“At last I take my throne,” he whispered.
Artemi looked and felt horrified at what he’d said. “You could rebuild. Take back what is yours.”
“With what? The people of Gialdin are all dead or scattered to the winds. I’d have to raise my own army to protect this city and from where would I raise it? Then I’d have to fight against the men who promised their loyalty to me. I would start a war over a grave. And that is what this place is: a burial site. It is a thing of history now.” He turned a small piece of white crystal over in his hand.
“And what are we if we are not products of our history? History is not in our past but forms us in the present. And how histories are written or interpreted depends on what we do today. You seem to think that being a kahr of a city in history makes you a kahr in history. But you are not yet. You are a kahr of the present, and being a kahr without a castle makes you no less of a kahr.” She looked at the rubble fiercely. “And you do not need to start a war. You already have the army you require.”
He thought through her words carefully. She was wrong about the Calidell army; he had no reason to believe they would keep him as captain. But she was right that he still had an opportunity to change history, or at least alter the ending. “Do you want me to fight for Gialdin?”
She closed her eyes. “When you told me I was a wielder, I learned of my responsibilities. They are nothing in comparison to yours, but I know I have an obligation to fulfil. It hurts me to say this, and I fear saying it will ultimately end in my loss of you, but not to admit it would end with a loss of your trust.” Artemi’s dark eyes opened and shone their warmth upon him. “The people of Gialdin are your responsibility.”
...fight to save what you love...
And Morghiad could think of no one he’d rather rule them than Artemi. She would do a better job of it than he ever could, even when she’d been an eighteen-year-old linen washer. He just had to see her safely through the next few years, ensure she learned how the country was run, and then he had the simple matter of arranging Acher’s downfall. And he could not tell her of his plans yet; she would never agree to them unless she saw no alternatives, and he had to ensure she remained an innocent party. His arrest and trial would inevitably lead to imprisonment, possibly execution: something else she would probably try to prevent. “I will do my best for you, Gialdin and Calidell, Artemi. On that you have my word.”
She nodded but looked worried. He gave her a squeeze in reassurance and buried his cheek in her soft, fire-like hair. His skin tingled against the strands. He would miss her in prison. They walked around the ruined citadel for some hours while Morghiad tried to remember more of his home and parents. But nothing would come. He had a vague recollection that he had been happy here, and some early memories of his time at Cadra clambered from the woodwork of his mind. He recalled being poked and prodded and tested when he reached the dark grey castle. But that was all. The sun began to dip below the tree line. It was time to make camp, and this was not a comfortable place to sleep. The kahr and Artemi walked back towards the remains of the southern gate slowly. Quite ungracefully, Artemi tripped on a collapsed piece of floor paving. Morghiad was too far away to catch her in time, and felt a shard of white wall slice into her side as she landed. He ran over to help her up. It wasn’t like her to fall over inanimate objects, even in the fading light. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. The energy of this place. I suppose I’m just not used to it.” She looked down to inspect her wound. It was deep, but healing up rapidly.
“We need to fix that hole you punched through to wield. It’s probably not helping matters.”
She didn’t respond. Her gaze was fixed on something in the broken masonry. Artemi reached a slender hand into a gap in the rubble and tugged at something cold. Whatever it was wouldn’t shift. Morghiad pulled away some of the nearby lumps of crystal. The object still wouldn’t move. It felt metallic in her hands. Together they dug down further into the rubble. Two giant, flat slabs of white Blaze-made material sat on top of the object. Morghiad thought he recognised it. He took Artemi’s hand and reached for the fires through her. They came to him in a torrent of fury and searing joy. He moulded the flames into shapes that would lift even the largest boulders. The slabs were easily despatched with only a fraction of what she was capable of wielding. Beneath them lay a pile of unrecognisable debris. Some of it looked to have been textile once, or perhaps leather. In amongst it was the cold, metallic object: his father’s silver dagger. The chances of him finding it must have been impossibly small, but then Artemi had been the one to spot it – to fall on it. He picked it up and studied it closely. It was exactly as he’d remembered. Filigree patterning covered the handle, and the blade was a polished silver-blue metal he did not recognise. Unsurprisingly, it had been forged with Blaze Energy. He flipped it in his hand. The dagger rotated smoothly and evenly – perfectly balanced for throwing. Along one side of the blade was some writing: “Al Talone Kantari sur Talone Jade’an loitaar tuliden a tulevar”
“You know this dagger?” Artemi asked.
Morghiad nodded. “This must have been a gift from my mother to my father. It says ‘In House Kantari, House Jade’an sees fire and the future.’”
She smiled. “That is an unusual way of declaring love.”
“I see the fire in you, Artemi, and I see the future with you. It sounds like a very accurate description of love to me.” He slid the dagger into the back of his belt. “Let’s get to the horses before we’re cut to pieces in the dark.” He kept hold of her hand this time; he didn’t want her tripping over and injuring herself on more of his ancestral home.
They had reached an ancient tree on the outskirts of the city by the time the skies had blackened fully. Birds still chirruped happily into the night, as if kept awake by some unseen light. Morghiad checked the horses were safely hitched and sat down next to Artemi, wrapping his cloak around the two of them. It was a dry enough night not to need proper shelter, but cool enough to require several blankets. He buried his face in her hair and studied the inferno, now fully grown, inside her. It blew about like a torrential storm behind a translucent veil, forcing the barrier to billow and waver. Intense heat radiated through a fracture in the veil. The break was small, but not safe. Unready wielders had been driven mad by lesser breaks; unable to relinquish their grip on The Blazes because they lacked the necessary discipline. Artemi was well-disciplined when she wanted to be, but there was always that stubborn streak in her that could either work to her favour or detriment. The veil was a natural adaptation of the wielder’s minds to shield them from their growing power, or so the kahr had read, and only a kanaala could reach through it as if it didn’t exist.
Morghiad had read about repairing tears in the wielder barrier, but he’d never done anything like it before. He took a tiny amount of Blaze from behind it and began to shape the power as he would for a partition. It wavered for a moment, then faded to nothing.
“What are you up to in there?” Artemi asked with some amusement.
The kahr tilted her pale face to meet his. “Fixing you.”
She smiled mischievously. The woman seemed almost proud that she had endangered her own life. Morghiad frowned and tried something different, again drawing only a sliver of energy from her. This time he formed it into strings that stitched the veil together. The minute he left control of them, they evaporated. There had to be another approach.
“If it helps, I felt as if I was building a bridge to it. Perhaps you need to undermine the connection,” Artemi said almost absently.
He examined the veil carefully. “You didn’t feel as if you’d broken through anything?”
“No. I just needed to cover the distance.”
That was confusing. Artemi perceived her block differently: where remoteness was the barrier. Morghiad closed his eyes and tried again. Break the bridge. No matter how hard he tried to conceive of it that way, he couldn’t seem to sense any bridge. He took the Energy from
her once more and formed it into a small block of force. He wanted to use it to push the veil away from the power it contained. The kahr hurled it through the fracture, causing Artemi to jump. The veil seemed to move forwards by a tiny increment and, almost immediately, the breach sealed closed. It made no sense, but it had worked.
Chapter 15
A gangly insect patted against the pale ceiling of Silar’s tent, trying to escape to the faltering red rays of the winter sun. He opened the door flaps a touch to let it escape. The brainless creature batted around the edge of the exit fruitlessly, before he swatted it out himself. The lieutenant lay back on his bedroll and considered the news he’d received the previous day. He’d fully expected to admonish Morghiad for allowing his woman to become so unhappy, but he had not expected such a reason behind her sadness. The kahr had dealt with a few tough issues in the last year or so; but surely this would be most likely to unseat him, given his overly honest personality. It would make everyone’s lives so much easier if he just kept the revelation to himself. Fool bloody man. And no one would blame him if he removed Acher’s head. Silar’s new network told him much of the city, usually the king’s strongest supporters, had grown tired of Acher in the last few years. Taxes were rising and poverty too. The hinterlands of Calidell were neutral at best; all they ever saw of their government was its tax enforcement.
It hadn’t taken long for Silar to track down and verify the source of Morghiad’s information. Koviere sounded lucid enough for a man who’d lost so much, and he’d displayed a curious level of loyalty towards the kahr. He had keen eyes and ears though; something which made Silar feel nervous. The old giant appeared to be equally in awe of Artemi, if surprised at her relationship with Morghiad. With any luck they’d be able to recruit Koviere once he was recovered; a man like that could be a wonderful ally. Silar’s mind turned to Toryn. He’d been able to keep the man from observing too much of his daughter’s recent mood, but it would only be a matter of time before he found out. The soldier had naturally been very curious about the couple’s trip to Gialdin and was wise enough to know that something other than reconnaissance was going on. Some of the other men had joked that she and the kahr had left to spend some private time together, or planned to marry in secret; though none seemed to begrudge their departure. The men trusted their queen and they trusted Morghiad.
It was time to see how far that trust could be pushed. The lieutenant ran a hand through his pale hair and closed his eyes against the crimson light. His breathing slowed to nothing and his heart gave no outward sign of beating. Beautiful, crystal clear darkness swathed his mind and pushed out all previous thoughts. He opened his consciousness to the most recent object he’d seen: the gangly insect. It flitted around his mind space in as pointless a manner as it had done in his tent, occasionally butting against an unseen wall. Silar allowed it to escape, drawing forth new thoughts in its wake. Toryn was the first to walk through the mists, sword drawn. His expression was of sadness rather than anger, though Silar was not sure of the reasons behind it. He decided to introduce Morghiad to the situation, extracting his form from the grey fog. As had become typical in his last year of meditations, Artemi invaded the scene. Unfortunately, Silar could not interfere with such things that plagued his viewings. Whether she was a symptom of his deepest consciousness or a key figure in all the futures he saw, he did not know. But he had to let her play her part in it. Sometimes her presence in it could be more enlightening than her absence. She looked on at the two men, worried. There were no surprises there. Morghiad held his hand out to Toryn to shake. The older man would not take it, but did not display his disapproval either. A glassy wall of ice began to grow up around Toryn as he folded his arms across his sword. Artemi appeared close to tears. The kahr made no attempt to arrest the growth of the ice or destroy it, and Artemi’s father seemed increasingly upset as he viewed them both from inside his new cage.
The older man’s shadow dropped to his knees, appearing to beg for forgiveness from Morghiad while his original form remained unmoved. His daughter, meanwhile, was beginning to fade into the background. Her tears had grown into broad, rippling blue lake at her feet. She looked into it for a moment, and then dove in. Morghiad turned from Toryn, tore off his coat, threw off his boots and leapt in after her. The icy walls immediately disintegrated from around Artemi’s father. Exactly what all of this meant, Silar wasn’t entirely sure, but he guessed that Morghiad would have to save Artemi in order to gain the approval of her father. He wondered how literal the events were. Sometimes they happened exactly as he saw them and sometimes the scenes were loaded with metaphor. Toryn sank down into the mists and the lake calmly folded in on itself. But what of the army? After all of the recent changes, the last thing they needed was a new captain.
Silar drew forth as many faces of the army as he could recall. Thousands more followed in behind them, filling the gaps and expanding the ranks. When his mind felt as if it was about to burst from the number of people inside it, he pulled Morghiad out from the fog. The dark man stood tall and upright before them, revealing nothing of his emotions. He was speaking to his men, and Silar knew that he was telling them of his true parentage though there was no sound. Artemi crouched in a dark corner, sword drawn and ready to pounce. A mysterious flame-covered blade burned at her hip, and she was either ignorant of its presence or thought nothing of it. When Morghiad closed his mouth the army ranks rippled and wavered. The movement made Silar feel queasy. Then everything began to rotate, almost imperceptibly at first, but the rotation grew to a slow spin. Faces moved about faces, sword slid past sword and expressions changed to confusion, fear or guilt. The entire army was swirling about an axis, spiralling into a vortex of its own making. Hard, white mist dug into the sides of the soldiers, causing them to cry out in pain and tearing some of the men apart. Artemi leapt forward to slash at it with her blade, but her attempts were in vain. The white mist swallowed up every soul and then turned to consume her. Morghiad watched on, implacable, as she screamed noiselessly and was drawn into the fog, too. Whatever this meant in the real world, it was not a good omen for Morghiad’s honesty.
The lieutenant squeezed his eyes before opening them to the darkness of his tent. He sucked the damp, cold air into his empty lungs and felt their aches fade. His head hurt from the effort of the many factors it had assimilated. Silar’s mother had said anyone could look into the future if they knew enough about the people, their history and environment. But she’d said he had a special capacity for it, more so than his brothers, and so she had trained him to really see the possibilities through deep introspection. Some talent he had! All he had seen was what he’d thought inevitable anyway. Silar would have to work through the night at this now, introducing new variables to see if they would alter the outcome. Morghiad had better be bloody grateful for this, and sorry for the headaches it would cause. He took a swig of water from the canteen by his bedroll and lay back on the lumpy travel pillow. No doubt the kahr had something more comfortable upon which to rest his head. Silar scrubbed that image from his mind quickly. He didn’t want a naked Artemi traipsing into his visions; that had a tendency to cause all sorts of odd outcomes. He closed his eyes and fell back into the clear depths of nothingness. The situation was set up once more and this time Silar tinkered with the number of soldiers present. The outcome was the same. He locked Artemi in a box, hidden from view, but again the army swirled into the white mist. Then he tried getting Artemi to whisper the truth about Morghiad to the men individually, but once more the men were torn apart.
Hours of the night passed as he endeavoured to find a way of saving Morghiad and the army from Acher’s influence. Silar even tried placing the king directly into the situation, and the results of that were even more disastrous. Worse, if Morghiad kept the secret, the army would find out eventually anyway and imprison the kahr, before being violently torn apart. Silar felt exhausted, hopeless and drawn. His head was pounding from the effort. Sometimes change is inevitable, his mother h
ad said when he’d predicted the death of his favourite, young and apparently healthy horse. He’d cried about that in the weeks before it came to pass, but then Silar had only been seven years old. And Faidar had been as good an animal as a boy could have wished for. But that had been something he could not fight. This was avoidable, somehow. Light from the early sun began to brighten the innards of his tent. Already time to get up and move the army northwards. Sometimes Morghiad had no idea of the trouble he caused.
The kahr grabbed Aval roughly by the arm and pulled her to a small copse of tangled oak at the edge of the camp. His fine black hair fell about his ears in unruly wisps and dark stubble marched along his jaw. It was unlike him to appear unshaven, but there was something urgent about his disposition. The man’s shoulders worked smoothly with each stride. He looked especially beautiful with his appearance roughened by days of hard travel and fighting. At last he had accepted his attraction to her. At last he was going to throw her against a tree and take whatever he wanted from her body. Aval could not deny that she loved him, but she had met more troublesome obstacles in her time than that little witch, Artemi. The lady softened her lips in anticipation of the attention she knew she was about to receive. Men had always been captured by her looks, and she always ensnared her desired prey. Would he be as impressive with his clothes off as he was with them on? Aval made sure she took in an eyeful of his excellent bottom while they strode into the trees together.
Morghiad set her against a broad tree and folded his arms, expression stern. He said nothing. Perhaps he was waiting for her to advance on him. Sometimes even the most confident of men could secretly be utterly shy. Aval stepped forward and raised herself on tiptoes to kiss him. His reaction was not what she’d expected: the man grunted, apparently in annoyance, and placed her firmly back against the tree before re-folding his arms. What sort of game was this? She moved forward again, only to find her back meeting the rough bark of the tree once more.
City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) Page 35