Voices of Blaze

by H. O. Charles

  Dunrovia – yes, that had been one of Marteus’ southern provinces, and it matched with the language the man had spoken. But three-thousand years? It should have been impossible. The minds of ordinary people could not last that long, even if their bodies did. Vestuna had once told her of how he’d spent fifteen-hundred years in the same body, and that it had led him to step off a cliff, convinced that he could walk to the stars. Artemi had also witnessed the madness of aged minds before, and it was no pretty thing. “How old are all of you?” she asked.

  Each of the men gave their ages in thousands, but Artemi did not have time to gawp or discuss the old days with them now. “You have been down here long enough,” she said. “It is time to leave this place, and you are coming with me.”

  This time they walked unchallenged to the next level, and up to the level above that. “Where is Febain Reduvi?” Artemi asked as she grabbed an inmate by the neck and kicked him in the shins.

  The man thought of kicking her back, but his expression altered rapidly when he saw Morghiad behind her. “Up two more levels. Is that… is that Jikaari?”

  “That is my eisiel. Will you follow me?”

  The man nodded silently, and by the time Artemi reached Febain’s quarters, she had almost twenty men, together with a sprinkling of the toughest women in Sennefhal at her back. “Wait here,” she instructed her new companions, but led Morghiad into the chamber with her. The room was filled with shadows, and the only light came from a tiny candle that had almost burned itself out. From what little Artemi could see, there was no furniture or evidence that anyone lived here at all.

  Her son prodded at her with each of his limbs while she looked around, and she was sure it was because he felt her apprehension.

  “What’s this?” a voice said from within the darkness. “I know you…”

  He stepped out of the shadows, and a thousand memories of the tortures she had received in his camp tumbled into her mind. He was still tall and broad-shouldered like her husband had been, but his face was now drawn into a permanent grimace from a dozen scars. “You’re the girl,” he said softly as he approached. “Artemi. Artemi Fireblade. I never thought I’d have the pleasure of laying eyes upon you again.” As Febain drew nearer, Morghiad began growling softly, but Artemi held out her hand to quiet him.

  “And what is this?” Febain asked, looking to her stomach. “A baby? A sweet little baby?” He placed his hand on her abdomen and waited for a kick.

  Artemi smiled broadly at him. “It is your grand-nephew.”

  “My…” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, before moving his hand across her belly. It felt rather more like a stroking motion than she would have liked. “That is a strange claim to make.”

  “Your father was Lerim Cazarin. He had another son: Hedinar Kantari. And his son was Morghiad of House Jade’an. And now – now this is his.”

  Febain kept his hand where it was. It weighed heavily upon her skin. “But he is dead. I heard what happened to him. One of those things…” He nodded to Morghiad. “So sad. I think the grief has driven you mad.”

  “Your father was Lerim and your mother Nereia, yes?”

  He blinked at her, withdrew his hand, and Artemi was sure she saw a flash of doubt cross his eyes. “You say dangerous things, pretty girl.”

  Artemi kept her smile fixed. “Morghiad did not die forever. He was reborn. Now, I will tell you something else.” She recalled the beatings Febain given her – the bones he had broken and the blood he had drawn. And she recalled the terrible things he had done with his dagger. “You are going to give me control of your bandsmen. They will be known as the Band of The Fireblade, and this is what you will go out there and tell them.”

  Febain began chuckling, and the chuckle grew to laughter. It echoed loudly against the walls of his chamber, until Artemi was sure that inmates at the very lowest levels would have heard it. She had been pleasant for long enough.

  Artemi stepped aside, and said, “Morghiad?”

  Febain’s laughter ceased and his smile dropped as his gaze moved to the eisiel.

  “Make him do as I ask, husband.”

  Morghiad rushed at the man with a roar, his claws bared and his teeth glistening. In half a heartbeat, he had torn open a hole in Febain’s chest, exposing ribs and organs all at once.

  Febain screamed in a very satisfactory manner, and Artemi took a step closer. “Tell your men who rules.”

  “Kill me and you will have them anyway!” he howled. It was just as Morghiad had told her decades ago: Febain could talk like a leader, but he was a coward when it came to pain. How had he gained the following of such tough men? He had to have something valuable they wanted… or needed…

  “Oh, but that would be too easy,” Artemi replied in calm tones. “I want them to see what I can do to you.” It was a shame that she was not in a condition to be observed to withstand his beatings, for that would truly have proven her strength. This time she would be playing a queenlier role. “But first of all, you are going to show me what you keep hidden in here.”

  “There’s nothing, I sw-” He was cut short when Morghiad jabbed another claw into his side. “Arghhh! No – please – I… I-”

  “Show me,” Artemi repeated. Her baby had been awoken by all the noise, and was now busily wriggling about everywhere he could.

  Febain shivered and coughed up a few drops of blood as his wounds healed, and Morghiad took the smallest of steps back. Whatever it was Febain had to offer, why hadn’t the inmates threatened him as Artemi was doing now? If he had gold, they would have extracted it from him. If it was knowledge, that could be drawn from him too. Something had made them keep their distance…

  Fool Artemi, she really ought to have thought this through! Except there had been no time – there was no time and she had no choice.

  Febain stepped toward the shadows, but Artemi stopped him in his tracks. “Wait! You will let him extract it.” She nodded toward Morghiad.

  “Of course.” His lips formed a thin smile and he gestured toward the blackness. “It’s in there.”

  As her eisiel became obscured by the shadows, Artemi studied Febain carefully. He was still shivering from the assault and his clothing was covered in his own blood, but his eyes still glittered fiercely. He still believed he had a way out. As Artemi’s gaze flicked back to where Morghiad had disappeared, Febain’s hand rose to his neck.

  She ran toward him to catch his hand, but was too slow. He reached under his collar, and grabbed something beneath it. There was a sudden whoosh of air about Artemi’s ears, and she was thrown onto the rock floor. Stabs of pain cut through her back almost immediately from the impact, and spasms shot up and down her sides. She could think of no explanation for it other than wielding, but of course she could not see the forms. Febain had been no kanaala though. How was this possible?

  Morghiad, meanwhile, had erupted in a fit of howls and screeches loud enough to pierce any nearby eardrums. He raved and hissed as he pinned Febain to a wall and repeatedly slammed him against it to get him to stop. The sound of whooshes and fizzes told Artemi that Febain was trying to wield something to protect himself, but of course, Blaze did not work on an eisiel. Morghiad had already been burned by the fires as much as anyone could be.

  Artemi sprang back to her feet as quickly as she was able, and reached to Febain’s neck to pull at a leather cord around it. He tried to snatch it away from her, but Morghiad snapped the man’s arm before he could. It gave out a sickening crack as Febain wailed, and Artemi had her prize.

  At the end of the cord was a tiny, purple stone that pulsed softly in the low light. When she touched it, she felt the heat of the Blazes trembling against her fingertips. It should not have been possible. It looked like one of the Tears of Achellon, but it felt like a ghar-ten ought to have felt to a kanaala. There was some power in it, but by Artemi’s estimation it was not enough to blow a very useful hole through the walls. “Where did you find this?”

  “In here,” he
said, his whole body shivering.

  Artemi examined it again. It was angular and glassy, but there was something else about it. It felt… alive. “Do you know if this has a name?” she asked.

  “Its previous owner called it Nidori. Are you going to kill me?”

  Nidori. That was a woman’s name – not the name of a Blaze object. The stone pulsed when the name was said. “Yes, Febain, I am going to kill you once you have fulfilled your obligation to me.” She re-knotted the cord around her neck and hid the stone beneath her shirt. “Come,” she instructed.

  When she emerged into the illuminated gallery beyond, a gasp arose from the men and women who had followed her. Perhaps with all the screams and yells they had heard, they had not expected her to survive. Well, proving them wrong ought to have made them more impressed by her, at the very least. She heard the scuffling and grunting noises coming from behind as Febain was manhandled out of his chamber, but she did not turn to acknowledge them.

  “Febain Reduvi,” she announced, “is to hand over his command of the Reduvian Band to me. We are now known as the Band of the Fireblade. Is that not correct, Febain?”

  “Ahhh… it is correct,” he wheezed. “Band of the Fireblade.”

  “Fireblade?” one of the inmates said, his piggy eyes almost wide enough to show their whites. “I’ve heard of you.”

  Artemi smiled at him reassuringly. “Unfortunately, I was quenched before entering here. But I have Febain’s little toy, and in all the lives I have lived, there has never been a prison that could hold me. So, we are going to escape, and my child will be born free. Are you ready?”

  The men and women looked between each other, but eventually nodded quietly.

  “I do not think I heard that. The way out is up there, and we are going to start our campaign now. In less than three days, you are going to be sniffing your noses full of sea salt and baking your pale backsides in the sun. Are. You. Ready?”

  “Yes!” they all cried.

  “Are you ready to rip out the throats of some guards?”

  “Yes!” they cried louder.

  “Are you ready to tear out a path to the very top, and spill enough blood to make a river to the bottom?”

  The Band were gesticulating and waving their weapons about in the air above their heads. “YES!”

  “THEN GET TO IT!” Artemi yelled back to them. As they stormed up the steps to the next level, she turned back to Febain. “Morghiad, see that this man suffers, and then throw him to the bottom. When you are done, come and defend me.”

  “No – no! Mercy, I beg you! Mercy!” Febain howled, but Artemi’s ears were deaf to it. Men like him did not deserve mercy, and they certainly did not deserve to breathe the same air as she. While she walked away from him, she felt the little stone pulse against her skin between her breasts. It was alive; she was sure of it. Could Nidori have been a person once?

  One of the Bandsmen had left a metal pole, complete with nails welded to the side of it, hanging on the rail of the stairs. Artemi took it in her hand, gave it a quick spin in her hand and grinned broadly. This would be fun! Then, she raced up the stairs two-at-a-time, and made ready to do battle. With her band of men swelling as it rose higher, few stragglers were left for her to fight.

  There were one or two cowards or snakes who had hidden in their chambers to avoid the worst of it, but most ran when they saw a raging pregnant woman hurtling toward them. When she caught up to the thick of the action, she leaned over the edge of the gallery to see how far they had come. Four levels. It was a start, but there were surely another hundred to go before they reached the top, and who could say what barrier would stand between them and escape when they arrived there?

  As she looked back at the swirling darkness below, she saw a tall figure fly into it, spraying blood into the air about him and screaming. He spun away into the blackness, and soon his cries were buried beneath the noises of the battle around her. Febain was done with. Morghiad could be happy; she could be happy.

  Artemi re-joined the battle, even getting in a few whacks of her own when the bandsmen permitted it, but her balance was hopelessly far away from what it should have been. Within moments, a somewhat bloodied eisiel came to fight by her side, and she had to admit it: in spite of his spine-like teeth and silver-black claws, he was a reassuring presence to have nearby. Up and up they fought, cutting their way through men who had held their levels for centuries and smaller gangs who had defended their chambers for longer.

  Morghiad was unstoppable against them. Though they tried to cut him with their makeshift knives and wooden cudgels, he did not seem to register the pain. He could feel that pain, Artemi thought, it was just insignificant in comparison to the agony of being burned alive.

  As they advanced upward, their opponents became larger and tougher, and their progress slower. The intelligent criminals fell to their knees and agreed to join the Band, but the more foolish ones were cut down where they stood. The noise of the battle grew loud enough to bounce from the walls and echo up and down the entire height of the cavern. Soon inmates from the levels above were craning over their balconies to see what was happening below them.

  This was too easy, Artemi thought to herself. Other groups of prisoners must have organised themselves well enough to escape in the past. Unless… perhaps they were too lawless to work as a team. Or perhaps they had succeeded, but no one had returned to tell the tale. Whatever the challenge they had to face, they would meet it and rise to it when the time came. If there was one thing Artemi had going for her, it was that her followers did not have enough time to grow bored or lose faith in her.

  Within a matter of hours, they had advanced to the twentieth level and at least three of the bandsmen had lost their lives. Artemi had fought enough other prisoners to have become drenched in blood and sweat and all manner of unidentifiable mess. She lamented her lack of a sword, and she lamented the necessity of having to throw most of her opponents over the edge of their galleries, but she did pick up a heavier weapon along her journey. It was at least as long as one of her arms, shaved to a sharp edge on one side, but had a heavy lump of iron welded to the hilt. Artemi could slice with it and beat her opponents over the head until they submitted.

  When one such opponent came tearing toward her – a huge woman with bulging muscles and popping veins - Artemi swiped at her as hard as she could with her iron hilt. The woman staggered, looked to the ceiling and crumpled into an inelegant pile. Another one down, another thousand to go. Artemi sighed, leaned against a stone pillar for support and closed her eyes while she rested for a moment. Blazes, but this was not easy with a child inside her! Of course, she had slept through the last days of her pregnancies with Kalad and Tallyn. Only Medea had been different.

  When she opened her eyes again, she found herself looking up at a low, wet ceiling.

  “Ah, my Lady Fireblade?” a man asked from some way away.

  Artemi propped herself up on her elbows to meet eyes with him, and found that he was standing at the entrance to the chamber. Morghiad hovered over her with his milk-white eyes and pinh-covered teeth glistening in the darkness.

  “I am no lady. How did I end up here?”

  The man cleared his throat. “Ah, begging your pardon. Your… ah… guardian would not allow us near you. You collapsed two levels down, so he brought you up here and… we decided to break for a while.”

  Burn it! Follocks to her feeble body! Artemi rolled onto her side and struggled to her feet. “How long was I out for?”

  “A good few hours, my la– ah, Mistress Fireblade. We are all well-rested and ready to go. There is food for you there.” He nodded to a pile on a small table by the door. “Best keep that little one fed, yes? I heard that three levels above have ceded control to us, so we can proceed unhindered when you’re ready.”

  Artemi nodded, reaching to the table to grab an apple. It looked quite edible. “What is your name?”

  “Lefkin,” he said. “Lord of Redgarden once, if you plea
se.”

  Redgarden… Redgarden. Where had she heard of that before? And Lefkin? Artemi was sure she recognised that name. The man was built like an orcinod tree – stocky and short, but giving the impression that the strongest of winds could not have uprooted him. His hair was as black as Morghiad’s had been, and there was something familiar about his face… “Do I know you?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Was a long time ago, I suppose. You were queen of Fri’sinta. I managed your coin. Ah, don’t worry - it wasn’t you that put me in here, but the boy who came after.”

  Fri’sinta had been over six thousand years ago, before she had even trained as a Kusuru Assassin. “On what charge?”

  “What do you think? I had a lot of coin passing through my hands. I liked to keep some of it.”

  Artemi sighed. She did remember him now. Fires, she had trusted the man! “Did you steal from me?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “But I was more careful about it then. I liked you more than I liked your successor.”

  She chewed on a mouthful of apple while she thought. She had named her successor: Erulan, son by a mistress of the man she had married for political gain. Erulan had been a sweet boy and not a bad king in the years after her death. There had certainly been other rulers more deserving of embezzlement. “Thank you,” Artemi said, “From now on, you will be in charge when I am… unavailable.”

  “My honour,” he said with a nod. He was most likely the least slimy of the bandsmen she had available.

  “Good.” Artemi consumed another two handfuls of food before she left the room, and the more she consumed, the hungrier she seemed to feel. As she regarded her stomach, she did think that it appeared smaller than it had been with the other two boys at this stage. Perhaps she had not been eating well enough, though a prisoner’s diet could hardly compare with that of a Queen of Calidell. Artemi leaned back into the chamber and grabbed another lump of unidentifiable meat to stuff into her mouth.

  Morghiad spidered out after her, his breathing sounding even more like dry, rustling leaves than before. On the gallery beyond, a hundred male and female inmates had gathered in the little space available to hear what she had to say to them. If only she had some more queenly attire to impress them with instead of these poorly fitting clothes that were covered in dried blood!