Voices of Blaze

by H. O. Charles

  His father looked to the floor momentarily, and his forehead creased up as if he had heard someone say something else. What was going on in that man’s head? Kalad was now certain that he had not been this jittery when they had first met, but then, Mirel was at large now. And she was certainly a formidable woman, small and elfin-faced and slim-hipped though she was.

  “Very well,” his father said eventually. “Irmain it is. But I will be back to check upon you.”

  Kalad shook his head. “If we are to be moved to somewhere secret, then that means no one can know where it is. Not even you. It is the safest thing for us.”

  “No. What if you need my help? How am I to come and find you?”

  “If I need your help, it will already be too late. I’ve lived these last forty years without you looking over my shoulder; I’ll be alright for another forty to come.”

  His father folded his arms and looked at him sternly. It was an expression that might have inspired fear among lesser men in years gone by, but Kalad was hardly affected by it. He shrugged and turned to close the lid of his trunk. Who could have predicted that he would turn up at a place like Astalon with nothing but the clothes he wore on his back, and leave with a wife, a tidy beard and a trunk full of silk shirts? Silar, perhaps…

  “Wait – Silar would have known about Mirel, wouldn’t he? He must have seen it. If he could see far enough ahead to find ways of forcing everyone to attend… He must have known Mirel would come.”

  His father blinked briefly. “Ah… I suppose. Yes… perhaps.” He swallowed, and his eyes dropped back to the floor briefly. “Shut up!” he hissed.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Ah, not you, Kal. Forgive me.” The smile on his father’s face was thin. “I just have this, ah, ringing in my ear since I cut that accessway through the air. But you’re right - perhaps Silar knew… though why he did nothing to stop it, or to warn us… why didn’t he warn us?”

  “He will have had his reasons, I’m sure. But we got our peace.” Kalad looked to Danner. “Come on, fluffy!”

  Fluffy leapt from the ground and accompanied him into the corridor, and Kalad’s father followed him shortly after. Of course, it was always hard to know if Morghiad Calyrish was walking close by without looking, since the man seemed to have cat’s paws for feet.

  Soon they were bidding goodbye to the rest of the Calyrish household, and Kalad was permitted an opportunity to embrace his rather attractive step-grandmother. He still felt guilty about his admiration for her, but those rounded bosoms of hers were quite something. As he released her, he noticed that his father was talking to a woman whose hair was wild with fast riding, and who seemed to be gesticulating in a rather flustered fashion. The more she spoke, the grimmer his father’s face became.

  At length, she mounted her horse and booted it away into a gallop, and Morghiad was left staring at the ground with fists clenched. He held a crumpled note in one of them.

  “Who was that?” Kalad asked.

  His father glanced up at him then, but the look in his eyes was as if someone had died. “A Sunidaran – a friend of Ulena’s.” He paused to rub at his chin. “Kal, I need to go back to Gialdin now. I cannot accompany you to Irmain, but you still have Romarr and… ah - and his ladies to go with you. I’m sorry… I would have liked to have spent more time with you. When I return, perhaps.”

  Kalad nodded. “I understand. A world-famous hero has to do some heroic hero-ing some of the time.” His father did not seem to find that amusing. “But it’s been a good few weeks with you. I’m glad you came to find me. I will write to you at Gialdin when it’s safer.”

  His father nodded. “See that you do. Farewell, Kalad.”

  They embraced briefly, and Kalad was surprised to very nearly have all the air squeezed out of his lungs. Blazes, was that how all fathers hugged their sons? Kalad had never known it before, but he decided it would be alright to squeeze the man back. In any event, his father did not seem disconcerted by it, and soon departed to mount that great warhorse of his.

  Tyshar and his rider disappeared amidst a cloud of dust beneath the Hirrahan sun, and Kalad looked to his new wife. She was busy talking to one of the footmen and waving her hands about her head emphatically.

  “No silk cushions in the carriage? How do you expect me to travel even a mile in that thing!” She threw one of the other cushions, presumably not silk-covered, onto the ground. “I am a Kahriss of Hirrah!” Yulia screamed. “Kalad, Kalad – tell him!”

  He raised his eyebrows as he said, “She’ll make do with what she has.”

  Yulia looked at him with such thunder in her visage that Kalad half thought she would wield lightning from her mouth. Luckily for the footman, she did not, and instead she clambered into the carriage whilst making noises of exasperation.

  Wonderful. His wife was spoiled as well as dull. He looked to his wolf, whose mood seemed to have brightened considerably. “Suppose it’s just you and me on this journey.”

  Danner barked noisily. Yes, he was definitely cheering up. Who knew that wolves could experience joy at others’ misfortune?

  Tyshar’s hooves thundered beneath him like the beating of drums at the opening of battle. Tharum, tharum, tharum, tharum. The horse had finally recovered his strength after his journeys upon the sea, and could move faster than the wind. The letter was still crumpled in Morghiad’s fist, and he fought not to think of its contents. What it meant… Oh fires! How had Silar misjudged the situation – how could he have made such a mistake!?

  Morghiad heeled his horse to run faster. Tyshar could eat many more miles of the ground before he became weary, and Morghiad intended to capitalise on that advantage as much as possible. The nearest Sky Bridge might just carry him closer to Gialdin if he rode carefully, but the one that ran directly to the city had failed some time ago. By his calculation, he had just enough Blaze left in the bundle he had skimmed to form a key for the entry and a key for the exit to a single Bridge. He would not have enough for two – not unless he found a wielder capable of travelling as fast as he could, or capable of exerting no weight upon the Bridge.

  His mount huffed loudly as they raced toward the gate’s entryway, but the animal’s ears were pricked forward with excitement. Morghiad could see the tell-tale sign of the gate ahead of him – where tall weeds had tried to grow into the air above them, but had fallen back and withered. It was subtle to those who did not know what to look for, or where to look, but Morghiad could see the forms now as clearly as if they were still active with the Energy that had made them. He reached inside his pocket for the bundle, took hold of the fibres within it, and set about building the most fragile key he had ever constructed.

  The key spun before him, shimmered, but slid perfectly into the lock that sprang into life behind it. Suddenly the air was filled with purple and blue sprays of light, and Morghiad and Tyshar were engulfed within it. They galloped up and through the summer morning mists that surrounded Astalon, out into the light of the rising sun. The great castle soon turned into an unidentifiable red blob below them, and the farms and villages that hugged the edge of the mountains rapidly passed by.

  Morghiad could feel the Bridge wavering from the impact of Tyshar’s hooves, but he had experienced enough broken Bridges to know when one was about to fail. Besides, that was hardly his principle concern – his principle concern... Blazes, but it hurt to admit it! He was a murderer, and Ulena’s body still lay out there in the shallow grave he had dug for her.

  Has Ulena contacted you yet? her Sunidaran friend had asked.

  No, Morghiad had lied.

  She had looked worried then, and her concerns had been justified. She was looking for you – to warn you. I found this letter in her rooms.

  The girl had handed Morghiad the missive, and then he had read it. The hand was unmistakably Silar’s.

  Morghiad is in danger. You must warn him of Queen Dorinna’s intentions. Tell him there is no need to comply with whatever demands she makes of him. If you
care for Artemi’s happiness, you must prevent him from making a very grave mistake. Get to him however you can, as soon as you can.

  And as Morghiad had cast his mind back to the day Ulena had broken into his chambers, his memory had begun to tell an altogether different story from the one he had related to Kalad. Ulena had burst in through the window, sending shards of glass flying about the room, and Morghiad had sprung from his chair. He had reached for his blade, withdrawn it, and had looked into her eyes. Though the rest of her face had been veiled, her eyes had been bright and alert. They had… smiled at recognition of him, but that smile had soon faded from them as he had advanced on her with his blade.

  Kill it, kill it, kill it! the monsters had chanted.

  Ulena had raised her hand to indicate that she was not a threat, and had not reached for any of her weapons.

  We shall rule!

  And then, when she had barely enough time to realise that she was afraid, he had cut her to pieces. He was a… a murderer as well as an adulterer. The monsters had him. They controlled him already! Why had Silar not seen that?! He could have prevented Ulena’s death!

  Morghiad had only one place he could go now – one opportunity for salvation and to quell the creatures in his mind before they drove him to commit more crime. He had to find Artemi, and if he failed, then his death would have to be the alternative. Blazes, Dorlunh could have helped with that a second time, though Morghiad had a feeling Artemi would do the deed for him when she heard what he had done.

  He had no choice but to tell her everything and beg forgiveness and hope against hope that she would not be hurt by it. In any other situation, it would have been wrong to leave his son while Mirel still ran free, but Morghiad feared he would have been more of a danger than a boon to Kalad. Those monsters were far less predictable creatures than Mirel, and Dorlunh’s old warning still rang clearly in his mind.

  He forged on across the bridge, leaning out against the swings it took to one side and then the other, hoping that the ancient forms would hold together just long enough for him to make it to the end. One day, when these terrible monsters were penned and with peace settled on the continent, he hoped to see new Sky Bridges built. Artemi had once told him that many wielders were required for the task, along with someone to coordinate the timing of construction down to the second. He reached out to touch the forms as he rode along, trying to understand how each one locked together. He could sense the work of at least twelve wielders there, but many of the details of the forms had been eroded by the decay that had set in to them. The points where those forms joined were now quite indecipherable.

  Morghiad rode onward, and soon he arrived at the gate’s exit, near a town at least a day’s ride from Gialdin. He still held the last of the Blaze bundle in his hand, and with some effort, managed to twist it into an even thinner key than the one he had made for the entry.

  It glowed pale blue in front of him, spun, and then faded to nothing as it met with the lock. What? No! He hauled on his reins, forcing Tyshar to skid to a halt and whinny in frustration. Morghiad dug about in his pockets, but of course he knew he did not have any more Blaze bundles in there. He was trapped! He looked about himself for answers. There were none. Invisible walls surrounded him, only empty woodlands whispered in the summer breeze beyond and Tyshar’s hooves were suspended inches from the ground.

  There was no other choice available to him. Either he tried to deconstruct the Bridge, or he and his mount would be entombed inside it until the thing fell apart by itself. The trouble was, the structure was so fragile and complex, he really needed to know how it had been made before he could even attempt to dismantle it safely. And with those things rampaging around inside his head…

  …whatever it was that you did, don’t do it again, had been Dorlunh’s words when Morghiad had last tried to take control of the forms that made a Sky Bridge.

  But there was no choice here. He sighed and rubbed Tyshar’s neck to calm him. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. “Everything will be alright.” Morghiad closed his eyes and reached out to touch the Bridge walls again. He would need every ounce of concentration if he hoped to achieve this without incinerating himself and everything around him. He could feel the feeble throb of power that still moved along the structure, seeming to come in slow waves of heat, and he could feel the edges made rough by the decay of whatever disease had set into it. The forms he searched for were not unlike the lines of a faded sketch, marred by water-damage and foxing.

  Morghiad’s brow furrowed as he concentrated harder, and his head ached as he strained to reach with his mind to the very end of the Bridge. There was so much of it, made of so very many pieces, and now so many loose ends! If he picked apart one piece here, the others would start to collapse on top of it, and he and Tyshar would be crushed to nothing. If he pulled at another piece there, the forms would turn into something else, and the entire Bridge would twist into a series of fireballs.

  Eventually, after considerable searching, he located a part of a form that did not look too fragile, and that seemed to have stable bonds for picking apart. Morghiad took a deep breath, and reached into the age-old strands of fire. They tickled him as he worked, but the more he disassembled them, the better he understood their behaviour. They were very different from the fires of new Blaze forms, and at first he thought it was due to a particular style the wielders had worked in, but it soon became apparent that it was an effect of the decay.

  Morghiad unpicked the last part of the most stable form, and held his breath. There was a wobble in the structure, and then a clang, clang, clang that grew steadily louder. It was collapsing, and it was moving rapidly toward him.

  Tyshar began shifting his weight between his legs, ready to dart away in an instant, as if there were any places for him to dart to. Just then, a hole opened up amidst the wavering light, large enough for Morghiad to slip through and into safety. He hopped down from his horse and tried to force the strands of Blaze wider for his warhorse, but they would not budge.

  Clang, clang, clang, went the failing Bridge.

  Morghiad looked back to Tyshar, and then to his escape. Tree branches rocked calmly in the breeze, and birds sang their summer songs. Tyshar stood where he was, steady, waiting for his command from his master.

  Clang, clang, clang. Growing ever closer.

  The animal’s dark eyes regarded Morghiad with complete trust, and his breath was low and unbroken.

  Clang, clang -

  “Damn you, Tyshar! You make me soft in the head as well as the heart!” Morghiad wrapped his arm across Tyshar’s head to cover his eyes, and squeezed his own shut. If he died too, it would not be such a bad thing. Artemi would come back and find him when he was reborn, and his monsters would be unable to hurt anyone else for a few more years at least. Mirel would be free to spread her terror and revelations about his behaviour – revelations that would hurt his family, but… he could not think of a but.

  He would be dead, and unable to explain to Artemi why he had done what he had done. Her heart would break from it. Morghiad opened his eyes, and looked back to the opening for his escape.

  Clang, clang, CLANG!

  As he moved toward it, the hole sealed shut.

  “No -”

  Chapter 12

  Kalad took another step back to examine his new home and cocked his head in an attempt to make it look different. It was not that it was ugly for a home on the Calidellian border - rather, it was very… immobile. It had been constructed in the traditional style found in these foothills, with plenty of heavy rock and flint mortared together to form the ground floor walls, and the two floors above were pretty enough with their dark beams and plaster. But all that stone at the bottom made it look like a shoe with an inch of lead on the soles. If there was one thing Kalad liked, it was the freedom to move about, and this house looked far too stable. Too… rooted.

  “Grrwlmm,” said Danner, who kept prodding his nose into Kalad’s shins.

  “What is w
rong with you?”

  Danner made another low noise, but this time he took a chunk of Kalad’s new boot in his mouth and started tugging on it.

  “I don’t want to play now,” Kalad said, shaking his leg free.

  The wolf whined softly in response, and then dropped to sit on his haunches. There was definitely something off about him… Perhaps he had been eating rotting apples again and was drunk. Kalad had told him to stay away from the orchard, but the blazed wolf only ever seemed to listen when he wanted to.

  He decided it was high time to find some food, only now that he was playing the part of kahr again, finding was not really a necessity anymore. Now food seemed to turn up in front of him whether he liked it or not, and it was no wonder that so many lords ended up as fat as hogs before a feast day. He would not bed as many women then, he thought, before remembering that he was married. Blazes, Yulia!

  The woman was a frustration, alright. He had hoped that he might be able to educate her about some of the countries he had seen, or extend the horizons of her interest beyond clothing, but so far he had not succeeded. They had few common pursuits, and bedding her… well, that had not been anything to write romantic novels about. Perhaps he might not have found tolerating her such an arduous business, if she had not been so stubborn and petty about everything that did not go the way she wanted. Spoiled was an inadequate way to describe her manner.

  As he ambled back to the entrance of the house, he found his legs unusually free of furry obstacles. “Danner?”

  But Danner had decided to remain obstinately where he was. Kalad threw him a frown, and left the animal to have his mood in the garden. His meal would be more enjoyable without the wolf begging for scraps the entire time, anyway.

  Once inside, he seated himself at the dining table opposite his wife, and watched her as she ate. For once, she was not shovelling her food into her face as if she were a groundskeeper with a ton of soil to shift. No, she was eating quite elegantly, which reminded him very much of a whore named Lissa, whom he had met in Calben. Lissa had been born and raised in the dirtiest back alleys of Gys, but she would ply her trade whilst affecting the manners of a noblewoman. Or how she perceived a noblewoman would act. How funny she would have found Yulia’s manners, except for today, of course.