City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (19 page)

The lieutenant shivered. “And the eisiel thought one of those was here? A female one? Perhaps you will get your woman fighter.”

The kahr rolled up the report. “I will look into this. There is no need to tell the other men just yet. If she doesn’t yet remember what she is then she will be harmless and we’d risk killing an innocent woman. If she does, then it may be foolish to out her or even engage with her in any way. That is,
if
she is here.”

Beodrin nodded sagely. “Agreed.” Then he added, “You know, your new ‘rules’ probably saved my life last night.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I was planning to have a few drinks the night before but... what with agreeing to duty the following day I had to abstain. Probably made me a little more... accurate, if you get my meaning captain!” Beodrin chuckled.

Morghiad nodded and waved that the man may dismiss himself. As the door clicked shut, he sat back in the leather chair to consider his options. He did not have many options in reality. He could not lie to his men, and simultaneously, he could not keep Artemi a secret forever. There was now a chance that keeping her here could actually risk the lives of his men. But potentially those losses would be cancelled out by the sheer number she could save. It was a gamble. However, he did have her promise, and he was sure she would not renege on it. He had to continue along the path he had already set out upon.

It was high time to meet with the woman in question. Morghiad placed the day’s papers into a neat pile and pulled on his black army coat. It was warm against the draughts of the castle, but not quite the same as his cloak. Thankfully no one had yet noticed its absence from his wardrobe, though it was just the sort of thing Silar had a nose for.

The kahr headed back towards his rooms through the breezy corridors, stopping at a small, thick-walled room to pick an item up. He jogged the rest of the way to his chambers out of boredom, or perhaps some eagerness to get there.

She was already waiting when he arrived, seated upright upon his desk chair. Soft waves of auburn hair hung loose to her waist and glowed deep red in the light of the fire. She really had no idea of the way she looked.  It was almost comical that a servant could sit on his least comfortable chair, look grumpy and still do a very good impression of an empress. The kahr opened his coat and placed the item he had brought onto the chest of drawers, then seated himself in the armchair opposite Artemi. She was not going to react well to his news. “I have reason to believe an eisiel came for you last night.”

Her eyes widened. “What?” She rapidly caught control of herself. She was learning quickly. “It must be dead or you’d be out looking for it. It would have no way of knowing I was here unless you’d told someone. Otherwise it must have felt... How do you know it was looking for me?”

Morghiad gazed though the window behind her; the peaks of the towers seemed to be shivering in the winds. “One of the lieutenants stopped it before it reached the core of the castle. Silar is the only other man who knows of you and he would not whisper a word of it to anyone. I believe it must have felt a change in the balance of Blaze last night. I doubt it is a matter of coincidence.”

Artemi remained stern. “You haven’t answered my question: how do you know it wanted me?”

“Because it asked for you,” he said.

She looked away to the fire. If she felt fear she did not show it. “But if an eisiel felt... what we were doing then who is to say that one of your kanaala friends could not?”

“One of them would have contacted me today if they had. Or I would have heard from... other sources.” A royal intelligence network was not the most subtle of beasts, but it was trustworthy on matters of dangerous women, at least.

She continued to stare at the fire. “And what if more come?”

Morghiad rubbed at his jaw. At least it was smooth this time. He really ought to put more effort into shaving. “I am going to teach you how to use a sword and I’m going to see that you do it with skill. You will need to be able to defend yourself when I am not around.”

Artemi laughed aloud at his suggestion, golden hair bouncing as she shook her head. “Me? I am about as well-coordinated as a damp log and weak with it. Do you really think an ordinary, average-sized
woman
like me could fight off a thing of nightmares? Swordsmen are supposed to look like you.” Her laughter began to subside. “I think all that Blaze has sent you mad, my kahr.”

He suppressed a very strong urge to grab her and tell her precisely how mad she had made him. “I’ve seen smaller women than you haul entire trees up mountains and besides, it is not just brute strength you need. Speed is key. Coordination can be learned. The eisiel’s most deadly feature is its speed. Beat that and you could defeat one.”

The kahr stood and went over to the item he had brought with him. He unwrapped it from the plain fabric and held it out with his arm straight. The balance was good: no knocks, warping or scrapes. He spun it in his hand and held the hilt out to Artemi.

“A wooden sword? I’m honoured,” she said dryly, stepping towards it.

“You’ll get a proper one when you’re ready.” Fire rushed down his arm as she took it from him. “But it is less basic than it appears. Its core is made of iron so that the weight is similar to that of a true sword. The wood is of good-enough quality to provide a sharp edge. And...” he rearranged her fingers on the hilt. “…it is the perfect size for someone with smaller hands.”

She smiled as she looked down at her new acquisition, then looked back up at him. “Perhaps there is some sentiment in that pile of rocks you call a body, after all.”

Morghiad ignored her inflammatory comment and watched her walk to the middle of the room. She turned the sword over in her hand and then looked over at him. “Are you going to show me how to use this or not?”

He approached her to placed a hand at her waist, the other at her jaw. “Your posture is good, but it could be better.” He pulled her midriff back towards him, and raised her chin gently. Next, he adjusted her shoulders slightly. They were not too bad. “You must learn the basic forms first. There are twenty-three of these. Practise them every day and your skill will progress much faster. The first is like cutting a veil from the top, straight down. You start with your blade up here, arm straight. Keep some flexibility in the wrist. This is always your leading edge. Then you cut down like this.” He guided her hand through the entirety of the form, vibrations of Blaze Energy tearing through his body the whole time. He managed to push it to the back of his mind in the same way he dealt with pain. Artemi seemed to have adjusted to the sensation immediately; perhaps her several millennia on this Earth had given her an advantage in that respect.

They had worked through fifteen of the forms by the time the sun had set. Artemi absorbed his instruction like a sponge, never making the same mistake twice. Morghiad made no assumptions that it would be this easy all the way through, especially given her temperament, but it was a promising start, nonetheless. He ordered her to repeat all fifteen forms once more, threw off his coat and sat on the armchair to observe her. First, second, third, fourth – her rhythm was good – fifth – he rose to re-adjust her elbow. “Continue.” The last forms were position-perfect. Cadets simply did not learn that quickly. His suspicions had finally been confirmed. “Good. What do you feel when you do these forms?”

Artemi frowned a little. “Not much. A small desire to beat you across the head with the sword, but that is all.”

Morghiad gave her no reaction. She would have to try harder than that to rouse him. “No emotion at all?”

“Not really. I am concentrating too hard on getting them right.”

Perhaps it was too early to establish if she needed to learn about proper methods of regulation. Clearly she could tame her spirit if she made an effort, though perhaps that was from a distantly remembered habit. The Kusuru may have done things differently, and he could not base his teaching on guesses.

Artemi made as if to holster her weapon at her waist. “This will not do,” she mused, “Don’t they make scabbards for dresses?”

The kahr wanted to smile at her comment but decided not to. He would stay in control. He would remain ready to raise his sword at any moment. He would keep his head clear. On a more practical note, he would have to find a way of affixing a weapon to her without it being obvious. Some of the noblewomen kept daggers under their skirts, or so Silar claimed, but that would not be substantial enough for Artemi. And fiddling around under her skirt would probably lose her valuable time in the event of an attack. It would have to be something more ingenious.

The red-haired woman seated herself before him and studied him levelly. He couldn’t help but feel as if she were able to read every emotion he managed to suppress. Her dark eyes seemed to look right through him at times.

“I think it is wise if we finish our lesson here. Would you like to borrow one of these books?” He waved in the direction of the shelves.

Artemi’s face lit up in an instant. She rose from the chair and perused the volumes excitedly, but did not touch them. Her eyes came to rest on a small black book about the history of Forda. “May I take this one?” She pointed gingerly at the text.

“Of course.” He reached across and pulled the book out for her, setting it into her hands. She looked at it almost in wonderment, certainly with more respect than she had shown the sword. That seemed the wrong way around, somehow.

“I must do something about your bed sheets before I go.” She placed the book and the sword on top of the chest and began stripping back his bed. Morghiad went to help her; he should probably make an effort to do this in advance of their lessons so that their time could be more productive. In any case it seemed to amuse her when he did domestic work. “Will you meet me at the battlements in two days’ time?”

“If that is what you wish. May I ask what for?” she said without looking up.

“I must show you the faces of the other kanaala. Do you have a cloak of your own?”

She frowned at him. “Of course.”

“With a hood?”

“No. But my mother’s has. I shall have to collect it from my father’s house.”

“Good. Meet me at the eastern entrance to the city wall, three hours following sunset. Make sure your hood is up and your face well-hidden. Keep your hair covered as well.” It would be bad enough if he was seen about the town with a recognisable woman, worse if the other kanaala caught sight of her.

Her mother’s cloak had seen better days: rough at the edges, worn in the middle and stiff from years in storage. It was not as warm as her own cloak, and certainly nowhere near the luxury of Morghiad’s. She had felt a stab of guilt each time she went to sleep in that one. Her hair was tied in a braid that fell down the back of her neck to her waist. Odd. She was unaccustomed to the feeling of cold air touching her neck and ears. Artemi kept the hood up, shading her face as Morghiad had instructed. The guards at the eastern gate apparently had not noticed her waiting there, though she felt very conspicuous out of servant’s clothing.

She caught sight of a tall, black-haired man striding through the crowds. His plain brown clothing did nothing to conceal the bearing he had, and he certainly did not blend in with the surrounding populace. Artemi supposed one could call him handsome when he moved but, when he was still, his grim face and stern manner prevented him entirely from being good-looking. If only she could work a smile onto his face, it would be so much more agreeable. Well, that or it would look unnatural.

Morghiad walked straight past her, pressing something into her hand as he did. He proceeded through the gate and into a door that presumably led to steps inside the city wall. Artemi walked round the corner of a shop building to examine the contents of her hand. It was a rolled-up note and, inside, a key. The kahr’s elegant script instructed her to proceed through the door he had just used. She must pretend that she was there to visit a relative who was being kept in the cells.

There were cells in the walls?

She then had to walk to the end of the second corridor on the fifth level, and use the key in the gate at the end. It seemed straight-forward enough. She folded up the note and pushed it into the bodice of her dress, but tucked the key into the laces at the back.

Artemi walked as confidently as she could to the wall door and opened it. Well-oiled hinges swept open silently as she stepped into the darkness beyond. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the low lamplight, revealing a cobble-lined passage that seemed to stretch into eternal blackness. She began to walk down the passage, footsteps echoing along it and back again. The construction of the tunnel indicated that it must have been equally as old as the walls themselves, perhaps several-thousand years, and the cobblestones were heavily worn. After a hundred yards she drew up before two broad-shouldered guards manning a gate. They eyed her suspiciously.

“I’m here to see my brother,” she lied. She had always wanted an older brother.

“Hood down, miss,” came the gruff reply of one man.