The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  “You feel cold,” Artemi said, running a hand down his front. “Like you’ve only recently stepped out of one of your... voids.”

  He looked through the window to see the burning sunshine that made the air quiver, and then he cast his eyes to the sheets that had been drawn across his body. She was right; he should have been warmer in these rooms. She certainly felt very warm. Parsing a Blaze form did tend to feel as if he was permanently destroying something, losing a little bit of the fires that made himself each time. Perhaps

  he ought not to make any more accessways in future. Not unless they were absolutely necessary, of course.

  He realised that he had pushed Artemi onto her back, and that he had his face buried between her breasts. He could remember all the places he had hurt her during their fights. He began working on them instead. Her shoulders, wrists, thighs and neck received his attentions. He even kissed her hair softly... blazes, her hair!

  ...something that will make you shudder in the future.

  “Silar.”

  “What?” Artemi’s mouth twisted in irritation.

  “He knew. He knew I would love you. He knew about everything.”

  “You’re saying he wanted me to be captured?”

  “We might both be dead or dying if you hadn’t been.”

  She frowned at that and shook her head, but he felt the lack of conviction through the link he now shared with her. That was a wonderful thing to have, if not just for the feelings of infuriated, angry love he received every time her gaze passed over him. Artemi began twirling her fingers amongst his lidir. “Alright then. If he

  knows everything that can happen, then he’ll have known I would say this to you, and that you would sit here in need of a bath. He would also be able to arrange for someone to deliver a letter directly to-”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Artemi blinked wordlessly, then moved aside as Morghiad sprang to his feet to answer it. Unusually, he was still dressed. On the other side of the door was not a letter-bearer, however. It was Linfar.

  “Ah, sorry to disturb you. Light of Achellon Morghiad, have you been in battle? You could do with a bath-”

  He cut off as he spied Artemi in the bed beyond. She smiled pleasantly, and it was gratifying to sense that she felt nothing for the man.

  Linfar was still staring, and had been staring far too long at something that was not his. Morghiad made sure to move into his line of sight. “What is it?”

  “Oh... ah... there are no blades masters about... and the house masters have gone, too. Any idea what is going on?”

  “They were using wielders to make eisiels, and then selling the eisiel’s blood for profit. Artemi was

  taken as part of their plans. We stopped them. Gilkore is dead; some of the others are captive.”

  He laughed, but his smiles dropped as soon as he realised Morghiad was entirely serious. “But surely...? It has to be... ah. I see.” Linfar looked at the floor in puzzlement.

  “We’ll try and sort out the situation before the rest of the cadets return. Actually, I could do with your help. Fate’s may have to close.” Unless they could find some new sword masters, new staff and the money to pay for it all. Gilkore had made a great

  deal of money...

  Linfar blinked and nodded slowly. “Right.” He walked away, though it looked as if he had chosen no particular destination, and was in no hurry to reach it.

  Another man hopped into the doorway just as Morghiad was about to close it. It was not one Morghiad recognised. “Are you Morghiad Calyrish?” the man asked in a thick Hestavian accent.

  He nodded, and the man pressed an envelope into his hand. The messenger offered him a brief bow and walked away. In neat script across the

  top of the envelope was written: Artemi and Morghiad. There could be no doubt as to the identity of the sender.

  “His timing might be a few seconds out, but he is good,” Morghiad said, handing the letter to Artemi.

  “Very impressive.” She opened the letter and began to read:

  Dear kiddies,

  By now you will have gotten over your ridiculous little scraps with one another, and will be hungrily staring into one another’s eyes as if there’s a mountain of gold, covered in

  jelfruit syrup lying behind each of them. Good. I am glad you haven’t killed each other.

  I am afraid thatI will not be able to meet you in person again for some time, if at all. Other business has called me away. For now, let me offer some advice. You need someone you can trust, and I recommend General Collete as the man for the job. I have already sent for him, and he will be arriving at the gates in afew hours. Be ready to meet him.

  Iwill be in touch again in afew

  years.

  All the best.

  Silar

  P.S. Artemi, you are looking-

  Her cheeks coloured and she did not read the rest, instead folding up the note. Morghiad hardly needed to read it. He knew well enough how his wife looked. He moved the tips of his fingers through her hair. “If his timing is a little off, then we may need to be ready to meet Collete sooner.”

  “That, or he will have foreseen you saying that and our subsequent action, and Collete will turn up as soon as we arrive at the gates – whenever that may be.”

  “Are you saying we should stay in bed a little longer?”

  “You need to have a bath, my heart.”

  He probably did not smell too wonderful. Morghiad set about obtaining the hot water he needed, and his walk to the fire room was much easier than he had expected. Already his leg had begun to mould itself into a better shape and his limp was not as

  pronounced.

  Artemi insisted upon joining him in the hot water, which was really too much for him to bear. A man could hardly be expected to rush to his next duty when such obstacles were placed before him! And Artemi had a number of very nice obstacles: soft, silkysmooth obstacles.

  It was almost afternoon by the time they made it to the gates, though there was no General Collete waiting for them. Artemi wandered into the Porters’ Lodge, and the sudden spike in her emotions told Morghiad that she had seen something unexpected. He

  followed her in, closely eyeing the porters as he entered. Those men knew a great deal about the people who came and went from Fate’s. How much had they known about the eisiel farm? They did wear very smart uniforms. Then again, they had not run away like everyone else. Morghiad decided to leave that particular problem for another time.

  Directly in front of him was a narrow-but-lightly-muscled man holding a pipe. Long, pale blond hair fell down his back in a ponytail devoid of knots.

  “General Collete,” Morghiad

  said, offering a bow. “I’m told Silar recommended that you come here.”

  Collete’s eyes widened a little when he saw Morghiad approaching, and he took a thoughtful drag of his pipe. “You look a lot like your father.”

  That was odd. What dealings would a Sunidaran general have with his very Hirrahan father? And what was that Gilkore had said before? Morghiad could not remember and had already decided he did not want to know. He responded by forcing a smile.

  “I hear there’s been some trouble here with some of the staff.

  Would you care to enlighten me? Sunidara needs its most famous warrior school at full working capacity.”

  Morghiad told him of the previous night’s events, the farm, the eisiels and the rescued wielders who were still recovering in the city. Collete took the information without arching an eyebrow or breaking the rhythm of his pipe smoking. At the end of it, the man was silent for some time, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground in thought.

  When he finally spoke again, it made both Morghiad and Artemi jump. “We need to fix this. Now. Artemi, get all the kids together who can sling a

  Blaze form and bring them to the gate. I will also need the eldest of the cadets who are here. Morghiad, you can take me to this Zandrin first.”

  Collete’s plan fo
r that day worked like a beautifully orchestrated battle attack. The men who had been involved in Artemi’s disappearance were swept away to the city’s cells like rubbish to a bin, and search parties were launched to locate the missing house masters and mistresses. The rescued wielders were interviewed and their long-lost families sought out. By the morning of the next day, a new batch of tutors had arrived directly

  from Sunidara’s own army. Collete referred to them as his most trusted and adventurous of men, so why they would want to work at a school was a mystery to Morghiad.

  A man named Arrian Turani was given the role of captain at Fate’s, a man who frequently acted as if he knew Artemi quite well, which was something that rather irked Morghiad. Arrian was not the only one, however. Several of the new blades masters, of which Burrus was the worst-behaved, called her Tem or Temi. It seemed terribly inappropriate, especially once her married status had become public

  knowledge, though Artemi had never been the most astute at noticing the way other men acted around her.

  At first, Morghiad’s choice of wife was questioned in private by some of the other lordlings at Fate’s, but none of them ever dared to challenge him directly about it. Few people dared to question Morghiad Calyrish about anything. In time, the school found its feet once more, and in the absence of war, both Morghiad and his wife were asked to stay on as tutors themselves.

  It was the heart of winter five years later, and consequently only a blisteringly hot day rather than a

  searing one, when General Collete sent for them to join him at Deva.

  A bluster of wind caught Artemi’s hair, hair the colour of old gold and fire, as she dismounted from Cloud. Those five years had only honed her beauty into something that made Morghiad’s heart try to tear itself into pieces whenever he looked at her. She was just so... impossible! It had only been a day since he had last held her close, and already it felt like a day too long. Someone could have warned him that this might happen! Burn her for making him so... distracted!

  “You need to behave yourself here, Hirrahan lordling,” she cautioned him.

  He jumped down from Tyshar, grabbed her by the arm and forced a rough kiss onto her lips. Blazed, peasant girl and her unnecessary counsel! As if he did not know what was good for them both!

  She frowned at him when their kiss was ended, and her tone was admonishing. “Do that to me in front of Collete, and I shall tie you to the bed and torture you.”

  “That is not a punishment.”

  “Then I shall take that trophy

  off you.”

  “I won it fairly.” Well, perhaps that was not completely true...

  Her frown dissipated quickly and she moved away from him, smiling. “Let us see what he has for us.”

  The general had requested that they meet him at the palace, which was curious. Morghiad knew very well that Sunidara’s king did not like soldiers and battles much, and so kept his army at arm’s length. Why he would want to have Collete anywhere near the building at a time of peace was a mystery.

  The palace itself was a hefty, if

  not terribly vast structure that had been carved out of red stone and then jewelled with coloured glass. Tiny, square windows covered much of the walls, and these were framed by tall columns, curving eaves and domed roofs. The air about them was filled with the dust of the city and the spicy haze of incense, which only served to make the place feel hotter than the bare desert about it.

  A great many servants strode about the courtyard with straight backs and billowing robes, looking as if their business was of far greater import than anyone else’s. Almost as soon as

  Morghiad and Artemi had reached the blood-red doors, one of those servants came to greet them.

  “I was told to watch for green eyes and flame hair. I believe I have found you,” the man said in his thick, Devan accent. Strange, how much Sunidarans varied in the way that they spoke. Most of them could identify their countrymen’s origins right down to the village. Morghiad was sure that it was because they did not trade nearly enough between themselves. Hirrahans moved around more, mixed and diluted their accents in the hunt for a good bargain. Such parochialism as existed in much of Sunidara surely could not be good for an economy.

  Their servant guide led them into the building, and the interior was even more elaborate than the exterior might have indicated. Where there ought to have been stone walls and plain ceilings, there was busy paintwork, ornately carved panels and intricate rugs. It was very fine to look at, but also provoked something of a headache. Morghiad had suffered quite enough headaches lately.

  As the approach widened and became more impressive, he realised that they were almost certainly headed

  toward the throne room. He attempted to straighten his shirt and checked that his sword belts were all in order, but the heat of the day had already made him sweaty. Damned country!

  Of course, Artemi only looked more alluring with the light sheen that coated her skin, and she walked with a relaxed grace that he had seen no other person properly achieve. There were times the woman carried herself more like a noble than he did! Even so, he could not resent her for it. Resentment at her had departed his thoughts a very long time ago.

  Collete was already in the throne room when they arrived, and for once he appeared to be without his treasured pipe. He stood with hands clasped at his back, beside the throne, and the man who occupied that seat could only have been King Paolin. He was a rotund man with dark moustaches and hair so long that it trailed onto the floor. His smile reminded Morghiad of a grinning goat, and his eyes appeared to lack any focus.

  “Weeelcome!” the king slurred. He sounded... drunk.

  Morghiad and Artemi approached, each bowing in unison once they had reached a comfortable

  and respectable speaking distance from the king.

  “My Generaaal Collete says that eeerrrooo well ahhh, hmm young, yes?”

  How was he supposed to respond to that? He looked to Collete for help. The general nodded.

  “Ah - yes, sire,” Morghiad ventured.

  The king’s beam widened. “Haha! Aaaaaaand arrr ee. Um... father’s sister?”

  Father’s sister. His aunt’s marriage did mean that the Sunidaran king and Morghiad were distantly

  related. It was no longer a relationship he felt particularly proud of. “Yes,” he said, and he felt some marked confusion travel through his link with Artemi.

  The king leaned forward, dark eyes bulging. “Do you know, assinwww eee ahhhhh beeeer. Black horrors! Heeeerr, herii, eeeeerm. Aaaah. Oooh, Terrible mess. Terrible.”

  The man was mad. Utterly, utterly mad. Morghiad was quite content to admit he had no idea how to deal with the situation. Instead he smiled and nodded, and he could feel Artemi doing the same.

  At that moment, one of the gilded doors at the side of the room swung open, and a tall, dark-skinned woman swept through. She wore a deep-blue silk gown that traced the floor behind her for some distance, and her hair hung in curls the same colour as ravenwood. If Morghiad had not been a married man, he would have found her quite attractive.

  The woman seated herself upon the more delicate, silver throne next to the king’s and set about arranging the train of her dress so that it draped elegantly down the front of the dais. “Please allow me to speak for my

  husband,” she said, placing her hand upon his. “His mind is very... complex.”

  Blazes, her husband? That was an unfortunate match for her. The king tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. “As you wish, my love.”

  At those words, Sunidara’s queen finally raised her eyes to her guests, and they were quite lovely eyes. Blazes! Artemi. He thought of Artemi and all her beautiful, sinuous curves. He thought of her soft lips and the heat he would feel each time he touched her skin. He thought of the warmth he would feel from each of her kisses and

  the fire of her embrace. Before he knew it, he was becoming aroused by his own thoughts of his wife. And yet to everyone else, his e
yes looked at the Queen of Sunidara. Burn it!

  Already he could feel the anger rousing in Artemi’s emotions.

  “You are more handsome than I was led to believe, Morghiad Calyrish,” the queen said with a smile. Artemi’s anger grew another notch. “And your wife more beautiful.” Those words did little to calm her. “It seems that Sunidara owes you both a great debt. We were utterly unaware of that farm, and it is a wonderful thing that you

  were able to destroy it. Such terrible practices went on there, truly.” The queen looked genuinely upset, as if she had known one of the wielders personally or had been there herself. It was quite a tremendous display of emotion for the purpose of politics, and Morghiad had no doubt that this woman wanted to play politics with him.

  Morghiad found himself quite impressed by her display, until he sensed that his wife was seething beneath her mask of calm.

  “Thank you,” Artemi said, stone beneath the silk of her voice,

  “Morghiad and I endeavour to serve Sunidara and Hirrah however we can.”