Voices of Blaze (Volume 5 of The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  she felt the movement of the breeze from it. It brushed over her ear, and it was close. Artemi leapt at the creature with all her might.

  Her hands made contact with warm flesh as she flew forward, and liquid began to spatter upon her bare skin with tiny stabs of ice. It was the beginning of a rainstorm. As the creature fought back, the spatters turned to a tumult, and the noise ofthe downpour was so powerful it masked anything that could be revealing about the environment more than a yard away from her. Artemi was thrust to the ground with surprising force, her shoulder blades shattering the stones beneath. This animal was just as strong as she was!

  She hit back at it with a knee to its trunk and a punch to the area she presumed was its neck. But the creature did not retreat. Artemi reached for the claws it had dug into her left arm, and tried to twist them free, but the rain had made them too slippery to grip. Artemi wriggled and wrestled with it a while longer, but all too soon she found herself face-down in the mud and broken flagstones, bound up like a hog for roasting.

  The creature hauled her from the ground and carried her, still writhing as violently as she could, to what she presumed was the city wall. There, she felt her body beingjolted upward as her

  captor clambered to the top, and after that, and for reasons she could not explain, she passed out.

  The skies above Sokiri were just as blue as they were above any other country, and that was

  something Morghiad had to admit he was surprised at. From all he had read ofthe place, he had quite expected those skies to be green. The trees, however, were almost exactly as he had anticipated. They were so tall that their canopies were barely visible to the naked eye when one stood below them, and so vast that an athletic man could become out of breath from completing a circuit at the base of a single trunk. Given that they

  grew right to the very edges of the coastline, it was clear that those trees had grown too large even for their host continent. Felling one ofthese beasts would be a project to last whole weeks, and Morghiad was in awe. Beneath the great trees lay the cities, roads and villages of the Sokirin people. These wove up and between the trunks, with many homes carved into the dense bark or set upon the vast branches. Necklaces of lights were strung between these homes, and their ruby flames burned day and night. In the town where Morghiad had arrived from his arduous sea voyage – a port known as Freeman’s Hold – most ofthe ground had been cleared to make way for ship-building sheds or other industry, but as soon as one looked beyond those buildings, one could see just how impenetrable the untamed undergrowth of Sokiri was. Profuse, heavy vines

  knotted over roads that were not regularly maintained, and overgrown saplings fought with all manner of exotic fly traps for space between those. Morghiad had read that it rained here most days, and that the clouds would hover below the peaks ofthe trees, but no such cover was visible on this day. He looked back at the ship as it made ready to depart for Sunidara again. Back to Artemi, the monsters whispered to him, but he decided

  to ignore them for the moment. They had moaned at him all the way through his crossing of the Virulent Ocean, and had frequently urged him to throw the captain overboard so that he could take the helm himself. Their complaints troubled him, as he sometimes found that he agreed with their sentiments.

  He sighed noisily. This place was beautiful, and he fully intended to enjoy it while he had the opportunity. Tyshar was

  beginning to cheer up, which was good to see, or at least he was no longer bucking and stamping at his master for being made to travel by boat again. Morghiad had been diligent in his care of his horse through the bad weather, and had walked the animal twice-daily about the decks in order to see him properly exercised. But Tyshar had lost some of his muscle through those weeks, and he had also started to look somewhat

  morose. It was possible for a horse to look morose, wasn’t it? Morghiad gave the warhorse an affectionate rub on his velvet neck, which only prompted a snort from the beast, and looked to the inns ofthe town. All ofthem were located some way above the ground, and the fingers of apprehension poked at him as he thought of encouraging Tyshar up the ramps. No. Tonight was not the night for fighting with his mount. He would sleep on the forest floor like a transient, and take in the new sights and sounds ofthe Sokirin open air.

  He wobbled forward on his sea legs, and Tyshar wobbled behind him after a fashion. By the time the sun was setting, they had found a quiet clearing, just outside of Freeman’s Hold, in which to camp for the night. The air was too warm and humid for Morghiad to require a fire, though he did keep his coat on.

  He settled amidst the roots of a spirewood and pulled out one of his maps to examine. Curkovi was two-hundred miles to the northwest, and no doubt hidden away amongst more trees. Morghiad had already practised the speech he would deliver to his son when he found him, and deeply hoped that it would have the desired effect.

  “Come with me to help Calidell –to help keep the rest of the family safe. Help me to stop

  all the wars in our home,” he repeated under his breath. The more he thought about the words he would use, the more he realised how little he really knew Kalad. Silar and The Hunter had been the effective fathers of his son, and Morghiad had frequently imagined he would speak to Kalad as if he had been one of those men. Kalad ought to have acquired something of Silar’s roguish manner and casual swearing, or perhaps some

  aspects of The Hunter’s more direct nature, but Morghiad had spoken so few times to his youngest son that he had detected none of these things in him. Not that their conversations had been easy enough for any humour to manifest itself. Morghiad struggled not to sigh again, and instead occupied his mind with the business of putting his map away as neatly as possible. After that, he lay back against the smooth bark of the

  tree. Tyshar already appeared to have greeted sleep upon his long legs, and his great head was completely obscured by a cascade ofdark mane. Morghiad smiled as he remembered trying to cut it when Tyshar had not been much more than an overgrown foal. Even then, the animal’s cantankerousness had been evident. Tyshar’s mane had not been cut since.

  There were times when Morghiad wondered if, by sharing his blood, the horse had assimilated something ofthe Shade Panther’s nature. But then he remembered how uncharacteristically sweet Tyshar would be around Artemi, and that could only have meant the animal had the blood ofthe man in him rather than the monster. Then again, Morghiad had never been irascible with people he had not met before, had he? Thoughts ofthe monster brought him to ruminations on

  his first death. He had relived those last few days over and over again in his mind so many times. If he had not made that choice, would he still be ruling Calidell at this moment? Would Artemi still be the handsome queen at his side? And would Kalad look more fondly upon his father? Their eldest son would still be dead, of course, and that was a sore thought to consider.

  A full thirty minutes of staring at the tree canopy above

  to try and see the stars beyond had revealed to him that he could identify the same constellations as were visible in Calidell. Artemi had spoken of the alternative versions of themselves that existed in other worlds, and that sometimes decisions and events could be different in those places. Was it only the actions of men and women, or would the stars be the same in those places? Tallyn would be alive in several worlds, perhaps, and maybe he

  was happy there. There had to be one place in the universe where everyone was content and free of problems; it was only fair. Morghiad fell asleep whilst dreaming of that perfect world, and when he awoke the next morning, he found Tyshar dozing on the ground at his side. It was a strange thing to see a warhorse slumber with his hooves tucked beneath him and his eyes closed in blissful reverie. Morghiad decided not to wake the animal

  while he went to find somewhere to bathe.

  On the way down to the brook that babbled over what must have been the only visible stone for miles, he spotted a dark creature padding about in the undergrowth. Morghiad’s senses for
panthers sparked at that moment, and he was suddenly aware of several tens of the creatures in the immediate vicinity. No – hundreds. Calidell’s population was weak in

  comparison to this! There must have been thousands ofthem perhaps several hundreds of thousands on this continent. He called to the one that was close by, and held out his hand for the creature to sniff. After a moment of hesitancy, she nuzzled the palm of his hand and made an odd sort of grunting noise at him. Morghiad had the notion that it meant she would tolerate his presence in her territory.

  He gave her a quick scratch

  behind the ears, and continued on his way to bathe. Once done, he saddled up a now-impatient Tyshar and headed into the town for supplies. As it turned out, his horse was quite eager to stamp his way up the planks that led skyward along the exterior of the vast tree trunks. Mid-way up, they happened upon a stable complex, and Tyshar was homed and fed there for a few hours, while Morghiad went on alone to find some sustenance for himself. Most ofthe people in Sokiri had facial features that were quite unique to the continent, and were distinguishable from his own, very Sennefhal-ian look by their shorter noses and angled eyes. Morghiad sometimes wondered ifArtemi ever inherited some ofthe look ofthe country into which she was born. She had definitely been a Sokirin a few times, but had she ever appeared to be anything but the daughter of foreigners there? Would the

  same thing happen to him? He made a mental note to ask her when they were reunited.

  In time, he found a bank in which to exchange some of his coin for the local currency, though he was quite sure that the deal they offered was not an entirely equitable one, and then he found a comfortable-looking inn. Comfortable, at least, until he glanced downward and realised he could see the distant ground glowing between the gaps

  in the floorboards. Morghiad shook his head free ofthoughts of falling, and settled to eat some ofthe peculiar food that the barman set before him. He then took his obligatory sip of the local ale that was offered with it, as apparently it was normal to drink in the mornings here and then sober up in the evenings, but still found it an odd taste at this time ofday.

  As he replaced the tankard back on the table, his field of

  view was filled with the face of a snarling Sokirin. Morghiad said nothing, and waited for the other man to speak first. When that did not happen, he ventured an, “Excuse me, have I taken your seat?”

  The man swept Morghiad’s food onto the floor with a growl, and the plate shattered into several large, red shards. “How about my WIFE?!” he roared.

  “I have not done anything with y-”

  “You can try and tie your hair into little-girl plaits and shave your face – but I’d know that damned Sennefahlian mug anywhere! Coward!” He punctuated his words by flicking his fingers at the level of his hips, a sure sign of disrespect from a Sokirin.

  Morghiad was beginning to gain some idea of what might have happened, and how protestations of his innocence would be likely to fall upon ears

  that would not hear. He chose not to allow the man’s comments about his lidir to rile him, and instead stepped out of his chair and kept his bearing relaxed. Already most ofthe inn’s patrons had moved to the edges of the room to watch. “Perhaps you have me confused with my son. Tell me what he has done, and we can resolve whatever problems exist.”

  “Son? Well then, you ought to pay for raising such an

  unscrupulous bastard!” The Sokirin man threw a wild punch at Morghiad’s face, but Morghiad leaned out ofthe way before it could make contact.

  “I do not wish to fight with you,” Morghiad said as he found himself dodging another blow. After several more missed punches it became clear that, while this Sokirin was no bladed warrior, he did know something of fighting. Morghiad had to work increasingly hard to step free of

  the attacks and not to break into a backward run. Eventually, he made a hit of his own, but the Sokirin man blocked it and used his opportunity to land a blow under Morghiad’s ribs.

  Blazes, how he hated bareknuckle fighting! He had by now dispensed with his sword and rolled up his sleeves, though he really need not have bothered. After only a few more thumps and kicks, they were both bloodied all over. The fight

  tumbled out of the inn and onto the suspended walkway beyond, where Morghiad’s fists met with wooden pillars and his skin was filled with splinters. The Sokirin tried to wrestle him into various sorts of holds, but Morghiad had learned enough from Artemi and Koviere to know how to escape from them before he became trapped.

  Fetch your sword, the monsters whispered in his mind, but he resisted. It will end this

  problem for you.

  Morghiad was no murderer; this man had to run out ofenergy eventually.

  As they stepped onto one of the many platforms that served as joints between the suspended walkways, he managed to land three quick punches in succession, whereupon the Sokirin man fell to the floor. He coughed up a little blood, and Morghiad lowered his fists. “Now, will you

  tell me what happened to cause this-”

  Before he could finish, the Sokirin rose from the ground suddenly, and thrust Morghiad backwards. Morghiad was able to fend off some of the force of it, but not enough to prevent his back from sliding off the edge of the platform. The rest of his body followed before he could stop it, and he somersaulted just in time to catch a rope that dangled below. He swung about violently

  from the momentum of his fall, but the gentle breeze that moved inside the forest soon made his swing even messier. It was a long way down to the ground beneath him.

  He looked up, and observed his new enemy was reaching toward his rope with a knife. It was one of Morghiad’s knives – probably dropped during the fight. Morghiad cursed loudly, and put some effort into making the rope swing in a useful

  direction. It creaked under his weight as he moved, but after a second push, it had swayed far enough toward one ofthe suspended walkways for him to let go. He descended to the planks with a landing that any Kusuru would have been proud of, and watched the rope he had held as it dropped freely to the buildings below.

  The man had stolen his knife, would not listen to reason, and had just tried to kill him. An

  old, familiar feeling of ire started to bubble in Morghiad’s blood. His thoughts of peace and light would have to be put aside for the moment, while one ofthe monsters would be permitted to do what it liked to do. He gave up control of his muscles to it, and soon he was sprinting back up the walkways to do battle with his opponent.

  When he saw the man, he set his teeth together and leapt at him with a roar. Morghiad’s

  vision was suffused with blackness in that instant, as if his own blood had grown dark from the rage that ran through it, and his own consciousness was blinded enough for him to forget exactly what it was that he did. When he finally stopped hitting the Sokirin, he found the man had transformed into a bloody mess beneath him. He was still murmuring, but just about every bone in his body had to have been broken.

  Blazes, but this was the same savagery he had unleashed upon Linfar! Morghiad quickly checked that the monsters in his head were tethered. When had he ever thought it acceptable to let one free?! Looking up, he realised he had drawn enough spectators to fill the walkways. He glanced back at the injured man. “What did my son do with your wife?”

  “What do you think?” he spluttered back.

  Morghiad elected not to try to make denials or excuses, and instead left his victim amidst a pool of his own blood, pushed through the gawping crowd, and went to recover his sword. With his property re-secured, he grabbed a bread roll from the remains ofthe food he had ordered and made his departure from the scene. He took hasty bites out ofthe roll as he walked briskly back to Tyshar, and tried desperately to avoid eye contact

  with any other man or woman along the way. Truly, he would have wished to buy more food before he left, but he could not afford to stay in this town any longer.

  The stablemen all backed away from him when he arrived to
claim his horse, and so he placed the coin he owed onto their counter and apologised for the bloody fingerprints he left on it. After that, he collected Tyshar and they rode north to the next

  city. There, Morghiad was able to buy enough supplies to last him several days and might have stayed a few moments longer, if it had not been for the furious crowd of women who hissed and spat at him. He did attempt to point out that his eyes were green and not the dark brown of his son’s, but that did not seem to quiet them at all.

  By the time he was back on the road again, his mood could only have been described as