City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (25 page)

Beodrin had been kind, though, and Morghiad had said he had good reason to show compassion. He lifted her hands from the post, revealing the healed timber beneath. It was quite a marvellous piece of work. They maintained their contact for a few moments longer, both unwilling to relinquish the tumultuous fires of The Blazes.

Silar paced around the entrance of the tailor’s shop, thinking of how inappropriate it would look to accompany an unmarried servant into such an establishment. Still, he had his orders and so did the tailors. Morghiad had sworn them to secrecy over this... singular... uniform creation or threatened to cancel their army contract. But Artemi was fast becoming the worst-kept secret in Cadra. He glanced at the window and noted some good-looking silks. He could probably do with a new coat or two.

A tap on the shoulder caught him unawares. He turned to its owner. She smiled at him broadly, hair glowing red in the winter sunlight. Her lips looked very soft and warm in spite of the cold, he thought. “You walk like an experienced assassin, my lady.”

“No longer a herd of wildebeest? I’m disappointed.”

He gave her a roll of his eyes and opened the shop door for her, praying that nobody would be watching. At least she’d had the good sense to change into her city clothing.

The inside of the shop was an eye-watering melange of colours, all piled together in luxurious heaps or draped from wall hooks. It really didn’t look like the sort of place one would find uniforms, but this was where they were designed and fitted. A pretty, golden-haired woman came forward to serve them, but when she noticed Artemi’s attire, she recognised their purpose. “This way, miss,” she said with an appreciable level of respect. The shopkeeper waved at a bench for Silar to take a seat. He did so, and picked up one of the books on a side table for distraction. Evidently male partners were dragged in here often. Ironically, the book in his hand was an abridged version of
Chronicles of the Female Warrior
. He chuckled to himself quietly.

Just when he had reached an interesting part about her leading a revolt against a tyrannical ruler who had fallen in love with her, she stepped out from the changing rooms. His eyes had not nearly expected what they came to rest upon. For some curious reason the tailor had chosen to put her into an ivory gown scattered with hundreds, possibly thousands of mirrored shards. It clung to every perfect curve of her body. Her red hair cascaded down one shoulder in perfect waves of flame. She looked like a queen, or possibly how he had imagined a goddess. Or both. Silar stood up quickly and shut his gaping mouth. “..Um,” was all he could get out. He looked questioningly at the shopkeeper.

The tailor smiled a little. “Well, we took her measurements and found they perfectly matched this dress. It was made some time ago but we’ve never found the right girl for it. Until now.”

Artemi looked somewhat displeased at the other woman’s comment. “It’s very lovely. But you can’t polish a- ... I mean, to put a commoner like me into a dress like this. It’s a little absurd, don’t you think?”

 Silar took another appreciative look at the dress on her. He knew exactly what the shopkeeper was doing. She had probably sized him up, pun excluded, the minute he had walked in with his fine lady friend. He sighed in exasperation. “Alright then. How much is it?”

Artemi’s face paled.

The blonde tailor went to fetch a piece of paper and wrote a few numerals on it. She handed it to Silar. His throat caught when he read it.

Artemi pulled it from under his nose, scrunched the paper in her fist and locked eyes with him. “No. This is ridiculous. Where am I ever going to wear such a thing? Will I parade around the wash rooms in it? Or take it to...
outdoors
with me? I don’t even have anywhere to keep it! I forbid you from completing such a transaction.”

Silar chewed his lip for a moment. “You will wear it to dinner with me.” Then to the shopkeeper, “Let’s settle a price and payment, madam.” They went to the well-worn counter to begin their haggling, where he could feel Artemi’s eyes burning furiously into his back. She did not know what it was to be a man, he thought, when women could rule you just by looking a certain way. It did not matter if he could not have her; he could still admire her.

Artemi stepped out of the shop in complete silence. She actually looked angry with him for buying her a present. “I buy things like this for women all the time, Artemi,” he lied.

“Oh?” Her shoulders relaxed a touch.

He tucked the folded dress beneath his arm. “Well, I like to see them smile. And there is not much beauty in Cadra, so one might as well highlight the few stars in it.” He put on a good grin.

Perhaps it was working on her. She blushed very slightly and gave him a, “Hmm.”

“Will you dine with me tonight? I know an excellent chef in the castle...”

She gave him a pained expression. “I don’t know if this is a good idea...”

“I’m hardly going to try to sleep with you, am I?”

She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.

“Then it is set. Come to my rooms an hour after sunset. I’ll keep your dress there.” He waited for her to acknowledge his request and then bid his goodbyes. He wanted to catch the end of Morghiad’s explanations to the army and possibly save him from a stabbing, if necessary.

The men were shaken. Some had even dropped their swords and slumped on the ground. Rahake looked around him for some of the more lucid ones. Even they had looks of deep internal reflection. No one could believe it: Artemi was real. And she was here, about to start fighting alongside them.
A free wielder
. Worse, Morghiad seemed to think she was one of the deadly Kusuru Assassins from the horror stories. The captain had made an excellent argument for her case and Rahake agreed with much of it. They would indeed be better off with her on their side and they would be wise to take care of her in this life, but the idea of a woman fighter becoming one of their brother fighters, or perhaps sister in this case, was difficult to accept. He rubbed at his temple with a large, scarred finger.

Morghiad still stood at the front of the hall in silence. He could not have known what reaction he would receive. But he had chosen to tell them the truth of the matter. That, at least, was worthy of some respect. “Lord-Captain Morghiad,” Rahake shouted out. “You have honoured us with your honesty. A lesser man would not have chosen such a perilous path. But it is exactly that. How shall we know we can trust her?” He sensed the men nodding in agreement around him.

The tall man did not pause before answering, “Because I would trust her with my life. She has sworn an oath to protect this country and she will swear the oaths of the army, just as you have. If you still have fears, then know that I and the other kanaala will work to ensure that her power is correctly used.”

Rahake was satisfied with the response. “And you truly intend to allow wielders to return to the city?”

The kahr nodded. “I will no longer pursue a strategy of executing or imprisoning them unjustly. Of course, we would continue to deal with any... untoward wielding. Passerid, Jarynd and Beodrin have agreed with me on this.”

To Rahake’s right, Beodrin shifted a little. He wondered if this had anything to do with the kanaala’s young daughter. Abilities with Blaze could be passed down, after all.

“And you think she can remain a secret from the king?” came a shout from one of the younger sergeants.

“Each of you has proven yourself capable of keeping such a secret, you have all demonstrated unsurpassed dedication. I must trust you all with this as I trust you with the care of the city and of the country. I must also trust you with her life. She cannot know of her past until she is ready.” Morghiad stood firm.

The hall fell once more into silence. Then one man shouted, “With respect, are you doing her, lord-captain?” Quite a few titters erupted, loudest among Beetan’s men. Now,
there
was a surprise.

The captain waited for the giggles to die down and answered with a simple, “No.”

Rahake wondered if the kahr was ever going to please his father by taking a woman to his bed, since he appeared to be doing everything he could to annoy the king. Crown and sword had traditionally had a degree of separation in Cadra, and many believed that the king had made Morghiad captain in order to unify the two. But the kahr had made his position clear enough: he was a soldier before he was the king’s son.

The young captain spoke again, “All those who are in agreement with this plan, stand to the right of the hall; all those who disagree, on the left.”

There was some chatter and general milling around, but at length, the entire right side of the hall was filled with men and Rahake was among them. The left side held roughly two-hundred men. One of them shouted out, “You took my daughter.” Another said, “And my sister. I believed I was doing the right thing in letting her go. And now you say she should have lived. If this is right then someone should pay for her death.” A third man said, “Why should this one woman be allowed to live when ours were not?”

The captain allowed a look of sadness to filter onto his face, which was a peculiar thing to see. “That is something I have wrestled with for some time. I greatly regret what has gone before, but now we have a chance to change things. Today we can stop it. My father is the one who ordered all wielders killed, and we were complicit in it. I will not be complicit in this any longer. Give her a chance to prove her worth.” The men tarried for ten minutes or so.

“Is this the decision you wish to stand by?” Morghiad pressed.

Several of them moved to the opposite side. Then another twenty joined. At last, in silence, all men walked to the right side of the hall. Morghiad relaxed visibly and jumped down from the platform. “She’ll swear in tomorrow with the other new recruits,” the captain said as he strode down the empty side of the hall. “Dismissed, men!”

Chapter 8

Dark, twisted torrents of black liquid seeped beneath a thin veil in the lowest layers of his mind. Morghiad thought of it as all the anger, the fury, the fear and the horrors he had seen in his life. All of it flowed there, well-contained for the moment, but there was just so much of it. And sometimes it was like trying to control forty foot waves in a tempest with nothing more than a stick.

He cleared his mind by focusing on the feminine-shaped items in front of him. A warm black short-coat sat atop a black bodice, slashed with a single green stripe. There was also a small shirt, black breeches, a sword belt and some long, leather boots. The clothing followed the style of the army but had been designed to imitate the outfits the warrior was depicted in or described as wearing. And they had to meet the particular needs of a woman’s body, which Morghiad tried not to think of too much. They all looked so small to his eyes - was there really that little of her?

He leaned back against the grey stone of the changing room screen and lifted her sword. She had taken to it with frightening speed as soon as she had picked it up. He was glad, of course. It would be much healthier for them both if she spent more time training with the other men, now that she was good enough to be sworn in. It also meant she would be better able to defend herself in his absence, and he could spend less time worrying about her.