“We’re grave-robbing now?” she asked.
Morghiad smiled at her. “I think whoever owned this would have wanted someone like you to have it. It’s been wrought with The Blazes. Still sharp. These people no longer have a use for it.”
She looked at it suspiciously, and frowned. “You look after it for now. No, wait. Fine. I’ll take the poor, dead woman’s sword then.” She thrust it into her belt alongside the steel one. The angle of the curve was slightly different, and the plane of the blade was rotated oddly. Morghiad wondered if that would make a difference to her style. They meandered through the dusty corridors and stairs of the ancient building a while longer, but found nothing that would hint to a way out of the caves. He didn’t know if it was the waning effects of that odd potion Artemi had given him, or a long day catching up with him, but Morghiad suddenly felt very weary indeed.
“Let’s go and rest with the other men,” she urged.
Morghiad nodded in agreement and put his arm around her. She seemed to like that a great deal for such a fearless woman.
They sat with the men for a while, nibbling on what rations they had brought. Morghiad ate an embarrassing amount of food; it felt as if nothing could sate his appetite; though Artemi appeared to approve rather than feel disgust at his gluttony. Even with a link to her emotions, he still didn’t completely understand the woman. The captain shared a few stories with his men and then curled up on the ground, where he promptly fell asleep. When he woke up the men were still milling around the grand chamber. Artemi was sat cross-legged, watching him. “I see you’re feeling refreshed after your epic slumber?” She smiled.
He sat up. “How long have I been out for?”
She twisted her mouth. “Oh, time passes oddly down here. But I’d say a full day, at least.”
Morghiad leapt to his feet. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You needed the rest. You’d been tortured to near-death.” She sounded, and her flame felt, calm but indignant.
He could feel the break in the barrier that protected her from The Blazes, where she had forced her way through to wield alone. The barrier was supposed to thin naturally with age until a wielder was ready to control it herself. Trust Artemi to be so defiant and wilful. He’d have to find a way to block her off from it again when they got back, otherwise there could be all sorts of problems. Morghiad snapped up his swords – someone must have recovered them from the battle for him - and strapped them onto his still-aching back. Jarynd came running over to him.
“Lord-captain, good to see you’ve joined us in the land of the living again. I have some good news, assuming it’s not a trap. Our giant of a prisoner over there has offered to lead us out of here. He seems to think he owes you some form of debt, though I can’t think why given you chopped his limbs off.”
Artemi was cautious. “That man is half-mad, if not completely. Seems to think he knows me, though I reckon I’d remember him!”
Morghiad masked his understanding with a surge of love for her. “We’ll follow his directions, then. It’s the best we’ve got, after all.”
Chapter 14
Koviere examined the thick, creased and well-oiled leather belts that held his one arm to his back, and sighed. He wasn’t especially grateful to have been spared by Kahr Morghiad; much better to have been cut down in battle with honour than live as a prisoner in shame. He’d had a good and long life in any case, longer than a warrior could expect. But perhaps he still had one more task to perform, something he could do to correct the crime that had been committed against the Jade’an boy. He looked on as the Calidellians carried the dead to their camp of women. It was not the army he remembered from his last battle against them, that army had left their men where they fell and then forgot about them. Koviere had no doubt this was the influence of the young lad; he couldn’t deny the good blood he had in him, or at least Acher’s influence had failed to taint it. These were soldiers with a purpose, too. Whatever it was they believed they were doing, they believed it was right. That was a curious thing he hadn’t experienced in many years.
A handsome young woman with waist-length hair the colour of old gold and fire walked past. Artemi was another oddity he couldn’t quite make sense of. It was certainly her; face and eyes a little youthful, but just as beautiful and tough as she always was. Calidell was well-known for its appalling treatment of wielders, and she was clearly aware of her abilities; so why on Earth was she fighting for them? And why did an army full of Calidellians tolerate her presence so readily? The thing that utterly flummoxed him, however, was the way they all referred to her as “the queen.” Surely Artemi Fireblade, Artemi the Wielder, honourable and fine Artemi would never marry a revolting specimen of a man such as King Acher? The idea sickened him, and she’d always sworn she’d never take a lover – even if she could. But it would make sense of her integration into the army. And she did have a way of turning men’s heads to her way of thinking. Perhaps he had been living in the caves too long. He thought back to the evenings he’d spent with her at the bar, relating tales of battles won and lost, comparing notes on pretty men and women, and drinking heavily. Those had been good times for hired fighters. Still, she seemed happy enough where she was and that was the important thing, though it made no sense.
Koviere’s scar-faced captor came back from a nearby camp fire with some food. The wiry man seemed to understand the shame of being a prisoner and was good enough not to engage him in conversation. He was also aware of Artemi’s true identity, which probably meant everyone else was... though he couldn’t be sure. He gobbled down the stew greedily, spitting the bones into the snow as he found them. It was surprisingly tasty. He’d need it if he was going to grow these limbs back any time soon. Jarynd eyed him carefully with that twisted face of his, checked his bonds and then went to sit with some of his compatriots. Koviere yearned for a swig on the warm beer they were drinking. He closed his eyes and dreamt of its bittersweet, throat-quenching taste. A movement nearby broke his thoughts, and Kahr Morghiad came to sit opposite him. The kahr poured a mug of brown liquid, released Koviere’s tied arm, and gave the drink to him.
“In thanks for your help getting us out of those blazed caves,” the young man said.
Koviere raised his mug and drank deeply. It was a bit watery for his taste, but good enough. He considered the young man closely. The lad had the bearing of his father, no doubt about it. And his colouring was just as his mother’s had been. Those eyes were unmistakable. The two men sat in silence for a while, each waiting for the other to speak.
Morghiad began, “Artemi says you claimed to know her...”
“And I did. For many years. Last saw her in Gialdin, as it happens.” Koviere took another sip.
The kahr remained inexpressive. “What sort of woman was she?”
The old mercenary couldn’t help but cough at the question. “What do you expect from a hero? She fought harder than most men, blasted bad people into ashes and protected the innocent. And she liked a drink or two afterwards, but who doesn’t?”
“With your knowledge of her, do you think she would choose to stay with an army like this?” Morghiad asked.
Koviere chewed his lip. What was the boy getting at? “When she remembers? Artemi was always a force of nature, lad. Few people could tell her what to do and, from what I saw, she usually preferred to fight alone.”
The kahr looked thoughtful. “I’ve already discovered some of that.”
“May I ask why a wielder is among your ranks, Kahr Morghiad?”
“She has earned the respect of these men and she has given her word that she will fight for Calidell,” the kahr said succinctly.
Koviere knew that the younger man was hiding something. “Is she married to King Acher?”
Morghiad’s eyes very nearly bulged out of their sockets, and a small smile crept across his face. “No. Her title is a sobriquet given by the men. As I said, she has earned their respect.”
“And you, the kahr, allow it?”
The young man reacted quickly: “I thought you said I wasn’t the son of King Acher.”
“No. On that matter I can better inform you. You are the son of Hedinar Kantari. He was a good swordsman like you, former general of Sunidara’s army, but he left his command to be with your mother,” Koviere said.
Morghiad frowned. “I think King Acher might have noticed someone interfering with one of his benay-gosa long enough to sire me!”
“Benay-gosa?” The old mercenary grimaced. “No, lad. Your mother was no benay-gosa. I guess that’s what King Acher cooked up to explain you?” He laughed. “No. Hedinar and Queen Medea were your parents. Acher must have taken you when he razed Gialdin. You’d have been about three or four then. And your sister, well she was thirteen going on thirteen-hundred!” Koviere’s face darkened. “Though I don’t suppose Acher would have had much use for her.”
The young man had gone very pale. Clearly the prisoner’s words had triggered something in his mind. A memory perhaps. “Alliah,” he said.
“Yes! That was her name!” Koviere exclaimed.
Morghiad stood up, paced, and sat down again. “How did you know them?”
“They hired me to fight for them, keep the city empty of bad men. Me and her, as a matter of fact.” Koviere nodded towards Artemi, who was jogging towards them.
She reached them in somewhat of a flustered state. “What’s going on? What have you said to him?” She looked accusatorily at Koviere.
“It’s alright, Artemi. I’ll join you in a minute,” the kahr said.
Artemi clenched her jaw in frustration. “That man is crazy, Morghiad. I hope you’re not taking too much of what he’s said to heart.”
Morghiad looked at her but said nothing.
She bit her lip and then looked back at Koviere. Her features softened, as did her voice. “I see. Well, I’ll be waiting when you are ready.” The woman stalked off into the camp.
That had been interesting, Koviere thought. There had been something... intimate about their eye contact. But it explained some of the lad’s questions about her. The old warrior chose his next words carefully: “Aye, she had her admirers, all right. Never seen her look at a man like that before, though.” He winked.
Morghiad compressed his lips, but the older man was sure he detected a hint of relief on his features. “What is your name, soldier?”
“Koviere Dohsal, my lord.”
“What were they like to know, the queen and Hedinar?”
Koviere scratched at his stump. “Kind. They loved their people and their staff as they loved you. They always did the right thing. They used the money they had to provide for those that needed it. And they allowed wielders to roam as they wished.”
“You are telling me what I want to hear,” the kahr warned.
“No. Well, perhaps a little. But they were good people. Hedinar sometimes had a temper if he thought you’d been stupid enough to put his family at risk. But then, he had good reason to be jumpy about that. And Medea. Medea’s only fault was to allow King Acher to fall in love with her. But from what I heard the feeling wasn’t returned, and he was more than a little slighted by her choice of your father.”
Morghiad looked distant. “Well, Koviere, I’d appreciate it if you kept your information to yourself for now. And be careful what you say around Artemi, she’s not ready to learn about all that yet.” He certainly was protective of Artemi, that much was plain.
“As you wish, my lord.”
“One more thing, how did you end up in the caves with those men?”
Koviere felt a stab of guilt. “It is a safe haven for men like me, my lord. We answered to no tyrant or tax collector. I had fought enough for one lifetime, and I had let down your parents in protecting you. Asterid was my retirement from the world, though I suppose the fires of Achellon have more planned for me since you have been returned to my care.”
“You have no obligation to me.” The young kahr stood and left without reattaching Koviere’s restraints. But of course he knew that Koviere had a debt to him and his family, and would never leave.
Artemi lay stiffly on the rug in their tent. She didn’t like the unhappiness Morghiad was feeling, not at all. As if the man hadn’t been through enough, and that square-faced lump had gone and dropped a fireball of revelations on him. She still wasn’t entirely sure they were true. But then, Acher looked nothing like her beautiful kahr, and something had convinced Morghiad of the old soldier’s claims. Maybe there was some truth in them. Artemi knew very little of Gialdin beyond the feast day and the battle it celebrated. If Morghiad was a son of Gialdin, then surely such celebrations would be a huge slap in the face for him. Worse, he was leading the very army which had been responsible for the fall of his country and the deaths of his family. Acher had been cunning, indeed. If Morghiad wasn’t his son, publicising the truth would lose the kahr his inheritance, his army and possibly his life. The captain liked to be honest with his men, but his honesty in this respect could have catastrophic consequences. Artemi’s head felt thick with problems and contradictions.
Morghiad stepped through the tent flaps and sat in front of her. She wasn’t entirely sure how to comfort him, so started by wrapping her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair and cuddled her tightly. His back was stinging again. “Will you let me see to those wounds?” she asked. He nodded with weary resignation and began stripping his bloodied coat and shirt. The captain had a very fine body indeed: well-muscled torso and arms, but still athletic enough to be fast. He had excellent thighs, too; though always seemed surprised at her admiration of him. Artemi made him lie face-down on the floor while she cleaned the dried blood from his skin. Most of the wounds had healed a little further than when she’d seen them the day before, but there were still strips of exposed muscle. She wondered if it would be safe to give him more of that swift liquor. Probably not just yet. The cleaning took a while before Artemi had him sit up, and then she ran bandages slowly and tightly around his upper body. The captain appeared to be thinking hard about the news he’d just received; only making her more impatient to discuss it with him.
“I arrived at Cadra when I was four,” he said softly.
She crawled round to meet his eyes. “I thought you said that was normal.”
He nodded. “What if it was a coincidence? I have no recollection of my life before the castle.”
“There is only one man who we can be sure knows the truth,” Artemi said.
Morghiad grimaced. “I’m beginning to think he spins nothing but lies.”
She felt his hurt keenly through knots in his river, and wished there was something she could do to fix it. “My love, you are captain of these men. And they would not give you up easily. We are your real family.” Artemi ran her fingers gently down his cheek.
Anger welled up in him. “How can I claim to be captain when I am not even a kahr of Calidell? All I am heir to is a country that no longer exists and a pile of stories in history books!”
“You are their captain because you earned the right to it.” She took a breath. “Then you believe the prisoner?”
He pushed down his anger. “I remember my sister. Or at least the name. I remember having a sister.”
It was possible either way... if the girl had abilities like he did, Acher almost certainly would have disposed of her regardless. “I don’t know what advice to offer. All I can promise you is, no matter what the outcome, you will always have my loyalty and my love.”
He smiled at that. “You and I could end up out in the woods with nothing but the shoes on our feet.”
“That sounds like a good future.”
Morghiad pulled off Artemi’s clothing and fell to the blanket-covered floor with her. Where he found the energy, she never understood, but marvelled as he kissed her whilst simultaneously throwing complicated forms of Blaze at the walls of the tent. She suddenly felt very, very hot indeed.
The brilliant white of the walls glowed effervescently, even in shadow
. A cool autumn breeze flowed in through the vast window; carrying with it the noises of shouting and clattering metal. Morghiad threw the wooden horse onto the floor in annoyance. He’d never liked it. His friend had a better one, anyway. It was so boring being shut away in this big, empty room alone. Wasn’t anyone going to come and get him? He climbed up on a box to look out of the window. His vantage point was high enough to reveal that there were lots of men in black outside the walls. They all seemed to be shouting something, though he couldn’t understand what. A flash of red caught his eye. It was a woman’s hair, lit like flames in the sunlight. She ran towards the walls with considerable speed; a group of men following behind. Suddenly the outer wall of white began to shimmer and wobble. Morghiad inched back from the window, but kept watching. The wall began to bulge in the middle as if struggling to contain some unseen leviathan, and then it burst. White chunks of crystalline rock flew in all directions, pursued by waves of bright blue energy.
Morghiad fell off the box in shock, but climbed on top again to see what was happening. The soldiers were pouring in over the remains of the wall now, yelling and shouting and brandishing swords. The sound of the door behind him turned his attention. Alliah. She looked worried but offered him a thin smile. “Come on Mor, we’ve got to go now,” she said, holding her hand out. He ran to his sister and grasped her thin fingers, and together they rushed down the luminous corridors. A tall man stepped out in front of them and Morghiad tripped headlong into the icy floor in trying to avoid him. He felt himself being picked up and hoisted onto the man’s shoulder. The kahr struggled to escape but was nowhere near strong enough; the man’s shoulders were like tree trunks! Pale paving slabs moved away from him at frightening speed. “Are you taking us to mother and father, Captain Terand?” His sister asked from below. The big man grunted what Morghiad thought was a ‘yes.’
City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) Page 33