come,” Mihael said, as if rousing from a brief slumber.
“Nor I,” the pale-blond man said.
“And not I,” said Tor. What was wrong with these men? Did they have no passion or drive for anything?
Morghiad shook his head in disbelief. “Which way must I travel to her?”
Mihael’s smirk returned, and the newly arrived man burst out laughing. When he’d finished he wiped his eyes and said, “Darkworlder, there are no paths here, or roads or whatever basic and contrived methods your sort have for travelling. Simply walk and you will be brought to her, as you were brought here.”
He hadn’t really wanted to end up here though, surely? And who was to say he’d end up outside another building full of strange men he had no need of? Morghiad let out a sigh, and left.
Blazes but these people were oddities! And cowardly! Though they had been helpful at least, and they had not tried to kill him for wandering into their precious Crux. Morghiad stamped through the strange, light-filled woods, his feet making no sound upon the leaves. One of their number had called him panther man. What did that signify? And how had he known of the connection? Something became visible up ahead, but it wasn’t a building this time. As
he neared it, he realised it was some sort of plinth. A flat, horizontal carving had been placed at the top, and Morghiad leaned over to inspect it.
It appeared to be a map of the world, his world, cut from dark basalt stone. In truth, the stone looked very much like it had been robbed from Cadra’s castle, but that couldn’t be possible. There w
as something else unusual about it. Laid onto the map were nine figures all of them animals of some description. A panther stood over the area of Gialdin, but in Tedarah there was a bear, in Jarho a dragon, in the Sea of Lightning there was some sort of shark and elsewhere all sorts of predacious creatures guarded something. Gates. Nine creatures to protect the nine gates of Achellon. And somehow he was one of them.
Fires of... fires of The Crux! He needed to concentrate on Artemi, not this! Artemi. Her hair like old gold and fire, her fine and dark eyes. That pale skin... yes. She was the only thing in his mind now. Morghiad pressed deeper into the lifeless glowing forest. Images of her body filled his mind, but worries crept in with it. Would she want to stay here to fulfil her duty? Would he and his Darkworld be nothing to her now? Selfish thoughts! He needed to save his queen regardless. But more questions itched at his consciousness. Why had they taken her now? And why not before he’d lain with her? Did Tallyn not count as her firstborn? And why would they have waited until he was nearly a year old?
Morghiad almost tripped over another item brought about by his distracted thoughts,
this time a camp fire. He believed it signified something, but ignored it. He was wasting time he needed to devote to Artemi! At length, a building emerged from between the saturated tree trunks, and he knew he’d find her in it. Morghiad drew his sword slowly, silently, and watched the glittering walls from behind one of the broader trees. There were no windows along the walls of the structure, but then there’d be no need for such things here. He waited for a little while, hoping to see his flame-haired beauty step out of the door. She did not.
He had no choice but to advance on the building, with no idea of what to expect or what he really intended to do. Would swords have any notable effect upon these people? He drew his second sword, just in case, and waited for the door to open before him. It
revealed a stark hallway, oddly long for the size of building it occupied. Morghiad stepped into it, feeling the air breathe as the door shut behind him. He walked the bright and empty passage with stealth, heading only for the single door at the end of it. The door sprung open before he reached it, however, and emitted a pale-faced man with a sour expression. His eyes shone with fire. “A Darkworlder? How amusing,” the man said. “Try this for your metal!”
Something hit Morghiad hard, catapulting him into the wall behind. Shards of light flew up around him as his swords scraped the bright stones. His opponent, whoever he was, was using something other than Blaze. Morghiad pushed himselffrom the floor as rapidly as he was able, and threw his second
sword squarely at his enemy as he charged forwards. The man was fast enough to step out of the way, and faster still in releasing another burst of whatever power he was using. Morghiadfound himselfflattened against the gold, sparkling floor. He needed to be far more inventive if he was to come close to touching this man.
Clearly Crux peoples were still vulnerable to blades as he was. This man was like a wielder; Morghiad just had to find a way through his defences, or match them... or quench him. Morghiad raised his sword as he stood again, drawing his enemy’s ire. But, surreptitiously, he threw a dagger with his other and it landed squarely in the pale man’s chest. His opponent launched another invisible attack on him again, but Morghiad was ready for it
this time. He rapidly moved to the side and somehow caught it. It felt like life and nothing, all at once; hot and cold fighting against each other in his grasp. He launched this substance at the wide-eyed man as hard as he would a fireball, and succeeded in knocking him unconscious.
He padded over his defeated enemy’s podgy, inanimate body and examined it closely. The same grey light swathed his figure as the other men, but he wore a golden pendant around his neck. A symbol of a flame was marked upon it. Morghiad decided he did not want this man to wake, and so swept his sword cleanly through his thick neck. As soon as he did, however, flames rocketed from the cutting place and spouted upwards to the ceiling. They cascaded down over him, raining hot, ashless
fire over his head. The floor started to fill with light. This did not feel terribly safe for a Darkworld man, and so he made for the hallway door. He fell through it when it opened ahead of him, crashing onto the cold and bare stones beyond. His shoulder did not appreciate the landing very much.
“Morghiad?”
That was Artemi’s voice!
He raised his head to look around the room, and his eyes were drawn to a pool of light in the corner. But... but... he could not rise from his knees. Her figure was enveloped in soft light that glimmered like reflections from a waterfall, here and there revealing the smooth rises and falls of her form. The sight shattered his already torn heart, and healed it in an instant. This Artemi was transcendent in her
beauty. He swallowed a mouthful of air and gawped.
“How did you even get here?” She came to kneel beside him. “Are you alright?” Her eyes were full of flames - orange and dark fires that moved as she stared. But her hair, her hair was a cascade of pure, golden-red light.
Morghiad placed his fingers against her cheek. It felt oddly cool, as if she’d stepped in from a wintery day. And when he kissed her, it was a feeling of hot silk against his lips.
“Wait.” She pushed gently at his shoulders. “Brindon will be here soon. He can hurt you. You must leave before he comes.”
Morghiad ran a hand through her shimmering hair. “If you mean the man with the bloated face, he is already dead.”
“What?”
Morghiad inclined his head to the door. “Out there.”
Alarm filled her features as she started looking over his body. “Did you harvest him? Did you take his power?”
“I...
don’t-”
The goddess Artemi rose then, and glided swiftly into the hallway. He trailed behind her at a distance, watching as she sank by Brindon’s side. At first he feared she would start mourning him, but she did something quite different. She leaned over his headless neck and drew something from him. It was not fire or light or Blaze, but distortions in the air; it looked like heated vapours. When she was finished, she leaned back in the flood of expended light as if exhausted, and smiled. His queen looked at him then. “You make a very
impressive hero, my husband.”
He was feeling distinctly unimpressive next to her. “I thought I’d lost you, yet again.”
“I’m sorry – ifI’d known...” She returned and embraced him tightly.
“Come back with me. Tallyn misses you terribly. And I need you.”
Her flame-filled eyes became sad, if that was possible. “I don’t know if they’d let me...”
“Silar gave me some advice. He said I had to render you useless to them, whoever they are.”
Artemi smirked. “Well, there’s only one way of doing that!” She said it as a joke, but her features rapidly drew into seriousness. “Make love to me.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes.”
Well, in that respect he was more than happy to oblige her, and soon his weapons and clothes lay strewn about the room. It was a rather different experience from the searing torrents of fire he had grown used to: it was cooler, sweeter and gentler. Her body was softness and yielding curves, almost fragile to his touch. But the ending was perfect and exquisite; it felt like falling in love all over again.
She nuzzled into his shoulder afterwards. “You feel different here.”
“So do you.” His mind was not tied to hers as before, but he could hear the contentment in her voice. He stroked her ember-like hair. “And this means I can take you home with me?”
“Yes. They will not be very happy with us, even though we shall be their rescuers.”
“They?”
Artemi pushed herself up to lean over him. “The Law-keepers. We ought to go to them now.”
Morghiad spoke as he dressed, “They are the ones who sent you to the Darkworld in the first place?”
“And they brought me back here when my se
ntence was complete.”
Sentence? Blazes, his world may not have been so glowing or so warm, but at least it was never so dull! And the people here... strange and easily cowed. Dark or not, his world had much that Achellon lacked.
Once he had dressed and Artemi was again covered by her swirling clouds of light, she led him through a series of doors that
appeared within blank walls. When she opened the final one, five downcast and bound women were revealed. None of them raised their flame-filled eyes to look at him or his wife. Wife – how strange it now sounded to call her that. And just how had he ended up married to a blazed goddess of Achellon? He moved forward to extract one of the women from her bonds, carefully feeling around the invisible power he didn’t understand. He thought about opening it, and somehow his mere thoughts succeeded in doing just that. The grey-haired woman blinked in surprise, and raised her bright eyes to him. Her face was very peculiar; it was creased all over, like the skin of a tanno fruit left to shrivel in the sun.
The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 102