City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (23 page)

The kahr gave no response.

“Passerid will not be an easy convert, I warn you. Better for Muscica to have survived.”

“I do not celebrate in the deaths of my men. And Beodrin?”

“He is grown soft with the arrival of his daughter. He won’t trouble you. You know, his daughter hasn’t been tested...” Jarynd rubbed his chin.

Morghiad nodded. Beodrin’s sympathies would be very useful indeed.

The narrow man stood and brushed himself off. “Ever since you were a lad you’ve had a fast arm on you. Blazes burn me if you can’t out-manoeuvre a lightning bolt. Though I’d sorely like to see you challenge that young woman.” A twisted grin spread across Jarynd’s lop-sided face.

“She has no idea how to fight at the moment. I’m training her; she’ll learn fast.”

“Training her, too? I don’t doubt she’s fast. Vanha-sielu, then. Met one once. Eyes as deep and as ancient as the oceans. Great body though.” He chuckled, but his smile faded into a frown. “Here. You haven’t... fallen for her, have you?”

The kahr folded his arms. “She is pretty enough but I’d sooner tell my father of our... law-breaking than take her to my bed.”

Jarynd smiled thinly and re-arranged his sword belt. “Will you take me to assess her?”

“It’s the least I can do for your help, Jarynd.” Morghiad went to his cloak, newly reclaimed from Artemi. It still held some of her scent, together with a not insignificant buzz of latent Blaze Energy. He clasped it at his shoulders and made to depart with the other kanaala.

Silar was wise in answering the door with caution. Upon seeing Morghiad and a subdued Jarynd, he brought Artemi from behind the door. The four of them convened in Silar’s rooms, looking as suspicious as Morghiad felt. Artemi would not look directly at Jarynd, and instead chose to switch between the kahr and Silar. He could not help but feel as if he were being compared. Silar had always been better-looking than he, and it was bad enough having to stand next to him most of the time. No, he thought, a hero such as Artemi would not trifle with such idle musings. Silar watched Jarynd closely, as evidently the kanaala’s calm entrance had not been enough to elicit his trust. He had taken to his role of protecting Artemi very quickly; it was possible he still felt something for her, which would serve well. Morghiad knew well that he was using his friend’s emotions for his own purposes.

Jarynd moved toward the auburn-haired woman and looked her over. Well, less looked than leered. She frowned back at him.

“Give me your hand, woman,” the wiry man said.

Artemi looked to Morghiad for authorisation, and he nodded. He would have Jarynd’s head if he tried anything dangerous. She held out a delicate hand, causing Silar to step back in apprehension. The older kanaala took it in his bony grip. His reaction was sudden. “Blazes alight! What level is she? I can’t even see the end of it!”

Artemi sniffed. “I am present in the room with you, complete with ears that hear sound.”

Silar grinned inanely. Fool man. Jarynd’s reaction was not so warm. “You ought to show some respect to the men who’ve allowed you to live, girl. Not forgetting every one of us here is your superior.”

Morghiad cringed internally, but did not comment on the reprimand. Instead he said, “Grade eleven, almost twelve.”

Jarynd nodded to himself. “Nearly your level, then.”

He didn’t need to know she would be graded thirteen before a year had passed. If a thirteen existed. Best to let everyone think he could manage her.

Artemi jumped and breathed. “Bloody Achellon! You could at least be a little more gentle!”

Silar’s face darkened with concern. He could not see the dancing points of light that now surrounded the pair. Jarynd was holding as much as his ability would permit, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. After a short while, Morghiad lost patience and pulled their hands apart. “That is enough.”

Jarynd’s shoulders slumped visibly as the light drained from his eyes, though he folded his arms to disguise his loss. “At least she’s not able to wield herself yet. That’ll give her time to learn her place.”

Artemi looked ready to chew through his leg.

“Did you detect anything else while you held The Blazes?” Morghiad asked.

The older man’s brow creased. “No, should I have?”

“I’m not sure. I may have imagined it.”

The four remained in silence for a while longer. Jarynd broke it by offering his leave-takings. He had seen enough, though Morghiad suspected he would want to taste her again in the future. Once the older kanaala had left, the kahr invited Artemi to depart with him. He nodded to Silar and they walked from the room together, Artemi falling back to her usual distance. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Passerid was an imminent battle, but Artemi was safe for the time being. All of them would want to touch her, to feel that much Blaze coursing through them after decades of starvation. Watching Jarynd exploit a woman of her merit with so little respect had been difficult enough, and the kahr did not relish the prospect of seeing it again.

The hallways were quiet, however, and they soon returned to his chambers without incident. When the door shut, Artemi rushed to him. “Are you hurt?” She began checking along his side for injuries or, rather, cuts to his clothing.

He caught her to cease her fussing. “There were no swords drawn, Artemi.”

He could smell Silar on her dress. Couldn’t the man keep his hands off anything female? “That is good. I didn’t like the way he felt when he was... in here.” She flicked her eyes upwards. “And you were right. I didn’t want to say it in front of him, but there is something else there. I can sense it in you but not in him.”

Morghiad craved caution. “It is best we do not explore it until we know what it is. I fear he will want to hold your power again. And he’ll try to do it in my absence. You must be watchful.”

The woman studied him, anxiety still in her features. “You think he’ll try to wield?”

“No. He’ll try to use you for his own pleasure.”

Her face lost any obvious expression.

Morghiad went to the wardrobe and pulled out a bulky, folded item: his army blanket. “Take this. It’s not quite as warm as the cloak, but it will serve you well.”

Her face communicated a certain amount of surprise. “Do you mean for me to keep it?”

“Of course.”

She gave him one of her smiles. “Thank you.”

He could not be sure why she was so impressed with something as basic as a blanket. Even the most deprived citizens had blankets. Perhaps her head would explode if he gave her money. “You are dismissed, Artemi.”

She grinned broadly, curtseyed and left, streams of red-gold hair flourishing behind her. Morghiad slumped onto his bed, fully dressed, and fell into a deep, dark sleep full of troubled dreams.

Silar awoke with a start. He still had dreams about the night Artemi had run to him, eyes full of fear. He hoped never to see that look in her face again. It had been difficult accepting that he still cared for her, that he still desired a witch. Blast her for being the prettiest witch in history! He gritted his teeth and threw off the covers. The low winter sun filtered through the casements of his windows, leaving pools of hard yellow light on the stone floors. A hard frost had left miniature fingers of ice clinging to the outside of the glass. Silar dragged on some clothes and ran a hand through his hair.

Sword practice was repetitive, but it was an excellent way to work through one’s frustrations. Silar trotted down to the halls with vigour, sword at his side. He hoped they would be doing some really exhausting, tough, sweat-inducing exercises. The anger was there for it, and so was his energy. The hall was already mostly full when he arrived. All of his men were there; very few took time off for
nalka
these days, which did make things easier. Passerid nodded to him, glad to be back in action again. Apparently there had been quite a fight between he and Morghiad over Artemi. At first learning of the red-haired woman’s presence, Passerid had tried to chop Morghiad’s limbs off, which was unwise given that the sergeant only had one hand at the time. Then he had done his best to drown Artemi in a bucket of poison, and she had only escaped thanks to the training she had been provided with. Morghiad had been forced to chase him through the castle halls, fight him, and then lock him in one of the cells until he saw reason. Passerid was still undergoing some limited punishment, which had been kept private. He seemed a well-pacified little bird these days.

Silar walked between his men, assessing their numbers and posture. They were in excellent order - a band of men to be proud of. He approached Morghiad who was standing, arms folded, facing out of one of the vast windows. There was an air of darkness about him today that was… unsettling. The last month had changed his friend subtly on the exterior: he had smiled four times, perhaps laughed twice, frowned on numerous occasions and even glowered. But Silar wondered what that meant for the man inside - likely his whole personality was breaking apart! Meditation revealed nothing more to Silar than what he had already seen, and it probably had something to do with Artemi. Trust a woman to destroy a man from the inside.

“I cannot believe winter is already here,” he said to the captain.

“Hmm.” The black-haired man did not move or avert his attention from the window.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear only three men are absent from my lot today.”

Morghiad only compressed his lips in response.

Silar tried another tack. “Is she alright?”

The kahr snapped his head round to Silar, but kept whatever he was about to say to himself. He stalked off toward the front of the hall.

Silar was not sure how to proceed when his friend was in this sort of mood. It was unchartered territory, so instead of pursuing the matter further, he went back to stand with his men.

The session was just as the blond lieutenant had hoped: tough, gruelling even. He pushed his men as hard as he pushed himself, and after three hours the entire room sang with the heat of nine-thousand exhausted bodies. Just when Silar felt as if his muscles were about to snap, a furious roar bellowed through the masses around him.

“...not good ENOUGH! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

Silar pushed through the now motionless soldiers towards the source of the voice. Morghiad stood in a clearing, covered in sweat, sword in hand. His eyes had a look of rage that Silar had only seen in the most battle-crazed of men, never mind the typically expressionless kahr. Morghiad had never raised his voice in anger, not once in the decade Silar had known him. Had he finally succumbed to some sort of madness? The recipient of his outburst had already made his exit, probably afraid for his life.

Some awareness returned to the kahr’s eyes gradually, and he sheathed his sword. To them all he said, “Leave. Today’s session has finished,” and then the man stomped out of the hall, crowd parting easily before him.

Everyone else was as agog as Silar. Passerid caught him by the shoulder, and though he did not say anything, his expression conveyed what he was thinking.

“I’ll speak to him,” the lieutenant said.

Silar made sure any practice swords were properly stored before leaving the hall. He wanted to give Morghiad a good chance to cool his mood to something less frightening. Once he had completed every superficial task he could see, Silar made his way towards the kahr’s rooms. He thought of where to start with mining Morghiad’s problems, since the kahr was difficult to delve at the best of times, and now he would be more of an impenetrable brick than ever. And there was no point in waiting for him to speak his mind openly. One could wait an eternity for that to happen. Perhaps the best approach would just be to talk of something else. Silar did not really want to know what Morghiad’s problems were, but he wanted the man to sort himself out.

He reached the giant marble hallway and spotted a blue-clad figure waiting before the kahr’s door. She turned at his approach.

“Silar.” Artemi smiled thinly as he neared. “He threw me out of his rooms. He won’t even let me speak to him.”

Silar nodded. “There was... an upset during practice today. Perhaps you should retire to your room until tomorrow.”

She blinked. “What happened? Have I caused this?”

The lieutenant compressed his lips. “I don’t know exactly. He lost his temper.”

“What? He was angry? What did he do?” Curiously, she looked excited by the news.

“He unleashed his wrath on some poor fool; gave him the chiding of his life. Now get yourself somewhere safe, and don’t come back to his chambers until tomorrow.”

She gave him a sour look. The girl didn’t like being told what to do at all. She really needed to learn some discipline. Silar thought briefly about putting her over his knee, but quickly scrubbed the image from his mind. After a short deliberation she walked off down the hall in a rather impressive silence. Definitely the walk of an assassin, he thought to himself.

Silar pushed open the large wooden door without knocking and stepped inside. The kahr was leaning against the window, shirt cast to the floor. The mark of the Sete’an royal family was plain on his right shoulder blade. He did not react to Silar’s entrance in any way, and the lieutenant leaned against one of the bed posts to view the fireplace. The enormous grating was utterly empty. Then again, the room would have been chilly even with a fire.