Voices of Blaze (Volume 5 of The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  have laid the blame entirely at the feet of the Calidellians for the disaster, or perhaps at Artemi’s feet, but Morghiad knew well enough that the sentiments of many of Hirrah’s remaining nobles were not the same. They knew that the battle had been a disaster for Hirrah, but they blamed Xarrelsar for having led the attack in the first place. Tigers led to war by a mule, or so some said. That was a poor metaphor: mules were stubborn and

  unwilling because they knew all too well what tasks they were being put to. Xarrelsar had just been an arrogant fool. Tigers led to war by a goat, Morghiad corrected.

  “Queen Irannya is still very much in love with the memory of her husband, or how she would like him to have been. The noble houses of Hirrah are not the same,” Morghiad said, “And they will throw their weight behind whomever they perceive has the

  most power.”

  Kalad set his papers down in front of him. “Let me see ifI understand you. The Calyrish family unites, shows favour to Calidell and Sunidara, and all of the noble houses of Hirrah will swarm about it like mice to a great big lump of cheese? And then what, oust Queen Irannya and her seventeen daughters? Put Lord Cal – ah, grandfather on the throne?”

  Morghiad’s father coughed. “No, thank you.”

  “She has fifteen daughters, Kal,” Morghiad corrected, though he thought better of mentioning the sixteenth, Eryth. “I don’t think unseating her will win us many friends, and it will cause more unnecessary turmoil in Hirrah besides. We are here for peace, after all. No, our position gives us the benefit of making her isolated, and with that, we can guide her hand when she comes to write her part of the terms of

  the treaty.”

  Dorlunh had already drawn up a list of ‘suggestions’ for the Hirrahan section of the treaty, though Morghiad considered some ofthem too radical for even the most hard-pressed of rulers to accept.

  “Hirrah is not wealthy at present,” Morghiad’s father added. “It needs peace because it cannot afford more wars. Irannya will not be difficult to manipulate at all, which is an excellent

  reason to support her and ensure that support remains permanent.”

  “Then it is a good thing I found a pretty one amongst her daughters,” Qeneris said, “And Kal, I did you the favour of finding one to suit your tastes. Her name’s Yulia. She’s quite petite, but has a wonderful...” He mimed cupping his backside.

  The frown lines multiplied on Kalad’s forehead, but he did well not utter any complaint.

  Instead, he stroked his black beard, a beard that Morghiad had repeatedly urged him to trim in advance ofthe talks.

  “What we need to consider,” Dorlunh said, “is that if Hirrah so desperately needs peace, then it is unlikely anyone from Irannya’s council sent Ulena. She was sent by someone who does not want peace, but profits from war.”

  “And who is that?” Morghiad asked.

  Dorlunh pulled his thin mouth to one side. “To be honest, I have no idea.”

  What a wonderful fount of information you turned out to be, Morghiad thought at him, and when Dorlunh’s pale eyes narrowed, Morghiad could have sworn the Kusuru had heard it. “We’ll have to discuss Ulena later. We are running out of time before the talks begin. Kalad, are you ready?”

  His son looked down at the

  pile of documents and sighed. “As I’ll ever be.”

  With papers in hand and the most expensive clothes they owned on their backs, the group made its way through the red corridors and toward the Grand Hall. The Calyrish manor at Haeron was not all that different since his father had cleared it of clutter, Morghiad mused, it was just slightly smaller and breezier.

  Not as fine as the palace we

  No, nothing was as fine as that, or would ever be.

  When they arrived at the Hall, Queen Irannya was already seated upon her silver throne and her daughters were scattered artfully upon the steps beneath. The dress she wore was pale green and emblazoned with hundreds of red roses, the symbol of Hirrah, while her crown was formed of silver petals. More roses decorated the orange walls above and around her, and a

  great, painted window was suspended to her right, setting the image of a golden rose at her feet from the sunlight that shone through it. Morghiad had met the golden-haired queen once before, after the Battle of Gorena, but that meeting had not been nearly so cordial.

  “Good day to you all,” Irannya said with a smile. Not one of her daughters smiled however, not even at Qeneris, who always seemed to make the girls smile.

  Morghiad was, of course, ushered into a remote and shadowy corner from where he was expected to watch the proceedings unfold. Clearly Irannya was eager to act as both leader and chair at these talks, and marginalise him as much as possible, which was just as he had anticipated. The Calyrish household were given seating near him, but not close enough to talk privately, and Kalad was given a chair all of his own, quite

  isolated from anyone. He looked like a lost traveller with his long beard, worn clothing and the wolf at his feet. Blazes, why had he not listened to his father’s advice to tidy himself up?!

  Son ofa dead man, not a son ofours, the monsters whispered.

  What do you mean by that?

  The creatures did not answer.

  Soon, the Grand Hall was filled with rulers from all nine nations ofthe Sennefhal

  continent, a handful of the more powerful Houses, and even three representatives of tribes from the Polar Regions. If anyone had thought to attack Astalon now, it would take just one carefully placed wielder strike to behead every government in Sennefhal.

  This is it! the creatures cried in his head. Kill them all; kill every one of them! This is our chance to rule! Now, do it now! Now, now, now!

  The monsters were

  whipping themselves into a frenzy, chanting, galloping around the perimeters of his mind and clawing at its limits. We will be king again – emperor! The world will lay itself prone at ourfeet and weep with gratitude!

  Morghiad reached for the bundle of Blaze in his pocket, but could not find it.

  Yes, we wield. We will show them our power.

  He fished around deeper in his pocket, and felt the tips of his

  fingers brush it briefly. It was as Artemi had said: he had to seek the light. Burn it to ashes and smoke, where was the damned thing?

  “Ah, my lord?” a woman’s voice said.

  Morghiad’s line of thought snapped into many tatters, and the creatures of his mind fell silent. “Yes?” Morghiad said, withdrawing his hand from the pocket in his doublet.

  “While I do not expect you to obey me by crawling on your hands and knees, Lord Calyrish, it would be nice if you would do me the honour of at least listening,” Queen Irannya said, leaning forward in her delicate throne. “Now, I suppose, since you are the arbiter of this... meeting of meetings, you should say a few words to get things started. Do you have any words?”

  That throne of hers was delicate, Morghiad thought, far too delicate to have

  accommodated Xarrelsar’s backside. “Of course,” he said, moving to take a more central spot in the Hall.

  “Cold are we, my lord?” a grinning Calidellian noblewoman said before he could begin.

  It probably did appear unusual, he considered, that he wore a lined doublet, heavy breeches and fur cloak when the sun was shining outside. Few of the other nobles wore more than thin silk or loose-fitted shirts with the weather as it was, but Morghiad was cold. He needed those clothes to prevent himself from shivering like a lost foal.

  “I have seen enough of war,” he began, ignoring the noblewoman’s comment, “to have seen enough of it. It serves no one...”

  The talks stretched on until that bright sun had set, and Morghiad’s patience was tested more than it had ever been. The rulers bickered over tiny points of insignificance, over border disputes that had remained marked and unchanged on maps for centuries, or about who should be given more time to speak. Irannya repeatedly tried to direct the discussions herself and claimed that she con
trolled more land than Kemen, which meant that she should be given greater leave to speak. The King of Wilrea claimed to have more usable land than either of the two countries, which meant he should be

  permitted to speak for longer, and the Queen of Tegra ruled more people than anyone else, so she wished to talk endlessly too. By the end of it, Morghiad felt very much like the parent of young children again, marshalling stupid arguments and instructing each ofthem to be quiet.

  As Morghiad drew the negotiations to a close for the day, Kalad, who had done nothing but nod or shake his head at the requests made by

  other countries, stood. “Every one of you has failed your subjects today.”

  The Hall fell to silence.

  “Not one person here has admitted the truth – the truth that we are facing crisis. Harvests may have been rich over the last century, but all ofthat is changing. The land is failing everywhere. I know it; you know it, even if none of you are brave enough to admit it here. I have seen it in each of your countries,

  and have heard the whispers of your people. I have seen the spirewood trees of Sokiri begin to shrivel, and have witnessed the oceans growing calm at Fury Point. If we do not agree to share food and knowledge now, it will not be one country starving, but all countries. Our wars will not be over ports or mines or pots of gold. Our wars will be driven by hunger; men will march only to feed their children, and they will march against their own

  compatriots to get that food. And which of their compatriots do you think they will turn on first? The answer is you. The hungry will tear down the homes oftheir lords and sack the palaces of their kings long before they attack a country thousands of miles away. We need the Sunidarans and Tegrans to teach us how to manage the land when it turns to desert, and we need the Jurinians, the Fordans, the Northmen and the Kemenis to

  show us how to survive in the snow. And they all need us - the countries rich in food: Hirrah, Wilrea and Calidell –to feed them in times of need.”

  The King of Orta folded his arms and huffed loudly when he realised he was not going to be mentioned.

  “So you must each forget this business of borders. They are as they lie now. The land is dying, the weather is changing, and each of you must admit it if you want

  to survive.”

  The Grand Hall remained in silence. Light of the fires, Morghiad thought. He had gambled a valuable secret, but he was right. Every silk-slippered man and woman amongst them knew it.

  A hunter cannot hunt its prey without shadows, the creatures whispered. This world need not be so bright.

  Morghiad hushed them into silence, and said, “You all have

  much to think about. Talks begin again one hour after sunrise. Let’s get some sleep, if we can.”

  With the meeting finished, they each departed to find their rooms and some food. Queen Irannya had laid on a feast for the evening, though Morghiad imagined that it would now be a somewhat more sombre event than she had envisioned. And indeed, when they arrived at the banquet, they found a dozen other nobles with grim faces and

  full wine cups.

  Kalad drew a chair beside his father, and waited for his goblet to be filled by one of the servants. They took their time about it, but then they were Hirrahans tending to a Calidellian. “Hirrah will want a guarantee that they are giving up a fair share of their food to other nations,” Kalad said. “They will want to know that Calidell is not letting them carry the burden.”

  “You gambled in there, Kal,” Morghiad said, pouring a goblet for himself. “They could very well not have admitted anything was wrong with their nation’s lands. They are royal and arrogant with it, after all.”

  Kalad shook his head. “Dorlunh has proof. He has spent the last ten years sneaking into their palaces and stealing it. If they all turn up tomorrow and deny that this is happening, I will have copies of that proof sent to each ofthem in turn.”

  “When did he tell you that?”

  “Dorlunh? Oh, he mentioned it while you left to deal with your own private business. Made today much easier for me, I can tell you.”

  A frown propagated across Morghiad’s forehead. He had only visited the city briefly to speak to a ropemaker about the cord Ulena had used. Local stuff, the man had said, which had been of very little use to Morghiad. “Why

  did he not trust me with this knowledge?”

  Kalad arched an eyebrow as he said, “I don’t know. Maybe he thinks your head is full of monsters.”

  Eventually, a sizzling plate of food was plonked before them, loaded with glazed meat and roasted tubers and golden bread. Morghiad’s stomach rumbled at the sight of it, and evidently so did Kalad’s. His son reached out to grab some ofthe meat, but

  Morghiad caught his hand. “You let me eat that first. If I die, the talks will still continue.”

  Kalad looked somewhat annoyed, but allowed his hand to drop anyway, and Morghiad took a bite out of the nearest piece of chicken. “Tell me,” he said between mouthfuls, “Does the Shade ever bother you?”

  “I don’t have it in me, father. Never have. Maybe the pinh mother got in her blood stopped it growing in me. I don’t

  know. It’s not there, in any case.”

  “Really, not at all?”

  Kalad shook his head. “Can I eat some blazed meat now? I have a famine to prepare for, after all.”

  Morghiad examined the clean bone thoughtfully. It tasted just as chicken ought to.

  Feed usfire.

  Morghiad nodded that it was safe to eat, and they both settled into the task of stuffing their maws with as much food as

  possible.

  The banquet hall soon filled with more royals, nobles and priestesses who brought enough chatter with them to make it seem a happier occasion. A string band played, and the queen had laid on entertainments to occupy burdened minds with lighter thoughts. Kalad was particularly in awe ofthe fire dancers, who were not wielders or kanaala, but seemed quite capable of handling the sort of flame that needed fuel to burn.

  “That is the traditional Hirrahan dance of light, is it not?” Kalad asked.

  Morghiad chuckled. “It may have its basis in something old and Hirrahan, but it’s principally for tourists. Quite modern, I assure you.”

  Raised voices broke out over the music then.

  “Achellon is the home of the fire gods and the righteous!” Parfal growled with exasperation,

  “There is no question.”

  Another woman in white silks, whom Morghiad could sense was a grade nine wielder, said angrily, “Nonsense! Achellon is here, in us! It is not a place, and the fire gods are in us. We are the gods – wielders!”

  Morghiad looked to Kalad, and Kalad raised his eyebrows.

  “I wonder what they’d think if they knew truth about your mother,” Morghiad said quietly to him. “Perhaps it is time to leave.”

  But before they could, a heavy hand slapped on Morghiad’s shoulder. “Dog Slayer,” said its owner.

  Morghiad shot from his seat and spun to meet the man. “Romarr!” he exclaimed as he took the man’s meaty hand and shook it emphatically.

  Romarr nodded with a smile. “These are better circumstances than we enjoyed last time we saw one another. Fires, I always forget how green

  those eyes of yours are. And Kal-” The two men embraced. “That’s a fine beard you’ve grown. Very fine indeed!”

  “Keeps the sun off my delicate neck, Rom,” Kalad chuckled.

  Selieni and Anadea glided around Romarr’s bulk then, but strangely, they were holding hands. Morghiad puzzled at it, and decided it was probably best not to ask.

  “Those braids!” Selieni

  gasped when she saw Morghiad. “You know, they do rather suit you.” She regarded Kalad. “And my, you have grown into that body very nicely indeed.”

  Kalad shrugged as if such compliments were commonplace, and embraced Selieni and Anadea in turn.

  Morghiad decided that a polite nod was probably a more acceptable greeting for a married man
to offer the women on his part, though did not wish to seem unfriendly. “Where have you been these last few decades?” he asked.

  “Searching for more gateways,” Romarr said in a low voice. “And we found three.” He paused. “What happened to Artemi?”

  Morghiad sighed. “She went into The Crux. For Tallyn. I search every day for her stream, but... she will return soon. I am sure of it.” Artemi was not dead.

  We must trap her so she

  cannot leave us again – trap her like a rabbit in a snare.

  “Anyway,” Morghiad continued, pushing the monsters back into the shadows, “tell me about these gateways.”

  Romarr drew the group away to a room where they could talk in secret, and began describing the terrible monsters he, Selieni and Anadea had fought. By the last tale, involving a great snow-bear they’d battled in the farthest reaches ofthe