“Follocking, tinfoil hats!” Beetan exclaimed as he stumbled out of a neighbouring office, his hair seeming to glow more brightly than ever.
“Thank you for that comment. Lieutenant Skyward?”
“Ah, yes, my queen.” Tortrix gestured for Morghiad to enter his office.
“Queen?” Morghiad seemed almost angry that she hadn’t mentioned Artemi shrugged. The title was his fault, after all.
He made a noise of exasperation and strode into the nearby room, and chatter only returned once the door had shut behind him. A huddle of soldiers began to amass around her. “It is him, isn’t it?” “What did you do?” “Where has he been?” “Where did you find him?” “Are you going to keep him here?” Their voices became a muddle.
“Alright, alright. Hush!” The queen could barely keep her smiles hidden. “I have no idea how this has happened. But yes. That is Morghiad.”
“How long have you known he
was... alive?” asked one of the older soldiers.
“All of five minutes.”
Luna elbowed his way to the front. “So he’s staying here? Is that a good idea?”
She nodded slowly. “Something made him choose this army. And yes, he is too young to have his memories. This is probably the safest place for him.”
“But if someone so much as mentions something... or if he meets Kalad. Surely he’ll know?”
Artemi smiled. “It is not as easy as that. Being vanha-sielu without your memories is like living in a strange sort of denial. If you tell him about his previous self, you will only give him a bad headache. It takes a far more concerted effort to bring the memories on early, and most people are wise enough to know that he would only return to exact some revenge. Keep him away from Mirel.” All this assumed he was vanha-sielu, of course. She had never seen one newly made before. She was, after all, the youngest of all the Kusurus.
“But he will see the resemblance, my lady - in each of your children.” Luna scrubbed a hand
through his pale hair.
“Yes. Perhaps we ought to suggest that he is related to their father. Blazes, he was probably named after himself anyway, so his parents would have known they looked similar.”
Luna’s eyebrows raised in defeat. “As you say, my lady. I shall have the message conveyed to the necessary people. And might I say, that smile looks well on you after its long absence.”
The queen watched in lazy contentment as the men filtered away, the tones of their voices raised by their excitement. She was happy, but she
was becoming nervously so. What course of action would he take when he remembered his final intentions? Would he try to destroy himself again? And what sort of ocean of guilt would he pour for himself when he realised how his family had missed him? These were all things she had to prepare for, and she would require the aid of a certain general to do it.
She wanted to wait a moment before calling for Silar, however, and think over how she would inform her children. Kalad. He would finally have a chance to know his father! What impossible beneficence was this?
Artemi leaned against the cool, white wall and began to plait her hair. It had grown rather long since she had neglected to properly attend to it. In truth, she had neglected much of her appearance through the years. She looked down at herself. The deep-blue assassin’s garb she wore was comfortable but dulled with wear. Her brown boots were scuffed and muddied. It was no surprise that Morghiad had discounted her rank. The nobles of Calidell had longago come to tolerate her family’s differences in deportment and appearance. No one seemed to expect
them to emulate the style of other kings or queens. But Artemi sometimes wondered if she looked at all impressive to anyone. Probably not.
Every strand of her hair had been twisted into a braid by the time Tortrix and his new recruit stepped out of the offices. She fell into step beside the lieutenant. “And how do you find his attitude?”
“A little brusque, my lady, but he shows promise.”
She cast a backward glance toward the young Morghiad, and his small bow to her was barely reverent. “I see. And from which region of the
world is he?”
“Cadra and its villages,” Morghiad answered quickly. It certainly explained his unchanged accent, but had he really been living under their noses all these years?
Tortrix spun round. “Master Zennar, when the queen asks a question of me, you must allow me to respond to it. If she wishes you to speak, then she will address you directly.”
Artemi blinked for a moment, but quickly realised her gratitude for Tortrix’ presence. She could quite easily have let her former husband run
free with his tongue and would never have reprimanded him for it. At least, not when she was in a mood as good as this. “I am sure the army will see to his manners in time. I hope you don’t mind if I watch you test his fighting ability.”
“Not at all, my lady. Perhaps you would like to be his combatant?”
The offer was a very tempting one, but how long before she lost control and became too exuberant? She was supposed to be able to fight in any situation, amidst any emotions. But these were too powerful even for her to be confident of properly containing.
“No thank you, Tor. I think I’d prefer to watch for now.”
Their pace to the practice hall was rapid, and clearly news of his arrival had spread faster than Jarho’s monsoon rains. Just about every soldier they passed offered a smile, a wink or a markedly less formal reaction than usual. Had he really managed to walk past the entirety of the castle’s security without being recognised? “Master Zennar,” she began, “Did you happen to meet with any problems in finding your way into our palace?”
“No. Everyone seems to think my name is Kalad.”
“No, my lady,” Tortrix corrected.
“I shall forgive his rudeness this once,” she said quietly to the lieutenant. She turned back to Morghiad. “You will soon see why the guards assumed the other identity.” They stepped into the grand space, and she was pleased to see the same look of surprise playing upon his features that had been evident so many years earlier. The room was, of course, vast and impossible in terms of scale and structure. Several areas of the walls were so thin that the broad, wintry skies were visible through them.
The queen took up her seat on a curved shelf that jutted from the edge of the chamber, drew one of her knees up and readied herself for the spectacle. Tortrix had chosen to allow Morghiad to fight with his less-thanideal weapon, and it shone dully in the effervescent light. The aged lieutenant made the first attack, and Morghiad’s parry was conventional and expected. His subsequent side-swipe was the sort of move Artemi would expect from a soldier of a year’s training, easily evaded by Tortrix. But, as the lieutenant increasingly pressed him, Morghiad’s moves became less
disciplined. His posture altered, and he swapped his sword to the opposite hand. He made two wild up-thrusts and a single, unchecked side-swipe that could very easily have relieved Tortrix of his head. Had the lieutenant been a lesser swordsman, and Morghiad tidier, the move would have been a dangerous one.
Artemi had seen quite enough. “Halt!” She paced toward the two men. “You fight like a rabid dog, Master Zennar, and I’ve been around long enough to know where men learn to fight like that.”
Tortrix nodded. “We are not in
the habit of recruiting street swords.” That was a relatively inoffensive term for cutthroats, bandits and thieves.
Morghiad very nearly glowered at them both. “I was trained by a former mercenary.”
“Evidently not a very good one.” Artemi folded her arms and assessed him from head to toe. He was lean and looked to be fit enough, though he was not as muscular as she remembered. With some training and an improvement in his attitude, he would be quick to reclaim his famous level of discipline. “What do you think we ought to do, Lieutenant Skyward?”
“He needs to spend some time with the cadets. Give him a month with them, then we’ll see if
he is ready.”
Artemi nodded. It would be humiliating for him, given that he would be at least five years older and a foot taller than any cadet there. But perhaps some small humbling was required. “Make it a month and a half.”
“I came here to join your army, not a blasted school!” Morghiad barely looked as if he regretted the words. He added a quiet, “My queen,” at the end.
“And you shall have that opportunity if you demonstrate that you can follow orders and fight with
some degree of discipline. Calidell’s army is one of the best this world has seen, truly the finest I have fought with...” she caught sight of Tortrix puffing out his chest from the corner of her eye, “...and I cannot make special allowances for dog fighters. You may be something great if you apply yourself. You may not. I advise you to take our rather generous offer, Master Zennar.” Blazes, she hoped that he would.
His green eyes were introspective for a moment, but he nodded at last. “Alright. I accept.”
“Very good. Do we have any
accommodations available?”
Tortrix shook his head with a sigh. “Palace is full, my lady. It’ll have to be Peachgrove for him.”
The queen managed to suppress her disappointment. “I shall see him there.”
“Ah, my lady?”
“I know it is irregular, but this one intrigues me. And if you could arrange a new sword for him?”
“Of course.” Tortrix offered her a small bow and turned before leaving the grand hall. She found herself alone with this child version of her husband once more.
Artemi took a moment to appraise him for the hundredth time in as many minutes, and allowed herself a smile at his obvious discomfort. “We should be moving. Follow me, Master Zennar. And please, I would appreciate it if you would answer my questions more comprehensively this time.”
He merely grunted in response, clearly keen to dispense with his forced platitudes in Tortrix’ absence.
The queen allowed him some silence as they made their way along the level hallways: structures that ought to have sloped as they appeared to from the outside. But curiosity soon
provoked her to speak, “You wish to join Calidell’s army, which demands that you fight for queen and country. You may be required to sacrifice your life for these things, and yet it seems to me you have no desire to fight for your queen.” He had made that much clear with his sour demeanour. “So tell me, what is it that you fight for?”
“As I said to your lieutenant, I saw many injustices committed upon the people I lived among. They are Calidellian, though they have no noble blood or money to speak of. I fight for them.”
That sounded very much like the Morghiad of old: favouring the lessfortunate over all others. “That is a very good reason to join us. But those must have been internal problems, if you’re speaking of the Cadran settlements. What are your thoughts on external threats? Would you be as eager to march against the Hirrahans?” He shifted his shoulders awkwardly. “If they threatened Calidellian lives.” His answer was measured and correct, the sort she expected from a new recruit. But something set attack bells ringing in her mind, and she could not work out why. He frowned at her, or perhaps it was a
look of disapproval; she couldn’t be sure.
They stepped into the chill of the winter’s air and the foot-thick snow. Most of the paths had been cleared that morning, but a fresh layer had already coated everything in a muted blanket once more. “Did you bring any possessions with you?”
Morghiad shook his head.
“I see. Would you like to collect your horse before we leave the palace? Peachgrove has its own stable block.”
“I have no horse. I came here on foot.”
She blinked at him, very nearly
stumbling over her own feet. “But you can ride?”
“Well enough.”
Blazes. He really had fallen on hard times in this life, and she had done nothing to help him through them. But how to remedy the problem? She could hardly extract Tyshar from her eldest son, and giving this young man something so valuable would appear to be very odd behaviour indeed. She would have to find him a subtler beast. She returned her gaze to his youthful features. Aside from the darkness of his glowers, he looked as if he had only just started shaving. “Have I offended
you in some way, Master Zennar?”
He looked to the floor. “No.”
“Well, that is to be glad for.” But she could see that something about her presence irritated him, and that concerned her. Perhaps she ought to have mentioned that she was the queen the moment she had met him. After all, the same reticence had upset her some years ago. She tugged at her braid of red-gold hair as they stepped into the city’s main thoroughfare. Not a single person there gave their former king a second glance; all were too busy prostrating themselves before her. Artemi attempted to wave some of
them away, or ask that they did not make such unnecessary displays. As usual, her desperate efforts were in
vain.
“Do they always do this when you walk about your city?” Morghiad whispered.
“They saw me fall out of a hole in the sky, and my wonderful general let it be known that I was originally born in Achellon.” She had launched some vile words at Silar for that particular release of information. He had made his usual grins of mischief at her, and had swiftly diverted their conversation to matters of her family.
It irritated her how he managed that with such ease.
“I had heard whispers in my village, but do your people really believe this?”
The queen only responded with a small smile. She had no desire to defend the truth, and certainly not when it was of such little consequence. If Mirel was from the Crux, anyone could be! “What is the name of your village?”
“Pryandar. Do you remember it?”
She thought carefully of the maps she had studied so carefully, but
could not place the name. Likely it was one of the newer ones that had sprung up around the site of Cadra. “I am sorry I do not.”
He made a peculiar noise of exasperation.
“Were you born there?”
“No. Here. For my mother’s sake.”
She swallowed hard. They would have records of it... he would have been there, in the castle while she still mourned him. But no one had even thought to check... A wave of nausea stole Artemi’s voice utterly. There would be no more questions today.
Peachgrove was at the northern edge of the city, surrounded by a thin orchard of snow-covered, bare trees. The building was sweeping and glistening, seemingly drawn to a point at one end like a whip of cream. Tall windows faded in and out of the walls, reaching as high as three storeys. “This is-”
“Artemi!”
The sound of thundering hoof falls approached them, as did a shouting and panicked General Forllan. She turned to face him with her hands upon her hips.
“Artemi,” he shouted again
breathlessly, almost tumbling out of the saddle. “I saw.” He jogged the rest of the way and gripped her by both arms. “I saw it. Thank Achellon I’m here in time. Tell me you’re not going to do it. Please, promise me. Don’t go into those flames.”
“You should be on patrol.”
Silar judged her expression in confusion for a moment. “You’ve already changed your mind?” He did not wait for an answer, however, and squeezed the breath out of her with an overenthusiastic embrace.
Artemi tried to escape without resorting to more violent methods, but
his grip suddenly relaxed. His arms moved from her sides as if gently pulled away by some unseen force. He had seen Morghiad. When she at last escaped from Silar’s chest, she noted he was staring quite open-mouthed at their new cadet. “Thank you for that caring display, Lord-General Forllan. Now that I have enough space to breathe once more, I would like to introduce you to Master Morghiad Zennar. He has requested to join the Army of Calidell.
Silar looked back to Artemi momentarily, b
ut eventually offered his hand to the green-eyed man. “Good to
meet you.”
Morghiad muttered an unenthusiastic, “Likewise,” and took the hand. The greeting was brief and courteous, but no more remarkable than any other.
The house master joined them shortly after that and, upon recognising his new tenant, was very quick to whisk the young cadet away. Silar compressed his lips as the two men strode off toward the house. “Back from the dead,” he whispered.
“You do not sound too pleased.”
The general’s dark blue eyes settled back upon her. “I am for you,
and I suppose I have missed the old ingrate.” He mustered a smile.
“But?”
“But whatever skills he mastered in his last life he has retained. I cannot read him at all.”
Artemi took Silar’s arm and walked him back towards his horse, kicking up the snow as she went. “Then we have a project to work on.”
He growled softly under his breath. “It blurs everything he has influence over, and that includes you. And me. I knew this would be bad.”
“Wait, you knew? You knew he was alive and you didn’t tell me?”
“I knew it was a possibility. A very small one.”
The queen released his arm and gave him a forceful shove. “You had no right to keep that from me!”
The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 125