Morghiad stood to circle the tree.
Surely Silar would have seen this? But then, what would he have done if he had? Deny Artemi her happiness? Kill his own friend? “I wouldn’t...” He thought more deeply. His ancestors had indeed battled with themselves through the millennia, consumed by their own guilt, perhaps. There had to be some other explanation. “What if there are other reasons? What if it’s not truly the end of the world or... if the son that dies was already dying or...” But he was capable of destroying everything. He could do it. “Let’s say you’re right and I’m evil incarnate. How do we stop it?”
Dorlunh looked at him with sad eyes. “You always were a practical man. It seems a shame... The world could do with more kings like you, strangely enough. I will give you a choice: two days to say goodbye to the people
you love, your friends and family. And thenI will give you a quick death and the world shall remember you fondly. Or, you can choose to live. But you shall risk killing your own lad and – you know the rest.”
Rubbish – it had to be utter rubbish! He’d always hated book-bound prophecies. Much better to lay your trust in good friends. But Dorlunh was a good man, an intelligent man. An ally and friend. Why should he be led so astray? “I shall be back here in two days with my decision,” Morghiad said. He rapidly turned and strode out with his horse.
He ambled aimlessly for some time on Tyshar’s back, not really knowing where to ride to or from. The woodland was so full of life in spite of the winter weather. It seemed impossible to imagine he would be the cause of its destruction. Impossible. But he had seen and been part of many impossible things already. Tyshar was walking back to the city, as if guided by some subconscious thought of his master’s. Perhaps there would be some answers there.
Morghiad rubbed at the stubble he’d forgotten to shave that morning, and thought. He trusted Silar with everything, but he also knew how deeply his general loved Artemi. If he asked Silar his opinion on the matter, he could not guarantee a useful response. Worse, if the general saw anything of Morghiad’s mood, he would immediately take steps to obstruct Dorlunh. But his friend was the only one who could tell him if the Kusuru was right. He had no choice but to see Silar, but he also had achieve something he had only partially
managed to do in recent years. He had to hide his intentions from the man.
He trotted back into his capital city of Gialdin, a false smile painted across his face. He compressed and quelled all the negative feelings and fears he felt. He hid them even from himself. Morghiad kept his pace even and calm as he walked to Silar’s rooms. None of his actions or expressions could be permitted to raise the slightest of suspicions. He was happy, he told himself, content to have a peaceful country and a handsome family. Talia was walking in the opposite direction as he approached the general’s rooms. She had grown into a fair-looking woman, her hair a darker shade of red than Artemi’s. He gave her a courteous bow as they passed, and she smiled back warmly. Good, she had not
spotted anything.
He knocked softly on Silar’s door when he reached it, but heard no sound from within. It was a very empty hallway, curving off into a white haze at either end. Morghiad decided to enter his friend’s room and wait for him. He left the door open as he walked inside, taking care to check if the rooms were occupied by anyone sleeping. They were entirely vacant. He leaned against the heavy desk to wait, running his eyes around the chamber. It wasn’t a very tidy place, having numerous items of Silar’s clothing scattered about the floor and over the dresser.
His old sword had been mounted on the wall using Blaze forms, and was now too nicked and bent to be used in battle. Morghiad’s own blade had fared better, but
was probably nowhere near as old. He still remembered how a gangly, eleven-year-old blond boy had turned up at Cadra, waving his grandparent’s sword about and claiming he was the best at using it. Morghiad had been a year younger and therefore smaller, but Silar had made a welcome opponent in sword practice. He smiled at the memory.
His eyes dropped to the piles of clutter at his feet. Mostly they were documents and files, unravelled pigeon messages or tied up scrolls. But, poking out from beneath one pile was the cover of a heavy tome. And there were more books underneath that. Odd. Silar hated books. “Too predictable,” he always said. Morghiad bent down to extract them from the pile and laid them out on the desk. His breath caught as he read their titles. Foretellings of
the Fires, Observations of the Future and Caralan Prophecies. Silar was already three steps ahead.
Morghiad bit his lip as he opened a marked page, and what he read sank his mood even lower than before.
...A man born of Gialdin shall quell the life of his own son, and afterwards the world will weep. It shall weep until it has no tears left to quench the flames...
He turned to the other book.
...House Jade’an: the source of light
and the source of the end. A dark jaguar will prowl the wastelands. Sons beware...
Morghiad frantically tore through the next book.
...Because of him, The Fireblade’s pain is eternal. Because of him, the fires will cool to ice and all will die...
Not Artemi. Please, not her! Suffering because of his actions. He did not need to read any more. He slammed the books shut and shoved them back into the pile. Silar already knew! He knew that his friend would turn into this monster, this terrible thing that could hurt everyone. How long would he have waited? How long would he have kept this from their beloved Artemi?
Morghiad swiftly strode from the room, once again checking his worst emotions were
hidden from his wife’s sight. She would be expecting him soon, waiting in their secret meeting place. How was he to look her in the eye? To keep this from her? He had no choice. His decision was made. His duty now was to make sure his last days were good ones. There had to be some happiness left in him to share with her.
He felt it when he saw her, of course. Her hair glinted beneath the arches of the undercroft - soft embers in the low light. Artemi’s beauty could have lifted the heart of the most soulless, depraved or resigned man in the world. His smile at her was far from feigned, and she returned a handsome one of her own.
“And what has my husband occupied himselfwith this morning? Nothing too taxing, I hope?”
He had succeeded in hiding what he needed to hide. Morghiad took her hands into his own and kissed them. “Well, my sweet wife, I went for a ride in the forest. And you?” He started unlacing her bodice. “Tell me what you have been attending to.”
She smirked. “Oh, nothing very exciting. Just maintaining the peace of your country, raising your children...” She trailed off as his kisses became obstructive to conversation. He wanted to savour every moment of perfection he could, and to keep himself from thinking too deeply.
Artemi dozed quietly in his arms afterward, her mind carefree and content. How would she deal with his departure? His government would do well enough without him. Tallyn and Medea were very nearly grown. But Kalad - he would never know his father, and that thought tore at Morghiad’s heart. He knew how difficult that was, only knowing a parent through other people’s descriptions. Would Silar step in as he had once requested? Letters. He would have to write a number of letters.
He ran his fingers through her hair, enjoying the unique fizzling the fibres gave off. No other wielder’s hair had ever felt quite the same, not that he had touched many.
Artemi yawned softly and wriggled. “I have to teach the sword to your son and daughter.”
“I will come with you.”
She lifted her head suddenly and narrowed her deep brown eyes at him. “I thought you had to audit the provincial stores
today.”
“It can wait.”
Her flame of emotions bubbled with confusion. “People will start to wonder if I’m pregnant again.”
“Let them wonder.” He kissed her on the forehead and stood to find his clothing.
When th
ey left, he had a messenger tell the chancellor’s assistants to delay their meeting by a few days, and walked with his wife to the practice room. His son and daughter were already brawling with each other when they walked in. Twins, most people in the palace called them, owing to their close age and constant company. He put his arm around his queen while they watched. Tallyn was already very tall for his age, and considerably stronger than his younger sister. But she was lightning
fast. Medea was another item of business he’d have to deal with before he left them. He had to release her power from the limits he’d set around it so many years before. She was probably old enough to use it responsibly now, in any case.
Tallyn finished the fight by flooring his sister, and pronounced himselfa universal victor.
“Not so much pride,” Artemi warned, breaking free of her husband’s hold. “Otherwise-”
Medea tripped up her brother almost as punctuation to her mother’s words, which prompted a chuckle from Morghiad. “Few fights ever end so simply,” he added.
Tallyn had folded his arms and was looking rather displeased with the whole
situation.
“Catch!” Artemi flung wooden swords at the three of them, and took one up herself. “I would suggest, my lord, that the boys fight against the girls. Would you accept this challenge?”
He cast off his coat, his cloak and bowed. “Of course.”
Artemi immediately started whispering tactics into her daughter’s ear, and Morghiad did the same with Tallyn. When they started their fight, it was slow and instructional, but things rapidly descended into all-out familial warfare. The four of them spun about each other with increasing speed, their teams eventually descending into a bitter fight for selfpreservation. He and Artemi worked hard to exploit their children’s weaknesses and, after
an hour of blade knocks, sweat and sharp elbows, they called an end to the battle.
“Medea,” he said somewhat breathlessly, “You have the same failing as I do. Watch your left side. And Tallyn, you need to keep the point higher. Too low and it’s easy for us to catch. But you are both easily good enough to join the army.”
“Morghiad!” his wife admonished.
He grinned. “But of course, you are both far too young for that.”
Artemi placed her hands on her hips as she studied her children’s faces. “I joined an army at fourteen once. Believe me, it did not end well. There are other things for you to learn besides fighting.”
Tallyn pulled his mouth to one side and Medea rolled her eyes.
“Listen to your mother. She is right.” They could not behave like this with her after he was gone. “You ought to consider yourselves lucky to be the children of such an experienced warrior. No one else has ever had that on their side.”
Artemi’s flame burned with curiosity at his words, but she did not say anything. Their son and daughter nodded quietly, apologetically.
“Good. Now why don’t we try this with some proper swords?”
Tallyn and Medea’s faces lit up with grins as broad as the blades they soon held. His actions were certainly rousing some suspicions in his wife, though she chose to play along with them.
“My queen, if you would like to
demonstrate some of the differences in practice when using a proper blade?”
She whisked a narrow sword, designed for delicate fingers, from the rack and spun it deftly in her hands. “With pleasure, my king.” Artemi lunged forward in attack, her blade singing on the air as it came.
He parried rapidly and stepped aside to gain ground on her next move, which always came unexpectedly quickly. “To start with, if you are going to make side-swipes or downcuts, try to keep them from the head area.” He moved to avoid another slash from his wife. “Even blunted swords can still kill in practice.” He ducked to avoid another cut, and made an admirable jab of his own. “You must steer clear of injuring your training partner, and always be ready to stop.” Artemi’s next swipe halted only
a finger’s width from his neck. “There are other things to learn,” he continued, “Such as the feel of metal against metal.” His blade slid down his wife’s with a sonorous scrape. “There’s the way it plays upon the air.” He threw his blade up, dodged Artemi and caught it behind her. “And the feel of it against your skin.” He grabbed Tallyn across the shoulders and held the blade against his neck, prompting Artemi to bow with defeat.
Light of Achellon, what was he doing? “Dad!” his son complained.
He immediately released Tallyn and stepped back. He’d only meant it in jest to end the fight... not as a genuine threat. Was that how easily such accidents could happen? Your son will die at your hands... Artemi’s smile turned to puzzlement as his own grin dropped
from his face. “Is everything alright?”
Morghiad nodded slowly, forcing his thoughts back into order. “Yes. We’ll let them do the rest.” Could he no longer trust himself around his own children?
His wife came to his side and directed the children to begin their own fight. He remained mostly silent for the rest of it, allowing Artemi to give guidance where it was required. She was clutching to his arm tightly throughout, but he only realised it after an hour had passed. It meant she had noticed something in him.
She remained at his arm while they walked back to their chambers afterward, occasionally prompting conversation with idle musings on the weather. When the door had shut she pushed him against the hot, hard wall. “I cannot even read you anymore! You are
hiding things from me and I know it! Why? You know I would love you regardless. Tell me what is going on in that fool, moth-brain of yours!” She looked close to tears. She felt close to tears.
He’d never wanted to upset her like this. Not now. She was an innocent. “Artemi... it’s just...” He had to lie to her. What choice was there? “They’re almost grown already. Not babies anymore. They will want to go off to war soon, and we cannot prevent it.” It was a half-truth, but it still made him feel unclean inside and out.
She chewed her lip in thought. “Well, what do you expect for the son and daughter of Calidell’s warrior king and queen?” She squeezed his arms. “We will prepare them as best we can. And make sure they have a guard
as vast as the city.”
That prompted a chuckle from him, and she smiled in return.
“And if it is babies you want, wellI shall fill this entire palace with them for you.”
More children? That was a sad hope for him to participate in, but he met her kisses anyway, and drew her to the bedroom. It was always a gamble to bed her when Kalad and his minders could return at any time, but that was some of the fun. No embarrassment was caused by their passion, however.
An hour before Kalad’s party arrived, Artemi had muttered something about her husband being “insatiable” and had then promptly fallen asleep. Knowing that these were his last moments with her did nothing to quell his lust. Morghiad had partially dressed
and paced the room once their mating bond was complete. He was unable to sleep.
A buxom minder with vacant eyes plopped Kalad into his arms when they arrived, and then she and her team swept from the room with whispered goodbyes. The child immediately rattled off a string of unintelligible words and pointed at one of the walls.
Morghiad laughed. “Really? That is fascinating.” He went to sit in a broad armchair with his son and studied him closely. What sort of man would he grow to be? Warm and kind like Tallyn? As charming as Silar? Or as cold as Morghiad had once been? And what would he look like? Alas, these were things the king would never know. He had to do the right thing. He had to protect them from himself. He leaned over the side of the chair and pulled out
a heavy volume, before placing it on the armrest.
Chronicles of the Warrior, Artemi. He’d read it to each of his children while they were small, much to his wife’s disapproval. But he wanted them to know what she was, and for them to be as proud of her as he was. He wanted them to
know that they came from someone who always fought for good. And now he wanted them to know that she would always be there when he would not. He shuffled his son into one arm and opened the book. He began:
An array of fires; an array of lives. The Fireblade’s array is eternal, but the beginnings and ends of each life are ever the same. It must always begin with death and
end with death.
And in one life, many centuries before now, a young woman strode out across the Calben Mountains. Her will was strong and her heart true, her hair the colour of winter fire...
Kalad had dozed into peaceful slumber by the time he’d finished the second chapter, and Morghiad watched him for a moment before he placed him into his cot. With both wife and son sleeping, he now had an opportunity to write the letters he needed to write. He seated himselfat his desk in the next room, drew out a sheaf of parchment and began to pour out his emotions.
Silar’s letter came first - a combination of apologies, requests and thanks. Next were
Tallyn’s and Medea’s, expounding his pride in them and his belief that they would achieve great things. Artemi’s letter brought him very nearly to tears as he wrote it. Every other line was an apology for his failure, straddled about his explanations for the actions he was about to take. Kalad’s letter was last - the most difficult letter of all. How was he to write it when his son’s personality was unknown to him? Kalad the man would see Morghiad as an utter stranger, perhaps even the father who had failed him. Morghiad gritted his teeth and began by writing something they’d both understand:
The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 105