The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  His steps quickened as he

  moved through the bright woodland, and several hours passed before he realised that he was not going about this correctly. And his mind... it was... empty. Silar stopped in his tracks, not that he made any tracks in this place. There were no visions, no foreseen possibilities or futures he could predict. He had to admit that it was quite pleasant after so many decades of being harassed by them, if a little unnerving. In recent years, a mug of ale would have seen to that. There was no ale...

  He blinked. A pitcher of ale and a tankard lay on the floor before him.

  How did that...? Silar approached the pitcher carefully. He was sure he knew exactly what sort of ale was inside it his favourite: wheat beer. A beautiful, pale-coloured ale with a head on it that was as white as the snow in the Fordan mountains. Blazes, he could smell it already!

  Silar sat down cross-legged, poured himself a tankard-full and took a deep swig. It tasted just as wonderful as he had anticipated it would. He had earned it after his long walk, certainly. As he licked the foam from the top of his lip, he tried to think. He was sure that it was not poisonous, but he had a

  feeling that things ought not to appear the minute that he thought of them. That was not normal.

  He thought about Artemi in a state of undress for a moment, but the ground about him remained empty. A shame. Perhaps it was not possible to wish for people here. He tried thinking about Talia, and again was disappointed. All that surrounded him were the stupid, glowing trees and a pitcher of ale. Silar decided to take another deep draft of the liquid. It did taste good.

  At the bottom of the grand staircase was a small and shadowy room, floored with the finest Jarhoan marble and walled with severalhundred open boxes. These were pigeon-holes, carved from the knotted wood of a great many desert oaks and worn smooth by hundreds of years of

  cadets’ hands. Suspended from the ceiling was a copper chandelier, glimmering softly in the limited daylight that poured from narrow, gilded-butalmost-useless windows. It was curious that so much effort and expense had gone into the decoration of this room when its only apparent purpose was to receive and transfer letters.

  Of course, the residents at Fate’s Warriors knew that the room was worth much more. It was the hub of the school and the source of news from the outside world. It was the home of the school’s porters: curiously aged men who wore round hats and had an

  unrivalled knowledge of just about everything. They were not shaped like fighters, but Artemi guessed from the way that they moved that they were quite capable of fielding whatever aggression came their way. And their age... some said that they were older even than Sunidara itself. These porters were the first to receive visitors to the school, and the last to say goodbye to its graduands.

  “Morning, Miss Fevtari,” exclaimed the most jubilant of the men.

  The other started up a familiar tune, “Tari, she was – my fave-favefavourite ‘tari! Oh yes, she was!”

  “Oh yes, she was!” echoed his workmate.

  “Thank you very much.” Artemi tried desperately to identify each of the men, but failed. Although their facial features appeared to be different, those differences always seemed to fade away upon closer inspection. Did these men have families or children or even homes outside of the school? And if they did, were they known as anything other than porter? It was hard to guess. She offered them a confused smile and walked toward her pigeon-hole, which appeared to contain something.

  Bubbling excitement grew in her

  stomach. Was it a letter from her father? She hadn’t heard from him in some time. A plethora of possibilities and potential correspondents made themselves known in her mind. Artemi picked up the letter, and immediately felt the weight of something heavy contained within it. There was a faint sound of clinking metal that accompanied the movement. A gift? Artemi examined the writing on the front of the letter and, almost immediately, her hot bubble of excitement was punctured. It was just a single word, her name, written in the elegant script of a young lord. What

  horrors had he prepared for her this time?

  “Letter from your beau?” one of the porters enquired.

  Artemi was sorely tempted to make a face at him, but instead uttered a, “No,” with a calmness that surprised even her.

  Gingerly, she tore open the folded paper to reveal the contents. When she saw the item inside, her brow furrowed. Just what sort of game was he playing this time?

  Instead of reaching in to the envelope to extract the item, she walked to the small table in the centre

  of the room, pushed aside some of the parcels that lay atop it and emptied the metallic object onto the surface. It glittered softly in the limited light, and each of the gold links appeared to glow with their own illumination. It was a necklace - a beautiful, expensive and finely made necklace. She had not seen many precious stones in her life, but she was sure that the jewels set into this particular ornament were firestones. It must have cost a fortune. She refrained from touching it a moment longer, and instead examined the envelope for further evidence of Morghiad’s intentions. For all she

  knew, that fabulous piece of jewellery was covered in poison or stolen property. There was a folded note inside, and she took it out to read.

  Dear Property,

  As you well know, I own you as a gamekeeper owns his dog. I am at liberty to place whatever collar upon you thatI choose. I found this particular collar for you – a rather cheap and tacky thing, but nevertheless quite appropriate. I have warned the city’s dealers about a missing necklace. If they catch you

  trying to sell this one, it will be prison for you!

  Treasure it. In spite of its insignificance, it is the most valuable thing you will ever own.

  Be careful,

  R.

  That was it? A simple, yet expensive insult? She looked again at the necklace. There was no doubt that he intended to shame her with its extravagance; it would look ludicrous

  against the cheapness of her best clothes and ridiculous surrounded by her unfashionably long hair. And yet its sale could put her father in a better house, or feed them both for a year. It could buy a better sword. Perhaps she could take it to another city before Morghiad had time to warn the merchants there? But how to sneak it out? He was always watching... always. Artemi looked about herself instinctively, but found no pairs of eyes that were green in hue.

  Oh, this was far more calculated than she had first thought! He wanted her to feel wary as well as

  impoverished. Not a chance! Artemi snatched up the necklace and strode from the room without so much as a nod to the porters. She stormed out of the main building and across the practice yard, between the rows of wooden weaponry and toward the well. The water hole was a simple affair: a ring of stone surrounded by several buckets that had already been filled. Once there, she leaned over the edge and dangled the firestones above the deep, dark abyss.

  It was not jewellery, she told herself, not a thing of beauty. It was simply a collection of metal and rocks.

  That man would have no power over her! She ground her teeth and prepared to drop it, but as she did, a short, sharp gust of wind tore through the yard and her grip on the necklace slipped.

  No.

  Artemi plunged headfirst into the gloom to try to catch the gift. Two of her fingers caught the necklace by the clasp, but gravity had decided it wanted her too. Reacting as quickly as she could, Artemi straightened each of her limbs and braced herself against the wall before she could fall any deeper. Cold stone slipped across the skin of her palms. She was upside down,

  thankfully not too far down, but it soon became apparent that the walls were very smooth indeed. Burn him! Burn him for getting her into this!

  “Well, well, well.” The sound echoed from above, past her and down into the pit below.

  He was watching her! She had been right! “Your wit is beyond compare, Morghiad.” She tried to keep her tone dry.

  “It’s nice of you to acknowledge tha
t. Did you catch it?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Artemi checked to see if she could still feel the chain between

  her fingers, and was relieved to find it still there.

  There was a small but perceptible hesitation from Morghiad before he said, “I suppose I could always get you another one. Would you like some help out of there?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You appear to be slipping.”

  “It smells better down here than up there with you.”

  “As you wish. Don’t hurt yourself, property.” There was the sound of buckets being moved about above, followed by the rush of water. Artemi was quite suddenly, and

  unceremoniously, soaked.

  “Sorry about that, I thought the smell was coming from you.” And with that, Morghiad was gone.

  She waited for a moment, though for what, she was not entirely sure. If it was help, it certainly did not come. And if it was more abuse from her dearest enemy, that did not come either. Her hands and feet were starting to slide down the polished walls. There would be no alternative but to shimmy her way out, and that meant arranging herself so that she was no longer inverted.

  Slowly, carefully, Artemi moved

  her feet away from the walls. Her entire body weight was now pressing down through her hands, and her arms, aching from the continued strain, wobbled precariously. She brought her legs down a little, bending at the hip, but had to stop. Her weight was distributed in completely the wrong places. There was only one solution left to her. She would have to let go of the walls completely and try to right herself before she fell too far. She hated him, hated him so deeply that there were no words to describe it.

  One, two... Artemi let go, fell ten feet, scrabbled at the walls but

  managed to right herself. She glanced to the left. The necklace was still wrapped about her fingers. Good. Above, the circle of light had shrunk a little, but was still bright enough to give her some hope of reaching it. This was going to take some time. She moved in small increments, with no more than one hand or foot off the wall at any time. Unfortunately, the well was far too slippery for her to brace her back against one side and her feet against the other; this required point-focused force. Artemi scrabbled and clawed and heaved her way upward for some time, but when she next looked at the

  circle of light, she discovered that it had moved only slightly closer. Frustration had its teeth deep in her veins and muscles. Stupid, idiot man and his pathetic insults!

  “Still there?” Morghiad’s head darkened the well.

  “Haven’t you got anything better to do than hang around here?”

  “Haven’t you?” His head vanished, but rapidly returned. “Come on, let me help you out so that we can continue our games above ground.”

  Games. A rope fell across her shoulder from above, and she was sorely tempted to use it to pull her

  rescuer down with her. But Artemi clenched her jaw, took hold of the rope and instructed him to begin in his mission of aid. Well, he was going to help her, wasn’t he? Surely he wouldn’t let go...

  “Blazes, girl, you weigh a ton!”

  “Maybe it’s this follocking necklace!”

  “So you do have it.”

  Artemi nearly cursed herself for her mistake. She had to start thinking more clearly, and more importantly, find a way of making him pay for this.

  In spite of her apparently cosmic weight, Morghiad made short work of

  lifting her to the surface, and soon she was clambering over the stony rim to meet him. She squared up steadily before him, being wary of standing upon ground that was not covered by his shadow. Blazes, when had he become so broad across the shoulders? How was this fair?! She had barely changed a whit since she was fifteen, and yet he had enjoyed the advantages of both increased height and width since then! Oh, it was infuriating! Artemi raised her chin as much as she dared, so that she could angle her eyes downward at him. Maybe he would become just a little bit clumsier from all those extra bits of his detestable body. Maybe. “Aren’t you going to thank me for saving you from a terrible fate?” Artemi was bedraggled, tired and cold. She wouldn’t have been any of those things if it weren’t for his cruel gift. “Do you want me to fight you again? I am really not in the mood for it.” Oh, but she was in the mood to remove one or two of his limbs... Morghiad tipped his head to one side and dropped his eyes to the necklace. “No fights. I have given you a present, Artemi. Put it on for me.” “Absolutely not!” Artemi made

  to move away from him, but he arrested her progress with an outstretched arm.

  “Bad property. You will learn to do as I say.”

  “Morghiad, if you had any independence from me, you would find someone else to hover around, and someone else to be your property. I think you forget who truly has control here.” Artemi pushed his arm aside and began to walk away, but this time he strode ahead to block her path.

  “What you don’t realise, peasant, is that you provide me with such entertainment because you believe you are something more than a common peasant. No one else is as deluded. Now, I have a persuader for you. If you don’t put your collar on for me, I’ll buy you another one.”

  “Ha! Go ahead!” She began to move away again. Blazes, but he knew her too well. The last thing she wanted was another of these filthy treasures that were worth more than she was!

  “I hadn’t finished. If you do put it on, I will give money to one of your needy charities.”

  “What? Why?”

  He shrugged. “The money is nothing to me, but seeing you collared

  is something. And you do want to help the little, poor people, don’t you? Think of them. Why wouldn’t you do this small thing for them?”

  She looked at the necklace. Was it worth it – a moment of broken pride for the greater good? “Tell me how much you will donate and give me your word that you will do it.”

  “Hmm.” He rubbed at his chin as if to think, but it was obvious enough to her that he had already planned his words some time earlier. “Fifteen of your Sunidaran sovereigns and my word.” A tiny smile crept across his lips.

  Fifteen? That would feed forty families for a month! Artemi tried very hard to keep her eyes from popping open. “Twenty.”

  His smile evaporated. “You are in no position to bargain with me.”

  “Fifteen isn’t enough.”

  “Alright. Eighteen or they get nothing.”

  A thought occurred to her as she unhooked the golden clasp. There was a smithy not far from the school. She could have this blasted object melted down and sell it as bullion. The stones might not be useful, but no jewel trader would be able to recognise plain metal!

  She had won this one for certain. Artemi slipped the heavy firestones around her neck, re-hooked the clasp and waited while her benefactor appraised the overall effect.

  “Not quite right...” Morghiad set about rearranging her hair and the neckline of her short coat, which was not something she had agreed to. His fingers had the irritating tendency to brush past her skin with each movement and leave their trail of fires. Thankfully, his interferences did not last for too long. “Well, that’s a surprise. You almost look pretty with it on. Maybe we can polish up this rag

  girl after all.”

  “Have you finished?”

  “Just a moment longer. I want to enjoy this.” He folded his arms and stared. A growing feeling of discomfort took hold of Artemi under his gaze, a feeling which she tried desperately to hide from her features. He had not won. He would not win this one, or any other of his games. People could not be owned, and she would never be the property of anyone!

  Morghiad took a step closer and placed his hand under her chin to lift it. Spurs of flame spread out from his touch as a strange sort of laziness

  filtered into his eyes.

  “Don’t-”

  “Well, well, little wren – and young Lord Calyrish. How has this young lady ended up in such a state?”

  “C
aptain Gilkore.” Morghiad made an admirably smooth withdrawal from her person and performed a shallow bow. “Miss Fevtari decided to investigate the well. I was just making sure she was unhurt.”

  The captain lifted a red-leaf cigar to his lips, popped it into his mouth and spoke through the teeth that gripped it. “Hah! Always concerned for her wellbeing, aren’t you, lad?”

  There was an alarming lack of sarcasm in the captain’s tone, and Morghiad smiled and nodded with all the innocence of a well-behaved dog.

  “Glad to hear everything is in order– ah, wait a...” Gilkore had spied the necklace. Slowly, he extracted his smoking cigar from his mouth. “That’s a pretty trinket.”

  “Thank you, captain,” Artemi said. Best not to offer any explanation before he asked for one.

  “Saw one just like that on the Queen of Sokiri’s daughter.” He winked. “Campaign of The Seven Blades. Have I ever told you kids about that? Ah, that was the finest series of battles you ever did see. Wielder fire arcing across the skies, bodies flying past your eyes, limbs scattered all over the ground and blood so deep you had to swim through it to reach the enemy! Beautiful battle, that. Beautiful.” Lost in the reverie of his own making, Gilkore turned on his heels and strode away, cigar in hand.