City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  Morghiad stood to see her out once she had gathered her sword and straightened her appearance. He was always polite in certain aspects of his etiquette - very strange given that she was a servant, a soldier and especially given that he thought her such an annoyance.

  The door closed behind her softly. It had a curious squeak that Morghiad seemed ignorant of, or at least unwilling to fix, but she strode into the enormous hallway without mentioning it and ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tidy the strands. Her hand dropped; there was someone in the corridor ahead. The identity of the figure became plain when Artemi rounded the corner, and she curtseyed before the dark-haired noblewoman.

  “You! You little whore!” The woman moved forward with surprising speed and pushed Artemi into the wall. “I know you spent all night in his room. Do you think this is acceptable? Do you think he would love a barrel scraping like you?”

  Artemi suppressed an urge to draw her hidden sword. “No, my lady.”

  The noblewoman shoved her into the wall again. “I didn’t give you permission to speak, harlot! I will see to it that you are made to do the very worst duties that exist in this castle. See if he is so ardent when you smell of the latrines! What is your name? Speak!”

  Artemi blurted out the first name that came to her head: “Mirel.”

  “Mirel, eh? No... forget latrines. I know just the place for you, lass.” Lady di Certa took her roughly by the arm and pulled her down the hall.

  Artemi did not know how to fight back. She could not just decapitate the woman for being jealous. Perhaps Morghiad or Silar would be able to sort out whatever difficulties this woman had in store for her. She would just have to bear it out.

  Aval led her through twisted corridor after shadowed corridor and up a broad flight of green marble steps until they reached an area of the castle she not visited before. A pair of large, bronze doors loomed. The two guards looked nervously at Artemi, and she was not sure what message they were trying to convey to her.

  “I wish an audience with the king,” Aval said. “Is he here?”

  Artemi’s heart raced. She had to escape before he saw her, she had to run – those were her orders! She twisted her arm from Lady di Certa’s grip.

  “The king is out on an errand, my lady,” one of the guards said.

  Artemi needed to get out of there anyway. “I cannot stay here. I have duties to attend to, and I must get to them right away.” She began trotting down the hall, leaving a dumbfounded Lady di Certa behind her. Artemi hastened down the hallway, at a run this time. She turned a corner at the greenstone steps and was confronted by a broad, bearded man in a silk coat. A coterie of women dressed in red surrounded him. She immediately dropped her head and curtseyed as low as she dared.

  The king moved toward her and spoke. “Raise your head, child.”

  She did as requested, slowly lifting her chin. Her whole body began to shake. Cautiously, she met his light-brown eyes.

  He reached to her jaw with a gloved hand and held it there for a moment, turning her head to each side to inspect it. “Have you ever seen such refinement, such symmetry in a woman?”

  Artemi was not sure if she was supposed to answer him.

  King Acher stood back to assess her figure. “You may raise yourself from that curtsey, girl.”

  She straightened, watching him as he rubbed at his beard.

  “You are very young, yes? Nineteen I’d guess.”

  “Eighteen, sire.”

  He started to walk around her. “Eighteen. I don’t even remember being in double digits anymore. So young. So pure.”

  Artemi felt sick with nerves. Rapid footsteps approached from behind her.

  “...and if you think you can walk away from me, huss -” Lady di Certa had evidently seen the king.

  Acher wheeled around to greet her. “Ah, Lady di Certa. Good to see you are still living under my roof. I was just admiring this young woman here. Isn’t she divine?”

  Aval mumbled a, “Yes, my lord,” from her bowed position.

  The king removed his glove and ran a hand over Artemi’s hair. “The Blazes have given you to me. What is your name, girl?”

  “Artemi.” She prayed Lady di Certa would not seek retribution for the lie, and she hoped to Achellon that he would let her go.

  He smiled. “Artemi, of course. Well, Artemi, you are to be the principal rose among my blooms; the sapphire amongst my gold.” He motioned for one of his accompanying guards to approach. “Lad, take this beauty down to the benay-gosa chambers. She is to be readied for the ceremony this afternoon -” He leaned closer to her and whispered, “and I will have you this evening.”

  Artemi felt sick, utterly sick.

  Her guard was Orwin, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the king he turned to her, worry creasing his face. “What are you going to do?”

  She fought off the panic that was settling in her. “I can do nothing. Morghiad. Get the message to him. Perhaps he can talk his father round. Or...” She took a breath, “...or I will have to run from here and I will need some help.”

  Orwin nodded. “Once you’re with the benay-gosa attendants I’ll go straight to him.”

  “There’s something else.” She withdrew her sword and scabbard. “Those benay-gosa scarves would do little to hide this and I can’t be found with it.”

  Orwin placed it in his own sword belt and walked her to the chambers. By the time they had reached the apartments, Artemi was beginning to feel the pain in her thigh once more, but she would have far worse problems than that to contend with soon. Upon completing his escort, Orwin sprinted from the rooms and Artemi was hugely grateful that he was a fast runner. Morghiad would get the message soon; it was in his own interest to prevent this from happening.

  The benay-gosa rooms looked as if they had been imported from another country altogether; they bore no resemblance to the stark grey of the rest of the castle. Swathes of red, gold and purple silk arced from the ceilings to the floors, masking whatever cold stone lay behind. The main entrance chamber seemed only to hold furniture for lounging on. There was no hint of work or hardship here; the king was all the hardship anyone needed.

  The floors were made of polished black granite which glittered like a starry night. From the main chamber, twenty wooden doors led to what appeared to be the benay-gosa’s private accommodations. Three red-clad attendants approached her as soon as Orwin had left. One was short, blonde and had an air of affected superiority; another was tall and imposing with very dark red hair; the final woman was sweeter-looking, olive-skinned and with deep brown hair.

  “A new woman to replace the latest one to fall from favour,” the blonde attendant chanted.

  “When is your admission ceremony to be, child?” asked the taller woman.

  Artemi compressed her lips. “This afternoon.”

  The blonde woman’s pale eyebrows rose a little. “Well he doesn’t lose much time these days, does he? Come. This will be your room.” She gestured to the door on the far right.

  Artemi followed the diminutive woman through the door and gazed, open-mouthed, at her new quarters. A huge bed took up most of the bedroom, made with cream-coloured sheets of some fabric she did not recognise. More swathes of pale silk decorated the walls and ceilings, golden lamp stands stood about the edges of the room and a chaise covered in silver fabric sat at the end of the bed. She went to the window. It looked out onto the fountain courtyard and she could hear the calm sounds of its cascading water. It chimed incongruously with the fear she felt. A bathing room lay off to the right and Artemi could see from the window that it contained a huge bath, big enough for several people to use at once. She cleared the image from her mind. This room would never be something she could enjoy.

  “You must bathe now and be made ready for your admission to the king’s honoured women. Pray, what is your name, girl?” Asked the olive-skinned lady.

  “Artemi D’Avrohan.” She shivered at hearing her father’s name. What would becom
e of him without her? Or if she did end up with the king... and became a murderess?

  “Well met, Artemi. I am Carinnah. The other two are Myina and Tialain.”

  She smiled at the three of them. It probably wasn’t a very convincing smile.

  “We will run a bath for you. Myina will help you undress,” Carinnah said. The kindest-looking woman went to open one of the brass taps above the vast bath and her accomplice set about filling it with oils. Myina approached her, red hair like mahogany, and started pulling at the laces of her bodice. Artemi would have to think of a suitable explanation for her injury... but how often did an ordinary linen girl come into contact with pinh blades? Myina lifted the blue dress over her head and placed it onto the chaise. Artemi was running out of time. She had to think of something. The tall woman walked round to her front and began to undo the ties at the front of her shift. Think, Artemi! At last the woman removed her well-worn slip and the despair of the Calidellian army was stood naked in the middle of a benay-gosa room, naked but for a bandage around her right thigh.

  The inevitable question came. “What happened?”

  “I was cleaning one of the guard’s coats... and he had a short sword hidden in it. Only I didn’t realise. It fell out when I unpacked it from the laundry and it, well, fell into my leg here.” It was almost believable.

  “Oh,” murmured Myina. “We’ll have to find a way of hiding it. Lucky for you it’s quite high up your leg. If you would sit here, I’ll remove the dressing.”

  Myina was surprisingly gentle in spite of her severe looks. “My husband used to come back with injuries like that,” she said once she had finished. “Till he never came back at all.”

  “You had a husband in the army?”

  The tall woman smiled weakly. “Aye. A lieutenant. They’re all cut down in the end, those fighting men.” She went quiet for a moment, so Artemi squeezed her arm in reassurance.

  Myina straightened. “It is in the past now. Time for you to bathe, child.”

  Why did they have to keep calling her child? She wasn’t that young! She followed Myina to the bath and climbed in gingerly, never having used a proper one before. The hot water was wonderful; it smelled incredible! “May I ask why you are supervising my ablutions?”

  “Because, child, we must ensure you do not try to escape. That is, until we know we can trust you.”

  Oh, wonderful. Was she allowed to use the toilet alone? Speaking of which... She ignored the urge and examined her captors. She could have taken all three of them on, easily. Artemi began soaping herself and, at that point, the three women had the courtesy to turn around.

  With her ablutions complete, her new attendants led her to the large mirror in the corner of the room. Her reflection looked back at her inquisitively. She had never liked the way she looked: hair a ridiculous colour, eyes too dark, nose too long and pointy, jaw too wide. She could have continued to list her faults, but doing so only made her unhappy. The king must have been quite desperate for women.

  Carinnah pulled out a collection of materials which looked like paint, and then took out a thin, black pencil and leaned towards Artemi. She held the Artemi’s eyelid in a curious manner to begin drawing on it. What in Blazes were they doing to her? And where was Morghiad? He should have been here by now! She hated having to be rescued at all, especially when she was perfectly capable of saving herself, but fighting off the king and running meant breaking her army oaths. And breaking her father’s heart. Calm. She had to stay calm and plan her escape.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pull on her hair. Just wonderful, now they were going to arrange it into some overly complicated knot-work all around her head. She would be teased relentlessly by the other men for this, if she wasn’t executed first.

  Primping and preening finished, she examined herself in the mirror. They hadn’t done too bad a job on her hair, and it had turned out looking more natural than she had expected. The small star flowers in it looked acceptable, almost. Carinnah had thankfully kept her paintwork to a minimum, which meant Artemi only looked a little bit like a doll. But the clothing, if you could call it that, did not please her nearly so much. She wore two white items and both were utterly sheer. The first was a short, asymmetrical slip, edged in rough lace. Only the waist was opaque, where it cinched in snugly. The second item was a long sort of dressing gown, open at the front with long sleeves. “Am I to walk through the castle like this?” There was no way she could run unnoticed with her entire body on show!

  Tialain said, “No, child. You will wear a proper gown until you are in the ceremony room. The king would not have other men admiring what belongs to him.”

  Well that was some form of relief.

  The blonde woman continued. “You must learn the words for the admission now. And you must learn of your duties.”

  Artemi’s stomach churned. Morghiad had to get here soon.

  The kahr opened the letter and read its contents again. Whatever did his father mean by, “...experiences that make a man, a man?” Morghiad dreaded to think. But when the king ordered him to go somewhere at a certain time, he had to do as he was told. Army business was another matter altogether. He hitched his sword belt round and placed the letter back inside his coat. He’d rarely been to this section of the castle before, and he doubted that many people had. It was the very darkest heart of the citadel, buried deeply in the middle of its winding tunnels. There were some cells here: these were the ones reserved for the most hardened of criminals.

  Morghiad entered one of the larger rooms that turned off from the corridor. It looked as if it had once been used for administrative purposes, but had since been forgotten about. He waited there for a few moments, considering the dark corners and curious damp smells. A tall man in a black coat that brushed the floor walked in. The kahr did not know his name, but he recognised him as one of the prison guards. These men were not of the army, and therefore not under his control. He had always felt some suspicion of the castle’s interior prison guards; no one really knew what they got up to down here.

  “If you will follow me, my lord?” The tall man smiled toothily and limped from the room.

  Morghiad stepped after him. The prison guard walked curiously quickly given his awkward gait, and even the kahr, blessed with long legs himself, had some trouble in keeping up without running. Eventually they came to a room full of empty, barred cells. The guard motioned the kahr in. “If you will just wait here, my lord?”

  Morghiad nodded. What was all this about?

  He heard a key turn in the lock behind him; the guard had locked him in the blasted cell corridor! He ran to the door. “Why have you locked me in here? I demand to know.” Anger touched his voice.

  The prison guard’s rough tones came through, though they were somewhat muffled. “King Acher’s orders, my lord. Don’t worry. It won’t be for long!”

  Long? Locked down here? What had the king discovered? “How long? And why?”

  “You’ll soon see...” the guard’s voice drifted away.

  Morghiad kicked at the door. It was solid as a rock; nothing would move that. He went to assess the barred cells. Some of them had doors to other cell corridors on the other side, but all were locked. The kahr checked the bars for corrosion or weakness. Each one seemed perfectly strong. He was trapped like a rat. What he wouldn’t have given for a wielder! Morghiad folded his arms and leaned against the wall to think. His men would come looking for him eventually, or Artemi would miss him, and she was headstrong enough to poke her nose into every door without permission.

  A pair walked into the cell corridor parallel to his. He straightened and assessed them before asking for help. As they came into the lamplight, he realised that one was a woman. She was being held by the other man, clearly a prison guard. A second man followed them in, and the three of them stood in the cell before him.

  “What is this?” Morghiad demanded.

  The woman was quite pretty. He recognised her from somewhere, but could no
t quite place it. Her hair was muddied and looked to have been a dark shade of blonde at one time. Her eyes were a very bright blue. She struggled against her captor. “They’re going to kill me!” she shouted. “Stop them, please! I haven’t done anything wrong, please!”

  Morghiad looked to the second man. Bedraggled hair dripped down his forehead. He didn’t look as if he had washed recently.

  “What is her crime?”

  The guard smiled with menace in his narrow eyes. “This was one of the king’s prized benay-gosa. She committed a heinous act of treason. She rejected our beloved king and caused him grievous harm in plotting her escape.”

  The woman cried out, “He forced me! Every week he would hit me, every other night he would take me and...” she started to weep. “The king should face execution, not me. Please, I just want to leave here, please make them stop.”

  Morghiad gripped onto the bars of the cell. “This woman does not deserve to die. Free her.”

  The greasy prison guard smiled. “The king’s orders supersede yours, my lord. Her life is to be terminated, and you are to watch it happen. Now.”

  So that was it. His father wanted him as audience to an execution. He wanted Morghiad to think of women as he did.

  The benay-gosa’s captor shoved her to the ground and held her there with a booted foot.

  “Stop this, now.” He knew they would not listen, but he could not prevent the words from leaving his mouth. “She doesn’t deserve this!” He shook at the bars in vain.

  The other prison guard raised a curved blade above his head, and struck down at her neck. The woman’s cries were quelled instantly.

  Morghiad sank to the as the two men departed, and the black blood began to pool before him. He stared at her body for a while, trying to make sense of what had been done. Death came to everyone eventually, and this had been quick and clean. Morghiad had seen a great many slow deaths in his career. Was his father right to do this? Had he been wrong in trying to protect Artemi?