But as he shouted at her to stay with him, he could see her stream withering to nothing in the ether. She would die, he thought, and he would be alone
Morghiad gazed at the dregs at the bottom of his mug. It had contained a pint ofthis
world’s idea of ale, though nothing about its taste or texture resembledanysortofbeerhe had everconsumed.Ithad been as murky and dull as the water from a used laundry barrel, and theflavourhad notbeenmuch better.Thesoonertheygotback to their world, or more accurately his,thesoonerhecoulddrink some of Baydie’s more select beverages. And the sooner he could work on making Artemi
happy again.
He lifted his eyes to look upon her again, though it still pained him to do so. He had been prepared for her to be upset at his actions, and had fully expected her to rail at him in fury, stab him or throw every piece of furniture at him that she had to hand. But instead he had observed something crumple up inside her, like a burning parchment that withered away in the flames, and the hurt in her new features was plain for all to
see.
A new layer of guilt would seal around his bones each time he saw the hollow look in her eyes, and no one else was responsible for it but him. The choice had always been in his hands. The more he thought on it, the more he came to the conclusion that his actions had been no different from giving her a physical beating. He had gone to great lengths – terrible lengths – to guard her from others who
had the power to hurt her, but he could not guard her from himself. Morghiad: one-time king, peacemaker, lord, adulterer and wife-hurter. He closed his eyes from the shame of it, and wished there was more non-ale left in his cup.
“Let’s get drunk,” Artemi had said after they had talked about their infidelities for as long as either of them could bear. Further intoxication was most likely the last thing that was good
for her, but Morghiad had not had the strength to deny her anything more than taqqa when her eyes were so filled with tears. He would watch over her to make sure that she did not go too far, he had promised himself, but now that inebriation teased his mind, he could not help but find it an attractive alternative to lucidity.
What would Silar have done in this situation, he wondered, to focus their minds on overcoming
their heartache? Beer would probably have been involved, though Silar would never have tolerated this rubbish. Morghiad smiled at the thought ofthe man spitting his ale onto the table in disgust. No doubt he would have thrown in a few curses and words of abuse at the management too.
“What amuses you?” Artemi asked softly.
“I was just thinking – Silar would have hated this place.”
A small smile spread across
Artemi’s dark lips, and it was a beautiful thing to see after its absence. “Women here don’t have much in the way of breasts. I can imagine him becoming irritated about that.”
Morghiad could not help but glance briefly down at her chest to confirm her words. He had not really noticed that those particular aspects were not quite so prominent as they had been before; other matters had weighed more heavily upon his
mind. “I need to get you home sooner rather than later,” he said. “Just one more drink.” Artemi hailed a gangly waitress, or perhaps waiter – Morghiad could not tell which it was – and ordered a jug full of more ofthe brown horror to be brought to the table. When it arrived, Artemi poured it out for both of them and was quick to consume as much as she could in a single gulp. “It’s not that bad,” she said, topping the unfinished mug up
again.
“You’ve been here too long.”
Artemi only responded with a, “Hmm,” and continued to drink. Clearly she found this situation just as uncomfortable and awkward as he did.
He knew that he ought to have been similarly hurt by her actions here, but instead he felt at least partially reassured by them. Artemi had acted entirely according to her nature. She was
impulsive, and passionate, and as Silar would have been the first to note, she was predictable in her unruliness. It proved to Morghiad that one part of her had not changed, and that she was still wild enough not to have been tamed by any marriage. Most reassuring of all was that she had been able to finally explore her curiosity, and upon doing so, she had chosen him. He had never doubted that she loved him, but now he knew that it was not
based upon any physical laws or fears of burning other men alive.
He reached across the table to place a hand on hers, and when it found its partner, she stared at it with suspicion. Though they had no link between them, he could almost read her thoughts. That touch has been known by another woman. Artemi withdrew her hand, and immediately looked away.
What happiness could there possibly be for him without her?
No, he told himself. Such thoughts were unhelpful. They would return home, be together, and find a good life for themselves once more. It could be no more complicated than that. Their mutual infidelity may not have made them equal, but neither action had been done out of spite or dissatisfaction. Artemi knew that, didn’t she? “I did not... I did not enjoy it-” he began.
Her eyes snapped back to him, full of fury and rage, but
instead of spitting abuse at him, she poured herself another mug of ale and slammed it onto the table when she had emptied it of its contents.
Morghiad had to admit that he was more pleased to see anger than sadness in her. Perhaps he was on the correct path. Perhaps her new thirst for blood was not as negative a thing as he had feared. “It was the most difficult decision I have ever had to make-”
Artemi hissed her words before he could finish. “I should never have left you alone! Instead I came on this pointless mission to bring back...to bring back the dead when I should have been caring for the living. Dorinna-” Artemi said the name as if she were invoking an evil spirit. “I have known women like her before. I could have shown you what she really was; I could have found a way to force that nest-breaking weasel into
scrawling her filthy name onto that treaty with her own blood!”
Morghiad did not doubt that Artemi could have obtained that particular signature using her own, more aggressive means of persuasion, but treaties made on the basis of violence rarely ever lasted. He had read enough histories to know that much. The peace he had forged would last far longer than Artemi’s upset. It had to.
Tears of the fires burn for
eternity, the voices whispered inside his head.
You are here, after all, he said to them.
Eternity, eternity, eternity, they echoed between each other.
He had made the right decision, hadn’t he? “If you had been in my position, how would you have chosen?”
“You know very well what I would have done. We are different. Don’t ask me stupid questions!” She glared at him
briefly, and then said, “You do not have your sword with you. It would have been safe to bring it into The Crux – did you have to trade that as well as your body?”
“No. It’s resting in The Crux.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And you trust the Law-keepers not to destroy it?”
“They won’t destroy it, Artemi.”
“And they will permit you to take me back to the Darkworld?”
He nodded, but Artemi frowned as if dissatisfied with his answer. Whatever her thoughts on the matter, she kept them to herself and went back to her drink.
“The gate is beneath this city. Did you know that - is that why you came here?” he asked her.
She blinked at him, and then shook her head slowly. “Rav kept it from me. He must have known... Bastard!” she slurred,
and returned to her drink once more.
The peace had been the right thing to do, he thought as he finished another pint. He had been right to put it first, hadn’t he? He shook his head in the hope that it would shift the thought, but it did not. He needed more beer.
Medea glanced back at the door to the offices. The blazed man was still standing
there, his arms folded and caramel hair falling loosely across his eyes. He had to know how he looked - it was the only explanation for his irritating stance. Fool woman. She was staring at him again.
She tore her attentions from him as rapidly as she could, and returned them to Koviere. “And apart from Tyshar, everything appeared normal with my father?” she asked him.
The giant nodded. “He was a little flustered, I suppose. But other than that, fine.”
Medea chewed her lip as she thought. Something had certainly happened on his journey here. Blazes, a horse made of burning rock and smoke?! “Did he have any white in his hair?”
Creases large enough to be called crevasses spread across the giant’s forehead. “I don’t remember seeing any. But it was night-time – perhaps I missed it.”
There had to be something to point to what had happened – one piece of information that would help her identify exactly when and how he had cut a chunk out ofthe world’s energy.
“Wait, he did ask...”
“What?”
Koviere’s frown deepened, if such a thing were possible. “He said something to Jarynd - about the wielder streams. Asked if they looked different. I recall Jarynd said that they did not.”
Medea nodded slowly in recognition. The Hunter had confirmed as much to her several times on their journey back to the capital. She could not prevent her eyes from drifting to the man again as she thought of him, and
promptly fought them to focus once more upon Koviere. “Did he say what it was that he had seen? What he had thought was different?”
Koviere compressed his lips into a thin line. “No. He just said to tell you he was here, and that Tallyn Hunter should stay close. Then, I presume, he went to the cave.”
Something had prompted him leave Kalad unprotected now that Mirel was loose – something
that had made him feel their mother’s need was greater. Was she in danger? “Tal, have you seen any sign of my mother’s stream?”
He blinked at her, and it was only then that she realised she had used her brother’s name. Burn it in the hottest infernos of the Blazes!
“None yet,” he said in his Calbeni tones.
She stood to gaze out ofthe tall window at the end ofthe
room. The green silk of her dress was particularly elaborate, given that she was unlikely to leave the offices today, and heavy enough to make her strides more difficult. Really, she should not have asked the wardrobe mistress to have it tightened quite so much.
Beyond the clear stone of the window, the city had returned to its previous thronging and bustling and noise of people. A large brick wall now filled the gaps in the city’s structure – high
enough to prevent any miscreants from scaling it, but not yet broad enough to stop an army. With a peace treaty now signed, armies ought not to have worried Medea, but she could scarcely believe that no more battles would be fought in her lifetime. And yet, there was this business of advancing deserts to be dealt with. Ifthe people became hungry, and ifthey began to fight for food, those walls would be useful indeed.
Fires, would it ever be right to lock Calidellians out oftheir own capital city? Who would stop them from building another elsewhere?
A shadow flitted through her thoughts again, and Medea reminded herself that the world would not come to that end. She would find a solution before then, and that solution had something to do with her father. “This goes back to The Crux. I know it. I felt the energy of it
change. He must be linked to it somehow, but in a different manner to that of my mother, or even me. And she was not here this time, so their link was broken. We know the link they had is not necessary to facilitate whatever it is that he does. It’s as if...” She shook her head in confusion. “He could do this in his first life, so this could well have been a skill he was born with, or perhaps, when he met my mother the first time, an event
happened.”
She had already established that the balance of the world’s power had altered on the date of his conception, but that only tied him to the Blazes, and not The Crux. And it did not explain what had happened during his conception to make him an anomaly of Blaze. Of course, it was quite likely that the two were inextricably linked, but she had no evidence ofthat. Likely Hedinar Kantari and Queen
Medea I had taken that particular secret to their respective graves.
“He was a very serious child, I recall,” Koviere said. “Didn’t like being picked up much.”
Medea turned rapidly. “You knew him in his first life – when he was a child? I thought he grew up with Acher.”
“But of course – he was four when Acher took him. I was assigned to guard him almost from the moment he was born. And I did a fairjob of it, until
Acher and his men attacked. I failed him then – failed him terribly. Another bodyguard was on duty that day, but I should have gone...”
“Was there ever anything... My mother was there then too, wasn’t she?”
Koviere nodded. “Aye, she certainly was. Seems like a different life even to me. And she a different woman. If anyone had even suggested the idea of marriage to Tem Fireblade...” His
eyes widened and he blew through his lips. “Did you know, she used to stick knives in the arms of men who called her pretty?”
Medea arched an eyebrow. “Did she ever wield with my father when he was little, or-”
“No, my queen. Morghiad was kept away from almost everywhere society went, and Artemi was there to guard Alliah, who was to be everywhere society was. I don’t think she
crossed paths with him often, if at all. Blazes, Tem and I had to organize drinks in the bar days in advance just to see each other when we were off-duty, you understand.”
Medea could feel a growl building in her throat. This was like searching for a single blade of grass in a vast field ofthe stuff! Anything could have caused this! Perhaps it had been nothing to do with her mother at all perhaps just being born in the
gateway had caused it. “Do you remember his mother and father mentioning if there was anything unusual about his birth?” Koviere’s cheeks coloured then. “Ah, that’s private business.” He paused to take an extended breath. “I suppose I thought it was odd that Medea was still alive when they told me Morghiad was kanaala. No one else knew about the cave back then. Hed looked a little bit like he’d been to war and back, but
he had just become a father for the second time, so that was probably to be expected. Queen Medea was in very good spirits, as I recall.”
“So my mother and father never had any sort of contact through those years?”
Koviere shrugged. “Not that I know of... oh, but there was...” His ice-blue eyes drifted away from her.
“What? What?!”
“Well, it wasn’t when he
was born,” Koviere began, “It was... well, we were on a morning hunt in the woods – the queen, Hedinar and I - and I remember thinking it was unusual. I’d been the queen’s bodyguard for many years, so it was expected that I should come along, but Hedinar insisted that Artemi should come too. He was adamant about it, even having someone else replace her in watching over Alliah. He kept saying, ‘No, no. I want Tem to come with us.’ And of course
Temi thought he’d gone mad and kept asking him what could be so important about shooting rabbits in the forest that she would be needed for. But she rode out with us anyway, and while we were enjoying the sunshine – that was a beautiful summer – while we were chatting away merrily about this and that, some lawless thugs showed up. Artemi and I went to sort them out, which did not take very long – but one of their horses shied and bolted during
the fight, and it spooked the queen’s. She fell from it, and Hedinar lost his mind.”
“He was shouting and yelling – mostly at me for not getting in the way ofthe horse, but also at Artemi to do some sort of wielding or other on his wife. He kept telling her to heal Medea, but of course it made no sense. Her bones would have healed by themselves within
a few minutes – hours at most. Artemi did it – I think she was too shocked with Hed’s reaction to argue with him, which is something they often did. Anyway, while she was weaving some of her fiery magic, she blurted out that Queen Medea was pregnant. Hedinar told her to shut her mouth and never speak of it, and neither of us dared to afterward. Medea’s pregnancy was concealed for as many days as they could get away with it, and when things started becoming more obvious, well, she went into confinement.”
“And Artemi had no more contact with my grandmother after that incident?” Medea asked.
Koviere shook his great, square head. “While she was pregnant? Not that I know of.”
“That is complicated wielding,” The Hunter said, making Medea jump when she realised how close he had moved to her. She had not even noticed he had left his post by the door.
Voices of Blaze (Volume 5 of The Fireblade Array) Page 32