City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  Morghiad announced the meeting had opened by unravelling several of the maps Silar had brought with him. The kahr added a few of his own to the increasingly large composite. “As you are well-aware,” he began, “we will enter the province of Gorena tomorrow. Reports are that the Hirrahan force remains in a single unit, located somewhere near here.” He pointed to the hilly region, north of the provincial capital. “It should take us another day to reach them, so I propose doing two things: one, following tonight’s camp, we do not stop before we reach them; and two, we leave the families in the safety of this region.” He pointed to some valley woodland, just off the main road. “As usual, we will take half of the supply wagons with us and they, along with the runners...” He looked at Artemi. “...will be located half a mile from any battle that occurs.” The other men nodded in agreement. Pressing straight for the Hirrahans would prevent them from having as much time to prepare. It would also mean his men would get their fight before the tension grew tiring.

  Their captain continued, “As for the specifics, I understand that they number fifteen thousand. A third of these will be hired sword hands or new recruits from the locality. We do outnumber them slightly, but it is not something that will guarantee our victory. We must assume that they have situated themselves on higher ground and that they will have with them a number of wielders. With the exception of Beodrin and myself, I would like all kanaala to remain at the back of our advances and devote their attentions primarily to thwarting any wielder attack. Artemi, you are to stay out of this battle. I will only call you into it if we get into some serious trouble.”

  She hardly looked content with his decision, but nodded her head in acceptance anyway. Morghiad didn’t want to lose his secret weapon any more than Silar, and there would be no gain in scarring that pretty face of hers.

  “Good,” the green-eyed man said. “Upon reaching them, I want us to break into three divisions, three battalions in each. Of course, if the terrain prevents it we may have to limit ourselves to two divisions. Luna, you know this area well, do you not?”

  An average-build man with hair so pale it was nearly white, Luna’s pink face conveyed almost as little emotion as Morghiad’s did. “Aye. Grew up there, I did. I believe they will have headed for the Hill of Monuments. It’s the broadest and highest of that area. And it has some good roads to the towns. If they are there however, you should know that one side of that hill is sheer cliffs.”

  Morghiad rubbed at his stubble. “How high and how wide. Which side?”

  Luna lowered his light brown eyes to the maps. “North side, I recall. They are too high to scale. Probably a hundred feet. As for width, I’m not sure. Probably a good quarter of the hill’s circumference.”

  “Very well then. If they are there then I propose we stick to two divisions. When we advance they will likely try to run through the gap between our divisions. Both battalions either side of this gap must be ready to close in on them. Silar and Eupith, I want you both to direct the clinch. Do any of you have any questions so far?”

  Luna jumped in first. “I’ve just remembered something else. The ground on the west is rocky and tough to traverse with horses. It can only be crossed on foot, and slowly at that.”

  Morghiad remained unfazed. “We’ll have to assess when we get there, but they will have just as much trouble crossing it as we will. Perhaps we could set up a line of guards along our side of it. With bowmen.”

  Eupith chimed in with his happy, sing-song like voice. “That lot like to launch hails of arrow fire before they fight up close. They’re not so good as we are with their swords, but they’ll try to pick us off before we’ve reached them.”

  “I already have a plan for that. Artemi and I will create a shield against them before we advance. Their kanaala will pick it apart eventually, but it should serve to protect us for a while.” The kahr leant back on his hands.

  Tortrix was next to speak. “How many bows do we have, captain?”

  “Five hundred of our own men, one thousand among the hired.” Morghiad looked around at the group. “Any more questions?” His eyes settled on Artemi. “I can see you want to say something. What is it?”

  She looked around nervously and then cleared her throat. “I was just wondering...” She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “...would it not be better for the men at the back of your divisions to fan round and fill the end of the gap? Then it’ll look like a temptingly weak point, but be stronger.”

  Rahake scoffed and Baculo, hitherto silent, guffawed loudly. Morghiad gave them a fierce look. “Get over your pride, men. You are jealous because you did not think of it first.” He turned back to Artemi. “You may be right. We shall make our decision when the scouts return tomorrow.”

  Silar watched Artemi out of the corner of his eye for the rest of the meeting. She remained entirely silent and moved very little. He also noted that Morghiad glanced at her from time to time, no doubt drinking her beauty in like the milk of Achellon. None of the other attendees appeared to notice it; even Artemi was oblivious to the attention she received.

  Once they all had a chance to speak and a glass or two of tanno wine had been shared, Morghiad brought the meeting to a close. Silar remained seated on his cushion as the others departed, but when the tent was empty he stood and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I have known you for longer than most, Morghiad. Tell me honestly, are you in love with Artemi?”

  The captain looked surprised by his question initially, but brought his features under control. “I can see why you might think that. I find her beautiful, as many men seem to. And I enjoy her company. I have no feelings for her beyond that.”

  Silar was shocked. Was the man utterly deluded? Or had he pushed his emotions so far into a corner of his brain that even he couldn’t see them anymore? “Are you sure?”

  “Well I don’t forget what it is I’m supposed to be doing or where I am every time I see her, and nor do I stare after her as you do. Just because I am kanaala doesn’t mean I have to sleep with every wielder I meet.” The kahr set about rolling up the maps on the floor.

  Silar watched on for a moment. “My admiration for her is no secret. Just... make sure she is safe.” He picked up his own papers and left the tent, feeling just as irritated as he had earlier.

  The cool evening sun had favoured their side, illuminating the Hill of Monuments from the south with sharp outlines. Artemi watched in silence as thousands of men lined up in two trapezium-shaped formations, their sparse plates of black armour glinting softly in the daylight. At the top of the hill she could make out the dark cloud of people that comprised the Hirrahans. Already they had sent a few volleys of wielder fireballs across, but Morghiad and the others had unravelled each of them before they had come close. He sat next to her now, on his massive warhorse and looking as grim as he ever did. She was delighted, and somewhat embarrassed, at his gift of the bay mare she now rode. He said he had chosen it because it was a good runner and well-trained for close-fighting, but she could not help feeling it was a touch flashy. At least she had finally been allowed to dress in her uniform and ride with the other men. She had missed their company on the journey. Artemi turned to face the supply wagons, now entirely manned by medics and the less-experienced soldiers. She would soon be among them, fetching things and helping the casualties.

  The kahr moved his horse closer to hers. “It is time.” Nervousness trickled down her spine; it was his responsibility to get the shield right, but the two of them would glow like the sun to any enemy wielders on the hill. Morghiad nodded to the other kanaala to let them know he was about to begin, and took her hand. The routine was so familiar to her now, and she could have closed her eyes and identified each kanaala by a single touch. Morghiad was very different from the others, of course, strength aside. And the quality of his control felt different, too. She felt less like she was having her organs forcibly pulled out, and more like she was being given a warm embrace by the stony man. She had tried to hug him for real twi
ce: once when she had first met him, and again upon receiving the horse. Both times he had pushed her away as if she smelled utterly terrible. He was a peculiar man, indeed.

  She patted Glacier, named after her benefactor’s character, on the neck as The Blazes filled her body. Horses seemed to be able to feel it quite keenly, and the mare stamped her hooves to prove it.

  Artemi looked to man who held her power. Two sword hilts jutted above his shoulders and innumerable other blades were strapped at his waist, thighs and calves. He was only lightly armoured with the filigree shoulder and breast plates, which were embossed with black and green vine-like patterns. He appeared to be drawing in half as much as either of them could hold, and the light in his eyes intensified considerably. Each time the fires coursed through her veins, Artemi still felt as if she might melt into the ground; kahr, swords, horses and all. There was also the matter of the curious attraction she experienced when wielding with him. Other than the pleasure Blaze Energy gave her, there was really no reason why she should find herself appreciating him in... that way. The other women’s interest in him baffled her completely, and they did not have a wielding excuse. How could they care for a stone of a man whose personality was unknown to them and unnerving to her?

  Her captain began to work the Energy into a broad, flat sheet of pure power. It pulsed at a steady rate, seeming to glitter from a hidden light source. The sheet grew outwards over the heads of the soldiers and upwards, into the sky. A rain of fire headed their way, but she could sense that the kanaala were doing something that she could not see directly. The fire rain dissolved to nothing above their heads as Morghiad twisted the shield energy round the edges of the two divisions, added several layers of complexity and then released her hand.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to give them a taste of their own medicine?” Artemi breathed, confident that she could blast the lot of them to ash.

  The kahr did not look at her. “You must save your energy... and mine. Now get back to the wagons. I’ll find you after the battle is finished.” He kicked Tyshar off to a gallop, and tore down the slope to the front of his men. Artemi longed to join them. It was ridiculous that she had been held back here, and already her heart ached with concern for her friends’ lives. “Blazes protect you all,” she whispered, and turned to the supply carts.

  The battle raged into the night, wielder fire lighting up the dark sky in waves and plumes of smoke filling the air. Artemi could hear the battle cries from where she was, and often the sound of steel swords singing against more steel. There had been many casualties brought to her and the medics. They cleaned the poison from the soldiers’ wounds as best they could, but sometimes there was too much, and several of the men took on the grey skin of pinhatar - the poison death. One man died as she spoke to him, his yellow eyes wide and clouded. She hoped the Hirrahans were suffering far worse than these men, good men, were. Artemi looked up from her latest patient. Aglos, the head medic soldier, was muttering something to her about getting more water. “I’ll go and get some from the brook at the bottom of the hill,” she said.

  He glowered. “Fine. But don’t get too close to the action. Though I imagine most of it will be done by now.”

  She grabbed a bucket and ran from the tent. Glacier was tethered up to a nearby tree, probably asleep, but was rapidly untied. Artemi vaulted onto the mare’s back, which had the immediate effect of waking the horse up. Glacier raised her snout, snorted once and galloped into the darkness toward the brook, toward the battle.

  The horse was lightning fast, and within a matter of seconds they had reached the sound of running water. Artemi slipped out of the saddle with the bucket and picked her way carefully over the rocky ground. When her toes hit water she knelt to scoop some up, but a fizzing in the air around her drew her attention away. There was a large group of men fighting several-hundred yards ahead, though how those Hirrahans had made it this close was a mystery. The fizzing intensified.

  Then she understood.

  It was Blaze Energy, being used to scout for targets beyond the wielder’s natural sensing range. With horror, she realised that there were no kanaala in the group, or even nearby. In a matter of moments the lot of them would be burned to grey silt! She dropped the bucket and leapt into Glacier’s saddle, pulling her sword from her back. Artemi heeled the mare over the brook and up the opposite slope.

  Once she was within shouting distance she started yelling as loud as she could, “MOVE! WIELDER STRIKE!” None of the men looked around. They were too caught-up in their fighting to notice her. She jumped off the horse and ran the rest of the way. Perhaps an extra blade could tip the balance for them. Artemi headed for a tall, Hirrahan warrior with his back to her. Too busy thrashing one of her brothers, he hadn’t heard her coming. She dove forward and swept her sword across his neck with all her might. His head fell to the ground with a strange torpidity, and she was left with a strong desire to vomit.

  The Calidellian man beyond offered her a weary nod of thanks. Almost as soon as she had, however, a Hirrahan soldier to her left bore down on her, and she parried with a quick up-slash. She jabbed her sword into his side as he fell back, while her compatriot finished him off. Artemi placed her foot against the body to remove her blade, but felt something hit her other leg. Sword reclaimed, she looked down and saw a pinh-coated short sword sticking out of her right thigh. Its sweaty owner grinned at her menacingly. “Little girls shouldn’t fight.”

  The air fizzed intensely against her skin. They had to get out of there, they had to run! Artemi swung the sword round as fast as she could. It caught the grizzled man by surprise and knocked him to the ground. The Calidellian man she had aided was too exhausted and bloody to help her further. Without hesitation, she beheaded their foe herself.

  Her kills had tipped the balance, and the last of the Hirrahans fell to the earth. “We have to move, now! There will be a storm of fire right here in a matter of seconds!”

  The men in green and black lost no time in departing the scene. She made to run with them, but instead fell to the ground as her right leg collapsed. Artemi rolled onto her back and pulled at the short sword. It would not budge. She took a deep breath and heaved on it as much as she dared. Slowly, and with searing pain, it came free. Black liquid oozed from the wound; the limb did not look useful at all. Blazes!

  A pair of arms grabbed hold of her and lifted her into the air. The man she had helped threw her onto his shoulder and ran to her now skittish horse. He had come back! He flung Artemi across the saddle, leapt onto Glacier’s back and kicked the mare into a gallop. A vast fireball exploded into the earth behind them, launching burning shards of rock across their bodies. They galloped back toward the medics’ tent in justified alarm, though Artemi had to writhe and yell for the soldier to stop and pick up water on the way. At least she could complete one of her duties, though her leg was beginning to hurt rather more than she wanted to admit.

  Morghiad drew the second of his swords, dismounted and cut his way through to the wielder ahead of him. The moon illuminated her thin face clearly. He pulled another red-coated soldier down to the ground and cut his head from its neck. It had been a bloody battle, far bloodier than he had expected. They had to yield soon. He reached forward and took hold of the brunette’s neck. Her eyes grew wide as soon as she sensed what he was, and that he surpassed her considerably in ability. The woman was tired, but he drew every reserve she had left into himself. She fought back only feebly.

  His experience with Artemi had taught him much about controlling the more headstrong wielders, and it was not long before he felt something snap - the tie that linked her to the Blazes. The woman would never wield again. If he delved further he could have killed her, but she was harmless now. He released her neck and she fell to the ground in a heap. Morghiad left her there and clambered back on Tyshar.

  The end of the battle came soon enough, since the loss of the brown-haired wielder had been enough to finally dishearten the Hirrahans. A trumpet sounded,
and all the men in red laid down their swords. Some were crying. It had been horrific, certainly the bitterest fight he had experienced yet, and he feared hearing the number of losses his army had sustained. He sheathed both swords and cantered into the centre of the enemy camp. Beetan fell in behind him. The orange-haired man was revelling in the glory of his kills. Out of the corner of one eye, Morghiad caught him picking up a brown piece of fabric. “All your baize are belong to us!” Beetan laughed to himself. Whatever did that even mean? The kahr heeled Tyshar on and soon reached the Hirrahan leader’s tent.

  A blonde woman in a silk gown stood at the torch-lit entrance. A small gold crown sat atop her head. Morghiad had thought the Hirrahans brave, but he had not expected them to send their queen to take a province. She was quite pretty, though she had nothing on Artemi’s beauty. He dismounted and made a bow to his defeated enemy. She eyed him longer than would usually be acceptable, and then gave a curtsey before ushering he and Beetan into her tent.

  “Your men fought well today, my lady.”

  She assessed him from top to bottom. “Men fight hard if they have a queen to protect. Tell me, Lord-Captain Morghiad, are you married yet?”

  Was this really to be their topic of discussion? “No, I fear I am wed to the sword and my army. But I believe we should press on with business.”