City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (17 page)

Artemi opened her eyes. She could sense the world’s movements for miles around, or so she believed. Servants filled the massive warren of the castle, moving about it like busy ants in their nest. Thousands of people milled about amongst the complex, cold stone of the city. Beyond she could sense the grass waving in the breeze across the soft earth, and farther still was the hard wooden rasp of the Cadran forests. She could feel the same energy flowing through her, vibrating in the room around her. It really
was
in everything. It was beautiful. And it was making her feel oddly appreciative of Morghiad’s touch. She immediately shoved that feeling to the very corners of her mind. She was not about to allow herself to be aroused by a stone, never mind the other ones in the walls!

Morghiad shifted his gaze to the perimeter of the room and let out a trickle of small waves of energy. They wobbled in an odd way and twisted into peculiar shapes when they hit the walls, floor and ceiling. He continued doing this until the entire room sparkled with hints of Blaze Energy. Finally, he released his hold on her power and her hand. Artemi felt the bottom of the world drop from beneath her as he let go, and her lungs struggled to expand for breath. Morghiad sat back in his chair. Was he also looking a little dazed? The man was impossible to decipher; she had probably imagined it. The evidence of the partition he had created was slowly fading from her view. “Will other kanaala be able to see that?”

The kahr shook his head. “You and I can see it when The Blazes are inside us. They will not unless they bring a wielder in here or unless they know what to look for.” He crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. “Forgive me if I took rather more than I should from you. I’ve never experienced anything quite like your power before. There’s more of it, obviously, but it feels different. I cannot explain how, even to myself.” He glanced at the floor in thought.

“Thank you.”

Morghiad looked up. “Whatever for?”

“For that... sensation. I can die happy now that I have known it.“ She smiled as warmly as she could muster.

He looked blankly at her, evidently not understanding what a smile meant and most likely not sensing any of the amiability she was throwing at him. It was like trying to interact with a block of ice. Artemi let a small sigh pass her lips and settled herself deeper into the chair. There really was little point in her trying, but it
had
felt incredible.

Morghiad’s eventual response was not what she had expected. “I’m going to teach you how to use a sword for self-defence. If you are to excel you must gain better control of your emotions.”

Artemi’s jaw dropped. “Me? Control my emotions? At least I have them. It’s you that needs to get some bloody emotions!” For shame that she was speaking like Caala. “At least people can communicate with me!” First he had insulted her walking and now he dared to... infuriating!

A frown briefly touched his forehead - if Artemi had blinked she would have missed it – and Morghiad began to speak in measured tones. “It is better not to feel if one is to learn true discipline. You must be able to control everything in your mind. Do you think it would be safe for you to wield enough power to burn a city without any grasp on your anger? It is the same for wielding a sword.”

“But others will think you are made of stone, that you don’t care about them or any of their feelings,” she protested.

“My responsibilities demand that I be made of stone, Artemi. And now so do yours.”

She did not want to turn into a lump of rock like him. She could not be so cold! Surely it was not the right path? And she had enough reason in her not to allow anger skew important judgements like killing innocent people. She had never been that... impassioned. “Surely it is worse to kill others and feel nothing?”

“Even the most disciplined of us feel something at the death of another. It is the emotion that precedes the killing which is important.” He still sounded utterly calm and measured, which only fuelled Artemi’s fire more.

“I would not burn thousands of people because I was a little
emotional,”
she retorted.

Morghiad gazed at her levelly. “You have a father, true? What if someone injured or killed your father? How rational would you be in that situation?”

“Do not bring him into this!” she snapped. Oh, he had caught her in his little trap. Blasted man! She calmed herself once more. “I’d punish only those responsible.”

The kahr continued in the same tone: “And do you believe you could protect yourself adequately if you were overly emotional?”

Artemi stayed silent this time. He was intentionally winding her up, she was sure of it. She began to wonder if, beneath that mask of stone, the man actually felt just as much as she did. Perhaps he was just better at hiding it. He was probably enjoying a world of self-satisfied smugness at this very moment. She stared intently at the fireplace and tried not to give him any more reasons to be pleased with himself.

Morghiad uncrossed his legs and stretched out. “You have learned the first lesson: self awareness. The earlier you catch yourself spiralling out of control, the easier it will be to regain control.”

Artemi almost scowled back at him. Almost. Instead she put on her best acting face and nodded politely. Bloody kahrs and their bloody superiority! It would be nice to chew on some rocks. “Morghiad?”

“Yes?”

She put on her most innocent voice. “Am I still allowed to laugh at jokes?”

“Yes.” The kahr’s face remained entirely straight. If anything his eyes seemed to burn even deeper into her head. No. There was nothing going on in there, she decided. No humour whatsoever. Waste of a good man.

He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “Our session is complete for today. I shall see you again tomorrow.”

Artemi rose from the armchair, gave a meagre curtsey and exited the room. It was not that she wanted to be rude to him; he was helping her after all. It was just that he needed to learn she couldn’t be pushed about like one of his soldiers.
Time to return to that warm cloak.
That was something to look forward to.

Artemi strode gracefully away from Morghiad as he shut the bedroom door. It was an attractive walk she had, but far too noisy and attention-seeking. The kahr leaned against the solid wood of the doorframe and tried to sort through the whirling mess that now cluttered his mind. He allowed himself a small chortle at her final comment once he was sure she was out of earshot. For all his instruction on emotional control, keeping himself in check around her had been very difficult. It had been almost impossible not to laugh at her words, delivered with such a straight and child-like face. Her arguments about emotions had not been too tricky to counter, but he had almost raised his voice at her.

He was sure his responses had been correct in content, at least. She had a peculiar way of riling him, almost as much as his father did.
No, equally as much
. Morghiad would have to learn to better contain his annoyance if he was going to spend time training her. No doubt she would offer him plenty of opportunities to practise.

He went to sit in the armchair she had occupied. It still held some of the warmth of her presence, and more importantly, the faint buzz of her power. He would have to watch out for that in places where she wielded. It seemed to leave an imprint - something Ilena’s abilities had not been sufficient to do. He hoped that no one had felt The Blazes enter him, not when he had been so greedy with it, but it had felt like nothing else on this Earth. Kanaala could become addicted to using power like that, some history books had said, and now he understood why. And there had been a point when the Blaze Energy had almost pulled him towards her; it had invited him to inspect her skin and hair closely, to examine the arc of her back and curve of her breasts. He had not expected that at all. Ilena had never mentioned anything about that, but then he had been much younger. Perhaps she had not thought it appropriate.

Morghiad spotted something glistening on the floor by the chair. He reached down to pick it up and held it before the firelight. It was one of her dark gold-red hairs, and it still buzzed with the power of the woman from whom it had come. He wrapped it around one of his fingers, considering the ancient nature of its pedigree. How many other kanaala through history had enjoyed her power? Doubtless some of them had abused it. He must be careful not to do the same.

Morghiad wondered if the Artemi who knew what she was, the Artemi he hoped one day to meet, trusted kanaala. Unease grew in him as he considered the cruel kanaala she would have almost certainly known in the past. If someone lived as long as she had, then doubtless there had been good and bad. If he could meet the bad now, they would soon learn what he thought of them.

There was also the business of introducing her to the faces of kanaala he knew in the city. He would have to do it in a way that would not reveal her to them. But how? Her looks had an unfortunate habit of drawing attention, so he would have to hide her whilst still giving her a good view of those men. Three of the kanaala he had never liked. They enjoyed their job far too much, seeming to relish exterminating wielder children. It was perverse, given that two of their mothers had been wielders too.

Morghiad was not sure how he could rejoin the sweeps now that he had befriended his quarry, though duty would surely demand it.

There were two more kanaala in Cadra whom he liked better, but only one of them might be amenable to protecting Artemi’s secret. Of course, all five of them were in the Cadran army. If he wanted Artemi in battle, he would have to find a way around that particular issue.

He uncurled the hair from his fingers and hid it in a drawer beneath his clothing. It would be useful for establishing how long her close-kept possessions retained a memory of her Blaze Energy. Morghiad opened his shirt and then the window, allowing the cool autumn breeze to touch his chest. He looked down at the window sill; aware that his arms were half inside the partition of Blaze he had created. It could not be sensed unless he made a point of looking for it. It was a creation that Ilena would have been proud of; he hoped so, anyway.

Looking after Artemi would not bring Ilena back, but he knew that it was the right course. Part of him wished that he could keep Artemi closer than the cellars until she was properly able to defend herself. The cellars... Now, how to deal with that chimney problem?

Beodrin rounded the corner on another glittering wall of swords. He was about to complete his inspection of the weapon rooms. He was also about to become a father, for the second time. He had barely been able to contain his excitement all day. Lord-Captain Morghiad had been generous enough to give him time off from his duties, but he had decided to work today. Marynia was due late in the evening and he knew that having him fidget around the house all day would only have made her more anxious. And so instead he had inspected swords, cleaned daggers, polished boots and completed a huge pile of time-consuming tasks that were normally reserved for cadets.

Now the sun had descended to its dark chamber of hiding, and it was time to return to his wife in the city. He loved his wife deeply. What she had seen in a short, plain and unremarkable soldier he had never been able to fathom. She was far too pretty for him and far too tolerant of his missions to far-off countries, missions that she joined him on. It was customary for a wife to travel with her soldier husband so that their bond would not be broken, but Marynia had come even on the smallest of assignments. And she had given him a wonderful son nine years earlier. The boy was intelligent enough to be something better than a warrior. Beodrin hoped he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. He hoped the same would be true of this new child.

The lieutenant signed off the weapons itinerary, nodded to the guards and began his journey to the exit of the castle. And it was a journey - the damn tunnels would take several minutes to navigate. He hummed a tavern tune quietly to himself, thinking about the food that waited for him at home. He thought about the size of his wife’s belly and how it had grown from nothing in the last fortnight.
Nine years to know; two weeks to grow; an eternity to blow,
went the old rhyme. He chuckled to himself, interrupting his own music. A black shape caught the corner of his eye.