The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  sense of rationality, too. He shook his head and pushed his new beast of a horse towards his sentries. It was time to catch a ship.

  Romarr eased himself into the bar seat as much as he dared. It looked sturdy, but he was increasingly finding that apparently strong furniture was quite often very feeble. It was not his

  fault that he grew muscles where others might grow fat, not his fault at all! He lifted his eyes to search for Selieni’s golden hair once more, and found it among a group of green-clad soldiers. He had spent a great deal of time staring at those soldier’s backsides during their ride back to the city, and it had given him a long while to think of his love for his wielder – though the two were unconnected, obviously.

  He could understand Artemi’s seemingly endless patience with her half mad, Dog Slayer husband, but he was not sure if he could have imprisoned The Daisain for the same

  reasons. Putting that great man into a cell was a very bad thing to do, and it concerned Romarr every time he thought about it. Even Selieni, for all of her wonderful qualities, could not have driven him to defy his training. Kusurus were meant to keep the world safe, no matter what the cost.

  He examined his golden-haired wielder more closely as she chatted and giggled with the other soldiers about her. She had never been entirely open with him about emotions and that sort of thing, which was upsetting times. But in the last few years she had become even more distant than was

  typical for her, and he could not quite work out why. She certainly had to be the most complex of all the women he had loved, and Romarr had loved a great many women through his lives. There was no greater pleasure to be had in the world than through intimacy with a wielder. None that he had encountered, certainly.

  At last Selieni seemed to remember that he was waiting for her, and she began to walk towards him. Another woman was in her company: a Calbeni wielder whom Romarr had met once or twice, called Anadea. Strangely, she reminded him of a

  frightened deer with her wide-open eyes and fawn hair. Perhaps she had a white tail under her skirts.

  “Rom,” Selieni said in her softest voice, “There is somethingI have to discuss with you.”

  He took a quick swig of his beer. “Well?”

  She looked nervously to her friend. “Anadea says she knows where one of the other caves of light may be. I want her to help us find it.”

  Romarr smiled broadly. “Sounds like an adventure. Though I hear they are guarded by strange animals. Could be dangerous.”

  “And it could offer hope to thousands of wielders. And Calidell cannot serve the whole population forever.” She smiled one of her feline smiles. “There is something else. I want Anadea to join us tonight.”

  Romarr shrugged. “Fine with me. There’s only so many times you can tell me that joke about the eisiel and the pear. Maybe Anad will have some new ones.” He gave her an encouraging grin.

  “Ah, no – that’s not what I meant. I meant join us...” She lowered her chin. “...tonight.”

  “Oh.” Realisation spread through his mind with an aggravating slowness. Could she not have discussed this sort of thing with him beforehand? Not that he had much to complain about, Anadea was hardly unappealing. Selieni appeared to be making herself smaller within her seat. “It’s just... I think I like women as well.” “Oh,” he said again. He glanced to Anadea, who appeared to be grinning inanely. Of course, he had taken more than one woman to his bed in the past, and on occasions those women had only demonstrated a passing interest in his presence. But he really had not expected this request of

  Selieni. She had always seemed so... set in her ways. Every horse she had ever ridden had been a dun gelding, every dress she wore contained red, and she always insisted upon polishing his daggers at the same time each morning, in the same order. Everything she did would fit into her set of habits, habits that were undoubtedly handed to her from her military-minded father. But this did not fit... “Are you sure this is what you want, Sel?”

  She nodded rapidly.

  Romarr toyed briefly with his beer mug. How long before she decided that she had tired of men

  altogether? He had rather enjoyed his time with her, and that smile... That smile could make him do anything. “Alright, then.”

  The two women progressed to his rooms, hand-in-hand, their skirts trailing the bare, white floor in luscious folds of crimson and gold. And Romarr followed them in complete obedience. He watched how their hips swayed in synchrony and the curls of their hair bounded with each smooth step. He appreciated the delicacy of their arms and fingers and the smallness of their waists. And when at last they entered his room, he took a deep breath,

  As the summer in Gialdin went, it took with it the heat in the earth and gave a short, wistful sigh of sunshine whose like would not return for another six months. The autumn breezed in with its anxious winds and then hastened out to give way to a jealous winter: a winter that gripped its icy fingers around all life that dared to survive it. But then winter yielded to an adolescent spring, and spring matured into summer once more. A year without her Morghiad; a year without their youngest son. Artemi had spent much of her time touring the countryside with her squad, whose numbers had dwindled since Seffe had been dismissed and Demeta had

  vanished with him. Silar had implied that theirs was no great loss, and the two lovers had appeared happy together, in any case.

  But when, that summer, she returned to the palace worn and disgruntled at the state of the world, she found a present waiting for her. It was in the shape of a long-legged, bigpawed and furry thing with ears that appeared to be too large for his head. Danner. The wolf still retained that look of immaturity that young dogs have, but the blue eyes and grey-white pelt were unmistakeable. She embraced the animal heartily, deeply wishing that

  Kalad had been there to meet him also. She had only heard three times from her son in the period that he had been absent, and each missive had been a brief note, telling her that he was still breathing. There was never a return address upon any of the letters, nor any questions about the rest of the family. “How alike we really are,” she had whispered upon reading the most recent.

  And there was no note or message with the wolf, rather Danner was the message himself. He proved that Morghiad was still alive and adhering to his promises, and he

  proved that her former husband felt some remorse over his actions. Artemi often wondered exactly what Morghiad occupied his time with, and if he had chosen his childhood sweetheart over her. Blazes! That sort of thought usually made her angry enough as it was. Not for the first time, she reached for some hair to drag her fingers through, but found most of it sadly absent. Even after a year’s urgent growth, it still only reached to her shoulders. Nowhere near long enough! Artemi rose and led her wolf into the castle gardens, taking care to ensure that he remained properly at her heels.

  The soft grasses were always a delight to walk upon, and their green was no less vibrant than the brightest of emeralds. She sat down amongst them, and began to pick at the stalks in thought. Danner was quick to curl up beside her and doze off in one of his lazy sleeps.

  “Mother?” Medea’s voice. “I have a report from Silar. He says it will cheer you up!” She handed over a small sheet of paper and plonked herself opposite.

  The report had clearly been penned by one of the general’s many spies, and it read:

  Rider – black warhorse – Rhofin – Participated in rescue during house fire.

  Rider – black warhorse – Rhofin – Captured well-known bandits at the city of Condinnan.

  Rider – black warhorse – Casfin – Tracked and captured fugitive murderer.

  Rider – black warhorse – Casfin – Vigilantism recorded.

  Rider – black warhorse – Casfin – Recovered stolen items.

  Rider – black warhorse – Casfin – Reported in regional bulletin

  The list continued for another twenty lines. “Am I to gather that your father has transformed himself into a champion of
the wronged?”

  Medea grinned. “It seems so. Silar says he risks becoming too wellknown if he stays where he is for much longer. He will have to move to another continent soon.”

  Artemi nodded. Notoriety was a troublesome thing when your actions needed to be secret. No doubt this ‘Black Knight’ already had a thousand women baying for his night-time

  company. She tried to push that particular thought from her mind. “Have you discovered any more about the changes in Blaze with your studies?”

  Her daughter bit her lip, and her self-consciousness returned with a hunching of her shoulders almost instantly. “I’m not sure. But I now know that the rotting of the Sky Bridges and the spears are definitely related to each other, but they are not related to the collapse of the old Gialdin. And I think there must be a way of looking at old flare measurements – really old ones. There must be something in the environment that locks in their levels. Then I could see what happened before you came here, before Mirel and her sister came here.”

  “Be careful, Med. Your father once told me he could sense another wielder who was strong, and The Hunter used to mention her before. But she has never troubled us. I am not sure I want another one of my Crux family to deal with.”

  “Aren’t I one of them?”

  A smile touched Artemi’s lips. “You are a very rare example, and I thank every fire that burns in the

  universe that you are part Darkworlder.”

  “Mother... what do the people actually do in The Crux? You always speak of the Law-keepers as if they could end us, but-”

  “What they do is live a meaningless existence based upon lore that no one really remembers the origins of. And yes, the Law-keepers have the ability to give and take life here as they please. They are the ones who harvested the fires of others like them. But the Darkworld is too insignificant for them to bother with, most of the time. To them, my time

  here was a punishment. There are other worlds that they spend their time studying – when time exists – and those are the lighter worlds that they consider to be of greater importance.”

  Medea shook her head. “I’ve seen the other worlds in the calculations. But I am still not sure I understand why the Law-keepers have control, especially if they don’t use it.”

  “Our family has the power to turn thousands out of their homes, but that would not be rational, or serve us. Manipulating things here does not serve the Law-keepers. Not at the moment, anyway.” The Crux was the centre of

  everything, and Artemi knew well the true inconsequentiality of her adopted home. She did not like to think of the machinations and battles of nearannihilation that took place in the other worlds on a regular basis, not after glimpsing their horror as a Fahran child. It was a wonder that any life survived upon those planets at all. The Darkworld was far calmer, and far more sensible. She smiled as she glanced at the report again. Morghiad would return to them a hero of this world.

  If there was one thing that Morghiad understood about his horse, it was that the animal had a severe dislike of sailing. In truth, he did not enjoy it much more. The grey oceans seemed to stretch into infinity, and voyages upon them only ever seemed to be a day shorter than that. He was sure that the waves intended upon rolling the ship about simply to irritate him. He leant over the side for the twentieth time that day, and wondered if it would be better to swim the rest of the way.

  His ability in swimming was not all that developed, but Tyshar could paddle quite impressively. Morghiad had only discovered this upon jumping with his mount over a great pile of logs during a rapid pursuit, where he had discovered a very deep lake lay as an unpleasant surprise just beyond. He had grown rather fond of the crazed beast through their trials together. The warhorse was fast enough to outpace most thieves upon racers, and strong

  enough to pull stricken carriages from the stickiest of mires. Tyshar had helped him haul burning walls from inescapable homes, and had charged through the flames themselves at his rider’s behest. Morghiad was decidedly grateful for the mount, even if the animal did kick and buck at innocent people.

  He succeeded in keeping his lunch down this time, and returned from the bow to make conversation with his fellow passengers. Most of them looked as if they were enjoying the journey far too much to be entirely natural; that or they spent too much of

  their time drunk to notice the difference.

  “A storm is coming,” a lady by the name of Harath said softly. “You ought to bunk down, sir.”

  Morghiad was not entirely sure if that was an invitation, and less sure if it was one he wanted accept. The last place he would want to be when a ship was rocking especially violently was locked below deck. He smiled thinly, and paced away from the forecastle. Perhaps he could offer to help with hauling in the sails to pass the time. Blazes knew he could do with the exercise.

  Following an hour of sweat and sea spray and rope-burned hands, the storm his fellow passenger had predicted landed upon the waters around them. It tore the ship from left to right, blackened the air and pulled at the masts with incredible might. When a huge wave crashed upon the deck and washed the greater part of its contents away, Morghiad looked to the captain at the stern. The old man’s face was a criss-cross of worry lines. Blast ships! Blast the sea!

  Just as the thought hit his mind, something else hit the bottom of the ship. A terrible creaking and moaning

  sound howled through the wood as it strained to hold against whatever it had met, and then the entire vessel shuddered. Another wave thumped at the side of the hull, and a second screech of breaking timbers responded. Morghiad looked at his feet. The deck was listing beneath them; no longer rocking. It meant that the ship was grounded, and was most likely taking on water.

  He gazed around at the panic that had ensued. People were already jumping from the sides of the ship in fear. There was nothing else they could do for themselves. Blazes! What sort

  of ship did not carry a wielder?! More people flooded out of the stairwell, their faces painted with fear and terror, and they began jumping from the side, too. It was every man and woman for themselves.

  Tyshar.

  Morghiad checked that his sword was tightly strapped to his back and securely fastened within its scabbard. He did not want to risk angering any flame-haired beauties over losing it. A sword and a horse: all a warrior ever needed, if those legendary books were to be believed. He fought against the scrambling crew and

  passengers to gain access to the main stairwell, before jumping over the rails and onto the decks beneath. All of the horses had been hitched in the hold, which meant venturing another level deeper. Morghiad clambered through a narrow hatch, and his boots splashed into water when he hit the floor below.

  Had he not endured enough adventures beneath water? Surely this was too much for one lifetime? Morghiad grit his teeth together and trudged forward to the cargo space. Already he could hear the horses’ panic, and smell their dung and see the hay floating toward him. When he

  opened the door, a rather large volume of water very nearly pushed him back the way he had come. Morghiad held fast, however, and swam between the screaming animals to the highest side of the hold. Two vast and heavy doors were suspended above the waterline. This was the animals’ escape.

  Morghiad heaved at them for some time, but only succeeded in moving the panels by less than an inch. More power was needed. “Alright, Tyshar,” he muttered, “Time to save yourself and your friends with that temper of yours.”

  He unhitched the huffing animal, led him through the deep water to the doors and turned him so that his back hooves were facing the wood. “Tyshar, listen to me. There is a stable hand behind you and he won’t feed you. Kick his arse into next year!”

  Tyshar turned and looked at him with his wild eyes.

  “Just kick! Kick the blasted doors open!”

  The horse shuffled his hooves impatiently, but did not obey. The angle of the floor was becoming more acute.

  “Fine.” Morghia
d hissed. He stepped to the back of the beast, and

  slapped its behind as hard as he dared. With an angry roar, the entire back end of the warhorse appeared to lift into the air. Tyshar kicked, and Tyshar kicked hard. With a crack the doors burst open, and Morghiad’s horse did not wait for him to lead him out. Instead the animal turned and jumped into the roiling, open water beyond, quite of his own accord. Uttering numerous curses under his breath, Morghiad returned to the rest of the animals. He succeeded in releasing each of them and pushed each screaming, kicking mount into the cold water also. When he had finally joined

  them amongst the storm, he could no longer see the black warhorse. “Tyshar!” he called as he floated helplessly between the waves. “Tyshar!”

  No whinny or other equine sound came to him as he searched, and then, when a huge surge of water came to swallow him entirely, the world turned to shadow.

  He drifted in his dreams for a time, and he saw Jurala calling to him from her home amidst the rollers and breakers. He had always thought she had a face like a painted doll, with improbably pink cheeks and rosebud