The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  The other children left rapidly, and soon she was alone with the tutor, scrubbing away at the spilled ink. Her efforts were in vain, however, the black stuff had sunk deep into the grain of the wood. “Sir, I think I need some

  water and soap for this.” She was going to be stuck in here all day at this rate! He pulled a frown, but his attention was drawn away by a sword master who stood expectantly at the open door. “I’ll get it for you. Stay in here, mind.” He strode out of the room, shut the door behind him and the sound of male voices drifted through. What was she to do now, sit in here play with her hair? Her eyes drifted to the piles of parchment on the tutor’s desk, the exam results. Oh... that would be a very bad thing to do. She was no cheat, and besides, what would her father have said? She looked

  back to the door. The tutor was still beyond, having his conversation. He would be a while yet. Well, perhaps she could not cheat, but she could get a little revenge for Morghiad’s messmaking.

  Artemi darted nimbly to the front of the room, opened one of the desk drawers and withdrew a sheaf of parchment. She ran back to her chair with it and extracted one of her classmate’s quills. Oh, she would have some fun with this! In as neat a hand as she could manage, Artemi wrote Morghiad’s, or rather Renward’s, name at the top of the sheaf. Then she began

  filling in some answers for him. They were brief to save time, but she made sure to end the last one with, “This tutor is appalling. I demand a better one.”

  She could not suppress her grins as she slid the paper in amongst the pile on the tutor’s desk and extracted Morghiad’s true script. That one she tore up into miniscule pieces and thrust into a nearby bin. By the time the tutor had returned, Artemi was busily pretending rub at the stain on her writing table. She struggled to look unhappy as she was handed the soap and bucket, and set about her task with

  Tegra was a curiously unyielding country, made up of red mountains, scarlet soil and endless plains of dried salt. Even that was tinged pink by the

  rocks about it. Here the tigers could roam unseen across the valleys, and the snakes could writhe between the crevices. There were rose-coloured birds with reedy legs that strutted about the sporadic lakes and vast herds of long-necked beasts that charged between the few areas of vegetation that clung to the hills. Romarr had lived here before, herding goats in one life and mining metal ores in another. What was the name of the girl he had known here? Ritao? Ritaea? He remembered she’d had a sweet smile that put dimples in her cheeks.

  A few steps ahead of him,

  Selieni spoke with Anadea in soft tones across the map they were holding. She had her hand over the other woman’s, and it was most certainly an affectionate hand. Romarr would not have minded at all, if only he was still welcome in their bed. He was not invited there much these days, well, not at all in the last month. And still he followed them like a loyal puppy. He felt foolish, of course, but he also knew that the two women could do with a sword hand watching their backs. Wielders had necks too.

  His arms did not lend themselves easily to being folded, but he did so as

  he watched them anyway. Fire of the fires, he was old enough to know that it was easier to love than be loved! Romarr had loved all of his women, and Selieni would never cease to be among them. He could hardly expect to receive anything back. He would follow them for another few decades, certainly. And perhaps in one of them they would find their blasted cave of bloody light!

  “We haven’t checked the base of this mountain yet,” she said.

  Anadea shook her head, her curls of hair following the movement. “Sel, it’s not there. I’ve looked!”

  “Well, we’re going to look again then. Rom, we saddle up for that peak.” Selieni pointed to a snowless summit in the distance.

  Romarr nodded and went to prepare the horses. He half thought he would make a good rug if he laid flat enough on the floor. Not that he did not enjoy helping the women out. They were too sweet and pretty for him to become angry at them.

  When the horses were ready, they rode out to the mountain examined the base of it. After a fruitless search, it was suggested that they climb the thing, and so they

  plodded their way up the side of it. There were overhangs, tracks that had given way and a great deal of slippery gravel to contend with. In places the path became too narrow and rocky, and Romarr was forced to dismount in order to lead his animal to the next section. Just as he rounded an especially craggy corner, he became aware of the presence of someone else. He held his hand up to the women, signifying that they should wait, and slowly withdrew one of his gale swords. Oddly enough, it felt... warm. He edged around the outcrop, moving boot over boot in steps that

  made no sound.

  “Hi Rom!”

  “What?”

  Lounging quite happily atop a red rock, and looking really very pleased with himself, was Silar Forllan. He took a bite of the bread he held in one hand. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Romarr looked about himself. There was no horse, no beast of burden or wielder. How had he made it up here? What in Achellon was the Lord-General of Calidell’s armies doing here?

  “I walked, Romarr. On my feet!” Silar got to them, as if to

  demonstrate that they worked. “And I came looking for something.”

  Blazes, but the man was becoming too clever for his own good. “Stop reading my thoughts, general. Are you and I looking for the same thing?”

  The women soon joined them, leading their horses into the small clearing amongst the rocks.

  “You need my help, and I need yours to get to that cave. And I’m no longer anyone’s general. I’m free of all that now. I have been for some time.”

  “It’s here!? We found it? I knew I was right! What precisely is it that we can do for each other, then?” Selieni asked. She looked elated. And pretty. So very pretty.

  Silar winked at her in a most unchivalrous manner. “I can think of a few things.” But he drew his face straight when he noticed the glares from both Anadea and Romarr. “Well. There’s a big cat up there that needs caging. I can help you with that; then I need you to keep a secret for me.”

  “A secret?”

  “You must not tell anyone else that you saw me here. It is essential.”

  Romarr and the women agreed to it. After all, it was not much of a

  demand to make of them, and both Selieni and Anadea were Calidellian. Calidellians did like their secrets very much. “What cat are you talking about then?”

  Silar’s face knotted up into a series of creases. “Think of a tiger, but bigger and more horrific. I believe teeth will be a major feature of it.”

  Selieni planted her hands upon her hips. “There was nothing about that in the histories.”

  “You need to survive an encounter with a monster in order to write about it afterwards,” Silar said, and it was a wise enough observation.

  “All the caves of light are guarded like this. Except for Gialdin of course, but that’s another story.”

  “I was killed by a huge bear-like thing once. Was that-?”

  Silar nodded slowly.

  Hah! Romarr had always wondered about that death and if he had imagined the entire, horrid event. Now he knew. Blazes, if this tiger was anything like that... “How do we get rid of it?”

  “It cannot be killed. Caging it is the best we can do.”

  “With Blaze, then?” Anadea asked. “We’ll need to keep it still for

  long enough to build that.”

  Lord Forllan made a face. “That’s where Romarr and I come in.”

  Oh wonderful. They were to be the bait. “I know what to do,” Romarr sighed, “Shall we get this done?”

  They left the horses behind and trudged up the mountainside with silent feet. As they moved higher, the air became noticeably thinner and colder. Romarr was forced to take very deep, extended breaths in order to keep his muscles ready for action. If he had been a climber, weary and exhausted from the trek and with no idea of what lay a
head, he imagined he would be

  very easy pickings for a monster like the bear he had seen.

  Abruptly he felt something very hot at his back, but could not sense any wielding from the women. The heat shot down his thighs and stayed there. Romarr reached a hand to one of the points of heat, but promptly withdrew it as his skin hissed from the contact. His blades were on fire! Blazes! Romarr scrabbled at his sword belts to get them loose before rapidly throwing them to the ground. They sizzled there, glowing almost red with their temperature.

  “Ah, yes. Sorry I forgot to warn

  you about that,” Silar said with a grin. “Here, have one of mine.” The former general handed him a long, straight blade, really not the sort of thing Romarr was used to fighting with. It was of good quality, but not Blazewrought. He muttered a brief, “Thanks,” and walked on.

  The path continued its narrow ascent into the hazy reaches of the pale sky until, almost at the top, it widened out suddenly and the escarpment flattened. There were no more options for silent footsteps here. Stretching out before them was a sea of brilliant white and pale yellow. They were bones.

  Old, crushed and crumbling bones. At the far end of the field was a gaping maw of darkness.

  “Get ready,” Silar whispered, and Romarr sensed that the two wielders were holding just about every drop of Blaze that they could manage.

  He took long, low and deep breaths, calming himself before his sprint would begin. Romarr had never been the fastest runner of the Kusurus. In a straight dash on hard ground, that had always been Tallyn Hunter. Through cross-country terrain and over longer distances, Khasha and Mirel had been pretty well tied. He supposed that

  he should have included Morghiad in that list somewhere, not that he had ever run against the man to measure him, but Dog Slayer was very nearly Kusuru.

  None of that meant Romarr was slow by normal standards, just that he was not as fast as some of the most elite killers on the planet. He readied himself, and then made a dash for the ridge at the eastern side of the killing field. Silar ran with him.

  They heard its roar bellow out from behind them, and the fragments of bone began to jump from the ground to follow the impact of the creature’s

  feet. Blazes, it must have been huge! Romarr knew better than to look back, but he could feel it moving closer. A hot wind brushed the back of his neck as he sprinted for the rise – its breath?

  The wielders were making something he could not see, and still he kept running. The muscles of his legs were burning now. Why could he not get enough air into his lungs?! The thing was moving closer. He was not going to make it to the ridge. Romarr turned, following the movement with a fierce sweep of his sword.

  His blade made contact with something – a leg over a yard thick –

  and cut right through it. Romarr was transfixed; he could not help but stare up at the thing. The tiger, if it could be called that, was... mutated, wrong. While at one stage it may have worn a fine pelt of stripes, its fur was now missing in patches and the skin beneath looked to be infested with disease. Instead of smooth muscle, the creature’s body was made lumpy by huge growths and distorted joints. He stumbled back in surprise, feeling nauseous from the sight of it.

  The mountain shook as the creature roared at the pain it felt from its injury, and it lowered its face to

  Romarr. Two bright yellow eyes glowed from beneath brows so heavy that they threw shade across the sockets. Its nose was twisted out of shape and snarling. Its teeth jutted out in all directions, blackened with decay and broken into sharp points from biting on... who knew what? Its leg began to grow back with startling speed.

  Chains of Blaze were already wrapping around the beast as Silar leapt forward to attack its right foreleg, but the restraints were not firmly in place. The tiger swung its massive head and knocked the general fifty feet into the

  air. Romarr now had his opportunity. He ran at the monster, leapt and slashed at its gullet before swinging his blade again to strike at its leg before he landed. The animal healed almost instantly, but it gave him enough time to sprint to the creature’s hind quarters. Romarr cut again, this time severing one of its hind legs from its body. The limb landed amidst the bones with a heavy crash.

  But the monster was undeterred. Through its roars it came at him again, and this time he ran for the western ridge. Blazes, Silar! Get up and strike the thing before it catches me! Silar

  did not get there in time, and Romarr felt an incredible force plough into his back, knocking him face-first into the skeletal remains. It had pinned him to the ground.

  He thrashed about for a moment, trying to slip free, but soon realised that he was not going to be successful. Then he realised that he was still alive. Why hadn’t it bitten his head off?

  “Doesn’t look much fun under there,” Silar said, kneeling down to see him.

  Odd. The tiger was not moving. Bloody light! They had done it. The

  wielders had trapped it in its cage. And now he was lodged beneath it too. Wonderful. “Can you ask them to help me out?”

  The women arrived after some moments, tiptoeing over the crunching bones that lay in their path. There really was no reason for them to be so squeamish about it! Everyone ended up as bones eventually, and it was not as if the dead could feel anything, anyway.

  After a little wielding to cut away the ground beneath him, Romarr was released from his prison. He turned to view the collared beast, but quickly thought better of it. The thing was

  horrible! “How long will those forms hold it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Silar said, “What do you think?”

  The wielders looked at him with wide eyes, then between themselves. “Can it undo forms?”

  Lord Forllan frowned. “I suppose you will have to wait and see. Anyway, I must thank you for your help and I really must be going.”

  Romarr handed his sword back to the man. “Going where? Are you sure you want to leave so soon?”

  “Into the cave and through to the other side, of course. And yes, I

  need to leave now. You must not follow me. Your duty is to these women, Rom.”

  Well, it was nice to have that made clear. He would be their unpaid bodyguard for a little longer, it seemed. “Go safely then.”

  “Thank you!” Silar nodded respectfully to both Selieni and Anadea before jogging toward the cave mouth. “I wish you luck in finding more of these!” he called back.

  An hour later, Selieni insisted that they should follow him, and the three of them crept into the cave of light. It was just as beautiful as the one they knew in Gialdin, with a solid ray of the sun caught between ceiling and floor that emitted both warmth and tranquillity. There was, however, no sign of Silar Forllan.

  At last! Renward set the trophy upon his shelf and smiled. It glittered beautifully in the brilliant light of Sunidara’s morning sun. Nine years it

  had taken him after the disaster happened. Nine blazed years to win it! But it was deserved - very much so. Winning the Fighters’ Trophy was not simply a matter of beating everyone at the sword, but of using one’s cunning and performing well in one’s studies. Good fighters must have strong minds as well as strong arms, and Renward had proven to the world that he was in possession of both.

  It had not been an easy feat, not after Artemi had almost ruined everything for him! Nine years had passed since she had destroyed his spotless academic record with that

  exam paper ruse. Nine years to fix her meddling! He still recalled his own disbelief at discovering his low scores, and the shame of being hauled before Gilkore to account for the impudence he had demonstrated in his answers. Nine, long years!

  After that, everyone had thought that the redhead peasant girl would win the Fighters’ Trophy, that it was an inevitable outcome. But he had proven them all wrong. He was a man now, a lord, and a victor.

  Carefully, he adjusted the angle at which the trophy sat, and took one final look at its glory. Better than her.

  He had alwa
ys known he was better. Better in every way: a better fighter, a better thinker and of better blood. He was also considerably taller and stronger. A peasant girl would never grow to six foot. Hah!

  He glanced at himself in the mirror. A year ago he had been elevated to manhood in the proper way, the proper Hirrahan way, and it was marked by his lidir: the many, twisted braids into which his hair had been woven. They hung to just below his shoulders, and the silver sigil of his house had been threaded upon one of them. It was a mark of great honour, a mark that few people here seemed to understand.

  Renward decided it was time for a walk about the school. Victorious armies held victory parades; why shouldn’t Fate’s most celebrated cadet take a victory stroll?

  The main courtyard of Fate’s was the first place he toured, taking in the heat of the sunshine and basking in the jealous glances of those who matched his age. Next, he strode through the main buildings, the small garden and the stable yards. After that, he took in the airs of the grand practice hall. Artemi was there, performing

  handsprings and some other manner of athletics that bored him utterly. He waited for a while, watching her ridiculous display, but she did not appear to notice him. That would have to be changed.